#she has told me on multiple occasions that she hardly remembers him from the show at all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

javier-pena · 3 years

Text

triumvirate

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader x Katie

Word Count: 13.7k (I know, I know ...)

Rating: Explicit (and I mean explicit, this is the most explicit thing I’ve ever written)

Summary: You and Javi have been talking about inviting someone into your bed, just to see what it would be like. But you had no idea he already has someone in mind.

Notes: This started as a brief conversation I had with Dani @javierpcna while making a gifset actually, and it turned into this huge fic involving a character that doesn’t even speak a single line of dialogue (yes, this is Katie, the woman from the elevator in s3e1, the one who looks at Javi ... respectfully). I actually don’t remember the last time I had this much fun writing anything, so I guess I will be writing more Javi fics in future ... also, as always, huge thanks to Dani for putting up with my crazy ideas for a week, for encouraging me, for sacrificing a Sunday evening to read this, and for kindling the flames that brought this on in the first place! Also I believe Javi doesn’t share but he can be a bit ooc - as a treat ...

***

Javi doesn’t like to talk about his work. He doesn’t like to “bring it home” with him, even though the word “home” is all relative to him. He keeps quiet about it when you’re at his flat, that’s sacred ground to him, but your flat is fine. So when he’s at your place, he sometimes talks about his colleagues, the paperwork he needs to finish, how his boss got on his nerves today. You know there is much he could tell you, a lot he doesn’t share on purpose, and some things he never mentions because he’s not proud of them.

At first, you are worried because he doesn’t let you in. You aren’t used to having someone in your life who keeps so much hidden from you, especially someone you slowly, over time, start to share everything with, from a cup of coffee over breakfast, over a cigarette during a hasty lunch break, to sighs and moans, joined hands and heartbeats under the cover of the night. Especially someone you slowly but surely find yourself falling in love with, someone you want to share your life with, but also someone who doesn’t seem to feel the same way, who keeps a part of himself hidden behind tailored suits and starched shirts. It makes you nervous and wary when he never answers your questions, it hurts you when he changes the subject, sometimes quite cruelly, but over time you begin to see this arrangement as something enjoyable.

In all your previous relationships, you’d mostly talked about work, discussed your day, asked boring questions to get boring answers from your partner. Maybe that is the reason why they never lasted – you were so preoccupied with involving each other in your professional lives that you never focused on the personal aspect of your relationships. But with Javi you’re forced to talk about something else, about anything else, books, movies, music, travels, that little dog you saw on the street today, how your mother is doing, the sock that has gotten lost in the dryer. And you love this about him, love how you’d gotten to know an entirely different version of him than most people know. Granted, he doesn’t watch a lot of movies and he doesn’t listen to a lot of music, he hardly ever has time to read, but he’s seen the world, he tells you stories you don’t bore of hearing repeatedly, while your fingers lay entwined on his broad chest, the warmth of his skin seeping into your body, his breath tickling your hand, while he talks, and you listen. Sometimes, on the rare occasion he cooks for you, he tells you about his childhood, about how his mother taught him to kill a chicken (“If you can eat it, you can kill it”), about how is father gave him his first beer to drink when he was eight (“It’ll make a man out of you”), about how his grandmother showed him which spices to use for what dish (“Never mix garlic and lemon juice, it’ll turn the garlic green”). It’s moments like these where you feel he trusts you. You don’t need him to give you a detailed rundown of his day, to tell you how badly his morning coffee tasted, how boring his meeting was, how much his colleagues annoyed him. Getting to know this personal side of him, the one you know he doesn’t usually share, that’s enough for you.

You trust him, and he trusts you.

His withdrawnness when it comes to his work is the reason you’re completely caught by surprise when you’re over at his place one cloudy Saturday afternoon for a late lunch and he mentions work. You’re the one cooking this time, a stew your grandmother taught you to make, and while you wait for it to finish simmering, you sit at his small kitchen table, lost in idle conversation. And no matter how idle those conversations get, talking to Javi is never boring, and that is one of the things you love about him. But when he does mention work – and nothing prompts it, no probing questions on your part about a torn shirt you find lying discarded on his couch, no need to share something with you out of weariness and frustration on his part – you are immediately snapping to attention. It’s infuriating how he does it, casually, while he fills a glass with tap water for you.

“There’s this girl at work,” he says, and your ears prick up at the word work, immediately on guard. He turns off the water but doesn’t turn to look at you when he continues. “I think … I think you would … like her.”

It’s so uncharacteristic of him to be this careful, almost flustered – is that a flush you see creeping up his neck? He’s usually very assured, he usually has no trouble making eye contact, he usually says what he needs to say with as little or as many words as he sees fit. So when he stammers and blushes like this, you can’t help but smile. You can guess, of course, what this is about. You’ve mentioned a few times that you miss your friends back home, that you sometimes feel lonely and wish you had more people to talk to. And he remembered, he listened to you and he remembered, which makes a warmth spread from your chest to your limbs, and the corners of your eyes crinkle with a soft smile.

“Is that so?” you ask teasingly.

He turns around and takes the two steps to close the distance between the sink and the table. You take the glass from him as soon as he stands in front of you.

“She’s … nice,” he tries to elaborate. He sits down next to you and takes your hand into his, his skin warm to the touch. His thumb brushes over your knuckles as he watches moisture gather on your glass. It is a hot day, and the windows of his small kitchen are open, allowing for the sounds of the city to drift in, to swirl around the two of you, to give you some background noise to the comfortable silence that sometimes settles between you. “She’s funny,” he continues finally. “Ambitious, too. Junior agent. You have a lot in common.”

That sounds more like the Javi you know; observant, good at reading people, good at making connections. He’s still not looking at you though; it feels like he’s asking you something big, something life-changing, not like he’s trying to help you find a friend.

“Yeah, she sounds nice,” you agree. You raise the glass with your free hand and take a sip of water. “I’d like to meet her.” And even if you shouldn’t get along, there is no harm done. But you feel like you will because Javi is very good at reading people and if he says that this woman is someone you would like to spend time with, you know you will.

“You would?” His head snaps up in surprise, and it makes you smile again. As if you could ever refuse him! And if he’d ask you to move to Antarctica with him, you wouldn’t hesitate. But you can understand his tentativeness because you haven’t technically told him that. Yes, Javi is easy to talk to, but not when it comes to feelings. Those conversations are reserved for the dead hours of the night, for when it feels like you two are the only people in the world, for when you both know you can open up to each other, be at your most vulnerable state without the other person taking advantage of it, of crushing it like a fallen leaf. And you haven’t had many of those conversations yet.

Still, your heart picks up speed at the thought of how he’s looking out for you, of how he met a woman at work and thought to himself that you maybe would like to be her friend, how he was nervous to bring it up because he thought he might have misread your needs. But if there is one thing Javi is brilliant at, the one thing no one else in your life has ever been able to do, it is reading your needs, interpreting them correctly, and then acting accordingly to them, doing everything he can to care for you and look out for you, sometimes even at the expense of his own needs. You wouldn’t be able to tell that about him by looking at him, by hearing how his acquaintances talk about him, but there is a soft side to this man, one you feel very protective of.

You nod with enthusiasm. “Sure, why not? If she’s as great as you say, then I don’t see why we wouldn’t be getting along.” You are very curious to meet this woman. He’s hardly given you any information about her, but still, she sparks your interest.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Good.” He also nods, but when he does it, there is an air of determination to it. It feels like you’ve just agreed to some big plan you don’t fully understand, not to having lunch with one of his colleagues. “Listen, there’s this work thing next Friday.” His voice gets lower with each word, so he pauses to clear his throat. “I think you should come along, meet everyone … officially. She’s also gonna be there, it’s a good opportunity …”

Now you can’t help but giggle. He squeezes your hand, and you squeeze back. “You’re very eager to introduce me to her, aren’t you?” you tease, but there is no malice in your words. You’re actually flattered he’s talking about introducing you to his colleagues, about bridging that divide between private and professional.

Your fondness for him gets lost in translation, and your words fall on different ears than they are intended for. “I’ve been telling everyone at work a lot about you –”

You cut him off with a firm kiss that elicits a low growl from his chest. “Javi, I’m already convinced, okay? No need to lie to me,” you whisper against his lips, your hand brushing against his rough cheek. He has to understand that he doesn’t need to pretend with you, that he can be his true self around you.

He lifts your entwined hands from the tabletop and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles. “I’m not lying.” You want to believe him, but there is a glint in his eyes when he looks up from your hand and locks his gaze to yours. It would be wise to be annoyed with him or tease him in turn, but you can’t help yourself. Every time those brown eyes land on you, you feel a pull towards him you cannot quite explain but also cannot ignore. You have to give in.

Still, you roll your eyes in a valiant attempt to keep up a semblance of dignity before pushing yourself off your chair and onto his lap. Your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck and you grip it and hold onto it as you carefully roll your hips under the pretense of finding a comfortable position. Both his hands immediately land on your sides and squeeze.

“Then let me give you something to tell them about,” you whisper, your lips right next to his ear, and nothing beats the feeling of pride rushing through you as he pushes his hips up, chasing a tiny bit of friction. You’re sure it’s basic instinct, something he can’t quite control, and you love nothing more than making him let go.

***

You thought you would be meeting Javi’s colleagues at a bar, but then you find yourself in front of a nice restaurant. It’s the only place in town that sells good burgers, or at least that’s what the man at your side tells you. You were planning on getting pleasantly drunk, not making conversation while trying to coordinate a knife and fork, but you think you’ll manage as long as you stick to your companion.

But something about Javi feels off tonight. He nervously fixed his tie in your hallway mirror when he picked you up (usually he doesn’t care about the state of his tie’s knot), he didn’t talk to you much during the drive to the restaurant (usually he points out little details he notices about the city or takes this opportunity to compliment you), and now he keeps fiddling with the cuff of your blouse as he leads you up the stairs to the restaurant’s entrance.

You’re also nervous, mostly because you haven’t met any of the people you’re about to be introduced to, and you don’t know if you’ll have something in common with them or if you’ll spend your evening sitting alone in some dark corner nursing one fancy cocktail after the other. If there’s one thing you’re not good at, it’s going into a situation unprepared, and Javi did nothing to help you build up some expectations about what to expect from tonight. To be fair, you didn’t ask. You didn’t ask about the colleagues you’re about to meet, you didn’t ask where you were going to meet them, and you didn’t ask about the woman he is planning on introducing to you. The reason for your silence? You didn’t want to annoy him, show him just how insecure you are.

But you feel oh so apprehensive about this evening. Your positions are reversed now – suddenly it is you who thinks it might not be such a good idea to mix personal and private. You have no answer as to why you feel like this. It is just a dull sensation in the pit of your stomach that makes your hands feel cold even though it’s a hot, humid evening. It makes you want to turn to the man at your side and ask him to go home. But you won’t. Because despite the dread you’re feeling you’re kind of excited at the prospect of meeting this new colleague he mentioned to you. There is an air of mystery around her that intrigues you because he hasn’t talked about her since that afternoon almost a week ago. And you appreciate the gesture of him biting the bullet and mixing the two sides of the coin that is Javier Peña so you can find a friend.

Once you make it inside, Javi leads you to a group of people who are already standing together in a cluster. The introductions are over way too fast, and you don’t remember a single name. Most of the men you meet look the same to you – they’re wearing suits in different shades of blue and grey and brown, broad, colorful ties, and big smiles. You’re smiling too as you shake their hands, while Javi introduces you to them as his girlfriend, and you know he would because he told you he would, but it still makes you feel warm and tingly, and it cements your right to be here by his side. You’re pretty sure you keep smiling at him like a lovesick teenager, but you don’t care. He’s smiling too, keeping close to you, a hand at the small of your back or on your elbow, his chest always right behind you for you to fall back into should you seek comfort.

Sometimes, you feel him stiffen behind you when a few of his colleagues crack jokes about how you were able to tie down the elusive Javier Peña. He rolls his eyes at their remarks, but you laugh along. You know about his reputation, you know about his past relations with other women, but you don’t mind. Why should you? You also don’t mind his colleagues’ reactions – all you care about is that this feels right at the moment and you wouldn’t change it for anything. But you do understand a bit better why Javi was wary of you meeting his colleagues.

To your relief, there is enough to drink, and soon you find yourself standing at Javi’s side, a bottle of beer in your hand, while you listen to him talk to a man about ten years his senior. You don’t understand much of what they are saying – they’re using so many abbreviations it sounds like code – but Javi stands with his hip cocked to one side so he’s leaning close to you, and you enjoy feeling the ghostly shadow of him by your side. Since he doesn’t like to talk about his job, you enjoy seeing this relatively unknown aspect of him, this other man who’s like a stranger to you, who talks with so much confidence and poise that you cannot help but listen to his every word. And you understand why he seems to be so admired among his colleagues, why they were eager to shake his hand when you arrived, why they seek out his company, why they wave at him from the other side of the room. He’s good at what he does, competent, capable, he knows how to be in charge of a situation without obtruding, and you feel such a strong pull towards this side of him you have to take a big swig from your beer bottle to hide how much this is affecting you. The last thing you need is him teasing you about it.

But before your behavior exposes your desires, he suddenly moves away, and you’re pulled after him, not so much in motion but in attention. He’s spotted someone, a woman, and he’s leaning down to press a light kiss to her right cheek before turning to you.

“This is Katie,” he introduces her, and there’s something in the way he says those three words that makes you pause. You smile at her as you shake her hand, but then your gaze flickers back to Javi who suddenly looks at you like he did in his kitchen six days ago, unsure yet with an edge of something more, something you can’t fully grasp, and then you know.

This is the woman. This is this girl at work that he thinks you’re going to like.

You turn your attention back to her to look at her, to see what he’s seeing. She’s shorter than both you, with long, brown hair that she wears in open waves. You think she has a winning smile and kind eyes, and you immediately want to get to know her better. She compliments your blouse, she makes a joke about something Javi did at work the other day, she’s even holding a bottle of your favorite beer. She seems to be all Javi promised her to be.

Then why is he looking at you so nervously, like a small boy bringing home a teacher’s note?

Javi introduces you as his girlfriend, and Katie doesn’t miss a beat before she says, “Oh, he’s told me a lot about you,” with one of the biggest smiles you’ve ever seen.

“He has?” you ask. You’re not fishing for compliments. You’re genuinely surprised, since you hadn’t expected him to be sharing his private life with his colleagues, much like he doesn’t share his professional one with you. The thought of him talking about you with this woman who is standing in front of you, makes you smile. You decide to tease him about it. “You two spend a lot of time together then?”

Katie’s smile flickers, if only for a short second. “No, it’s not –,” she starts, but Javi interrupts her before she can finish.

“Katie likes fishing,” he says.

It catches you completely off-guard, as does the look on his face. He raises a hand and lets his fingers run over his lips, something he always does when he’s nervous, while he waits for your answer.

“I do,” Katie says with an enthusiastic nod.

You have no idea what’s going on, but you decide to play along. “I go fishing with my dad whenever I’m in the States,” you tell them.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Katie exclaims, and it should, by all means, sound like something she’s only saying to be polite, but it doesn’t. Instead, it sounds like she means it. “Where are you from?”

“North Carolina,” you answer. It’s something you don’t talk about often because it’s not interesting. If you were from California or New York, people would follow up this revelation with questions and stories of their own. But North Carolina? You always feel a bit embarrassed about mentioning it.

But Katie’s reply is something you haven’t heard before. “You don’t sound like you’re from North Carolina.”

Maybe you should be offended – you don’t know what she’s implying with this – but for some reason it just makes you laugh. “Thanks,” you say.

“No, oh my God,” she backtracks immediately, “I didn’t mean to offend you …”

“You didn’t,” you assure her with a dismissive wave of your hand. You glance at Javi then, and he’s following your conversation like a cop watching his partner interrogate a suspect, like he’s afraid of missing just one syllable of what you are saying. His whole body is rigid, his hands are balled into fists at his side, and his face is a mask of pure concentration. “So,” you start again, turning back to Katie, “what has he been telling you about me?”

Several tables have been put together to stand along three walls of one of the biggest rooms in the restaurant. As you sit down and skim the menu, Katie answers your question. Javi speaks of you differently than most of their colleagues speak about their wives or girlfriends. When he talks about you, it doesn’t feel like he would rather do anything else than spend time with you. Quite the opposite, in fact. It makes your face grow hot. You try to distract yourself by ordering your meal, by changing the subject (“So, tell me, Katie, where are you from?”), by watching Javi talk to a middle-aged woman next to him, by watching Javi make her smile.

Katie tells you everything you want to know, answers all your questions in great detail, but always turns the attention back to you. When you ask her about her favorite music, she asks you about yours. When you ask her about her family, she asks you about yours. When you ask her what made her take a job in Colombia, she asks you about how you came to be here. It is a dialogue, not a monologue. She tells you about her brothers back home, about how one is a bank manager while the other went into environmentalism. She tells you she’s always wanted to go to Europe, and she hopes her next DEA assignment will finally get her there. She also tells you about her work for the DEA, about how she spends most of her days in the office, but also about how Javi took her along on a raid recently.

And you realize Javi was right. You do like her. She’s pleasant company, she’s educated but not in that stuck-up way most of Javi’s colleagues are. When you admit that you have no idea who the current Attorney General is, she doesn’t look at you like you just said you enjoy drowning kittens. She just brushes it off and changes the subject. When you tell her about a book you’ve been reading, she takes a small notepad from her bag and jots down the title and author, telling you she’ll check it out. And you truly believe she will.

When you’ve finished most of the food on your plate, she excuses herself to go to the bathroom. You check your watch, surprised that it’s already this late. Your gaze wanders over to where Javi is now talking to two young men who hang on his every word. But he’s glancing at you, a question on his face. You mouth, “What?” but he just shrugs. If he’s still worried you won’t like Katie, he has no reason to. You’re having a very pleasant evening.

When Katie gets back, Javi glances between the two of you, running his finger over his lips again. You just smile at him and, with ease, pick up the conversation with Katie once more. Maybe you should talk to someone else for a change, but Katie doesn’t seem to be bored by your company either, so you have no desire to change anything about your current situation.

Towards the end of the night, you too find yourself in the bathroom. You’re tired, but pleasantly sated, yawning while you wash your hands. You can’t wait to curl up next to Javi tonight and tell him about how much you loved talking to Katie. But you’re also not quite ready for this night to be over yet.

When you step out of the bathroom, Javi is there, waiting for you in the cramped space of the dimly lit hallway. You jump, caught off-guard, but when he shoots you an awkward glance, you can’t help but giggle.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” he asks. He’s curling the fingers of his right hand into a tight fist and releases them again, over and over. It’s another one of his nervous ticks, one he does when he’s trying to relieve tension.

“Sure, what’s up?” you reply, trying to sound casual.

Javi looks nervous, so maybe you’ve fucked up. Maybe you did something or said something, and one of his colleagues saw or heard and complained to Javi about you. You swallow hard, trying to keep the smile on your face.

“Are you having fun?” he asks next.

“Yes, of course.”

“And the food?”

“Am I enjoying the food?” you try to clarify. “Sure.”

“And Katie? You like her?”

This makes you laugh. “Yes, I like her. What’s this about, Javi?”

He doesn’t reply, just shoots you a look, pregnant with meaning.

“What?” you ask, and finally stop smiling. “Do you want me to say I don’t like her?”

“No, no,” he says, too quickly. “I’m just –”

You interrupt him. “I know you’re nervous about me liking her, but you don’t have to be. She’s really nice.” He still doesn’t look convinced. “I’m gonna ask her if she wants to meet up for coffee.”

“There’s something …,” he starts before clearing his throat. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Do you want to get coffee with me?” you tease him.

“It’s about Katie,” he answers.

“Sure.”

He takes a deep breath and then breaks eye contact with you, focusing his attention on the wall behind you. “I would like to ask her to join us …,” he says very slowly, making sure you catch every word, “… in bed … tonight.”

Still, you’re not sure you’ve understood him correctly. “What?”

“Just if you want to,” he clarifies.

That doesn’t really answer your question, or any of the other, and there are a lot, but you don’t know where to begin. “Katie?” you say, trying to encompass everything you’re feeling with this single question.

You look past Javi to where she’s sitting, watching the people around her with interest. And then something drops – you’re not sure you’d call it a penny because it feels smaller than that, but you suddenly remember having talked about inviting someone into your bed to see what it would be like. The conversation happened a few weeks ago, after Javi had fucked you for what felt like hours. You had lost count of the number of orgasms you’ve had, but still he didn’t seem to be satisfied. You hadn’t thought much of it then. All you remember is agreeing to give it a try; your fucked-out brain would have agreed to anything. But you had no idea Javi already had someone in mind, you had no idea he’d brought it up thinking of Katie. And suddenly the tone he had used to talk about her in his kitchen a week ago sounds a lot different to you.

Javi’s silent, staring at you with his big, brown eyes, patiently waiting for an answer, while you’re trying to wrap your head around this proposition.

And your mind is racing. You did say yes to the idea of it when he asked you about it, but he just sprung this on you, and it’s so much more than an idea now, it’s a plan, one he’s fully prepared to set in motion. He’s talking about tonight, he’s talking about leaving here and taking her home with you and doing this … tonight. You haven’t been given a chance to prepare for this, you don’t know how you feel about it, how you’re supposed to feel, so you decide to try something.

“Would you like that?” you ask him.

He nods.

“Why her?” you want to know.

“I think she’s nice, pretty, …,” he answers with a non-committal shrug.

“I thought you wanted her to be my friend,” you remind him.

“Of course, I want that,” he’s quick to assure you. “I want you two to get along.”

You reach up to grab his tie then. “Javier, are you sure about this?” you ask with emphasis.

His eyes open wide at this. “Yes.”

You feel a familiar tingling between your legs at hearing his breath hitch. Before you let this go too far, you look over at Katie again and try to imagine her in bed between the two of you, but you can’t. You have no idea how you would even start thinking about this, so you focus on something else, something you’re familiar with, something steady: Javi.

“All right,” you agree. “But there’s some rules I want us to follow.”

“Is that a yes?” he asks and it sounds so incredulous you almost smile.

“Yes, just –”

But he crowds you against the wall, pushes you back against the bricks before you can finish the sentence.

“What –,” you start.

Then he kisses you in a way that’s meant for the privacy of your bedroom, not a public restaurant. You kiss him back tentatively because you don’t want to encourage him too much. He comes even closer, and you feel something brush against your leg.

A smirk spreads across your face. “Why didn’t you say something?” you ask between kisses.

“I am saying something,” he points out.

“Yeah, but sooner.”

He shrugs again, then goes in for another kiss. You hold him back.

“Javi, stop,” you say in a firm voice. “Just listen to me for a minute, okay?”

He nods.

“You have to ask her,” you insist. “I’m not doing it, all right?”

He nods.

“And I don’t …,” you lower your voice, “want you inside of her. Is that clear?”

He nods.

“I’ll be in charge,” you go on. “I’ll decide what we’re doing.”

The “fine” he gives you as an answer is accompanied by a deep rumbling in his chest.

“And she’s not staying over. I don’t care how late it gets, she’s leaving afterwards.” You feel like you need to set these boundaries if you want this to work.

“Can I take her home?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer.

He licks his lips. “Yeah, okay.”

***

You’re in the car. Javi is driving, you’re next to him, watching the lights of the city drift by. Your heartbeat is louder than the sound of the engine, you expect Katie to remark on it any second now, to ask if everything’s okay. But she doesn’t. She’s talking about a book she’s reading, one you’ve also read (and loved) but you can’t bring yourself to hold a conversation. Katie doesn’t pick up on the shift in atmosphere, and if she does, she doesn’t comment on it. But you feel like there’s a deadly snake resting between your feet, one that will bite if you make a single wrong move.

There is a difference between talking about inviting Katie home with you in a room full of people where it’s just a theoretical concept and actually doing it.

Javi agreed to be the one to ask her. But he’s kept quiet so far. All he did was offer Katie a ride home, which she accepted with a big smile on her face. You glance over at Javi as he’s driving, his face alternating between being aflame in golden lighting and hidden in complete darkness. You can see the tension in his facial expression by the way he furrows his brow, but when he glances over at you there is something in his gaze – reassurance, yes, but also an edge of something you can’t quite put your finger on. You tell yourself his eyes are only this dark because your environment is. And suddenly you don’t feel like you’re in danger anymore; suddenly you want to exploit this situation, exploit the power it gives you over him.

You turn around to look at Katie, who’s sitting in the seat behind Javi. She just ended a long explanation about a character’s motivation by saying, “… you know,” and you nod to signal you’ve been listening, even though you haven’t.

If Javi doesn’t want to bring it up, you have to. Because the more you think about it, the more you want to do this, and you don’t want to rely on a man who can’t make the first move.

“Katie, I was wondering …,” you start, and immediately Javi’s right hand leaves the wheel, and his fingers dig into your thigh. You inhale sharply at the sensation but continue, “… are you seeing anyone?” Javi loosens his hold on you but doesn’t let go completely.

Katie shakes her head, then bites her lip bottom lip. “You know,” she says then lowers her voice, “I actually had my eyes on …,” she nods at Javi, “but please don’t think –”

You interrupt her. “No, please, Katie, it’s fine.” You smile at the man next to you, who shakes his head ever so slightly. “I completely understand.”

“Yeah,” Katie sighs and shakes her head so her hair tumbles down over one shoulder. “There are actually a few broken hearts at the office.”

That makes you laugh, if only because Javi looks utterly miserable. “I think he’s secretly enjoying that,” you whisper in a conspiratorial tone of voice.

Javi makes a sound of warning, one that tells you to shut up.

“Javi, I’m kidding,” you say with a light laugh. It’s only half the truth. You know him. You know he enjoys the attention.

Katie, too, starts to apologize, but you interrupt her again.

“Please, you have nothing to apologize for, he can take it.” You wonder if you should press your luck, if you should rile him up a bit more, and you decide it’s the right thing to do. “Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy the attention, Javi. Broken hearts … women pining for you …”

Javi makes another sound of warning. “It’s not like that,” he says through gritted teeth.

“What’s it like then?” you challenge.

Katie interrupts your stand-off before Javi can reply. “You guys, this is me, actually,” she says, pointing at the dark shape of an apartment building at the end of the block.

You turn around to face her again. “Katie, would you like to come up for a cup of coffee? Javi lives just down the street.”

“You sure?” Katie looks at Javi when she asks.

The knuckles on Javi’s hands are white from clutching the steering wheel.

“Of course,” you say, nodding eagerly.

“Yeah, all right,” Katie agrees.

You’re all quiet until you reach Javi’s apartment building. He gets out to open the garage door, then drives the car inside. You can’t help but notice that he still hasn’t asked, and you feel yourself getting nervous and antsy. If he doesn’t do it soon, you’ll definitely be the one to bring it up.

As soon as the car is parked, Katie gets out and shuts the door behind her with a dull bang.

Javi turns in his seat so he’s facing you. “What was that?” he asks.

“Ask her,” you tell him. “Now. Or I’m gonna do it.”

“What?” he snaps.

“I was trying to give you an opening,” you explain, as calmly as possible. Why does this have to be so complicated? “Like a scene partner, you know? Set up everything, so you can ask her.”

“Well, you weren’t doing a good job.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“I’m gonna do it,” Javi tells you, his voice much softer now, “just give me time.”

“How much longer do you need?” you want to know. “She almost had us drop her off at her flat.”

“I’m doing it,” Javi sighs, “just … go away.”

All the tension in you leaves your body in one big wave and you smile softly at him. “Javi, are you nervous?”

He shoots you a stern look.

You raise your hands defensively. “All right, I’m going.”

You both get out of the car, and while you walk towards the exit to the stairwell, your steps echoing through the underground parking lot, you hear Javi say, “Katie, do you have a minute?”

You stop once you reach the door, lingering in the shadows, your eyes on Javi and Katie. You watch them talk, but you cannot hear what they’re saying; they’re too far away and standing too closely together for the sound to carry all the way to you. All you can tell is that he’s explaining something to her, and when he grows quiet, he cocks his hip, arms akimbo. Then he nods at you.

You have to admit you’re more nervous than you want Javi to know. So much could go wrong. What if she starts shouting at you? What if she storms off? She’s still Javi’s colleague, he would still have to work with her. What were you thinking? Why did you agree to this? Why didn’t you ask a complete stranger? It would certainly have made things a lot less awkward.

Katie is also looking at you, just for a moment, but it’s enough time for her to take you in, from head to toe, and then she looks back at Javi. She says something, something you can’t hear, and he nods. Then she nods, too.

***

You’re on Javi’s couch, Katie is sitting next to you, another bottle of beer in her hand, while Javi has made himself comfortable in an old leather armchair. You’ve been sipping on a glass of water for the past 15 minutes while you’ve been listening to them talk about work. Neither of you has mentioned anything about the proposition, and you have no idea how to bring it up again. Yes, you want to be in charge, but you had hoped Javi would do more than just ask. You had hoped he would initiate something … anything.

But instead, they’re both relaxed and at ease, talking about some new regulations that have been introduced recently, while you try to find a way into the conversation, while you try to find something more elegant than, “Well, anyway, do you guys wanna take this to the bedroom?”

Luckily, there’s only so much time you can spend discussing regulations on car safety, and soon a tense silence settles over the room, settles between you, waiting to be cut, to be torn apart, and you know that this is your chance.

“So,” you start, and immediately both Javi and Katie turn their heads to look at you. You take a sip from your water before continuing. “Katie, there’s some things –”

She interrupts you immediately. “I know, Javi told me. I’m fine with it.”

You take a deep breath. “Yes, I just want us to go over it one more time, to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

God, why do you sound so awkward? This isn’t supposed to be a business negotiation and yet it feels like one. You don’t want to alienate Katie by insisting on those rules, but you need something to hold on to once you get started.

“I’m gonna be in charge,” you say quickly. “I hope Javi mentioned that.”

“He did,” Katie confirms with a nod.

“And I want you to leave once this is over.” It sounds mean, but it’s too late to phrase it nicer now.

“Yeah, sure,” Katie says, her expression neutral. “No problem.”

“I’m open to trying anything,” you go on. “But the minute someone feels uncomfortable with something, we stop. All right?” You look at both of them for confirmation. They both nod. “I need a verbal confirmation, please.”

“Yes,” Javi says, “we stop.”

“Of course,” Katie agrees.

“And there’s one more thing,” you say, trying to work up the courage to address it. You know it’s silly to be nervous about it, especially since you all just agreed to be open with one another, and since Javi already knows about it, but you still feel apprehension at the thought of bringing it up.

“Yeah, I know,” Katie says before you can continue. “No penetration.”

She says it so matter-of-factly, in the same tone of voice she used to talk about the new regulations that suddenly you feel like there won’t be any problems at all.

“I’m fine with fingers,” you say quickly, “just not …”

“Yes, and I’m completely fine with that,” Katie assures you.

You have no idea how she does it, how she can sit there and talk about this without flinching. Maybe you’re the problem; maybe you need to relax more. You enjoyed your evening talking to Katie, you enjoyed getting to know here, so there is nothing to indicate you’re not going to enjoy this. Katie is certainly set on enjoying herself, judging by the way her eyes roam over Javi, practically undressing him with her gaze.

And suddenly, you don’t feel shy at all. You feel brave and bold, and entirely not yourself as you lean closer to Katie and, before you can change your mind, capture her bottom lip between your lips. Katie makes a surprised sound, but then her hand is at the nape of your neck as she pulls you close. You can taste the beer lingering on her lips as you pry them open with your tongue, and you feel her gasp softly against your skin, and you just know that this won’t be a problem at all. You feel bolder with each passing second, not breaking the kiss when you rest your hand against her thigh, and she’s not breaking the kiss when you move it higher up to cup one of her breasts. All that catches your attention is a sharp intake of breath somewhere behind you. Katie hears it, too, and it makes her break the kiss.

“So, where’s the bedroom?” she asks, putting down her beer.

***

Javi’s bedroom is dark, except for the occasional flicker of light from a passing car that illuminates the walls and the bed for a few short moments. Neither of you switches on the light as you enter. It is a quiet procession, slightly awkward, as if you all don’t quite know how to approach this. You still feel apprehensive, but this feeling is slowly being replaced by giddy excitement, by adrenaline and arousal mixing together to form a dangerous, explosive cocktail you long to control but you also want to see ignited. You try to breathe in deeply, slowly, but your throat feels tight as your heart beats loudly against your ribcage.

You want this, you have to remind yourself, and it’s not the act itself you’re thinking about, but what you discussed just a few minutes ago. You wanted to be in charge, you tell yourself as both Javi and Katie look at you, their faces hidden behind thick shadows.

Katie looks as nervous as you feel. You’re all new to this, but she’s not as used to hiding her emotions behind a solid mask as Javi is. She glances at you, then back at him, waiting for you to say something. Or for him to do something. You were so brave and determined in the other room, as if you knew exactly what you were doing. You were another person. But now this feels solid and real, not something you just talk about with Javi to see the heat in his gaze. They actually expect you to do something, to guide them, and you’re not sure you can do it.

Javi, ever observant, ever determined to look out for you, senses your insecurity. Of course he does, how could he not? He is focused on you, it feels like you’re the only person here who matters to him, like this is about you and no one else. He takes a step forward until he’s a hand's width away from you, then pulls you close into a deep kiss, one that leaves you breathless within seconds. His tongue is everywhere, and his teeth nip and bite at your lip and neck until all you can do is cling to the collar of his shirt to help you ground yourself. He pushes you up against the nearest wall until you’re trapped between two solid entities. You’ve never felt safer and more sheltered. Your initial insecurity blows off as you lose yourself in the attention he’s paying you. His hands are eager to explore, roaming across your chest, pulling open your blouse with so much force you hear one of the buttons hitting the floor somewhere. You don’t mind; all you want is for him to keep going.

He does, forcing you to spread your legs so he can push one of his strong thighs between them, and you obey willingly, while you press sloppy, open-mouthed kisses against the hot skin of his neck, against the bulging vein that protrudes when you let your fingers brush against his chest and stomach, trailing lower and lower, eager to reach their goal. Before they can, he pushes up his thigh and you grind down onto it, both of you moaning from the strain and the tension of it. You can feel your slick coating your underwear, you’re sure he can feel the heat through the fabric of both your trousers, and it only spurs him on – he takes a hold of your hips and urges you to keep moving. You do, your eyes fluttering shut, as your entire world is reduced to that sweet friction as you chase your pleasure, completely lost in the moment.

But then his mouth is right next to your ear and he whispers something, his voice raspy and raw, and your whole body trembles.

“Look at you,” he says, and you feel the words reverberating in his chest. “You want this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe out in a whispered pant. “God, yes.”

He pushes up his thigh again and you let out a moan that fills the entire room.

His lips are still right next to your ear, you can feel his breath tickle your sensitive skin. “Can I kiss her?” he asks. “Will you let me?”

You can’t tell if it’s that he’s so close to you, so overwhelmingly close and solid and present, or if it’s the pleading edge to his voice when he asks you, but something makes you vibrate with desire and all you can do is nod quickly, your head connecting to the wall with a dull thud. You don’t even feel it.

He pulls you in for another kiss, taking his time with you, and you taste him, inhale his scent, drink him down, before you pull back with a soft chuckle. “Go,” you whisper, “she might get bored.”

“Yes,” he agrees, and presses another soft kiss to your lips. “I want you to take off your clothes, all right?” His thumb brushes over your cheek when he quickly cups your face. “Get comfortable …,” he hesitates, “… and if you want us to stop …”

“No!” you interrupt him. “No, please.”

The smirk spreading across his face is too cocksure for your taste, and while he’s turning away from you, you’re already trying to come up with a plan to get back at him.

Your skin still burns, it feels like your whole body, every cell, is on fire, your lungs struggle to draw in air to keep you alive. You’re sure you look like a mess, your fingers tingle and your legs shake, and you just can’t explain it, why he suddenly has this effect on you. You’re attracted to him, more than you’ve ever been to another man before, and he makes you feel so good whenever he touches you and fucks you, but this is new.

Your eyes never leave his back as he steps over to where Katie is standing completely still, as he pulls her close by her wrist, cups her cheek, his fingers tangling in her long hair, and then his lips are on hers, and she melts against him. You listen to her soft moans and his rough pants as they explore each other, and suddenly your body burns up with longing again, longing to be touched and kissed, longing to pull out those same sounds from someone else. You watch as he undresses her with adept hands, as he roughly cups one of her breasts and she mewls, satisfaction flashing across his face, as he shoves one hand between her legs, then turns to you with a satisfied grin.

He doesn’t have to say it. You know.

You hurry to get out of your clothes while Javi does the same. Katie is leaning against the wall, her body trembling, and you know how she feels, you know about the burning between her legs, about the heartbeat pounding in her ears. You’re all too familiar with the effects of his touch, his kisses, his filthy words whispered against sweat-slicked skin. But she’s been hit by it without a chance to prepare herself. When another car drives past, you get a glimpse of her flushed skin and the glimmer in her unfocused eyes, and yours flutter shut for a second in response as your hands curl into fists.

If this is what Javi gets to see when he touches you it’s not surprising he does it so often.

He takes your hand and leads you to the bed, helps you settle down comfortably. Katie follows, her gaze fixed on Javi’s hard cock, eyes wide.

“No,” he says, as if he can read her mind. “She’s first.”

It’s against your deal, against the rules you set for this to work. He shouldn’t be in charge, you should be, you should tell them what comes next, how to approach this. But when one of his hands grips your thigh and pulls so your legs spread and you hear a hissed breath as he looks at the evidence of your arousal slick and glistening between your legs, you lose all will to take charge. Instead, you let your head fall back and wait, wait for him.

And then there’s something else, too; Katie, on your other side, much smaller, less imposing, but there, smelling sweet and clean where Javi’s scent is heavy and choking. She settles down comfortably next to you, her body pressed against yours, and before you can get used to the feeling of her own arousal against your leg, she softly moves your head, so you look at her, and then she’s kissing you hungrily. Suddenly, her sweet scent is all you breathe and taste, her soft lips against your own ignite something deep within you, something you already felt back in the living room but which you pushed down for the time being because it wasn’t the right place. Now it is, and you pull back and push one of your legs between hers, watching how her jaw tightens, how her eyes open wide, and then she starts rolling her hips, coating your skin with her slick. You tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck and force her to look down, to watch herself, and when she does, you’re suddenly filled with two of Javi’s fingers, stretching you open.

A hoarse moan escapes your throat as he pulls them out again but immediately replaces them with three. You’re used to it, used to his thick, strong fingers stretching you, but you’re so wound up and on edge that it almost feels overwhelming. There are tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but then you feel Katie’s lips against your neck, and it brings you back down.

Somewhere above you, Javi huffs. “You’re so wet,” he says, his voice unbelievably deep and rough and it makes a shudder run through you from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. You want to come up with a witty retort, but you can’t, not when you hear what he says next. “Do you want to feel her, Katie?”

“Can I?” Katie whispers against your neck, but before the question has left her mouth in its entirety, you’re already replying.

“Yes, fuck,” you moan, trying to push up your hips to take Javi’s fingers in deeper.

He grips you with his free hand and pushes you back into the mattress. And then you feel the much softer touch of Katie’s fingers against your stomach, stroking you soothingly. She even whispers a soft, “Shh,” against the shell of your ear, and you squirm in reply, but then she finds your clit and softly circles it, once, twice, and you go limp at the same time as she bites down on your neck to muffle a breathless, “Fuck.”

You share that sentiment. Her fingers feel nothing like Javi’s. They’re softer both in touch and pressure but combined with his three still buried deep inside of you, still fucking into you with wet, obscene noises, you feel like you’ve found Heaven on Earth. You’re close, every muscle in your body tenses, and you close your eyes with a deep groan.

Suddenly, Javi’s hand closes around your jaw and he pulls. “Look at me,” he demands. “I want to see you.”

Reluctantly, you open your eyes, but then you see it. Javi is looking at you like he usually does, with amazement and want, but there is also a different edge to it, something between unrestrained lust and uninhibited pride, and something like adoration too, and he’s never looked at you like that before. It’s enough to push you over the edge and you come with a hoarse cry, tightening around his fingers, pushing him even deeper into you, and this time Katie has to hold you in place with a firm grip as he continues to fuck you with three wet fingers, fuck you through your orgasm, the muscles on his arm taut with the effort.

Only when you hiss and try to move away does he stop. He leans down to press a soft kiss against your temple as you shudder and try to catch your breath. Katie’s hand moves up to stroke across your stomach in lazy circles, while she presses small kisses along the underside of your jaw. You swallow hard and close your eyes – you have never, never, felt like this after an orgasm; you feel so open and vulnerable with both of them doting on you like this, but you also feel safe and secure. The only thing that’s missing is a feeling of deep satisfaction, and you might have an idea how to achieve that.

“You all right?”

It takes you a moment to realize Javi has addressed you, but once this information registers with you, you nod slowly. “Just give me a second,” you answer, your voice raw. You clear your throat and the movement stings.

Did you scream? You probably did but you don’t remember.

Javi relaxes, sits up, and carefully pulls out his fingers. You hadn’t even realized they were still inside of you, and you hiss at the sudden feeling of emptiness. He only smirks at you, a lopsided grin that ignites another spark of desire deep in your belly.

“Lie down,” you tell him, your voice still hoarse and dry.

He looks at you, a question on his face.

“Come on,” you urge him, pushing yourself up on your elbows so you’re closer to him. “Lie down on your back.”

He does as he’s told, lying down on your right side next to Katie who’s still cuddled up to you, still trying to kiss your neck, your shoulders, anywhere she can reach. But your eyes are on Javi, and on the unreadable expression on his face. There is definitely some curiosity there, some inquisitiveness, and you haven’t forgotten – you haven’t forgotten about wanting to get back at him.

With a finger under Katie’s chin, you tilt her head up to kiss her, a slow kiss that quickly turns into something more. She grips your arm and holds on as you take your time with her, exploring her mouth, exploring all the ways you can make her sigh and whimper. By the time you pull away, she’s a quivering mess and you can’t blame her, especially not once you realize why her moans have grown louder and more desperate during the last few minutes.

Javi’s hand is between her thighs, and you see him move two fingers in and out of her at a leisurely pace. This sight – his thick fingers, the same ones that were buried so deep inside of you only minutes ago, now coated in her slick – makes you bite back a moan that’s trying to force its way out of your chest. You lock eyes with Javi as he pushes a third finger into her and she drops her head onto your shoulder with a strangled sigh; there’s a challenge in his gaze, one you’re ready to accept.

You run your fingers through Katie’s hair and watch Javi continue what he’s doing, listen to the obscenely wet sounds his movements make, and whisper soothing words to the woman by your side, whisper to her how good she is for you, how well she’s taking it, how pretty she looks on display for you like that. You know Javi can hear you, you see his cock twitch when you ask, “Would you like him to taste you?” and her breathlessly replying, “Yes.”

Javi moves to get up, but you quickly put a stop to this by shaking your head. “No,” you say, “we’re doing this my way.”

Yes, there’s definitely curiosity in his gaze, but you also don’t think his eyes have ever been this dark before.

You softly kiss Katie again, then say, “Hey,” in the quietest voice you can muster, giving the circumstances. “Look at me.”

Katie opens her eyes and gazes at you, her brow knit tightly, her eyes glazed over with lust. The sight makes you bite your lip, and her gaze immediately flickers down to where your teeth dig into the soft flesh.

“Are you all right?” you ask her.

She nods slowly.

“If there’s something you don’t feel comfortable with, just tell me.”

She swallows and nods again. You have a feeling she wants to say something but doesn’t trust her voice.

You nod too. “Get up,” you say, giving the softness in your voice an edge to show her this isn’t up for debate.

Javi slowly pulls his fingers out of her and you see her thighs quiver at the loss. You help her into a kneeling position.

“He’s gonna taste you now, all right?” you ask, making sure everyone is on board with what’s going to happen next. “I’m going to take care of him, so I don’t want you to worry about that. But you’re going to look at me the whole time.”

Her eyes widen as she realizes what you mean, and you hear Javi inhale sharply behind her. You let them find a position that is comfortable for them while you move to settle between Javi’s legs. His cock is an angry, red color and you cannot wait to feel the weight of it in your hand, to give him some of the relief he’s craving. He’s been so good for you – for the both of you –, he deserves to be taken care of. You let your eyes wander to the tip, to the drop of pre-cum that is inviting you to lean down and taste him, when you hear a deep groan vibrate through his entire body, so depraved and unrestrained it makes you look up.

Katie’s thighs are planted to the left and right of Javi’s head, his hands are digging into her soft flesh to spread them even further. Her head is thrown back in pure bliss as he licks up into her, holding her down so he can reach as much of her as possible. You’re completely mesmerized by the sight in front of you, by Javi’s face buried between another woman’s legs, by her arousal coating his chin, and it makes your own cunt clench with need. For a moment, just one brief moment, you consider abandoning your plan, taking him inside of you until you’re joined, connected, until nothing could pull you apart, and then fucking him until he spills inside you, moaning your name into Katie’s cunt.

But you don’t.

You take a deep breath, then wrap your hand around the base of Javi’s cock.

His moan of strained relief sends a jolt of pleasure through you.

You run your fingers up his length and swipe your thumb across the tip, collecting some of the pre-cum. As a response, he digs his nails deeper into Katie’s thighs and she cries out, a sound somewhere between pain and pleasure.

“He likes it rough, you know,” you say, circling the tip of his cock with your thumb lightly, casually, as if you were doodling a circle while talking to someone on the phone.

Katie’s eyes snap open and she looks at you, but you’re not sure she sees you. You don’t blame her. You’re well aware of what Javi can do with his tongue. You know what it feels like when he moans against your wet cunt, your swollen clit. In fact, you’re surprised Katie hasn’t come all over his face yet.

“Grab his neck,” you say, and cannot help but laugh lewdly when she immediately complies, her slender fingers closing around his strong, muscular throat. You watch as a vein at the base of his neck bulges, straining with effort, while he never once falters, while he continues to lick through Katie’s wet folds like she’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. “Go on then,” you say, your hand closing around the base of his cock again and squeezing, “don’t be shy – fuck his face.”

The way Katie follows your orders immediately, without hesitation, without the flicker of a doubt on her face, makes pleasure shoot through your veins. You swallow hard at the sight of her rolling her hips almost leisurely, her fingers still wrapped around his throat for purchase, while he drinks her down without complaint, a dark flush creeping up his chest and neck.

You’ve teased him enough.

You pump his cock once, twice, before settling yourself so you can wrap an arm around his leg, running your fingers through his coarse, dark hair, and then you finally allow yourself to taste him. You suck the tip of him into your mouth, letting his taste burst on your tongue, appreciating it like you would appreciate expensive wine. You take him in deeper, his heaviness familiar against your tongue, his taste sharp and strong, and he rewards you with a deep, dark growl, with low moans, with clipped sighs. One of his hands find its way to the nape of your neck to push you down further, and you let him. He’s been patient enough – he’s allowed to take for a while.

But there’s something else, too, another noise, one you usually don’t hear when you do this: the wet sound of his tongue against Katie’s center, her quiet gasps mixed with his strained huffs. You can feel yourself get impossibly wet at hearing them, at hearing this ambient noise all around you, and you let out a moan of your own before hollowing your cheeks to take even more of him in your mouth until his tip brushes against the back of your throat and you feel tears sting at the corner of your eyes.

Javi lets out a low growl and pushes his hips up. You hold him down, try to restrain him, but his muscles tense, his breathing gets ragged and then ….

You hear it, a quiet gasp, and look up. Katie’s eyes are on you, her face is flushed, she looks like she’s burning up, and it takes you a moment to realize what is happening until you notice she’s stilled completely, and her hands have left Javi’s neck and are braced against his broad chest, her nails digging into his flesh, leaving angry marks. She’s coming, she’s coming all over his face, while he continues to lick her with the most obscenely wet sounds you’ve ever heard. She doesn’t even have time to call out or shout his name because she’s so overwhelmed, taken completely by surprise, and you are, too. All you can do is sit up and watch her, brushing the loose strands of hair from her face, as she comes completely undone without a single sound.

You don’t give her much time to catch her breath, neither of you do. With a firm grip, Javi pushes her off him and you immediately set the next step of your plan in motion.

“Do you want to return the favor?” you ask her.

Her eyes grow wide, and it feels like she’s unable to speak, but she nods eagerly. You can see her heartbeat, a quick pulsing in her neck, tempting you, and you lean forward to kiss it.

“Go on then,” you whisper against her skin.

You swap places; she settles herself between Javi’s legs and you lie down next to him. He looks like a mess. His chest is rising and falling rapidly like he’s just finished running a marathon. There are marks all over the skin, and his cheeks are flushed. His eyes are glazed over, and his curls are damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead. You run your fingers through them, trying to smooth them back. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, drawing your eyes lower to his mustache that’s impossibly darker.

The urge to kiss him becomes unbearable.

When you do, he doesn’t taste like himself. There is another taste mixed in there, one that is foreign to you, and you bite down on his lip possessively when you taste it. He lets out a low growl and bucks his hips, drawing your attention downwards.

Katie looks up at the both of you, tears in her eyes. She’s doing her best, but you know how it is, you know that Javi’s size can be overwhelming at first. You decide to help her, to make this as enjoyable as possible for both of them.

“He likes a firm hold at the base,” you say.

Katie’s fingers close around his cock in a firm grip and Javi hisses, his breath fanning across your neck.

“Good girl,” you praise. You don’t know where this is coming from, but Katie’s eyes flutter shut and Javi’s chest rumbles with a desperate purr and you know you’ve said the right thing. “Use your tongue more,” you continue, “and try to get out of your head … he likes it sloppy.”

Katie’s tongue darts out to lick along the underside of Javi’s cock, from base to tip, before she takes him in her mouth again, doing her best to hold him steady. She doesn’t break eye contact with you and it’s only when you nod encouragingly that she lets him fall from her mouth with a wet plop, a trail of spit connecting her to his tip.

“Yeah, that’s better,” you tell her. “Keep that up and he won’t last long.”

You turn your attention back to Javi who looks at you with eyes impossibly dark. If there was a source of light in the room, you’re sure you’d be able to see your reflection in them. You grip a tuft of hair at the top of his head and hold him in place.

“Is this what you wanted?” you ask him, whispering the words into his ear, against his hot, flushed, sweat-slicked skin.

He nods, nothing more.

“I want to hear you say it,” you urge him on.

When he answers you with words, you hear why he was trying to communicate non-verbally. The “yes” he gives you is a hoarse, deep, desperate sound. You had no idea his voice could sound like this, could sound so wrecked, so taut, so pleading. You kiss him, and he kisses you back with such urgency, like a drowning man coming up for air.

You’re drunk, drunk on this power you have over him, drunk on being in charge of his pleasure while not even touching him, and you feel the desire to exploit this, to push him as far as he’ll let you without breaking him. You kiss him back, holding him in place with the fingers in his hair, while you listen to Katie moan around his cock. He moans, too, and his hips twitch, and you know he’s close, one fist tangled in the bedsheets, the other holding on to your arm.

“Katie, stop,” you say.

She does immediately, thinking there’s something wrong. Javi groans in frustration, his hips jerking upwards to chase that bit of friction from Katie’s hand still wrapped around him.

“Change of plans,” you tell them.

“No, please.”

You don’t recognize Javi’s voice. If you wouldn’t have seen his mouth move, you wouldn’t have known it was him who had just spoken.

“Please, querida.” He’s trying to convince you, he really is, knowing you usually can’t resist him when he calls you that, but you can, you have to this time.

“There’s something I want to try,” you tell him, letting your fingers run down his chest. “You said I could decide what we’re doing.”

“Yes, you can, but please …”

“If you do as I say …,” you say slowly, swallowing hard, “you can fuck me as hard as you want.”

He thinks this is hard for him, but it’s nothing compared to how hard this is for you. You’re sure you could come from hearing him say two more words in that voice of his. Luckily, he shuts his mouth and nods, determination on his face.

You sit up. “Katie, come here.” You beckon her close with a wave of your hand. “Lie down next to him.” Katie does as she’s told, glancing at Javi whose eyes are fixed on you. “Make sure his hands stay where you can see them. He’s not allowed to touch himself.”

“Yes,” Katie says, her voice hoarse.

You allow yourself to give her one kiss, just one, before you frame her chin with your thumb and index finger and turn her face so she’s looking at Javi. Where Javi’s skin is burning, Katie’s is cool to the touch when you let your hands run down her sides and over the taut plane of her stomach. She sucks in a quiet breath as you brush your fingers over her thighs, over the mound of hair between them, and then you touch her.

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, at feeling her soft, warm, wet center. You run your fingers through her drenched folds, you listen to her gasps and whimpers, you hear Javi’s voice, too, but you can’t understand what he’s saying. And then, with a shallow breath, you push one finger into Katie. You feel her clench around you, you hear her whisper your name in surprise, but you’re too mesmerized by the sight of your digit vanishing between her folds to look at her.

You get it. You get it now. You know, you understand why Javi loves doing this to you.

When you add a second finger and pick up the pace, Katie moans loudly, but still not loud enough to drown out Javi’s aroused grunt. You finally lift your head to look at them both, at Javi, whose mouth hangs open, who has a look on his face like he’s trying to solve an unsolvable puzzle, and at Katie, who’s doing her best to keep her gaze on Javi, but whose eyelids flutter dangerously.

You shift positions and then your face is level with Katie’s weeping cunt. You pull out your fingers, grab her thighs in a tight grip, and give her one experimental lick, just a taste, just a sample. It’s so different from what Javi tastes like, it’s less heavy, less prominent. You try it again. And again.

Katie is a whimpering mess by now; one of her hands is resting against the top of your head; what the other one is doing, you don’t know. All you can focus on is the feeling of her against your tongue as you suck on her clit. That makes her scream, and you do it again, until her voice is hoarse.

Then you hear Javi. “You like that?” he asks, and you think he’s talking to you, but when you lift your eyes, you see he has Katie’s face in a tight grip, forcing her to look at you.

Katie nods.

“Tell her,” Javi demands, tightening his grip.

“Fuck,” Katie moans, and for you, this would have been enough, but not for Javi.

“You can do better than that,” he coos.

“It – you feel so good,” Katie tries. “God, I … more, please.”

“What do you need?” Javi asks. “Tell her.”

“Can I have … I just need … a finger,” Katie answers, her face and chest impossibly red, her expression open and vulnerable, her eyes glazed over. “I just want something to come on.”

You pull away for a second, a smirk on your face. “You can have two,” you say, before shoving two fingers inside her. You feel her tense around you, pulling you in deeper, and when you put your tongue back on her clit, she lets out the filthiest, most desperate moan you’ve heard her make all evening.

She didn’t moan like that when Javi was between her legs.

“Do you want to come?” you hear Javi ask her, and a strangled sound is the reply. “That good enough for you?” he asks you.

“No,” you say between licks.

“You heard her,” Javi goes on. “Try again.”

“Please …,” Katie whimpers. “I need to …”

You push your fingers impossibly deeper into her and she tightens around them with a hoarse scream, over and over, while you suck her clit into your mouth again with a filthy sound. She tries to pull away then, but you hold her in place with your free hand.

“No,” you say, your voice breathy. “Another one.”

Javi lets go of Katie’s face and shifts on the bed. Your eyes flicker to him, but he’s keeping his promise so far.

“Think you can do it?” he asks Katie.

“I don’t know,” she answers.

“You can,” you tell her. “Just keep an eye on him.”

You’re on thin ice, you know that. There’s only so far Javi will allow you to push him. But you feel drunk on the power you hold not only over him, but also over Katie. Her legs tremble when you drag your tongue through her wet folds again, her muscles twitch, and her hips push upwards. You hold her down, then repeat the movement with your tongue before pushing the tip of it into her. Katie’s head falls back with another loud moan, and this time you let her roll her hips against your mouth before pulling away.

The desperate whimper she makes cloaks your mind in a hazy, filthy mist of lust.

“Tell me, Katie,” you start, lazily pushing the tip of your finger into her, “who’s better? Me or him?”

You don’t look at her as you say it, you look at Javi. He holds your gaze, his expression unreadable, but there is something in his eyes, something that reminds you of a gathering storm.

“You,” Katie breathes out. “You, fuck!”

And then the storm breaks loose in Javi’s eyes. You see the lightning, hear the thunder, you feel the electricity prick at the back of your neck. You shouldn’t have asked Katie this question, you shouldn’t have provoked him like this, but here you are. There no taking it back now.

Even as you turn your attention back to Katie, even as you taste her cunt once more, you know he’s watching you. You feel his heated gaze, you feel something simmer just beneath the surface. As long has Katie moans and writhes beneath you, you’re safe. Javi won’t make his move. But as soon as Katie comes, you will have to pay.

And she does, eventually. She pushes her hips up, pressing your face against her with a firm grip at the back of your head, and you feel her come all over your tongue and chin with quiet shouts of pleasure.

Before you have time to collect yourself, before you have time to sit up or catch your breath, Javi is behind you. You don’t even see him move, you only realize he’s changed position when you feel the heat of his body against your back, when you feel his fingers on your sides, when you feel him slam into you. The sheer force of it pushes you up the bed until you’re right above Katie’s dazed face. You hold on for dear life, your fingers gripping the bedsheets, as Javi fucks you with so much force you can feel him everywhere. You don’t even have enough air left in your lungs to cry out, all you can hear is his skin against yours and his low grunts as he’s finally taking what you’ve denied him for so long. There is nothing you can do but let him.

You know you won’t last long, neither of you will. But when you feel Katie’s fingers against your clit, when you look into her eyes and see her bite her lip in concentration, it’s too much. The contrast between Javi fucking you at a punishing pace and Katie’s soft touch, almost like a caress, loosens something within you before your entire body tenses up. Something is happening to you that you cannot quite explain. You feel yourself grow unbelievably wet, so wet Javi slips out of you completely for a second but pulls you back onto him with a rough tug, and then you hear Katie moan out a low, “Shit”. You bury your face in the crook of her neck, feeling wrung out yet taut at the same time. It’s so overwhelming you feel like you’re about to explode, like you cannot keep going, but they don’t stop. Javi has an arm slung around your stomach as he holds you in place, Katie has your hip in a firm grip while she circles your clit with a movement that’s enough to keep you on edge but not push you over it. Javi has grown completely quiet, and you know exactly why; you know what his face looks like even though you can’t see him, you know he’s about to come from the way his muscles twitch against your back. But you don’t know if you can give him what he wants, if you can come on his cock buried deep inside you, his cock that sends jolt after jolt of rough pleasure through you. You’re too overwhelmed, you won’t be able to let go.

But then, your face still buried in Katie’s neck, you hear her say, “Come for us,” and that’s all it takes. You do, your muscles closing around Javi’s cock like a vise, while you bite down on the soft skin of Katie’s shoulder, trying to muffle the scream that tears itself from an undiscovered place within you, so well hidden, so deeply buried you had no idea it existed. And while you feel wave over wave of pleasure rush through you, you also feel Javi flood you in wave over wave of hot release, his body completely still, holding you in place until he’s done.

He pulls out of you with a wet sound, and you immediately sink down next to Katie, spent and exhausted and more tired than you’ve ever felt in your life. Katie kisses your cheek, your temple, your lips, anywhere she can reach, while Javi gets a wet cloth from the bathroom to clean you up. The second to last thing you remember is Javi joining you on the bed again, his strong arms wrapping around you, whispering soothing words.

The last thing you remember is taking Katie’s hand into yours and saying, “Stay.”

***

It’s early morning, the street outside Javi’s flat is still quiet, and you yawn as you lean against his arm, a cup of coffee in your hand.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for breakfast?” you ask Katie as you watch her put on her shoes.

“Thank you, but I have a lot of work to catch up on,” she rejects your offer again with a smile. “Another time maybe?”

“Do you want to grab coffee sometime?” you ask her.

“Sure!” she exclaims excitedly. “Anytime.”

“I’ll give you a call, okay?”

She nods, then pulls you away from Javi and into a tight hug. “It was lovely meeting you,” she says, her arms still slung around you. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” you say, before pulling away.

Katie turns her attention to Javi. “Thank you,” she says. For what exactly, she doesn’t reveal.

Javi, his hair still messy from sleep, wearing nothing but an old pair of boxers, looking exhausted and tired, still manages to smile at her. He leans down and presses a kiss against her cheek. She presses a kiss against his lips.

“See you,” she says, meaning both of you.

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña #agent peña x reader #agent peña x you #javier peña x reader x katie #javier peña x you x katie #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #i know this is long it was supposed to be 5k max #never in my life was i this nervous about posting something #i'm just idk a soft bitch or something

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wallwriterstuff · 3 years

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Hi! I have a second request if that’s okay! (Let me know if it’s too much or too detailed!). Can I please request a Demetri x Newborn vampire!fem!reader where when Demetri, Felix, Jane, and Alec come to Seattle to see Victoria’s Newborn Army, Demetri sees Y/n from where they’re standing, and she’s all huddled up in the corner, scared as can be because she just woke up from her vampire transformation and is now a newborn, but she has much more control than the others and she’s absolutely terrified, so she hasn’t left her corner, not even to feed. Demetri can sense that she’s his mate, so he goes to her and is able to coax her out of her corner because she also feels the mate pull, therefore immediately trusting him, and he brings her with him back to Volturra. Aro would be so excited that Dem found him mate omg. Also do you think they would tell her that she’s the only vampire that they left alive?

So this one got away from me a bit to and I totally added in a character purely because I wanted to in the moment, but here we go, a day earlier than planned!

Little Rabbit ||Demetri Volturi x Female Reader||

Part 2: Still Learning

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, a bit of gore, nothing you wouldn’t expect from the Volturi to be honest.

Words: 5603

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission; newborns break the law, newborns deal with the consequences. It was a sentence they’d carried out multiple times before with flawless execution, but this time there’s a problem…what on Earth is Demetri supposed to do with you?

There were laws for a reason.

For centuries the Romanians has subjugated humankind, and after the Volturi had overthrown them, it became clear that making humans forget they ever existed would be for the best. Humans were weak and stupid yes, but they were also very angry; angry at being used as slaves and breeding stock, angry they had been mistreated and lost loved ones to Romanian cruelty. Angry humans meant rebellion and the Volturi would most certainly win that war. They couldn’t afford to decimate the human population, not when it would cause infighting amongst their kind with too many competing for a limited food source. So they had, for centuries, cultivated the myths that became popular fantasy tropes in human media. Slowly but surely those who remembered the Romanian cruelty died out, and their stories died with them, warped into fiction by carefully placed rumours and some flamboyant acting certain people had been quite happy to engage in.

In the 21st century vampires had become highly romanticised. There was a mystery about them that was glamourous, sexy, addictive. It was a form of perfection that was unobtainable – or so it was supposed to be. Vampires were most certainly still graceful, flawlessly beautiful in a way that screamed inhuman, but they were nothing like the movies made them out to be. Your last night as a human was a bit of a blur and only seeming further away by the minute. There was a street shrouded in darkness, with a flickering streetlight that did little to illuminate the concrete beneath your feet, and a breeze, something cold. The only thing you clearly remembered from that night was Riley, and that was only because he was one of the first things you saw with your new eyes when you awoke for the last time.

He was still as pretty as your murky memories dictated when you saw him the second time round, but now you were so much more sensitive to things it was easy to pick up on the more sinister aspects of his personality your human-self had simply ignored, too dazzled by this pretty man with his silver-tongue. He’d set you on fire, literally, and the burning just hadn’t stopped. It had once been a whole-body ache, nerve endings blazing and muscles twitching as you tried to outrun an internal kind of agony that scorched away your very soul. It was a futile attempt because only one thing would ease your suffering…not that you knew it. At least, you didn’t seem to.

From their perch in a multistorey car park the Guard had been watching the newborn’s make a mess for the past ten minutes. It was something straight out of the grisliest horror film, though the majority of screaming had died to wet gurgles now as the victims of their reign of terror drowned in their own blood. Most were feeding, some were fighting. A metallic screech rent the air and Felix smirked slightly as another newborn went down, his arm twisted off while he howled in agony.

“They’ve already drawn too much attention.” Demetri muttered, eyes narrowed in distaste at the scene. His stare had been drawn back to you on many an occasion. There was something…different, not quite right. The feeding frenzy was clearly affecting you, your body leaning forward in a desperate attempt to get you to feed while your mind simply refused to let you move, yet you were so obviously suffering. He couldn’t fathom why you hadn’t joined them yet when your hand was clawing at your throat, like you hoped you could rip the fire out of it maybe. You were quite obviously the deer in the headlights of the group, the least experienced, the youngest, and he felt a pang of sympathy for you. Did you even know what was happening to you right now? Had you fed before? Your body knew what it wanted and what to do so why weren’t you simply following your instincts?

A body landed in front of you, the head caved in from another’s fist, and he heard you whimper despite the distance. It made his stomach twist, brows furrowing deeply as a strange sort of longing to go to you arose in him. He was beaten to it by the ringleader, the man obviously in charge of it all with much more control and experience. He watched him crouch before you, the way you recoiled setting a fire in his gut that urged him to move move move.

“You…you’re confusing.” He admitted, head tilting as he regarded you. Demetri’s lip curled upward, body tense. What if the ringleader moved before he could get to you? You were hardly a soldier, not a fighter at all; you were curled up in the corner afraid of your own shadow, they didn’t have a place for people like you in a newborn army.

“W-what did you…d-do to me?” you rasped, your throat dry and on fire. Demetri heard the pain it caused you to so much as talk. To think of the amount of pain breathing must have caused you…

“I told you already there’s a way to make it better…we’ll find you someone to drink.” The ringleader promised, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes were alight with fury, a cold kind of anger radiating from him when he saw the state of the place. Fires were springing up now, the dangerous proximity of the flames making him cringe. You immediately scuttled away from the scene and Demetri was moving before any of the others could stop him. Maybe his gift was going haywire, but your tenor had to be the brightest, most beautiful thing he had ever come across, and it had a life of it’s own. Usually the tenors were cold, something he could manipulate at will in his mind, but yours? Yours was warm and vibrant and instead of him doing the pulling it was you pulling him. Following you was instinctual, as easy as breathing.

He’d never seen a vampire trip over their own feet before.

You were like a little rabbit, skittish and terrified. Your senses told you you were being followed but you hadn’t seen your pursuer yet, though you were almost sure it was Riley coming to drag you back to that awful house you’d woken up in. It wasn’t even a home really, the rotting foundations of a cabin long since destroyed was not your old, cosy apartment. Could you even go back there? You weren’t sure anymore. Even as far from the main high street as you were now it was so loud, every sound crystal clear and the few lights so bright it should have hurt your eyes.

The smell of salt was overpowering at the docks, the waves crashing against the pier and something electric in the air that sizzled on your tongue but did nothing to soothe the burn in your throat. Once your knees had hit the floor, jeans tearing in a way your skin no longer could, you had scrambled behind the cold, metallic wall of a dry dock. Hands pressed to your ears, you prayed for this nightmare to come to an end.

“Oh young one…there is no need to suffer.” His voice was as smooth and sweet as honey, spreading warm and thick through your body from the moment it hit your ears and relaxing some very tense muscles. Still, you didn’t know this stranger and all vampires were made to be charming, weren’t they? Look at Riley…he’d stolen your life with a single sentence. The person before you was a man though, not a boy. His features were far more refined, sharp angles that could cut glass and a piercing, knowing stare behind eyes the colour of red wine. He was crouched before you, head somewhat tilted so his throat was exposed enough that should you swipe a hand out, you could easily decapitate him. It was almost like he was submitting to you, trying to show he was no threat.

Demetri couldn’t stand to see you so torn apart by pain and fear. His heart was physically tearing in to, unable to beat yet breaking in his chest. Your wide eyes were pure black, the pupil practically invisible and swallowed by your hunger. He could only imagine how bad the burn must be by now. The moment you had locked eyes with him though it was very obvious to a man of his age and experience exactly why he had followed you, why your tenor was so irresistible to him. The world settled. Hell, it might have crashed and burned around him but he wouldn’t have noticed, not when you were looking at him like that. He had craved many things before in life, lusting for blood and flesh and all the luxuries his immortality could offer, but he had never felt a craving quite as intense as the desire he felt simply to ease your pain. It was everything to him in that moment.

You winced, the sound lancing straight through his ears and making him frown sympathetically. Despite your pain you were still dangerous. Newborn’s acted more often than not on impulses and animalistic urges. He would have to be careful with you.

“I-it burns, th-there’s s-something in – in my throat.” You gasped, hunching over a little. Demetri nodded his head.

“I expect it does. Do you know what is happening to you right now?” he asked. You swallowed, as if that would help. Your hands moved up into your hair, gripping at the roots like they were a lifeline as you curled up even tighter.

“I don’t – he said – I can’t think!” you seemed to surprise yourself when you hissed and Demetri felt the ache in his chest intensify. Your distress was palpable to him and his fingers twitched, his desire to reach out and hold you to him intense.

Mate. Mate. Mine. Protect what’s mine.

“No need to think cara mia, let me do the thinking for both of us.” he suggested, sniffing at the air and listening past the crashing waves to try to find you someone, anyone, to drink from. His nose caught it first, the sweet scent of blood rushing through human veins, and then it was his ears. Laughter erupted somewhere just North-West of your position, and even if the location wasn’t precise it would be enough to get you fed, calm you somewhat.

With an audible thunk your head hit the wall behind you, denting it slightly. Your eyes were so hopeless when they met his own he was sure you would cry if you could, your mouth twisted into the ugliest pained grimace he never wished to see on your face again.

“It won’t stop.” You whispered. You sounded so tortured. Demetri knew the feeling well enough, he had been a newborn once to and the thirst was intense, unbearable, enough to drive a person insane. He shook his head, extending a hand to you.

“It can stop, and it will if you trust me. I can make the pain go away.” He promised. He kept his voice soft, hoping not to scare you further, but you still eyed his hand like it was a trap waiting to be sprung. Gulping, your hand trembled as if it wanted to reach out, and Demetri prayed you’d take it, that you’d see he had no ill intentions. He really did just want to help. On some level you knew that. His eyes weren’t like Riley’s. Riley’s were as hard and cold as rough-cut rubies but this man…this man had eyes like rose blossoms, gentle and tender as they watched you suffer, like he really did wish to just take your pain away. His hand hadn’t wavered and neither did his patience despite your indecision. You wanted to reach out, your hand itching to do so, but you couldn’t escape the lingering feeling of hesitation. The last time you trusted a stranger you had literally died after all.

“He promised the s-same thing.” Your breathing hitched as another river of fire shot down your throat and twisted your gut. You were starving, so very hungry, but you weren’t sure how to stop the pain. How were you ever going to eat anything when you had the world’s worst acid reflux right now? The man in front of you looked pained for a moment, as if your words had truly hurt him. How could you ever question his intentions towards you when he was so different to Riley? This man radiated an aura of safety, of calm. It was a relief just being near him after the mayhem in your life you had experience from the moment you awoke with a freckled, red-headed boy staring down at you with a sneer. You weren’t sure who he was but you’d knocked him away from you so hard he’d smashed through a wall – Riley had twisted his head off with ease when the boy lunged to attack you in revenge.

Your new life had been nothing but death and agony since you opened your eyes, but this man was different. He was a breath of fresh air, a promise of something better. He brought some calm to your turbulent thoughts.

“I am not him,” he said finally, “Breathe in for me, tell me what you smell.” His instruction was simple and would do you no harm, so you obeyed. The salt stung your nose but filtered in between the bitter and the fish was something far sweeter. You mouth pooled with what you thought was salvia, body tensing as you dragged in another lungful of that scent. It had saturated the air back at the car wreckage to but you’d never quite pinpointed where it was from, only that it made you ravenous and delirious with need.

“What – what is that?” you gasped, eyes opened wide while you inhaled like an addict getting their fix.

“Do not torture yourself now, the more you breathe the more it will burn. That is food cara mia, sustenance. It will put out the fire in your throat. I want to take you to it.” He coaxed you from against the wall like he was luring a wild beast out of its cage, his movements slow and cautious, non-threatening. You let him this time. The smell was too good, impossible to resist. You had to have it and he was promising to give it to you. Besides, you were apparently super-strong, you could fight him for it, right? No, no maybe not, the thought made you uncomfortable, you didn’t want to hurt this kind stranger. His hand was warm against your own, the skin smooth as silk and sending a jolt through your body. You didn’t want to let go of him ever. In the time it had taken you to blink you were on another side of the dock, your saviour stood behind you now with his hands on your shoulders.

“What-“

“Shhh, breathe in again and follow your nose,” He instructed, lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear. You wanted to follow the order but his breath was as fresh and warm as sweet mint, ghosting across your skin and making you shiver involuntarily. He chuckled against your hair, low and wistful. “Let nothing distract you, not even me.” He whispered. You had unconsciously leaned back into his touch and you missed him immediately when he stepped back just a little to give you some room to think. Breathe. He’d asked you to breathe. Inhaling deeply through your nose, you caught that intoxicating scent once more. It was a heady smell, befuddling all your thoughts, and your body moved to follow it without question. You needed more. You were somewhat aware of the stranger following you, his footsteps slow and casual in comparison to your own that were hurried, impatient to find the source of the smell. You didn’t understand when you turned a corner and found yourself on the main high street, immediately blinded by the streetlights’ glaring at you from every direction and assaulted by the thudding bass and buzzing chatter from all around. You fell back into the shadows with a wince, cringing into the brick work of an old pizzeria.

“I don’t understand, I – there’s nothing here.” You groaned. Your throat was trying to tear itself apart. The stranger peered out of the alleyway for a brief moment, hummed thoughtfully and drew up his hood. His face was even more beautiful like that, shrouded in darkness while the amber glow of the streetlights’ simply made the shadows of his cheekbones longer.

“Be patient, there is time enough to learn.” He promised you, and with that he was gone. Your jaw dropped open, unable to fully comprehend that he had just…left you there. Why? Had you done something wrong? What if…oh no, what if he’d led you straight back to Riley? Maybe he worked for her. You whimpered softly, not wanting to know what was going to happen next when he reappeared without warning. A woman lay unconscious on the floor near his feet, and he held a young man out towards you by the back of his shirt, body dangling limply. Your eyes widened.

“What are – what…what…” you couldn’t get your sentence out properly, the sweet smell invading your nose once more. Demetri knew the second he lost you to the frenzy in your mind. Your eyes were no longer trained on him, no longer filled with horror at what he’d done, but laser-focused on the pulse point that was no doubt thrumming in your ears by now. You watched him not as a threat to your safety but as a threat to your food, and Demetri simply tossed you the man like a lion tamer would throw the predator a steak before stepping back a bit. The mess was to be expected and only confirmed his suspicions that this was your first feed. Your teeth didn’t quite cut at the right angle nor at the right point, but you made sure not to waste anything, readjusting your bite to ensure the burst vein spouted the saccharine liquid into your mouth and not past your cheek.

His own desire to feed grew stronger as he watched you indulge but he forced the feeling back. He had to focus on you for now. Your grip was far too tight on your prey and he heard the bones snap before the man folded like a ragdoll, his spine shattered under the force of your fingers as his flesh grew pallid, the colour drained straight from it. The sound of your frantic gulps slowly died away, and when his veins ran dry you let him drop with such utter disgust on your face Demetri couldn’t help but chuckle. Your head snapped first one way, then the next, your thirst not satiated enough to allow you to focus on him for too long when there was another living, breathing human in the alleyway with you both. He inclined his head towards her and you edged forward, wary of him now.

“She is for you, go ahead.” He invited. For a moment longer you stared him down, trying to figure him out, and Demetri admired you fully. Half-crouched, Y/H/C hair in wild disarray around your face, you looked dangerous but oh so tempting, the predator in him itching to pin you down just to see what you might do. Your skin was flawless, glowing in the half-light cast from the streetlights’ beyond the alleyway, but you were covered in blood to. To anyone looking in you might have been the ghost of a murder victim perhaps, flawlessly encased in immortality and violence. The crimson liquid had soaked your shirt, your skin stained with it and lips a more vivid shade of ruby red than even Heidi’s extensive array of lipstick’s could have achieved. He was enraptured with you from the very start as you fell on your second victim of the night. He gave the man a quick once over, listening for a heartbeat just to be sure. When he found nothing, he removed any sort of valuables or possessions that might identify the corpse and threw them into the dumpster to his right, waiting patiently to do the same to the woman you were currently entertaining yourself with.

Part of him had expected the comedown after the euphoric high of your first feed, but another part of him had hoped you would be alright. Still, as you simply held the broken body in your arms, the quiet sense of horror that dawned in your eyes was enough to make Demetri move to intervene. You gripped her tighter, not wanting to let the body go, and he gently had to pry your fingers from her bruised skin.

“We – we have to…I didn’t mean…it was…” you struggled, eyes vividly red now as they stared into his own with so much guilt and grief it shattered his resolve for a moment.

“Would you like to close her eyes?” he asked. You nodded mutely, hand trembling slightly as you reached up and gently slid the delicate skin over glassy, vacant irises. It seemed to give you some small semblance of peace at least. “Does your throat still burn?” he asked. Swallowing thickly, you shook your head. Demetri nodded, satisfied he had looked after you well enough tonight. “Good. I will ensure these two are…buried…somewhere nice. Will you wait for me here? I promise you I will explain everything in full, help you understand what is happening right now.” He vowed, his free hand gently touching your messy chin while he hoisted the dead over his shoulder with the other. You gave another numb nod, because where were you supposed to go? You were a murderer now, a…vampire. You really hadn’t believed Riley when he told you, you realised now as the shock set in. The deaths of those two just to feed you…you should have been sobbing perhaps, on your knees and praying for penance maybe, but you just…couldn’t. It felt so good to finally be free of that agonising burn, the taste had been sublime, euphoric even, and you couldn’t regret it even though part of you knew you should. Still, it didn’t change the fact two people had lost their lives and the evidence was all over you.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there alone, silently longing for your newfound friend to come back and tell you what to do next while you stared at the blood drying on your hands and shirt. It was an odd feeling, to be so lost in a city you knew so well, but you truly had no idea where your place was anymore. How could you walk the streets knowing you had killed two of the people who were once so like you? Could you even go back to your apartment? You were a murderer, there’d be investigations and…what if you ate your landlord? You winced a bit at the thought, the old woman was too kind for that kind of fate.

“What is wrong with me?” you whispered.

“Nothing is wrong with you at all cara mia, you are perfection in every way.” The smooth voice you had longed for returned and you grimaced as you faced him.

“But I killed someone.” You protested.

“As have I, and many others like us,” Demetri pointed out neutrally. You looked distressed again and he stepped forward to place a hand at the small of your waist. “Come, this conversation can wait until you have cleaned yourself up. We have a-“

“I want to go home.” You squeezed your eyes closed and Demetri evaluated you for a moment, trying to gauge whether or not you could handle a trip home.

“Do you live alone?” he asked.

“No, well, yes, but –“

“Focus, young one, the question was simple, do you live alone?” he repeated gently. Your head was a mess, he could almost hear the gears of your mind turning. Few people mentioned how hard it was to adapt to the new speeds your mind worked at when you were turned, but Demetri understood your thoughts were spinning one to the next in a rapid cycle that made it easy to distract you.

“Yes.” You said finally. He nodded his head, satisfied with the answer.

“Then lead the way.” He gestured for you to go first, following close behind as you instinctually led him through the streets. Home would be familiar, comforting, he just hoped it wouldn’t be too much of a test for you to get some new clothes and a shower. You were utterly silent, lost in your own head and almost entirely unresponsive to any of his questions as you led him at an inhuman speed down the street. It was late enough and you were moving so fast he doubted anyone would notice the pair of you so he let it happen, but you didn’t seem to be aware of the speed you were moving at either. Demetri was slowly compiling a mental checklist of all the things he’d have to teach you and get you used to. He had only gleaned one key piece of information from you by the time you reached your apartment, and he’d been replaying it over and over in his mind ever since. Your name was Y/N, and you considered it a small miracle that the keys to your apartment were still in your pocket.

The stairwell lights were loud and bright, and by the time you’d put your key in the door you were desperate to be out of the highly stimulating environment, letting your new friend in. He’d told you his name now to, and you were enamoured with everything about him now, the package complete with a nice little bow. Demetri looked confused by the scratching sound for a moment before Sulu burst around the corner of your sofa and darted straight for your legs. His excited little yips were so loud in your sensitive ear’s, but he was familiar and comforting, he was home. Demetri stopped you before you could scoop up the little beagle puppy. You looked confused and he smiled apologetically.

“I think you have no concept of just how fast or strong you are right now Y/N…if you carried on going just now you might have put your hand right through him,” he informed you quietly. You winced, making a conscious effort to go slow as you reached down to pet him instead. Demetri watched you take extra care to stroke your hand over his fur, seemingly losing yourself in the smooth texture for a moment. It calmed you, he realised.

“Hey boy, I’m home. I’m sorry I was gone so long, are you hungry boy?” you whispered. Demetri watched you go through a careful routine of mixing dry and wet food, placing his small bowl on the floor. He crunched it like a dog half starved and Demetri wondered just how long you’d been gone.

“Go and shower. I can watch the dog.” He promised. He sat on the sofa, watching the little pup playfully eat his way around the bowl while the water ran behind him. Every now and then he heard you sigh softly. The dog looked quite content with a full stomach, pattering about his home confidently until he came to Demetri. Animals didn’t typically like vampires so to speak, but the pup was perhaps too young to have sensed anything out of the ordinary and came straight up to him, head tilting as he snuffled about his trouser legs. Demetri frowned, trying to shoo him away slightly, but the pup merely thought he wanted to play, tail starting to wag as he lowered his front to the floor and lunged for his hand with an excited little yip.

You hadn’t been expecting Demetri to be having a tug of war with your dog when you stepped out of the shower, a fresh change of clothes on and your hair wet but still, no matter how much you’d frisked it with a towel, flawless. Vampirism had some perks at least. Sulu growled playfully, tugging with all his might, and Demetri growled back, a wicked grin on his face as he held the toy still with minimal effort. Your eyebrows rose.

“Are you that determined to beat a puppy?” you asked finally. Demetri glanced at you, brows furrowing slightly before he nodded and pulled Sulu in closer, his claws scratching against the wood. You winced at the sound but felt your heart melt a bit when he scooped him up with a chuckle and scratched at his tummy.

“You put up a good fight boy, but I am better.” He murmured. Good with animals and gorgeous? Was there anything this man couldn’t do? You sat beside him, wary when Sulu immediately padded over to your lap. You’d found him abandoned on a street corner in a box with a few siblings and immediately taken them all to the nearest vet, the costs be damned. They’d managed to rehome two of the five in the box, one of them being your Sulu, but you’d never heard what happened to the others sadly. He was cuddly from the get-go, desperate for contact apparently after his abandonment, and so far he had been fairly easy to train. You didn’t want to hurt your baby boy and Demetri seemed to sense it, watching you awkwardly hold your hands above his small body while Sulu tried to nudge his head into your palm.

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You won’t if you are gentle enough,” Demetri promised you, “Very gentle now.” You managed to settle into a rhythm as Demetri spoke, explaining exactly what had happened to you that night. There were times you couldn’t quite keep the outbursts in, your frustration bursting through. Why you? You had a good life! You tried to be good and kind and had dreams and it wasn’t fair that Riley had chosen you that night. Sulu skittered form your lap into Demetri’s in those moments, but the man never held them against you, simply letting you rant and nodding along sympathetically while he explained the laws, the Volturi. You shivered, knowing deep down if he hadn’t decided to help you he would have been your executioner instead of your friend.

“So what now? I…” Don’t want to leave you. It was on the tip of your tongue. You felt lost, adrift on an endless sea. You had no clue how you were supposed to cope with all of this without someone more experienced showing you the way – your throat was already starting to burn again. It all seemed so hopeless when you’d been alone in the shower, everything crashing in on you and drowning you all at once, but Demetri was a lighthouse that held you steady and guided you to shore. Demetri tilted his head.

“You come home with me.” He said simply, like it made the most sense. Somehow, it did. Demetri was somewhat surprised at how willingly you simply packed up and left, pulling some emergency cash out form somewhere and leaving it in an envelope for your landlord. The only slight problem was Sulu, but he didn’t let you worry about that for long. Sulu wasn’t particularly sure about the plush carpets of the Volturi’s private jet, but he quite enjoyed running around on the tarmac while you waited for Demetri to return from his duties, whatever they may be.

“Why would you not tell her, she has a right to know.” Alec pointed out as they strolled back across the grass languidly. Demetri hummed.

“She does, but right now she is overwhelmed, she needs a chance to settle before I tell her of our bond. In the meantime, it will not stop me caring for her as I should. Please, all of you, be kind, you know how hard this first year can be.” He sighed, looking almost imploringly at the twins. He knew he could trust Felix with you (mostly, maybe…okay he’d have to keep any eye on that situation) but the twins were a little more…unpredictable. Jane rolled her eyes slightly.

“You say that as though we intend to sabotage your happiness.” she quipped, but her voice was as dead as the grave. Demetri saw through it; he had known them long enough. Apathy was the twins go to but it always conveyed something more if you bothered to look beyond the surface. He gave her a grateful smile and she diligently ignored it, but the unspoken agreement had already been made that they would stand by their friend when they reached Volterra.

“Oh there is one more thing.” Demetri started. He never got chance to finish his sentence before Alec opened the door to the jet. The smell of blood hit them instantly and Sulu bolted straight for Demetri, recognising his scent and excited to see him home. You were stood amongst the ruins, looking a little bashful and covered in blood once more. The pilot was at your feet, contorted and drained.

“Oops?”

Sulu had left little bloody paw prints in his wake but had quickly scrambled back towards you once he’d bumped into Alec’s threatening aura. The boy turned to look at the tracker, his expression devoid of emotion but his eyes alight with mischief.

“I cannot wait to see the look on Caius’s face when we get home.”

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #demetri volturi #demetri volturi x reader #volturi #felix volturi #jane volturi #alec volturi #x reader #newborn mate #poor reader is so confused #sulu to the rescue

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ravennm84 · 4 years

Text

Career Advice

Hi everyone!! This story was inspired by a news anchor that I saw on TV, and thought to myself “what would happen if Alya asked that woman for an internship and showed that woman the Ladyblog.” There wasn’t originally going to be Alya redemption, but I decided that the girl needed some love too. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

Alya was practically vibrating in her chair as she sat in the reception area of TVi News. She had heard from Aurora and Mireille that there was a summer internship opening and that she should submit an application. She had spent an entire week working on her resume with her mom’s help, citing her blog as experience. Her mother had told her that she might want to double check all her stories before going in, but already knew that she’d be fine. After all, she was an awesome reporter.

There were four other people in the room with her, and she was definitely the youngest. Two of them looked like they were university age and the other two probably attended lycee. That meant that they likely had a bit more experience than she did, but Alya was confident that her blog would set her up for the win. Not only that, Lila had put in a good word for her with the higher ups of TVi News. All she had to do was nail the interview and the internship was hers!

It was about an hour and two interviews before her turn came. Holding her head high; she grabbed her tablet and portfolio, straightened her skirt, and walked in as smoothly as she could in her heels.

The person conducting the interview was Claudia Ramonte, a no-nonsense kind of woman that always seemed to be on a deadline. She preferred people always be on-point and despised people that wasted her time. She was a legend in the industry, she had been an investigative journalist for over 20 years before going into semi-retirement by helping run the company and hiring new journalists. It was said that she had an eye for who had talent and who was just playing journalist. And if you fell into the latter or made the mistake of insulting her craft, you could kiss any hopes of making it big in the industry goodbye. So as soon as Alya shut the door behind her, she put on her most professional smile and extended her hand to her.

“Mme. Ramonte, Alya Cesaire, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She gave her a slight smile as she shook her hand. “When I saw that a kid in college was applying for the internship, I thought that you were either an idiot or you had a pair of steel balls. Show me which one it is.”

A little taken back but her forwardness, Alya’s hand shook slightly as she pulled her resume from the file and handed it to her. “As you can see, I’ve been running my blog, The Ladyblog, for close to a year and a half now.”

“Everyone and their mothers have blogs nowadays, Cesaire.” The woman scoffed as she tossed Alya’s resume onto her desk and turned to her computer, typing quickly. “Every candidate I’m interviewing today has at least two blogs, multiple news articles in their school newspapers, or videos from their college news or radio stations. What is it about your blog that makes you think that you are more qualified than any of them?”

Alya faltered for a second but wouldn’t be deterred, she was an awesome reporter and she would get this internship. “I’ve conducted multiple interviews with different celebrities; including Ladybug herself, other heroes of the Miraculous Team, the daughter of a diplomat who is also Ladybug’s best friend…”

“So have others, Cesaire.” She sounded bored, as she continued reading something on her computer screen.

Squaring her shoulders, Alya kept going. She refused to back down when she was so close to her internship. “I have also done extensive work on recording akuma battles and have compared my footage to other sites. None of them get as close or in depth as I do.”

“And why do you think that is, Mlle. Cesaire?” Her voice going cold

Alya blinked, not expecting the question. “Um… well-”

“Reporters and journalists are not to engage in dangerous situations that are considered life threatening. Whether someone is part of a staff or freelance, they are not to enter danger zones on their own, which you have apparently done numerous times. I will admit that when it comes to journalism, it is never without risks; but no story is worth your life.”

“But there’s no real danger, Ladybug always-”

“A terrorist is a terrorist, Cesaire.” The chill in the woman’s voice gained a hard edge. “And the attacks that have been done by the akumas have, on more than one occasion, shown the potential to be fatal. Should there be even a single time that Ladybug and Chat Noir not pull through, that could result in thousands of deaths. If you think that any credible news source would allow their people to do what you’ve been doing; then you’re more than an idiot, you’re a reckless idiot.”

Then she turned one of her computer screens towards Alya, which was queued up to the Ladyblog. “And from what I’ve seen from your blog in the two minutes you’ve been in my office; you are not only reckless, but mediocre in your work as a journalist. I have looked through multiple posts and have yet to see a single credible source mentioned. So tell me, how can you think that you are qualified to work here if you cannot follow the most basic rule of journalism and check your sources?”

“I can assure you, everything I post is completely true!”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word on that? Hardly.” She turned the screen back to herself, then started playing the first interview she had done with Lila. Mme. Ramonte played it for only 15 seconds, in which Lila claimed to be Ladybug’s best friend after she had saved her life, before pausing the video and looking at Alya. “If Lila Rossi, the daughter of a diplomat, had been saved by Ladybug, there would have been multiple articles and recordings of the incident. I just did a cursory search and the only link that came up connecting Rossi and Ladybug is your own blog.”

Alya was speechless. She wanted to say that Lila was telling the truth, but what reason would there be for Mme. Ramonte, who continued playing Lila’s interview, to lie? She stopped the video again a few seconds later, after the tale of saving Jagged Stone’s kitten from being run over by a plane on an airport runway. The look the legendary journalist gave her was that of total disgust and anger.

“Do I even need to list all the things wrong with

this story?” When Alya didn’t say anything, Mme. Ramonte went off on her, practically ranting. “Firstly, Jagged Stone has been quoted multiple times as being allergic to animal fur, and would not own a cat. Second, no one would allow a minor onto a airport runway, as it would be seen negligence and possibly as an act of terrorism. Even if she had saved some cat from being run over and Jagged had been grateful, no self respecting musician would write a song about a minor that was not their daughter, as doing so could have him labeled as a pedophile. You are very lucky that M. Stone has not seen this interview, because if he had, you would have been served with lawsuits for slander. So, I’ll ask again. Is there anything to keep me from saying that you are nothing more than a wannabe-journalist that isn’t fit to work at a news stand?”

She wasn’t even sure how to respond. Alya had been so sure that her blog was perfect, but after what Mme. Ramonte had said and how she was looking at her, she really did feel like an idiot for believing what Lila had said. Especially since she should have known better.

She now remembered when she flew to Spain with her parents when she was younger and how far away the landing strip was from the airport. There was no way Lila would have been able to see a kitten from that far away. Alya also remembered how she wanted to go outside and play, but her father told her that only authorized personnel were allowed outside at the airport. Then there was Marinette, the designer had mentioned how she couldn’t do certain designs for the rock star because he had fur allergies from when he was a kid.

Oh no, Marinette has been saying for months that Lila was a liar. Ever since she had seen Lila’s interview. And since she designs for Jagged Stone, she would know that Lila was nothing but a liar. She was also the one that got me my first exclusive with Ladybug, so she’d probably know that she was lying about that, too. And I had the nerve to tell her that she was just being jealous… I’m a terrible friend and an even worse journalist.

Looking back up at Mme. Ramonte, she was barely able to hold back tears as she shook her head. “No, Madame. There is no excuse for such shoddy journalism, it doesn’t even deserve to be called that. I apologize for wasting your time.”

The woman’s features softened slightly, but not by much. “You’re still very young and have a lot to learn about journalism, Cesaire. If I ever see you in my office again, I’ll expect more from you than any other candidate. That means looking out for your safety, knowing what is okay and not okay to publish, and checking your stories through multiple, reliable sources. I would also recommend killing your blog and starting new, the Ladyblog will become toxic to your career if it continues. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Alya couldn’t help but stare at the woman across the desk from her. Despite not deserving it, Mme. Ramonte had given her very sage and constructive advice that just might save her career in the long run. If she killed her blog now, started a new one or two, and followed her advice; by the time she finished lycee, she might be able to use them as proper references for her future career.

“Thank you, Mme. Ramonte. I won’t forget this.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Cesaire,” she waved her hand dismissively. “I’m going to remember this and I will be telling other news sources about your blog as well, to make sure you never repeat these mistakes again. So, if you are really set on being a journalist, don’t just prove it to me, prove to everyone that you are better.”

“Still, thank you. Have a nice day, Mme. Ramonte.” Alya stood from her chair but paused before she turned to walk away. “So you know, I think I’ll be doing one final post on the Ladyblog, to admit my mistakes and all the things I reported incorrectly on my blog, along with the sources to back it up. Sort of a final expose to rid myself of the bad energy from my blog, so I’ll be able to move forward.”

The woman gave a nod of approval. Before waving her out of the office.

Alya kept her head high the entire way out of the building while doing her best to remain calm, or else risk attracting an akuma. As a bit of a cleanser, she sent a text to Marinette.

To FashionGurl: You were right about Lila. I’m so sorry for not listening to you. Can we talk on Monday?

A few minutes later, she got a text back.

To FoxyJournalist: You can come by today if you want to talk.

To FashionGurl: Sorry, I’m going to be busy. I have a new story to write about that liar, one that will have multiple sources, showing everyone exactly the kind of person she is.

To FoxyJournalist: Can’t wait to read it!!

~oOo~

What followed for Alya was a very long weekend writing out every story/lie that Lila had ever told her and the class, research into Lila’s old schools, staking herself out in front of the Italian Embassy until Ambassador Rossi came out so she could introduce herself, and then a long conversation at a cafe with the very angry and distraught mother. There were a lot of questions, show-and-tell with the videos on Alya’s blog and news reports from Lila’s old schools, and then the recommendation that she go to speak with M. Damocles and Mme. Bustier.

Monday morning saw Alya going into the bakery before school, telling Tom and Sabine the truth about Lila, and then grovelling at Marinette’s feet for being such a terrible friend. One thing she did not hesitate to show the Dupain-Chengs were the records and news reports she’d found pertaining to Lila’s old schools. Tracking Lila’s social media, Alya had found three schools and discovered the kind of mayhem the girl left behind.

One school had a perfect student named Gaia, much like Marinette, bullied until she was expelled. Another school showed another popular girl named Alessia had “fallen” down a flight of stairs and broken both of her legs, a few ribs, and one of her arms. Even though there were multiple eyewitness reports that Lila had pushed her, the Italian girl moved before she could be brought up on charges. The report from the most recent school made all of them sick. A girl named Ludovica had been stalked, harassed, and bullied over social media beginning the day Lila joined the school until the day the girl committed suicide. A quick backtrace on the account showed that it had been set up by Lila Rossi.

It was quickly decided that Sabine would be going to the school to have a word with the principal and teacher. Alya gave them a thumb drive with a copy of all the information she had found, she had multiple copies, so that if they decided to pursue legal actions, they had evidence to back it up.

At school, Alya went to class while Sabine took Marinette M. Damocles' office to speak with him and Mme. Bustier, since the woman was decidedly absent from the room. She had barely sat down when Lila entered the classroom, spouting off some story about meeting Ryan Reynolds over the weekend. Alya barely suppressed her snide grimace before hiding it with a smile.

“Really, Lila? That’s amazing! Did you get any pictures? I would love to post them on my blog?”

Now that she was watching, she saw the girl flinch when asked for actual evidence before putting on a sugary sweet smile. “I didn’t get a chance, my phone died.”

“Oh that’s annoying. Where did you see him?” She asked, pulling up the movie star’s Twitter account. “Because you were here in Paris over the weekend but according to his social media, he was visiting his home town in Canada this week.”

Alya definitely saw the girl scowl that time. “Oh, he just said that so he could come here without anyone knowing. He’s researching a role here in Paris and I was showing him around until my mom called me home.”

“Didn’t you just say that your phone was dead?” That got the classes’ attention, as they had just heard the girl say that was the reason she hadn’t taken any pictures. Lila was about to spout some new excuse; but Alya, who was now channelling her inner Mme. Ramonte, raised a hand to cut her off.

“Don’t even bother coming up with another lie. I know you’re full of crap and it spills out of your mouth with every word you say. And before you try to accuse me of lying, taking Marinette’s side, or bullying you; I think you should know that I spent the majority of the weekend looking into everything you’ve told us.”

The entire class watched the Italian girl’s olive skin turn a sickly white. But Alya wasn’t finished, this girl had been attempting to do the same to Marinette that she had done to Gaia, Alessia, and Ludovica. And as her BFF, she was not going to stand aside and let that happen. “I have piles of evidence that you were never in Achu and have never met Prince Ali, you were just playing hookie. I’ve got evidence that you are perfectly healthy and have never suffered from any of the diseases or ailments that you’ve claimed to have since returning to school. I’ve also got evidence that you have never met any of the celebrities that you claim to know. That includes Ladybug.”

Not so surprising, Lila attempted to turn everyone against Alya by turning on the tears. “That’s not true! I would never lie about all of that. You’re just saying that because you’re mad at me for not getting the internship!”

When the class looked back at Alya, they were surprised to see her grinning like a fox. “Did I forget to mention exactly how I know you weren’t in Achu? Or how I know you're perfectly healthy and don’t know any of those celebrities you’ve claimed to be close to?”

She paused, mostly for effect before going in for the killing blow. “Your mom and I had a very in depth conversation yesterday when I ran into her outside the embassy. She wasn’t happy about your interviews on the Ladyblog, and she was confused as to why you were claiming to be Ladybug’s BFF when you’ve been telling her for months that she and Chat Noir were a couple of lazy, incompetent, and downright terrible heros; which was why the school was closed.”

If it were possible Lila paled even more before turning to run out the door. The door swung open just as she was reaching for the handle, and was met with an upset Mme. Bustier. “You are needed in the Principal's Office, young lady.” To the surprise of everyone there, Lila attempted to shove her way past their teacher. But the woman was faster and grabbed the girl by the arm in a firm grip before escorting her out of the room.

When the first bell rang a few minutes later, M. Harpele came in to act as the substitute until Mme. Bustier was finished with her meeting.

Marinette returned to class before their teacher did, smiling bright as the sun and visibly more relaxed than anyone had seen her in weeks. She sat down beside Alya and gave her a tight hug while whispering “thank you” over and over.

“I take it things went well for you instead of Lila?” Alya grinned.

Marinette giggled. “She tried convincing her mom that all of us were akumatized and were trying to ruin her life, but she wasn’t buying it. Especially when M. Damocles showed Mme. Rossi her school records. Mom demanded that Lila give a formal apology and confess everything to the class, or she would get the Board of Governors involved. When Mme. Rossi found out that Lila tried to get me expelled, she lost it and started talking about a catholic reformatory school in Italy. Lila looked like she was going to be sick when she heard that.”

“It’s not perfect, but it’s what she deserves.” Alya shrugged before looking Marinette in the eye again. “I’m really sorry, girl. You’re my BFF, I should have listened to you when you told me Lila was a liar.”

“No, I don’t expect you to listen to me every time. I just wanted you to check things out and make sure that you weren’t being taken advantage of.” Then her brow creased. “I’m curious, what brought all this on?”

“Let’s just say that I just got some much needed career advice.”

#alya redemption #lila salt #ml fic #lila karma #friendship #alya salt

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chockfullofsecrets · 3 years

Text

Critical Role: Unnecessary

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: The thought stays with her the next time she visits Nicodranas, though, and she determines to make an experiment of it. Maybe without the shoulder bumping - she is here as an emissary, after all.

Allura's new mage friend in Wildemount seems a little lonely and very reckless. She takes it upon herself to investigate.

Wordcount: 2.3k

A/N: MORE WIZARDS

one more @ticklesofcolor event fill for @ticklishnonsense - i am starting to think that assigning us each other in this event is taking the shared braincells to a whole new level 😅 Prompt was “Allura, early in her friendship with Yussa, discovers he's very touch-starved and very ticklish, and takes advantage of this.”

---

The first time it happens, Allura is fairly sure that she’s just caused an intercontinental diplomatic incident.

She can hardly fault herself, though. There are certain instincts one develops when one regularly dines with adventurers and has the pleasure of being married to a halfling paladin who takes particular delight in tackling her every so often. Her arms are full of books, newly on loan from the only mage she’s found in Wildemount that doesn’t seem to be completely obsessed with politics, and she needs to bid her new friend farewell somehow. It seems perfectly logical to knock her shoulder lightly against his as she brightly thanks him for the pleasure of their meeting and turns to leave.

Apparently, this is not a logic that Arcanist Errenis shares.

The air itself seems to still as he stares at her. Stares some more. Then reaches up, cautiously, and presses his palm against one silk-covered shoulder as if he’s reaching for some unidentified magical artifact.

Allura winces. She can’t see any of the signifiers of elven disgust that Vex has mentioned to her, being uniquely suited to identify them, but to have such a reaction - “Oh - oh dear, I apologize. A rather uncouth habit I’ve picked up from my wife, I’m afraid.”

And she’s going to have quite a time confessing that particular sidestep to Kima later, but Errenis holds up the same hand to cut her off and lifts his chin, instantly settling into his usual placid composure with enough ease to lull her heartbeat back down to a reasonable rate. “No harm done, Arcanist Vysoren, merely… unnecessary.”

He blinks, slow as melted gold, and frowns lightly at her for a moment before turning away and gesturing sharply for a nearby tea set. “I trust that you can activate the circle yourself?”

She can, as well as take a hint - bemused, she casts without looking and steps backwards into the glowing circle, barely catching a last glimpse of him reaching for his shoulder again.

---

She tells her wife.

“Kima - Kima, darling, I’m glad you think this is funny, but it’s hardly helpful-”

Kima sighs a little, wiping a tear from her eye, and wraps her arms a little more securely around Allura’s waist where they’re lounging together. “Aw, Al, the poor thing’s just lonely! You antisocial wizards and your pretty little towers and your, what was it called? Oh, intellectual property-”

“I am perfectly social,” Allura says, prim, and promptly ruins it when she can’t help smiling at Kima as she laces their fingers together. “I certainly became acquainted quickly with you, didn’t I?”

“Oh?” Kima responds, catching Allura’s other hand in hers. Her eyes brighten in that unique combination of challenge and affection that Allura will never tire of seeing. “Is that how you remember it?”

Allura sniffs. “Well, if you’d like a refresher - mmm-”

And, well, it’s a little hard to remember anything after that.

---

The thought stays with her the next time she visits Nicodranas, though, and she determines to make an experiment of it. Maybe without the shoulder bumping - she is here as an emissary, after all.

Acquiring an adequate sample size becomes. Frustrating. He levitates everything, removing any chance to pat his hand in thanks when he offers her a cup of fragrant cardamom tea or to tap her knee against his as they pass a tome back and forth.

They are making progress, though, equally enthralled by the arcane, and it’s genuine excitement that does it in the end. A particularly difficult passage of an ancient spell untangles under their combined effort, bandying translated syllables back and forth with increasing urgency until they fall into blessed, triumphant silence, and she sweeps over and claps him between the shoulders in celebration. “Wonderful! You know, this might be quite useful for facilitating crop growth in arid land-”

He freezes under her touch in what seems like genuine shock. She pats him again and he lets out a little surprised huff, ears twitching confusedly even as his gaze remains pointed firmly ahead. It’s like blowing dust off a statue that hasn’t been touched for centuries.

Which, considering his introduction - I have been a practitioner of the arcane arts in seclusion for over 200 years, he’d told her, neither proud nor regretful - may be somewhat too close to the truth.

He sways back slightly towards her when she retreats to the other side of the room, shoulders rising and falling at a degree just shy of unpracticed. Interesting.

She does it again, and again, over the next few months - shoulders, back, arms, anywhere suitably innocuous, watching closely for any sign of annoyance. He is, after all, far older than her and perfectly capable of enforcing his own preferences. To say nothing of the way he tilts his head, when he’s deep in thought, in a way that seems so other that such petty mortal things as touch might be of no concern to him at all.

At one point, her hands are full of charcoal as they successfully cast another new spell and all she can do is smile at him. He glances over at her, implacable as always, but there’s a nearly imperceptible tightness as he turns away that she just barely knows him well enough to catch.

The next time, he brusquely commands her to put everything down before he casts. It’s sweet - nearly as sweet as the surprise on his face when she does so and completes the spell before he can.

---

There is, of course, increasingly apparent over time, Yussa’s irrepressible lack of instinct for danger. There have been fires. There have been many frantic castings of Dispel Magic. Allura starts to understand why his faithful goblin manservant is constantly twitching.

Today, she arrives in his study with a tired smile and sore fingers. “Yussa, I’m sorry - I’m afraid that I haven’t got a Dispel in me today, I’ve been Identifying a cache of arcane items all morning.”

“No matter.” Yussa waves off her raised eyebrow with a casual flick of his hand that serves the double purpose of summoning a tea set from thin air. “Tea?”

She accepts the cup. “Are you certain that we shouldn’t wait?”

“Unnecessary. Come.”

His study is as brilliant as always, cramped only in the sense that combined the artifacts lining his walls hold enough arcane power to reduce a rather large portion of the coast to rubble.

She’s a little jealous, honestly.

Yussa plucks a little beaker of gold dust up in one hand and a crisp sheet of paper in the other, beckoning her over with a brusque tilt of his chin that would be highly annoying from anyone else. “Now, there have been whispers of Kryn spies using a spell that renders objects immovable to cover their retreat on multiple occasions. I believe I’ve finally been able to recreate it, to some degree.”

“Oh!” Any lingering exhaustion forgotten, applications are already racing in her mind. “How interesting, please show me!”

He hands over the page and she scans the runes eagerly as he flicks his long sleeves back over his wrists and prepares to cast. “A little gold dust, and - it seems quite inelegant, at the moment, as if they are using some frame we have yet to find reference of, but-”

He gestures towards an empty box on his desk, sending gold dust and bright energy scattering. For a moment, there is only light.

And then, the spell shrinks back onto him, sinking into the fabric of his golden robes. Allura gapes - she has wondered, certainly, but to wear actual gold on a daily basis, especially when casting a spell that has it as a component-

Yussa stands very, very stiffly.

She presses her lips together as tightly as she can to hold back the surprised, giddy laughter brewing in the back of her throat. “You - the components-”

The sleeve of his robe looks slightly duller. The box, on the other hand, sparkles merrily under its powdering of gold dust.

Yussa sighs at her as she fails entirely to contain her amusement. “I seem to recall that you are lacking spell slots at the moment.”

She takes a deep breath, regaining her composure, and shakes her head. “Maybe I can go fetch someone-”

He grimaces instantly. “Absolutely not.”

Both of them spend a fruitless moment tugging at the robes, but it seems that Yussa has indeed managed to create a temporarily immovable object. He sighs again, after a minute, and lets his hands flap loosely against the stiff material. “Well, it’s only meant to last for an hour - I’m sure we have a Teleport spell stored somewhere around here, if you would call Wensforth-”

Allura bristles. “I can’t just leave you like this!”

“An hour passes quickly with meditation-”

“No, no, certainly we can do something.” She steps away and paces around him. “You know, your robes are quite, ah, voluminous - do you think you could squirm out, perhaps?”

Yussa sniffs in clear distaste. “I’m quite sure there’s no need.”

Really, she shouldn’t find his arrogance half as endearing as she does. “Oh come, Arcanist Errenis,” she teases, smiling despite herself, “surely you can do better than that, for a friend.” She crouches in front of him, heedless of her dress trailing onto the floor, and tries to gauge the possibility herself from what she can see through the open front of his robes - his legs, dressed in equally fine trousers, shift indignantly as she does. “Here, just bend your knees a little-”

She prods lightly at the back of one of them, hoping to spur him into action, and Yussa jumps. “Arcanist Vysoren-” he begins, and - there, almost unrecognizable for its novelty, a thread of nervousness creeps into his voice.

Allura tends more towards caution than mischief in most cases - a necessity, with the company she keeps - but she’s already grinning as she leans back a little to catch his eye. “Oh, this will be quite simple after all, I think.”

Yussa’s ears twitch up in clear, startled embarrassment as his legs attempt to press themselves to the back of his robes. “Arcanist Vysoren, I would thank you to - mmM-” She reaches for him again, sending one hand to wriggle behind the vulnerable joint and the other to scratch gently across his kneecap, and watches happily as his entire leg buckles under the attack. “Ah - haaah-”

The tremulous gasp that wrenches from him as she takes hold of his other knee to repeat the process is music to her ears - clearly, what her experiment has been needing all this time is a more direct approach. “This will be a little faster if you help,” she tells him, and crowds her fingertips up into the tender dip of flesh before he has a chance to respond.

“Vysoren-” Yussa tries, as tersely as he can with a frantic whine climbing up behind his words, and promptly cuts himself off as his other knee gives out. His robes are, in fact, made more for their drapery than their fit, and as what could graciously be called standing dissolves into ticklish squirming he’s slowly but surely sliding out of them and onto the floor. “Ihi - I can handle this from here, don’t-”

“Don’t what?” she responds innocently. The bottom of his silken shirt, neatly tucked into his waistband and glimmering even in the dim light, sinks into view. She elects to confirm its luxurious quality by prodding along the softness of his belly until he sputters and curses and drops another few inches, his indoor slippers sliding uselessly against the tiled floor. “You’ll have to offer an alternative solution - we’re a bit limited, at the moment.”

He’s laughing outright now, high and stilted and quite a bit more ticklish than she expected he might be. The way she’s kneading at his sides certainly isn’t helping. “Ahaaaaha - the damned - unnecessary - eheeh! -”

“Unnecessary,” she says, raising her voice enough that he can hopefully hear her through all the layers of fabric he’s trapped in, “would be insisting on testing a spell without taking any of the proper precautions beforehand. This, I fear, is entirely necessary, Yussa.”

And fun, besides, but there’s no need to tell him that. Besides, it seems that he shares the sentiment somewhat - she hasn’t been kicked in the face yet, and he’s hardly trying to get away from her hands, for all his grumbling. She wonders, absently, if he might allow her to do this again, the same way he’s slowly becoming accustomed to her casual friendly overtures.

He’s far too ticklish to let her wonder for long, though - it’s hardly a moment more before he squirms his way entirely free, tumbling nearly into her lap and grabbing desperately at her hands with his own elegant fingers. His face is flushed with laughter, hair falling into his eyes, and he looks like an entirely different person as he flops tiredly away from her and curls up on the floor.

It’s enough to send Allura straight back into her own startled amusement - she reaches for him, unable to help herself, and smooths a hand over his back. “Alright, alright,” she soothes, “you’re free, no harm done-”

Yussa grumbles something under his breath and twists to butt his head up against her hand instead. Allura nearly freezes in shock - and so does he, realizing, eyes wide just under the heel of her palm.

They stare. Yussa’s jaw works for a moment. “Your hand,” he says, glacially slow, “is on my head.”

“You put it there - oh, fuck it,” Allura decides, and leans forwards to drag her friend in a proper hug. “That could have been much worse, you fool. ”

Yussa stiffens and then relaxes all at once into the hug, bonelessly dropping his head onto her shoulder - he’s breathing unevenly, still, the aftereffects of laughter working their way through. “This is unnecessary, too,” he murmurs. “But I offer you my thanks, regardless.”

Chin resting atop his head, Allura smiles and plans a slight revision to her experiment.

#critical role #tickling #allura vysoren #yussa errenis #chocfic #i hear that allura is in campaign 1 and so i apologize in advance for whatever i got wrong but. wizards good.

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years

Text

Secret Love || Cale Makar

Authors Note: So uh…I’m starting another series...no one is surprised right? You’re probably going to hate this part but uh...we’re in it for the long haul here so just bear with me. Warnings: none Word Count: 1,308

~~~~

“Sara’s pregnant.”

No sentence had ever made you feel anger, fear, disbelief, sadness and a whole bevy of other emotions quite as quickly as that one did. You wanted to scream and you wanted to cry. Instead, you put a mask over your expressions and just took the glass of wine Laura was offering as she filled hers to the brim.

“What?” You whispered, your voice cracking slightly.

“Cale called me today...he was so obviously nervous and before I could even ask what was wrong he was rambling on about how she was pregnant and he didn’t know what to do...” You could see the disappointment on Laura’s face and you attempted to send her a reassuring smile, though you were sure she noticed how forced it seemed. Swirling your wine in your glass, you thought about all of the reasons this news bothered you, making you almost sick to your stomach.

Your mom had been friends with Laura Makar for as long as you could remember. You couldn’t really remember much about their friendship when you were really little but when you were four and a half, Laura had Cale. And ever since then...he had been yours. When he was just a baby he was practically your baby doll, but as he got older he became the person you could turn to for anything. Where Cale went, you went, and vice versa. People often suggested that he was like a brother to you because of the age gap but you’d never thought of him that way. He was one of the closest friends you had and that was that. And even though you weren’t as close now as you had once been, you were still hurt that you’d heard it from Laura and not Cale himself.

You’d only met Sara on a handful of occasions. Cale had met her shortly before he headed off to UMASS for college and they had started up a long-distance relationship very quickly. When you’d first met Sara you’d thought she was sweet, but over the past three years, you’d grown more suspicious of her motivations when it came to your best friend. At first, you had just chalked up the feelings to being an outsider to their relationship, after all, Cale seemed happy enough and you had no reason to dislike Sara. But then Cale had made the NHL and suddenly all of your suspicions were proven true.

Sara had moved to Denver, claiming she wanted to be closer to Cale. Now you knew she just wanted to be closer to Cale’s network and the benefits it could provide her to be seen on his arm. You’d followed her on Instagram since they started dating and it was clear she had forgotten because when Cale was on the road, specifically when he was in the middle of a game, stories would pop up where she was dressed provocatively, men’s hands all over her body. By the time the game ended, she’d taken them down. You kept your mouth shut the first two times because you didn’t want to be the kind of person that butts into someone’s relationship. But when a third showed up, with a man’s hand placed precariously close to her pelvis you’d decided you’d had enough. Still, you didn’t tell Cale, instead you dm’ed Sara confronting her on her actions. She’d just sent a laughing emoji back before quickly blocking you. But thanks to a secondary profile and her lack of private status, you knew that she was still very much cheating.

Looking across the table at Laura, you could tell she had suspicions of her own even if she hadn’t seen the visual proof you did. In that moment, you made up your mind that you had to talk to Cale.

“This is not what we wanted for him.” Laura sighed, blinking back tears as she battled with the weight of the news.

It killed you to see her so upset because while Cale had never been like a brother, Laura had absolutely become your second mom. After graduating college, you’d found a job locally at a real estate firm and settled into your own place, completely on your own for the very first time. Just a few weeks later, your parents announced that they were moving back east to Ontario. Unable to turn to your own mom whenever you needed help or advice, you found yourself turning to Laura and she had quickly become your closest confidant. Now, when you needed to unwind with a glass of wine, you made your way to the Makar residence and Laura’s warm arms.

You didn’t know what to say or what to do, so you just sat with her, holding her hand as she cried and downed glasses of wine until Gary had to carry her up to bed.

Promising that you were alright to drive and hadn’t had much as she had, you headed back to your apartment, your own tears finally falling once you were completely alone. You didn’t sleep much that night, instead choosing to scroll through all of the photos of you and Cale that you had on your phone, thinking over all of the memories the two of you had shared. You’d pretended you hadn’t heard it, but as Gary worked to get Laura up and to bed she had definitely slurred that she’d always thought it would be you having her grandchildren. And though you’d long told yourself that harboring a crush on Cale was a waste of energy to the point that you hardly thought of him that way, the knowledge that someone else was even potentially (because you weren’t fully convinced) having his baby caused your heart to start to crack.

Since sleep was hard to come by, you found yourself staring at the contact list in your phone at six am, running over what you were going to tell Cale when you worked up the courage to call him. Somehow, you managed to hold off until around 9 am when you knew Cale would normally be on his way to the rink.

As the phone rang once...twice...three times, you felt your breath catch in your throat. Then you heard Cale’s voice, scratchier than normal like he had either just woken up or had been crying. Just like that, everything you had been planning to say for hours just vanished from your brain.

“You need to have a paternity test done.” The words came out quickly and automatically.

“What the hell Y/N?” Cale questioned and you knew you had taken him off guard.

“Sara has been cheating on you. When you’re in the middle of a game she’ll post stories with other guy’s hands all over her and then delete it when the game ends. I didn’t want to get in the middle of it but a month and a half or so ago I confronted her on it and she blocked me. I...you deserve to know there’s a possibility the baby isn’t yours.”

“How did you even…? Oh, that’s right you’re besties with my mom now. This isn’t any of your business Y/N so just stay the hell out of it okay?” His voice was sarcastic and harsh, two tones you’d never heard him use before and the moment he finished speaking he hung up.

You had probably just ruined everything but...you couldn’t not say something.

And well...not having him in your life anymore couldn’t be any worse than having to see him doting on Sara and his child right?

Canceling your appointments for the day, you turned your phone off and crawled into bed wishing that you had multiple bottles of wine you could use to drown away the pain from the ice pick Cale had just shoved in your fractured heart.

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #cavalanche #038

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serasvictoria · 3 years

Text

Participated in the following challenge set by @mercurygray

Using one of my Central Casting generators or another random generator of your choice, pick an a name, and, if desired, the backstory given, for a new character. Write a short snippet or create a drawing/sketch that introduces them to the fandom property of your choice, and establishes them as a leading person worth paying attention to. (Bonus points if they play opposite to a canon character you don’t usually write. Blind dates for the muse, remember?)

My character is one Frances Elliott who is a USO performer based in Paris. And since she is in Paris, I went with the character that I absolutely cannot write one Richard Winters. So hopefully this makes sense.

Care to dance?

They came for Marlene Dietrich. They always came for her.

It didn’t surprise her really since the woman was stunning and magnetic. There was something about her that just demanded attention whenever she even as much as walked into the room. Every woman paled into insignificance next to Marlene Dietrich. Not that Fran thought that she wasn’t worthy, not at all, she just wasn’t Marlene. But since the Hollywood star was currently putting on a show in Rheims, the men would have to settle for her and the other girls tonight.

“Frances.” Looking up from her magazine, she watched mister Ward walking up to her and since he had a slightly pained expression on his face, she wondered what was going on. “You went to a conservatory, right?”

“Sure did.” Despite not knowing why he was asking her this, she beamed him a large smile regardless since she knew that he had said on multiple occasions that the girls should be happy at all times. “Studied at Ellison-White in Portland, sir. I can play the piano and other instruments too if you want me to.”

“We already have a girl on piano, no plans for any other instruments, but we don’t have someone to sing the solo tonight.”

“But Anna always does the solo whenever miss Dietrich is away.”

“She does, but she fell down some stairs and twisted her ankle so she won’t be able to make it tonight. You’re taking her place.”

“Okay.” The word came out a lot softer than she had intended, but she collected herself fairly quickly. “Okay, sir. I’ll do it.”

“I wasn’t exactly giving you the option to refuse.”

“I know you weren’t, sir.”

Frances Elliott had essentially been persuaded into joining the USO. Their search for pretty American girls who knew how to sing or had other talents had brought them to various colleges up and down the country and that was where they had found her. Apparently she had instantly impressed with her rendition of Smoke Gets In Your Eyes and the talent scout had practically begged her to join the USO. Her teacher, miss Silverstone, had really made it very clear to her what an excellent opportunity this was when she seemed slightly reluctant to take the offer.

“Just think of the millions of girls up and down the country who would love to be able to join the USO, but won’t even get a chance. And now someone has shown up and they want you and you’re unsure about whether you should take this opportunity or not.”

Fran hadn’t been treated to a speech of such magnitude since her mother had lectured her on the importance of finding herself a good husband. Her mother had naturally been ecstatic that her daughter was joining the USO, because it would be putting her in the path of single men, men in uniform even which seemed to be a step up from normal men, and surely she would find a good husband there. It was all her mother asked her about in letters as well. Because here she was, almost two years on and she still didn’t have a ring on her finger.

Truth be told, all that Fran wanted to do with the rest of her life was play guitar and write songs. Maybe get a job being a backing guitarist for a good vocalist or join a big band. Though the big dream was to be able to compose a song for a singer. Maybe this line of work would put her in the path of Helen Forrest and she’d be able to impress her enough that Helen would ask her to write something just for her. She knew it was a long shot, but that was one dream that she wasn’t willing to let go of just yet.

There were some plans between some of the girls to start their own act after all of this, but she had a feeling that it was all talk since most of the girls were perfectly content doing this. Singing, dancing and meeting men in the armed forces. Many of them ultimately fell for a man in a uniform despite rules clearly advising against it.

The girls should be lucky that they were a lot less supervised in Paris then they were back on American soil. She’d started out in a USO club back home and they wouldn’t have tolerated any of the things that the girls up to in France. She could name at least four girls who regularly accompanied service men back to their hotel rooms.

All Fran did was sing, dance, talk and write the occasional letter. And this evening she’d be one of the headliners and she had to do everything in her power to make sure that she was going to be as unforgettable as Marlene Dietrich.

*****

Her performance went brilliantly if she said so herself. She’d sung Cheek to Cheek and I’m in the Mood for Love and got an applause of a magnitude that was usually only reserved for the big names, not for some nobody from Oregon. When she made her way out into room, several men came over for a chat to compliment her on her singing and how entertained they had been.

During these talks she noticed that there was one man in the room who remained seated, looking slightly unsure of himself. Fran had never seen him before so maybe he didn’t know how it worked here. When she found herself otherwise unoccupied about twenty minutes later, she approached his seat and he looked up momentarily, probably thinking that she was going to be refilling his empty coffee cup.

“Care to dance?”

“I’d rather...”

“Every soldier that walks through these doors has to dance, sir.”

“Oh. Well, I... I had no idea.”

With a smile she extended her hand to him and he took it graciously, letting her lead him onto the floor and then awkwardly putting one hand on her back, taking care not to put it down too low. She looked at the badges on his jacket, having learned to recognise a few during her time here.

Airborne. Infantry. Combat infantry. She was positive that he was an officer, but she wasn’t sure about the rank. There were no bars, stars or oak leaves on his lapel and she didn’t know how to read the other pins on his jacket.

Her partner was quiet, but that wasn’t unusual in and of itself. She’d learned to do the talking for them, tell them what they wanted to hear. About how Marlene Dietrich’s legs really did look that nice up close. Believe her, she had checked. Or the time that she had seen Rita Hayworth from a distance and how fiery red her hair was. And yes, Bob Hope really was that funny and how hard he had worked to make them feel at ease, to make them laugh. Or how he was the same height as Clark Gable and how handsome mister Gable was, but not as handsome as the man in front of her of course. Tell them what they want to hear, but don’t make them feel inadequate.

“And what about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

His question took her aback momentarily. She hardly ever answered questions about herself. Instead always telling men about the big stars, because she was convinced that they’d rather hear her talking about them instead of the mundane life that she lived back home.

“Nothing special. Wouldn’t you rather hear more about miss Dietrich?”

“She’s not here. You are.”

“Well, I... I’m not sure where to...”

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Oh. Why thank you. I was just filling in for another girl, sir. She twisted her ankle and couldn’t make it.” Anna was far better at working the crowd then she ever was. “You should come back tomorrow to hear her sing if you’re still here, sir. Anna’s got the voice of an angel.”

“Your voice sounded beautiful enough.”

“Thank you, sir. Very kind of you to notice.” She could feel a blush begin to rise on her cheeks. She was used to being a chorus girl and blending into the crowd, not this. She found herself blurting out the only thing about herself that her mind could come up with to talk about on such short notice. “I-I’m from Salem, sir. Oregon. Not east coast Salem. Wouldn’t know anything about witches or anything like that, sir.”

He looked faintly amused and she briefly wondered whether he was on the verge of laughing at her before he opened his mouth.

“Lancaster. Pennsylvania.”

“Oh. I’ve never been there, sir. Nice?”

“It is. Why do you keep calling me sir?”

“Well, because you’re an officer, sir. I wouldn’t know about rank or anything since I don’t know how to read these,” she briefly brushed her fingers over the pins on his jacket. “But I know an officer when I see one. Officers carry themselves differently, sir.”

“You’re not one of my men. The sir isn’t necessary.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know what else to call you.”

“Dick. Richard Winters.”

“Dick.” She repeated his name once before telling him her own. “My name is Fran. Frances Elliott.”

“I don’t really know how this works, Fran.”

“You’re doing fine, Dick.” So he was new in town. Probably arrived that very day. “How long are you in town for?”

“Two more days.”

“Oh well, you have plenty of things left to see then! The Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame, Sacré-Coeur...” She stopped herself. Most of the men that came here weren’t exactly looking for culture, they were looking for entertainment. “Or if you... you know, were looking for a companion...” His face instantly went as red as his hair. “Oh! I wasn’t... I didn’t... not me!” And now her face turned a similar shade. “I just meant, that I know what district you can find that in. If you’re looking.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh thank god.” He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I didn’t mean to imply... oh god. This is awkward. But at least you’re smiling. No man is allowed to leave without a smile on their face.”

“I won’t. That one of the rules?”

“Yes. Mister Ward’s quite clear on that one. Not that you have to smile until your face hurts or anything. I’m pretty sure they don’t want to that to happen. No matter how handsome you are when you smile.” She bit her lip because of what she’d just blurted out. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. Anna tells me off about having no filter all the time.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Not just saying that to be nice?”

“No.” His answer was short and to the point and she found herself believing him. “So where should I go?”

“What do you mean? After leaving?”

“In Paris.”

“Oh. I’d recommend Notre-Dame. It’s a very beautiful building and there are some other places nearby that you could visit.” She loved spending time near the large church herself. “There’s a beautiful fountain nearby that should be on your list. Oh and a smaller 13th century church that you could visit if you like that sort of thing. A few squares. I could spend hours there without ever getting bored.”

“Do you give tours as well?”

“Well, I... Would you like one?”

“I’d love one.”

“Oh.” She started blushing again. She thought she’d been making an ass of herself, but he didn’t seem to share that sentiment. “I should probably...”

She moved him away from the dance floor and noted the relief on his face over not having to dance anymore. She wondered why, because he was an excellent dancer and should clearly be doing it more often. Leading him to the bar, she asked for a pen and a piece of paper and started writing on it.

“Here.” She handed him the bit of paper that she had just scribbled her address on. “Call on me at ten. I mean, if that’s a good time for you. Is it? A good time for you?”

“Yes.” He really wasn’t giving her a lot to work with here, cool as a cucumber this one. “See you tomorrow at ten.”

“Okay. Hope I’ll be able to sufficiently entertain you tomorrow.”

“I have no doubt that you will.” In a gesture that seemed like it might come from another age entirely, but was strangely apt for Dick Winters from Pennsylvania he took her hand and kissed the back of it quickly with a slight blush on his cheeks. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Fran watched him go and briefly wondered whether this was the start of something beautiful or if he was just being polite. One thing was for sure, he sure was a proper gentleman.

#oc challenge #band of brothers #richard winters #fic #my fic #blind dates prompt

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chocoluckchipz · 4 years

Text

The Other You - 14

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

< Previous

“You’re on a roll, Marinette,” Adrien said, signing on the lines she’d indicated. “Five more completed outfits in a week. At this rate, you’ll be done way ahead of the due date.”

“Quite possibly,” she replied with a smile. “These are a few of the easier pieces, though. Others will take more time.”

“How many do you have left?”

“I think ten complete outfits and a few accessories. But we still have a month before the show, and with Felix by my side, I’m certain we’ll be done in three weeks max.”

“That’s amazing. Congratulations.”

“Largely thanks to you.” Marinette smiled at him again, picking up one of two small boxes she’d brought in with her. “Speaking of which—I wanted to thank you for that. It’s not much but I hope you’ll enjoy them.”

Adrien’s eyes widened as Marinette put the box into his hands. A present? From her to him? He could hardly believe it despite how far their relationship had come since he had apologized a few weeks ago. It wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But Marinette stopped avoiding him, and they could even hold a friendly, if short, conversation whenever they met. A present, however, was something beyond any of Adrien’s expectations. He raised the lid and almost gasped, a head-spinning aroma filling the space around him.

“You still like them, don’t you?” Marinette asked, watching his reaction. “Felix said you do, so direct all of your complaints to him.”

“I love eclairs.” Adrien grinned. “Thank you so much.”

“Thank you,” Marinette said, putting a second box on his desk. “Can you also give this to Felix? I got busy finalizing the outfits and forgot to give it to him before he left.”

“Will do.” Adrien peeked into Felix’s box. Macarons. Yum.

“Thank you.” Marinette gathered her papers in a folder and clutched it to her chest. “I’ll be going then. Have a good evening, Adrien.”

“Have a good evening, Marinette.”

The moment the door closed behind her, Adrien dropped into his chair and grinned.

“She’s so pretty,” Duusu flew out of his hiding place. “You two would make such a beautiful couple.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Plagg yelled from his basket. “She hates our boy. He has no chance.”

“She didn’t seem to hate him just now,” Duusu defended. “Tell him, Nooroo. You felt it, didn’t you? She was happy to be here with him.”

“She was,” Nooroo said, munching on a cut of red silk. “But she also was hesitant and cautious. A little scared. Mostly happy, though.”

“Quit it, guys,” Adrien interrupted. “She’s happy because she’s on track with her work. Hesitant, cautious and scared because it takes a while to restore trust with a history as complicated as ours. That’s it. There is nothing more. There could be nothing more. I don’t think I’ve reached a ’friend’ tier yet, much less anything higher. And it’s not like I’m trying for anything above friendship either. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a ton of work to deal with before we can leave.”

Leaning over his desk, Adrien got back to the paperwork he was reviewing before Marinette came. With a mischievous grin, he reached into one of the boxes and popped an eclair straight into his mouth. They baked them together the previous night, but Marinette didn’t tell Chat that it was a present for her boss. Should he tease her about that?

“I bet five wheels of Camembert you want there to be something more.” Plagg plopped in front of him, a piece of his stinking cheese in his paws.

Adrien furrowed his eyebrows. “Wha—Plagg. No. You know I love Ladybug.”

“Yeah, and that’s why you had this sad, longing look on your face when you said, ‘there is nothing more’.”

“No, I didn’t,” Adrien protested. “Marinette’s just a friend.”

Plagg quirked an eyebrow. “A friend you spend most of your day with—as Felix by day and as Chat Noir by night. There’s barely any time left when you aren’t with her.”

“That’s just how things worked out for now. Nothing I can do about it.”

“Nothing you would do,” Plagg challenged. “Because you’re enjoying your time with your ‘just a friend’ way too much to change anything.”

Adrien leaned back into his chair. Of course, he enjoyed his time with Marinette. He wouldn’t even bother to deny that because there was absolutely nothing wrong or weird about it. Marinette fed him delicious, homemade food daily, their dinners always filled with laughter and warmth. After years of surviving on prepackaged, frozen cuisine and local take-out, Adrien more than appreciated that. Since ‘Felix’ showed up, Marinette had stopped taking work home, which allowed them time to challenge each other in video games or watch an occasional movie after dinner. Adrien hadn’t done either of those in years. Not with a friend, at least.

Why should he change anything about their situation? Why would he? Marinette was wonderful and fun and absolutely amazing. So much that Adrien found himself dreading having to go home on multiple occasions already. She was warmth and light. She accepted him just the way he was, bad jokes and untimely puns, his dorkiness and love for anime. Being with her, he could be himself, spare revealing his civilian name, of course. Marinette felt like the home Adrien never had. There were even a few nights he’d accidentally fallen asleep on her couch, so cozy and comfortable he felt at Marinette’s. The first time that happened, Chat had forced himself up and away as soon as he woke up in the middle of the night, covered by a blanket. In all of the following cases though, Chat was having trouble doing so before the light of the rising sun peeked above the horizon. He reasoned that as long as he left before Marinette was up, it was all good.

There was one thing Adrien would definitely change, though. If he could.

‘Felix’.

A shiver ran across Adrien’s skin at the slightest memory because, unfortunately enough, he was able to remember everything that was happening during his ‘akuma’ times. Even now, Adrien could recall that overwhelming, insatiable desire to help and please Marinette coursing through his veins upon akumatization. Completely overpowered by it, ‘Felix’ could hardly control his actions. Yes, he helped with making outfits, courtesy of the real Felix being a great professional. However, it didn’t stop there.

‘Felix’ constantly flirted with and complimented Marinette. For the sole purpose of giving her a confidence boost, of course. He chatted nonstop about everything and anything so she wouldn’t feel lonely. He cracked jokes and punned to brighten her mood and make her smile. He did everything she could potentially want. And Adrien meant everything. Lunchtime was approaching? ‘Felix’ was setting the table and delivering the food he knew Marinette liked plus a surprise item from the cafeteria just in time for her break. Her cell phone chimed? He was holding it out to her a second later. She had to leave the room? He was opening the door. Marinette mentioned she was thirsty or even looked like she could use a drink? ‘Felix’ was already holding at least three different bottles he’d just bought from the vending machine down the hallway for her to choose from. Marinette needed to stand up, he was right there offering her a hand. Marinette needed to use the washroom… Yup, he opened the door for her, walked her down the hallway and had the sense to ask how it went and if she was feeling better.

And he did all of it with that serious, mostly emotionless face his cousin always wore around anyone other than his family.

Banging his head on the desk, Adrien groaned. He had never been so embarrassed in his life. The whole situation was humiliating and mortifying for both of them. He even debated giving up on this crazy idea of his after the initial trial run, but in the end, Adrien couldn’t bring himself to do so. Marinette needed him, and he wouldn’t be the man he thought himself to be if he couldn’t bear some humiliation in order to help a friend in need. Thankfully, after establishing some boundaries which ‘Felix’ had a really hard time respecting, Marinette seemed to have gradually gotten used to ‘Felix’s’ wacky ways. Or at least she had told Chat Noir so, who was sure to ask her as often as possible about what she thought of her new assistant and if he needed his butt kicked.

His phone chimed, bringing Adrien out of his mental ordeal.

Nino: Hey. I know our lunch didn’t go that well last time, but would you like to grab another one? I want to try that apology one more time.

Adrien let out a puff of air, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Nino never had been one to give up easily on anything he really cared about. After having had some time to cool down himself, Adrien’s initial anger and resentment subsided, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to give up on Nino either. Especially not after his former best friend put aside his pride and reached out first.

Adrien: Sure. You do owe me a meal since I paid for the last one.

Nino: How does Saturday sound? Around noon? The same place?

Adrien: It’s a date.

“You haven’t had enough?” Plagg snarked from Adrien’s shoulder.

“Quite the opposite,” Adrien replied, relaxing in his seat. “I’ve had enough. I’ve been angry and resentful for years and I’m tired of that. I’ll meet with Nino again and if everything works out, I’ll get a friend. If not, closure doesn’t sound half bad. In any case, anything would be better than continuing the way I’ve been going up until now. Don’t you think so?”

Plagg grumbled.

“It’s a wise decision,” Nooroo spoke up. “Though I must admit I hope you can make it work. You feel lonely rather often, Master. Some friends will do you good.”

“He’s got me,” Plagg huffed. “Who else could he need?”

“Social interaction is an essential part of human existence, Plagg,” Nooroo replied. “And from what I’ve seen so far, Adrien would greatly benefit from having human friends in addition to kwamis.”

“Oh, you mean like Marinette?” Plagg snickered, glancing at Adrien. “She’s a really great friend to you, Adrien, isn’t she?”

“Not yet,” Adrien responded absentmindedly, returning to his paperwork once again.

In the last few weeks, the kwamis had taken a liking to discussing his personal life and choices, with Plagg inevitably being the one to criticize his every move. At first, Adrien had fought back, trying to justify himself. However, as time passed, he realized that it was futile and gave up, learning to ignore them instead. Adrien figured they’d lose interest eventually, and the less he played along, the faster that would happen. “We’re more in ‘not enemies anymore’ territory.”

“But you do want her to be your friend again, don’t you?”

“I already consider her a friend. It’s only a matter of her accepting Adrien-me as one at this point.”

“So why don’t you do anything to help that happen?” Plagg asked, floating right in front of Adrien’s face. “You’re going to lunch with Nino to rekindle your friendship. Ask Marinette to lunch as well. I’m sure it’ll help her to warm up to you faster.”

“I’m already spending lunches with Marinette every day.”

“As ‘Felix,’ which is unfair if you ask me.”

Adrien put his papers away and looked at Plagg. “How so?”

The kwami started to pace in a circle in midair with a smug grin on his face. “Well, by spending almost all of your day around her as Chat Noir and Felix, you’ve had a chance to get to know Marinette better. As a result, you want to be friends with her again. She, on the other hand, thinks she’s spending her time with three different people, Adrien receiving the least of her attention. How in the world is she going to decide if she wants to be friends with you if she has no opportunity to get to know you? It’s not like you’re going to reveal your identities to her, are you?”

Adrien hummed. Plagg had a point. He had been rediscovering this new, more mature, but just as fun as ever Marinette all this time. Still as brave and fearless. Kind, compassionate and fun. Creative and beautiful. He already considered her his friend again. For her, though, Adrien had barely moved from “enemy” to “can tolerate him” territory. At least that was what Adrien had gathered from the way Marinette behaved around him and what little she let slip around Chat. Perhaps Plagg had a good idea for once, and Adrien needed to spend more time with Marinette as himself if he wanted her to give him a real chance.

“And what do you propose I do?”

“I already told you,” Plagg groaned. “Ask her out to lunch. Easy.”

“Yes! Ask her to lunch, Master,” Duusuu added. “It’ll be so romantic.”

Adrien frowned. “Good point. I should make sure she knows it’s a friendly lunch and not a date, or she’ll never accept. Maybe I should make it work-related? Then she'd be more likely to agree, right?”

“Absolutely.” Plagg grinned. “But that means ‘Felix’ would need to leave before lunch that day, wouldn’t he?”

Adrien narrowed his eyes at the kwami. “You’re doing this only so you can de-akumatize me, aren’t you?”

Plagg’s grin widened before he dramatically gasped. “How could you think that about me? Really, Adrien? After everything we’ve been through?”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow.

“Nooooo.” Plagg faked disappointment. “Do you really think I enjoy tickling you to the point of forcing you to escape the office to make me pay for it?”

Adrien glared. “Marinette thinks ‘Felix’ has some kind of health issue thanks to you.”

“You told me yourself to do ‘whatever it takes’ to get you out of that room, didn’t you?” Plagg responded with a look of utmost innocence on his face. “And is this what I get for my hard work? Do you even realize how hard it is to get you away from her? You should be thanking me, not complaining.”

“Don’t count on it.” Adrien sighed, turning his attention back to his papers. “Okay. I’ll ask her to lunch. Now, leave me alone. I have work to do.”

“As you wish,” Plagg grinned and flew away.

Adrien tried to work, struggling to concentrate for some time. Asking Marinette to lunch as Adrien was probably not a good idea, but Plagg was right. If he wanted to make any progress in his goal of renewing their friendship, he had to do something as Adrien as well. Lunch sounded easy and innocent enough.

***

The aroma alone was making him dizzy. Gosh, he wondered if that rent fee was a smart choice after all because one of these days he was sure Marinette was going to kill him with the deliciousness of her food. That or he’d get addicted and become her slave for a meal a day. He couldn’t let her know, though. After all, he was Chat Noir, the hero of Paris and the coolest cat in the city. He forced himself to forgo the ode to her food he’d prepared and simply ask her instead, “What smells so good, Princess?”

“Navarin D’Agneau,” Marinette replied with a smile. “Would you mind cutting the bread, Chat? I can’t leave this pot alone.”

“Of course.”

“Wash your paws first.”

“Do I look like I have a death wish to touch your food with dirty hands?” Chat chuckled and dodged Marinette’s attempt to smack his shoulder. He stuck his tongue at her. “Missed me. Better luck next time.”

“Real mature of you, Chat.” Marinette laughed. “What are you, five?”

“No. But I’m eternally young.”

“I can see that. Before you get to that bread, can you pass me that ladle?”

“Your wish is my command.” He bowed and, after carefully washing his hands, passed her the utensil.

“Dork.” Marinette giggled as she ladled their meal into bowls. “Finish the bread and we’re ready to go.”

“Right. Already on it.”

How they fell into this easy routine, he didn’t know, but their dinners slowly morphed into them preparing the meal together instead of Marinette cooking for him. Not that Chat was helping much, but it felt good not to be useless in the kitchen. It also meant he could head over straight after work, instead of waiting for nine o’clock. He could always claim he had come early to help.

Their conversations had evolved as well as they discussed their days and cracked jokes like a pair of old friends. ‘Felix’ and his antics were a constant in their discussions. However, today it was a different man that Marinette was talking about.

“My boss asked me to lunch,” she said as they were nearly finished with their meal. “I couldn’t say no because he used the work excuse, but I don’t really know how I feel about it.”

Chat swallowed his food. “Why? I thought you didn’t hate the guy anymore?”

Marinette pursed her lips. “No. I wouldn’t say I hate him. He apologized and we talked and cleared all the misunderstandings, so I guess we’re good in that respect.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’.”

She hummed. “There is. Even with everything resolved, I don’t think I’m ready to jump back into friendship territory with him yet, but I feel like this is where he wants to be already.”

Chat’s shoulders slumped. Plagg was right. Marinette didn’t see Adrien as a potential friend yet. Perhaps he’d rushed with the whole lunch thing.

“You should’ve just told him that,” he murmured, focusing back on his bowl. “I’m sure he would’ve understood.”

“He’s my boss, Chat. And he’s been helping me with my collection even though it isn’t essential to Gabriel’s success during Fashion Week. I can’t refuse him something as simple as lunch.”

“But you shouldn’t have to force yourself to have lunch with someone you aren’t comfortable with, even if he is your boss,” Chat said, already thinking of how he could cancel on Marinette without making her suspect a thing or making her uncomfortable. “Tell him you’re busy. He used work to invite you, so use work to refuse the invitation.”

She took a few moments to reply, but when she did there was a smile on her lips. “Nah. I’ll go. He’s been trying really hard to atone for his mistakes, so maybe I should also try to make up for mine. Getting lunch together sounds easy enough and seems like a good opportunity to see if we could be friends again one day.”

He stilled. “Are you sure?”

Marinette nodded. “Positive. What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like he’s going to fire me or anything.”

Chat grinned. “I’m sure he won’t. You’re way too pretty and talented to be fired. Not to mention an amazing cook. Bring him some pastries and he’ll be putty in your hands forever.”

Marinette giggled. “You’re such a professional flatterer, Chat. I bet you can give Felix a run for his money in that department.”

“I’m sure I can. What do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

“Another chance to kick your ass in UMS.”

There was a glint in Marinette’s eyes as her lips stretched wide in a grin. “You don’t have to win a prize for that. You’re so on, Chat Noir.”

“Prepare to be vanquished, Princess. I’ve been practicing.”

“Dream on. You’re going down. Loser washes the dishes.”

“Best of five wins.”

“I’m turning the console on.”

“I’m cleaning the table.”

“Let the battle begin!”

***

Two victories, three lost games, and one session of washing the dishes later, Chat Noir lingered at Marinette’s place as long as he could. He would’ve stayed for another hour or two, but he only had so many excuses to use. Around midnight, Marinette shoved him out the window, claiming she had to wake up early the next day.

“You still have your patrol to do, don’t you? Go. Don’t make Ladybug wait,” she ordered.

The truth was, Ladybug was the last person Chat Noir wanted to see right now. Don’t get him wrong—he still loved her. He just couldn’t look her in the eyes, knowing that he was keeping secrets from her. It was more than Chat could handle at the moment. Revealing said secrets was out of the question as well because that was sure to bring up conversations he wasn’t ready for. Not to mention Ladybug, as the Guardian, would want Nooroo and Duusu back in the Miracle Box and Chat couldn’t let that happen yet. Marinette’s show was scheduled for the end of August. She needed ‘Felix’ in the meanwhile. This time frame would also give Chat time to prepare for an inevitable reveal of his and Hawkmoth’s identities. Until then, though, Chat Noir was doing his best to avoid his partner because lying to her was something he couldn’t do, and keeping secrets from her was something he wished he didn’t have to do.

After racing as fast as he could through his patrol route—so as not to meet his partner—Chat Noir headed home, thoughts of Marinette and their impending lunch on his mind. He had to do his best for her to feel comfortable and safe around him. He couldn’t scare her away now, not after Marinette’s friendship had somehow migrated to the top of his priorities. He had no idea how that happened or even why, but if Adrien could make it a reality, he’d be damned if he didn’t give it his best effort.

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#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #marichat #adrienette #the other you #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #ladybug #miraclous #tales of ladybug and cat noir

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irrelevantwriter · 4 years

Text

Feliz Navidad

Pairing: (Mayans MC) Angel Reyes x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, oral sex (female receiving), inappropriate use of a candy cane, a little hand job action, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluid, Angel being adorable hot as fuck, Angel’s ringed fingers (bc that shit is what keeps me up at night)

Word Count: 3.8K

Summary: There’s a Christmas party at the Mayan’s clubhouse and Angel has a sudden bout of inspiration that includes a candy cane, EZ’s trailer, and his very persuasive nature your extreme horniness.

AN: This is my contribution to @ne-gans follower celebration. Congrats on the shit ton of followers! And if you aren’t following her, please do! She’s an amazing writer of all things smut. My chosen prompt was “Who knew candy canes could be so erotic?” for Angel Reyes from Mayans MC and it was way too much fun to write. Hopes this puts you guys in the Christmas spirit, and if not, at least in the Angel Reyes spirit because that man deserves. Please read, enjoy, and share with your friends!

The amazing aesthetic was done by my fellow Angel thirst bitch and homegirl Ashley @negansdirtygirl22.

*Masterlist in bio.

*******************

Feliz Navidad

Próspero año y Felicidad

You hummed along to the music flowing through the speakers as you sipped from the eggnog clutched in your hand. The Mayan clubhouse was alive with holiday cheer and activity, a sight rarely witnessed within the walls. It had been a joint effort between you, the other wives, girlfriends, and of course Letty and Chucky, to bring some much needed spirit to the club. The last few months had been hard on everyone and you and the other women wanted to give the men something special to put their heavy hearts and minds at ease.

That’s where the Christmas party came into play. There had been plenty of parties around the holidays in the past, but nothing actually dedicated to one of your favorite times of year. This celebration was all about the horrible Christmas music, the way too boozy eggnog, the tamales that one of Creeper’s tias made, and the much needed sense of familia that had been lacking as of late. And it seemed to be paying off.

The space was decorated, all thanks to Letty and Chucky, who chose some of the most heinous looking plastic garland you’d ever seen. But it was the thought that counted. And everyone was having a good time. People were eating, drinking, laughing, and even playing Loteria in a corner. That’s where your eyes settled as they landed on your boyfriend trying to cheat in the game of bingo. His younger brother sat to his right, though he’d been banned from playing because of his unique memorization abilities.

You’d made a move to join him when Chucky appeared in front of you, mouth pulled into a wide grin. The man was obviously having a great time, if the red lipstick caked on his cheek was anything to go by.

“Señorita…” He greeted as he held up a candy cane, one of the larger ones that he’d purchased for the tree set up in the corner. “Para ti.” He held the treat out to you and you laughed, taking it from him.

“I accept that.”

If possible, his smile got even wider as he bounced off. You shook your head and smiled, truly taken by the oddity that was Chucky. Never a dull moment with the man.

You returned on your quest to finally join Angel. You two had rode together in your car, but had hardly spent time with each other once you’d hit the door. You’d been making sure everything was in place, helping El Presidente’s old lady as much as you could. Now you could finally relax and take in all the hard work; the outcome making you feel warm and impossibly cheerful.

“There she is.” Angel announced to the table, gesturing to your approaching figure.

You maneuvered so that you could sit on his lap, your legs pulled to one side and tightly together to keep your red dress in place. His arms welcomed you in, immediately attaching to you like a magnet. His calloused hands landed on your hip and bare thighs, unconsciously caressing the skin there. The motion made a rapid zap of heat shoot up your thighs.

“Baby, tell the guys that I don’t cheat at Lotería.” His voice sounded slightly petulant, like he’d been accused of the crime and teased mercilessly for it.

You sat your cup down and let your fingers dance in his hair, his dark eyes gazing up at you with boyish charm and excitement. It felt good to see him so carefree. It made all the pain worth it. All the late nights and brushes with death; the time you spent worrying that he’d never make it home to you. That all got erased in these moments.

“He doesn’t cheat at Lotería.” You dutifully repeated for him to the table of men. He nodded in satisfaction, feeling as if he’d won. “But he does at Uno.”

A loud series of “Ohhhhhs” and deep chuckles filled the space as they reacted to your statement. Angel looked at you in faux betrayal, his eyes crinkling at the sides from barely subdued laughter.

“Really, querida? Just like that. Telling my whole business.” His ringed fingers landed heavy on your lap, edging the hem of your dress up slightly.

You giggled and burrowed yourself into his neck. “Sorry, baby.” You left a chaste kiss on his neck, knowing your comment would be forgiven with the gesture.

“Hmmm,” He hummed, eyes squinted up at you in scrutiny. “You can make it up to me.” He raised his brows in question, lip pulled into a devilishly handsome smirk.

You let out a girlish giggle, unable to help yourself when he flirted with you. You vaguely noticed that the rest of the table had gone back to their conversations and the game, no longer paying attention to the wrapped up couple.

“Oh, I will…” You teased with a bite to your bottom lip. His eyes followed the movement, hands gripping your bare flesh just a little bit tighter in response. He ran his tongue over his own bearded lips and your breath caught slightly, feeling the alcohol and your sudden arousal start to take effect.

“How about right now?” He whispered into your ear, nibbling at the appendage. You closed your eyes for an instant, momentarily lost in the sensation before you remembered where you were. Angel had that kind of influence over you, and you hoped it never waned.

“And where would we go?” You responded breathlessly, only slightly embarrassed by your strong reaction to his minimal ministrations.

He smirked up at you, somewhat surprised by your willingness to go along with his mischief. Angel loved pushing your sexual limitations. He loved testing your boundaries and exploring all facets of pleasure. You felt comfortable enough with him that you found yourself ready to follow him to the ends of the Earth. Not to mention, the man owned your heart, fully and without condition. You were his in a way you’d never belonged to any man before. And you could confidently say the same thing about him. Angel was devoted to you. And he liked to show you just how much on multiple occasions.

“I got an idea.” He looked around you and to the room, inspecting your surroundings. He leaned up again and whispered into your ear, the grittiness in his voice making you shiver. “Let’s go outside.”

You nodded and wordlessly got up with Angel’s help, letting him lead you to the door and outside. No one called out for you. No one even seemed to notice your absence. Excitement pulsed through your blood as he gripped your hand and pulled you with him across the dirt lot. You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t stop him. You let him take control.

He opened the door of EZ’s trailer with a key inside of his leather. He helped you up the rickety steps, your black heeled boots not making the feat easy. He shut the door once you’d made it inside, the space cramped and narrow. EZ hadn’t been staying in the trailer lately so the place was a little dusty. You felt a small sweep of guilt at invading the space for your own personal debauchery. But seeing Angel eye-fucking you like he was right now made those feelings dissipate right out of the trailer.

“Have I told you how fucking hot you look tonight?” He asked from his spot near the small dining table. His intense study of you and his words made you instantly wet, your panties barely catching the residual.

“Yeah, you mentioned something about wanting to bend me over the counter before we left the house earlier. Does that count?” You replied with your own wicked smile.

He chuckled and stepped forward, hand smoothing down his whiskers. You’d started to see hints of grey within the strands and you’d let Angel know how attractive you found that as soon you’d spotted them. He was more than appreciative of your “compliments”.

“What’s this?” He pulled at your left hand, just now seeing the candy cane still clutched in your palm. You barely remembered you’d had it, too concerned with letting Angel get you alone.

“Chucky gave it to me.”

He took the red and white candy and pulled at the wrapper, removing it far easier than you would’ve been able to. He eyed the item closely and seemed to get an idea because his eyes bled into yours, the sizzling tension now undeniably boiling over.

He held out the long end towards you, near you mouth. You didn’t need to be told what to do. You wrapped your lips around the candy, sucking at the flavor. You stared up at Angel through your made-up lashes as you gently tongued the stick, the innuendo more than obvious. His breathing hitched when you took more of the candy down your throat, your mouth nearly meeting his fingers clutching the other end.

“Fuck…” He cursed once you finally released it from your clutches. He let the end dance over your lips, plucking your bottom one down and watching it fall back into place.

He pulled you to him with his other hand and captured your mouth. His tongue immediately sought entrance and you obliged. He tangled himself up with you, tasting the peppermint that now seeped from your mouth. Your hands gripped his kutte, desperate to feel his body pressed against yours.

You both pulled away, chests heaving. You could feel the heat around your mouth, the scratches of his beard burning your flesh. There were remnants of your lipstick smeared on his bearded lips, the sight fueling a possessive streak in you. He brought the candy cane up to his own mouth and sucked, intertwining the two of you.

“Come on, baby…” He grasped your hand and directed you to one of the cushioned benches. “Sit back.”

You had a weakness for Angel’s commanding nature in the bedroom. The way he would demand things of you while never expecting a response made you feverish. He knew he couldn’t get away with that treatment outside of the bedroom, but he more than catered to that desire when necessary. And he did it verywell.

You followed his lead as he gently sat you back against the cushion, kneeling in front of you. Your heartbeat accelerated, centering right between your thighs. His hands widened your legs and pushed your dress up, propping your heeled boots on his shoulders. He stared up at you with such intensity that you had to squirm against the seat to alleviate the ache. He caught the action and snickered.

“Relax, dulce. I got you.”

You nodded and bit your lip when his hands shifted your dress over your hips to expose the festive red lace panties you were wearing. You were exposed to him and you relished the unbridled lust that oozed from his pores and out onto you.

“Goddamn, you look good.” He swept a finger over your clothed slit, causing you to jerk. The material was damp, your body more than ready for his touch. “Feel good too.” He mumbled, finger still tracing your swollen lips.

You let out a whimper, his teasing having a more powerful effect than usual. You rocked your hips against his touch, encouraging him to explore you further. Angel was an impatient man, and while he was a master at teasing, he ran out of patience just as fast. He pulled the lace down your thighs and off, flinging the fabric somewhere behind him. You tugged at his thick locks and arched your back when his mouth finally connected with your opening. His hands split your thighs further apart, making room for his eager mouth. You threw your head back and moaned, feeling Angel lick up your walls. There was a slight cooling sensation and you realized it was the peppermint that lingered on his lips. The result felt amazing against your heated skin.

“Jesus, Angel…” You moaned when his lips attached to your clit. His face was buried in you, your slick coating him, and yet you felt as if he wasn’t close enough.

He pulled away with a smirk and suddenly brought the candy cane into your line of vision. You struggled to center back into reality and not on the neediness of your hunger.

“You trust me, baby?”

“Of course.” You answered without hesitation.

He nodded and moved back down to your spread thighs. “Lemme know if you want me to stop.”

You were about to chastise him for making you wait when you felt the pressure of something hard at your entrance. It was small, but firm and it slid into you easily. A low moan fell from your lips as it shallowly entered you and then traveled back out and up to your clit. Angel blew on your skin and the realization hit you. He was fucking you with the candy cane. The minty tingle left in its wake made you scratch at his scalp, unsure if you wanted more or not. The combination of dueling hot and cold sensations had goosebumps breaking out onto your flesh.

“You good?” He asked with a gentle lick to your weeping pussy.

You nodded, unable to find your voice as he continued to assault your clit with the candy.

“Want me to stop?”

“No.”

His mouth launched into a frenzied feeding as he opened you up to him. His tongue dived in and out of you, making your thighs clench around his head. That rush of lava-like heat started to consume your entire body as he worked you over, never stopping. His goal was clear as he sped up and you cried out when his mouth became too much. You stiffened and shook with each shock as you sailed through feelings of love, adoration, and immense pleasure.

“Shit, mi amor…” Angel rasped with amazement as he stared down at your now lax body. He didn’t let you rest as he pulled you into an upright position, locking your lips against his. You tasted yourself mixed with the sweetness of the candy and you found yourself wanting more.

His hands gripped your thighs and lifted you up, switching your positions. He now occupied your spot on the bench while you sat astride his lap, your needy pussy seeking out is hardened cock through his jeans. You pushed down on him, taking pleasure in the way he growled into your mouth. He began lifting your dress over your head and you aided him in removing it. His mouth immediately sought out your pebbled nipples through the red lace of your bra. You pulled him to you, your hands back to tugging at his hair.

He unclasped your bra and pulled it down and off your shoulders. You mirrored his actions by pulling off his kutte and unbuttoning his flannel. His tanned skin beckoned you, the black ink only fueling your want. You ran your nails down his chest, not hard enough to hurt but enough to let him know just how much you needed him in that moment.

“Take what you want, baby.” He taunted, directing your hands to his belt buckle.

You didn’t waste any time, pulling the buckle and button from its confines. He shifted his hips, helping you release his aching cock. At the sight of him you could feel your walls literally pulse, the phantom sensation of him buried inside you making you clamp down on nothing. You licked your hand, coating your palm with saliva. Cum was already leaking from his tip and you used it to pump his rigid cock.

“Fuck,” He cursed with his head thrown back. You took the opportunity to leave bruising kisses on his neck, suckling at the skin and making your way up to his ear lobe. You gently pulled at the appendage with your teeth, feeling his hips buck up into yours.

“Ride me.”

You followed his breathless request and slowly slipped him inside you. Your walls greedily accepted him, seating him inside of you perfectly. You both moaned in unison once you’d taken him in fully, his pulse synchronizing with yours. You sat in his lap, unmoving and soaking up the feel of him. He craned his mouth up, seeking yours. You met him in a slower, more tender kiss than the ones previous. He palmed your ass, rolling your hips against his. You took the hint and began moving, letting him slide in and out of you at a leisurely pace.

“Fuck, keep going.” He panted, fingertips gripping your hips and ass tightly. His mouth moved across your chest and collarbone, his hips attempting to meet yours.

The whine of the seat bench beneath you began to fill the space as you moved faster, chasing the fireworks that were sure to come. The trailer began to rock as you repeatedly fucked yourself on Angel’s cock. The girth of him burned, but the orgasmic bliss that came with it soon overpowered.

“Angel, right there…shit.” You rubbed at your clit as he fucked up into you, white lights starting to dance behind your lids, though that could’ve been the twinkling lights decorating the clubhouse that reflected in through the curtains.

“You gonna cum?” He nipped at your chin, his pace not letting up.

“Mmhm…” You moaned, biting into your lip to keep your enthusiastic screams at bay.

In the next moment, Angel had your hips halted in place above is cock as he rammed repeatedly against your cervix. You gripped his forearms, keeping your balance as he ravaged you. Your whole body reacted to the shift and when his hand manipulated your clit, you came undone.

You acted on impulse as you held Angel to you, gripped tightly in your quaking embrace. You no longer cared about being quiet as you moaned and whimpered, careening through space. He talked you through your orgasm, mumbling expletives and how beautiful you looked with his cock inside you. All of it added to the fire. All of it made both your heart and pussy flutter.

“Mi amor,” He called, his voice still sounding distant in your ringing ears.

You buried your face into his neck as he chased his own end. He grunted, his rings digging into your skin as he finally came. Thick warmth filled you, the feeling of being complete finally achieved. You watched his features twist in ecstasy and in a flash they were relaxed, his body following suit.

The distant laughter and music could be heard over the lot, the party still very much going strong. You both caressed and held each other, not in any hurry to detach. Angel touched you with a softness that made you smile lazily, the leftover oxytocin making you feel more connected to him. He mirrored your expression, caressing your neck and cheeks.

“Te quiero.”

“I love you too.” You confessed, shifting a strand of hair that had fallen against his forehead.

“Fuck...” He sighed tiredly. “Someone’s gonna come looking for us soon.”

“We can pick this back up at home.” You replied with a sleepy smile and wink. You shifted off his lap, hissing at the loss of him. His cum started to slip past your lips instantly and you rushed to find your panties.

Angel found them on the counter and helped you step into them, your legs still feeling unsteady. He smirked up at you once they cleared your hips, a lone finger sliding against your crotch.

“Quit, Angel.” You whimpered, pushing his hand away. He laughed, enjoying how sensitive you always got after sex. He was already dressed and pulling his kutte back on while you slipped your bra onto your shoulders and turned away from him. His fingers clasped the garment in place, hands smoothing down your back. He placed a soft kiss to your shoulder and reached for your dress. You took it from him and pulled it over your head, walking to the small vanity mirror above the sink to check your reflection.

After making sure your hair and makeup were still presentable, you turned to face Angel. He had the candy cane back in his hands, eyeing the sweet with a wistfulness.

“Where’d that come from?” You asked, having suspected the candy to have gotten lost during your activities.

“The table.” He motioned to the flimsy piece of furniture, the thing looking like it was on its last leg, literally.

You both moved towards the door, Angel opening it for you and taking your hand to help you down the steps. You took in gulps of the crisp night air, glad to be out of the stifling heat of the trailer. The thing surely smelled of sex and you made a mental note to air it out before you left.

“Don’t you think you should throw it away?” You gestured to the candy cane as you both walked back up to the clubhouse.

“Nah,” Angel shook his head and popped the thing right back into his mouth, a self-satisfying smile lighting up his face. “Think we should keep it. You can use it on me later.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You laughed as heat warmed your face. Thinking on where that candy cane had been moments before and how much you enjoyed it made you look away from his mischievous expression, the desire already making a fierce comeback.

“Who knew candy canes could be so erotic?” You questioned playfully.

The moment was interrupted by the clubhouse door opening as you both climbed the steps, EZ walking out with an unreadable look on his face. He took a moment to look between the two of you. Angel was sucking on the candy cane, suppressing a smirk, while you tried hard not to meet the younger sibling’s eyes. His gaze shifted to the trailer and he sighed, head shaking.

“Are you guys serious?”

“What?” Angel attempted in an act of innocence. It wasn’t believable.

“You find ‘em, boy scout?” Coco called from behind EZ, cigarette propped between his fingers. He joined you on the porch, eyes taking in the situation. He appeared to find the whole thing comical, leading you to believe that you did not look as put together and unassuming as you’d initially thought when exiting the trailer.

“You owe me.” EZ deadpanned to Coco. You watched in astonishment as Coco cursed and then reached into his pocket for what looked like a twenty dollar bill, begrudgingly handing it off to him.

“What the fuck?” Angel questioned, eyes jumping between the two men.

“I bet boy scout you guys left to handle business. He said you were handling it out here. He won.” Coco explained rather nonchalantly.

Angel scoffed out a laugh, male ego now inflated, while you rolled your eyes. “Are we really that predictable?” You asked.

“Yeah.” Both men replied in unison. They laughed and turned to go back inside to the party.

You went to follow when a hand stopped you. Angel tugged and motioned up, your eyes catching the mistletoe hanging from the wooden beam. You smiled and let him pull you in for a more PG-rated kiss than the series of impassioned ones moments before.

“Merry fucking Christmas, querida.” He whispered against your lips, dark eyes conveying emotion he didn’t have to voice.

“Merry fucking Christmas, baby.”

#lisa's 5.5k follower celebration #lisa's xmas challenge 2019 #angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x female reader #angel reyes x you #angel reyes fic #angel reyes fanfiction #mayans mc #mayans fx

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panda-noosh · 5 years

Text

against the odds {Finn Shelby x Reader}

Words: 11.2k

Summary: Your worlds could not be more different, but that doesn’t stop them colliding.

Genre: angst!

Warnings: strong language (stronger than usual because it’s the Peaky Blinders), violence, graphic depictions of injury.

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - okay we’re trying something new. let me know what y’all think :)

----

The sound of guns shots has become something normal.

Your mother would be absolutely mortified to hear such a thing. When you moved from London to Birmingham, she thought for sure you would be safe, hidden away in a little shack with no one to bother you. You would get on with your studies before moving on to bigger and better things, and in the beginning, that was the plan. You kissed your mother goodbye, hopped on the train and departed for a life you had all planned out.

Small Heath isn’t the place to make dreams come true, but it’s where you ended up.

The job at The Garrison was only meant to be part-time, but again, Small Heath is full of unexpected little mishaps. After the old barkeep, Grace, was brutally murdered at a party she herself had organised, you had been offered the job full time - and you took it.

You took it, even though you knew with everything in you it was a bad idea. The world was falling apart around you, and it was as if the main source of this destruction came directly from inside The Garrison itself, like this tiny little pub in Birmingham was the hub for all the worlds travesties.

Despite the little voice in your head telling you to step away, find a life elsewhere, it’s Finn Shelby that keeps you rooted behind the counter. It’s always been Finn Shelby.

Tall, broad shouldered, built like a watered down version of his older brother, John. By name, Finn is scary, but he’s only scary because he’s a Shelby. For the first few weeks of you settling into The Garrison, you had walked on egg-shells around him, lest he suddenly draw a pistol out of his trousers like you’d seen his brothers do on multiple occasions.

However, time went on, and things became clearer, and soon, Finn was seated in front of you when the rest of the pub was emptying, and the two of you spoke.

About nothing. About everything. About a life outside of this mess. He’d laughed at that, and you remember the noise being so pleasant, like music to your ears, and you remember shutting those thoughts down with the harsh reminder that the man in front of you was a Shelby, meaning there would be no room whatsoever for anything like that.

You saw more of Finn each and every day. He hardly ever speaks to you when his older brothers are waltzing about, but with the recent business with the Russians, the older Shelby’s visits are getting few and far between, meaning you see more of Finn throughout your always-busy shifts at The Garrison.

The door slamming closed signals his arrival this evening. Having already spent a good six hours on your feet, serving the drunk and disorderly, it is a relief of the grandest kind when you look up and see Finn and Isaiah pushing through the crowd towards the bar; Finn is smiling, nudging Isaiah’s arm to which Isaiah ruffles the boys sandy blonde hair.

“Evening, Y/N,” Isaiah says once he and Finn have finally arrived in front of you.

“Evening,” you reply. “What are you two drinking today?”

“I’ll have a whiskey,” Isaiah replies. “My boy here will have-”

“Just a water,” Finn cuts in.

Your eyes sparkle, darting up to meet his own; he’s staring right back at you, a shy smile on his face. “Just a water, Mr Shelby? You do know what time of day it is, right?”

Isaiah has one eyebrow raised, glancing at Finn through the corner of his eye. “Have you gone fucking mental, mate?”

Finn shrugs. “I’m not feeling good. Just a water will do fine.”

“Alright. A whiskey and a water, coming right up.” You turn to the shelves, trying desperately to suppress the tiny smile threatening to weave its way onto your face.

Behind you, Isaiah’s voice is hushed but still audible when he says, “You think staying sober is gonna impress the new barkeep?”

“I’m not impressing anyone,” Finn bites back. “I don’t need to impress anyone.”

Isaiah scoffs. “Right. You’ve just lodged a stick up your arse for the fun of it, have you?”

The unmistakable sound of Isaiah’s forehead smacking off the counter sounds behind you.

“Fuck! Alright, I get it. I get it. I’ll keep my fucking mouth shut next time, yeah?”

“Good. Next time it won’t be my hand smashing into the back of your head.”

“Ooh, I’m shitting myself.” Isaiah is laughing when you turn back around, their selected drinks in your hand. You slide them across the counter, following close behind when you lean forward with your arms crossed. Isaiah smiles, taking a swig of his drink before he pats Finn’s shoulder and says, “I’ll be off now, anyway. That table over there is playing cards.”

You crane your neck. “Are they really? I told them not to do that - half of them gamble their money off before they pay for their drinks. Robbing bastards.”

“I’ll tell them to keep a few shillings spare, shall I?” Isaiah grins again, grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles before he turns on his heel and heads towards the table in question. You watch him go, shaking your head slowly.

It’s just you and Finn now.

Finn hollows out his cheeks, swirling his water around and around and around. His hazel eyes burn into the top of the glass, as if he can somehow turn the water to wine if he stares at it long enough; his hands are scarred and bruised - old and new, mixing together against pale skin that really shouldn’t be so blemished, but is anyway.

You resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand, trace your fingers along the scars left behind by years of being a Shelby. There’s so much you can say to him, so many opinions you can throw at him in one go, but you don’t think he’ll listen. Maybe you don’t really want him to listen. Maybe he shouldn’t listen, because at the end of the day, he’s a Shelby brother, and you’re a barmaid.

Finn looks up. “You know what I’ve noticed recently?”

You raise a brow, silently urging him to continue.

“You don’t drink a lot. At all.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. It’s weird, though. You’re a barmaid. You’re surrounded by all this booze and you don’t touch it.”

“Arthur will have my hands if I even think about taking from his stash.”

Finn purses his lips, casting a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t think Arthur will notice. He’s a bit busy right now.”

You shrug, straightening up. Your shoulders crack with the slow movement, hours on your feet finally taking a physical tole on you. “I don’t have to worry about that, anyway. I’m not a big drinker in the first place. I’m more of a tea fan.”

Finn scoffs. “Tea?”

Your arms fall to your sides. “What’s wrong with drinking tea?”

Finn raises his hands in a mock pose of surrender, a shining grin forming on his face. You find yourself smiling right back, completely unable to stop yourself. “I’m not saying anything is wrong with tea. I like a cuppa myself sometimes, actually.”

“Aye, so wipe that fucking smile off your face, Finn Shelby, before I do it for you.”

Finn laughs, his hands clapping back against the counter. “You and what experience?”

You roll your eyes, slapping his hand away from your arm before he can curl his fingers around your wrist in that way he always does when your conversations take a turn for the amused. “You have no right to judge my drinking habits when you have a glass of water sitting in front of you.”

“If you want me drunk, Y/N, all you have to do is say.” With that, he takes a swig of his water, staring at you over the lip of the glass; his gaze has a warning to it, but that isn’t uncommon for the Shelby boys. Dark eyes an accessory to a personality of pure gold, you find your knees going weak beneath their scrutiny.

You look away, grabbing a dirty glass as way of distraction. “It’s not my job to tell you what to drink, I’m afraid. I pour the beverage, collect the money, tell the drunk twats to fuck off when I need to - and that’s it.”

Finn hums into his glass. “Sounds fun.”

“It pays.”

“And that’s all you care about?”

You look at him. “That’s all anyone in this shit hole cares about, Finn. Including you.”

Slowly, Finn sets his glass down on the counter. You find it strange how he can down an entire glass of whiskey in two seconds flat, but struggles to make a dent in a glass of water.

“Money isn’t all I care about, you know,” he says. “I have. . . other things.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“You can ask if you want.”

You pause, towel still stuck in the dirty glass, mind still reeling, knees still slightly unstable. “I don’t want to know. I’m too involved with you Shelby boys as it is.”

Finn chuckles. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Oh, it’s the worst sin of them all.”

“May God have mercy on your-”

Finn’s words are cut off by the gunfire.

As earlier stated, gunfire has become something you’re not unfamiliar with. Before arriving in Small Heath, even the sound of a car back firing would have sent you scrambling for cover, unfamiliar with the sounds of violence, but now, you simply crane your neck to get a better view of what is going on.

Thomas, John and Arthur Shelby stampede through the doors of The Garrison, John laughing his head off, Arthur yelling, Thomas strolling alongside them. John still has his gun raised towards the door, but judging by the sudden silence, none of his enemies have been left standing.

Finally, John twirls around and laughs. “That’ll show the bastards, eh?”

“What did you do?” Finn asks, turning to face his brothers. John immediately wraps an arm around his shoulders, pressing Finn’s face into the crook of his neck. Finn fights against the grip, pushing John away with a scowl.

“None of your concern, Finny-boy,” says Arthur. The older man doesn’t look at you when he says, “Whiskey. Now.”

You grab him a whiskey.

“Who are you sending out to clean up the bodies?” Finn asks.

“Some of the Lee’s will take care of it,” Tommy replies. “Casualties were light this evening.”

“I think that’s a cause for some fucking celebration!” John hollers, slapping his hand against the counter. “You’re a bit slow on it today, love. Where’s my fucking drink?”

“Give them a bloody chance,” Finn hisses.

You grit your teeth, handing Arthur his drink before you nod your head at John. “Sorry Mr Shelby.”

“Whatever. Just get me a whiskey. And don’t be stingy with it, alright? I’m in a good mood tonight.”

You do as asked, pouring a glass half full of whiskey and sliding it over the counter. You make one for Tommy, as well, even though the boss didn’t ask; he’s got his head down, staring at some pages he has now scattered across the bar, taking little to no care about the other inhabitants spread out across it. You give Mr O’Neil a pleasant, apologetic smile, and he nods because he understands perfectly well why you can’t move them; they’re the Shelby boys. They’ll sooner take their fingers off one by one before taking orders from a simple barmaid.

“What’s that you’ve got there, Finn?” John asks.

“Water. Don’t touch it.”

You turn. John is glaring at Finn’s glass of water like it has just offended his ancestors, one eyebrow raised, his lips quirked in an amused smile that tells you he is seconds away from taking the piss out of his youngest brother. You hang back, watching the scene unfold in the way you’ve mastered over the past few months - looking, but not making it obvious you’re listening.

“Water,” John repeats, jostling Arthur’s arm. Arthur is laughing, has the decency to cover it with his own whiskey glass. “You’re on the water, are you? When’s the baby due, then?”

“Fuck off, John.”

John slaps the back of Finn’s head. “I’d sooner drink my own piss than touch that stuff.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

John laughs. “Oooh, he’s got a mouth on him tonight, hasn’t he?”

“The water makes him loosen up,” Arthur replies, before his eyes shoot to your own. “Or maybe it’s the barmaid. Tell me, Finn - is their mouth any good?”

Your eyes pop open, heat rising to your cheeks. You’ve always known the Shelby brothers to have absolutely no filter, but it’s very rare you’re behind the comments they fire. You fold your arms over your chest, resisting the urge to tell Arthur to go to hell; you’ll leave that to Finn, who now shakes his head and says, “For fuck sake, can you two just mind your own business for once?”

John wraps an arm around Finn’s shoulder and purrs in his ear. “You are our business, little brother. I’m proud you’re getting your balls drained.”

Finn’s cheeks are coloured red by now. He keeps his eyes on the countertop, fingers moulding together to the point where there is a red mark beaming from where he rubs his thumb back and forth. “It’s not like that. Neither of you have a clue what you’re on about.”

John’s eyes snap up. You look away, running your fingers along the glass cabinet in any attempt to keep up the facade of not caring. “Aah. They’re hard-to-get, are they? Do you forget you’re a Shelby? You can have anyone you want.”

“I don’t want anyone.”

You bite your lip, turning your back on them.

John laughs. “Right. Well, when the hormones finally hit and you start getting blue-balls, just keep in mind that we run this place. We’ll get you sorted.”

Finn doesn’t reply. Part of you is glad he hasn’t, because his response would only lead to further discussion into something you certainly do not want discussed; John and Arthur continue their celebrations throughout the night, requesting more and more drinks, making more and more crude jokes. Tommy laughs along with them sometimes, but he can handle his drink much better than they can. Every now and then you will look over to the Shelby table, note Finn’s uncomfortable demeanour, before catching Tommy’s eye. It startles you every time, and you never keep the eye contact long enough to figure out what he wants - just long enough to acknowledge that it’s not an accident. He’s analysing you.

When it comes to Tommy Shelby, that can’t be good.

----

The light is dim in your flat.

The bulb is on it’s way out, and you know that. If you hold off buying another one for any longer, you will be left shrouded in darkness for the evenings - and you’re not home during the day any more. Nonetheless, you pretend it’s fine when you get home. Another day spent dealing with drunken idiots, though Finn didn’t show up tonight, which made the night a little bit worse.

You turn on the record player, put it on it’s softest volume before you tug your robe from your shoulders and step into the bath. There is a cup of tea sitting on the desk beside you. The curtains are closed, your bed awaiting your arrival. You are determined to relax tonight. You think you deserve it.

You don’t wash yourself. Instead, you spend the time just staring up at the ceiling, a cigarette between your fingers. You trace the patterns indented in the roof, notice the damp spots that will soon make you cough if you don’t take care of them - yet another maintenance issue to add to the ever-growing list. You don’t even know where to start; the idea of going out after work to buy light bulbs, or ventilation, or a new set of curtains - it’s daunting when you’ve seen what these streets can be like. In the day time, perhaps it’s not so bad. People walk around Small Heath in the day light all the time, but you’re always working when the sun is out; the only time you can go out is at night, and you’re not stupid enough to risk that.

You close your eyes, sliding lower beneath the warm water. Your feet pop up over the edge of the basin, and you wiggle your toes against the cool air that attacks them, a direct contrast to the bubble-less water you’re currently soaking in. You want to stay there until your fingers are wrinkled, until the water is cold and there is no pleasure to be taken from it any longer.

You want to disappear beneath the water forever, never resurface. Not dead, but not present, either.

These thoughts get to you sometimes. Ever since leaving London, they appear at the most random of moments; you wouldn’t describe yourself as a very sad person. You’ve struggled, and you are struggling, but life is good. For the first time ever, you have a steady wage, and you can afford things. For the first time ever, you have friends you can genuinely joke around with, regulars at The Garrison who have already sworn to protect you with their life purely because you know just the amount of tonic water to top their whiskey with.

But anyone will agree - disappearing forever is much easier than dealing with life. It doesn’t matter how happy you are.

These thoughts are cut off by a knock at your door. You immediately bolt upright, water sloshing over the side of the bath. Your eyes dart to the door, mouth opening, words of welcome on the tip of your tongue, but they are blocked by the anxiety coursing through you right now.

And then, “Y/N? Open up.”

Your throat closes over, the familiar voice of Thomas Shelby startling you into action. You don’t waste time pondering on why the fuck he’s decided to visit you. You just hop out of the bath, snatch your robe and tug it over your shoulders before opening the door. You grip the front of your robe with one hand, your other hand curled protectively against your chest.

Because there he is. The most feared man in Small Heath. The most feared man in Birmingham. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was the most feared man in the United Kingdom.

He’s not a tall man, but his personality gives him a good foot in height, in your eyes. With his shoulders drawn back and his daunting, ice-cold stare, the fact that most men are taller than him does not factor in on the fear he emits from people. He’s wearing a nice suit - as per usual - and there is very little expression on his face. His eyes roam your form for a second before he sighs and says, “Bad time?”

“Yes.”

He pushes into the house, nudging you out of the way with nothing more than a clip of his shoulder against your own. “That’s a shame. Have you got whiskey?”

You swallow, slowly closing the door behind him. The music still plays softly in the background. Tommy rummages through the tea set-up you have laid out, frowning when he realises you don’t have any alcohol for him to consume.

“I have tea,” you reply, hovering by the door in case you need to make a run for it. He’s trying not to be threatening, but the outline of a pistol is so prominent against his waistcoat.

Tommy glances at you. “I’ll have tea then.”

You gesture towards the tray. “It’s all there.”

“I pay you to pour my drinks.”

You tap your empty wrist. “Off the clock, Mr Shelby. Pour your own drink, or dehydrate for all I care.” You fold your arms. “What are you doing here?”

Tommy sighs, pouring himself a cup of tea - no milk, no sugar. “I’m here on behalf of my brother - young Finn.”

Your heart stops for a brief moment. “Finn sent you?”

“No.” He takes a long, loud sip of his drink. “Finn seems to have become quite. . . mute when it comes to matters concerning you.”

“You shouldn’t tease him, you know. He’s a nice boy.”

“He’s a Shelby. None of us are nice.” Tommy sits down, runs his fingers along the broken curtains behind him. “He’s just nice to you, which is why I’m here.”

You raise a brow.

Tommy looks over at you, shakes his head when he sees your confused expression. “You’re aware of the work Finn is involved in, yes?”

You don’t reply. It’s response enough.

“Good,” says Tommy. “Then you’ll know the risk you’re taking by getting involved with him.”

Your eyes widen. “Mr Shelby-”

“Call me Tommy.”

“Mr Shelby, Finn and I aren’t involved. We talk when he comes to The Garrison, but it’s nothing more than that. I talk to everyone that comes to The Garrison.”

Tommy takes another long, loud sip of his tea. You want to slam the entire tea kettle into his fucking skull.

He sighs, content, when he finally sets the cup down. “I have a question, Y/N.” He flicks his eyes up. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”

You freeze. “What?”

“Finn doesn’t just talk to people. He knows his own business just as well as anyone else - he knows it can never just be talking when it comes to people outside the Peaky Blinders. Our enemies will find his weak spots, and they will use that against him. I’m afraid, Y/N, you are definitely one of his weak spots.”

Your heart is beating so loud, a symphony in your chest. Your palms are sweating, and suddenly the heat from the steam is overwhelming. You swipe a hand over your forehead, biting your lower lip when you say, “No one has come to hurt me if that’s what you’re worried about. Nobody will come to hurt me, because I’m the fucking barmaid. I’m not your little brothers play thing.”

Tommy smiles. Smiles, like he’s amused. “I never said you were. In fact, I think Finn sees you as everything but a play-thing. He’s always been the naive one of us - I think he believes in true love.”

“And do you not, Thomas Shelby? You had a wife once, no?”

Tommys smile fades, replaced by that familiar deadly look that - somehow - you’re much more comfortable looking at. When Thomas Shelby is smiling, he’s unpredictable. At least you’re used to his scowl.

He bites the inside of his lip and looks into his tea cup. “I came here to tell you that - for your own safety - you need to stay away from him. Break his heart. Do whatever it takes, because the business we’re involved in right now is no place for you. And you will get involved if this little thing with Finn continues.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? There’s nothing between me and Finn. You’re wasting your time.”

Tommy slowly stands up, setting his cup on the side. He glances at the bath water, the dim lamp turned on in the corner, the broken curtains. He purses his lips, points to the ceiling and says, “I’ll send someone over in the morning to fix some things in here.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“No.” He starts towards the door. You move out of his way, keeping your eyes trained on the floor when he leans in and says, softly, “But this place needs to look decent if I want it taken over when the Russians get rid of you.”

----

Every person walking through the door is an enemy.

That’s the power Thomas Shelby has. He twists your brain. He puts you on edge. He makes every person a threat.

Your hands tremble when you pass the glass across the counter. Your voice shakes when you laugh at the inappropriate joke told by the man you’ve seen everyday for the past three months - he’s an alcoholic, you’re pretty sure, and you sometimes feel bad for being the person serving him his addiction, but right now, you look into his eyes and you see nothing but motive, motive, motive.

He wants to kill you. The person over at that table wants to kill you.

Thomas Shelby probably sent them. A warning. A way for you to understand he isn’t messing around. Whatever you and Finn have - it needs to stop before things get out of hand.

You inhale deeply, leaning your head against the glasses case. Behind you, the pub is thick with people, the evening crowd bustling through the doors at speeds you can’t keep up with. It’s strange, really; you’ve been doing this job for months now, and never before have you lacked. You’re always on your toes, skilled in talking to people, providing drinks right on time. But today, things are different. You can’t concentrate. You have to ask people to repeat their orders.

Nothing is right. Everyone is an enemy.

“And what the fuck has got into you this evening?”

You close your eyes, Isaiah’s voice making you tense. “Is Finn with you?”

“No. Little Boy Shelby had a family meeting to go to. Left us both for dead.” Isaiah racks his knuckles against the counter. “You didn’t answer my question.”

You turn. Isaiah sits at the bar, that jovial smile on his face. As soon as your eyes meet his, however, it morphs, shaping into something close to concern. He’s a Peaky Blinder, though, so you aren’t really sure what way to take it.

You hollow out your cheeks, closing the gap between you and him. You lean against the counter, ducking your head down. “Thomas fucking Shelby.”

Isaiah sighs, placing a hand on the back of your neck. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing. He’s done. . . Well, he’s done what he always bloody does.” You look up, around, shrink back down against the counter. Lowering your voice, you say, “You didn’t exactly go into detail about how bad this whole Russian deal is.”

Isaiah pulls back. “Tommy was talking about the Russians?”

“Tommy was talking about me and Finn.”

“Right. . . And that has to do with the Russians, how?”

You raise a brow. Isaiah examines your face for a second before the realisation dawns on him; he pulls back, that cheeky smile forming on his face again. You roll your eyes, grabbing his wrist to yank him forward.

“He’s talking shit, Isaiah. You and me both know that Finn and I are just mates.”

Isaiah scoffs low in his throat. You wack him round the ear.

“We are!”

“Maybe you think that,” Isaiah argues. “But Finn has a special place in his cold dead heart for you.”

You shake your head; you’ve heard it all before, and it still doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t seem real. Finn is a Shelby boy through-and-through. Shelby boys don’t fall in love with barmaids. Shelby boys don’t fall in love at all.

But then you remember Grace. Sweet, kind, understanding Grace who managed to sweep Thomas Shelby off his feet with nothing more than a purring accent and an attitude. She was close to the complete opposite of Thomas Shelby, and yet she had his heart in her grasp.

But you’re not like that. You’re not another Grace. Whatever she had, you don’t have it.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, pulling away from Isaiah. “You’re no fucking help, are you?”

“I’m telling you the truth. What did Tommy say to you?”

“Is that any of your business?”

Isaiah rolls his eyes. “Don’t get bitchy with me now. You’re the one looking like the fucking mafia have their guns to the back of your head.”

“Keep your voice down!”

“Or what?” Isaiah swivels round in his chair, doing a dramatic overview of the crowded pub. You squeeze your eyes closed, raking hands through hair matted from long hours trapped in a room full of smoking alcoholics.

Isaiah turns back to you, one eyebrow raised. “Y/N, what has Tommy got you so afraid of?”

Opening your eyes, you regard him with what you hope is a brave look; you don’t want to make your fear obvious, but it is, because it’s there and you can’t push it away. Thomas Shelby’s voice is playing on a continuous loop in your brain, the warning that once meant nothing to you only just now reaching its full potential in your head.

“He’s just being Thomas Shelby,” you mumble. “You know how he is.”

Isaiah opens his mouth to say something more, but is cut off when Charlie pokes his head round the door. “Oi, Y/N. We need some more rum from the back room.”

You scowl. “I’m a bit busy out front, Charlie-”

“I’ll take over. I hate the smell of that fucking stuff.”

You roll your eyes, nod a quick goodbye to Isaiah before pushing away from the counter and heading into the back room of the pub. It’s only small, filled to the brim with multiple wooden containers that hold all types of beer and alcohol. The stench of bleach fills your nostrils, and you succumb to pulling your shirt over your nose to block it out.

Pushing crates of alcohol out of the road, you make your way to the back of the room where you know the rum is stored. You quietly curse Charlie under your breath, curse Thomas Shelby, and the Russians and everyone who is currently making your life a complete misery, because there’s just something about finally being alone that gives room to all the thoughts you’ve been trying to avoid.

Clink.

You freeze.

The echo sends goosebumps up your arms. Your hands still against the wood of a single crate, fingers curling. The air grows still, and suddenly you are made well aware of the gaze burning into the back of your neck.

It is replaced by the cold kiss of metal.

You inhale sharply, bolting up straight but you don’t dare move. You stay rooted there, trying desperately to gather some coherent thoughts that will help you out of this situation, but nothing besides white noise comes to the surface. You’re going to die. Tommy was right. The Russians have pinpointed you, and there’s no going back now.

“You didn’t even scream,” a cold Russian accent purrs. It’s low, so close to your ear. You nearly jump with the unexpected proximity, but it’s as if the gun has pinned you down. “I don’t know why I expected any different - the Shelby boys like the brave ones, yes?”

“I’m just the barmaid.” Your voice shakes. At this point, you don’t even care.

Your captor laughs. “Oh sweetie, I know. And I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“It doesn’t. You’re wasting your time. I don’t have any information-”

“Who told you I’m looking for information?”

You clench your teeth, squeezing your eyes closed. “What else could you possibly want from me?”

It’s quiet for a split second. The air is suffocating. The walls are drawing impossibly closer, and you’re certain you’re going to faint with the sudden onslaught of unexplainable heat rushing to your face.

The Russian leans in. His lips are inches from your ear, barely brushing the lobe when he says, “Loved ones make fine bait, don’t you agree?”

His question goes unanswered when he slams the gun into the back of your head, and the darkness pours in.

----

The ropes have already done more damage than you’re comfortable with.

Indents in your wrist. A bloody indent in the back of your head. Throat hoarse from yelling, crying out for a mercy you know you will not get; there is only one way this can end. Finn will come barrelling through that door with his band of merry men, and you will be dragged from these pits through gunfire and death.

Or you’ll get killed.

Neither of the options are appealing. You don’t want Finn throwing himself into danger, but in the same breath, you don’t want to never see him again. You have things you want to say to him. You have things you need to say to him, because if you’re about to die, you don’t want to die with this weight on your shoulders.

Blood drips from the cut above your eyebrow. You blink it away, throwing your head back to let out another strangled cry for attention; so far, the only people who have entered your cell are the people assigned to injure you - only little cuts; a slit above the eyebrow, bending your finger back just a little bit, tugging on a tooth just enough to make you fear them ripping it from your skull entirely.

It’s a weird form of torture, but it’s certainly working. You feel the pain tenfold when it bombards you few and far between. The cut on your forehead throbs. Your fingers ache with strain. Your gums have already started swelling from the prodding they’ve been given these past few hours.

Few hours. Time isn’t real any more. You’re locked in a windowless room with only a metal table and a single chair placed within it. The world could be burning outside, and you would be none the wiser.

The door opens again. A tall, grey-haired man in a lab coat walks in, smiling with a set of teeth too perfect for the head they’re moulded in. His steps are sure and professional - he’s done this before. He probably thrives off it.

“How are you?” is the first thing he asks.

You spit blood on the concrete.

He nods, kneeling down beside your chair to double check the bindings. His fingers are warm against your cold wrists, and you silently curse the sudden desire for him to just wrap them around your own and never leave - the cold is eating you alive. This tiny taste of warmth makes you crazy.

“Another hour has passed,” he explains. “It seems we might be forced to take things into high gear.”

Your eyes snap up. You say nothing, but the question glows in your eyes nonetheless.

The man nods like you’ve replied. “We’re going to start sending the letters out. Details. And we’re not known for being liars, so we’re going to have to rough you up a little bit more to really make the Shelby boys quake, yes?”

You stare at him. You hate him. You hate him, and he’s smiling, and you would do anything for the opportunity to reach over and claw those glowing eyes from his fucking skull.

He smiles again. “Don’t worry. The sooner your boy comes through that door, the sooner this can all stop.” He slowly stands up straight. “Let’s just hope he gets here before the blood loss gets too much, yes?”

“Why don’t you just kill me?”

You hadn’t even realised that was a thought you were having; it seems so desperate, so close to the edge of giving up that it feels wrong to even think. But your head is throbbing. Your mind is numb. For the first time in your life, death doesn’t seem like a bad thing.

The Russian’s smile slips. He tilts his head to the side, regarding you with beady eyes the colour of cracked pottery. “Don’t get it twisted, little one. We don’t enjoy doing this - but we have business.”

“Oh, fuck you! That’s your excuse?”

“That’s the truth.” He tugs on your bindings, forcing them deeper into your cold flesh. You squeeze your eyes closed, a trickle of blood tracing its way down your hand. “We don’t enjoy doing this, Y/N, but if you keep this up, you’ll definitely make it easier.”

You shake your head. “I told your man back at The Garrison that this is a waste of time, and it is. The Peaky Blinders don’t give a fuck about me - they never have. They’ll see I’ve disappeared and put up a vacancy for a new barmaid. That’s all the attention they’ll give me.”

“Oh, but we both know that’s a lie. Young Finn Shelby has already taken an interest in you. He’s already given you much more attention than what you describe.”

“Finn likes a chat. So does any drunkard on a Saturday night.”

And then the first blow hits.

Unexpected, uncalled for. You don’t have time to beg for mercy before his wrinkled fist is smashing into your nose, your head crashing against the wall behind you, blood immediately clogging your nostrils. The noise that escapes your mouth is guttural, gargled from the blood that rises in the back of your throat; he caught your lip, too.

“I don’t like liars.” He steps back, rolls up his white sleeves. That smile is gone from his face, replaced by an angered scowl. “Lying will get you nowhere here, little one. It’s only going to make you look like a fool.”

You try saying something, but blood pools over your lips and the words are caught within the platelets, drowned beneath a pained grunt.

“Sometimes it’s just easier to know you’re place,” he continues. “Feel free to scream if you so wish, but that was the last lie I want to hear from you today, do you understand?”

You spit blood onto the concrete again. “Fuck you.”

He drags the knife from his sleeve.

----

“The letter has been sent. They should receive it within the next half hour.”

The man - Igor, you’ve learned - nods. Still, his sleeves are rolled to the elbows. Your blood mats the dark hairs running along his arms. His smile has returned.

He’s got what he wanted.

You can’t lift your head. Blood dribbles from your swollen lips. Two fingers on your left hand have been snapped for no reason other than they are bone, and Igor is merciless. Cuts and bruises dot your face, your body. Your shirt is ripped, sliced from the blade currently sitting idle in Igor’s hand. He’s taken a break, the letter has been written, and the Peaky Blinders will soon hear word of your stupidity.

Tommy will read the letter and laugh. You know he will. He’ll look at the details, and he’ll imagine your bruised and battered body, and he’s going to say what Thomas Shelby always finds pleasure in saying: “I was right.”

And he was. The little bastard was right the entire time.

“It takes an army, you know,” says Igor, waving his little helper off. The door slamming closed behind him makes you jump. “To do this, to really rile us up to this point. It takes an army.”

He approaches you slowly. His heels click off the concrete, silenced only when he kneels beside you. The stench of his breath fills your senses, a mix of smoke and alcohol - something you’re all too familiar with.

“You must realise how far Thomas Shelby and his men have pushed us,” Igor continues. “We protect our own. You understand that, don’t you?”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

Igor runs his thumb along your swollen bottom lip, examines the blood before wiping it on his unstained handkerchief, pulled from the inside pocket of his blood stained lab coat. “I wish to be friends with you when this all ends.”

You squeeze your eyes closed.

“You lied to me a few times, but I can get past that. As I said before, Y/N, it takes an army to rile us up - not a few tales told in the moment. So I hope when this is all through, you can look past the corpse of your lover and see our side of things.”

Your head snaps up. Pain bounces through your skull, but you push past it to say, “Corpse?”

Igor smiles, slow and thin. “Finn is a Peaky Blinder.” Not a question, because Igor has done his research. “They must all go, Y/N. All of them. No matter how innocent they seem.”

“Please don’t.”

“I will not argue this point with you.” He stands up, brushing imaginary lint off his coat, as if it’s not covered in blood. “I’ll leave you to rest until we get some kind of response.”

“If you get a response,” you spit. “I told you-”

“We’re not wasting our time,” Igor says. “Having you in our company will never be a waste of time.”

He offers you one final grin, one final chance to tell him you understand, before he turns on his heel and walks out the door.

---

In the moments before death, you may take a moment to look back upon the life cut short.

Regrets, pleasures, happiness - all of it will come rushing back to you in a single, fatal blow. Faces of loved ones will flash through your mind, all smiles and scowls and inside jokes. Their voices will echo. The feel of their hands against your skin will tingle against the flesh now rotting away as death takes its patient, steady strides towards you.

This moment can be seen as a blessing or a curse. A good farewell, or a waste of time.

You sit with your head hung, blood matted hair falling against your blood stained cheeks. Your head thuds, but not enough to push the image of his face away.

Finn Shelby was never meant to be the last person you ever thought about, but you’re almost certain that is how it’s going to end up.

His smile, always timid because he’s a Shelby and Shelby boys aren’t meant to smile. You remember sitting behind that bar, trying desperately to find something that amused him, some inside joke the two of you could share together - just to see him smile. Just to see him break the hard mould his brothers have always set him in.

You recall him walking through the doors of The Garrison almost every evening. Sometimes he would be alone. Sometimes he would have Isaiah with him, or some other threatening member of his brothers motley crew; it didn’t matter who accompanied him, though. His eyes always found yours, his stride always led to you, his final goodbye for the night was always pressed into your hand for you to take to bed.

And you always claimed you didn’t love him. It was easier that way. You have an idea that most people who find themselves feeling things for any of the Shelby boys will much rather live in denial than admit their feelings. That was the mindset you took; it’s safer to ignore them. It’s safer to pretend you just care for Finn as a friend might care for a friend.

But you’re dying. There’s no reason to deny anything any more.

Your head rolls back, cheek pressed against your shoulder. In the distance, you can hear the Russians talking. They stand outside the door, discussing things in a language you do not know, making decisions about a life slipping away. One of them bites into an apple, and they make it so loud and so obvious, and your stomach starts growling in response.

You won’t be able to eat anyway. Not when everything will taste like your own blood.

You settle your mind on the sound of Finn’s voice. It blocks out everything else, giving you a nice distraction to latch onto until things end. Your wrists ache, and your body is going numb, but in the back of your mind, Finn is telling you it’s all going to be alright, promising a life beyond this moment. You close your eyes, let your head fall to your chest-

And then the gunshots sound.

A noise once familiar now jolts you upright. Your heart spirals, thumping against your rib cage in a manner close to dangerous. People are yelling. In two seconds flat, the calm and quiet of wherever the fuck you are is shattered.

“Shit,” you whisper through swollen lips and blood. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Something has happened. The Peaky Blinders, maybe, but your brain goes directly for the worst case scenario - it’s not them. They don’t care about you. This is the Russians. Maybe they’ve got impatient. They might be wiping each other out. You don’t know. You’ve never dealt with this kind of thing before.

You stir in your seat, ignoring the burning pain flaring in your wounded wrists. The ropes are slippery, the blood curling around the fibres, and you can feel them shifting, but you’re too weak to slip them off. You thrash back and forth, biting back the scream of frustration just seconds before the chair tips to the side, dragging you with it.

You cry out, bruises and scrapes being knocked against the cold concrete. Black dots burst behind your eyes, and you’re certain this is it. These black dots are going to overwhelm you, take over everything until that pretty bright light appears in the distance, an angel coming to take you home.

But you don’t want to die. No part of you wants to die. The pain isn’t bad enough. The circumstances aren’t scary enough for you to crave death; not when the memories you were pondering on before are so strong, so bright, everything you want and aren’t willing to give up.

You curl your knees into your chest, squeezing your eyes closed to block out the sound of the gun shots. You remember all those evenings in The Garrison, simply rolling your eyes when John or Arthur or Tommy would come skidding through the front doors, gunshots following close behind. Back then, in that setting, it was so normal. It was an everyday occurrence. In Small Heath, people are meant to die. Wars are meant to be fought. Enemies are meant to be-

“Y/N?”

Your eyes pop open. A sob falls from your lips. You’re trembling.

“Finn!” you cry out. “Finn!”

The door is thrown open, locks wasted, security obliterated. In the hallway, people yell and scream, and gunshots are fired left, right and centre, but suddenly, all of it is just background noise.

Finn is here. He slides to his knees, dropping the gun that is far too big for him. He pulls the strap away from his shoulder, throws it to the side before he grabs his knife and cuts into the ropes binding your wrist to the chair. You gasp as soon as you’re free, crawling to your knees only to fall directly into his already-open arms.

You sob into his shoulder. Your body aches. The world is tilting, and blood is pouring from a slit in your eyebrow, right down the side of your face. Finn holds you close, whispers in your ear words that you cannot hear. You just focus on his voice, the lull of it, how each syllable shakes as it passes his lips.

He pulls away, holds you at arms length. His eyes scan your face, thumbs tracing a line down the side of it. His fingers pull away bloody, and at the sight of it, his own skin pales.

“You have to get out of here,” he says. “You have to get out of here now.”

He scrambles up, dragging you with him. You wince, but you know you have no other choice; you need to move fast or risk getting shot, wasting this second chance you’ve so mercifully been given.

He drags you towards the door, where the gunshots are loud and the smell of death is pungent. You wince, letting Finn drag you into the blood smeared hallways-

Where he passes you right to Isaiah.

You flinch away, neck twisting round just in time to catch the moment Finn starts walking in the other direction. It’s confusion at first, followed by anger, followed by panic that sees you reaching out and grabbing his wrist before he can get very far.

He ducks his head down, gun dangling around his neck. “Let me go, Y/N.”

“No. You’re coming with me. You’re getting out of here, too.”

“They nearly killed you.” He turns, running his eyes over your injured form. You’re slouched against Isaiah, one eye swollen, but not enough to shield your obvious hesitance at letting Finn go in there on his own. “I’m the one who’s pulling the trigger this time. I told Tommy that when we walked in.”

“You don’t have to - Finn, you don’t have to do any of that. Leave it to Tommy.”

“I told him this,” Isaiah says. “The shithead didn’t listen.”

Finn whirls round, pointing a finger right in Isaiah’s face. “And you can shut the fuck up, alright? These men came for me. They came for my loved ones - I’ll be the one to sort them out, and that’s the end of it.” He pushes Isaiah. You stumble to the side, scrambling for his wrist, but Finn pulls away before you can get a hold on him again. “Get them out of here. I’ll meet you back at The Garrison.”

“Yes boss,” Isaiah grunts. He starts pulling you away. You start yelling, thrashing around in his grip as much as your injured limbs will allow, but there’s no point to it. Finn turns on his heel and starts down the hallway, marching towards the area where the gunfire is still going off, where blood is still being spilled, where there is every risk he might be added to the long list of corpses found later on.

You let Isaiah drag you from the building, because it’s all you really can do right now. Your body is giving in, the pain coming back in full force when he drags you out of the building and into the sunlight. You fall to the side as soon as Isaiah lets go of your arm, stumbling in the grass with a gasp. You grip your arm, curling fingers along the slitted knife wounds running the length of your flesh.

Isaiah drops to his knees beside you. “What did they do to you?”

“You’re an idiot,” you choke out through a wince. “A fucking idiot! You let him go back in there on his own!”

Isaiah pulls back, eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re blaming me? He’s a Shelby, Y/N! A stubborn bastard.”

You groan, shaking your head. “We need to go back. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how dangerous they are-” You stumble to your feet. Isaiah catches you just seconds before you crumble to the floor all over again.

Tears leak from your swollen eyes, the world spinning. There’s a bed of water just a few feet away, and the sight of it reminds you of your dry mouth. A boat bobs within it, Charlie ready to take you home. You meet his eyes and he waves, but there is none of his usual enthusiasm; he just looks startled, eyes wide as he takes in your battered form.

Isaiah tugs on your arm, drawing your attention back to him. “Finn will kill me if I don’t get you back home in one piece, love. So do me a solid, yeah? Just this once.”

You close your eyes. “I don’t think - I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

“What are you - ay, no. Open your eyes, Y/N. Stay with me!”

But it’s too late. The world is spinning. The gunshots echo inside a head that suddenly feels much too heavy for your shoulders. It falls against Isaiah’s shoulders, and then he starts yelling, hands scooping you up. He barrels across the grass towards the boat, Charlie yelling out questions you cannot even begin to comprehend. Isaiah is yelling something back, voice hectic, but again, it slips through one ear and out the other.

It’s a relief when the darkness finally settles in.

----

Your body aches.

Bones out of place, blood pooling in the back of your mouth, the taste of ash and death licked from your teeth. Memories cling to the surface, perched on the shock of still being alive.

The hospital room is lit only by a tiny lantern set upon the table beside your bed. In the air, there is a single cloud of grey, swirling from the soft lips of Thomas Shelby to the roof high above your head.

The mob boss sits beside you, legs folded at the knee, eyes trained on a magazine. Between his lips is a cigarette that he now takes a heavy puff from, draining the life from it in the way you’re certain he has drained the life from so many human beings.

You should be intimidated, demanding answers to a situation you don’t even really want to ponder right now. But instead, you glance over, swiping a lazy hand across your eyes. Thomas flicks his own eyes up, acknowledges your rousing state and goes back to his reading.

“You’re not the right Shelby.”

“I’m afraid you have to go through me before I can put you through to Finn.”

“What are you doing here, Tommy?”

He looks at you then. Ice blue eyes carved into a face of pure steel; it’s a lie. His entire expression is a lie, something to throw you off balance. He smiles, and he tilts his head, and he hardly ever raises his voice, but behind that casual demeanour is a demon - a demon you’re growing to respect.

“They told Finn you might not make it,” he says.

Your heart stutters. “Good.”

“But you’re alive.”

“Also good.”

“You should have listened to me, Y/N. You’ve dug yourself too deep into this to crawl out now.”

You shrug. It’s a lazy gesture, one that certainly does not encompass the real emotions clawing to the surface right now. The world is coming back into view. Recollections of what happened are prying, trying to get you to give them an attention you really cannot afford to give them at this moment.

Tommy sighs, setting the magazine aside. He even has the decency to quash his cigarette in the ashtray before he leans forward, elbows pressed into his knee. “Finn wants to see you.”

“He made it out alive then?”

“Did you think otherwise?”

You tap your temple. “I was a little too out of it to be focusing on Finn Shelby.” A lie, but you don’t need to tell Tommy that.

Because he probably already knows.

“I want to see him, too,” you reply, voice quiet. “I just - I want to make sure he’s okay.”

Tommy tilts his head. “He’s not in this hospital beside you.”

“Where is he then? Bleeding out back at the Shelby headquarters? Left to die because he didn’t listen to his all-mighty older brother?”

Tommy doesn’t even flinch at your tone of voice. He simply plucks a second cigarette from the tin case in his pocket and hands it to you; you take it, do not place it to your lips. “I didn’t make a mistake in telling you to stay away from Finn. Clearly, my warning was made with sense. None of this would have happened if you listened to me.”

“No, Tommy,” you say. “None of this would have happened if you didn’t get involved with the Russians in the first place.”

And for the first time, Tommy looks genuinely shocked. His eyebrows shoot up for only a single second, his lips parting before he snaps them closed and turns away, glancing at the door of the hospital. His jaw clenches, Adams apple bobbing as he swallows down whatever words of hostility he had set out for you.

And then, his voice low, “I don’t know what power you have over Finn, but he won’t listen to me. Nothing I say - nothing I do - will make him see sense. He wants to see you.”

“And I want to see him. Where is he?”

“Back home. He doesn’t know I’m here.” Tommy looks up. “He thinks you’re dying, Y/N. We’ve made an effort to keep him away.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Thomas, but it isn’t needed. I’m alive. I’m - I’m okay.” You place your hands on your ribs, bruised and battered, halfway to broken. “Let me see him.”

“When you’re healed,” Tommy replies. He starts to slowly stand, all long legs and expensive suits. He brushes a hand through his hair before placing his flat cap back on his head, and all you can do is watch his gracious movements when he plucks your unlit cigarette from your fingers, places it in his own mouth and heads towards the door.

“Tommy,” you bark, stopping him in his tracks. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t reply, but the acknowledgement is enough for you to continue. “You were right. It’s my relationship with Finn that threw us in the shit. But just ‘cause you’re right, doesn’t make my relationship with Finn wrong.”

His fingers curl around the cigarette tin in his hand. For a second you think he might humour you, respect you enough to turn and give you some kind of response, but he does no such thing. He simply starts walking again, slamming the door closed behind him.

----

Being out in Small Heath at night is dangerous. It was once an action you never would have even considered.

Now, however, with your battle scars throbbing and your mind a blur of painkillers and hostile memories, you don’t care. You pull your knees into your chest, leaning on the wall of the small building you call home. The children no longer roam the streets; the carriages have been parked up for the night. Above you, the moon blinks, asking you what on earth you think you’re doing sitting in the open like this, when the rapists and murderers are at their optimum.

You take a sip of your tea. Well, Mr Moon. I don’t care.

Tommy kept his word, of course; stumbling into your house for the first time in two days, the first thing brought to your notice was the new bulb in your lamp and the new curtains set up against the window. The roof was painted a fresh white over the course of your absence; Tommy had left a single note on the mantelpiece: “Sleep well.”

What it means, you don’t know, because it obviously isn’t just a casual, light hearted message to welcome you back. Thomas Shelby isn’t like that.

Through the silence, it is easy to hear the footsteps sidling up beside you.

In the darkness, you stiffen, hands curling round your mug. You don’t look up to see the persons face, but a single glance to the left reveals all; you would recognise those polished boots anywhere. Boots that should be stained by dirt and blood and gore remain clean, because Finn is a Shelby, and that’s what Shelby’s do.

“You should be inside,” he says.

You press the cup to your chest, the warmth scorching your collar bone in a most delicious way. “I couldn’t sleep.” You look up, breath leaving you as soon as you see him. Even the shadows do little to mask the face you’ve fallen in love with - and god, you’ve fallen in love. Months of trying to deny it, of telling people you and Finn are friends and only friends has come crashing down with the experiences of the past few days. He stands above you now, hands tucked in his pockets, his hair a little bit messier than usual. He’s staring down at you, eyes glittering under the lanterns lining the street above your head.

You tap the concrete beside you. “Sit?”

He lowers himself to a squat, not quite sitting but he’s close enough to you now that you can smell the mint leaves on his breath.

“How have you been, Finn?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He glances at you, chews his bottom lip. “I thought you were dead. They told me you were dead.”

“Who?”

“Everyone.” He rubs his knuckles along his upper lip, a rare demonstration of nerves. “It fucked me up. Fucked my brain up.”

“I could have died.”

“But you didn’t.”

You close your eyes, tilting your head back just a little bit. When you speak, it’s like you’re addressing the moon. “No. I didn’t. Because you stupid fuckers came and helped me.”

Finn scoffs. You look at him, one eyebrow raised. You can feel the stitches in your forehead pulling with the movement before Finn reaches over and runs his thumb along the seam, as if flattening the scowl.

“I’m offended you thought I’d just lounge about on my arse all day whilst you were in danger.”

You swat his hand away, tea nearly spilling over the lip of your mug with the action. “You could have been killed, Finn. Killed. Do you know how long Thomas would have let me live if you got yourself murdered whilst trying to save me?”

Finn rolls his eyes. “Don’t even talk about Tommy. He-”

“A whole zero seconds,” you cut in. “He would have shot me on the fucking spot.”

Finn lowers himself to the curb completely, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “He wouldn’t waste bullets like that.”

You slap his arm.

Finn throws his head back, laughing. His smile is so bright, momentarily letting you forget about the darkness you are both encompassed in, the world of danger you stand upon. For him, it is willingly. He was born into it and has seen no reason to leave. For you, the choice was made not by your head, but by the stupid thing beating in your chest. You’ve fallen in love, and can’t bring yourself to walk away.

It’s as you’re having these thoughts - these scary, scary thoughts - that Finn reaches over and brushes his thumb against your lower lip. You tense, eyes darting to his own. He’s staring at your mouth, tongue peaking out from appealing lips of his own.

You slowly reach up, curling your fingers around his wrist.

“I killed them.” His breath fans your face, all mint leaves and truth. “Shot them with my own fucking gun.”

“Finn…”

“And it still wasn’t enough.”

You close your eyes, tilting your head to rest in the palm of his hand. He wraps his other arm around your shoulders, tugs you into his side without explanation or awkwardness; you fall into his grip, resting your head against his shoulder as the darkness comes back, and the reality follows suit.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

His grip tightens. “Don’t.”

“I don’t want to give you the burden of having to protect me all the time.”

“It’s not a burden-”

“Tommy warned me about what it would mean for me to fall in love with you, the danger of it. He told me to stay away.”

Glancing to the side, you catch sight of Finn’s clenched jaw, fingers on his free hand curling and uncurling.

You reach over and touch his wrist. “He wasn’t wrong, Finn.”

The Shelby boy closes his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“I don’t want to hurt you-”

He stands up, sudden and swift, with the grace only a Shelby boy could truly have. You catch yourself before you tilt, head following his movements. He runs his hands through his hair, jaw clenched and teeth gritted. “You know, Y/N, there’s a reason I didn’t let Tommy handle the Russians on his own.”

“Finn, keep your voice-”

“A very good fucking reason.” His eyes burn into your own. “You’re the one person who listens to what I have to say. I felt like you were the only person in the world who saw me as Finn, not just an extension of the fucking family business.”

Your heart thunders. “Finn-”

“You were the one thing I thought I could enjoy on my own, because you can look Tommy in the eye and tell him no. You’ve always been able to do that. You don’t want to hurt me? Then don’t let that fucker get in your head. You can walk away from here now, never talk to me again, but for the love of god, don’t be like everyone else - don’t let Thomas Shelby run your fucking life.”

You’re standing in two seconds flat, arms thrown around Finn’s shoulders, back and stomach screaming in agony but you don’t care. You kiss him with a ferocity you’ve never known before, drown in the feel of his hands resting on your jaw, his breath mingling with your own, the years of pent up need finally rushing from your system in a single clean swoop.

Finn kisses you back just as desperately, his fingers resting on your jaw line but not controlling your movements; you’ve taken control. You’ve got your arms slung round his neck and this man wrapped around your little finger, and you sink into him, deeper, deeper, deeper if that’s even possible after the months of denial you forced yourself into.

You pull away first, shaking your head. “This is so stupid.”

Finn runs his hands through your hair, voice a whisper. “I love you.”

You melt against him. He catches you, hands slipping from your hair to your waist where he tugs, pulling you closer against him. “I know this is a bad idea,” you mumble into his neck, “but I can’t leave.”

“You don’t have to leave. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“And I won’t.” He pulls away, holding you at arms length. “But my life is a fucking mess, and you’re the only thing that makes sense, so I’m going to try my fucking hardest.”

Here he is. Finn Shelby, a member of one of the most feared gangs in England, someone who is meant to grow up to be just as scary, just as intimidating, just as savage as the rest of his family - and yet he holds you like you’re made of glass, nimble fingers cupping your elbows, eyes soft, trained on your mouth as you purse your lips and shake your head.

You can imagine the destruction this will cause; Polly will have something to say, some insult to throw in your direction because god forbid someone put her boys in any type of danger. Arthur will let you away with nothing. John will curse and kick things and throw a hissy fit. Thomas will just be a danger, a risk you’ll have to look out for.

You wrap your arms around Finn yet again, hugging him close. He nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck, sways back and forth just a little bit, like the night breeze has finally taken him hostage. You bury your own head against the side of his, the feel of his skin making it so, so easy to forget about what it is you are really doing.

“I love you,” you whisper, directly into his ear because you feel like you need to. Right now, with the stars and the moon as witness, you need to tell the truth.

Finn shudders against you, tightening his hold on your waist. Afraid to let go. Afraid to dive headfirst into a life he once signed up for, but one he has never been prepared for.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders one shot #finn shelby #finn shelby imagine #finn shelby one shot #finn shelby fanfiction #finn shelby fic #finn shelby x reader #peaky blinders reader insert #finn shelby fluff #peaky blinders writing

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yafaemi · 4 years

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Layers to a Lady

one: outside layer

[Name:] Amandine du Aubrieault.

[Hair Style & Style:] Gray-black, with darker streaks. And no, my hair is not dyed. My hair has not always been mid-shoulder length, as well. It was incredibly long when I was a child. Mostly by my mother’s preference.

[Eye Color:] Violet. Though, I’ve been told my eyes can be mistaken as black in dark enough lighting. I personally doubt it, yet I don’t see any reason to confirm it for myself.

[Height:] Rather average for an Elezen, I believe. Perhaps an ilm or two difference?

[Style:] Fancy, I suppose. I’ve never considered what I call my style. It’s rather hard to mistake that I lean towards the finer things in life, regardless. Or magely? I’ve heard a friend of mine use that term to describe it. (Though that... isn’t a word. Not that she cared. Believe me, I told her such. On multiple occasions.)

[Best Physical Feature:] Hmm... I’ve always been fond of my eyes. At the risk of sounding vain, they’re a wonderful color.

two: inner layer

[Fears:] Being left without control over my life. I value my autonomy far more than I do any laws, though I have a rather funny way of showing it. My greatest fear in this world would be to wake up one day, and realize that all it was all an illusion.

[Guilty Pleasure:] ...This information is staying here, yes? I’d rather not have... any unexpected second parties finding this. The first I thought of was cheesy theatre performances. Whether cheesy for the lack of quality, or just the nature of the show itself, there’s something delightful about it.

[Biggest Pet Peeve:] Those who willfully cling to their ignorance. In my mind, there is no individual weaker than that. Walk with your eyes open, lest they are forced open by another, crueler hand.

[Ambition for the Future:] Long term, or short-term? One is far more personal than the other-- not that I’ll be specifying which is which. Decide between the two if you’d like. For the long-term, I simply intend to live as I’d like, and become a far more skilled mage. For the short-term-- which... really, considering the circumstances, is not half as short as the word suggests... I plan to avenge the death of a friend.

three: thoughts

[First Thought When Waking Up:] The first things I usually ask when I’m awake enough to think coherently is what time it is, or if Oliver is awake first. Usually, if he is, then I can expect there to be hot chocolate in the kitchen. He makes enough of it in the mornings to supply one mug to each soul in Ishgard.

[What You Think About the Most:] Hm. I’m not quite sure, frankly. Though, I suppose it would likely be my friends, whatever book I happen to be reading at the time, or musing about Ishgard’s progress and where it will go in the future.

[What You Think About Before Bed:] Whatever I was doing before going to bed. More often than not, it’s the events of an evening stroll through Ishgard, prior conversations in the day, whatever I happened to be reading, or-- if it was my turn to put wood into the fireplace for the night-- whether or not I actually remembered to do it.

[Your Best Quality Is:] My inquisitiveness. I enjoy exploring ideas, and learning about them. If there is more to learn about something, then I will be there to discover it.

four: what’s better

[Single or Group Dates?] Quite frankly, I hardly have any interest in romance. Yet, if I were to go on a date, I would be more intent on learning about my partner than spending time with friends. Which... really, is a long way of saying single.

[To be Loved or to be Respected?] In a twist that I find rather interesting, I would say loved. Had you asked me some few moons ago, my answer more than likely would have been different. My friends are a terrible influence in the best way possible.

[Beauty or Brains?] Brains. They will get your farther than looks. At least in my experience. I did not become a skillful mage because of my enchanting physique, I’ll have you know.

[Cats or Dogs?] Cats. Dogs are undoubtedly adorable, yet I hardly have the energy it would take to care for one.

four: do you...

[Lie?] I doubt there’s a soul in the world who hasn’t lied before. Who knows, I may very well be lying about every single one of these responses. (I’m not, rest assured.)

[Believe in Yourself?] Why would I not? While there have been times that I was uncertain of my skills, I’ve always believed myself more than capable of going onwards with whatever is in my way.

[Believe in Love?] Of course I do. There is evidence of it everywhere, after all, when you know where to look. So an old friend would like to say, at least. Though I hope you don’t just mean romantic love. To think only of romantic love when someone says ‘love’ is narrow-minded, at the best of times.

[Want Someone?] Not particularly. I’m quite happy being single, as of now. Who knows. It may change, though I highly doubt that for now. My friends are more than enough.

six: have you ever...

[Been on Stage?] Hm. That depends what you count as a stage? I have, technically, done performances before. On a makeshift stage, at least. I would prefer this stay here, as well. As a child, my mother was quite insistent that I choose some manner of instrument to learn. I decided to tell her that I was interested in learning to sing. My own little way of rebellion, that... didn’t quite go as I had planned. Thus began my rather short-lived career, singing Halonic verses by my family’s requests.

[Done Drugs?] No, and I have no intention of doing so. My mother would rise from her grave the very second she even heard me consider it. Of that I have no doubts.

[Changed Yourself to Fit In Somewhere?] Not particularly. Perhaps as a child, once or twice, in an attempt to fit in with the other children. Yet in my adult years, I can’t think of a time I’ve done so.

seven: favorite

[Favorite Color:] I have a small handful of favorites, though the one I most often think of first is purple. It’s also the color I seem to wear the most often, as well.

[Favorite Food:] This may be a rather strange choice-- yet one I’ve always been fond of is quiche. My mother used to make quite a lot of it. It’s more of out of nostalgia than any real fondness, really.

[Favorite Game:] I’ve never been much for games, in recent years. I usually prefer reading to pass my time. Though, watching Aurora grow increasingly more bewildered as Oliver beat her at Triple Triad without a single clue as to what he was doing was the most invested I’ve ever been into any game since childhood. So, I suppose if I were to list a favorite, it would be that string of games, that night.

eight: age

[When Your Next Birthday Will Be:] Well, seeing as though it’s my nameday today, I suspect it will be in exactly a year from today.

[How Old Will You Be?] I will be turning 26. Halone, that feels strange to say.

[Age You Lost Your Virginity:] I will make a note not to tell you when it does happen.

[Does Age Matter?] That, frankly, depends. You wouldn’t put a child on the battlefield. ...Hopefully. In a situation such as that, I should certainly hope age matters.

nine: in a partner

[Best Personality:] Someone who is not afraid of what may lie beyond the horizon, who refuses to shy away from what they find. In whatever sense that may be. It’s an invaluable trait to have, I think. Other than that, I’m not entirely sure what to add. I’ve not put half as much thought into ‘my type’ as others might.

[Best Eye Color:] Whatever color my partner’s eyes are. I would think that those are the eyes I would find the most enchanting.

[Best Hair Color:] Generally the same as the prior answer.

[Best Thing to do With a Partner:] Long, peaceful strolls in the evening, talking about whatever comes to mind. I find such times the best while getting to know each other. Though that may depend on if your partner is the type of person to enjoy them.

ten: finish the sentence

[I Love...] My friends. As infuriating as they can be at times, I would not give them up for the world. They have changed my life for the better.

[I Feel...] Quite relaxed, as of now. It’s been a lovely day thus far.

[I Hide...] A good many things. My secrets are called that for a reason, after all. I am not wont to reveal them without good reason.

[I Miss...] A departed friend. There have been recent developments that I think she would have been ecstatic to witness for herself, yet the chance was taken from her.

[I Wish...] Well, I suppose it would be far too simple to say I wish said friend would return. So... hmm. To end on a humorous note, I wish Oliver would stop attempting to burn down our house whenever he cooks something. I am literally capable of producing fire with magic, and somehow he manages to set fire to whatever it is he makes without the use of it. I have to physically restrain myself from asking him to teach me the secrets of his pyromancy, at times. (I doubt he would tell me, regardless. If nothing else, I would just get a pout in response.)

tagged by: @eligos-venator (thank you by the way :O)

tagging: @nekun-uul and whoever would like to join! :D

#| a path in falling snow ; a prelude in violet #tagged #a way to introduce mand into the main blog! woo :D #plus since today is her birthday i thought it'd be fun to actually do this for her #(it took me a lot of time to get this done today but i DID IT and im very proud)

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arabellaaaas · 4 years

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Favourite Worst Nightmare

Part 5: Only ones who know

|An Alex Turner x Arabella Davis fanfiction series|

Description: When two broken hearted meet, they try and hide their past. This is a story about two young adults whose pasts won't let them find happiness again in each other's arms right away.

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: CREDITS TO THE GIF OWNER. So I have been missing for a bit, but I am back again!! I am still stuck on writing chapters ahead, but at least I have content to post. Tell me if you want to be tagged!!! Have a nice day ❤

Taggs: @imagine-that-100 @bettyschwallocksyee

With her legs up on the steel railing and the breeze going through her black hair, she was listening to her friend's ceaseless comments and remarks as she was taking the smoke from her small roll of organic tobacco into her mouth. She knew that Bree won't stop too soon, so she decided on looking at people passing by, analyzing them, giving each one a life prompt. The lassie did not even get the chance to end the whole story that she was telling. Her companion cut her right off before she could explain to her everything she was now mad about. But, of course, Bree's stubbornness had to make a comeback. The city meant a lot to Arabella for some reason. She believes that the city loves her in ways no person ever has. It listens to her fierce footsteps, the clicking of her shoes against its dirty pavements early on a Monday morning. It sees her smile ear to ear when she sees the windows on its huge buildings reflect the orange glow of the afternoon sun. It hears her satisfied sigh in winter as the first sip of the coffee she is taking out with her to smoke warms her thought. It celebrates with her when she is on top of the world and cries for her when life gets hard. The city sees and hears and feels every moment of every day of her life. The city understands.

"Are you even hearing what I am telling you here?" that was the sign that she was finally done expressing her angriness, or at least she took a small break. She heard everything. She did not even know how to make her understand that the man she was talking about was not on the edge of falling in love with her. "I am hearing it loud and clear. But are you hearing me when I say that it has been a week since we met and he only called me when he was high, or drunk, or something?" And with that, Arabella stopped Bree from almost losing her breath and voice as she was madly explaining non-sense to her friend. Bree did not want to admit that the woman next to her was right for once. Actually, there have been multiple occasions when Arabella was right, just that she could not understand why.

"I do hear that. But think about it, A", she stopped for a second so she can also light up her cigarette and take a cloud of smoke out of it and then went off again with her explanations: "Maybe he is going through something and he just wants you by his side. Because he wants you by his side" she accentuated the word "want" as if it was the last time she could say it. Arabella was already done with this, but she kept her calm since she loved her so much. Why was Bree so furious talking about Alexander? She did not even know him. Arabella was already used to this because she was expecting something like this, it looked like something he would do. This was the reason she was so impassive about this. She knew he is not the type of man to stay close to one woman only, at least he cannot do it this fast as he met her maybe three weeks ago. So why bother about the fact that he was kind of ghosting her and only remembering her when he was not sober? It was fine with her, but not by her friend. "He already told me he is not the one to find love in a flash, neither he is looking for that. Which I understand, 'cause I am not either." Arabella explained herself, pressing the cigar end on the bottom of the ashtray. She grabbed her glass filled with whiskey and took a sip, letting out a sight afterwords. Arabella swirled the whiskey in his glass, listening to the chinking of the ice cubes and breathing in the not so fresh air. Ever since she worked as a bartender years ago, she had a thing for whiskey. She also liked other strong drinks and a lot of other soft ones, but whiskey was her favorite choice. Maybe it was because of the mellow amber color of it or the uncomparable taste of it. Anywho, she loved it. It brought back a lot of memories of all kinds, good or bad.

"But what if this time is different? Have you thought about that?" Bree asks, looking to her right where Arabella was sitting. Bree was the kind of girl that women loved to hate. She was an adult as of her age, but so young that she still had the exuberance of youth. She had that movie star look, not overly tall and willowy, but more like an action star. Her muscle definition was perfect and she walked with the confidence of someone a decade older. She wasn't just flawless in her bone structure, her skin was like silk over a glass and she radiated an intelligent beauty. At least that is how Arabella saw her.

"Could you be kind and tell me why the fuck are you so obsessed about him liking me? I don't want to be with him anyway. If you want him, go on, I will give you his number."

"I am just trying to justify why he is someone who could potentially be your boyfriend. And a good one." she knew Bree was trying to make her get over her ex which was pretty hard to acquire. He was a big part of her life and helped her go through a lot. He was there when she moved and when she got a new job. Basically, he wined his way into her affections so he can use her as much as he wants. She was naive, she could not leave him when she first found out about what he was doing. She felt like the world was breaking right under her feet and she was going to fall deep into a deep hole with no end. Everything felt cold, nothing made sense anymore back then. Her head was full of thoughts and emotions that she could not show. She acted tough, but she was breaking inside. Everything came unexpectedly, the devastation was absolute, her emotional home leveled, torn apart. She cried for weeks every night as she was drinking the same drink she now has in her glass. Her body felt numb, she had bruises everywhere on her body, she was dehydrated from all the crying and screaming. She did not eat for days as she always made excuses in front of everyone for her lack of taste. She was always thinking of him and she could not believe he would leave her after everything she's done for him. She just wanted to disappear in the night and never see the light again. It was rough.

"Why would I want him?" Bree demanded and Arabella could tell by her tone that she was offended by her question.

"Because you keep asking me about him when you don't even know him. And why are you offended? He is a really pretty guy, it's not like I told you about someone you wouldn't like" Arabella quickly grabbed her glass and took it to her mouth to hide the grin she had on her face as she said the last few words.

"I have a boyfriend, unlike you" she snapped back, angrily putting the cigar in her mouth and breathing in the smoke while throwing her friend a deadly look. Only if eyes could kill...

"Yeah, for how long?"

___________

"Come on, Henders! It's fun, right?" the man with sunglasses said as he was moving his body on the music, not seeing a thing happening around him. Once again, Alex was not sober. For the past week or so he kept on getting drunk or high and regretting it the next day. Miles and Matthew were looking at each other, then at him, and then back to each other. They did not know what to do to help him get back to normal. It was not the first time they would see him drunk, it's just that they did not ever see him drink so much just "because he felt like it" in a whole week. Something was happening to him but he denied the accusations and told his friends to "fuck off" as he was singing along in gibberish. Matt and Miles knew about Arabella and they thought something might happen with her. He was always talking about how he should call her and talk to her and listen to her but hardly did it as Miles confiscated his phone.

Alex continued to swing around and pretend that he knows what is going on in the room. He was dizzy and could barely see anything. His vision was blurred and the sunglasses did not help at all. He could not feel his body anymore and everything he was hearing was funny for him. Under the influence of alcohol, everything seems like fun. Conversations which under usual circumstances would be dull, become either fun to hear either way too depressing for him. In the past week, he felt how his life was getting out of control. He was always thinking about his past and people that left him or searching for reasons why everyone left him behind, especially her. He was there for her always. He tried to help her with absolutely everything. He tried to make her feel like a princess and have everything she wanted. He always thought of her good instead of his own good. He never said no to any stupid idea she ever had or any trip she wanted. Nothing made sense in his head. Where there was the love, the light, the laughter was an aching hollowness. When he found out about his girl cheating on him, he drove to her apartment, not even knowing what will happen. Thankfully, the man she cheating with was not there. He opened her front door without knocking or anything and she ran over to the door with a huge smile on her face. When her happy eyes met his tired ones, her smile instantly faded. She was not happy to see him, her boyfriend, she was expecting someone else to show up. He looked down at her, staring at his own reflection he could see in her dark eyes. At that particular moment, Alexander realized the fool he was. In his head, he could hear Jamie's voice that warned him about his supposedly "girlfriend". Warnings that he ignored for almost six months, before finding out that he was actually right.

He did not think of everything that happened two years back in a long time and he was not sure why he was thinking about it now. But it was taking over him completely. He forgot his worth and he felt like jumping off a cliff sometimes. That's why he chose to drown his thoughts and sadness in alcohol for a little while. He is good with self-control, but he just did not want to use that ability of his then.

"No, it's mot fun, Alex. Why are you forcing yourself to drink this much? Did something happen with that chick you've been talking about?" Matthew asks him, watching him with worried eyes. Matthew has been Alex's friend since elementary school and usually, he was the first one to find out what was happening in his head. Probably the only one too. But this time he did not want to communicate, nor answer questions. "Don't call her that! She is not just a chick" Alex's drunk voice spoke with a wave of slight anger in his tone. Miles's head immediately turned over to meet Matt's wide eyes. "Did he just say that she is not just a chick?" Miles whispered so that the dizzy man could not hear. Matt just nodded with his head and they both turned over again to Alex. He was trying his best to light his cigarette, which after multiple failures he succeeded. He was acting like a child, he probably forgot the remark he just made. Matthew was in shock. Alexander Turner, the man that swore he won't find someone else after the whole Thea episode that lasted a long time, was admitting that Arabella was not "just a chick".

"What do you mean she is not just a chick?" Miles popped the question, following every more that the man was doing.

"All I am saying is that she is not just a chick" Turner repeated himself, quickly grabbing his phone from Miles. He turned around and as fast as he could, he searched for Arabella's name in his contacts and tried to write her a message. It was hard to understand what he was saying there, leaving the girl confused as she and her friend tried to guess the gibberish he just typed.

A small grin appeared on Matthew's face. "Is she your girlfriend?" he asks, and Alex's denies with a head shake with a huge idiot smile on his face. He was just like a child.

"Are you two just shagging?" Miles also asked and he got the same answer. They kept on asking him questions about what is between the two and Turner responded with the same gesture, still dancing and drinking. He was always checking his phone and smiling when he saw notifications coming his way. He felt like jumping around and singing, but he knew he couldn't jump because he will definitely fall and break something, a bone, or something around his apartment. He looked down at his phone and hardly read the message Arabella sent him. In a second, his mood switched from happiness to the polar opposite, sadness.

"Why is she asking me if I am drunk again?" he raised his head, looking at his friends with puppy eyes as if his feeling were hurt by her message. "Maybe because you are and because you can only type gibberish?" Matt asked him rhetorically but he didn't seem to deduce that.

As he typed back a whiny response, he violently sat down on the floor. He let out a sigh, running his hands through his messy hair that he didn't even bother to style earlier that morning. He was sick of the feeling of alcohol by now, but it was too late to go back. All he could feel was the smoke of the wrinkled toxic stick had a slow creeping stench. Could there be any more lame symbol of the era of addiction over true moral choice than the cigarette? He still thinks that smoking is his worst habit, but he still doesn't want to quit.

"So what are you two then?" Matthew asks again, noticing the sudden change of character. He did not even know how to respond. He was, for now, feeling miserable. His friends were looking at him with pity in their eyes and the only woman he actually got close to in the last two years is asking him if he is fine, when he was feeling all this because of some mad lady he was madly in love with years ago. He did not know why he felt this way after all this time when he moved on, but he was repeating himself that it was not fair.

"I don't know, man." he lied with a fake smirk exposed on his tired face, looking at both his mates with a fake pride he just built on the spot to help him get out of the situation he was in. "I've been feeling kind of foolish since she came around and replaced the peace and quiet for acrobatic blood. She does what the night does to the day".

Both Miles and Matt looked at him as if he was insane, whenge was just drunk over his head. His ears were making an uncomfortable sound which was the only thing he could hear. It was awful for him. He wasn't even aware of what he was saying.

"I mean-" he stoped mid-sentence to catch a breath and take one more sip from one bottle he just found next to him. "She's like a thunderstorm, you know?" he then continued, started to feel his tongue swirling in his mouth, making it hard for him to speak properly. Not that he has been doing it. "She's thunderstorms" he laughed, looking down, over to his phone. His sight was confusing, it was getting more blurred than before. His head was heavy, his nose was hurting for some unknown reason, and not to talk about how harsh the sound he was hearing was.

"What happened, Alex? Do you want to talk?"

Was the last message he could see before blacking out.

His head felt heavy, everything in front of his eyes was pitch black and he could only hear voices that felt like they were kilometers away from him. Matthew and Miles jumped from the couch and lifted up Turner and placed him on the couch. Matthew tried to wake him up by softly slapping his face and it was looking like it was not working. Miles brought a glass of cold water to sprinkle over his face, but still no reaction. After a few more tries and half an hour of panic as Alex was not waking up, he finally did. He was looking around him, trying to realize what happened. When he finally comprehended, he felt like slapping himself. He got up and thanked his mates for taking care of him and then begged them to leave him. At first, they disagreed, of course. The man just blacked out and now he wanted to be alone. Alex was losing his patience and they could tell that by looking at his face. It got all darken and cold, when an hour ago he was dancing and laughing.

When they finally left, he took the coldest shower he'd ever taken. His only wish at the moment was for his skin to freeze and break in million pieces as he would be looking at them. He got dressed up and went back to his living room. It was a mess, and the fault was no one's but his. Everything was out of place and the only thing he could smell was the smoke from the cigarettes he was smoking. He opened a window and on his way back to start cleaning a tiny bit, he found his phone and remembered the message he received right before passing out.

"I am now. Please excuse me for tonight. I would fancy if you would forget every strange message I've sent"

He wanted to apologize even more, but then his image would be ruined. "Not that it wasn't already. " he thought. He sat down on his settee and started contemplating what he had done.

"You're the same miserable guy, Turner" he sighed.

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khhunniewriting · 5 years

Text

The Others (11)

[ Mafia/Gang AU ]

Warning: The entire chapter is a flashback to 17 years ago when they first met/dated. There will be some suggestive content.

“Welcome- oh it’s you again Mr. Lee.” You smiled widely at the charismatic man that had earned you a big commission on multiple occasions. He was young, handsome, and rich- a triple threat. On top of it all, he seemed easy to talk to despite the overwhelming gap in status between you two.

“I told you to call me Joonkyung,” he reminded you with a smile of his own. This was his third time at the jewelry store that month. He hardly had time to spare on shopping, more importantly, there was a limit to how much jewelry he could buy but he somehow found the time and space to visit the same shop. It was easy when you were there.

Dok2 had been unable to forget you.

He stayed awake at night thinking about the genuine hardworking young woman that helped him pick out his wife’s anniversary gift.

The shop was relatively lonely with only you and the security guard out on the shop floor while the store’s manager resided in the back office. The counters lined with shining diamonds and sterling silver couldn’t compare to your beauty.

Behind the counter, you subtly slipped back into your heels gaining a couple inches of height. It was tiring standing around most of the day in an empty shop. Jewelry wasn’t a fast-moving item allowing periods of silence at the time.

“What can I help you with today?”

“My wife’s birthday is coming up.”

“And you came to get her another pretty piece,” you sighed. This man never held back for his wife. You figured he was deeply in love with her since he had gotten married at a young age. “She’s so lucky~”

Dok2 chuckled at your exasperated sigh. In previous talks, you declared yourself the most unromantic woman on Earth. “I thought you didn’t believe in marriage.”

“Do you know how many engagement rings get returned? Love is such a foreign concept to me.” You leaned over the counter resting your elbows on the glass and your chin in the palms of your hands. All the while you wondered what twist of fate had to occur for you to experience the devotion of a man who loved you as much as Mr. Lee loved his wife.

It was too late for him to confide in you, to tell you that he too knew nothing about love. On day one you managed to sweep him into conversation. Almost immediately making him out to be something he wasn’t.

He did not know what love was.

Nonetheless, he congratulated himself for playing his role as husband well enough for you to believe he cared about his wife.

Unfortunately, that backfired the day he realized he was more than a little interested in you.

That year, on Valentine’s Day...

Joonkyung popped into the store seeing a vast increase of shoppers. His eyes scanned the vicinity looking for your beautiful smile. It hadn’t been long since his last visit but he missed you. The sound of your voice alone brought a sense of peace he could not find anywhere else.

When he found you there was a couple across from you asking to see nearly every heart-shaped necklace the store carried. They were gushing and cooing at each other as you forced yourself to smile. He knew it was not genuine after receiving his fair share.

“Welcome sir, may I assist you this evening?”

Another female employee of the store that he had never seen before approached him. She was younger, wearing a regular uniform unlike yours. You were now the store’s manager allowing you to wear what you pleased as long as it didn’t hinder the shop’s image.

“I want to see the manager.”

“Oh,” the girl panicked thinking there was some sort of problem. “I’ll get her right away.” She scurried off after politely bowing and asking him to wait, dodging the patrons and calling you aside to let you know of his request.

When you looked out into the store you found Joonkyung staring in your direction. The first meeting of your eyes had the corners of your lips rising into your first smile of the eventful day.

Christmas, New Year’s, and now Valentine’s... this man had class. Mr. Lee had single-handedly caused your promotion. Your sales kept increasing making you stand out to the corporation that owned the store.

You instructed her to take over for you with the couple while you attended to your special customer.

“Joonkyung, I knew you would come in eventually.”

“Hello Y/N,” indeed he had worked hard to get on a first-name basis with you. He never missed an opportunity to call your name.

There was no need for questions on a day like this. You took him directly to the silver jewelry his wife seemed to favor. There were a few new pieces that came just in time for the holiday.

He followed you but he wasn’t paying much attention to what you were saying. His mind wasn’t on the jewelry but on the woman handling it.

“This one has been selling very well-”

“What do you like?” Dok2 thought it was now or never. If he waited any longer he would be unable to hold back. He knew for a fact that you didn’t have a boyfriend but that could change any moment. “What would you expect from your boyfriend?”

You put down the pendant in your hand and instead pulled out a simple thin necklace with an equally delicate and small diamond hanging in the middle.

“That?” Dok2 questioned in disbelief. He was expecting you to pull out some rare expensive items from the back that you only showed him and the other big spenders.

You nodded innocently, “Don’t judge me but I’m not into the flashy pieces like you are. I prefer smaller items that can go unnoticed if one does not look hard enough.”

He agreed, sometimes the best things were those that nearly slipped your fingers.

"Although I wouldn’t expect such a gift on Valentine’s day from a boyfriend.”

“I’ll buy it for you.”

“Wh-what?” You thought you heard wrong at first but when he handed you his card you realized how serious he was being. “You’re serious?”

He nodded, “I’ve been meaning to give you something for a while now.”

You stood up straight your eyes shifting to see if anyone had heard the exchange. Your fingertips turned white as you tightened your hold on his card. Perhaps you were reading too much into it?

“Why would you give me something so expensive- why give me something at all?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

\\\

Looking around your new surroundings made everything seem so unreal. The condo was huge, too big for a single occupant. You walked about noticing every detail of luxury that had gone into it.

“I definitely can’t afford this kind of place.” You returned to his side hoping he would take you to a much more affordable area. This side of the city itself was known for being costly.

“But do you like it?”

“Who wouldn’t.”

“Then it’s yours.” Dok2 held your hand opening it to place a key flat in your palm.

You were stunned, unable to say much but to protest against it. “I can’t accept this.”

He smirked recalling the first time he tried giving you something. That necklace you wore daily, the one he bought for you on Valentine’s day. “That’s what you said about the necklace”

“I also said that we should stop seeing each other.” It hurt to remember that this was an affair now that you were developing stronger feelings towards him. For six months you enjoyed your meetings with Joonkyung but the moral dilemma weighed heavy on you the more you stuck around.

Dok2 wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you in towards him. His lips hovered over yours allowing you to feel the warmth of his breath.

“We both know you don’t mean that.”

He leaned forward meeting your soft lips with his. Dok2 had made up his mind to pursue you. There was something about you that had him laying awake at night. A feeling of regret, as if he had to be with you or he would be losing out on something.

You gasped when his tongue slid across your bottom lip but quickly recovered from it. “Joonkyu-” He wouldn’t allow you to speak or to part ways. He reclaimed your lips, slid his hands lower until one of them pulled your thigh up to his hip.

Once again you gasped, this time he took the chance to slip his tongue past your lips.

His actions had you holding onto him for dear life. You noticed this before but you were always surprised by his aggressive acts of dominance. The more you protested, the harder he tried to coax your honest feelings to come out.

Joonkyung was a confident man. He knew you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

“Be honest,” Joonkyung smirked seeing your flushed and gasping for air. “Do you want me?”

You looked away embarrassed. “What kind of question-”

He latched his lips onto your neck leaving a trail of kisses that elicited your involuntary moaning. He did not appreciate the way you dodged his question with another question.

“Answer me.”

You didn’t know what was wrong with you. The way he demanded things turned you on making it harder for you to deny him.

“You’re married Joonkyung.”

He would be the death of you.

\\\

Dok2 pulled you in closer never taking his hands off of you the entire night. It was a stark contrast to the way he slept with his wife. They shared a bed but he kept to his side while she did the same.

The first night you slept with him it was a night of discovery for Joonkyung. You had clung to him, something he found oddly alluring. It seemed you were only honest in your sleep- seeking him out. Then every morning you awoke pulling away to cover up.

When your eyes fluttered open you looked up to catch a glimpse of his playful smirk. Once again you had given in to this man. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

"You’re really beautiful in the morning.”

You turned your back to him hiding your quickly reddening face.

Dok2 laughed before pulling you back towards him. “You always do that.” He kissed your shoulder trying to dissipate your embarrassment. “There’s no need to hide from me. I like seeing your reactions.”

“Shut up,..” you muttered becoming extremely aware of the fact that you were both still very naked under the thin sheet. “And don’t move.”

He laughed some more.

“Don’t you want to do it once more before I leave?”

“No,” you lied already feeling the heat take over your body. He was the first person to ever make you feel the so-called butterflies in your stomach.

“You’re a horrible liar,” Joonkyung whispered in your ear.

When you looked back Joonkyung took the opportunity to steal a kiss. His lips lightly pressed against yours easing you into a deeper kiss. He just couldn’t get enough. Your lips lured him in weather they were curved up in a smile or pressed tightly in a line of disappointment.

He never knew he could enjoy someone’s company like this.

\\\

“Don’t think about it too much.”

All you could do was think of the consequences your relationship with Joonkyung would have. But, for some reason, it seemed you were the only one who would get hurt.

His wife was pregnant...

Perhaps you had gotten your hopes up. You had thought that because he had you, his relationship with his wife was over. Suddenly your chest felt heavy, empty- void of everything.

Wer you expecting him to leave his wife for you one day?

You were upset.

You were confused.

It wasn’t till this moment you realized what kind of relationship this was. You were a mistress that could be tossed aside. Not once had Joonkyung suggested otherwise.

“Until the baby is born I’ll have to spend more time at home.”

There it was, the first signs of abandonment. You wanted to say something but you had no right. If only he could say something to put your heart at ease.

You loved Joonkyung but-

“I understand,” you did your best to smile.

Joonkyung noticed it was not a genuine smile but said nothing. He went about the condo treating it as his home.

If only he could say he loved you.

If only you could hear him say that word once...

-end-

A/N: I wanted you all to see and know a little bit more about their relationship since I noticed I didn’t say too much about it in the first installment.

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wolfpawn · 5 years

Text

Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 22

Story Summary - Based on an idea I had that I submitted to Imagine Loki. Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.

Chapter Summary - Loki discusses what Ella told him with his father before he discusses certain topics with her, only to get some truths he’s not so sure he can handle.

Previous Chapter

Tags - @peppermint-j @damalseer @perpetual-fangirl @tinchentitri @inspired-snowflace @raphaelaisabella @alexakeyloveloki @caffiend-queen @devilbat @nonsensicalobsessions @skulliebythesea @majoringinlife @salempoe @lotus-eyedindiangoddess

Request if you wish to be tagged

NOTE - Ostara is a Norse celebration of fertility each spring that is the basis for modern Easter.

Loki thought about what needed to be done. He was apprehensive. After everything, this would be so different, but he had to do it, for Jotuheim. He walked through the halls thinking through everything. When he got to Ella’s rooms, he thought over everything for a moment before knocking on her door. There was no response, causing him to knock again. When he was met with no answer, he contemplated his options. Thinking if he should enter and wait for her, wait outside for her, or go in search of her. He turned to leave just as the door opened, revealing a drenched Ella to him. “Oh?”

“Is everything alright?” She ensured only her head was viewable to him.

“I need to speak with you.”

Ella looked both directions before opening the door to allow him in.

When Loki entered, he looked at her confused. She was soaking wet, a light robe over her, the water very much making it somewhat translucent. “I...Is there someone else here?”

Ella looked at him in confusion. “Not that I am aware of?”

“Why are you wet?”

“I was having a bath?” She looked over herself. “I would have thought that to be obvious.” She pursed her lips and sighed. “I must admit, your swiftness to suggest such says a lot. I had begun to think we were past this nonsense.”

Loki thought to make a retort, but he thought better of it. “I apologise. I am negating everything. Please, forgive my foolishness. I do not wish to sabotage this, I came to speak with you on a serious matter.”

“Which is?”

“The Vanir.”

“What of them?”

“They are inviting us to join them for some event, a...Ost…”

“Ostara, yes, a significant festival there. I didn’t realise it was that time of year again.” Ella smiled. She noted Loki’s confused face. “Ostara is a fertility festival. It is to hope for a good year, they have this interesting symbolism for it, eggs, for obvious reasons, and rabbits, because of their high fertility.”

“What are rabbits?”

For a moment, Ella thought Loki to be jesting, but seeing his confusion, she remembered that Jotunheim did not have such a creature. Thinking better than to simply describe it, she used her seidr to conjure one. “This is a rabbit. It is fast and has multiple litters of young a year, each litter containing several young, the gestation period is also notably swift also.” She used her seidr to clothe herself, noting she was starting to get cold. “It is interesting, of course, that they request this now. Why now? Is it for consideration to the differences in heat, Vanaheim of course, being incredibly warm in summer, this is the best time to ask for a visit before the forced delay of several months? Is it because there is something more afoot, I wonder.” She paced as she spoke. “My parents always go. Is it a form of extension through them. Is it to have Vanaheim be the first realm to host Jotunheim after everything, what is their motive?”

“Is the king not some relative of yours?” Loki hampered a guess.

“Yes, but that means nothing. I met him six times in my life, none of those meetings lasting longer than a few days. I know nothing of him. If he walked past me, I would hardly know him. I would definitely think him to not know me.” She shook her head. “No, there is something more to this. Something I cannot think of yet. When are you to leave?”

Loki was startling by her manner of thinking of this. “The end of the week. We need to prepare.”

“Who is to go?”

“Byleistr’s second mate I never knew about is due to come to heat, he will not leave her.”

“No, of course not. They must endeavour to conceive, it could not be expected. May the Norns grant them favour for it.”

Loki nodded, startled again that she thought such a thing, considering she had not conceived and knowing the pressure on them, now more than ever. He had seen other mates get envious when such occurred, even if they were not a mate of those involved, Ella seemed to genuinely wish them luck. “So Bindi, obviously.” Ella smiled at Loki’s affectionate name for his brother. “They do not realise that Father has cast me from being his heir, so I am called upon.”

“Laufey will return your position to you, he is just trying to get you to better yourself first.” She assured him. “Why else would he have you preside over court? No, fear not. You will have your crown.”

“We don’t have crowns.”

“I know.”

“You seem so certain.”

“Father did it with Thor too. Would you believe there was a time my brother was even more immature?” Loki looked at her worriedly. “Yes, he was. He went to Midgard and had something that can only be described as a tantrum, the likes of which little children have, and Father officially declared him not to be his heir, that a law would be altered to make me his heir. That caused uproar, as you can imagine. My brother, however, saw my father was not lying and realised he needed to show my father he could do it. He is not ready yet to take the throne, but he is more mature than he was. He will mature more with time. Laufey will be the same. He knows you are the best choice, he simply wants to teach you a lesson. Figure it out and accept your fault, show him you are fighting to change it and he will declare you as such once more.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

“What makes you think he will not?”

“I just accused you of having another here even when you never gave any indication of such.”

“You are not perfect, Loki, but you are learning, he sees that.”

“I am sorry.” She gave a small smile. “I have not…”

“I know.” Loki frowned. “I am good at telling when people are being dishonest.” She smirked. “You better prepare to leave.”

“Actually, the invitation is to you too. That is what I came here to say.”

“Oh, I see." She thought for a moment. "It appears I have to prepare for our departure."

"Yes." Loki nodded slightly. "And again, I apologise for that."

Ella gave a polite smile. "For what?"

Loki thought for a moment that she was being ridiculous, but he then realised what she was implying. "Thank you."

"Will I see you for dinner?"

"You will."

Ella gave him a genuine smile. "I look forward to it."

Loki felt a slight gripe in his stomach at her saying that, not knowing why her saying such would affect him like that.

"Norms," Helbindi moaned. "How is anywhere this hot?"

Loki and Ella looked at him sympathetically. With a flick of her wrist, Ella caused a green glow to go around the Jotnar, causing them all to look at her worriedly before they realised what she had done. "Better?" She asked.

"Thank you." Arden bowed slightly.

"It would not do to be entirely out of your element. I am just grateful we do not have to come later in the year. It gets far warmer than this. It is not made for Jotnar."

Loki looked at Arden for a moment, who nodded in return. Both wondering the same thing. Was there anything of a comment on her own situation in her words.

They arrived at the location where the Vanir were waiting, both parties looking at one another apprehensively.

Ella urged Loki forward with her seidr, he looked at her worriedly, wondering how she was able to make him move with her magic. She merely smiled politely in return and took a step forward to stand by his side. Taking her lead, he walked forward.

"Prince Loki, of Jotunheim." The man to the front of the Vanir declared loudly. "And Princess Ella of Asgard."

"Sir Gregor Culpepper, King Wilhelm's head advisor," Ella whispered to her husband while they walked towards him.

Loki took on board her words. "Sir Gregor, thank you for meeting us here," Loki replied.

"Well, on a momentous occasion like this, it is imperative that we start right."

"I agree." Loki concurred.

"Though, if I may point out, for announcing our arrival, I would rather be addressed as being of my husband's realm, as is tradition," Ella smiled. The advisor looked at her somewhat confused. "I am now Ella of Jotunheim, not Asgard."

Loki looked at her, slightly startled that she declared such so openly.

"As you wish, your Highness, my apologies. I did not intend to offend."

"Not at all. Tell me, how are the apple blossom this year, have they began to bloom yet?"

Loki felt himself being forced to hide a chuckle as he recognised her polite manner of changing a conversation when she decided she would speak no more on a matter.

The advisor began to speak of the trees she referenced, becoming engrossed in the matter as they made their way to the Vanir palace. Loki, Arden and Helbindi realising fairly quickly that Ella distracting the Vanir advisor from boring them with some other inconsequential matter.

#loki fic #Chapter 22 #Pride and Prejudice

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the-everlasting-dream · 5 years

Text

No - Drake x MC

Summary: Elizabeth’s reaction to King Liam’s request from Chapter 2 of TRH

A/N: Oh look who’s alive and decided she remembers how to write. Thats right, I’m back with some subpar fiction and I hope you like Elizabeth’s honest reaction to the fiasco that was the beginning of this book. Some lines are obviously from the dialogue.

Word Count: 3408

Warnings: Swearing.

Tags: idk who even reads anymore so @chantelle-x0x , @choicessa, @mariamulroney , @drakewalkerwhipped , @quartzandarrow , @mfackenthal , @srawesleyghuewrites , @topsyturvy-dream , @enmchoices , @gardeningourmet @debramcg1106 , @alesana45 , @meladoridarcy, @blackcatkita , @tmarie82 , @annekebbphotography , @lizk77 , @jayjay879 , @tornbetween2loves , @akrenich , @theroyalweisme , @likethetailofacomet , @sleepwalkingelite , @littleblossom-18 , @ooo-barff-ooo , @drakewalker04 , @mkatschoicesblog , TRR only: @speedyoperarascalparty , @carabeth , Drake: @fairydustandsarcasm , @drakewalkerisreal

‘To ask us if our future baby would be the ruler of Cordonia?’

The words rang in Elizabeth’s ears, the sound of her own voice alien to her as what Liam was alluding sunk in.

‘Liam.’ Her mouth moved but it was Drake who spoke, tone laced with disbelief.

‘I... I don’t know what to say. My kid sitting on the throne...’

My kid. Our kid.

They’d talked extensively about kids in the past month, agreeing that while they still both wanted children, it would be nice to spend some time together first as a couple. Surely Drake would say no. The next words that came out of his mouth shook Elizabeth to her core.

‘I mean it would be an incredible honor.. I don’t know what to say..’

She turned to gape at the man she now called her husband, remembering vividly how he’d described how excited he was to take their little one on the same camping trips like his own father had done, teaching them the art of making the perfect smore, giving them the life he wished he could have had. That picture of a little boy or girl with Drake’s hair and her eyes, a perfect mix of the two of them firmly planted on his shoulders seemed to evaporate when she heard those words.

‘Elizabeth. What do you say?’ Liam’s blue eyes turned on her in expectancy.

‘No.’

The word was out of her mouth before she could control herself but she didn’t want to take it back. She watched both their faces fall and straightened her spine, swallowing hard. ‘No. No Liam. I wish I was sorry but I am not. I’m not giving my child up for anything.’

‘Walker,’ Drake started, reaching for her hand but she wrenched it out of his grasp.

‘No. I said no.’

Seeing his mouth open again presumably to reason with her, she turned on her heel and stormed off down the beach. Anger boiled in her veins like never before, searing hot; she could barely think straight. Liam to coming here — on their honeymoon, no less — and asking them for their literal unborn child was insurmountably selfish.

Hadn’t she giving up enough already? Was getting kidnapped, shot at multiple times, having the man she loved almost bleed out in front of her not enough? Was she to sacrifice her future family just because the king of Cordonia couldn’t get a date?

These and a thousand other venomous thoughts were swirling on her mind as she stalked off, heading in no particular direction except away from the conversation.

‘Walker wait up.’

Elizabeth did nothing to slow her pace as she heard Drake jog up to her. ‘Walker would you just stop for a minute? Elizabeth!’

Jerking to a halt, she waited until he was in her line of vision before fixing him with a poisonous look.

‘Jesus what was that?’

‘I could ask you the same damn thing. What the actual fuck Drake?’ She spat, not caring if anyone heard her.

‘Liz c’mon. It’s not like the kid wouldn’t be ours still.’

‘Drake do you even hear yourself? I thought you of all people would be with me on this. You’ve spent your entire life hating the nobles for their stuffy ways, you’ve ranted to me on enough occasions about how pretentious and prim and stuck up and snobby they are. Now you’re turning around and saying you’d sign our child up for that without a second thought?’

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. ‘Walker, c’mon you know it’s not like that..’

‘Then tell me what it’s like!’ She screeched, her voice shrill as it no doubt carried down the beach to where the rest of their friends were waiting. ‘Because to me it seems like you’re willing to drop and show your belly every time Liam asks you for something. Have you forgotten you have a wife now or does my opinion weigh nothing?’

‘You know that’s not true Elizabeth,’ he snapped back angrily and some part of her was glad to see the reaction, any reaction. ‘He’s got a good reason. We married for love. Don’t you think Liam of all people deserves the same?’

‘I do. You know I do. But his happiness shouldn’t come at the price of ours.’

Drake ran a weary hand over his face. ‘Don’t you care about the future of Cordonia?’

She paused momentarily thrown by his question. ‘What I care about is the future of my family. Something that you obviously don’t share. I don’t get it Drake. I really don’t. You of all people know how dangerous the life of a monarch is. Assassinations, poisonings, coups. Did the situation with Anton teach you nothing? And the worst part is that you didn’t even think to talk to me about it? You’re happy to just agree with whatever ridiculous demands he dreams up!’

Drake glared at her. ‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’

Hot tears pricked the back of her eyes as Elizabeth met his gaze. ‘We promised each other that we would have each other’s back. All the time, one hundred percent. All we talked about after this whole wedding shebang was to have a normal life, the two of us and the family we would have together. At least that’s what I thought we both wanted.’

The look on his face told her that her words had been driven home. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment.

Say something. This is our first real fight. Say something. She begged him silently, watching as Drake opened and closed his mouth several times but no words came out.

‘I’ve got a beach ball here with both your names on it!’

Maxwells voice cut through the tension. ‘What better way to work through some newly wedded strife than to slap a ball at each other huh?’ He shot a grin at them before wrapping a hand around each of their arms, leading them toward where the others had all gathered.

‘Beaumont this is hardly the-‘

‘Splendid idea Maxwell,’ Elizabeth interrupted, snatching the ball angrily out of his hands. ‘You’re on my team.’

Tensions boiled hotter than the afternoon sun as the game took place on the sand opposite the villa.

Elizabeth barely made a sound the whole game, concentrating her entire effort on hitting either Drake or Liam in the face. It would have solved anything but it would have made her feel a whole lot better, she decided, spiking the ball towards her husband. She rolled her eyes as he flawlessly intercepted it, sending it sailing over the net to Hana. She didn’t forget how Liam was readily avoiding her eyes, tapping the ball sympathetically over the net towards her as some kind of convoluted apology. She hit the ball again, harder this time, treacherous thoughts of Rumplestiltskin and baby snatcher rolling through her head.

What kind of person asks another person for their baby? Go make your own goddamned baby. What do I look like? The baby making machine? He may be a king but I am a duchess and my body is mine and so is my child.

‘Elizabeth heads up!’

The warning was too late and she was midway through turning her head toward the sound when something slammed against the side of her face, the impact hard enough to knock her off balance onto her hands and knees on the sand.

‘Walker!’

‘Elizabeth! Oh my god! Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ she answered, brushing aside Hana’s hands, her ego wounded more than anything. Regaining her footing, she avoided all eye contact under the pretense of brushing the sand from her skin, keenly aware of Drake’s gaze on her.

‘I think I’ve had enough volleyball for one day.’

‘Elizabeth -‘ Maxwell began but she silenced him with a hand.

‘Max just... don’t. I want to be alone. Please.’

Steam rose off the bubbling waters of the outdoor jacuzzi as Elizabeth sunk deeper into the tub, trailing a hand through the churning foam, the other against her reddened cheek, her thoughts reflecting the same image.

This is my baby. Our baby — she corrected herself. Mine and Drake’s.

‘I want a little girl with your eyes and my hair.’

‘Not my hair?’

‘Hell Walker, you’re so perfect I’d take an exact copy of you.’

She laughed and they shared a cheesy smile as they both stared out at the waves crashing on the sand. She took another sip from her wine, feeling Drake’s eyes on her.

‘Something’s on your mind.’

‘What? N-no.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I may have only been married to you for a month but I know when something’s bothering you Walker. So what is it?’

Elizabeth heaved a big sigh. ‘Its just… We didn’t get a ton of time as a couple before the whole wedding debacle happened. We’re still learning about each other.. And I know we’ve got the rest of our lives to do that…'

‘But?’ Concern leaked into his big brown eyes and she could tell he was trying to hide it so she cleared her throat resolving to just say it once and for all.

‘A baby means a big change. For us. As a couple and as ourselves. And I…’ She faltered.

His hand slipped into hers, squeezing comfortingly.

‘This last year has been amazing, me coming to Cordonia, becoming a duchess, marrying the love of my life, so many things have changed. I could do with some normal before another big change happens and shakes it up again.’

Drake tugged on her hand and she took the opportunity to climb into his lap.

'I only just got you. Is it selfish to want you all to myself for just a little bit longer?’

Elizabeth felt his lips on her head, pressing a gentle kiss there.

’Not at all.’‘I know you’re excited for a baby — I am too but I… I’m just not there yet.’

She buried her face in his chest, worried about what he was going to say next. ‘Its okay Liz. Its okay. We don’t have to jump into this thing head first.’

He hooked a finger under her chin so she’d look at him. ‘When it happens, if it happens, it doesn’t matter. All I care about is us. As long as we’re in this together, I’m down for anything with you Elizabeth.’

As the memory replayed in her head, Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal. Did all that mean nothing? Or perhaps Drake simply put more stock in Liam’s opinion than her own?

Now THAT hurt to think of. She was very familiar with the bro code but surely that didn't still apply after freaking marriage?

Why us? That was another puzzle, she couldn’t solve. Why Drake and I specifically? Wouldn’t it make more sense if Liam absolutely HAD to appoint a heir to appoint one from one of the longer standing noble houses? What made her so special?

For the briefest moment, another thought crossed her mind. Surely he can’t still be in love with me...?

Elizabeth shook her head, perishing the thing from her mind. That door was long closed. If a public wedding wasn’t a big enough sign of rejection, she didn’t know what was. Was there something she was missing here? Something everyone knew about except her? Why did it seem logical to everyone to take someone else’s child and make them heir when you are perfectly capable of making your own?

‘Got room for one more?’

Elizabeth picked her head up to see Hana standing in the doorway, a pair of brightly coloured cocktails in her hands. She shrugged in reply, gesturing to the space beside her, gladly accepting the beverage. The cool liquid soothed her dry throat and she sipped it appreciatively, feeling marginally better.

‘Thanks Hana. You always know what to do to make me feel better.’

The other woman smiled softly. ‘What are best friends for? We missed you’

‘I missed you guys too.’ Elizabeth could not help the corner of her mouth lifting for a moment before it dropped back down, her somber mood settling back in. ‘Are things back home as... turbulent as he says?’

Needing no clarification, Hana’s pretty face crumpled in regret. ‘Truth be told Elizabeth, things are more tense than Liam let’s on. As soon as Anton’s trial was over and you guys left for your honeymoon, we received delegates from our neighbours Monterisso and Auvernal. I’m not sure if Bertrand taught you the history behind those countries.’

When Elizabeth shook her head, her friend continued.

‘Back then both countries were at odds with each other, always fighting, always trying to undermine each other. Cordonia was in the middle. The neutral ground so to speak. So it was only logical that each of them would try to win us over to their side so they’d finally gain the upper hand over each other. Constantine’s reign was the only thing stopping either of them from overwhelming us. And when Liam ascended the throne…'

‘Power newly transferred is the easiest to be taken,’ Elizabeth finished.

Hana nodded. ‘Since Liam doesn’t have an heir or any marriageable prospects really, he looks weak. And as a new king, in the middle of a political battlefield, he looks easy.’

‘But why me Hana?’ she burst out. ‘Why does it have to be us?’ She watched her friend’s pretty face crumple in through for a moment.

‘Because he trusts you and Drake the most. All the other houses, other nobles. Sure they might be happy to give up one of their own for the throne if Liam asked, who knows what agenda they have… I’m not telling you to do anything. Just keep all that in mind okay?’

Hana placed a comforting hand on her leg. ‘I’m going to get out before I turn into a prune,’ she joked, getting to her feet. ‘Bertrand would be horrified if we showed up to dinner in this state. You coming?’

Elizabeth nodded vaguely, turning over the new information in her mind. ‘I’ll be right there.’

Dinner was a tense affair. To make things worse, the conversation immediately ceased when Elizabeth took her place at the shared table, next to Bertrand. After a few moments of sporadic mumblings and pushing her food around her plate, she stood up abruptly, making her excuses and leaving, ignoring the gazes of her friends behind her.

The sea wind whipped at her hair, tousling it beyond taming as Elizabeth stared out into the dark horizon, kicking at the sand as she ambled down the beach. Her mind still turned over Hana’s words from that afternoon, now that she’d had time to process it, she was beginning to see the reasoning.

‘Can I join you?’

She shrugged, not needing to look up to know that it was Drake. ‘There’s nuff beach for the both of us.’

‘How’s your cheek?’

‘Its fine.'

They continued like that for a little while longer, walking two feet apart, both of them silent as she ignored the way his eyes begged her to look at him. Rubbing her arms, Elizabeth shivered slightly as the cold sea air nipped her skin. She turned her head to see Drake already shrugging off his denim shirt, having noticed.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Just take it. You may be mad at me but I’m still not going to let your stubborn ass freeze.’

He stepped closer, his hands were warm when they touched her, settling the fabric over her shoulders protectively. Their faces were inches away and for the first time since that afternoon on the beach, she dared to look up into his dark eyes.

‘Thanks.’

He shook his head in a gesture of dismissal, pausing briefly to gather himself. ‘I’m sorry about earlier.’

‘Me too.’

The crashing of the waves on the beach was all that could be heard for a few moments. ‘Is that really something you wanna subject our kid to?’ She said finally, breaking the silence. ‘Liz…'

‘I’m not mad anymore. I just… I wanna understand where you’re coming from.’

Drake let out a huge sigh, tipping his head back to the night sky above them. ‘I know its out of character for me.. that I’m the last person who would want this.’

‘No kidding. You’ve spent your entire life hating that place. Two days after we met you were warning me about the nobility and how toxic they were and now...'

‘You’re right,’ Drake admitted, lacing his hands behind his head and staring up into the sky, sighing in defeat. ‘You’re right.’

‘So what changed your mind?’ Elizabeth watched her husband think for a long moment.

‘To be honest,’ he said finally. ‘It was you. You were the one who showed me that a person could go through that place and still be the same honest, down to earth girl I fell in love with. What you’ve done to this country, in the last year, generations of nobles couldn’t achieve in decades. You showed me that there’s more to the nobility than gilded walls and politics.’

Drake’s eyes took on a faraway look now. ‘Yeah when you got that duchess title, I was a little scared that you’d finally be one of them but you’re not. You didn’t let it define you, you used it to make a difference like you did for me, the court… hell, the whole kingdom. So when I thought about how our home needs our help… how my best friend needs our help, I knew that with you by my side, if anyone could raise an heir with a good head on his or her shoulders, it’d be us.’

Elizabeth dropped her head to hide the small smile that broke through. ‘You’re doing it again.’

‘What?’

‘Making me fall in love with you.’ She looked up at him. ‘A little prince or princess raised by two former commoners could do a lot of good around there.'

Drake didn’t say anything as he wrapped his arms around her and she gratefully sunk into his embrace, finally feeling at peace for the first time all day.

'Promise me something.’ Elizabeth spoke up, her voice slightly muffled by his shirt.

‘Anything.'

'From now on,’ she pulled back to look him in the face. ‘We make big decisions like this together. We’re gonna be facing a lot of tough things as duke and duchess and we gotta have each other’s backs. Because if we don’t, who will?’

‘Promise.'

‘I guess we should go talk to Liam now huh?’

‘I guess we should,’ Drake replied, lacing his fingers through hers, preparing to lead them back to the villa before Elizabeth tugged him back to her.

‘Actually wait, I just thought of something.’

'Liam I am going to be frank with you,’ Elizabeth towered over where he was sitting on the couch, a menacing look on her face. 'What you asked of us today was a huge overstep of personal boundaries. You may be king but you have no right whatsoever to be so presumptuous especially with such a life changing decision.'

'I am sorry Elizabeth truly I-'

‘Do not interrupt me Your Highness.’ Elizabeth’s tone seared through the room as she fixed him with a fierce stare. ‘You had crossed the line and frankly it is only your best friend’s negotiation skills that saved your ass here.’

She paused, watching his blue eyes widen slightly at her use of the word before she made her demand.

‘Five years.’

Liam’s brow furrowed in confusion. ‘I-'

'I’m giving you five years to find a wife and put a baby in her. Drake and I, we care for this country and we care for you but we have to prioritise our own family first. So in the interest of compromise, we’re giving you until our child is five years old to marry and produce an heir of your own. In that time, Drake and I are fine with our kid being the centre of all the media attention and political nonsense as long as you understand that this arrangement...’

Elizabeth paused to gesture between them. ‘Is temporary. When your wife is pregnant, we will withdraw our child as heir and yours may take its rightful place. Those are my terms.’

Liam rubbed his jaw, eyes flitting from Elizabeth’s determined eyes to the floor as he thought it over for a moment before turning back to her.

‘I accept your terms.’

#this is the only way i can see liz going along with that horrorshow of a plot #and not be like canon mc my uterus is at your command liam #nah this is much more liz #Elizabeth Walker #Elizabeth Richmond #drake walker #drake x mc #drake x elizabeth #king liam #hana lee #maxwell beaumont #the royal heir #the royal romance #choices #choices fanfiction #choices fandom #playchoices #long post

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