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anki-of-beleriand · 24 days

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The Best Kept Secrets - Ch. 1

Summary: Wanda was on the verge of breaking down when she was called to attend her brother's engagement party. Alone and unable to keep up with her father's expectations she makes a deal with the devil that would lead her to discover a side of her that may either destroy her or bring the happiness she so craves for herself.

Pairing: Female!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Warnings: au, Moder setting, No powered charcaters, cheating, idiots in love, unrequite/requited love, jealousy, drama, angst, broken hearts, homophobia, more warnings as chapters come in.

Author's Note: Hello guys! I hope all of you are doing amazing. So, now that I finished two of my favourite stories, I would love to start a new one. Now I need to warn you, this is a real story, some of the events you are going to read happen in real life and of course charcaters had been changed and adapt to fall into place with the story.

Thank you for reading, and giving me the chance to share this with you. Remember English is not my mother tongue, so apologise in advanced for any grammar, spelling or funny mistake you may find in here.

Chapter 1

Nothing to write home about

In the present…

- St Pancras International Railway Station, 3:30pm -

It hadn’t stopped raining since you left home almost two hours ago.

You stood by the platform with your eyes glancing at the empty space surrounding the station, your mind completely blank as you detach yourself from the world. The sound of conversation and laughter grew louder around you, it was a cold day and the jacket barely covering your trembling body; the weight of the last year came crashing down into your soul as the train finally made a stop and people started disembarking scattering around while ignoring your lone figure standing still.

The train was punctual, as always.

You lifted your eyes to the sky, the dark clouds gliding above your head reflecting the storm breaking into your heart.

A lot had happened in a year, and you wished you had been spared the heartbreak of having met the woman that was now haunting your dreams.

You snorted wiping away the tears falling down your cheeks, your hand tightened around the handle. It was not used thinking about the past, nor was it worthy to dwell in it; yet as soon as you went inside the railway truck trying to get away from your life in England.

Your eyes closed tightly, your ears straining to hear the people filling out the wagon as you waited for the train to leave the station. You wished it was easy to forget, that your mind was not fixated on what had happened and that your heart was not so foolish as to hope.

Without opening your eyes, and with your eyes filled with tears you wished, not for the first time, that you could forget…

How everything started a year ago…In the past

“It’s raining.” The voice broke the silence in the library, you snorted leaning back against the chair while holding the book closer to your face.

“This is London, it is always raining.” You replied curtly trying to catch the words on the book before settling down on the table.

You knew it was useless to continue working while you have your roommate tapping on the table with her fingers, you cocked your head raising a brow at her. Natasha Romanoff huffed, tapping rapidly her eyes going from the window to you, then back again.

“What is it?” You finally asked, the young woman shrugged but after you glared at her she rolled her eyes straightening up.

“There is going to be a party, more like a function tonight.” Natasha gauged your expression, her green eyes gleaming with a silent request you were dreading already. “Everyone is going to be there, and I want you to go with me. As a date.”

“As a favour.”

Natasha couldn’t hide her wince, and you could only snort at her obvious attempts to get you on her side. You knew what she was interested in, a blond-haired woman that had caught her attention after a conference in which the woman had charmed her way into Natasha’s mind. The redhead leaned forward placing her hand on yours, there was a soft pleadingly glance in her and you knew you were sold as soon as you made eye contact.

“I really want to see her again,” Natasha was not one to ask for favours, she had learnt from an early age to never let anyone have a hold on her and this petition was something you knew cost her not only her pride but also her confidence.

“What do I gain with this?” You crossed your arms refusing to give into the smile that broke into Natasha’s face.

“Well, for one, you may finally get to meet someone.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes, “doubt it. Continue.”

Natasha scowled at that, she really wished you stopped thinking you were not good enough or attractive enough, or smart, and funny, and lovely enough for anyone out there. She knew that you hadn’t had the best of childhoods, and that your experience with friends and relationships had only left a broken mark in your heart and soul.

“This is also a chance to get to know people that may be interested in investing on your investigation,” this time around Natasha could see that she caught your attention, she held back her smile without stopping her rant, “I mean, I know the school has given you full support with the doctorate, but to continue your work you will need someone supporting the investigation.”

You chewed on your lower lip, lowering your gaze for a moment. It was true that you had been looking into someone that might have wanted to be interested in your area of expertise, it was hard as it was to find someone interested in history, much less in founding an investigation on that field. You could know those events usually hosted people whose interest in such topics were what you needed.

“I guess I could go with you,” you finally gave in, rolling your eyes while ignoring the triumphant smirk Natasha was shooting your way. “But I don’t want setups! And I don’t want you pushing me to get the phone number of anyone, got it?”

Natasha hesitated for a moment before she finally gave in, “I promised.”

“Good, then when is this thing happening?”

Natasha’s smirk grew even more, and a feeling of dread settled in your stomach; for some reason, you couldn’t help thinking her smile was hiding her real intentions with this sudden invitation. But your head soon dismissed that thought, even if that was the case, Natasha had always been transparent in her set ups and she had already promised this wouldn’t be one of her plans to set you up with one of her crazy friends.

At least, that was what you hoped for.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Kate pursed her lips watching amusedly as Wanda failed her to strike the golf ball with her club. The young woman was grabbing the thing with all her strength while holding her posture just as tense, this was the fifth time she failed to hit the ball and it was going from amusing to just plain pitiful.

“I can’t believe…” Wanda gritted her teeth throwing the club to the ground, Kate came right at her holding her tightly while she sobbed into her arms.

The tension had come after the news of Jarvis’ marriage reached out to them; it had been a normal day at the club. Nothing too out of the ordinary until one of the oldest ladies in the club came to Wanda’s mother with the latest news about the young hair to the Jarvis fortune. He had married the woman of his dreams, the one he had been dating officially while messing around with Wanda just before leaving her humiliated and broken-hearted.

The man had done anything and everything he could with the young brunette, he had actually dared to talk about marriage and a future with Wanda until the very end.

“Wanda, dear, you never thought I would actually go through with it, did you?”

The man had said to Wanda after she found out about his fiancée, Wanda had been standing by the door of his flat, the man sneering down at her.

“You were there to help me prepare for my future; you were a good plaything until I have to settle down. I hope you don’t take this personally, but I do need a real woman in my life. Not you.”

Up until then Wanda had accepted the secrecy of her relationship with Jarvis, she had enjoyed the solitude of their relationship until it was quite evident the man didn’t have any intention of presenting her to his family. Or to meet hers.

“I was such an idiot.” Wanda mumbled hugging Kate tightly, wishing they were alone in the golf course.

“No, Wands, he was an idiot. That motherfucker…” Kate said, earning a watery chuckle from Wanda.

Kate placed her hands on Wanda’s arms, she offered a tender smile shrugging.

“Wanda, there was no way for you to know what was happening…”

“I should have known, you know?” Wanda placed a hand on her face, she tried to cover her eyes while letting the pain pierced her skin, with her heart twitching uncomfortably inside her chest. “I wish I could die.”

Kate lowered her gaze, hating to see her best friend in such depression, she hated knowing Wanda had been fighting all her life against her own insecurities and the heartbreaks that come with who she really was and how much she was worth. It had been like that for people like them, everyone thought money was everything, that it would get them happiness, and healthy relationships, but in reality it had broken a deep voice that sometimes they filled with whoever showed them a glimpse of kindness and love.

“Perhaps…I just…” Wanda trailed off, she took a deep breath and then looked away. “Perhaps I was not meant to be loved.”

Before Kate could say anything about it Wanda turned to her, “let’s just keep playing, I want to forget for a moment. Please?”

Kate wanted to say something else, anything to help Wanda through the pain of what had happened in the lapse of a month. Her life had changed, and it seemed as if the world had conspired to make her life a misery. With a last sympathetic glance, Kate Bishop grabbed her club and followed her best friend through the golf course making sure she could vent her frustrations without giving into desperation.

Afternoon had fallen rather fast for Wanda’s liking.

She sat at the table Wearing the same clothes she had used during her game, the weather inside had worsened with heavy rain falling onto the club's property. She grabbed her cup of tea hearing the story from Gwen who had found Kate and herself resting in a corner of the restaurant. Wanda had drifted away after she started telling them of her oncoming engagement party.

“Of course the both of you are invited, I still haven't decided on how many people will attend,” Gwen fixed her hair giving a lighthearted giggle, “but let's say that Peter had already panicked and the sheer amount of people we are inviting.”

The conversation could have died there, no more was necessary but Gwen had always been naive and just a little dense about the reality of the world. She settled her grey eyes on Wanda, a twitched of the woman's lips told Kate she should say something but she was too slow to react.

“I have heard from a very good source that Victor Von Doom would be there, and your stepmother has already made arrangements for you to be escorted by him to the reception.” Gwen leaned forward placing her hand on top of Wanda’s one mistaking her dumbfounded glance for one of shocked nervousness.

“Aren't you happy about it? I know he has tried to get into your father's good light. and he even asked Pietro if he could approach you with the intention of dating you.”

“Excuse me?” By now Wanda was trembling indignantly, she knew pretty well what the intentions of the man were. Ever since she was in high school he had tried to buy her and her father to get access to the family's reputation.

Wanda despised him, he was an arrogant jerk who could care less about her desires or her feelings. The fact that her stepmother was dealing to get the man into a party that she would potentially attend was insulting and quite frankly disturbing.

Gwen blinked confusedly, grabbing by then the tone of voice from Wanda. Her face fell and Kate felt sympathy for the blond-haired woman who was now fidgeting under Wanda’s glare.

“Van Doom is an imbecile whose reputation has been tainted by his inability to hold a business standing,” Wanda stood up, whatever frustrations she had been experiencing in the last month finally getting the best out of her. “Frankly I pitied the woman that fell into his hands, now Gwen if you excuse me I have a function to attend and I am already late to get ready for the event.”

Wanda stood up leaving the table in a rush, Gwen sat there furrowing her brows torn between being offended and perplexed. Kat stood up as well, she shot Gwen a smile placing her hand on top of Gwen's one.

“You better don't invite that man to the party, Gwen. Wanda really hates him, and the fact her stepmother is messing around to try and set her up would be a door to conflict.”

Gwen shifted frowning, “Kate, I'm looking out for her. It has been so long since she dated someone, we all are getting either married or have a relationship going on whereas she is…alone. It's not right. I was just trying to get her to meet someone, perhaps dated and have a family on her own?”

Kate winced at those words, Gwen had been their best friend for as long as they could remember. But as soon as high school ended it was quite obvious where her interest lay and this had erected an invisible wall amongst them. Gwen looked up at Kate trying to find agreement there, but she knew her friends were free spirits, they were always following their own rules and most of the time Gwen didn't find that wise, or even practical.

“Look I know that, but Wanda.she is not like that. You know that. For her what she is doing right now is important,and she really does not care for marriage. At least not out of social convenience.” Kate offered a half smile, “you were lucky you met a man you fell in love With and that loved you back, but you know that is not the case and regardless of what you or the others said…”

“Wanda wants to fall in love. To be loved and loved back.” Gwen nodded as if finally understanding, she softened her features, a flash of urgency growing in her grey irises. “Oh, I didn't want to…”

“I know, but Gwen you need to start listening to others and start listening to yourself and stand for what you think is right or not,” Kate hesitated before giving the blond a hug. “It was good to see you, Gwen. Don't be a stranger.”

“Please, tell Wanda I'm sorry and I will make sure no one she doesn't like is invited to my engagement.”

Kate walked away from the place rather relieved to know Gwen found a real man that cherished and loved her dearly. She didn't want to think what would have happened if a different individual had approached Gwen when she was younger. With determination behind her strides, Kate strolled down the halls towards the parking lot. In no time she found the car, Wanda was looking gloomily to the horizon, detached from what was happening around her while the tears gleamed under the thunder breaking into the sky. Kate huffed running under the rain before going into the car.

“Gwen says she is sorry.”

“Hn, okay.”

Wanda turned the engine on, she grabbed the wheel tightly, breathing deeply. Her face fell for a moment, then with a tired stare she turned to Kate.

“Will you go with me tonight?”

Kate nodded shifting in the seat, “you know I will.”

“Thank you.”

Nothing more was said, but Wanda couldn't stop thinking about her life in the last couple of months. She wished she had never believed the lies woven by Jarvis, that she hadn't fallen in love with the man to the point she was ready to forsake Her family and her life for him. She remembered those moments she shared with the man, his sweet words when taking her out on dates and trips, the moments of passion they shared in her flat and the secrecy with which he held their relationship. She had been such a fool, well-played by a man who looked nothing more than the comfort she could offer while his official girlfriend found herself in the spotlight as the love of his life. Wanda had always felt the twisting pain of the knife in her heart, she had seen the red flags and yet her love for Jarvis had blinded her to all of them.

Now, she was alone, broken, and unloved.

Just as it was supposed to be.

With a sob leaving her lips, Wanda cleared her throat and held back her tears. She needed to stop crying, and she needed to get out of her own misery, her mind turning to her friends and work. If she focused on them, perhaps the dull pain in her heart would recede and she would find peace once more.

_______________________

The moment you were welcomed into the world of Academics, you thought it would be a place where nerds of all ages would be around reading, working on new mathematical theories or perhaps on the newest inventions that would change the world. It was something out of the stereotypical image people had of the academic world.

The were mistaken, of course

Most of the time you found yourself in fancy dinners, and in multiple conferences in which your main task was to forge some kind of engagement and gain the favour of a rich individual to donate to your investigation, your department or perhaps the school itself. It was exhausting, you had to smile and shake hands while pretending to like everyone you came across.

The night was still young, yet you had already caught sight of important personalities attending the function meant to give money and brains to the military. Your eyes caught sight of Jean Gray and her husband Scott talking with Professor Reed and Sue Storm. Then, just as you suspected it, you found Bruce Banner talking animatedly to some woman wearing a military uniform while Another one stood in the distance. If Bruce Banner had come to this meeting then, that meant…

“Well, well, well, if it isn't my favourite theorist in the whole wide world!”

You winced hearing the deep, baritone voice of the one and only Tony Stark. You winced and straightened up while turning around, the man was smirking at you with his eyes covered by the shades he usually brought to every event. His hand stretched out, without any hesitation you took it in yours without hiding your perplexity at the encounter.

“Tony.” Your greet was formal, with just a hint of curiosity in it.

“I thought you didn't like these kinds of events.”

“I don't.” Your reply was received with an incredulous stare.

“Then, what are you doing here?”

You wondered the same thing after going back home and getting ready for the night. Natasha had selected your clothes carefully, and her instructions about your behaviour had been quite clear. At the moment, you were just waiting for the redhead to arrive and lead the rest of the night until it was time for her to approach her blond-haired angel.

“You never know where you would find the love of your life, Tony. So, I am here waiting to see if anyone in this forsaken place knows more about arts, science, and books than money and fuckery in general.”

Tony bursted out laughing, placing a hand on your forearm, you snorted, shaking your head while matching the grin the older man wore at the moment. You had been but a teenager when Stark Industries had discovered you in the dirty and forgotten streets of Colombia. A missing child with almost zero chances to grow beyond a mediocre job and education, you had solved a puzzle the Learning and Development department at Stark Industries had devised to hunt for geniuses around the world. Of all the people they recruited at that time, you were the only one that actually got to climb up the ladder inside the Industries and the University.

You had always thought this would earn you powerful enemies, however the total opposite happened and now Tony Stark stood behind you as your protector and main source of income.

“I thought you didn't believe in love.” He stated offering his arm to you, after a moment of hesitation you hooked your arm with his and started walking around the great hall.

“I don't.” The answer rolled out of your lips with conviction, your eyes sweeping the hall trying to locate Natasha.

“And yet, I bet you are looking for that one connection that may change your life.” Tony placed a soothing hand on yours, his eyes downcast for a moment.

“Do you believe in love, Tony?”

Tony chuckled, cocking his head, “I do.”

You snorted with a hint of disbelief in your eyes.

“You are a womaniser.”

“Was.”

The word was said with fire and determination, you couldn’t help the surprise in your eyes while the older man shrugged nodding to the balcony. You followed his stare, your eyes caught sight of a group of people talking in The cold of the night.

“There is someone I want you to meet.” Tony chanted hisnvoice, the sudden hardening of his words Told you he meant business. “He is an old friend of my dad, and has been an important member of the Oxford Board, and a private consultant for the Parliament.”

You raised your brows, now completely at loss as to why Tony was taking you to this person while wondering if perhaps the invitation from Natasha was for another reason. Tony sensed your trepidation, he offered a smile making sure you were looking into his eyes.

“You have the potential to be exceptional, your mind and the way you work are your innate advantages and it is about time you break that comfort zone of yours and start exploring something else.”

“Tony, I thank you for everything you have done for me, but something like this…” you trailed off when Tony shook his head.

“I know why you have been hiding, but whatever happens you will always count on me.” Tony winked at you resuming his stroll towards the balcony. “Besides, who knows? Perhaps this is what you need to start believing in yourself and you may even find love.”

You held onto your scepticism, you knew the man had a soft spot for you and he has been supporting you from an early age, this was the only reason why you didn't contradict him and decided to follow him up on his offer. There was nothing wrong with that, after all, and perhaps this encounter would give you the chance to try something new. Something different.

It was a dark and cold night.

The sound of muffled conversation coming from the main hall could barely be heard once they stepped into the balcony. You lifted your face welcoming the cold wind brushing your heated skin, your arms shivered with goosebumps travelling down your back.

You lowered your gaze, finding yourself looking into the deepest shade of green eyes that you had ever seen before. They belonged to a young woman that was wearing a white dress with her hair falling like a cascade of cobalt contrasting with her white, smooth skin and the soft blush on her cheeks. The woman was beautiful, her intense stare caught your breath while your lower abdomen broke into a myriad of fluttering butterflies. Your words caught in your throat, and your mind flash a red warning, as if you were forgetting something important but couldn't grasp what it really was.

It didn't matter, though.

As soon as your eyes found those of the young woman you could only see contempt and just a tad bit of annoyance. You furrowed your brows, confused at her reaction to seeing you. What was with the hate?

“Tony Stark, I didn’t know you were in the country.”

Your attention was soon claimed by the command hidden behind that voice, your face turned to a mature man with dark, brown eyes and a comforting smile. His eyes shone smartly while they turned from Tony to you then back to the other man, he placed the hands on the armrest on the wheelchair he was sitting in. You tried to focus your attention on him, but the glare coming from the beautiful woman behind him was making it quite difficult to concentrate.

“I arrived yesterday, and have some business to attend to.” Tony then stretched his hand towards you, stepping aside to give you the spotlight.

You stood rather awkwardly, the black dress you decided to wear tight around your body with the cold night brushing your skin. The man sitting on the wheelchair lifted a single eyebrow, his lips never lost the kind smile but it were those eyes holding a spark of mischief that made you wonder just what the hell were you missing.

“I want to introduce you to my protegee, Y/N Y/LN.”

The man nodded towards you, lifting his hand while making sure to never break eye contact. You wiggled, stepping closer and taking the warm hand in yours.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Charles Xavier, at your service.”

The name clicked inside your head, your eyes went wide while you took in the form of the man then back to Tony who was smiling at you all smugly and proud.

“I’m sorry sir, you said Charles Xavier? As in Profesor Charles?” You asked lifting your eyes when the brunette snorted, rolling her eyes before settling her glare on you.

“The very same, I see my reputation precedes me.” Charles stated highly amused, he gave you a quick glance more to examine you than to actually give a check over. “But the one who is actually surprised is me.”

“You, sir?”

“I am ashamed to admit I thought you were older than what you really are.” Charles stated leaning back, he never lost his smile and his eyes went from you to Tony.

“That’s a common mistake, sir. But you are really a legend.” This time around you sounded excited to meet the man, Tony puffed out his chest knowing he had done the right thing.

“Oh, please, an old legend ready to give way to the newest generation.” This time around he waved away his hand before turning to the woman standing silently behind him, “let me introduce you to my goddaughter who is uncharacteristically quiet this evening. Wanda Maximoff.”

Now everything came crashing down inside your mind.

Your arm that was already stretching out to offer your hand stopped midway, your eyes shot up rather quickly and you found yourself looking into Wanda’s own eyes and you understood then and there the resentment.

You knew that young woman, you had seen her before and had even kissed her once in a public place that ended up with her fighting her boyfriend after the incident.

The initial shock waved off, your lips broke into an easy smile that soon was joined by your eyes and amusement was clearly drawn in your face. The woman narrowed her eyes, she stepped forward and, not for the first time, she slapped you before turning to the old man who was flabbergasted.

“Uncle Charles, I think I am not feeling well. Thank you for the invite, I will text you as soon as I get home.” Then she turned to Tony, nodding to him. “Mr. Stark.”

You stood frozen in place, your cheek stung with the force of the slap yet you couldn’t help but laugh at what just happened. Charles glanced at you apologetically yet completely curious as to what had gotten Wanda so worked up she decided to slap you in such a public place before leaving without an explanation.

“Well, it is good to know you are still good at making friends,” Tony said after the initial shock passed, you turned to him placing a hand on your cheek, the smile still on your face. “What the hell did you do to her?”

Charles tilted his head just as interested as Tony with what had just transpired right in front of them. He had known Wanda from birth, and he knew she had quite the temper, but this kind of reaction was something he had never seen before. And if he were to be honest, with how things had been lately, he found refreshing just how full of life she looked just moments ago.

“Hey! I didn’t do anything to her, we just…” You trailed off lifting your arms, Tony rolled his eyes when you waved your fingers trying to find an explanation. “I…we meet under unfortunate circumstances and by those specific circumstances, I may have…well, you know what? I probably deserve the slap, so no harm done.”

Tony opened his mouth to say something when the laughter from Charles caught his attention, you tried to hold back your smile and Tony was actually surprised to see that reaction from the older man. Charles waved his hand away before settling his eyes on you.

“I bet there is an interesting story behind that, but I also know Wanda may be quite explosive at times.” Charles shrugged before grabbing your hand and squeezing comfortingly. “Now, there would be a time for stories, for now I would like to know you more in the professional capacity.”

You furrowed your brows and soon it was quite evident why Natasha had brought you to the function.

Your life was about to change in ways you never thought possible.

That was how the story of your heartbreak started.

With a slap and a job proposal.

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AN: So, this is the first chapter, i hope you guys enjoy it! tell me what you think and don't forget to like and share it you so want it!

#Fanfic #Marvel AU #Modern Setting #Wanda Maximoff #Female Reader #Female!Reader #F!Reader #WandaxReader #Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader #Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader #Imagine Wanda Maximoff

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outsideratheart · 1 year

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Be Still With Me (Leah Williamson x reader)

A/N: I think we are feeling a little heartbroken today.

You watched as it happened from your sofa in Barcelona with your two England team mates beside you. The way you saw it pop when they showed the replay left you dreading what was to come because it was clear that Leah had tore her ACL. Sure it could have been a twist or a dislocation but your gut went to the worse scenario and you knew it was right.

If you weren’t already booked on a plane to London the following day you would have booked a flight there and then. Leah wasn’t just a team mate or your co captain, she was your best friend and the love of your life. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to be by her side so you can tell her that everything will be ok even though her Champions League and World Cup dreams were over.

After your match day -1 training at Stamford bridge the statement was released, you of course were already aware of the results of Leah’s scans as she called you the moment she had them. You did your duty, completed the training and the press conference but as soon as you were done you left your team to be by Leah’s side. As the team captain and fellow victim of an ACL tear Alexia didn’t argue, in fact she encouraged it stating that she knew Leah would need you now more than ever.

The drive to the house you shared whenever you were home was long and silent. Your mind was trying and failing to come up with words that could comfort Leah. You had been in contact with her mum who told you that her daughter wanted to be left alone so nobody but her would be home when you arrive. There was an eerie atmosphere when you walked through the door but nothing brought more concern than the sight of your girlfriend. Leah laid on the Sofa, her leg elevated and tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh sweet one” it might have been as much your home as it was hers but to you gave her space so you stand in the doorway that connected the hall to the living room.

“It’s over” a defeated expression is etched on her face and you couldn’t blame her.

The only thing you could do is hold her and that’s what you did. You let her cry into the crook of your neck whilst stroking her hair in a gentle motion hoping it would bring her comfort like it had in the past.

“Why is this happening to me? It feels like I’ve just come back” Leah hated being on the sidelines. Her ankle injury was her biggest challenge so far because it limited what she could do, it wasn’t like how she pulled her hamstring the season prior.

“I can’t answer that. The world is cruel sometimes and bad things happen to good people” you felt helpless. The woman in your arms craved reassurance but you didn’t know how to give it to her.

“We had plans this summer and now I’m going to miss it”

You and Leah lead the team to the Euros final and you planned on doing the same in the World Cup. Strategies had already been talked about and after the loss against Australia, you and Leah wanted it more than ever. You didn’t want to feel like that again and you both found comfort afterwards in knowing that you always had each other, in the good times and bad but now Leah wouldn’t be by your side for one of the biggest tournaments of your career.

“That’s not important right now Leah—“

“The world cup isn’t important? You of all people can’t tell me that. You get to go and you get to—”

Leah was venting her frustrations and you were her target but you wouldn’t let her push you away, not now, not ever.

“It’s not the most important thing right now, you are”

Her eyes softened as you spoke. There is a reason why you are her person and it’s because you stay by her side and alway have her back, you love her with every fibre of your being and she feels it with her word you say and every kiss you share.

“Will you stay for my surgery?”

“I don’t know if I can stay but I can come back. Just tell me when and where, I’ll be there”

The distance between London and Barcelona had never been an issue before. You would go back to you home country when possible and Leah took any chance she had to visit you and spend some time in the Spanish sun. Now though the distance felt twice as far and you hadn’t even left yet. The next 7 weeks would be tough but you’d find a way to be there for her even if you were 707 miles away.

“Will the team be ok with it?” The last thing Leah want to do is cause any issues between you and your club.

“I don’t care if they do. I’ll go to training, games and any other team commitments. What I do in my spare time is none of their business”

You could see the sun begin to set; a pink tint covered the once blue sky. Time was ticking down but you didn’t want to leave and it wasn’t as if that was an option at the minute. Leah had fallen asleep after the two of you discussed her surgery and recovery which lead to her crying once again.

She looked so peaceful as you watched her chest rise and fail was every even breathe but you knew once she woke up the restlessness and worry would return. You wanted to protect her from the world, she didn’t deserve the pain she was going through.

“I wish I could take your pain away. I wish it was me and not you” You couldn’t imagine not being able to play football for a long period of time having never has a serious injury you career but seeing Leah so broken, you would happily take her place.

“Don’t say that” Clearly Leah wasn’t in as deep of a sleep as you thought “There has been enough of these injuries, we don’t need anymore”

She was right. There has been 110 ACL injuries in the last year and a half within the women’s game. The anger and frustration that each of these player felt were valid and you hoped that the issue at hand would be looked into.

“But it’s true” you wanted Leah to know that you would rather be in her position because her health came before yours.

“It’s a stupid thing to say. Can we talk about something else? No more injury talk” you quietly hum in agreement “How long till you have to go back to the hotel?”

You look at our watch. Technically you were already late but Alexia said she would cover for you which you were grateful for.

“Not for a few hours. Do you want to watch a movie?” Leah nods her head “Mamma Mia?” Your question earns another nod, of course it did, it was one of her feel good films.

You put the film on and felt comfort almost immediately. The way you both sing along to your favourite songs lets you forget about her injury, the night is just another sing along in the Williamson Y/L/N household.

A couple of hours later the film ends and you know that it is time for you to leave even though no part of you wants to do so. It’s as if you inner thoughts are being said out loud because you feel Leah tap your chest. The action normally comes when the two of you have spent the night on the sofa and it’s time for you to go to bed but the intention is different this time, the two of you know it.

“I don’t want to” you pout.

“You have to. You have a job to do tomorrow and I’d hate for you to get in trouble because of me”

“I love you, you know that right?”

“Of course I do now go before I the Barcelona team come knocking”

You hesitantly get up, taking your time not wanting the night to end. Much to your surprise and dismay, Leah holds her hands out and you carefully help her up. The blonde’s arms wrap around you neck once she is on her feet.

The way she looked you caused you to fall in love with her all over again. You would never be able to put into words the power her gaze had.

“Win tomorrow and maybe even score a goal for me?”

“Oh please, the blues don’t stand a chance. Not when I want to put on a show for my girl”

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson one shot #Leah Williamson imagine #engwnt x reader #engwnt one shot #engwnt imagine #awfc x reader #awfc imagine #awfc one shot

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hopefulromances · 1 year

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I Still Get Jealous - Jamie Tartt

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Jealousy, some heated activities

Jamie showed up to the club as soon as he could. He told you that he’d be late because of the press conference but that he'd get there as soon as he could. When he showed up, the crowd was pulsing with the music, the lights in the club a dark red color, seemingly swaying with the movement of the crowd. He pressed through the crowd looking for you in the throng.

He spotted you then, just as the song was changing. You were in a ring of friends, all there to celebrate your birthday. Work friends, some of the team, Keeley, everyone there for you. And you looked spectacular. You were wearing that dress you loved, the one you’d picked out ages ago and shown him and your smile was dazzling.

Then his eyes followed who you were smiling at. It was some man he didn’t recognize, probably someone from your office, but the look on his face was less than friendly. Right in front of Jamie’s eyes, the man looked up and down your body as you danced with friends.

Finally, your eyes found Jamie and you lit up.

“Jamie!” you called out, breaking away from your group.

He smiled at you, hooking his arm around your waist and tugging you towards him.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted before pressing his lips against yours. He kissed you harder than he normally would in public, but knowing that man was over there watching you kiss him was egging him on. You made a noise of surprise and brought your hands up to his neck.

“Mm, what was that for?” You murmured against his lips, as you pulled away.

“Happy Birthday, love,” Jamie replied, kissing you again. “You look…” he shook his head as he looked down your body. “Fucking mint.” You blushed under his praise, ducking your head down to avoid giving him the satisfaction, but he brought his finger up to pull your eyes back to him. “My gorgeous girl.”

You shook your head, not being able to help the smile on your face. “Fuck off. Come meet my friends.”

You grabbed his hand and started pulling him through the crowd. You introduced him to some of the people in your circle dancing. Molly, April, Rina, David, and a lot of other names that went right over Jamie’s head. But they were all excited to meet the famous footballer, and he was happy to answer questions, take photos, and do anything to allow his girl to shine.

“And this is Kevin,” she pulled him over to someone new. Jamie looked over and saw it was the man who’d been eyefucking her when he walked into the room. “Kevin, this is Jamie, my boyfriend.”

“How’s it going, Kevin?” Jamie put out his hand. He could be cordial.

Kevin’s eyebrows raised. “Jamie Tartt? Look, (Y/N), when you said you were dating a footballer I thought you meant Sunday church league not… star striker for AFC Richmond.”

“Well, he’s just Jamie to me,” you thrilled, wrapping your arm around his waist and leaning into him.

Jamie pulled you closer to him, turning to Kevin. “So, you two work together?”

“Kevin sits across from me,” you told Jamie. “Isn’t that right, Kevin?”

Kevin hadn’t taken his eyes off of Jamie. “Sorry, I just can’t believe you’re dating Jamie fucking Tartt! I mean how did you two meet?”

Jamie felt you shift against him, clearly uncomfortable with the line of questioning.

“Um, well, my cousin, Colin, is on the team and…”

“Wait, as in Colin Hughes?” Kevin interrupted. Jamie huffed, puffing out his chest slightly.

You pinched Jamie’s waist, silently getting him to calm down. “Yep. My dads side is welsh. But mums from London. Anyways, Colin introduced us at some gala or something and we hit it right off.”

“That’s mental, Jamie, mate, you gotta get me tickets to a game,” Kevin jeered, giving Jamie a friendly shoulder punch. But Jamie did not find it friendly. He found Kevin incredibly grating and condescending.

“Yeah, sure,” he answered shortly. “(Y/N), why don’t we go for a dance?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer, leading you away from Kevin and onto the dance floor. You pulled on Jamie’s hand, bringing him to a stop.

“Can you behave, please?” you whined, pulling him back to you.

“You want me to behave?” Jamie growled, winding his arms around your waist. “Kevin’s a dick you know that?” He started swaying the two of you to the beat.

You brought your hands up to his chest, smoothing out the dress shirt he was wearing. “He’s not that bad. Just excited to meet you.”

Jamie looked over your head to see Kevin was still looking over at you. Jamie’s arms tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He felt your hands on his jaw as you pulled him to look down at you.

“Jamie?”

“Hm?”

“Are you jealous?”

Jamie quirked an eyebrow up, smirking. “And why shouldn’t I be?”

He spun you around and brought you so your back was flush with his chest. You gasped, letting your head fall back against his shoulder as his hands slid down the front of your body. He continued moving the two of you to the beat of the music as his lips came down to your ear.

“You see Kevin over there?” He kissed the back of your neck, relishing the shudder it drew from you. “He’s been staring at you all night. Cause you look so fucking sexy.” His lips moved over your skin. “So fucking beautiful.” Another kiss to your neck “And everyone in this room wants a taste of you.” He watched your eyes flutter close as he continued to kiss and nip on the skin behind your ear. “That’s why I’m jealous.”

Your eyes shot open when you realized what he was doing. “Did you just give me a hickey?” You brought a hand up to where he’d been sucking on your skin and felt the welt growing under your fingers. “Jamie!”

He snickered, kissing the mark, happy with his work. “Gotta make sure everyone here knows you’re taken, love.”

“You are unbelievable, what are we teenagers?”

He looked over and saw that Kevin had looked away, he couldn’t help but feel victorious as he guided you back to facing him.

“You’re really jealous, aren’t you?” you giggled, kissing his cheek. Now it was Jamie’s turn to duck away but you grabbed his jaw and pulled him back to you. “Baby.”

You knew Jamie too well to know that his preening was his insecurity shining through. As much as you loved when his strong arms kept you tight and safe against his firm chest, you knew that he just wanted to know you weren’t going to leave him.

“Corse I’m jealous,” Jaime mumbled, resting cheek against your temple. “I know that you could do better than me.”

You let out a deep sigh. How was this man, that you held so much love for, unable to see that there was no way that you could leave him. There was no one better for you than him. You wrapped your hands up so they tangled in his hair, holding his head against you as comb through his locks.

“Jamie, you know that’s not true,” you reassured him, pressing kisses to his face. “I could never leave you.”

“Kevin showed up on time,” Jamie pointed out. You could feel his pout against your cheek and you chuckled.

“Kevin is an ass,” you reminded him. He chuckled, pulling back from you so he could look at you clearly.

He looked around the club - the club both of you seemed to have forgotten you were in. He grabbed your hands and pulled them up to his lips.

“Let’s get you a drink, love.” He started pulling you towards the bar.

You nodded and started to follow him. “Wait, one more thing.”

You yanked him back to you, kissing him firmly. He caught you easily, his hands struggled for a moment to find their placement but he brought one hand sliding between your shoulder blades up to your neck and the other wrapping around your waist to hold you against him. You quickly lost control of the kiss, only able to circle his shoulders, as his hands continued to move around your body. He moved his head back and forth, kissing you firmly and passionately. Finally he pulled back and rested his head on your forehead, noses touching, before coming down one more time for a softer kiss. When he pulled back, you were staring, a little dazed as you smiled.

“What was that one for, love?” He asked, picking a stray hair off your face.

“Hm?”

“That kiss?”

“Oh! Molly was looking at you for a little too long,” you explained, raising your eyebrows at him.

“Alright! Okay!” Jamie rolled his eyes, grabbing your hands again. “Now who’s jealous?”

Just imagine this for that last kiss:

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt fanfiction #ted lasso #ted lasso show

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silent123456 · 1 year

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williamsonnawfc · 1 year

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See You Again

When your loan contract with Barcelona is up you instantly begin thinking about how it will effect a very special relationship you've created with Alexia.

You live in my dream state Relocate my fantasy I stay in reality You live in my dream state Any time I count sheep That's the only time we make up, make up You exist behind my eyelids, my eyelids Now I don't wanna wake up

You knew your time at Barça would be cut short. You wished it could last for the rest of your career, live out your football days in your home with the one you loved. However, Arsenal being Arsenal insisted you come back to the club as soon as they found out about the first of their two ACL injuries this season. As a central midfielder you had a constant pressure to meet the expectations of the club ever since they found out Alexia would be out for the majority of the season with her own ACL injury. All you wanted to truly do in life the moment you found out about it was wrap her up in a big hug and nurse her back to the Alexia that could lead her team out of the tunnel on the weekend and win knowing she captained that winning team. But the universe always has other ideas.

It was on your lunch break when a member of staff approached you asking you rather politely if you would follow them. In a instant as you realised where they were leading you your mind began to run at 150 miles an hour running through different encounters you'd had over the course of the previous week wondering if you'd broken any of the clubs rules. Your thoughts were brought to an immediate halt as you now stood outside the president's office chewing on your bottom lip, hands slightly trembling as the member of staff opened the door slowly to let you in. What you found inside brought you instant confusion, there around a conference table sat the president of the club, Jonatan, Jonas Eidevall and your father. There was no hiding from the girls who you were and who your father and his side of the family were being the owners of FC Barcelona and of the women's side too, many thought he bought your place on the team until they saw how you played and realised you had done it all on your own.

20/20, 20/20 vision Cupid hit me, cupid hit me with precision I wonder if you look both ways When you cross my mind (Yeah), I said, I said I'm sick of, sick of, sick of, sick of chasing You're the one that's always running through my daydream, I I can only see your face when I close my eyes

You didn’t know how to feel when they told you the news that you'd be returning to Arsenal after almost 8 years. You had an instant feeling of joy at the thought of seeing some of your old teammates and one of your best friends, Leah Williamson. Almost instantly after you felt dread and fear, fear at how you were going to tell your teammates here and Alexia - you dreaded that most. You also dreaded settling into a new environment a new team, a new home.

You politely asked if you could excuse yourself from training for the rest of the afternoon so you could break the news to Alexia and begin packing seeing as you had to leave for London on Friday and today was Tuesday. After gathering all your gear from you locker you began the silent walk through the facility towards the door that would lead you to your car.

As you heard the loud laughter of your teammates who you now saw as your sisters you considered turning around and acting as if you hadn't just been told the heartbreaking news, but your mind instantly went back to the hazel eyed, brunette that you'd spent pretty much everyday of the last 8 years with knowing she was most likely sitting, leg propped up on the couch watching trash tv telling Nala all about what she wanted to do with you when her leg allowed her to, as that's all she'd talk to you about somedays. Always planning for the future, my Alexia. Tears threatened to fall as you thought of all the moments you'd miss with her as you'd now be almost 1000 miles away from your love but you pushed them back forcing yourself to look like nothing was an issue as you'd subconsciously got yourself safely to the home you shared with Alexia. You got out of your car before walking up to the front door putting the key in twisting it to unlock it.

Can I get a kiss? And can you make it last forever? I said I'm 'bout to go to war And I don't know if I'ma see you again Can I get a kiss? (Can I) And can you make it last forever? (Can you) I said I'm 'bout to go to war ('Bout to) And I don't know if I'ma see you again

“Im home, mi amor”, you shouted into the house whilst kicking off your shoes and placing your training bag down. Walking through the house you noticed that the brunette you loved so much was passed out on the couch cuddling Nala, whilst she continued to sleep you chose to make food for her for when she woke up. You decided your mama's famous paella that both you and Alexia loved so much. So 40 minutes later when the sleeping beauty woke up you had a plate full of her favourite rice dish ready to give her. You carried both of your plates as you passed one to her you sat down next to her.

“Why are you home so early cariño?” You heart instantly began to break as you realised this wouldn't be your home by the end the week, your home would be London the sheer thought of it sent you into a mental panic and Alexia being Alexia instantly picked up on it. “What's wrong amor? Did something happen at training? Did someone say something to you?” You turned to look into those hazel orbs that communicated so much more than her words, they communicated her love, concern and behind it all her fear.

“Something happened, but I want to clear up straight away it was not the girls.” She sighed a breathe of relief knowing that the girls weren't bothering you inter absence. “Okay if it wasn't them then what was it?” You hesitated for a minute, braking eye contact and beginning to play with the rings on your hand, specifically the promise ring Alexia got you a year into your relationship. “They want me to go back to Arsenal, Friday would be my last day here for I don't know how long”

All Alexia could do in that moment was stare in disbelief, she was certain her cariño was playing a prank on her it was a very stupid one, one that would ultimately end in her demise if it was a prank but by the look on your face she knew this was real, very real.

“I only have one thing to ask of you.” Alexia instantly nodded in return. “Can I get a kiss? And can you make it last forever?” Alexia instantly leaned in connecting their lips in a passionate kiss that said more than just I love you.

CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FINAL

3/6/2023

ARSENAL WFC V BARCELONA FEMENI

Can I get a kiss? (Can I get a kiss?) And can you make it last forever? (Oh, forever) I said I'm 'bout to go to war (Go to war) I don't know if I'ma see you again (See you again) Can I get a kiss? (Can I) And can you make it last forever? (Can you) I said I'm 'bout to go to war ('Bout to) And I don't know if I'ma see you again

Walking out at Wembley was a feeling that would never go away, it was euphoric. The hymn began and the handshakes as well as the coin toss took place all before the referee’s whistle blew signalling the start of the first half. Barça instantly had possession of the ball allowing the one and only Alexia to get them one up however we were able to equalise thanks to Frida by the time it was halftime. Alexia assured me in a text last night that even though it was her first game back in the champions league I wasn't to go easy on her and by the time the second half began going easy on them was in the back of my mind. All I cared about was winning, we were going to win this. I had to make my sacrifice worth it.

3 goals in the first 30 minutes of the second half. That's all it took for the new Champions League winners to be decided, Arsenal had won the Champions League. Arsenal had beaten Barcelona. The referee blew their whistle to signal and everyone dropped to their knees in joy or in sorrow, for the girls in red it was joy and for those in yellow it was sorrow.

Apart from one, she felt both. the girls on Barça’s side were her sisters, but so were those who played for Arsenal. She was pulled out of dwelling over that the a certain Irish woman picked her up and began running around with her on he shoulders making the younger girl giggle before being placed onto her own two feet and captured into a bone-crushing hug. “You did this for us Señorita!” the Irish woman screamed in her face. “Only for you my leprechaun!”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her amor consoling those on her own team as they beat themselves up over the defeat believing they could've played so much better. Somehow she had managed to escape the Irish woman and was able to walk over to the girls specifically Alexia, her Ale. Before she could say anything she was pulled into another bone-crushing hug “I’m so proud of you, cariño” was mumbled into her neck. “I'm proud of you amor, you played so well.” Was the response she thought would be fitting, “I don't want to think about my performance all I want to think about is when I'll see you again.”

“Make this kiss last forever and you'll see me everyday for as long as we both shall live.”

#alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #espwnt #woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #espwnt woso #imagine

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translationindia1111 · 1 year

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Silent Conference System

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meetmyothersouls · 1 year

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Random one shot bc this pic sent me into an immediate thought.

What are We?

warnings: angst, implied sex, argument, secret couple

You attended the press conference for a movie you didn’t feel like promoting. At least, not right now. Not after the argument you and your co-star, Jonah had. Alright, you can’t just call him your co-star. You’d fallen for him hard. But not as hard as he fell for you.

Last week, you flew into London to spend time with Jonah alone before the press conference for the new movie began. Six glorious days flew by filled with love, and food and kissing and sex. The seventh day was different. You could tell something was on his mind.

“Alright, what’s going on?” You finally asked.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ve been around you long enough to be able to tell when something’s bothering you.”

Jonah sat close do you but didn’t make eye contact. You lowered your head onto his lap and pulled his face down to kiss you. “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me,” you said I between them.

“You’ll get mad.”

That got your attention. You say up and pressed your back against the arm of the sofa. “What is it?” You asked again, only this time with more uncertainty in your voice and a significant lack of kisses.

“It’s nothing bad. I don’t think. I just. I don’t-”

You drug your hand across your face and Jonah sighed. You were both quiet for a moment until he finally spoke, “what are we?”

“Huh?” The question not only caught you off guard, it shocked you.

"What are we?" Jonah repeated.

"I thought it was obvious," you said, the days spent in bed, loving each other endlessly. You knew what it was to you, but now you were questioning him.

"Maybe to you."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Why can't you answer the question, y/n."

"Because! I spent the entire time filming trying to convince myself not to fall for you, and now that I have fully let myself go for you, you start all this bullshit!"

Jonah was silent.

"I thought we were together, Jonah."

There was a tiny sliver a hope in his eyes that faded away once he asked his next question. "Then how come every time you introduce me to someone, I'm just your 'friend'?"

You groaned. Labels. Jonah was all about putting a label on things. "Not everything has to be public, Jonah."

"I want it to be public. I want us to be public."

"I don't!"

"Why not!?"

"Because it fucking ruins everything. Don't you get that!? The last-"

"Oh, here you go again comparing shit to your last sorry excuse of a relationship."

You shut your mouth, then opened it again, trying to find the words to say back to him. Nothing came. You pulled on your sweater and stormed out of Jonah's room.

"Y/n," Jonah started after you. "Y/n!"

"Just leave me alone, Jonah."

"Just wait. Don't leave. Let's talk about this."

You slung your pack over your shoulder and zipped your luggage shut. You knew you were forgetting things, but you didn't care.

"There is no talking about this with you, Jonah. You want it one way and I want it another."

Jonah reached out and grabbed your arm. You stopped for a moment and in that instant, you almost threw yourself back into his arms, but you had to stop yourself. As much as you wanted it to, this wasn't going to work. You pulled your arm out of his grip.

"I'll see you at the conference," is all you said as you stepped away from him.

Two days later, the press conference arrived. You, the rest of the cast and the director stood on a stage in front of a rather impressive audience. Normally you would have stood next to Jonah, who was also standing next to the director, but you opted to stand further away. Even the director raised an eyebrow at your decision. You tried not to look at Jonah, but you couldn't help it. You wondered if he was trying not to look at you. If he was, he was doing a much better job at succeeding than you were. He looked absolutely sexy in a white t-shirt, glasses and a pair of dark jeans. It'd been two days since you'd been with him, but it felt like a thousand. He had his arms crossed, listening intently to what the director was saying, laughing when it was appropriate to laugh, but there was something about his expression that caught your eye. Just as you placed it, his eyes flicked over to you. You looked away, only to look right back. Jonah cracked a half smile at you, and you couldn't help but smile back.

I'm sorry, he mouthed.

Me too, you mouthed back.

Tags: @danielabetancourth @luna2034 @wandamaximoffbae @twinkledinkleg-blog @justagirlwholovedtoread @nonsensical-nonsence @paramorelvrr @thedonswife13 @miniemonie2001 1 @jonahhauer-kingg @crazyyynyyyy @notagreekgal28

#jonah hauer king #jonah hauer-king #jonah hauer king fanfic #jonah hauer king imagine #jonah hauer king fanfiction #jonah hauer king gifs #my writing #fan fiction

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beckettj · 7 months

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The Heart of a Villan - Chapter 3/5

Chapter Three - Dangerous Play

Summary: Three-thousand miles from home, Henry drags Emma into a land she never imagined venturing to; the realm of English football. She holds no interest in the sport but when she’s approached by Villa Captain Killian Jones, she determines that there could be something in the sport for her after all.

Words: 6907

Chapter One, Chapter Two

Read on AO3

Killian’s fingers drum absent-mindedly against the table as the gaffer’s pre-matchday briefing hits the thirty-minute mark. A morning of training followed by an afternoon of travelling on the team bus, getting stuck in traffic early in the journey on the M6, has Killian quite done with the droning sound of Gold’s voice. He knows, from over a year of experiencing Gold’s meticulous patterns, that he’ll only repeat himself during the morning’s pre-match briefing.

With that in mind, Killian allows himself to switch off, to block out the gaffer’s talk of positions in transitional moments, as he dreamily stares out the large windows of the hotel’s conference room. He’s in London. After five days, he and Emma are finally in the same city once again. It’s a city of almost nine million people and her hotel is right by the Thames whilst his is three miles away in Islington but it’s closer than bloody Birmingham, nonetheless.

His phone is on silent – dutiful, professional club captain mode initiated – but he feels it vibrate in his pocket and a message flashes up on his smartwatch – do not disturb mode not initiated due to a slight lull in his professionalism, caused by the expectation of receiving a message from a particular blonde he can’t shake from his thoughts.

He glances at the notification, a small smile creeping onto his face when he reads her name.

Henry sporting the colors at the palace. The guard doesn’t look too impressed. Think you can use your connections to get us in?

Killian frowns at the message; they’d already done the Palace a few days ago – Emma has been regularly keeping him updated on her London adventures – and she had even referenced his royalty connections then too. He can’t imagine them doing it twice, not when the only thing to do was to stand outside the gates and take in the enormous grandeur of the building.

There’s a picture with the message, one which can’t be displayed on his watch, and it’s driving him crazy. He can do nothing but imagine what the image may be; perhaps Emma and Henry in front of the big, tall gates, a royal guard in the background, watching them closely as if expecting the American mother and son to attempt to storm the place. Emma had made reference to Henry sporting the colours and Killian wonders whether the guard could be a bluenose, not appreciating their rival club’s success being rubbed in their face. His mind focuses on Emma, drawing up images of her also sporting the famous claret and blue; a tightly fitted professional shirt, highlighting her curves, combined with the white shorts ridden halfway up her thigh, the long blue socks rolled down to her ankles, exposing the flesh of her toned legs.

He can’t bare it any longer. He would rather risk the wrath of Gold than allow his brain free reign to draw up such mouth-watering images of Emma. He pulls his phone from his pocket, turning to old schoolboy tactics of hiding it under the table, and pulls up the image.

It is one of Henry and Emma, though Emma’s fully covered up wearing dark blue jeans, a red t-shirt and a blue leather jacket, and they’re not stood in front of the palace Killian envisioned. They’re pictured outside Selhurst Park, stadium home to Crystal Palace FC and the ‘guard’ in the text is in reference to the security guard scowling at the claret and blue scarf Henry is holding aloft.

The second message which pings through provides much more context;

Help me! It turns out we are going in after all. I’ve been unknowingly dragged to an Aston Villa women’s game. Because one match per weekend isn’t enough, apparently.

Killian marvels at how, once again, Emma has managed to sport the colours of the opposition team, her blue and red outfit complementing the blue and red of Crystal Palace perfectly. He shakes his head slightly as he types.

One of these days I will see you in claret and blue.

She replies almost instantly.

That was my plan for tomorrow, but my dad has just informed me that the fancy seats you got us tickets for is a smart casual dress code and strictly prohibits away team colors. What a bummer.

The flashing dots on his screen tell him she’s not finished there.

Henry’s just found out too. He’s mortified. I hope you realize what you’ve done.

He has no chance to reply before another massage pings through.

He’s on a mission to find claret and blue underwear before tomorrow’s game now.

The scheming villan.

Killian is silently impressed at her correct spelling of ‘villan’. Even players at the club had made the mistake of adding that tempting ‘i’ in their social media addresses, an open invite to a flood of comments making them well aware of their innocent mistake.

For a self-professed non-Villa fan, she wasn’t entirely acting like it.

He’s halfway through a response, instructing Emma to find her own claret and blue underwear and beginning a witty remark about proving her allegiance after the game when he’s elbowed in the ribs, hard, by Robin. His teammate snatches his phone from his grasp and glares at him pointedly.

Killian huffs and folds his arms as he’s forced to switch his attention back to Gold’s deep analysis into the areas of weakness across Arsenal’s back line.

“I don’t like this.”

Robin speaks apprehensively the very second Killian disconnects from his call with the London Eye’s management. Killian turns to find Robin making himself at home on his bed, as if the man doesn’t have his own hotel room just across the hall.

Robin places his hands behind his head, leaning back against the headboard.

“This is the Eloise Gardener infatuation all over again,” Robin says warningly.

Killian scoffs, “Please, I wasn’t infatuated with Eloise Gardener.”

“The woman was actively jeopardising your career and, even knowing that, you kept crawling back into her bed,” Robin recounts. “Tell me, how is that not infatuation?”

“Stupidity, maybe,” Killian concedes but remains adamant, “Infatuation, most definitely bloody not.”

“Whatever you want to call it, it’s happening again,” Robin maintains. “I mean, think about it Killian, first you’re hooked to your phone during an important meeting, then you sulk like a teenager who’d lost his phone privileges for a week when I took it from you, and now you’re talking about sneaking out to see her the night before a big game. This woman has you acting like a schoolboy.”

Killian ignores him, his plans in place, his mind set. He grabs his jacket from the chair he had thrown it over and shrugs it on.

“Don’t worry, dad,” Killian shoots at him sarcastically as he carries out one final mirror check. “I’ll be home by curfew.”

“Killian,” Robin groans tiredly.

Killian ignores him, walking straight out of his hotel room, letting the door shut behind him, and leaving Robin behind. He pulls his phone out and sends Emma the latest in a series of hilariously bad football themed lines he’d pulled from the internet.

You’ve got me feeling like a substitute, eagerly awaiting my chance to impress you.

As bad a line as it is, there’s truth to it; he is keen to impress her; the precise reason why he’s headed to her hotel, a whole twenty-four hours early, without even so much as a head’s up. He can’t wait any longer.

Killian hesitates as he stands outside her hotel door – room 205; the very room he’d sent a bouquet of red roses and blue delphiniums to earlier in the week – realising he has absolutely no idea whether she’s on the other side of the door.

He should have called her. He knows he would have; were it not for the fogginess of his head from training, travelling and a two-hour analysis meeting. He could still call but since he’s right outside the door, he opts instead to go ahead and knock.

“That’ll be the food!” Emma’s voice, slightly raised; she’s in there. “Can you get it?”

He waits for Henry to open the door, wondering whether he’ll be disappointed at the lack of food or excited at his unexpected arrival, or both.

The door opens. Killian’s eyes naturally drop to the expected height level of the ten-year-old; they do not fall on the lighting up brown eyes of Henry but onto the dull grey of a shirt. His gaze slowly adjusts, raising higher until he’s eye to eye with an adult man and trying his best to cover his surprise and the way his heart drops in his chest.

The man stood before him – the man in Emma’s hotel room – appears around a decade older than Emma, early-forties at a push, but Killian can’t imagine an age gap deterring Emma from pouncing on the man who could well have walked straight off the page of a bloody GQ magazine. He looks right at home in the doorway of Emma’s room, leaning his left elbow against the doorframe, bicep bulging around his tight grey sleeve, and his blue eyes hover over Killian warily.

“Killian Jones,” his tone matches the look in his eyes.

Killian hopes he’s not about to get punched.

“Err… hi there, mate,” despite being utterly thrown, Killian attempts a friendly tone. “I was- I was looking for Emma.”

He glances briefly over his shoulder, to the closed door just inside the room, then tells him, “She’s in the shower.”

“Right,” Killian says, his mind jumping to unwanted thoughts of the unidentified man and Emma fooling around in the unmade bed he eyes across the room. “And Henry?”

Speak of the devil.

Henry crashes through an adjoining door on the right-hand wall and throws himself onto the tousled sheets of the bed. He’s up in an instant, bouncing on the bed as if recreating the classic scene from Home Alone, minus the popcorn, and Killian raises an eyebrow at the sugar high the lad is most clearly on.

The man at the door rubs his forehead tiredly, “Henry, we spoke about the bed.”

A similarly exhausted woman with a pixie cut enters through the adjoining door, lamenting, “I warned you that this would happen, David, but did you listen to me? No! You went ahead and got him the extra large pick and mix!”

The man at the door – David – turns to her, “Come on now, Mary Margaret, I didn’t expect him to eat the lot in one go!”

“He’s a ten-year-old on vacation!” Mary Margaret stresses. “How could you expect anything less?”

Killian stares at the light chaos before him, utterly lost as to the connection between Henry and the two adults in the room but the lad looks more than comfortable in their presence, continuing to jump up and down on the bed. Henry’s eyes fall on him and a grin flashes across his face. In a ginormous leap, he’s off the bed and halfway across the room.

“Grandpa!” Henry exclaims, running to the man in the doorway. “Look! Killian’s here.”

David laughs and ruffles Henry’s hair as he returns, “Yeah, I know.”

Killian stares. Grandpa? The man in front of him doesn’t look old enough to be a grandparent.

“Mom! Mom!” Henrys yells, banging on the bathroom door. “Killian’s here!”

The bathroom door opens suddenly. Emma steps out, a towel wrapped around her head, another one around her body. Killian’s quick to notice that his daydreams of toned legs stands true and his eyes linger on her exposed collarbones before drifting downwards, to where the beginnings of the towel wrapped tightly around her chest is an invitation for his imagination to go wild.

David steps across him, blocking his view, and the pointed look in the man’s gaze makes it clear it was a purposeful move.

“Killian, hi,” Emma greets him quickly, sounding panicked, “I thought we agreed tomorrow.”

“We did, love,” Killian replies, scratching the back of his ear, all too aware of David’s eyes boring into him. “I just couldn’t wait another day. If you’re not busy, would you care to accompany me around London tonight?”

“Yes!” she replies immediately; a good sign, and then, with more control, “I mean, sure. Just… give me some time to get ready?”

“David, why don’t you take Killian into our room. I’ll help Emma in here,” Mary Margaret suggests.

David places a rather forceful hand on Killian’s shoulder, guiding him into the room and through the adjoining door into an identical room, Henry following fast on their heels.

Killian sits in an uncomfortable window chair, being studied intently by David and he wonders whether it was an intentional decision by the older man to lead him to what looks to be the most disagreeable chair in the hotel room. There’s a tense atmosphere in the room as an oblivious Henry throws question after question at Killian, attempting to gain the inside scoop into the team’s tactics ahead of the Arsenal game.

Killian provides short, worthless, distracted answers; he doesn’t want to think about work. Emma’s still at the forefront of his mind, wrapped in towels, a slight dampness to her exposed skin. David coughs and Killian’s attention is brought back to his presence; a cynical scepticism in the man’s heavy stare.

“So,” Killian clears his throat and glances in Henry’s direction. “Grandpa, huh? I take it that makes you Emma’s father?”

“It does indeed,” David replies with a short nod.

Killian takes in a sharp breath; he has some winning over to do then.

“I’m glad you got hit with food poisoning,” the words fly out of his mouth before he thinks them over.

Shit.

At the very least, David’s hard expression falters, struggling to hold back a chuckle, as Killian attempts to dig himself out of a hole.

“By that, I don’t mean I was glad that you were chucking your guts up, I just mean that from a bad situation allowed me the privilege of meeting your daughter. And to be frank, had you been there when that ball had impacted with the lad’s face, I fear I may have felt the impact of your fist to my face,” Killian has no idea why he can’t just shut the hell up. “And I realise that is a situation which may still yet arise.”

David only hums in response.

Through his years in professional football, Killian has learned a lot about mind games. He knows David’s silence is a tactic to make him uncomfortable, to pressure him into talking, to reveal his intentions and inner thoughts, and despite knowing all that, he finds himself relenting.

“I must say, you look far too young to be her father.”

Killian can’t help but smile, triumphant with himself for finally coming out with something to soften the man, charm him, get him onside.

David grimaces, “That’s not the complement you think it is.”

Killian’s smile falters; of course it’s bloody not.

Henry swoops in, “You know, Grandpa, Killian does lots of work with fostering charities and foster families. They said on the tour that he regularly opens his box up to foster families to watch the game, don’t you?”

Henry turns to Killian, nodding him on eagerly. Killian’s eyes shift momentarily towards David whose expression has softened slightly, watching him curiously.

He thinks about his response, considering carefully, not wanting to inadvertently put his foot in it again, not when Henry had swooped in and helped him make a minor step towards progress.

“From time to time,” he confirms modestly.

David folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head curiously, “Of all the causes, why that one?”

“Some children don’t get the best starts in life. Some go through more heartache and misery in their formative years than some adults experience in their entire lives,” Killian’s more confident in his words since the conversation has been moved onto a cause he has been fighting for his entire career. “If I can provide a small gesture which brightens one day in their lives and gives them hope that their future doesn’t have to be defined by their past, then it only seems right to do so.”

David stands suddenly and Killian tracks his movement across the room to the fridge where he crouches and opens the door. He reaches inside and glances to Killian.

“Want a beer?” David offers.

Killian relaxes into his seat at the friendly display.

“I’ll never say no, mate,” Killian accepts.

“And me!” Henry eagerly tries his luck.

“Not a chance, Henry,” David laughs.

Killian takes the bottle from David with an appreciative nod and they dive into an easy conversation. Emma’s father is officially onside; Killian’s hit the back of the net, with a brilliant assist from Henry.

One beer turns into two and David is deep into a hilarious tale about a nine-year-old Emma flat out refusing to have any part in the soccer practise he had taken her to, sneaking away when he had turned for a few seconds, finding a bus to get herself home and sending him into a wild panic in the process. Between joint bouts of laughter, David attests that as much as they laugh about it now, it had been the most horrific moment of his life at the time.

Mary Margaret enters the room and looks at the amicable pair suspiciously, as if determining whether her husband had been replaced by an imposter.

“Not to interrupt… whatever this is,” Mary Margaret, in fact, interrupts, “but Killian, Emma is ready for you.”

He stands immediately and considers downing the half a bottle of beer he has remaining before deciding against it, setting the bottle down on the side. He receives a parting handshake from David and a huge smile from Mary Margaret as he passes by Emma’s parents and steps through the adjoining door.

He has to catch his breath.

Emma stands beside her bed, in a delicate, soft pink dress which immediately draws his eyes to hover longingly over the v-cut neck which gives him just a teasing glimpse of what lies beneath the material. If it weren’t for her parents and her son in the adjoining room, he would have forgone all his plans for the night in favour of ripping the delicate clothing from her, falling into the territory of her already tousled sheets, and inviting Emma’s attacking pressure upon him.

Only her parents and son are right there and he’s only just succeeded in winning her father over. He catches himself, collecting his racing thoughts, and lifting his gaze so to make eye contact.

“You look stunning, Emma,” he tells her.

He offers Emma his arm and she takes it.

“Where are we going?” she asks as he leads the way to the door.

He smiles knowingly, “Wait and see.”

Killian always forgets how much he utterly despises the Westminster Bridge.

The place is always rammed with tourists taking pictures and lingering around the cup and ball scams; walking across the bridge at a reasonable speed to get to a destination is bloody impossible. With Emma tightly pressed against his side as they manoeuvre through the crowds, he tolerates it; it gets her close to him and he appreciates the way they move naturally, steps in sync with one another.

They emerge on the other side of the bridge, he keeps his arm wrapped around her and she doesn’t pull away. He leads the way down the stairs onto the Queen’s Walk, past Shrek’s Adventure, the London Dungeon and the Build-a-Bear Workshop until they reach a stop, right in front of the London Eye.

The wheel towers above them, lit up in a bright pink, standing out against the dark night’s sky.

“I pushed for claret and blue but they wouldn’t go for it, bloody West Ham, so pink it is,” Killian tells her.

She stares at him, “You did this?”

“Aye, love,” he confirms with a nod. “I know tonight may be all we get together but that doesn’t mean I can’t make it memorable.”

She clutches his arm just a tad bit more.

“This is just… amazing,” Emma remarks, staring up at the London Eye, radiating pink, wonder pouring out her green eyes.

He smiles as he watches her every movement, captivated by it all; the way her head tilts back to truly take in and appreciate the whole sight, barely blinking as she stares, the way her mouth lingers open from her initial surprise, the way she slowly releases each breath-

“Mr Jones?”

Killian’s forced to break his gaze from Emma, turning to the young man working on the attraction who had recognised, approached, and spoken to, him.

“We’re all set for you,” the young man informs him. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The man makes a move away to give them time but Killian calls after him, “We’re ready now, mate.”

The man leads the way, winding around the ramp leading up to the base of the London Eye and Killian follows him, guiding Emma along.

She leans into his shoulder and whispers curiously, “Ready for what, exactly?”

Killian’s reaches the top of the ramp and gestures grandly to the awaiting pod, illuminated in pink lighting. The oval seating area in the middle has a picnic blanket draped over it, champagne bottle taking centre stage, surrounded by fancy, silver cloches.

“Dinner with a view,” he states proudly. “And by view, I am, of course, referring to you.”

She laughs, “I don’t know what’s worse. That line or the football ones you’ve been send me over text.”

He doesn’t respond, he just stares at her, feeling a huge Cheshire-cat grin pulling at his lips and he lets it.

“What?” she questions him obliviously.

“It appears Operation Cobra was a success,” Killian remarks.

She stares at him, lost.

“You called it football,” he points out.

She considers her words and then quickly brushes it off, “Henry’s been rubbing off on me.”

He doesn’t believe it for a second, but he lets her have it, silently revelling in his victory. He steps into the pod awaiting them and offers out his hand which she takes as she step on.

“Welcome aboard, milady.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

The doors are closed on them, isolating them from the outside world. In their pod, slowly lifting into the night sky, it’s just the two of them; no prying eyes, no lingering journalists – he can be himself, without worrying about consequences or reputations. All the talk of preparation and positions and tactics for the coming game is forgotten, his focus entirely and utterly captivated by her.

Emma approaches the far window, her fingers reaching out for decorative lettering on the window; Emma Nolan in blue, Killian Jones in claret – they had at least agreed to do that much in the claret and blue he’d requested – and to the right of their names was a football, following the colour scheme, with a yellow lion in the centre. Killian had turned down the offer to encircle their names in a heart, thinking it too presumptuous, and had requested, instead, the football – a nod to where they had first met.

“Now, I have-” he hesitates, catching himself before the word ‘lovingly’ can escape his lips way too soon, “worked tirelessly to create your perfect three-course meal.”

“That’s what all those texts with questions about food was about!” Emma puts the pieces together immediately.

“Aye, and I’ve commissioned the top chefs in London to cater specifically to your palate and so you can be sure that the food tonight will ignite your tastebuds but first, drinks.”

He steps to the oval seating, picking up the champagne bottle and offers, “We can crack this open right away or…”

He trails off as he reaches for one of the cloches, lifting the lid to reveal two steaming hot mugs.

“Can I interest you to some chocolate chaud avec cannelle?” he entices.

She raises an eyebrow, “Was that French?”

“Oui, le langage de l’amour,” he returns.

He winces, hoping she doesn’t speak French. If there’s anything worse than dropping the L word as he nearly did earlier, it was dropping the L word in French.

“You can speak French?”

She sounds impressed and, from the way she isn’t responding in French, he thinks he may just have gotten away with it, and he lets out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.

“I’ve had many a French teammate,” he explains to her. “One particular player, Gaston, was insistent on brushing up the few words I remembered from seven years of French in school. Now it helps whenever I come up against the French squad on international duty – a little bit of earwigging of their tactics.”

“Well it’s certainly impressive,” Emma remarks.

Killian hands her a mug of hot chocolate and she takes a sip as she stares out at the view of London, the lights of the city before them lighting up the shrinking buildings below.

“You’re so impressive. The top-flight football, the French, this,” she gestures to the pod and sighs mournfully, “How is any man back home meant to top this?”

He steps up behind her, wraps his arms around her and rest his chin on her shoulder.

“Can you do something for me?” he murmurs into her ear. “Just for tonight?”

“What’s that?”

“Can you pretend like we have a chance? Like this could go somewhere? Like it isn’t already doomed to fail?” he questions. “Like there isn’t three-thousand miles between us? Like there’s a future beyond you stepping on that plane in two days?”

She leans her head against his, their cheeks touching, and she sighs wistfully, “That sounds nice.”

He smiles and closes his eyes, soaking in the moment, the sensation of her soft, smooth cheek against his, the familiar combined scent of woody perfume and cinnamon sending him back to the moment they’d spent on the grass at Villa Park, lips inches from touching. He craves them, desperate to know if her lips taste as sweet as the smell of cinnamon wafting into his nose.

“The food smells lovely,” Emma comments.

Clearly, her nostrils aren’t lingering on the aroma of Creed Aventus that he was wearing, not that he needed her to notice it; it wasn’t as if he had spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to determine which aftershave she would most appreciate.

“Then without further ado!” he moves on promptly.

He places his hands on her shoulders and guides her to the pink pillows on the floor before the makeshift table. They sit beside each other, and she leans slightly into his chest as he lifts the lids off the cloches.

“Tonight’s menu, devised especially for Emma Swan, a starter of pancakes, a main course of grilled cheese complete with onion rings not fries, and to finish off, what else, other than bear claws?”

The food goes down well, both devouring everything, accompanied by laughter and easy conversation. Killian eases a few more football pick-up lines into their chat and manages to play off a high-spirited ‘are you the Champion’s League trophy? Because I’ve been searching for you my entire life’ as if there wasn’t a deep, sincere truth to the words.

Both stuffed, they lean back against the glass window behind them, taking in the view of the city from the window pane on the opposite side of the pod. Having booked the entire Eye out, the wheel doesn’t stop to let people on or off, instead continuing with smooth rotations and Killian’s long lost count of how many times they have been round. He’d booked the place for four hours – until midnight – thinking they’d only use it until they’d finished with the dinner but sat there, Emma in his arms, conversation flowing naturally, he never wants to leave. He wants the moment to last forever, to keep Emma close by him, to never let her fly back home, thousands of miles away from him.

“I googled you, you know?” her voice is low, a peaceful, calm aura in their isolated pod.

“Oh yeah?” he responds and smirks, “Did you see the modelling pictures?”

The silence that follows tells him all he needs to know.

He continues knowingly, “You did see the modelling pictures! The Calvin Klein ones?”

“They may have been a temporary distraction,” she confesses.

“What did you think?” he pushes.

“You should take that shirt off more often,” she remarks and he does not need tempting. “Very nice on the eyes. And then my eyes nearly fell out of my head when I stumbled upon a website which tells me how much you earn.”

Killian grimaces. It’s a topic he prefers to avoid, not because he wishes to hide his earnings but because the obscene and ridiculousness of it has a tendency to make things difficult and awkward.

“Ah. You’ve seen that?” is the only response he can come up with.

“I mean, it makes sense how you can afford all this,” she comments, gesturing loosely to the pod around them. “A hundred-and-thirty-thousand pounds a week? I converted into dollars and that’s more than I make in three years.”

“Like I said, love, the money in men’s top-flight football is bloody ridiculous,” Killian maintains and feels compelled to delve deeper, “Sure, it allows me to do extravagant things like this, and have a nice car and a nice house and have substantial savings but I don’t keep it all for myself. I give some to my parents – the bloody fools don’t let me give them much but no matter how much I were to throw at them, it would never repay them for everything they’ve done for me. Then a lot of it goes towards the fostering charities; there’s no point it languishing in my bank account when it can help children who have much less through no fault of their own.”

She stares at him with so much admiration that it hurts. He wants her, all of her; always and forever. She looks at him like he can do no wrong and whilst that’s far from the truth – he has many regrets from younger, dumb, more money than sense days – it makes him desperate to be that person for her; to wake up each morning and prove her right only to return home, recount his day to her and maintain the faith she holds in him. His heart aches for it and yet there’s a bloody large pond standing in their way.

But not tonight.

For Emma’s kissing him and he’s momentarily stunned until his yearning melts away and he’s pulled into the moment; she’s there, she wants him, she has him, he has her. Her lips do taste sweet, remnants of hot chocolate and cinnamon lingering on them, and he was adamant that he despises cinnamon and yet there he is, his lips locked on hers, wanting more of her, needing more of her, cinnamon and all included.

When she pulls away, the cinnamon loiters on his own lips and he’ll savour it for as long as it’s there; a little trace of her. A tiny trace, a memory that will always return whenever cinnamon happens to creep into his life.

She settles back down beside him, shoulders pressed against one another, hands clasped together, fingers entangled.

“I was once that child,” she murmurs.

His brain’s not working, lagging behind, reminiscing the kiss and he dumbly returns, “Huh?”

“A child with nothing, through no fault of my own,” she expands. “I was in the system, abandoned by my parents at the side of the road. I know what it’s like to be painfully aware of how much more other children in your class have. I know what a difference your work and your generosity will have on those children’s lives.”

He’s still rushing to catch up, frowning at the words escaping from her mouth, wondering if he’s hearing things correctly, whether he’s fallen into some daydream state; it sounds all too familiar, too close, too understanding.

“You… you were in the foster system?” he checks.

“For eight years,” she nods.

He tries his best not to gape at her and nods slowly, urging her to continue, if she wants to, keen to learn more of her story.

“I was found on the side of the road, taken to a hospital and placed with a family until I was three but then they had their own kid and they sent me back,” Emma recounts, a hint of anger creeping through. “I missed the golden years, the greatest opportunity for adoption and I struggled through the foster system, barely staying afloat. When I was eight, I got pulled from a nasty set-up, foster parents who were only interested in the pay check, and placed with a young couple under an emergency situation; it was only meant to be a night but a night turned into a foster placement and that turned into adoption.”

“David and Mary Margaret. They were the young couple,” Killian realises.

“They were twenty-three when I was placed with them,” Emma confirms.

It makes sense, explaining why Killian hadn’t immediately pegged David for her father and why he’d been so downbeat at the comment of looking young for her father, a reminder that he hadn’t been able to be there for her in the early years of her life.

“I was lucky,” Emma notes. “I found people who cared for me. There’s not many who can say the same.”

“Aye,” Killian hummed in agreement, “but I can.”

It’s her turn to stare at him, slightly lost, as if she can’t quite dare to believe what he’s insinuating.

“There’s a reason it’s a cause so close to my heart,” he expands. “My mother died when I was young and my father moved us around a lot after that. He got into some financial trouble and then some criminal trouble until he got himself into trouble which got him killed.”

“I’m sorry.”

It’s genuine, a full sincerity to it like nothing he’s heard before and he takes his chance, wrapping his arm around her, holding her tight.

“My brother and I wound up in foster care, bounced about a bit and then our social worker started talking about splitting us up, saying finding family’s willing to take in siblings was equivalent to preforming miracles,” Killian recalls. “Then we got lucky. We found Ella and Thomas Rogers. They had a fourteen-year-old daughter of their own but they welcomed an eight-year-old and an eleven-year-old with open arms and never let go.”

“So, Alex Rogers-”

“Is my sister’s name,” Killian reveals, “And an alias I have used on many occasions.”

“There was an Alex Rogers in goal for the Villa women’s team earlier today,” Emma comments.

“I wondered whether you’d pick up on that,” Killian smiles at her. “That’s my sister.”

“Does your entire family just eat, breathe and live football?” Emma enquires.

She’s joking, but she’s not too far off.

“Pretty much,” he confesses with a laugh. “Alex is in the top-level of women’s football and Liam’s currently in the National League but did stints in League One and Two in his younger days. Thomas, my dad, has always been really into the game; I guess it rubbed off on the three of us. He’s the reason I found Aston Villa, as a fan, long before I even dreamed of playing for them, and he dedicated so much of his free time getting us to various training sessions across the county. The day I signed for Villa, twenty-two years old, stepping up from League One to the Championship, it felt like I was repaying him for everything he’d done over the years.”

“I know what you mean,” Emma agrees. “The day Henry was born, the day my parents became grandparents, I watched the way their eyes lit up as they held the tiny baby he once was; I gave them what they’d missed out on with me and, it sounds stupid to most people, and I’d never tell them this, but that day, it felt like I’d proven my worth to them.”

“Earned your keep,” Killian nodded knowingly.

Emma stares up at him, a rare vulnerability in her eyes as she admits, “I’ve never been able to share that with anyone.”

Killian pulls her in even closer and she rests her head on his shoulder. He leans his head gently on top of hers, breathing in the strawberry scent of the hotel shampoo. He understands her, she understands him; it’s perfect, or it would be perfect if it weren’t for the distance issue.

He reminds himself of his earlier remarks, to forget all of the barriers in their way. He stares out at the city of London, lit up like a Christmas tree, with Emma by his side and inside that pod, in their own little world, everything is perfect.

It’s gone one in the morning by the time they stumble into Emma’s hotel room, clutching hands tightly and resisting smothering each other in kisses due to the uncertainty surrounding Henry and her parent’s positions. As hoped, they were all fast asleep, Henry crashing on the spare bed in her parents room and Emma gently presses the adjoining door shut, hastily reaching for the lock, all the while Killian’s planting kisses into her neck, delving in the second they asserted the coast as clear.

She waits until he reaches the tip of her sternum before gently pushing him back, his step backwards hitting against the bedframe, causing him to topple onto the bed. He props himself onto his elbows as she takes small, seductive steps towards him.

“I have a surprise for you,” she tells him, the smile on her face causing her eyes to gleam, “but first, you need to help me out of this dress.”

She turns, revealing the clasps up the back.

“Light work,” he mutters assuredly.

He sits up straighter, his fingers dancing quickly over the fastens, releasing them all in an impressive time. She steps away from him before he has the chance to rip the dress from her. She’s teasing him, dragging it out, and he’s both impatient and utterly mesmerised by what she’s playing at.

She turns back to face him, her fingers clasping over the short sleeves of her dress so she can shrug them off, allowing the upper part of her dress to drop. His eyes drop from her captivating eyes to her impressive figure, subtle muscle tone highlighting her curves; not in-your-face muscle but signs of a silent strength. Her hands cup underneath her breasts, drawing his attention to them; to the lacy blue bra doing half a job at covering them; a sky blue, a familiar blue which has him questioning his own thoughts.

Surely not.

Her hands drop to the dress hanging around her waist and she shimmies out of it, stepping forward, closer, and leaving the material abandoned on a heap on the floor. She reaches for his hands, placing them onto her waist, the lacy material of her revealing thong soft and fresh against his hands. His jaw drops as he eyes the thong – and all it reveals – but his fingers trace over the thin material; the rich claret colour.

“I couldn’t find claret and blue underwear so I bought two matching sets and mixed and matched,” she explains.

He doesn’t process a word of it.

“I need you,” he says breathlessly.

He pulls her onto his lap, engulfing her in a kiss fuelled by her repping his team’s colours, fuelled by his passion for Villa, by his passion for her. She barely knew him – not before the evening they’d spent in the pod – and yet she had donned his colours for him.

She lifts his shirt up his body, the movement forcing him out of the kiss so she can continue lifting it over his head. She chucks his shirt dismissively to the side of the bed and her hands quickly move to wander down his torso, pushing him down onto the bed.

He lies there, staring up at her, taking her in in her entirety, the claret and blue really working on her, even more so than he’d dreamt the kit doing so. She lowers herself onto him, her mouth lingering near his ear, her breath warm against his skin.

“We never got to finish our match at the stadium,” she reminds him. “Let resume now; one vs one, I’ll let you go on the inside of me every time.”

His eyes light up instantly; the claret and blue, the dirty football talk – she’s a quick learner. She burrows into his neck, her lips pressing against his skin.

“I’ll remind you, love, we footballers go for ninety minutes across eleven different positions,” he matches her.

Her lips retreat from his neck and they’re back against his ear, murmuring, “Promises, promises.”

He flips her onto his back, rotating positions, a little squeal of delight escaping her lips at his unexpected display of strength.

“I’m like Arsenal,” he tells her. “I’ll stay on top but finish second.”

She chuckles as he tears the blue bra from her. The claret and blue was fun whilst it lasted but there was much more fun to be had.

“I don’t understand that reference,” she admits.

“I ain’t explaining it now, love.”

The claret thong reunites with its blue counterpart, discarded on the hotel room floor.

#cs ff #captain swan #the heart of a villan

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those-late-night-feels · 2 years

Text

Right Place, Right Time

Part 2

Summary: Both you and Loki wrestle with how you feel.

Warnings: angst, slow burn.

A/N: As always, any feedback, comments, reblogs are so much appreciated! | Dividers by @firefly-graphics

If the invasion in New York felt like the blink of an eye, the invasion in London felt like an eternity. The day after Loki left, you and Sara had left the compound, cautiously making your way back to your own apartment. The destruction wasn't as bad as you had expected, nothing compared to the devastation New York had experienced before, but the added security you felt that night because of him would never be forgotten. Glued to the television and your cell phone for any updates on London felt ridiculously obsessive. After two days, the TV was turned off and cell phone put away, promising yourself to only check after Sara was put to bed for the night.

When the Avengers returned home from battle a week later, every news outlet had made it known. There were interviews, press conferences, and panel discussions, all very formal. When you didn't see him for another two weeks after their return, you wrestled with going to the tower to see him. Playing it out in your head, you'd tell the front desk that you were there to see Loki, and then what? Tell him "I'm ready for my kiss now"? The thought alone was cringe-worthy, like a desperate booty call.

It was fine, you told yourself, the two of you had a moment and it passed. What did you think was going to happen with an Asgardian god? That he'd become your boyfriend? You were just a Midgardian who had shown him a little kindness. Honestly, "Midgardian" probably meant simpleton or servant to him. More than likely he'd either forgotten or moved on, which was what you needed to do as well.

It had been almost a month since the attack on London when you saw him again, your heart instantly doing that annoying somersault thing it liked to do around him. Sara had been begging to go to the park for weeks and you finally gave in. He sat down next to you on the park bench as you watched her in the sandpit. You would not be the first to say something, you promised yourself. But it was Sara who grabbed your attention. "Loki!"

She ran up to him, arms out, allowing him to pick her up and set her on his leg. "Hello darling. Have you been keeping your mommy busy while I was away?"

Sara giggled, nodding her head and reaching for his hands. "And what do you suppose is in there?"

"Magic! More magic!"

Loki laughed at her request. "Well, I can't say no to that," and opened his hand to show her a new fireworks display. Sara set her hand out next to his, pretending to emit her own magic. "Alright my darling girl, go play in the sandbox while I talk to your mother."

She hugged him and ran back, not a care in the world. "She really is a sweet girl."

"She likes you."

"I like her." His words were intended for you more than Sara and when he gently placed a hand on your leg, you froze. It would be so easy to give in, to let him sweep you off your feet, but when you looked at him, you knew it would only be temporary.

You placed your hand on top of his and he watched as you guided it off your leg, his face faltering.

"Loki, I like you. I really do. But… I need to protect myself, and… I need us to be just friends."

Silently, he processed your words, tongue pressed into the side of his cheek. "Friends," he said slowly, testing it out on his tongue. "If that's what you wish."

No, it wasn't what you wished. It wasn't remotely close to what you wished for. But the thought of falling in love with him, only to lose him to a war, to a conquest, to another world, was excruciating. You had a daughter to think of. You had yourself to think of.

"Well then, as my friend," he started, cutting into your thoughts. "I would like to invite you to a gathering Stark is having next Saturday."

"Loki…" you warned.

He lifted his hands in defense. "No no, you are my friend. And honestly, there is no one else on this planet that I would enjoy spending my time with more than you."

There was a twinkle in his eye and you weighed your options, unlimitedly deciding that friendships required actual interaction. "Alright, as friends."

Loki went back to the tower, sighing as he pulled out a book on the early conquests of Asgard, a way to distract himself from his swirling mind, and reclined on the chair in his room. This place had become a prison, and just when he thought he found a bright light of redemption, he had squandered it. When he had arrived back on Midgard, he had expected a cold welcome and told Thor just as much. He prepared himself for the glares, the spews of hatred, even the physical attacks which he found to be quite humorous. But he hadn't prepared himself for you.

The kindness you showed, actually wanting to spend time with him, not once bringing up his past, he was absolutely hooked. But, in London, the more he thought of you, the more he believed he would be a poison to you, just as he was to everyone else. One way or another, he would destroy you. He may be a god, you may be a mortal, but he wasn't good enough for you.

When the team arrived back from their mission in London, he didn't go back to you, as much as he desired it. Through FRIDAY he was informed of where you lived and if you and Sara were safe, but he held himself back from seeing you. It was only when he had read those fateful words that you had quoted to him from War and Peace that he decided he needed to see you again.

He knew that inviting you to Stark's party was playing with fire, and possibly playing with your heart. He was, after all, known as the god of mischief. But you had been there, more than once, at the right place, the right time. Perhaps you were meant to be his.

The Avengers Tower stood magnificently in front of you. Taking a breath, you rode up the glass elevator to the penthouse where you had been put on the guest list. Loki had requested to pick you up himself from your place, but you refused, insisting that it was not a date and therefore would arrive and leave alone. When a car was sent to pick you up, you grimaced in annoyance. He was going to make it very hard to stay just friends.

The penthouse was beautifully decorated, lavish lounge furniture, an open bar, and large dance floor. Coat and purse checked, you made your way to the bar, hoping that a glass of wine would quiet the nerves while not making a total embarrassment of yourself later.

"I usually recognize everyone at my parties, but I can't place you." You turned to be face to face with the goateed playboy billionaire, your eyes as wide as saucers. "From your off-the-rack dress, I'm assuming you're a new reporter trying to catch a big break. Am I close?"

"I…" your mouth hung open, not exactly sure what to say.

"Stark, I see you've met my guest," his voice had a deep warning tone. He placed a hand on your shoulder, instantly making you feel safe.

Tony looked from Loki to you, trying to make the connection. "So not a news reporter?"

"No, actually I'm–" but your words were cut off as a burly man called out to the billionaire, his attention pulled away. Loki laughed at your reaction. "Ignore him. That's what I usually do." He came around to face you, doing his best not to look you up and down in the glimmering form-fitting dress. "Am I allowed to tell you how stunning you look tonight?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding your head. The truth was, if you had been attracted to him after the invasion, you were absolutely blown away by how he cleaned up with a crisp suit. You drew your eyes from his frame to your drink, trying to focus. "Funny, I was in the middle of getting ready and someone sent a car to pick me up. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

He grabbed an amber drink from the bartender. "I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about."

"Well that's good since I sent them away." Loki abruptly looked at you with confusion, to be met with a sly smirk. "Only kidding."

He gave an awkward laugh. Was he actually nervous around you? He shook his head. Get it together, she's only a mortal.

He took the glass from your hand and set it down on the bar, then took your hand and pulled you away, winding his way through the crowds with you in tow.

"Where are you taking me, Laufeyson?" you giggled, following him up a flight of stairs and through a glass door to a balcony. The cool wind made you shiver in the small party dress and his jacket was draped over your shoulders. You looked across the massive city, above the buildings and twinkling lights that stood below and the ocean expanding beyond. "Wow, what a view. It's beautiful up here."

"I wish I could take you up there," he said, pointing up to the starry sky. "Now that is a sight worth seeing."

"What's it like up there?" you asked.

"Brilliant. Beautiful."

"Do you wish you were still up there?"

"Not right now," he said and you could feel his eyes on you. Even with his jacket on you shivered, but not from the cold. You didn't dare turn your head, afraid of what would happen if you did. Instead, you rested your head on his shoulder, taking in the scenery.

"I hope I'm not overstepping," he said after a while, pausing to find the right words, "I'm sorry I didn't come see you when we came back from London. I should have."

You shook your head in feigned ignorance. "It's fine, I just assumed you were busy saving the world."

He took your hands in his, not allowing you to brush it off. "No, y/n. The truth is…you scare me."

"I scare you?" you repeated the words back to him, eyebrow raised.

He smiled, the humor of a god being scared by a Midgardian not lost on him, and tucked a wisp of hair behind your ear. "Absurd, I know. But, you know I am the god of mischief and chaos. And, you are…the opposite of that. You are good and kind and…"

"And…you're afraid I will change who you are."

"No, I'm afraid I will destroy you. Or Sara. I destroy everything I touch." He looked down, thinking of all the hurt that had been caused because of him. "I would never be able to live with myself if you…"

His words trailed off, barely above a whisper. Heart pounding, your fingers interlaced with his and his eyes were drawn from the clasp of your hands to your eyes. You took a small step forward, his words sparking a boldness in you.

"Loki, no one is fully good or fully evil, not even you."

"Yes, but I–"

You cut him off, taking another small step, inching into him. "You did everything you could to save me and Sara during that invasion. Maybe you made some wrong choices in the past, but that's not who you are." His brow crinkled as you placed a hand on his cheek. "Do you want to hurt me?"

"Never," he whispered, and without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him. His lips were soft and warm and exactly how you had imagined. His fingers hesitatingly threaded through your hair at the back of your neck, closing the centimeters between you, a moan slipping from your mouth. You could have stayed there forever in his arms. When you pulled away, he searched your eyes. "I thought you said you just wanted to be friends."

Smiling, you replied, "You make it very hard to be just friends, Loki."

Buy Loki a coffee 😘

Tags: @goblingirlsarah @trojanaurora

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