#but that time it was just the last straw and her resolve and patience snapped

[copperclawed]

the thing is i want to love alina, and i went into the show preparing to love her bc the trailers and other promo materials made it seem like they were giving alina more agency and personality. but after watching the show i'm still left wondering who alina even is. she's almost as reactive as she was in the books, they didn't properly explore her shu identity, and there are these contradictory moments throughout the series that make it so hard for me to pin down who she is as a person.

like, the literal opening scene is alina experiencing a racist microaggression and silently taking it. her friend has to defend her. that says something abt alina: that maybe she avoids conflict, that perhaps she's insecure to confront ppl when they're assholes to her, that maybe there's some internalised shame, idk. but okay, i take it in as a character trait. however, we're later shown a flashback where kid!alina is the opposite of conflict avoidant, she's fierce and ready to fight (w a knife, no less!) to defend mal. alright, maybe she is ready to fight for mal but not to defend herself? or maybe since then she learnt to pick her battles, because standing her ground has not turned out in her favour? then, in the present, when she's in the line for food, she gets insulted again--and not just insulted, but told to go to the end of the line--she again, just takes it and, rather than stand her ground and defend herself, she goes without dinner. BUT THEN in a flashback we find out that she at one point punched a quartermaster when, as it's implied, he called her a racist slur. ??? later at the little palace, alina directly challenges zoya, who's been mean to her, to a fight and tells her "[i'm] not familar with the concept [of backing down]". but we've been literally shown that alina is very familiar w that concept. at that point i was just thoroughly confused which is the truth. or is it bravado? is she pushing herself to not avoid conflict?

the other thing was her decision to burn the maps that led to the violent deaths of the entire cartographer unit. of course, she could not have foreseen this, she was thinking that she was only risking her own life. but it's still a consequence of her action and she never grapples w this, nor w the fact that marie died to protect her. i was waiting for alina to bring it up when mal mentioned mikhael and dubrov's deaths, but she didn't. does she care? does she regret it? is she so brazen abt putting other ppl's lives at risk or did the writers simply forget/it got cut?

add to that the constrast of flirty, impulsive and confident and not afraid to make the first move on kirigan vs never acting on her feelings for mal even though she's been in love w him for years, and im just left wondering, who exactly are you, alina?

i understand that ppl can be quite contradictory, but characters aren't real ppl, and i want to see coherent characterisation / character arc progression! i will probably rewatch the show after im done w my grading and see if maybe alina makes more sense to me the second time around

[sanktnikolais]

Shadow and Soul

A/N: guess who has another content again after like two months? KJAHSFLKHASDF 

Have this Mafia au bc the Vincenzo energy in me is very strong rn and i wanted to write some chaotic/serious mafia au

Word count: 4701

CW: Violence 

An attempt on the head of the Lantsov Family's life has occurred under their noses, and it's up to the Underboss and her Consigliere to settle things the clean way or the dirty way.

How Zoya could still find patience for the man in front of her was a mystery. But having more patience for the all-too-smiling Consigliere beside her was a skill she had acquired over the years, and as much as she wanted to strangle her lawyer companion, she couldn’t deny she was enjoying the look of rage on Anton Demidov’s eyes as he tried not to lash out his anger. The smug facade he was currently wearing wasn't able to keep the emotions from showing in his gaze. 

          The small restaurant they were cramped in was humid enough to dry up what’s left of her restraint from wanting to tear the furious look from the man’s face, but she strengthened her resolve. There were several other people dining in here with them, and it would be rude if she suddenly did something rather unlady-like to this gentleman in a suit. Besides, she did promise the infuriating blond that she would ‘be diplomatic for once’, as per his request. 

          Perhaps she could try to be. 

          “It’s a fair deal, dearest Anton,” said Nikolai to the Demidovs' caporegime, still grinning his usual crowd-winning smile. When his eyes cast down to Anton’s now clenched fist on the table, the glint of amusement in Nikolai’s eyes only became brighter. If there was something her Consigliere was good at, it was pushing another person’s buttons by merely smiling. “No more threats to the Lantsovs and no more operating the casino without our jurisdiction, and I will personally tell our enforcers to stop the assault on your family’s businesses. Possibly sprinkle a monthly cut from your profit into our pockets, too, no?"

          Considering how Anton’s jaw twitched in annoyance only told Zoya that he didn’t like the deal at all. Having the upper hand over the Lantsovs meant being powerful enough to actually go against them, and considering that they were the most powerful among the families, it was a rather bold move to attempt murdering Alexander Lantsov. 

          Ever since the day the Lantsov head was openly shot at, along with plenty of their men in the streets of Os Alta, Zoya had considered the move as an act of war and broke any peace treaties between their families. She led the attack on the biggest casino the Demidovs had in Kribirsk, effectively shutting the place down and cutting the third of the family’s investments. The assaults continued for the next two weeks, even the smallest businesses didn’t escape their wrath, until the Demidovs were backed to the corner and forced to surrender. 

          If it were another circumstance, she would have stopped there. She knew they would have learned their lesson by that time. Yet the thought of failing to protect their chief because she hadn’t anticipated any attempts on his life that day only gave her enough reason to continue the attacks. 

          "I would suggest listening to him. Do him a favor, will you? He loves talking,” Zoya said with unexpected calmness. She leaned back to a more comfortable position in her chair, reaching up to remove the first button by her collar. 

          This must have brought the wrong impression on Anton's guards stationed by the far window to the left, and they were already reaching for their weapons from their holsters. She merely raised an eyebrow at them. 

          Panic seized Anton’s eyes as he turned to his guards. He pointed a finger at them. “You’ve frisked them, right?” he demanded. Even though he tried to sound very much authoritative, the slight tremor in his voice didn't go unnoticed by Zoya. But the guards seemed to be oblivious of this, and still nodded nervously. “Then why are you all acting hostile? Stand down.”

          Zoya snickered silently. So much for being the one to lead the assassination attempt but was already panicking over the smallest movement she made. She itched for her gun, which was unfortunately dismantled and held by Anton's right hand man as per their no weapons rule during business talks. Her shoulder holsters felt impossibly light without its presence. Maybe it was time to stop the bullshit that was called 'talking' and just start the real line of action. 

          Patience, dearest Zoya, her infuriating Consigliere's voice echoed in her head. The way he was starting to rub off on her was terrifying. It'd be a good thing to be diplomatic for once. 

          "No need to be jumpy, Anton. It's just too humid in here." Zoya emphasized her statement by fanning herself with a hand. She heard Nikolai chuckle beside her. "Besides, it's not that I have any more weapons on me."

          Come on, lash out at me, goaded Zoya in her mind. Give me enough reason to finally take you down where you stand. 

          Anton turned back to her and smiled tightly. "I'm aware of that, Miss Nazyalensky. But I can't blame my men for taking precautions, especially around someone who's known to be ruthless."

          "I'm honored, sir, but we can't as much as do anything considering the number of your guards in here with us." She shrugged, gesturing to her right. "There's just the four of us." 

          Her eyes met the two lone guards of their own at the opposite side. Where they only brought the twins along with them for safety, was Anton Demidov’s unit of at least twenty men surrounding the place. She almost found it funny—he was the one to first make a threat over the Lantsovs and yet he was cowering in front of them.

          Tamar made a face, gesturing crudely to the Demidov caporegime and making Zoya chuckle lightly. Her twin brother Tolya kicked her in the shin, but there was no denying the smile he was fighting to appear on his lips. Seeing their presence lightened the tense weight on her shoulders somehow, as she knew that they alone could take Demidov's men if things went south. 

          And considering the stubborn set of Anton's jaw and the fury in his eyes, blood will surely be shed tonight.

          Zoya glanced around the room, silently counting how many of his guards were inside the restaurant with them. She let her eyes wander for a few moments, and she was able to count at least eight. There were probably a few more she hadn't seen, but her eyes catching a woman in a bright red overcoat was enough to make her wince and look back to Demidov. 

          "A rather powerful move," Nikolai said lowly, making her turn to him with a raised brow. There was a smirk playing on his lips as he continued to watch the other man, and it was a clear sign that he was quite enjoying seeing Demidov almost ready to explode. He leaned a bit closer to her ear. "It's really not the perfect time or place to take off your clothes, sir. But if you can make them squirm by doing just that, then be my guest. A little fun before the storm isn't so bad." 

          Zoya rolled her eyes, her foot connecting solidly to his leg. He let out a muffled wheezed, and he covered it up by clearing his throat when Anton gave him a weird look. Knowing Nikolai was already stressful enough, but having him as her Consigliere and hearing him do the talking most of the time was exhausting. 

          But he got things done without having to use guns or knives. Words were his weapons, and though he was often mild and considerate during negotiations, he still wielded his words dangerously when circumstances deemed it necessary. 

          "What do you say, Demidov?" Nikolai said, his grin returning. "It's a rather generous deal."

          The table rattled as Anton's fist slammed down on it. "We will not be your family's lapdog," he growled through gritted teeth. If he had been able to hold in his rage, now he was full on acting on it, just like Zoya had expected him to do. "You think you're all so powerful and strong just because you're controlling this city, but not to me." He looked at Nikolai with utter disgust. "I'm surprised Alexander even cared for his bastard enough to appoint him as Consigliere out of all designations."

          Something snapped inside Zoya, feeling her suppressed rage flare back to the surface, and she was already considering tipping over the table to the man's face. But a hand enclosed around her wrist from under the table, the touch warm and familiar for her to know it was Nikolai. He must have sensed her sudden want to resort to the worst way. 

          She risked a glance at him. A shadow had passed over his usual cheerful face, his eyes hard and empty as his jaw twitched in anger. Then a smile appeared on his lips a moment later, the sharp, wicked smile of a man who had reached the last straw of his patience. 

          "Are getting personal now, Anton?" Nikolai said, his tone still surprisingly calm. "I thought it was all business?" 

          "Oh, that's true. All business, Lantsov," Anton spat Nikolai’s name like a poison that stung his mouth. "And if I kill you right now, I can just report you for trespassing. It's still business, no? I'm just protecting my property." 

          Zoya raised an eyebrow. "Is that an open threat?" she said flatly. “Do tell me if it is so we can settle this the way I know we both wanted from the start.”

          "Depends on how you put it." Anton gestured to the door. "And if you both are smart enough, then that means you know your only choice is to leave."

          So the Demidovs still chose not to have a ceasefire between the families. It was exactly how she expected this night would go. Nikolai owed her a drink later.

          "You're acting way too brash for a caporegime," said Zoya as she reached for the cup in front of her to take a sip of the leftover coffee from an hour ago. "Are you sure your family could handle another attack in any of your remaining businesses?"

          Anton looked almost smug. Confident, even, as if he suddenly had the upper hand against them. Oh, how Zoya hated to ruin his bravado. "As you've said, Nazyalensky, there's only four of you. So you should watch that tongue of yours."

          A sneer threatened its way to her lips, but she didn't dare let it show. She wondered if he would still have the same smugness later, when she finally demonstrated the 'ruthlessness' Anton liked to describe her with. 

          There was a tense silence around them, and if Zoya listened harder, she was sure she could hear the guards' heavy breathing even from ten meters away. She eyed the other exits—all guarded by Demidov's men. Even the twins' position to their right was at a disadvantage, they could be easily opened fire on if they weren't fast enough to take cover.

          "Very well. It would not be a fair fight." She relented, making it sound as convincing as possible. She put the cup back on the table. "We will just leave."

          The Demidov caporegime huffed but didn't say anything more. He leaned back on his chair, his triumphant smile never wavering. "I'm glad you're finally starting to think, Miss Nazyalensky." 

          Another wave of annoyance, and what she could sense as her suppressed rage resurfacing, washed over her. She wrinkled her nose in displeasure. They should have just ambushed the caporegime on his way here. It would have been much easier. Plus, they could even save time and sanity for not going through this 'civilized' negotiation. In their world where power was the only thing to protect you, you should never give a chance to your enemy to take it from you. 

          Eliminate and narrow down the list of your enemies. 

          It was now up to Nikolai whether they would go through it or just leave. 

          The Consigliere leaned back on the chair, his other hand reaching up to loosen his tie. There was a look of disappointment on his face, but his eyes said otherwise. He was already expecting this. "That was quite an exchange," he said with a shrug. Then he shook himself for a bit. "Wow, I think I need to use the restroom after all that. Do you mind if I go? Or should your guards come along to make sure I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary?" 

          "Just get on with it and leave. I should have known this meeting was useless from the start." 

          Nikolai feigned a hurtful look. "Oh, how harsh," he said dramatically. "But alright, your call." 

          The hand that was still around Zoya's wrist loosened, his fingers coming around until his forefinger rested on her pulse point. Warmth erupted from where his skin met hers, and she tried not to let it distract her from the message he was trying to say. He had held her like this far too many times, had even been in a much closer proximity than now when their situation needed them be, and yet her heart still threatened to leap out of her chest whenever he touched her. 

          Focus, her mind berated, and that’s when she felt it: his finger tapping on her skin twice. It was their go signal. They had made their own sign language over the past three years, when business talks and other matters got a bit out of hand and they needed to subtly communicate with the other. It was something that only the two of them knew of, and it definitely did wonders for them when words weren’t needed. 

          Zoya gave him a pointed glance sideways as he stood up and let go of her wrist. It was the look that said, I told you so, and she knew if they were somewhere else, Nikolai would have frowned and whined something back. But it wasn’t the time for it.

          With one last squeeze to her wrist, he finally let go, straightening the lapels of his coat to show his disappointment on how the negotiation had gone. He cast one last glance to the Demidov caporegime before taking his leave and going to the restroom. Zoya let her gaze follow him until he disappeared around a corner. 

          Please don't be a moron and find it, she thought before standing up as well, reaching for his suitcase that was carelessly lying on the floor. 

          One of Anton's guards, which she recognized as his right hand man, approached the table. He had a skeptical gaze on her, like he was readying himself to defend his boss if ever she decided to suddenly do something. 

          She gave the man a cold smile, amusement bubbling in her chest when she saw him wince and look away to turn to his boss.

          Zoya took the moment to glance at the twins and give them the smallest of nods. They immediately understood, with Tamar moving away from their spot to come nearer to the table. Tolya remained in his position, but he already had his hand braced on the holster around his hips. 

          "That Consigliere of yours," Anton started, making Zoya look back at him. His second was holding up the coat to him, and he turned to shrug it on back to his shoulders. "He really does love talking, doesn't he? It might be the reason he gets killed one day.”

          As if I would let that happen. It made her eyebrows furrow, her gaze narrowing dangerously to the caporegime. He had been making a lot of subtle threats to them, and Zoya wasn’t letting it slide. Only one family would be walking out from this place tonight.

          And it wasn’t going to be the Demidovs.

          “Worry not, Anton,” said Zoya, her cold smile returning, “I’ll make sure to tell him that.” 

          “Tell me what?” Nikolai’s too cheery voice echoed a moment later, and Zoya turned to his direction and saw him approaching them. He had stripped off his long coat, leaving him in his shirt and tie. Her eyes went to the coat he was holding. The way it was folded on his hand looked enough for it to conceal something, and she could only assume he found it.

          “Nothing of importance, dearest Consigliere,” Zoya mused, reaching for her own coat hanging on the chair’s backrest. “Just some gibberish, though I can tell you about it later.”

          Nikolai chuckled. “I do hope it’s not something alarming,” he said. Then he stepped in front of her, his hand catching her wrist again to stop her from putting on her coat. Then with a small smile that softened his features, he murmured, “Let me.”

          She let him take her coat from her hand, and gently, he helped her slip it on. To others, it would look like a normal sight; a man assisting his Underboss like any other members of the family would. But if one were to look closely, it was actually just an act to cover something up. 

          Zoya looked up at his eyes with mock respect when there was the familiar weight of a weapon being slipped back to her shoulder holster. Nikolai made a face in return.

          I found it, he mouthed with a wince. Then he tugged at the lapels of the coat a bit roughly, as if to get back at her for doubting him, and it earned a glare from Zoya. He smiled innocently, then his hands came up to the back of her neck to free her hair that was caught up in the collar. She tried not to get distracted by his ministrations, but she found it hard when he reached her collar, fixing it down to make it presentable. They were too close, the act anything if not intimate, and her breath hitched in her throat when his fingers lingered a moment too long on the side of her neck.

          Then she felt the soft brush of his thumb against her jaw; it was enough to stop her thoughts altogether. 

          But Nikolai only winked, a cheeky smile evident on his lips before he stepped back. Zoya wanted nothing more than to strangle him right then. But then again, it wasn’t the time for it. Perhaps later. 

          She regained her stoic composure, walking over to Anton Demidov who had been completely oblivious of the exchange. It was only out of respect that she still would end their meeting with a handshake. If there was something she refused to let go in her morals, it was respect. 

          Zoya held her hand out to Anton. The man was hesitant, but still took it anyway. “Well, I bid you farewell, Sir Demidov,” she said with a cutting smile, her grip tightening around his hand enough for him to look alarmed. “It’s a pleasure having the chance to talk to you.”

          Then her other hand reached to her holster, grabbed the gun Nikolai had put there, and shot Anton Demidov in the leg.

          The man crumpled down on the floor, a scream tearing from his throat as he clutched at his wound. Horror was evident in his gaze as he looked up at her. His right-hand didn’t have time to draw his weapon when another shot rang out from somewhere behind Zoya, hitting the man on his shooting arm, and he dropped to the ground as well. Anton’s several other guards with them started to spring to action, but it was the exact time that all the people dining in the restaurant stood up, drawing out their own weapons and surrounding the Demidov associates.

          Outside, gunfire echoed as well. Then after a few moments, it went silent again.

          Zoya looked around the expanse of the room. Anton’s remaining guards stood completely frozen in their places as dozens of guns pointed to their direction. She hummed in approval and looked over her shoulder, seeing Tamar still holding her gun to the right-hand man’s direction. 

          Thanks, Zoya mouthed to the woman, who in return tipped her head in acknowledgement. 

          “As I’ve said earlier,” she started, waving the barrel of her gun down to Anton’s face, “it would not be a fair fight.”

          “What—what is the meaning of this?” Anton demanded, his voice quivering in both terror and pain. He tried to back away from Zoya, but someone had already stopped him with a foot on his shoulder. 

          She looked up and saw the woman who wore the bright red overcoat that made her eyes hurt, and Zoya gave her an unamused look. “Something a bit tamer next time, Genya?” she said. “It’s a bit overwhelming to look at. Maybe a maroon.”

          Genya laughed lightly. “Of course, anything you say, sir.”

          Zoya nodded in gratitude before she turned back to Anton, who was still on the ground. “This night could have gone well, you know? All we wanted was your approval for a ceasefire. But here you were, acting all too smug for a family whose reputation is almost down the drain and making empty threats that you have no power to do.” She stepped forward, jabbing her foot down the man’s injured leg and earning another scream from him. “Well, wasn’t it you who pulled the trigger on the Don? Now man up, take it like a champ.”

          “How” —Anton wheezed out in pain— “how is this possible? My men have frisked you and your Consigliere.”

          Nikolai appeared beside her, looking casual in his posture as if he had come to a reunion with some old friends. “Simple. You don’t check the customers coming into your business,” he explained. “Another civilian could enter the same restroom earlier before the Consigliere, and he could have slipped a weapon and taped it under the sink.” He shook his head with a dramatic sigh. “Only goes to show how shit your security is, by the way.”

          The Demidov caporegime could only look at them in disbelief, his eyes going back and forth to Zoya and her Consigliere. Then a laugh escaped him, the loud, desperate kind of a madman. She almost pitied him. The feeling of being backed against the corner having nothing other than yourself to trust and lean on.

          She would commend this man for fighting tooth and nail for his Family’s survival and reputation, and yet he had chosen the wrong way to do it by trying to assassinate one of the biggest Dons in the country and starting a war. There were some battles that were out of one’s reach and power, and it had been the Demidovs to take the risk and lose everything to their wrong decisions.

          Anton continued laughing for another long moment, his breaths becoming more labored the longer he laughed. Then when it seemed that he finally ran out of air, he looked back up to her. If Zoya was expecting to see defeat in his eyes, then she was so wrong. 

          Because in them, she saw nothing but cold fury, the kind that brought a lingering feeling of dread in your chest. If she were some other person, she was sure she would have cowered back and let fear take over. 

          But that was before she knew what horrors the world they lived in now did to young and naive girls. Fear was one’s shadow, something they could never go against nor get rid of, so she learned how to wield it as her weapon instead. 

          “What are you going to do now? Kill me?” Anton said, another laugh escaping his lips. He had already gone pale from the loss of blood, but he continued. “Killing me would only make things worse. It’s not going to change anything.”

          Nikolai pretended to consider a thought, his eyebrows furrowing. “You’re right,” he said. “But I think I have an idea.” He stepped forward, and Zoya handed him her gun. 

          Without wasting another second, he pointed the gun to Anton’s other leg and pulled the trigger. The beginning of a howl tore from the caporegime’s throat, and he hadn’t even had the chance to fully voice out his pain when Nikolai shot him again on the shoulder.

          Zoya blinked in surprise, the gears in her mind working as she looked back to Nikolai. Gone was the diplomatic look of the Consigliere, only the face of the Demon Prince remained, the same persona that terrorized the streets of Halmhend City for years. His eyes held a dangerous glint that she only saw him have for his sworn enemies. 

          “That’s not even the same number of bullets my father took when you tried to murder him in the open,” Nikolai said mildly. “But don’t worry, I made sure not to hit you anywhere critical. Killing you will get you an easy way out. I don’t want that.” He kneeled down beside Anton, leaning dangerously close to the man with the barrel of the gun planted on his chest. “I want you to see how your Family despises you because you couldn’t let go of your ego and accept that you’ve made a grave mistake. I’ve offered a ceasefire, but you didn’t take it. So I guess you’d rather take a few bullets, then?” 

          Through his labored breathing and pained state, Anton still managed to glare at the Consigliere. The man’s got determination, Zoya would give him that. But he had made the worst decision of having Nikolai as his enemy. 

          There was another tense silence, and then Nikolai was laughing lightly, patting the caporegime on the cheek. Just like that, he was back to the cheerful Consigliere persona. “I like this one,” he told Anton’s right-hand man who lay a few feet away from them, a look of fear in his eyes. “Fiery soul. Make sure he’s back to his feet in a few days, alright? I want to see what Irina would do to him.”

          Zoya shook her head and watched as Nikolai stood up and handed back the gun to her. He looked back at her with a confused expression.

          “What?”

          “Nothing. Remind me again not to strangle you next time you do something brash?” She turned to their men who were still patiently waiting for their next order. “Get them out to the other side of the street. Make sure they’re easily seen by their colleagues when they arrive.”

          Their men immediately did as they were told, shuffling out of the restaurant quietly as they dragged the Demidov Family’s associates to the streets. Tamar and Tolya waited for the both of them by the front doors. 

          “Was that even necessary?” Zoya asked the Consigliere, who shrugged in return.

          “It’s only fair I’ve wounded him. It’s nothing compared to the men he’d killed in the ambush as we haven’t even taken any of his men’s heads.” Nikolai said, putting his long coat back on. “I have actually talked to Irina Demidov yesterday. She told me to get rid of him.” 

          Having a talk with the Demidov’s Underboss only meant bad news. “Really?”

          “Yeah, but I’ll let them handle it. Besides, they twist the fact that we killed one of their caporegime against us. We both know their history.” 

          Zoya huffed. “Good thinking,” she said. 

          “There’s a reason why I am indeed a Consigliere, Nazyalensky,” said Nikolai, feigning a hurtful look. “I’m not all talk and no action.”

          “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” She paused when her eyes caught sight of the messed up knot of his tie. Her hands were already reaching to fix it before she could even realize what she was doing, and she heard his breath hitch in his throat. At least she wasn’t the only one who got caught off guard when the other was near. 

          She finally finished straightening his tie after a few more moments, patting down at his collar for emphasis. “There you go,” said Zoya. Her voice coming out a bit breathless than she intended was something she hadn’t expected from herself. “Now we’re even.” She stepped back, putting a bit of distance between them and looking anywhere but him. “Let’s get out of here before the Demidovs arrive to get their associates.”

***

And as the car sped into the distance some time later, the place where the restaurant the Demidovs owned was now nothing but ashes on the ground.

[sixqueendom]

New Fanfic: If Only You Would Listen, Chapter 1

So, after having a few requests to, I’ve decided to post my new fic on here as well as AO3. If you would prefer to read on AO3, I have included the link below! No real warnings for this one. Just the usual angst I'm sure you've grown accustomed to with my fics if you’ve read any of my previous work!

A huge thank you to Phoebe (@theatergirl06), Lilac (@timetoriseabove) and Blue (@pen-and-a-microphone) for beta-reading this fic! You guys are the best!

AO3 Link

---------------------

Kitty decided she had had enough.  Everything was becoming overwhelming. The home she shared with the five other Queens suddenly felt overbearing and overly dominated by the others, so much so that she felt like she didn’t belong there anymore. Like she was an outcast. Sidelined. She didn’t feel like a priority to any of them, more a burden. An afterthought.

The truth was, Kitty was fed up with being mollycoddled by Jane. She was fed up of being treated like she was a child. But most of all, she was fed up of walking into a room, only for the lively chatter to descend into quietness, the other women refraining from talking openly for fear the topic might upset or offend her. They’d never told her that, but she knew. She was, after all, the vulnerable one in their eyes. The liability.

She appreciated Jane’s love and care towards her, she really did. It was nice to finally feel like someone genuinely cared about her, after a childhood with inattentive parents and ultimately being raised by her father’s negligent stepmother, the Dowager Duchess. For once, she felt wanted and loved. But as much as she appreciated it, Jane’s motherly care was smothering. Suffocating. Jane had always had a desperate longing to be a mother, having been robbed of the chance with her own son. So, naturally, with Kitty being the youngest, she projected all that energy onto her. But for Kitty, it was all too much. She didn’t feel she had any real independence. 

Eventually, she started to realise she was being excluded from conversations.

She’d accepted it at first. Perhaps she didn’t want to hear it. The conversations would just stir up old memories and rip off the superficial plaster she’d put on those wounds. That was, until she realised she was slowly losing her voice within the group, her right to speak for herself. Instead, the Queens were doing it on her behalf, assuming they knew what was best. Assuming they knew what she would say.

Last week, the Queens had all been invited to a podcast interview with an up and coming theatre critic, who had recently seen the show. The critic had analysed and dissected each of their individual songs and probed them for more details. When it came to Kitty’s song, she immediately saw the concerned faces of the others, like they anticipated a breakdown. Much to her annoyance, Anne butted in halfway through her response to a question. After that, Kitty noticed the subtle actions of the others: the critic saw it as casual banter, but it was really just a cover-up for the tougher questions regarding her past, an effort to keep things light-hearted in an attempt to stop it being so upsetting. What they didn’t realise was that Kitty had recounted her previous life so many times that, although still arguably painful to recall, it didn’t provoke the heightened emotions the Queens were probably expecting. She was tougher than that. Yet, by the end of the interview, Kitty felt like she hadn’t really contributed anything. 

A couple of nights later, there was a small incident at stage door when Kitty was approached by two young girls. As she happily signed their programmes, one of the girls piped up excitedly.

“I can’t wait to hear your next interview on Saturday! I’m going to send a question in for you to answer!”

Kitty frowned, but quickly concealed her confusion with a laugh. “Yeah, you should totally do that! I’ll try my best to answer as many as i can!”

On the Tube home, Kitty queried the conversation. “What’s this about an interview this weekend?”

Anne gasped. “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you! We’ve got an interview with a theatre magazine on Saturday. They are also hosting a little Q&A session with the fans. Should be fun.”

Kitty leant back in her seat, going quiet. When were they actually going to tell her if she hadn’t prompted?

The next evening, when Kitty came downstairs to find the Queens huddled around the kitchen, seemingly in a deep conversation without her, it was the final straw. Right on cue, as soon as she walked in, the mood immediately changed and, like a flick of a switch, a hush fell over the room as the discussion dropped away. It always felt like she was disrupting them. Like she was gatecrashing a party. Uninvited and unwanted.

Kitty glanced from one Queen to another. 

“What are you all talking about?” It was an innocuous enough question. She kept her voice light, casual. There was no need at this point to get tense and uptight. 

Anna, in one corner, gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Nothing important. Just about that silly interview we have tomorrow.”

The interview with the magazine. The interview that she was also involved in.

Kitty blinked. “What about it?”

She caught Cathy giving a nervous glance across the room to Anna, her hands firmly cupped around her coffee mug as she leant against the kitchen counter. Kitty could sense the atmosphere in the room growing tense. After all, they weren’t stupid. They could tell where this was heading. 

Anne gave a shrug. “Just about what kind of questions we think they’ll ask. Just...boring stuff really.”

Here we go. Trying to assure her she wasn’t missing out on anything. That it wasn’t important enough for her voice to be included.

“It didn’t sound boring,” Kitty leant against the doorframe. “Sounds like a good idea, actually. Always best to be prepared for whatever they throw our way.” She was still maintaining her casual tone, but she could feel her patience being tested.

Jane, as always, was the first to get flustered, sensing that things were starting to head south and wanting to avoid confrontation. “Look,” she held up her hands. “Why don’t we just talk about this later when-”

“When what?” Kitty snapped. “When I’m back upstairs in my bedroom? When I’m out of earshot and can’t hear what you’re really talking about?”

Jane blinked. She didn’t know how to respond. Catherine bowed her head, staring at the lines of her hands. Across the table, Anne visibly squirmed in discomfort.

Kitty smirked. She’d caught them red-handed and now they didn’t know what to say. There was nowhere to hide. She raised an eyebrow expectantly, looking around the room for a response.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Have I made things a bit uncomfortable?”

This tense confrontation had come as a surprise for them. Out of them all, Kitty was largely overlooked, usually the quietest and the most reserved of the group. Sweet in nature and often quick to comply, she was the last one they’d expect to be interrogated by. But it was becoming clear that she was on the offence. Quite frankly, Kitty had reached the end of her tether. She wouldn’t tolerate being made to feel like a child, like an inconvenience, any longer. Whether it was the Queens’ intention or not, it still hurt. She still felt like she didn’t matter, that her words were worthless.

Finally, Cathy took a deep breath. “What is this all about, Kit?” Her words sounded so feeble. She wasn’t stupid - she knew exactly what was going on here - but she felt the need to break the awkward silence.

Her attempt only made Kitty scoff. “You all know exactly what this is about. I’m sick of this!” She yelled, her voice increasing in volume.

Jane bit her lip, the harsh tone of Kitty’s voice packing a sting that she really wasn’t accustomed to. Not from her sweet Kitty. She was trying to hold back tears, startled by this sudden outburst and hostility. Realising her discomfort, Catherine squeezed her hand under the table.

“Do I really not matter?” Kitty lowered her voice again, trying to keep composed. “Because sometimes I wonder if you’d all be better off without me!”

Anne looked up at that comment, hurt and panic in her eyes. “That’s not true! Of course you matter! Of course we want you here!”

“Then why don’t you ever include me?!” she cried, unable to conceal her trembling voice, despite her resolve not to cry. Crying would prove to them that she was volatile. It would justify their actions. “Why am I always the one treated like a child and left out of everything?”

“Kit, we’re not doing this to hurt you. We’re doing this to protect you and to stop you getting upset-” Anna started. 

“See, that’s just it, isn’t it? You all treat me like I’m some kind of porcelain doll that might fall and break. Don’t think I don’t notice you acting like you’re walking on eggshells when I’m around and pandering to my wishes like I’m a kid! I hate it!” Her frustration mounting, Kitty slammed her hand against the doorframe, making Jane visibly jump.

Catherine, remaining as composed as ever, thought quickly, trying to desperately diffuse the situation before it got the chance to escalate any further. “Kitty, why don’t you sit down and we can talk about this rationally?”

The suggestion only made Kitty laugh. “Oh, so now you want me to sit down and talk?”

She shook her head. “I’m sick and tired of being made to feel insignificant. Like I don’t matter. Because isn’t that what you say in the show? I think she’s the least relevant Katherine.” She changed her tone, trying to mimic the other Queens. ‘Oh, we can’t talk about that in front of Katherine, it’ll only make her upset’ Well, guess what? I want you to stop invalidating my opinions and my words, just because the topic of discussion might hurt me!”

“Kit, you know we don’t really mean that when we say that line in the show!” Cathy insisted.

“Well, it certainly feels like it!”

“We didn’t realise you felt like this…” Anna mumbled.

“Because you never thought to ask!” erupted Kitty, exasperated. “You were all so busy trying to keep me sheltered away that you never once thought to ask! You don’t want my opinion on anything! Precious little Katherine can’t think for herself and make her own choices and decisions! Why don’t you let me make up my own mind on whether a topic is too sensitive or not? I can always walk away, can’t I?”

“Like that other night at stage door. I was made to look so stupid because I was oblivious! I can’t believe a fan knew before I did! So, when were you all going to decide to tell me about the interview, hm? If it wasn’t for that girl mentioning it, I’d probably still be in the dark!”

“That was my fault!” Anne admitted, putting her hands up in surrender. “I genuinely forgot to tell you! Anna even mentioned it in the morning and I still forgot. I’m sorry.”

This admission from Anne seemed to soften Kitty slightly, her shoulders relaxing. It put the tiniest doubt in her head: maybe she was overthinking this all? Seeing Kitty relax a little and contemplate what Anne had said, Jane took the opportunity to try and reason with her and further dampen her anger. “Look, maybe you’re right. We’ve been unfair not including you. But none of us have done this to intentionally hurt you, love. You must know that. Neither do any of us see you less of an adult-”

“But Jane, you make me feel like a kid all the time! The constant prompting of what time I’ll be home when I go out, the constant fussing, it’s just too much! I’m constantly made to feel like I am incapable of doing anything for myself. I’m just as capable of being independent as Anne is, and you certainly don’t hover over her shoulder all the time!”

“I just like to make sure you’re okay…” Jane’s voice had gone quiet, almost a whisper.

“Well, you know what, Jane? It’s suffocating! You need to face up to the fact that trying to mother me isn’t going to bring back Edward!”

The words cut through Jane like a knife right to the heart. The others watched as the woman crumpled in front of them, before fleeing upstairs to the confines of her bedroom. Catherine  pushed her chair back and marched up to Kitty like a protective lioness, pinning her against the fridge.

“That is quite enough! Jane has done nothing but show you love and care, which is much more than any of your true family did for you. And this is how you repay her? You don’t deserve it. If you want to stop being treated like a child, you need to buck up your ideas and try and show some respect and gratitude. You should be ashamed of yourself, Katherine.” At that, she stormed off to console her friend.

Although Kitty had to admit that she’d regretted the words as soon as they’d come out of her mouth, she was determined to stand her ground. If she crumbled now, this whole confrontation was pointless. She looked to the three remaining Queens. 

After a long pause, Anna approached her, her jaw clenched, stone-faced. “You know, maybe you’re right, Kitty. Maybe we would be better off without you.” She grabbed her jacket from the back of a kitchen chair and stormed out of the house, slamming the front door behind her. Anne and Cathy flinched.

Having long abandoned her mug of coffee, Cathy folded her arms. “If you wanted to be treated more like an adult, perhaps you should have thought about approaching this like one. We could have had a civilised talk, instead of this mess.” With a disappointed shake of her head, she too strode out. As she passed the table to leave, she cast an apologetic look to Anne.

Now, it was just the two of them. The two cousins. Sitting there at the table, Anne was bewildered. She hadn’t expected such an outburst, especially not from Kitty. She’d never thought her capable of causing so much upset, to get so angry. She suddenly felt like she’d lost a good friend. As quiet once again fell over the room, Anne wondered if she’d ever really known Kitty at all.

She was also consumed with guilt. They were so close, and yet, she hadn’t realised that what they’d been doing had proved so hurtful to her own cousin. What’s more, Kitty had never confided in her. There had never been any hint that she was feeling this way.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Anne mumbled, finally lifting her head to look at her cousin in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt like this?” 

Kitty turned her face away. She was just so disappointed in them all. She felt utterly let down by the very people she trusted the most. 

“Anna didn’t mean what she said…” Anne made a pitiful attempt to show Kitty she was on her side. “She just upset-”

Tears pricking at her eyes, Kitty clenched her fists. But all the fight had gone out of her.

“Well, now you all know how I feel.”

Kitty whirled around and sought the refuge of her bedroom, throwing herself onto her bed as the sobs overcame her. Suddenly, all the fire in her belly was extinguished, replaced by a hollow emptiness. Now she realised the enormity of what she’d done, the potential consequences of her actions. Things had spiraled out of control, her words had become ammunition created by her pent-up frustration. She had just been so desperate for change. How long was she expected to tolerate it all? She feared if she’d waited much longer, her voice would be silenced altogether. She might as well just walk out the door. Now, consumed with the horrible dark thoughts that shrouded her as she cried into her pillow, she started to take the thought seriously. She didn’t fit here and the Queens now despised her. Seeing the disgust in Aragon’s face and Anna’s clear contempt said it all. Maybe she needed to prove it to herself, not them. To prove that she was capable of looking after herself, like she insisted? Being independent. 

She lifted herself from the bed, grabbed her rucksack from the wardrobe and blindly stuffed some clothes in, her vision still blurry with tears. She checked the contents of her purse: her bank card and £60 - it would be enough for now. As she fumbled for some essential items she thought she’d need, her hand fell on a polaroid photo - a black and white picture, taken of them all on stage after their first performance together. They all looked so happy, so united. Now, she’d ruined all of that. Yet, something made her take it with her, slipping it into the zip pocket of her bag. Just because they hated her, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t miss them. Lastly, she picked up her phone, staring at the lockscreen photo of her and Anne for a second before putting it back onto her bedside table. She didn’t really have a use for it now. 

You know, maybe you’re right, Kitty. Maybe we would be better off without you. 

After all, she was of course, the least relevant Katherine. They wouldn’t want to talk to her now.

At that, she tiptoed downstairs. She was relieved to see the kitchen was empty. Helping herself to a few biscuits, pieces of fruit, and granola bars, she took one last look as she slipped out of the back door.

And, just like that, Kitty disappeared into the night.

[lihikainanea]

The period smut

My babies, thanks for your patience with this. I hope it was worth the wait. I missed writing these two in a longer piece.

A few things, before you proceed:

1) Tiger has a safe word. She says no, in this. She pushes him away. But in their dynamic, she has a safe word and until she uses it--it’s a green light. She can say no as much as she wants, it’s part of it. She knows--and so does Bill--that if she wants it to stop, she just has to say her safe word.

2) I get that this kink isn’t for everybody. It’s why I’m tagging it as appropriate, so you can blacklist it if you want to. But that being said--friends, ain’t no kink shaming in my house. Life is too short.

***

It hit at the worst time.

There was never a good time for your uterus to attempt to kill you, but smack in the middle of a beach vacation was less than ideal. It usually never hit you too hard, but a lack of exercise and an overabundance of alcohol, of blissful sex most nights and an avalanche of Bill’s subliminal pheromones being exuded in your general direction meant you were in for a rough, hormonal ride.

You felt it the second you woke up, a deep clenching of your lower abdomen that had you curling in more on yourself as you roused from sleep. Bill took your shrinking form as a sign you were needing more affection, so he wrapped even tighter around you as you tried to make your way out of his arms and to the bathroom. It took a few seconds, petulant whining on his part as you undid every new limb he wrapped around you until you took to just smacking him away. 

“Quit it you dick,” he mumbled sleepily, and you rolled your eyes.

“Bill I have to pee. I can do that in the bathroom, or on you,” you snapped. He smirked, his eyes still closed, but you clamped a hand over his mouth before he could speak.

“No,” you said, “Just no. Don’t even.”

He huffed, grumbling at you, as you promised him you’d be back in a second. He didn’t notice your discomfort on your way back to bed, walking gingerly with a hand pressing tightly into your lower stomach, and he was all over you again the minute you laid back down. You let him curl around you, his body heat helping soothe the deep cramps gripping your lower belly.

You thought—you hoped—it would get better the more you moved around, got some food into you, some soothing ginger tea. Advil would have been a smarter choice, but as the cramps got worse over the course of the day and started to nag at your lower back, you turned to your favourite pain relief: alcohol.

Sitting up gingerly from your towel in the sand, you stood slowly and looked for Bill out on the water. You didn’t have to look far, catching the glint off his mirrored RayBans as his long legs hung out the sides of the inflatable swan anchored in the ocean. You waved your arm up high and saw his head tilt, waving a hand back. You motioned to the hotel lobby where the best outdoor bar was—the one that had the heaviest hand when it came to the rum cocktails—and started to make your way over. You moved slowly, your back aching, your entire front doubled over in pain.

“Can I get a Pina colada, please?” You asked the bartender, folding your arms on the counter top and resting your weight on them. You hunched over as another cramp hit, the dull ache radiating to your lower back, and suppressed a groan.

You jumped slightly when a big hand rested on your back, your startled movement jarring you and you grabbed your abdomen as the tense muscles spurred another vicious cramp.

“Easy kid,” Bill soothed, crowding your space, “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m dying,” you groaned, “This is death for sure.”

“What’s wrong?” He tried to keep his voice even, calm, but you saw the creases of worry on his features.

“Death by cramps, this is the end for me.”

His brow pinched in concern.

“It’s your stomach?” He asked, reached his hand for it but you flinched and curled away. You winced as the dull ache from your back eased it’s way down your sciatic nerve.

“It’s not my stomach, bud,” you quirked a brow at him, arching your back to ease some of the pain.

“Oh,” you watched as realization clouded his features, “Oh.”

The bartender plunked your drink down then, and you greedily reached for it and managed a few hefty gulps before you felt the brain freeze start to take over.

“And is…rum…a good idea for that?” He asked skeptically. You tilted your head in contemplation.

“You know what? You’re right,” you tapped the bartender on the shoulder, “Can I have 25 shots of tequila please?”

“Tiger, no,” Bill said, his eyes wide.

“Tiger yes,” you insisted, clutching your pina colada and trying to gulp the rest down.

“Alright kid, that’s enough of this,” he pried it from your grasp as you clutched on, your mouth chasing the straw, “Go on upstairs, I’ll be there in a minute.”

But you kept reaching for your drink and he held it high above his head, laying a quick kiss on your lips when you lunged for it.

“Go,” he admonished again, giving your backside a light pat as you grumbled.

You slowly made your way back to your room, stopping every now and then to clutch the wall when a cramp hit particularly hard. When you finally made it in you stripped down to your underwear immediately, pulling on the shirt Bill had worn last night and tucking yourself under the covers. You heard his key slide in the lock a few minutes later, and he rounded the corner with two mugs in his hand.

“This might help a little more than rum,” he said, handing one to you as you sat up. You sniffed it, cupping your hands around the mug as you brought it to your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, the warm liquid soothing a bit of the ache as it settled in your stomach.

“What hurts?” He asked, wrapping his hands around his mug. You placed yours on the nightstand and flopped back onto the pillows.

“Everything,” you whined, “My entire lower abdomen is just…throbbing. My back is killing me. My boobs are killing me. Everything is killing me.”

“Do you want to take something for it?” He asked, but you just shook your head.

“I didn’t bring anything,” you said, throwing a forearm over your eyes and groaning as another cramp hit.

“I couldn’t find a hot water bottle,” he mumbled, pulling the covers down. He gently rucked up your shirt as you protested, and he tutted you softly. “But maybe this will help?”

Putting the mug on the floor, he lightly placed his hands on your lower abdomen, applying just a bit of pressure. His hands were hot from the mug, fanning out across nearly your entire stomach as he pressed down lightly. You groaned in relief, your eyes closing as you went limp.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, the pressure and the heat easing the tension.

“Good?” He asked, switching the position of his hands and rubbing lightly.

“Press down a bit harder please,” you begged, your eyes closed. You sighed heavily when he did, adding just a bit more pressure as he stilled his hands.

“Does it help?” He asked, hopeful. You managed a small smile as you tickled your fingers up his forearm.

“Big time, bud. Thank you.”

“You know,” he started, moving his hands to another position, “I heard an orgasm is also incredibly effective at relieving cramps.”

You opened your eyes, glaring at him.

“I swear to god,” you threatened, “My uterus is literally shredding itself into pieces. Shredding, Bill. And you are seriously proposing that I fuck your brains out for relief?”

He stared back, unblinking.

“No, I’m seriously proposing that you lie back and let me fuck your brains out, for your own relief,” he picked up the mug again, warming his hands for a few seconds before placing them back on your lower abdomen. 

“It’s gross,” you snapped. He shrugged.

“It’s science.”

You just shook your head, flopping it back on the pillow. A second later you heard the bedsheets rustle, felt the weight on the bed shift as his hands slid off your stomach.

He ran his nose along your jaw, steadying his weight above you with a knee planted on the mattress, before placing his lips on that sensitive spot below your ear. He sucked on it softly as you inhaled a sharp breath, willing yourself not to whimper. He released it with a lick, swiping his tongue over his lips before planting them again an inch down, sucking on your pulse point.

“Bill, no,” you sighed, but his hands came up to tangle with yours and you held on.

“Okay,” he mumbled into your neck, moving his lips down to kiss and suck at another spot. His mouth was warm and soft, leaving a wet trail in its wake as you tingled.

“Stop,” you whimpered, but he just nipped gently at your sensitive skin as you craned your chin up to expose more of your neck.

“Alright,” he conceded, moving his mouth to the hollow of your neck and down your collarbone, peppering suckling kisses along it. He made his way back up your neck and when he got to your sweet spot—a small spot halfway up your neck and a little to the back—he sucked on it a little harder as he softly rolled his hips down into yours. You gasped and moaned; you were already so sensitive, but now you were dialled to a hundred.  He rested his hips lightly against yours, keeping a lot of the pressure off your stomach but pressing down just enough to relieve some of your pain.

“Bill it’s…it’s gross,” you tried, but it sounded pitiful even to you. He rolled his hips slowly into yours again and you dug your nails into his biceps, moaning softly.

“S’not gross,” he murmured into your neck, “And it’ll help you.”

“It’s messy,” you bit your lip, but you could feel your resolve crumbling the more he pushed his hips into yours.

“We’ll put a towel down,” he moved his face from your neck, kissing down your nose before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You whined into it, already worked up and hormonal, even more so knowing that the release you were now so desperately craving would have to wait a few days. You broke the kiss, frustrated, and tried to sit up.

“This is mean,” you started to push away at him, his lips softly pressing all over your face, “You’re getting me all horny and you know there’s nothing we can do about it for a few more days.”

“We can do something about it,” he insisted, kissing you again as you struggled, “I’ve done it before.”

That gave you pause as you looked up at him, and he held your gaze.

“You have?” You asked meekly. He nodded, and gave you a half smile.

“Yeah, in fact I had a girlfriend who was super into it. She swore it was the only thing that ever helped,” he wove his hands with yours again, kissing the corners of your mouth, “I was happy to do it.”

He bumped his nose with yours, kissing the tip of it as you contemplated.

“Which girlfriend?”

“Tiger,” he rolled his eyes, “Look, if you really don’t want to, then we won’t. But don’t hold out on relief because you think it’s gross. It doesn’t bother me, kid.”

 You stared at him long and hard, waiting to see a crack in his facade. But irritatingly, all you saw was kindness and sincerity. And as another cramp clenched your lower stomach, you caved.

“Fine,” you agreed, “But there’s no way I’m doing this without a shower first.”

Smiling, he moved off of you and pulled you up slowly. When you made your way into the bathroom, he followed but you put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Nuh uh, buddy,” you pushed him back, “You wait out here.”

He whined petulantly but you shoved him back and slammed the door.

You took your time under the stream of hot water, both to gain courage and to soap up a few times. When you weren’t getting any cleaner, you shut the water off with a sigh. Running a towel through your hair, you wrapped it around you after and took a deep breath as you opened the door.

Bill was sitting cross legged on the bed, moving to his knees when he saw you. He had spread out towels—the dark blue ones, typically reserved for the beach—all over the bed.

“I thought the white ones might freak you out,” he reached his hand out and you walked towards him, taking it, “I asked the hotel to bring me these ones.”

“Good call,” you muttered, “Now get me off my feet before gravity takes over.”

Your attempt at grossing him out didn’t work, when all he did was pull you towards him, wrapping his arms around your waist as he captured your lips in a lingering kiss. He shifted, pulling you onto the bed and settling you under him, resting some of his weight on you. He moved his lips from yours to kiss your chin, nipping your jaw.

“I’m serious, bud,” you tried again, “It’s going to like…gush.”

“Okay,” he mumbled unaffected, sucking your earlobe into his mouth. You whimpered, craning your neck up to give him better access.

“It’s going to look like a crime scene,” you couldn’t keep the edge of a pleasured sigh from sneaking out as he nibbled on your ear.

“Alright,” he mumbled again, moving his lips down to suck the water droplets from your neck. He moaned, his lips vibrating against your sensitive skin, and pulled at the knot in your towel. He trailed his mouth over your collarbone as his hand came up to cup your breast, running his thumb over your nipple. He kneaded it softly, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger before pinching it lightly and you groaned. You were so sensitive already, the hormones putting all of your nerve endings on fire as he licked the hollow of your neck, dragging his tongue down the middle of your chest. He rolled his hips into yours as he sucked your nipple into his mouth, and you gasped.

“You know,” you started, pausing to moan as he flicked it with his tongue, “You really don’t have to uh, warm me up.”

“Mmm,” was his non-committal reply.

“There’s going to be enough…wetness,” you tried again, “But it’ll be blo—”

He cut you off with a rough kiss.

“You get an A for effort in trying to gross me out, kid,” he murmured, “But you still lose.”

He kissed you again, rolling his hips into yours again and you clung to him, digging your nails into his back. He sucked on your bottom lip, running his tongue over it as he laid his palm flat on your chest, dragging is down slowly to rest low on your belly. It knocked you back into the present.

“Whoa hey, hang on,” you broke the kiss and grabbed his wrist firmly, “Hands stay up top.”

He sighed and moved his hand, shifting to balance his weight on his forearms he looked down at you. 

“Why?” He asked.

“Because, that’s some next level shit I’m not ready for yet,” you said. He kissed you lightly, running his thumb across your cheek.

“Tiger, if you don’t want to do this, then we won’t do it,” he said as he stroked your cheek. You shook your head.

“No, I want to,” you insisted, “I’m just…I’m not ready for your hands to be all up in that mess.”

“Okay,” he acquiesced, “Are you sure? About wanting this?”

You nodded.

“And if you change your mind about it all? And you want to stop?”

“I’ll tell you,” you promised, and he smiled. Weaving his hands with yours, he placed them by your head.

“Good. So I’ll just keep my hands up here,” he murmured, “And maybe I just keep doing this, instead.”

And he thrusted his hips into you again, making you moan as he brought his mouth back down to your chest. Licking between your breasts, he nipped at your soft mounds before capturing your nipple back in his mouth. He rolled his tongue over it as he flexed his hips into yours, sucking hard on it as you whimpered. Releasing it with a pop, he dragged his mouth back to yours for a deep kiss while he let go of your hands.

“Take my pants off kid,” he commanded, “I’ll keep my hands up here.”

He moved them into your hair, scratching lightly as you fumbled for his pants and pushed them down over his hips. You used your feet to drag them down his legs, until they were low enough for him to kick off. Settling his hips onto yours, he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth.

“Line me up,” he murmured against your mouth, and you reached down to position his head at your entrance. He moaned at the contact, fisting your hair a little tighter.

“You good, tiger?” He asked, and it came out as more of a sigh. You nodded.

“Yeah bud,” you couldn’t help but grind up against him just a bit, making you both moan, “Yeah, I’m good.”

Removing his hands from your hair to weave back with yours, he kissed you as he slowly pushed into you. He groaned from deep in his chest and you felt him twitch, pressing in until his hips sat flush with yours and he dragged in a ragged breath.

“Bullseye,” he sighed.

You were clenching around him already, so worked up and hypersensitive, and now stretched so deliciously with him inside of you. His head rested heavily on that sensitive part of your walls, already pulsating against him and he squeezed your hands tighter.

“God, kid,” he moaned, “You feel fucking incredible.”

You took a deep breath in, tried to calm the tight coil you could already feel building low in your gut but it was no use. You felt yourself fluttering around him, your muscles clenching rhythmically as he pulled his hips back and slowly rolled them into yours again.

“You ok?” He checked in, and you raked your nails down his back as you craned your head up for a kiss. He moaned into your mouth, grinding his hips down and rubbing against your clit with his lower abs.

“So good,” you whimpered, tilting your hips up into his for more friction, “So good.”

He thrusted into you slow and deep, and you were already losing control. Burying his face in your neck, he sucked your earlobe into his mouth.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured against you, “You’re ready to come already.”

You let out a frustrated cry and he felt you bear down on him, gritting your teeth to try and stave it off. He nipped his way back to your mouth, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

“Oh no, kid. No way,” he groaned, rolling down into you with a bit more force, “Don’t hold back.”

Gently, he eased his thumb into your mouth as he ground his hips down onto your clit.

“This is for you, sweet girl,” he bumped his nose with yours and closed his eyes, cursing lowly when he felt you squeeze around him, “You let go whenever you need to. I’ll catch up.”

He thrusted deep into you again, staying in and rubbing his pelvis against your nub as you groaned. Your walls fluttered around him and you whined as you bit around his thumb.

“Give it to me, kid,” he coaxed. He gripped the bedsheets tightly in his fist, cursing and biting into the pillow to stave off his own release when he felt you start to clench rhythmically around him. Your back bowed off the bed as you stilled, everything tense and wound tight before it snapped. With a soft cry you clutched at him, biting down hard on his thumb as his hips continued to move slowly against you as you spasmed. He rested you gently against the pillows as you rode it out, not stopping his movements as you writhed and whimpered.

“Good girl,” he praised, a guttural groan clawing its way out of his chest, “God the things you do to me, tiger.”

Easing his thumb out of your mouth, he bit down hard on your bottom lip before dragging it into his mouth, parting your lips to glide his tongue inside.

The way he kept his movements slow and steady, not stopping as you came down from your high meant that you were soon climbing again. You made a strangled noise, feeble and needy, as you felt it start to build with his gentle thrusts, the rhythmic roll of his hips into yours, the slow drag of when he pulled back and the sweet satisfaction of when he filled you back up again.

“Wrap your legs around me kid,” he commanded breathlessly, “Nice and tight.”

You did as you were told, rewarded with a deep moan as he repositioned his weight on his hands, thrusting in deeper.

“Touch your clit for me, sweet girl,” he sighed, grinding into you, “Nice and gentle.”

You whined but he shushed you softly, licked the pads of your first two fingers before coaxing your hand down. You pressed down gingerly on your oversensitive nub, causing you to clench around him and he moaned, kissing you hard.

“That’s it, tiger,” he praised, “Just like how I would do it.”

But you whimpered, grabbing at his hand and placing it low on your belly.

“You do it better,” you whined, “Please Bill.”

“You sure, kid?” He asked, “I thought you didn’t want my hands—”

“Please,” you cut him off with your begging, feeling the pressure building in your stomach as your body thrummed, “Please just touch me.”

You didn’t need to ask again; he dragged his lips to the sweet spot on your neck, sucking on it as he gently pinched your clit between his thumb and forefinger. You were so sensitive, already so close again that you let out a loud cry and surged forward. He groaned, thrusting in deep and doing it again.

“Bill,” the whimpers tumbled from your lips as you started to tighten around him, raking your nails down his back. He twitched and thrusted in hard, slamming into you with a loud groan.

“Fuck,” it was loud, almost a yell, as he pinched your clit and slammed into you again. It was enough to send you over the edge, tumbling into bliss a second time as you dug your nails into his back and tightened your legs around him. The feeling of your spasms around him triggered his own release and his hand shot out, gripping the headboard as he let out a loud cry. His back tensed, his hips thrusting in deep and staying there as he crushed you to him, groaning as he twitched through it. He couldn’t hold his weight as the aftershocks took over, his muscles jolting as he collapsed on top of you. He sighed, his chest heaving with deep breaths that he struggled to take. He stayed like that for a few minutes, his full weight crushing you to the mattress as he tried to catch his breath.

He got his wits about him after awhile, and raised up as much as he could, his arms shaky and his jaw still lax with pleasure.

“Are you okay?” He mumbled. Dazed, you managed a dopey grin.

“I think we’ll be doing that more often,” you said. He smiled, his own lopsided and nearly drunk.

“Are your cramps gone?” He asked, and you nodded.

“You feel good?” He questioned, and once again you nodded enthusiastically. He laughed, pecking your lips briefly.

“Good,” he said, keeping a close hold of you as he rolled off and onto his side. With a deep breath he sat up, struggling to get his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, wobbling slightly, and you shot up in panic.

“Bill, wait,” you said and he turned to you, but your face dropped in horror and embarrassment when you looked down. You had made a mess of him, blood staining his lower abdomen and his upper thighs, and your cheeks burned with humiliation.

“Don’t look down,” you begged, mortified. You scrambled to throw the sheets around yourself, grabbing at the towels to try and clean up, “Please don’t look down. I’ll clean you up.”

Two hands on your shoulders gently pushed you back down as you tried to stand, leaning over you to spread the towel back out on the bed and kissing your lips lightly.

“Tiger, relax,” he soothed, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” you whined, “It’s gross. I made a mess on you.”

“Kid, you have literally thrown up all over me. Multiple times. A little blood is not going to gross me out,” he kissed you softly again, “It’s natural.”

“It’s gross. Can I at least clean you up?” You mumbled feebly, but he tapped your nose.

“No. Lie down, I’ll be back in a second,” and with no more room to argue, he shoved you gently back onto the pillow and made his way to the bathroom. He re-emerged a few minutes later, his front cleaned off and with a small container of baby wipes in his hand. Sitting beside you, he gently swiped between your legs with a wipe, cleaning you up as you groaned and threw your forearm across your eyes in embarrassment. But you let him work, dabbing you with another wipe before a crinkle of paper caught your attention, a gentle hand moving your legs further apart.

“Whoa, no fucking way,” you shot upright, grabbing his wrist and snatching the tampon from his hand as he looked at you with a bored expression, “Are you fucking insane?”

“You know, you can be a real prude sometimes tiger,” he quirked a brow at you, an amused grin tugging at his lips. You glared at him, incredulous.

“This is gross,” you accused, “How the fuck are you so okay with all of this shit? Who the fuck tries to put a tampon—” 

He cut you off with a kiss, holding your face to him as you struggled.

“You know what? You’re right, kid” he nipped playfully at your nose and you swatted him, “No sense in wasting one when we’re just gonna go at it again in a few hours.”

[madamichaicha]

A Lesson In Restraint - Chapter 2 (KakaSaku)

It had been ten months. Ten long, angst-filled months of tension since they had returned from their mission in Amegakure. Tsunade had needed a kunoichi to pose as a sex slave in an underground fetish trade show. Apparently a wealthy landowner from Grass Country had started forcing his residents to pay ridiculous taxes to sponsor his weekly trips and expensive taste in exotic and submissive women.

If his tenants refused to pay, he would kill them on the spot. After receiving pleas of help from escaping villagers, Tsunade informed Sakura, whose looks were bound to catch his eye, of her new mission. She would exploit his weakness, luring him in with her womanly ways, distracting him long enough for Kakashi to make his move.

Sakura remembered Tsunade's only concern was whether she could actually pull off looking and acting the part of a slave, clearly doubting the word “submissive” even existed in her vocabulary. But they both knew a certain someone who had a taste for the peculiar and perverted, and was perfect for training such a newbie. That was how their mission between them began, once again as teacher and student.

Only this time, it was different. They were both consenting adults... and the dynamics between them had drastically changed. This entire mission had changed Sakura, leaving her wanting more. But she was stuck. They swore on their way home they would never speak of this mission again, and at the time she agreed with her older teammate, knowing it was probably for the best. But over the next ten months, she couldn't get passed the road block their vow of silence had created. She needed to talk with Kakashi, but he made himself scarce and unavailable, and thus the frustrating cycle continued.

As the loud voices of the bar pulled her back into the here and now, Sakura shook her head, clearing her thoughts and memories as she eyed her silent teammate beside her, noting his nonchalant demeanor.    

"I'm sorry" Sakura sighed, finishing off her drink and ordering another one, loving the liquid courage coursing through her veins allowing her to speak honestly.                          

"Sorry for what?" Kakashi questioned hesitantly, raising his eyebrow in suspicion.                          

"Sorry for whatever I did to piss you off…that's why you're avoiding me, right?"                            

"I'm not avoiding you, I've just been… busy."                            

"Busy avoiding me. Please don't act like everything's fine between us, not after-"                            

"Sakura…we both agreed that when the mission was over, we wouldn't let anything change. You know as well as I do that what happened between us was just a natural side effect of the training I was putting you through…nothing more" Kakashi stated flatly.                            

"Is that the truth?" Sakura questioned quietly, looking at him under a curious brow, "Is there really nothing more?"                            

Kakashi averted his exposed eye, clearing his throat as he shifted in his seat once again. He wasn't sure which aspect made him more uncomfortable, the fact that drunk Sakura was being overly honest, or the fact that her honesty was making him recall thoughts he should not be entertaining…in public…with the object of his lustful desires currently rubbing her hand on his thigh.

Standing up, his panicked mind kicked into overdrive as he grabbed her by the wrist that was atop his leg, and drug her out of the bar, threading through the throngs of people effortlessly as they slipped out the entrance and into the adjacent alley.

Pushing her against the wall, and into the shadows, they stood awkwardly close, hiding from the moonlight and nosy passers-by. Before she could speak, Kakashi threw his hand up, in an attempt to silence her outburst as his other hand pinched at the bridge of his nose in frustration.

While he stood thinking of the best way to phrase his next statement, Kakashi felt Sakura grab his raised hand, her soft hands pulling his fingers up to her face. As he looked up at her, timid eyes of green stared back at him as she tenderly placed her lips upon the bandaged finger kissing it lightly, letting her healing glow of chakra flow from her pursed lips into his skin.

The cool buzz from their chakra connection sent the sharpest of shivers down the silver-haired jonin's back, causing him to stand up a little straighter at the sudden contact. Exhaling deeply, Kakashi let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as he pulled his hand from her grasp. Remaining unfazed, Sakura slowly stepped towards him, her eyes never leaving his, pleading him to accept her. But as she made her way to him, he backed away, shaking his head in disapproval. Sighing as his eye found hers momentarily, his shoulders slumped as he felt his resolve begin to crumble.                            

"Don't follow me" Kakashi stated flatly and firmly before vanishing in a whirlwind of leaves.                            

Sighing aloud, Sakura leaned back against the brick wall behind her, swallowing the words that never left her mouth. Feeling defeated and disappointed, she lowered her head, squeezing her eyes shut tight as if to fight away the tears, but the tears didn't fall for him, they fell for her. She had long since been acquainted with the feeling of never being good enough. Even in the beginning, she knew she would never be as great of a shinobi as the others in Team 7, but the constant rejection from her ex-sensei was starting to take its toll on her.

Was she still not good enough for him?

After their mission together, things had changed between them, there was no denying that. Try as they might, every time they touched, the electricity between them was still just as powerful, even when it came to routine first-aid after each of Kakashi's missions. The only difference was that Sakura was the only one who acknowledged the fact, and was willing to act on it. And each time she did, Kakashi pushed her further away.                            

"Why?…why does he still push me away?" she mumbled under her breath, her hands coming up to bury her face as she silently cried.                            

"What the fuck was that all about?" a dark voice beckoned from the corner of the alleyway.                            

Snapping her head up, Sakura paled as she saw Sasuke step into the light. As he made his way towards her, she quickly wiped away the tears that pooled in the corners of her eyes, hoping he hadn't heard her embarrassing rejection from their former sensei. Standing in front of her now, Sakura could tell he was seething, the anger emanating from his disapproving stare. As she stood there speechless and silently trying to avoid the upcoming conversation, she shrugged, feigning ignorance as she pushed off the wall and stood on her own.                            

"Oh…you know me, I get overly emotional when I drink too mu-"                            

"Cut the bullshit, Sakura. I saw him drag you out here. It offends me that you didn't even notice your own boyfriend inside the same bar as you. Seriously, what do you take me for?!" Sasuke blurted out through a tight lipped snarl.                            

Caught off guard by his abrupt anger, Sakura stared at him, scared and confused. As she digested what he had just said, her eyes roamed about his face, giving her mind time to form the words to explain their behavior.                          

"B-boyfriend? But…we aren't even dating!" she stammered before fighting the urge to burst into wild laughter.                          

"Of course we are!" Sasuke confirmed loudly as he slammed both hands on the wall behind her, trapping her between his arms.                            

His outburst was the last straw, she could no longer hold it in. Sakura threw her head back, laughing uproariously, the ridiculousness of the situation setting in. Slapping her knee as she continued to chuckle, she could hear the Uchiha growling as he watched her drunken giggle fit.                            

"What exactly are you laughing at? Do I amuse you?" Sasuke questioned tersely, his patience growing thin with the pink haired kunoichi.                            

"Pfft…Y-yes! Yes, you certainly do! 'Boyfriend' HA! Sasuke…we only had lunch together, and now you think we're dating?! If that's not funny, I don't know what is!"                            

"Don't play games with me, Sakura…I know you've been in love with me for years…I know you want me!"                            

Without warning, Sasuke crashed his lips down against hers roughly, pressing himself against her body, trapping her between him and the wall. As she immediately pushed against his shoulders, trying to stop the kiss, he grabbed her arms and forced them back against the bricks with a painful thud. Yelping in surprise as her wrists stung from the force of hitting the wall, Sasuke stole the opportunity to deepen the kiss, forcing his tongue inside her mouth with sloppy, urgent fervor.  

Refusing to let Sasuke continue to tongue rape her, Sakura fought through the discomfort and summoned enough chakra to her hands as she pushed the uncouth Uchiha off her, sending him flying into the opposite wall of the alleyway. As Sasuke hit the wall behind him and slumped down into the street, she crouched before him, a look of disgust written on her face as she eyed him with disdain.                            

"I may have been in love with you, but that was a long time ago…I'm afraid you missed your chance, little man. Actually, I'm not even sure you stood a chance. As if I would ever love someone who hated and ignored me" Sakura chimed victoriously over his crumpled form.                            

"Oh really?" Sasuke coughed, "So based on your logic, I suppose it's safe to say that you wouldn't love that old man, either… seemed like he left you high and dry."                            

With his words, her face twisted in anger, her leg winding back before it connected with his body, effectively kicking him square in the balls.                          

"Listen up you Uchiha-BAKA! He may have left me…but I certainly wasn't dry."                            

Shaking out her hair, and calming herself after her less than lady-like outburst, Sakura shook away her nerves as she turned on her heel, cracking her knuckles as she began to walk away. Satisfied with the sounds of his gasps and grunts through random expletives, Sakura marched away proudly, smile in tow.

Good riddance.

                            "Face it, Sakura…he's not into you. That man-whore will fuck anyone, hell, he's got quite the record I hear, yet he wants nothing to do with you. If he won't fuck you, I'm not sure you'll find anyone who will. Well, besides me, but I'm pretty sure you just burned that bridge, baby. After all these years, you're still the same annoying bitch."                          

The moment she heard him speak, she had stopped dead in her tracks. She told herself that listening to Sasuke would be like drinking poison, the words eating away at her and driving her mad, but she had to hear him out. And as the tears threatened to roll down her face, she knew he was right. She wasn't angry with him anymore, because he had only said aloud what she had been saying to herself all along.

She had heard the rumors about Kakashi's extensive track record. It was common gossip around the village that Hatake Kakashi was not only a man of a thousand jutsu's, but also a man of a thousand broken hearts. It was silly of her to think that things between them might be different. If it was sex he was after, he could have had her in every way possible, at least twice…but he hadn't. Throughout their entire mission, not once had he penetrated her, made love to her, or fucked her in the various ways she had imagined he could.

She had bared it all on that mission in Ame, she had done things she never thought she would do. Kakashi had opened her eyes to a slew of new feelings and experiences she was more than eager to explore, but upon their arrival back in Konoha, he had made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with her. Business was just that, business.

Needless to say, she was disappointed in herself and the way she had let their acting manifest real emotions within her, so much so that she could no longer tell what was real from what was fake. Her gut was telling her that their chemistry was undeniable, that the way he looked at her so hungrily was real, but her head was filling her mind with harsh truths about the ninja way and how much of a silly girl with a crush she was being.                            

Standing there, her head throbbing, her eyes bloodshot, and her heart broken, Sakura gathered the courage and strength to run. She wanted more than anything to run straight home and bury herself under the covers and sleep for days, but as she was about to take off, a familiar voice called out to her.                          

"Stop right there."                            

She knew that voice, she'd know that voice anywhere, for it was the one that haunted her day and night. It was his voice.

Kakashi's voice.

Turning slowly around to face the voice that called out to her, she swallowed as she saw Kakashi holding Sasuke by his throat up against the wall, his toes barely able to touch the ground.                            

"Apologize!" he ordered, only receiving a smug smile in return.

"APOLOGIZE TO HER. NOW."                            

"Make me, old man" Sasuke sputtered as he freed himself from Kakashi's hold administering a swift kick to his chest, pulling out a kunai to defend himself.                            

“Don't even think about it, Sasuke” Kakashi warned “You're on thin ice as it is being back in this village after what you've done. You so much as lift a finger to strike me, I'll have you thrown in jail for the rest of your life.”

Growling, Sasuke, tucked his weapon away. He hated losing to this bastard, but he damn sure didn't want to go to jail over someone like Sakura.

"Apologize for what you said, and then just admit you're using her!"

"What are you, her father?" Sasuke grumbled.

“Just do it, and you won't go to jail, smart-ass.”

“Whatever, fine. Sorry.”

“And...?”

"And I was using you, Sakura… just not in the way you might think."                          

Satisfied with his apology for the moment, Kakashi took his place beside the silent kunoichi.

Looking at her now, Kakashi knew it was all worth it, her tear stained cheeks had already begun to dry.                            

"Wait. What does that mean?" Sakura questioned, confused by Sasuke's phrasing.                            

"Well, not that it's any of your business, I was just using you to find out a few things about myself. It's been weird ever since I returned to the village, and being with Naruto all the time has started making me doubt…certain things. So I figured I would try dating, and I knew you liked me, so it made sense at the time" Sasuke explained as he steadied himself on his feet.                            

"What? What are you even talking ab- Oh! Oooooooh my god…don't tell me" Sakura beamed with sudden realization.                            

"DON'T say it!" Sasuke cut in heatedly. "I was only experimenting…to be sure!"                           "And…?" Sakura prodded as she waited impatiently for his answer.                            

"…"                            

"You totally love Naru-"                            

"Shut it!" Sasuke exclaimed as he began to blush.                            

Sensing it was time to go, Sasuke made both of them swear to uphold his secret so he could tell the dobe himself. And as he jumped up to the rooftops, vanishing quickly, Sakura was made aware of the tense atmosphere between her and Kakashi in his absence. Wishing to fill the silence, Sakura looked upon Kakashi with a lifted and curious brow as she stepped towards him.                          

"Thank you for standing up for me…but why did you come back?" she questioned, cracking a slight smile.                            

"No thanks needed, he was way out of line, that brat. And I….uh…"                            

"Yeah?"                            

"I came back…for you" Kakashi confessed tentatively.

"When I had made it home, I realized something. I have been on edge and irritable these last few months. For a while I thought it was just me being cranky and overworked, but that's when I realized I haven't exactly been with anyone in a while."                            

"Oh, great! So you just came back because you were horny? Honestly, you could hav-"                          

Before Sakura could finish her sentence, Kakashi had slid his mask down and grabbed her behind the neck, pulling her into him as he kissed her heatedly with want and all the built up tension they had stored between them. Melting into his body, Sakura returned the kiss with equal fervor, gasping as she felt the light flick of his tongue as it glided across her bottom lip. Opening up for him, Sakura allowed him entry, welcoming his warm muscle as it danced with hers.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him against her as she hummed in appreciation, feeling his hands caress the sides of her neck, his thumb grazing along her jawline. Breaking the kiss for air, they looked each other over with an added sense of understanding as their desire still lingered in the air between them. Sakura openly gawking at the sight of his face for the first time, her eyes fixed on his perfect skin and debonair smile. She knew he had to be good looking, she just wasn't prepared for downright handsome. Chuckling at her blatant staring, a warm smile spread across his face, a smile that made her knees weak.

"I came back because I was tired of denying myself the only thing I have wanted for the last year. What can I say? You drive a hard bargain. It was damn near impossible for me to say no to you one more time" Kakashi admitted as his fingers caressed her cheek lovingly.

"Ever since that first lesson, I have thought of you…and only you. Trust me, I have tried to get you out of my head, but I'm afraid you left a far bigger impression on me than I intended…and I just had to be sure that what you felt was genuine, and not a side effect of the mission."                          

Giving him the answer he was looking for, Sakura kissed him again, her hands fisting in his hair as if to pull him closer against her. His own hands smoothing down her sides and around to the the small of her back, where they made the signs for his teleportation jutsu. As she broke the kiss, Sakura looked around, noting the newly changed surroundings as they stumbled into the dark foyer of Kakashi's apartment.

Without warning, Kakashi yanked her tiny black skirt down, allowing him to lift the unsuspecting kunoichi up, wrapping her legs around his waist. Pushing her up against the wall, they were once again a flurry of tongues and teeth as they all but consumed each other, hungry for more. After slipping his headband off, Sakura hurriedly unzipped his flak jacket before pulling it down over his shoulders as he shirked it off, throwing it somewhere into the dark room. As he kissed down her neck, Kakashi grabbed the zipper of her black crop top between his teeth as he freed her breasts from their confines. Taking in the sight of her, his mouth was upon her once again, leaving a wet trail of kisses down the valley between her perky breasts. Taking a pink bud between his lips, his tongue flicked over the nipple teasingly before closing around it completely, sucking gently at her flesh.                            

He groaned against her chest, loving the soft mewls and moans that filled his ear. A hand coming up to pinch the neglected nipple between his fingers, Kakashi worked Sakura into a frenzy as she squirmed against his body, gasping as she felt his arousal rub against her bundle of nerves through the thin layer of cloth her panties offered. Caught in a landslide of sensations, Sakura found herself rocking her hips against his, her body once again responding on its own.

Lost was she, as she cooed and whimpered, Kakashi's tongue working her over, his teeth scraping across her skin as he nibbled on her breasts, feeding her flames.                            

"God Sakura, I want you so bad” Kakashi whispered against her ear, his head nuzzling into the crook of her neck, “You have no idea how difficult it was for me on that mission… not being able to give you what I think we both wanted the entire time"                              

"Difficult for you?" Sakura chuckled, her arms wrapping around his neck, "I'm the one who was actually being tortured."                            

"Yes, but I couldn't stand doing that to you now… I can't wait any longer" Kakashi growled, pushing off the wall and walking back into the bedroom.                            

Yelping as they fell backwards onto the bed, Sakura pulled Kakashi's face down, kissing him again as her hands hurriedly removed her shirt and began ripping at the buttons on his. Sloughing off his shirt, Kakashi sat up and took in the view. Sakura was sprawled out beneath him, that same look on her face he recognized from the mirror that day. Lips parted, eyes hazy... oh how many times that reflection haunted him over the months since their return.

Slowly, he bent down, his fingers hooking the waistline of her panties, peeling them off of her. In her shyness, Sakura found herself needlessly trying to hide her most intimate of areas, Kakashi gripping onto her knees, parting them as he settled between her legs.                            

"Oh no you don't. There is no need to be coy now…" the silver-haired jonin remarked lewdly, as his head dipped down, kissing her inner thighs lightly.

"I've already seen you, and now… I want to taste you."                            

Inhaling sharply as she felt his feather light kisses along the inside of her legs, Sakura twitched, her mind reeling as she felt his heat between her thighs, his warm breath fanning over her sex. As soon as she felt his tongue slick over her lips, her legs widened willingly, her hips rolling as she urged him to continue. His fingers opening her up, Kakashi's tongue circled around her sensitive nerve bundle slowly before sucking on the bud, teasing her beyond her limits.                            

"K-Ka-ka-shi…"                          

With out responding, the Hatake released her clit as he lapped at her core, tongue slipping inside her hot cavern which had already flooded, coating his mouth and chin with her liquid arousal. She had tasted better than he had imagined, her scent filling his nose with delight as he delved his tongue deeper inside her, his face nuzzling against her now as he pleasured her senselessly.                            

"Ka…kasha…I…I can't-"                            

Knowing she was close to release, Kakashi's hand came up, pressing down on her pelvis as he held her squirming body firmly down to the bed, keeping her still as he continued licking at her core. Then, he slid a single finger inside, his mouth now closed over her nerve bundle, his tongue tapping at it over and over. Feeling her inner muscles constricting, sucking his finger deeper within, Kakashi added another finger as he pumped them into her at a deep, and steady pace. While her body twitched, he began to rotate his hand, his fingers now digging deeper into her, groaning out as he felt the muscles clamp down on his fingers as they contracted around the intruders.                            

"That's it Sakura, come for me. I want to hear you."                            

At his words, Sakura gripped onto his unruly head of hair, pulling at the roots as her thighs closed around his face, her eyes shut tight as she threw her head back and came hard and fast. The burning heat had driven her into a frenzy, and falling over the edge with the copy nin's face buried between her legs wracked her body as her orgasm washed over her in violent waves.                            

"AHH…Oh, f-fuuuuck! Ka-kashi!" Sakura screamed as every muscle in her body went taught, her toes curling as Kakashi ripped her orgasm from her.                          

Feeling her body grow limp, Sakura melted back into the sheets, a satisfied calmness resumed in her as she opened her eyes. Swallowing harshly as her breath began to dry her mouth, she could feel her heart beating harshly against her chest, the heady sensations making her vision blur. Even through her haze, she could see Kakashi wiping his glistening mouth, now sitting up on his knees, smiling down at her.

She tried to contain herself as she watched Kakashi unfasten his buckle and pants, kicking them off to the side as he crawled back up to her, settling between her legs again. As he kissed his way up to her neck, he nibbled on her earlobe, his breath hitching as he nudged against her with his throbbing need, as if asking permission.

“I want you” was all Sakura could muster, she wanted him badly. Wanted to feel him, feel him inside of her in hopes they would be complete together. He made her ache for it.

Aligning himself with her scorching entrance, he exhaled slowly, slipping through her lips and into the warm depths that quickly enveloped his entire length. Groaning, he thrust his hips, diving deeper into her still.

"That's it baby, you can take it…" the Hatake growled against her as he tried to catch his breath, the delicious tightness of her body was distracting him from breathing.                            

As Kakashi made deep, rhythmic thrusts, his pace was slow as he kissed the kunoichi deeply. Her lips returning his enthusiasm easily as she moaned and whimpered with each thrust, the feeling of him filling her repeatedly quickly driving her closer to the edge once again. With each kiss, her face began to blush as she could only taste the remains of her last orgasm on his tongue and lips. It was a tangy, yet sweet taste, and she had to admit it, the thought of tasting herself was turning her on even more.

This man was very torturous, indeed.

As Kakashi tried to break the kiss, Sakura bit down on his bottom lip, sucking on it lightly before letting go, smiling at him deviously as he sat up, gripping onto her legs throwing them over his shoulders. Driving into her vigorously now, Kakashi's head fell back as he groaned, his hips thrusting deeper into her than before as he felt the familiar warmth pooling in his lower abdomen.                            

"Oh shit! Fuck, I'm close..." Kakashi gasped as he found release deep inside her, coating her inner walls with his arousal.                            

Collapsing into a tangled heap on the bed, their panting breath filled the empty apartment air as they rode out the wave of ecstasy together. They remained in each other's arms, neither of them wanting to move for what felt like hours, both enjoying the bodily comfort the other provided. They didn't need words in this moment. They could feel how much they meant to each other, there was no denying it now.

Laying silently in the moonlight, they enjoyed the cool summer breeze wafting over their dewy skin from the cracked window beside the bed, the chorus of distant tree frogs quickly lulling them to sleep.

****

As the early morning sun began to trickle in, Sakura became strangely aware of the warmth beneath her. Glancing up through sleepy eyes, she saw the handsome face of the man she loved, clear as day. Still sprawled out upon his taught chest, she stared at his exposed face, counting herself lucky to be one of the few that had ever been gifted the opportunity to witness it in all its glory. She would never tire of this view. Last night had seemed like another one of her dreams, the memories all flooding back at once, but all Sakura could do was smile as she felt such a relief that it was reality. It had been a long time coming, but it had finally happened.

Kissing the chest beneath her gently, Sakura slipped out of bed and made her way towards the bathroom. After relieving herself and cleaning up a bit, she splashed some cold water on her face and helped herself to some toothpaste, not wanting to scare Kakashi off with her morning breath.

Tip-toeing down the hall back to the bedroom, she spotted two lone picture frames along the wall by the door. The first she spotted was their old Team 7 photo, she was fond of that photo as well, and was happy he had kept it all these years. The second photo was from the day Tsunade promoted her to head medic at the hospital, Kakashi giving her bunny ears in the background. She hadn't remembered taking that photo, but it brought her great pleasure knowing that he cared enough to frame it and hang it in his home.

Perhaps she was closer to Kakashi than she had known, after all.

Leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, she watch his soundly sleeping form, the pooled sheets barely leaving anything to the imagination. He was stunning. She couldn't keep from staring, it was just  an amazing sight to behold.

“Alright you creeper, stop staring at me and come back to bed” he mumbled groggily with a smile, patting the empty space beside him.

More than happy to obey, Sakura joined him under the sheets, only now, a mischievous smirk graced her features as she thought of a little payback. Grabbing his abandoned forehead protector, she tied it around his eyes, blindfolding him as she rolled over, straddling him.

"I do believe it's my turn to torture you now…"

[cromwellharvests-a]

@creepiitus​ a response to this. (because it’s my smut day and i’ll **** if i want to)

He has been so wonderfully indulgent of her since they’d laid flat the barrier which once stood between— restraint which had kept his teeth from marking the supple splendor (though it had always been his to claim), and her touch from committing every inch of him to memory, (with savoring strokes up the length of his thighs, the carve of his hipbone under her lips). With patience and relish he has driven home his reverence for every piece which made her whole, from the gentle soul which had first ensnared him to each and every last memory of a kiss the sun had dappled on her body. he has been loving, tender, sweet— more than most might have imagined him capable. And she only fell more hopelessly into him for all that adoration. Basked in the quiet glow.

But not today.

There is no straw which broke the camel’s back, no instant for the onset; only a resolve the moment his fingers first skimmed her palm that day that she would taste of that violent need she knew lay in him. For once, let all softness— beyond the perfect yield of her flesh which bends under his clawing grip— let it be forsaken; unchain that beast he’d collared so thoughtfully, and let him ravage to his heart’s content.

It seemed he needed little convincing. How quickly a few licentious words and heavy looks turned into his hauling her atop the nearest surface, shredding the obstacles between his sex and hers with no thought beyond meeting the carnal demands which practically wailed from every muscle in their bodies; oh, he would reduce her to dust if she but asked.

and yet the audacity does not stop.

was he worried that he’d break her? holding back just enough in the throes of lust out of some misguided worship for the soft thing she was known to be. well, that simply won’t do.

“harder.”

she demands. (begs, pleads). and he is so wonderfully indulgent of her.

his warning does not need repeating, for she clings to him with every ounce of overstimulated ardor; Emily melds her body to his with a desperation which cries to be closer than close, with nails that threaten to rend his threads asunder even as the pressure declares bright red paths on concealed shoulders. 

“ Solf! a-ah! my Solf— yes! gods, yes— ” she shouts, indelicate and unable to consider the volume of her wanton voice. she can think of nothing more than the pounding rhythm he beats into her hips and how each snap, each perfect moment of fullness threatens her with ruin. the divine junctures of pain which will no doubt turn to bruising and leave her exalted figure in ruin; they only echo sensation. 

“ I’m not letting go— n-not ‘til you give me everything ” until he meets his own ruination, though she would collapse many times along the way.

[mochidrabbles]

Can I please request a Dazai imagine where he has a s/o who's really motherly and sweet so she's always taking care of everyone at the ADA and Dazai is starting to get a little jealous and clingy because he wants her attention on him alone and maayyybbee it gets smutty? Bonus points if she's a little shy and sort of modest usually?

So I uhh. Didn’t get like. Everything that’s in here and I apologize for that, but hopefully this works for you anyway!! I just sorta went with the flow with the idea this gave me so… Thank you for your request and I hope you like it despite some details being missing/a little different

I also posted this on my Ao3 so if you see it there don’t worry lol it’s still meee.

Note: This work contains suggestive themes. Nothing explicit, but read at your own discretion.

Title: Attention

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing: DazaixGn!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1131

Sometimes Dazai wondered if you were this adorably stupid on purpose.

Lowered eyes watched as you flitted about from desk to desk, the coffees rested delicately on trays in each of your hands diminishing one by one with each stop you made. This was your second coffee run of the day, broken in the middle by a run for lunch and punctuated through by errands you’d been running for the rest of the ADA. You certainly knew how to keep yourself busy. Too busy.

Normally Dazai wouldn’t mind. Your kind, giving nature had been what had drawn him to you in the first place, after all. Admittedly, it had initially been out of suspicion (nobody was that generous and self-sacrificing without selfish motivation - right?) though he’d slowly come to simply find the trait endearing. It was a stark contrast to everything he’d grown up with, all he’d been raised to believe, but it was refreshing, in a way. A part of the beauty held in the light.

Today, however, Dazai found himself growing impatient with your ever-giving self. He adored your doting, but adored it when it was focused on him: not so much when it was exclusively focused on those around him. He especially found himself less fond of it when your attention towards and serving of everyone else resulted in you ignoring him.

Particularly bored, particularly needy, Dazai had been trying to get your attention all day. From playful flirting, telling you just how cute you looked, how tempted he was to keep you all to himself for the day, to less than playful pranks designed to have you running to him for help, or jumping into his conveniently nearby arms when you found a particularly nasty bug crawling over your computer mid-report, Dazai had tried almost everything to get your attention. Nothing had worked. All attempts had been met with a gentle smack of your hand and a half-hearted admonition to stop, a ‘Dazai! I’m busy!’ or, in the case of the bug, your outright ire.

“[Nickname]-chan! I want a coffee too!” Raising his arm his in the air Dazai waved so dramatically Atsushi beside him had to duck to avoid being smacked by the flailing appendage. The look you sent him was long-suffering and, heaving a sigh equally tired and fond, you promised you’d get to him in a minute.

That was it. The final straw placed over him, thinned patience snapping, Dazai made his decision. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.

“But [Naaaaameeeeee]~” Drawing out your name in a whine Dazai let his chair roll across the floor as he stood, long legs taking him to where you stood in just a few steps, “I need your help with something!” Face too innocent, eyes too round and brow too pressed, you were immediately suspicious. Dazai had been, for whatever reason, harrassing you even more than usual today. You couldn’t say you minded, really. Attention from your boyfriend always a little flattering at the least, but you really didn’t have time for games today.

“It’s work related, I promise.” Putting one hand on his heart, raising the other as if to show his complete earnesty, you find yourself relenting. Perhaps he’s lying; knowing Dazai, it’s not entirely difficult to imagine that he may be playing with you again, saying whatever he knows will get you to bend. Still, on the off chance that he does want help with something, you aren’t about to turn him down.

“Alright, alright. As long as it’s work related.” Dazai’s grin is immediate, teeth flashing white from behind his ever so slightly parted lips. In seconds he has the trays of coffee in your hands set on a nearby desk and and a hand at your lower back, gently but hastily guiding you from the room.

“Of course! Would I ever lie to you~?” You bite back your retort but not your look of suspicion. Still, there’s no real bite to it, and no fight in your steps as you let Dazai guide you off to whatever destination he had in mind. Yes, he would absolutely lie to you - but not ever in a way that was truly malicious.

A fly trapped in honey, a bug caught in a spiderweb, Dazai had you exactly where he wanted you. Though his hum was innocent, skip in his step peppy, his eyes were those of a predator when he glanced at you: sharp, cunning, hungry. He’d known that, had circumstances called for it, he could always get your attention this way.

“Dazai, this is–!” Headed neither to reception for paperwork nor the entrance for a case, you had been suspicious. But, when Dazai had led you to the one unisex bathroom the next floor down, you were outright scandalized.

“Wh– Osamu!” Too surprised to argue with more than a high-pitched, stunned admonition, Dazai ushered you in easily, flicking the lock on the door and pinning you to the counter the sink rested upon.

“C’mon [Name]~ I’ve been so lonely with you ignoring me all day.” Try as you might not to be sucked into his guilt-tripping, the sad pout in his voice the tickle of his hair on your skin, warmth of his nose on your neck as he leaned closer to nuzzle against you, weakened your resolve.

“Osamu…” Tilting his head to press his forehead to your skin Dazai hid his smirk. He could hear the fight leaving your voice, the sympathy creeping in. With his hands on your waist he could feel you starting to relax, to give in.

“I… we’re at work.” The mischief in his eyes makes your stomach spin as Dazai’s head raises so his eyes can meet yours. Smirk stretching his lips, you can feel the way his eyelashes flutter against your own as he blinks ever-so-innocently.

“Oh? That hasn’t stopped us before~” Heat rushes in two directions at Dazai’s words and the memories they conjure. You attempt to turn away but a long-fingered hand catches your chin, keeping your head rooted firmly in place as Dazai leans close enough to let his lips brush yours.

“I’ve been thinking about you like this all day you know.” Was that true, or was he just saying it because he knew it made you weak in the knees? Hard as it was to say, both of you knew it was working.

“They’ll survive without us for a little while.” Each word was more convincing than the last, and Dazai’s knee sliding between your own was making it even more difficult to argue. He was right, after all: the ADA wouldn’t crumble because you were gone for a little while. Perhaps you could use a little bit of a break…

“You’ll indulge me a little bit…”

“…Won’t you?”

[my-status-single]

Tony’s Daughter Part 6

Character Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word count: 946

Warnings: Reader is Tony Stark’s daughter, Reader has a set last name because it makes my life easier. Slow Burn. Arguing and angst I guess. There’s an explosion

Synopsis: Part five in a series. Steve finds out the reader’s parentage.

Authors Note: This is a canon compliant AU. Sorry for the late upload, life happens.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Side stories One

The egos of the people in this room are beginning to overwhelm you. If things don’t start to calm down something is going to go horribly wrong. A fight will break out and these are all very skilled, very capable people. And the last thing you need is your boyfriend and your father beating the absolute shit out of each other. Your watch beeps alerting you that there’s a threat and people are suiting up. You should probably join them.

“I’m suiting up.” You say and stand up. Fury nods, but Steve and Tony both glare at you.

“You’re staying here.” They both snap. You huff out a breath, you now have two men trying to tell you what to do. Lovely.

“Who the hell are you to tell her what to do?” They say in unison. But neither are in a place to say who they are to you, so they both just glare.

“You speak of control, yet you court chaos.” Thor says.

“It’s his M.O. isn’t it? I mean, what are we? A team? No, no, no. We’re a chemical mixture that makes chaos. We’re..we’re a time bomb.” Bruce stammers out. He has a point.

“You need to step away.” Nick says, looking desperate.

“Bruce is fine.” You say, looking at the director.

“Why shouldn’t the guy let off a little steam?” Tony says, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve shoves him off. “You know damn well why. Back off.” He snaps.

Your father steps a bit closer, eyeing Steve. “Oh, I’m starting to want you to make me.” He says lowly.

Steve eyes him back. “Big man in a suit of armour. Take that off and what are you?” He says.

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.” Tony says without missing a beat. Natasha hums and nods once, can’t argue with that statement.

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you.” Steve growls.

Your eyes widen. “Steve.” You hiss, he glares at you because he doesn’t understand why you’re defending Tony. “Stay out of this (Y/N).” Steve says sternly. He looks back at Tony then. “Yeah, I’ve seen the footage, the only thing you really fight for is yourself.” Tony looks particularly angry now, and not because of what Steve is saying to him, but because of how Steve spoke to you. You can see your father slowly losing his patience. “You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on the wire and let the other guy crawl over you.” He says.

“I think I would just cut the wire.” Tony says raising an eyebrow.

Steve smiles, but there’s something condescending about it. “Always a way out.” He scoffs. “You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero.” He says. It's a low blow and it's the final straw. You watch your father’s resolve break.

“A hero? Like you?” Tony seethes. “You’re a lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle!” He snaps.

“Dad.” You snap back. Both mens’ eyes widen at that.

“Dad?” Steve says and stares at you.

Tony smirks. “Yeah. That’s another thing I am. This one's father.”

Colour drains from Steve’s face, but he seems to recover quickly. He puffs out his chest a bit, making himself as large as possible. Tony doesn’t move.

“Put on the suit, let’s go a few rounds.” Steve says in a quiet, challenging voice.

Thor’s laugh fills the room. “You people are so petty, and tiny.”

“You are not helping.” You snap at the god.

“Yeah, this is a team-“ Bruce starts.

“Agent Romanoff, would you escort Doctor Banner back to his-“ Nick says.

“Where? You rented my room.” Bruce says gesturing toward the direction of the cell.

Nick sighs. “The cell was just in case-“

“In case you needed to kill me. But you can’t! I know! I tried!” Bruce snaps.

Everyone goes quiet and the attention snaps to him.

“I got low.” He continues. “I didn’t see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spit it out!” He says, his anger is apparent. “So I moved on. I focused on helping other people. I was good, until you dragged me back into the freak show and put everyone here at risk!” Natasha looks uneasy at his outburst. “You want to know my secret, Agent Romanoff? You wanna know how I stay calm?” He all but growls. Nick and Natasha slowly reach down to their guns.

“Doctor Banner.” You say very calmly. “Put down the sceptre.” Steve finishes, stepping in front of you. He’s protecting you.

Bruce looks down at his hand and pales when he sees he’s holding the sceptre. The computer beeps then, signalling its narrowed down the location of the Tesseract.

“Got it.” Tony says and walks over.

Bruce puts the sceptre back down and walks over to the computer with Tony. “Sorry kids. You don’t get to see my little party trick after all.” He says.

Everyone is talking over each other again now that the Tesseract is found.

Your father tries to leave to go retrieve it. “You’re not going alone!” Steve says.

“You gonna stop me?” Tony says and quirks an eyebrow.

“Put on the suit, let's find out.” Steve says, tone threatening again.

“I’m not afraid to hit an old man.” Tony says, you roll your eyes.

“You’re both acting like children.” You say.

“Put on the suit.” Steve repeats.

Bruce is still looking at the monitor and his eyes go wide. “Oh, my God!” He shouts.

Then there’s a loud explosion and everything goes black.

Next

Taglist

@winchestergirl907 @samros95 @booknerd-and-fangirl @boxofteenageideas @sunnyshoes @yougottalovefandoms @peregrinestook @tealeaves-and-witchythings @beckastark @clockblobber @nenabeg111 @the-fangirl-sent-by-cyberlife @shadowsndaisies @spideysbl0g @musicals-n-chill

[artemisegeria]

False Friends

Title: False Friends

Rating: T

Word count: 3,131

Warnings: none

Summary: Wanda and Vision learn the unsavory truth about their supposed friends.

 A/N: It’s only feast or famine around here when it comes to inspiration, so here’s another fic.

Sequel to New Friends. Endgame AU. Both Wanda and Stephen survived the Snap. This ended up going in a darker direction than I anticipated, but I’m still bitter and angry over Endgame so I let it take me there. I’m perfectly happy to blame the writers and directors rather than the characters for their decisions, but this is a more cynical interpretation.

 When Wanda and the other remaining Avengers entered the compound, the air was musty. They all went their separate ways. Wanda traveled straight to Vision’s room. It looked as if he could have just stepped out of the room and would return any minute. Some books were neatly piled on a table in the corner. The same picture that he had chosen when they were both new to the Avengers hung on the wall. She simply sat and tried to absorb Vision’s essence.

A few days later, everyone was sitting down to breakfast when a glowing circle appeared in the air in front of them. A tall thin man strode through, supporting Tony Stark in his arms. Everyone jumped to their feet. Wanda automatically summoned her power, the red tendrils twirling around her fingers. The man glanced at her hands, but immediately moved his attention to Stark, helping him over to one of the couches. “You can all stand down. I am no threat to you. He needs medical attention immediately. Whom do you trust?”

“Helen Cho. She asked for a leave after everything happened.”

With a single nod, the man was off. They all stared at each other for a moment before Steve and Rhodey rushed into action. They set Stark up in a spare bedroom and surrounded him with blankets. Within half an hour the man appeared again with Helen Cho in tow.

Several hours later, she had managed to stabilize Stark’s condition. Steve decided it was finally time to demand answers from the stranger. He explained how they had ended up on Titan and met the self-proclaimed Guardians of the Galaxy. He went on to tell of the fight with Thanos and everyone disappearing.

Later that day, Wanda was alone in the kitchen when Strange approached her. “I was sorry to hear about Vision.”

Wanda nodded. “He spoke highly of you. He valued your companionship.”

Strange regarded her silently for a moment. “Vision did mention several times that he thought we would work well together if the Accords were ever resolved. I came to agree with him. With the world such as it is now, I would like to train you in the mystic arts. I believe you would have a natural aptitude for them.”

“I’ll get back to you.”

“Very well.”

 One Year Later

 Wanda sat in the conference room, tapping a pen against the table as she waited for the others. With a look from Stephen she stilled herself. Throughout his mentorship, he had urged patience. Wanda was trying. She struggled to pay attention throughout the entire agenda until Natasha asked, “Does anyone have any other business?”

Wanda raised her hand. Tony pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger when Nat gestured her on. “I want to talk about Vision.”

“We’ve talked about him, Wanda.”

“Not in months. You expect me to just forget?” She glared at Tony. “I know we’ve been busy. I know the world is still falling apart all around us, but you promised.”

“We discussed the problem, and Bruce is still working out his Hulk situation. Besides, Pepper could pop at any moment.” Not that Wanda needed a reminder of Pepper’s impending due date, as Tony talked about little else. “I promise, once Bruce is better and Pepper is on her feet again, we’ll keep working on bringing him back.”

Wanda relaxed back in her chair. “That’s all I ask.”

 Two Years Later

 They reached the end of another meeting. It was Strange’s turn to lead. When he asked for any other business, the entire team groaned when Wanda raised her hand again.

Strange looked to Tony. “Do you have any progress on Vision to report?”

“No,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “I would tell you if anything had changed. This is not a simple problem to fix.” Said the man who bragged about mastering astrophysics overnight, thought Wanda bitterly.

“Can I at least see him?” Wanda was horrified at how her memories of Vision were losing their crispness. She just wanted to see him and hold him one more time if nothing else.

Tony pushed back his chair and leapt to his feet. “What good would it do? We’re doing everything we can, but it’s time for you to accept we may not be able to bring him back. Be realistic.” His condescending tone was the final straw. Along with the fact Tony always won and got everything she could never keep.

“Really? Really? What if it were Pepper or Morgan? Can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t stop at nothing to bring them back? That’s what Vision is to me, my family! I won’t just forget him.”

“It’s not the same,” Tony said, clearly unsettled.

“In what way?” Wanda asked with all the iciness she could muster. She was gratified when Tony was left momentarily speechless. She stormed out before he could make any more excuses.

A few days later, Wanda was meditating in one of the compound’s training rooms when Stephen approached her. She opened her eyes and stood when she felt his presence. “Hello, Wanda.”

“Hello.”

“I am glad to see you’ve been practicing.”

“It helps a bit.”

“Look, I won’t delay the inevitable with mindless pleasantries. Bruce and Tony asked me to talk to you about Vision.”

Wanda was torn between hope and dread, though Stephen’s demeanor was not encouraging. “What now?”

“They feel that they have exhausted all options and they have failed every time. They don’t believe they can bring him back. I’m sorry. I miss him as well, but if Bruce and Tony are out of ideas, I don’t know what else to do.”

Part of Wanda had known this was a possibility, but she hadn’t been willing to accept it. She acknowledged Stephen’s words with a nod and rushed off to Vision’s room, which she had not let anyone else touch, curling up on the bed and sobbing out her grief.

 Five Years Later

Wanda followed the voices she heard whispering toward one of the labs in the compound. She found Stephen, Tony, and Bruce standing over a table. They had been working together to construct a new gauntlet for the Stones they had gathered. At the sound of her steps, Tony immediately hit a button that darkened a screen that hid whatever they were standing over from her view. “What are you all doing?”

“Just taking care of a few final adjustments for the gauntlet,” Stephen answered smoothly, walking toward her. “We’re done, though. Let’s meditate together for a few moments before the final push.” Wanda acquiesced, though part of her remained suspicious that they were hiding something.

A couple hours later they were in the middle of battling Thanos. Despite Carol’s firepower and their combined efforts, they were beginning to be overcome. Wanda had had her moment to face him down, but she was robbed of the moment to destroy him. Rage and despair engulfed her as she caught sight of the destroyed compound behind her, where she wasn’t even sure if Vision’s vibranium body could have been strong enough to withstand. She redoubled her attacks against Thanos and his army of nightmarish creatures.

But then, during a lull in the battle, a familiar figure rose into the air, golden cape flapping in the breeze. Wanda gasped, scarcely daring to believe what she was seeing. He wore Tony’s gauntlet, and the Stones glowed within it. He said nothing, merely snapped his fingers. As Thanos and his armies started to fade away to dust, Vision collapsed. Wanda started running toward him with the last of her strength, but she could not catch him. She fell to the dirt beside his body. It was startlingly reminiscent of the moments after his second death.

However, she could feel the faint hum of his mind. She finally looked up to see the others surrounding her and Vision. Tony was clapping Stephen on the shoulder. “You were right, Doc. It worked!”

Stephen glared at him and shrugged off his hand. “Now is not the time, Stark.”

“What are you talking about?” Wanda croaked.

“Nothing. Let’s get Vision to a place where he can rest comfortably.” Stephen immediately conjured an elaborate tent with a bed and medical equipment.

Several days later Wanda was slumped over in a chair next to Vision’s bed. He was still unconscious, though the brightness of his mind was growing. Wanda was woken by a set of voices passing by the tent.

“Come on, Strange. I don’t know why you insist on telling Wanda about our little fib. It will just upset her.” Wanda shifted her attention to Stark’s voice. What was he talking about now?

“It was more than a fib, and you know it. We are all complicit in letting Vision stay dead for five years when we could have revived him at any time. But it was my idea, so I bear the primary responsibility, and it is my duty to make it right.” Wanda could scarcely believe her ears. She might have expected this from Stark, but Stephen had come to be one of her best friends. She resisted the urge to face them right away, needing to stay by Vision’s side in case he woke up scared and confused.

“Look, Vision seems to be doing well. He’ll be fine in a few more days. Wanda used her powers the way you said she would. No harm done.”

“I planned to lie to her until the final confrontation, but I always promised myself I would tell her the full truth if we won.”

“You’re worrying too much. We saved the universe and nobody died! Let’s focus on that.”

“I still cost my friend and student five years with the man she loves. A price must be paid for that.” Wanda shook at the confirmation that the team had been lying to her this whole time. They let Vision rot. They let her believe the worst.

Later that day, when Stephen stopped by to check on Vision, Wanda finally confronted him. “You’re right. A price must be paid.” Strange winced as she repeated his words to Stark. “How could you? I thought you were my friend, my mentor. You were Vision’s friend.”

At least he had the grace not to try to deny anything. “It was the only future I saw where we won. We needed your rage.”

Wanda would show him true rage. “Bullshit!”

“Wanda-.”

“No! You’ve been teaching me for years. You’ve seen the growth of my powers. I don’t believe you really thought this was the only way.”

“I had my suspicions, but I had to be sure. I will do everything I can to make things right for you and Vision, but I will not apologize for my choices.”

“Get away from me. I don’t want to see any of you unless it is necessary for Vision’s treatment. I’m leaving as soon as he is stable.”

“What if he wishes to stay on with the Avengers? I know how important saving the world and being part of the team are to him.”

Wanda didn’t even want to think about that possibility right now. “That would be up to him. We would work it out between the two of us, but I would still refuse to see you. Now get out unless you are here to do something for him.” Strange turned on his heel.

A few days later, Vision finally stirred. He tried to sit up, but Wanda gently pushed him back against the pillows. “W-Wanda, what is happening?” He reached for her hand, and she took it gladly, beyond relieved to feel the warmth of his skin. His grasp was concerningly weak, but that was to be expected after so long.

“Everything’s okay now. We won thanks to you. We’re all safe.” Wanda traced her free hand over his cheek, reassuring herself that he was here and alive. She let herself truly smile as he relaxed under her touch.

This new serenity did not last, though. Wanda felt the confusion and distress growing in him. “Wanda, something is wrong with my internal clock. It says the year is 2023.”

She wished that they could just rest for a time, but Vision’s comfort was more important. Wanda took a deep breath to prepare herself. “It is a long story.” She began with the tale of Strange’s arrival at the compound and ended with their reconstruction of the Gauntlet. She omitted the revelation of the team’s betrayal. She didn’t want to overwhelm him too soon. There was all the time in the world to tell him the full story of those missing five years.

The next day questions poured forth from Vision for hours. Wanda took it as a good sign of his returning strength, though it was painful to recount those lonely years when she had no hope of his revival. Towards the end of the day, she finally admitted what she had learned of the others’ betrayal. Vision shut down completely at that. He claimed fatigue. Wanda knew better, but she did not press. She held him quietly as she absorbed his tears.

They left the following day without a word to anyone.

In the end, Wanda and Vision decided to go far away. They hid themselves as much as Wanda’s powers and Vision’s technical expertise allowed, letting the world pass them by as they grew their family in peace.

 ---------- 

Five Years Post-Endgame – Alternate Ending: Villain Origin Story

Wanda was finishing feeding the babies when a sensor alerted them to approaching visitors.

Vision sighed. “They are here.” Wanda redressed quickly, gathering the twins close to her. “Stay here with the boys. I will deal with them.” Wanda was prepared to argue but recognized the need to protect her children from the intruders. She merely nodded as she activated a forcefield around the three of them. Vision gave her one last look when a knock sounded at the door.

He opened it to see Tony, Steve, Bruce, and Stephen standing on their doorstep. “Long time no see, Buddy,” said Tony, adopting an air of forced joviality. “Can we come in for a little chat?”

“No, you may not. We are busy right now, and we have nothing to say to you.”

“Oh, yeah, newborns can do that.” Vision panicked a bit internally at the confirmation that they knew about the twins. He and Wanda had suspected that the Avengers would find out, but they were hoping to avoid this confrontation as long as possible. Tony, unaware of Vision’s mind working, continued talking. “Our third just turned one. We can commiserate. It’ll only take a few minutes. Come on, for old times’ sake.”

“I think it would be best for us not to dwell on the past. I trust you will find that we remember it very differently.”

“Vizh, it’s been five years. I know we did you wrong, but can’t you move on?”

Vision struggled not to bare his teeth at them. He had worked so hard to forgive them for abandoning him for five years, for manipulating Wanda. He had not achieved full forgiveness, but he had created his own new life with Wanda. He was willing to let the past rest. Now, Tony dared to lecture him. “You well know that I have moved on. We are done with the Avengers. Leave now and we will have no quarrel with you.”

“We can’t do that, Vision,” chimed in Strange. “Your children should not be able to exist. We need to examine them. I promise we will not harm them.”

“Forgive me for not believing your promises, Doctor Strange,” Vision replied sardonically. He hid his hurt behind an icy demeanor. There was a time he had considered Stephen one of his closest friends. When he learned what both Stephen and Tony had done, it was some time before he could think about them without suppressed rage. “You will not touch my children or my wife. I have no wish to hurt you, but I am prepared to use deadly force to defend my family. Please do not give me reason to do so.”

“Vision, please.” It was Steve’s turn to intervene. “You know what the world is like now. People are nervous. We just want a little information. There’s no need for threats.”

“You have had quite a change of heart, Captain.”

Steve backed up a few steps under the weight of Vision’s glare, and he felt a surge of savage satisfaction. “Can I talk to Wanda?”

Vision could feel Wanda’s growing anger through their link. “You will not receive a different answer from her. Wanda and I have discussed this, and we are of the same mind.”

Tony frowned at him. “You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

“No.”

“We didn’t want to do this.” Vision anticipated Tony’s signal just before he raised his hand, turning himself super dense. The bullets from the snipers in the trees around their house bounced harmlessly off of Vision. One ricocheted and hit Steve in the shoulder. Another narrowly missed Tony’s head.

In the distraction of everyone dodging out of the way, Vision fled back into the house. Wanda expanded her shield to include him, and they immediately took to the air, their sons snuggled between them.

Vision had spent the months of Wanda’s pregnancy preparing several safehouses. They both discussed the possibility that the birth of their children would disturb the fragile truce that existed between them and the Avengers. Once they reached their safe place, Wanda settled the twins while Vision recalibrated the defenses.

Later that evening, during a brief lull between feedings, they collapsed together, Wanda running her fingers all over Vision’s torso to check for any damage. He was extremely happy for the contact, whether it was necessary or not, but he ached to reassure her and relieve the tightness around her eyes and mouth. “I am unhurt, love. I was able to phase in time.”

“Good. Because nothing’s allowed to happen to you again. I forbid it.”

Vision couldn’t help but grin at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her expression relaxed as well. “That’s right. Don’t you forget it.” The momentary levity was interrupted by one of the babies having a nightmare, Vision could not be sure who through his secondary connection. It was immaterial because soon both twins were crying out in the night. Vision and Wanda rushed to soothe them, murmuring that Mama and Daddy were here and loved them very much and everyone was safe.

When they finally settled again, Wanda and Vision gazed down at them. Eventually, they moved to their own bed, holding each other close. It was then that they began to evolve their plans to be more proactive against the threats to their children.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Pajama Day

Bonjour, mes chers! I was feeling a little stir crazy so I decided to do some prompts and drabble ideas I’ve had in my head for the last while. To start with, here’s a little Avengers piece heavily inspired by this picture here! It happens in that magical time where the team is a good and proper family and there’s been no Civil War or anything else.

Hey, do you like my stuff and want to see more drabbles like this one? Considering pledging to my Patreon! You’ll get access to old stories taken down, get to vote on what stories I should do next, and even what story should be updated that week! You’ll also be able to request drabbles and have a much higher chance of getting them written! 

Pajama Day - Avengers

::

It was very hard to ruin Clint Barton’s day- Well, no, actually, he took that back. It was easy to ruin Clint’s day - stupidly, ridiculous, horribly easy, in fact. What was hard to do was for anyone to actually prove that Clint’s day was ruined. Hey, he grew up in a circus, okay. One of the first things you learn is how to put a smile on for the masses. So, okay, sure, he might now be a super secret agent and an Avenger who ran around shooting people with a bow and arrow- Yeah, see, sounded silly. His background was good for that, though. Clint was good at being silly right until he buried an arrow into the eyeball of a drug lord, mafia boss, or secret supervillain who hadn’t been all that secret about things.

The fact of the matter was, Clint was good at pretending everything was fine and dandy and keeping a smile on his face as the jokes flew back and forth. He was good at that. The problem was - you see, the problem was - he was having a very hard time doing that when he was tied up with chains, rope, what looked to a few locks for good measure and his body covered in nothing but torn and dirty pajamas that were purple with little hawks all over them.

They were a gift, okay, it wasn’t his fault all his friends had as shit a sense of humor as he did. The fact of the matter was that he had been kidnapped during a battle with the week’s latest upcoming supervillain - some chick that had a thing for mind controlling birds - and Clint had been snatched off the battlefield by a genetically modified hawk the size of a fucking bus because- He didn’t know why. Irony? A hawk capturing Hawkeye? Yeah, that was about his day.

See, usually it took more than this to get Clint down. He was usually a pretty cheerful dude, after all. At least, he was until he had been woken up at three in the fucking morning by another attack on Avengers tower. An attack that was then revealed to be the alarms malfunctioning because Tony goddamn Stark had to have the habit of fiddling with wires he should not be touching at ass o’clock. So after that mess had been resolved, Clint had tried to crawl back into bed only to have it rudely shoved in his face that since they were all up and it was morning they might as well be productive! Clint hated Steve sometimes, really, he did. The guy was so darn likable but he was also the goddamn epitome of morning people. At least everyone else had suffered with him.

But, oh. That had barely even been the start of the mess. To make a long and painful story short, Clint’s entire wardrobe had been burned, he had been through medical three times, he had been chewed out by Natasha for forgetting some obscure holiday he couldn’t really remember right now because of his ongoing concussion, he had gotten into a sparring fight with the Iron Man suit and lost spectacularly, he had been a guinea pig for Bruce’s latest experiments, Phil had given him the disappointed look for something he couldn’t even remember, and the straw that finally broke the hawk’s back was the fact that Clint was tied up and kidnapped in fucking pajamas.

“It’s always such a shame to see a beautiful bird caged, but I figured for you that would be best. Perhaps it’ll change in the future, however.” Oh. Oh, he was in a cage, too. That just- That just made everything right and dandy, didn’t it?

“Look, lady, I get it, you have a bird kink. That’s fine. We all have our thing. Here’s the problem, though, I don’t have that kink. My name is Hawkeye literally because I have perfect aim. That’s it. That’s all. I don’t get down and dirty-” Clint could honestly say he had never been attacked by a hoard of hummingbirds before today. At least it would make a good story when this day was far, far behind him.

“Silence, insolent hatchling!” Oh, god, why did the supervillains all have to be utter wackjobs? Couldn’t they have a suave, nice supervillain that just wanted to take over the economy or something? Fuck the Avengers. “You would do well to watch yourself when in the presence of those greater than you.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Hey, do you happen to have any clothes not made of feathers or something?” The feathers were a bit much, but Clint was honestly considering settling if he had to. See, not everyone could suit up through lightening or technology or be Natasha. Some of them just had to be regular mortals.

“Bait so rarely needs to be alive. Do not test my patience.” That was another thing. These types of villains always spoke like they came straight from Shakespeare in the Park. What the hell was up with that? It was the modern fucking century, they didn’t need to be all Thor. Except they weren’t even that because at least Thor made it sound charming. “I have little doubt your precious Avengers will be here soon. When they do-”

“They’ll fall right into your trap and you’ll prove that you’re the most genius, evil, insane villain in all the world. Yeah, lady, I get it. Been there, done that, it’s getting old.” These people needed to be more original. Maybe SHIELD should send out some tutors to these idiots just to make the fight more interesting. That was a good idea. Clint would have to remember that one.

“Such blustering for such a weak thing.” Yeah, yep, that was him. Clint Barton. The only normal human on the team of gods, super soldiers, geniuses, and Natasha. Well, Rhodey and Sam were pretty normal, but then they piloted high-tech suits of armor, so really, it was a moot point- “Are you even listening, you fool!”

“Hm? Oh, no, can’t say I was. Hey, seriously, do you have anything? It’s starting to get a bit drafty in here.” See, here was the bad thing about cages and supervillains. They couldn't reach you themselves, but they usually had tricks to make sure you still suffered. This one seemed fond of unleashing flocks of birds on him. All things considered, if ravens could take a pretty large chunk of skin out of him, he’d hate to see what the vultures did. “Right. Sorry. You were saying you would defeat the greatest of superheros to exist since… Ever. How exactly are you going to do that?”

While the crazy bird chick went on with just how she was going to be defeating everyone, Clint traced his tongue over the roof of his mouth, hopefully activating the one way receiver that would let the others hear everything they were saying. He wouldn’t be able to really hear them since his hearing aides were gone between the hawk ride and the cage, but at least he could make do reading crazy lady’s lips. She was a very exaggerated person.

Right, where was he in his thoughts? Oh, yeah, his super shitty day and his inability to even take enjoyment out of riling up the craziest villain this week. There were so many potential puns and jokes he could make, but, no, really. He wanted this day to be over with- Ah.

The giant hawk had just crashed through the roof with a pleased looking Hulk sitting on top of it. Well, that was one way to make an entrance. Sighing, Clint set to work on breaking out of his bonds, having only a bit of trouble with them. Considering there were chains, you think they’d keep him in better. Must be this chick’s first time kidnapping someone. How sweet.

Feeling a touch on his shoulder as soon as he got the worst of it off, Clint tensed and was already moving to defend himself before he felt the back of his neck lightly squeezed, and, oh. Okay, that explained how someone snuck up on him. Feeling a familiar sensation of something being pressed into his ear, Clint blinked up at Phil as he was helped off the ground. “I’m not sure what’s more worrisome here, that you were kidnapped by a hawk or those pajamas.”

“Says the one who bought them for me,” Clint scoffed, adjusting the earpiece and glancing back at the fight. “Iron Man, did you just fly in with a swarm of parrots following you?” Clint wanted a picture of that. Right now.

“Screw you, Barton, at least I didn’t get kidnapped by a giant hawk in the middle of downtown!” Yep, Tony was as done with the day as he was. A kindred spirit, that one.

“Sorry, I was a bit busy making sure no one died.” Glancing back to see Phil was scanning him and his injuries, Clint felt a bit of tension released before he sighed. “There’s a few kidnapped people down in the basement and her lab is two floors down.

“I got the lab!” Of course Tony did. If Bruce was more himself at the moment, he probably would have gleefully followed after. Mad scientists, those two.

“I’ll get the civilians. Iron Man, save what you can of that lab or trace it back to find out who she really is. Black Widow, Thor, keep her busy and look for any kind of weakness, Hawkeye, see if you can’t help Hulk get rid of some of these goddamn birds. Coulson, let me know as soon as SHIELD arrives.”

“Language.” At least three people snapped out, Clint almost certain that Phil had been one of them. Judging by Steven’s frustrated silence, he knew each and every person who said it.

Kicking open the cage door with more force than was probably necessary, Clint headed to where he had seen his bow taken, grinning a little as he dodged all the chaos.

So, yeah, he could freely and happily admit that he hated the Avengers some days, but god did he love them like the family he always needed.

One of them couldn’t have brought him a change of clothes, though?

[figurctives]

      it all falls apart as soon as he leaves, a tumultuous landslide that races downhill too fast for any of it to make any sense to henri. one day she’s standing in front of what feels like the whole world and telling him that she loves him, and then the next there’s nothing. her bed is empty, her days are empty, her life at yale is empty. her heart is not empty, but she wishes that it was. she doesn’t know enough words to describe the way heartbreak makes a home in the cavity of her chest. there aren’t enough words, among any of the languages she knows, to describe the sinking feeling that pulled through her entire being as she read those words on the screen of her phone. 

      it’s for the better. she spends days trying to convince herself of it, curled beneath her blankets as the sun climbs into the sky, veiled by grey clouds and cold weather. she doesn’t believe it, though. she can’t past the heaviness in her chest that weighs her down and shadows over her, invisible but aching. it makes it hard to drag herself out of bed, makes it nearly impossible to make it to campus and sit through class and face everyone that smiles in the face of her demise. their demise.  she doesn’t believe it because no amount of reverse psychology or backwards explanation could ever convince her that she will be better off without him. she’s miserable. and maybe it’s her fault. 

–

      her patience runs its course on the second tuesday of november. in a basement lounge that henri lets valentina drag her out to. they’d spent the evening at a legacy alumni dinner, students whose great grandfathers had attended yale, some even their great great grandfathers. valentina had looped her arm through henri’s on their way out, voice perky as she’d suggested they go for drinks. henri said yes because she didn’t want to go home, because she couldn’t stay in her apartment another night feeling alone. now, she’s not sure this is any better.

      “the timing seriously sucks,” valentina says, face obscured by the rim of her martini glass. “you guys breaking up right before he leaves the country.”

      “we didn’t break up. we’re just on a break,” henri mutters, swirling ice around in her glass with a straw. it sounds like a lie even to her own ears, but still, henri doesn’t know what to call it. she’s still wearing her ring. 

      “right. and after mina you still want him?” henri can’t stand the judgement in valentina’s voice, the way that she so openly picks and prods at henri’s open wounds. 

      “why does it matter to you, valentina? it’s not your relationship,” there’s an edge to her voice, the same edge that had slipped between her teeth that night in vegas. henri has done well with holding her tongue since, but with every day that slips by her reasons to do so seem less and less cogent. 

      “i’m just looking out for you. i was the one that warned you about mina in the first place–”

      “i never asked you to do that,” henri pauses to swallow. to control the rising of her voice. “and stop pretending like you did it for me. it’s over now, you obviously got what you wanted. you can stop acting like you actually care about it now.”

      henri doesn’t know why she’s here, she never does. a blind sense of loyalty, maybe, for her oldest friend, though valentina has made it clear that that is a one way street. there is also the sense of obligation that her mother has spent nineteen years shoving down henri’s throat. shoving and shoving until henri started to choke. she can’t breathe anymore around the way it’s lodged up in her esophagus. 

      “exactly. you didn’t ask and i looked out for you anyways,” valentina says, placing her glass on the table between them with narrowed eyes. “you looked like a fool letting sinclair sneak around behind your back. and a hypocrite for all the hell you put calvin through when you basically did the same thing to him. not that it took you long to move on from that.”

      “is that what this is seriously about?” henri asks, not bothering to correct valentina. she knows that henri never went behind calvin’s back, but she is choosing to take it as true just to spite henri. “what does any of that have to do with why you hate me so much all of a sudden?” neither of them have acknowledge it, or spoken the words, but it’s been there for months. valentina’s slowly building detest for the girl she still calls her best friend. 

      “because you get everything hand fed to you with a silver spoon and you still have some kind of nerve to act like the world should pity you, henrietta. we don’t,” it’s like the string has finally snapped, the clouds between them clearing. “you had calvin and you ruined that, you had sinclair and he got bored. stop acting like it’s the end of the world just because they don’t want you anymore.”

      henri’s face burns, the words crawling beneath her skin and making a home. so that they can haunt her later in the hours of the night when she can’t sleep, wondering where it was that she went wrong. 

      “and i guess that’s exactly what you wanted, then,” she says eventually. she stands, reaches for her coat, distracts herself so that the tears that loom in distance don’t come any closer. 

      “oh please, don’t be so spineless. the world doesn’t always have to resolve around your pity party.”

      henri lets out a mirthless laugh before she leaves. “everything inside of you is cold and rotten, and that’s why everyone leaves. i hope you know that. enjoy the rest of the year.”

      she’s gone before valentina can spit anymore venom, and as she steps out into the cold connecticut wind, she feels a thousand pounds lighter. 

–

      the following thursday, henri runs into calvin. it’s freezing out, she thinks it might snow soon. her fingers are numb as she crosses campus, and she hears him before she sees him. his voice booms from the other side of the quad, smile nearly splitting his face in half as he pushes and jokes around with the small posse that surrounds him. 

      henri picks up her pace, feet carrying her towards the group. she takes a deep breath to stop the chattering of her teeth, and emboldened by her conversation with valentina, stops in front of them. her eyes set on calvin, and she holds up a hand to block the sun from her eyes. 

      “can i talk to you?” she asks. there are a few chuckles, and behind calvin’s left shoulder matthew crosses his arms and smirks. “in private?” henri adds. 

      calvin eyes her, a pinch between his eyebrow and grin not fully faded from his face. she almost expects him to say no, a last ditch attempt to embarrass her the way she’d supposedly embarrassed him, but he nods and they step away from the rest of his teammates. 

      “i didn’t think mina was right when she said you’d come back now that sinclair’s gone again,” he says, thumb rubbing across his lower lip as they continue across the quad. henri stops short, turning to look up at him. 

      “don’t talk to mina about me anymore,” she says, head shaking. “don’t talk to anyone about me anymore. or about sinclair. i’m not going back to anyone. not you, valentina, anyone.”

      “not even sinclair?”

      “that’s none of your business. it never has been, not since you broke up with me. remember?” it feels worlds away. so far away that sometimes she wonders if she’d really ever loved calvin. a part of her knows that she did, that she’ll never be able to regret the time they spent together, just how it ended and how they were after. “leave him alone.”

      “who? sinclair?” calvin chuckles and digs his hands into his pockets. “can’t exactly bruise that precious face of his from half way across the planet.”

      henri’s heart clenches, and she feels the miles between them like lead in her bones until she forces it from her mind. “i’m serious, calvin. the rumors, whatever little scheme you and mina came up with, all of it. no more. ever again.” 

      “that sounds like the kind of warning you need to give to mina, not me.”

      he looks so smug that she almost hits him. almost. she can hear the ghost of the echo her palm would make if she let it cross his cheek, and she forces that to be enough. she’s on the last few pages of this chapter, she won’t stoop to his level. 

      “i’m sure you won’t have a problem passing it along. but i’m not kidding, leave him alone. his name is no longer a part of your vocabulary,” she says. she blames her sudden bravery on the fact that she wakes up still half intoxicated more mornings than she should. she’s been re-learning how well wine listens to her problems without judging her in return. 

      “are you threatening me? you’ve changed, ‘ri.” his smile is mocking, but if henri looks hard enough, maybe a little sad, too. the tip of his nose has gone red, and every time he exhales the breath leaves his mouth in a cloud of condensation. 

      “it’s not a threat,” she says, her own nose burning from the cold. “but i can turn it into one if i have to. bye, calvin.”

–

      it’s easier after that. not easy, but easier. if she sees any of them on campus, she pretends not to. she gets out of bed, she goes to class, she tries to study. she’s lonely, overwhelmingly so, but she learns to just deal with it. she talks to her sister every chance she gets, the only person she’s been candid with about any of it. charlotte promises to get on the first plane out of china, but henri tells her to wait. her classes get keep her distracted enough. and when they don’t, she improvises. the clerk at the nearest winery knows her by name now. 

      things start to look up on the second wednesday of november, when a boy henri doesn’t talk to drops into the chair that stephanie left behind when she’d dropped their shared lab last week. henri had been annoyed she was stuck doing the work on her own, but grateful to no longer have stephanie prying her way into her life.

      “this seat’s been empty a few days. did you and your lab partner break up?” the boy asks, lips quirked in a friendly grin. the question is innocent enough, but something in henri’s stomach tightens at the choice of words. everywhere she turns she’s reminded. 

      “something like that,” she answers, blinking. he pulls the strap of his messenger bag over his head and places it on the table, settling in. henri glances confusedly around the room before she asks, “what about your lab partner?”

      “pretty sure they won’t even notice i’m gone,” he says, pointing across the room to where a couple sits with their stools close enough that their thighs press together, heads bent towards each other in affectionate closeness. she stares longingly, feeling cold all of a sudden.  “so is it alright if we work together?”

      “um… sure.”

      “i’m samuel jung, but just sam is preferred.” he holds out a hand, and henri shakes it. 

      “henrietta huang. just henri is fine.” his friendly smile splits into a grin, and henri can’t help it when her own lips tilt upwards. 

      turns out, sam is a senior taking classes he should have taken semesters ago. he also comes from a family business. real estate mostly, he says. the way he says it sounds like nothing, humble and a little sheepish. but his shoes give him away. and the expensive leather of his messenger bag. the kind of subtle wealth that henri has learned means old money. so it puzzles her that she’s never noticed him before. she tells him as much as their professor brings class to a close. 

      “the elite of yale are known for sticking together like a school of fish, but that really only lasts for your first two years or so,” he explains as they clear their work bench. “after a while, you get so busy that you only make time for the people you actually like. which, turns out, isn’t typically a whole lot of people.”

      henri’s eyebrows raise, her ‘tell me about it’ going unspoken but heard. 

      “and anyways, i’ve never been one for the masses to begin with,” he continues, pausing to shrug as they finish gathering their things. 

      “me neither, honestly. which i never would have thought about ten months ago ago, but i didn’t even make it two years before i figured out who i liked. which, turns out, is no one,” she says, head tilting. except, she doesn’t say, for the one person who’s too far away for it to matter now, anyways.

      they stop outside of the door, pausing awkwardly in the midst of the now busy halls. sam wraps his hands around the strap of his bag and rocks backwards onto his heels. “so, are you busy right now? would you wanna… grab lunch or something?”

      she doesn’t hesitate when she says yes, nodding before she even has time to think about it. it feels as though it’s been forever since she’s had… a friend. and maybe it’s too soon to use the word, but sam’s eyes are bright and warm as he grins at her affirmation, and henri feels hopeful for the first time in weeks. 

      “cool. i know this great sushi place over on temple street,” he starts, and the rest of the afternoon blends together in a flurry of unending conversation. henri blames it on the fact that she’s spent so long avoiding people, but she can’t stop the words from falling from her mouth. they talk about everything, from how annoying their lab is to how much they hate each other’s favorite movies to which brand of whiskey leaves the worst hangover. and then nearly everything in between. it’s the easiest thing she’s done in weeks, the most she’s laughed in even longer. he doesn’t ask her, even though she knows that he knows, about the ring on her finger or the implications of it. he doesn’t look at her like he’s trying to figure anything out or like there’s something about her he wants to know. there is no analyzing or judgement. they are just comfortable, at ease. 

      it’s perhaps the most unexpected turn of events, but they hang out everyday for the next three days. he helps her catch up on all of the material she and stephanie had missed, and every day there’s some place new they go to eat. he’s always wanted to be a chef, he’d confessed to her. and the first thing he’d done after getting to yale his first year was search high and low for the best restaurants in the city. his parents still don’t know, but he’d spent the entirety of that first summer working for free at a small, italian place that can only be found if you’re told where to look, learning to make pasta from scratch and figuring out just how long the pizza oven needs to be fired up in order to get the perfect golden edges on the crust. henri hangs on to every word, mesmerized. she tries not to think about what it reminds her of, who it reminds her of, but as sam speaks to her over the flickering candle at their table, she finds herself twisting her ring around her finger. she’d almost convinced herself to take it off, a few days after halloween, but a few hours without the familiar weight of it had made her feel sick. 

      she can’t even pretend that she doesn’t miss him. 

–

      on saturday, sam texts her. 

imessage — sam jung

6:23PM sam: wat r u doing tonight? wanna go to a party?

6:29PM henri: whose party? 

6:30PM sam: just a friend’s. nothing huge 

6:31PM henri: just the people you like right? lol

6:31PM sam: exactly. and you 

6:32PM henri: oh so… u don’t like me? i see how it is…….

6:33PM sam: LOL trust me i like you plenty

6:35PM sam: but seriously you shld come it’ll be fun :)

6:42PM henri: what time should i be ready?

      she can’t remember the last time she’s been this nervous, pulling on her sleeves, twisting at her ring, throat tight. the building they pull up to isn’t far from henri’s own, the same prestigious architecture and high ceilings. sam laughs at her as they step into the elevator. 

      “they aren’t going to eat you,” he promises. 

      “i know. i just… get nervous,” she huffs, stomach in knots. she wants to make a good impression, she realizes. it’s been so long since she’s met new people like this, that the prospect of the room deflating when she steps into it nearly has her jamming the emergency stop button. “you told them i was coming, right?”

      “yeah, i– henri,” he says, half laughing. she looks up at him, blinks. “stop shitting your pants, i promise you’re going to like them. and they’ll like you, too. you all agree that i have shit taste in movies, so you at least have that in common.”

      “that’s because your favorite movie is anaconda,” she emphasizes. 

      “yeah, and it’s a really good movie!”

      she laughs, then. and some of her nerves dissipate. sam grins, secretly satisfied. she prays the rest of his friends are as easy to get along with as he is. she’s not sure how she’ll fare if the tribulations of her life become the main event of another social circle, not now that she’s alone at least. 

      they ride up to the tenth floor, and sam stops at the door numbered 1023. behind the wood, henri can hear the soft base of a radio and loud laughter. he gives her one last encouraging smile before twisting the knob and letting them in.

      immediately, henri shrinks in the face of all the heads that turn their way. there aren’t that many, eight people, but it’s overwhelming nonetheless. suddenly sam’s hands are on her shoulders, and he’s pushing her further into the apartment.

      “everyone, this is henri,” he announces. “henri, this is everyone.”

      she waves, and the first person to step forward is a boy nearly as tall as sam. he looks nice, his face long and soft as he shakes henri’s hand. “xavier park,” he greets. 

      “henri huang.”

      his eyebrows twitch, handshake slowing. “henri huang as in… huang holdings henrietta huang?”

      henri feels heat beneath her chin. “…i’m the one.”

      “you didn’t say she was samsung,” xavier says, his wide eyes flickering to sam and then back to henri. “can i give you my resumé?”

      “dude,” sam starts, face twisting. 

      before xavier can say anything else, a dark haired girl is elbowing him out of the way. 

      “ignore him. he turned in his senior thesis this morning and the majority of his brain cells went with it,” she says, words tinged in a faint spanish accent and eyes rolling though there’s no malice behind it. “i’m catalina. it’s nice to finally meet you. i’ve got it from here.” she directs the last part to sam, shooing his hands from henri’s shoulder and taking her under her own wing. 

      as she guides them to the white kitchen that runs along the back wall of the apartment, she points out everyone and gives their names. henri can’t remember them all immediately, but she smiles and waves anyways. 

      “what do you drink? we’ve got pretty much everything. tequila, whites, reds, patron i think. oh– there’s a bottom of dom perignon we haven’t opened yet. you seem like a champagne kind of girl,” she rattles off, words almost tripping over each other. henri exhales a laugh.

      “champagne sounds amazing, actually, yeah,” she agrees, and catalina pumps her fist in celebration of having guessed correctly. 

      “it’s weird, but i could tell from your belt. dior girls are always the champagne type,” she says, peeling the gold foil off the bottle with her teeth. 

      the conversation from before continues without pause, and one glass of champagne turns to two turns to three. after the third, henri’s nerves have dissipated entirely. she blends into the conversation with ease, growing less shy the lighter her head gets. across the room, sam meets her eyes and raises his palms. see, i told you so, the gesture says. henri hides her smile into her shoulder. 

–

      later, when they’re walking back to his car and the sidewalk is water beneath henri’s feet, it starts to snow. 

      “hey, hey, hey,” sam whispers, hand falling to henri’s arm to stop her. he points up. “look, it’s snowing.”

      his voice is so soft, like if he speaks any louder it will all suddenly stop. henri can feel the sky curve up around her, the flakes floating down from a navy blanket in slow motion. like a snow globe, she thinks. the first snowfall of the year.

      “it’s so pretty,” she breathes, voice just as quiet as his. in the back of her mind, buried beneath her champagne haze, she wishes he was here. or that she was there. watching the snow fall together. it fills her with such a sudden sadness that her eyes grow wet.

      “sorry, i didn’t mean to–” sam starts. 

      “no, it’s okay. sorry, i’m…” she doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, blinking the blur from her eyes and wiping at unshed tears. she laughs, but there’s little humor in it. “i’m really drunk.”

      she can’t meet his eyes; the sad quirk of his lips pressed into a straight line and the lingering way his gaze crosses her face. she senses the question on his tongue, the one he’s been wanting to ask every time there’s a space of silence between them long enough for the words to fit. but he doesn’t. instead, he brushes the snowflakes from her hair. 

      “come on, it’s cold. and you’re going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning.”

–

      “henrietta take those off of your face, you look absolutely ridiculous,” her mother scolds. henri bites at the inside of her cheek as she pulls the sunglasses from her face, blinking against the sudden brightness of the fluorescent lights. she ignores her mother eyeing her in mild contempt. 

       she’d barely gotten five hours of sleep, and even then she’d overslept, jolting out of bed and struggling into the first dress she laid her eyes on. charlotte had flown in to new york that morning, and henri was supposed to meet them for brunch. she’d been twenty minutes late, and the lingering mascara shadowing beneath her eyes makes it impossible for her to come up with an acceptable excuse. 

      “how’s school been?” charlotte asks, the mediator. henri hears the second hidden question in her voice. how have you been holding up? she opens her mouth to speak, but her mother is quicker and her tongue is sharper. 

      “well i hope,” she says. “considering your sister seems to be on a war path to destroying every bridge she might need to cross in the future. gina moore pulled out of this year’s christmas ball. not to mention after that stunt in vegas samsung stock prices started to fall. luckily, your father and leonard are good at what they do. i told you to fix it henrietta, not find a way to make it worse. i don’t know why you’re so eager to embarrass me.”

      “that has nothing to do with me,” henri mutters, feeling herself sinking into her seat, shrinking beneath her mother’s glower. 

      “excuse me?”

      “gina pulling out of your ball has nothing to do with me. just because valentina and i no longer spend every waking second together doesn’t mean there’s some conspiracy to be uncovered. we grew up, maybe gina should, too.”

      there’s a pause at their clothed table as their waiter brings their drinks. he takes a glance around the table, suah staring daggers into her daughter and charlotte warning her sister with her eyes, and leaves again without taking their order. 

      “it has everything to do with you,” her mother hisses after he’s gone. “you and sinclair. this nonsensical behavior you two have engaged in is making a laughing stock of this family. stop slouching. you’ve both been so ungrateful–”

      “ungrateful for what? for having our entire lives planned for us? neither of us asked for this.”

      “that is certainly not what the two of you had to say at your engagement party. making such a show like that in front of all those people,” her mother says. henri knew she’d been angry about it. she hadn’t showed it at the time, had let it slide for this long, but henri should have known she’d save it to make henri feel bad later down the line. like right now. 

      “i thought that’s what you wanted. for us to be happy in our marriage so that people would stop criticizing you forcing your own daughter into an arranged marriage–”

      “henritetta huang you watch your tongue.” her mother’s voice is stern and quiet. none of the faux politeness it usually carries. “this is not up for negotiation. do not for a minute think that either of you have a say in this. i’m going to have your father discuss it with leonard; the wedding date needs to be moved up. the two of you have gotten far too comfortable.”

      “that’s not what we want–”

      “i’m pregnant.”

       the words are so unexpected that both henri and suah’s eyes snap across the table to charlotte. her sister eyes the two of them like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. disappointed. 

      “what?” henri asks. 

      “i’m pregnant. ten weeks,” she repeats. her mother gasps, the argument at hand momentarily forgotten. 

      “oh my god, char, that’s amazing!” henri lifts out her seat to wrap her arms around her sister, a surge of joy clearing the storm that had been brewing at the table. “why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asks. 

      “i wanted to tell you in person. and i didn’t want it to be on your birthday. sorry,” she shrugs. she turns to suah then. “so, henri and sinclair can’t get married any sooner. you have a grandchild to plan for.”

      henri doesn’t say it, but she reaches over to squeeze at her sister’s hand in silent gratitude. in the pit of her stomach, something churns. she isn’t sure if it’s the champagne that hasn’t made its way out of her yet, or just the idea that not only will she have to see sinclair again, but one day they will have to stand at that alter. it fills most of her with thrumming nerves, but a small part – the part that won’t let her take off her ring – feels something akin to foolish relief. 

      henri wants to drown that part. 

–

      she stays in new york for her birthday, and she wakes up in her childhood bedroom to charlotte knocking on her door. behind her follows ina, balancing a tray stacked with every breakfast food henri can think of. stuck into the stack of pancakes is a single burning candle, and around the perimeter of them charlotte has written ‘happy birthday’ in whipped cream. they sing softly as henri wipes the sleep from her eyes, and by the time they finish henri’s cheeks are tight with the smile she can’t keep off her face.

      “sorry i rained on your parade with my news,” charlotte apologizes after ina has left and they’re both sat up against the headboard of henri’s bed.

      “it’s fine. it’s better actually, that mom has something else to think about now. so thanks,” henri assures, wiping a strawberry into the whipped cream words.

      “so how have things been? like, actually,” charlotte asks. henri doesn’t know what she would do if she didn’t have her sister to worry about her, to ask how she is and actually care about the answer. before... before sinclair, charlotte had been the only person henri trusted without an iota of doubt. and now... well, now henri supposes that’s still the case. she doesn’t want to think about how that makes her feel, lost and confused, but it’s impossible not to when she’s right in the place it all started.

      there is nowhere else i would rather be, than wherever you are.

      “fine, i guess,” she answers eventually. “i met this guy named sam.”

      “henri...” charlotte’s voice is full of caution, and she eyes henri with silent warning.

      “it’s not like that,” henri corrects quickly. “we’re just friends, honest. but he’s really nice and so are his friends, so it’s been better since he and i started hanging out. i’ve been better.”

      “and sinclair?”

      henri shrugs. “what about him?”

      “you’re still wearing the ring he gave you.”

      “because people ask questions if i don’t,” she murmurs, though that isn’t the reason it’s still on her finger. denial, maybe. hope, perhaps.

      “do you miss him?” charlotte asks, even though they both know the answer. henri’s lost her appetite, suddenly.

      “no.” lies.

      “okay. we don’t have to talk about it.”

      “he left, char. and he didn’t even tell me he was going. i don’t want to miss him, i just want to move on.”

      but you can’t, charlotte doesn’t say. because even if they aren’t together, they’re still going to be married one day. holy matrimony, til death do them part. rolling her shoulders, henri sniffles and pulls her hair behind her ears. she reaches for a fork on the tray and tries not to think about how this is the worst birthday of her life as she turns to her sister with a smile that refuses to reach her eyes.

      “so, how ecstatic was jinhao when you told him about the baby?”

      “god, he cried just like one. for like, thirty minutes, seriously.”

–

imessage — sam jung

4:32PM sam: how was your birthday! 😬

4:33PM henri: could have been better i think

4:33PM sam: uh oh

4:34PM sam: are u back in ct? i make a mean german chocolate cake...

4:34PM sam: we can even put candles on it :)

4:35PM henri: how could i possibly say no?

      they burn the cake. somewhere between henri knocking on sam’s door, the glasses of whiskey they pour themselves, and putting the cake into the oven to bake, henri finds herself in a place she never meant to be. they’d struggled through the recipe, half drunk before they’d even started – “we need this whiskey for the cake, we should probably stop drinking it” – and had laughed their way through a mess of flour dusted clouds and chocolate that wouldn’t melt right. then, after, when the cake was in the oven and their laughter had calmed down, sam had reached out to wipe flour from henri’s face. something about it, the gentleness of his thumb across her cheekbone, had ignited something inside of her. the next thing she knew the small of her back was pressed painfully into the counter and her tongue was down his throat.

      now, she’s pressed into his couch, his body heavy on top of her as the smell of burnt chocolate and sugar hits her nose.

      “sam,” she gasps, hands on his shoulders, trying to get his attention without pushing him away. “sam. sam, the cake.”

      he pulls away with a groan, and the sudden space between them makes henri dizzy. her face is hot, her lips burning. when he disappears to the kitchen, she sits up, out of breath. what the fuck was that? later, she’ll blame it on the fact that it’s been so long, that she’s been so lonely. but now guilt rises up her throat like bile. why, she doesn’t really know. it doesn’t make sense. but that definitely wasn’t supposed to happen. her face falls into her hands. 

      “so, um. cake’s ruined,” sam says, appearing back in the doorway. henri lifts her head slowly, and the regret must be written in red all over her face, because sam runs a hand through his hair and sighs. 

      “i’m sorry,” she starts, skin still tingling. “i should go.”

      “no, wait. i, um,” he starts, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he gathers his thoughts. he crosses the room to sit beside her, leaving enough space for the two of them to breathe. “look, i really like you, henri. but i don’t, um... i really don’t want to be that guy, you know? the other one.”

      henri’s neck is a furnace. she doesn’t bother trying to correct him. her ring is cold against her hot skin, and she thinks she really might get sick. 

      “it’s fine,” she says, voice meek. “i never meant for that to happen. no offense.”

      there’s a beat of silence between them before he laughs, and after a few seconds she does, too. 

      “okay. good,” he says. “glad we got that out of the way.”

      “it’s not going to be weird now, is it?”

      “not a chance. you’ll have to do a lot more than just kiss me to get me to fuck off,” he promises, knocking his knee against henri’s. her heart still beats wildly in her chest, and some part of her wants to climb over the couch and finish what they started, but mostly she’s afraid of ruining the tiny slice of companionship they’ve built together. everything in her life still seems so fragile, and confusing. 

–

      the rest of november passes in a flash, henri no longer spending all of her free time cooped up in her apartment. instead she spends most of her days with sam and the rest of his friends, pretending to study together in catalina’s apartment during the week and bar hopping on the weekends. they’re all older than henri, but they frequent their favorite downtown hotspots often enough that it doesn’t take much for them to get henri in past the bouncers at the front door. on the days in between they go see movies and attend their friends’ gallery showings and restaurant openings and fashion shows. 

      it’s not much different, from the things she did and the people she met when she was friends with valentina, but somehow now she feels more herself. it is a taste of the summer she’d spent with sinclair, carefree and exciting. they keep her distracted, too. from thinking too much about the boy on the other side of the world. what he’s doing, who he’s with. if he’s happier there, without her. but the thoughts still creep in when everything slows down, in the morning when it’s quiet and she wakes up in her own bed rather than someone’s couch. or when she’s so drunk she can’t feel her face and she’s scrolling through her camera roll and all she wants to do is hear his voice. those moments are the worst, but these day’s they don’t linger for too long. 

      the end of another semester comes and goes, and henri finds herself back in new york, surrounded by people whose names she doesn’t know and her mother guiding her through a ballroom like a show pony. the holiday season is the busiest time of year. every weekend there is a different gala or charity event to attend, everyone fighting for the chance to fit theirs in before the new year. henri finds herself wishing sam was here, or catalina or even xavier, as her heels tap against marble floor. but sam is home in california and catalina always spends the holidays in spain and xavier is in germany with his girlfriend. so henri is alone. both in theory and actuality, as she roams the empty halls of a house so big she can’t fathom how they were able to fit it into the state of new york. 

      “pretty sure the party’s in the other direction,” a voice calls. henri jumps, spinning on her heel towards the familiar face. long legs, dark hair, cheeky smile. 

      “which is exactly why i’m going this way,” she tells him, his name on the tip of her tongue but lost amongst every other name and face she has crossed paths with in the past four months. but she remembers him.

      “don’t tell me you don’t like to party, henrietta huang,” he says, the tap of his shoes slow and steady as he leisures towards her. “you don’t strike me as the homebody type.”

      “no? what type do i strike you as, then?” she asks. it’s the most interesting encounter she’s had all night. 

      “hm. young, beautiful, unsuspecting,” he prattles. his footfalls come to a halt when he’s just a few feet away. “i think i’d pin you as a heartbreaker, miss huang.”

      “hardly,” she laughs. it’s quite the opposite case scenario, she almost tells him. “i’m sorry, but i don’t remember your name.”

      “i take no offense, it’s been quite a while since your engagement party. i don’t think i ever got the chance to properly congratulate you, by the way,” he says. “theodore kim.”

      “well, it is very nice to see you again, theodore.” his head tilts in agreement, and he finishes taking the rest of the steps to her side. it’s almost weird, how they fall in line beside each other, roaming the extravagant mansion’s halls, but the silence between them is oddly comfortable. 

      “whose house is this?” henri asks eventually. 

      “secretary benjamin hughes,” theodore answers, hands clasped behind his back as he examines the architecture of the crown-molding. “he came into office three and a half years ago, and plans to run for the next presidential election. he’s a navy vet though and suffers terrible ptsd, so no one tells him but he’ll never be able to handle running an entire country. his best bet is probably his oldest old son – henry, funny enough – but i think he should just remain in office for as long as he can so that he can continue to afford this house.”

      henri blinks. “this is hardly a house. it’s more like a palace. the kind of place my mother would want to live in if she had the land for it. how do you know all of that?”

      “i suppose i just have a good memory,” he says, like it’s nothing. another silence falls between them, until they’ve circled the entirety of the first floor and the open ballroom doors loom before them once more. 

      “thank you for keeping me company on my lonely stroll,” henri says, a joking lilt to her words. “it was very gentlemanly of you.”

      “it was my pleasure, miss huang.” he says, offering her two fingered salute before disappearing into the crowd. henri sighs, and attempts to find her mother. 

–

      she sees him again a week later, another gala at another house. a smaller one this time, less impressive. she doesn’t expect him, when he stops her in her stride and offers her one of the two champagne flutes he holds. 

      “hello,” he smiles, his fringe styled away from his face today. he looks younger than henri first thought, no older than her sister’s age. his grin is playful, eyes unreadable. painfully handsome. “would you like to take another walk with me?”

      this time, the house belongs to an isla stuart.

      “she claims to be a direct descendant of the scottish throne,” theodore tells her, the black and white floors beneath them spreading out like a chess board. “widowed twice and now married for the third time to a canadian broker named nicholas. isla’s second oldest daughter died a few years ago. she fell from a rooftop in miami on the night of new year’s eve. if you ask me, though, she jumped.”

      “that’s so sad,” henri says. “widowed twice and then her daughter.”

      theodore watches her from the corner of his eye, his lips pressing into a thin line and his face unreadable. “it is. a tragedy. she’s never really been the same since, but she has four other children to dote over.”

      “you know so much about every one,” she observes, finishing off her champagne. “what do you know about me?”

      he seems to consider her question, eyeing her like there’s something there she isn’t telling him. like there’s more beyond her simple curiosity. she flushes beneath his stare, and eventually he speaks again. 

      “i know that you are the daughter of richard and suah huang,” he starts. “the youngest of two children and also the samsung family heiress. you’re engaged to sinclair park, and your marriage will result in the merging of huang holdings and park corp, the most powerful conglomerate the world has seen to date. you attend yale, though i’m not sure what you study, and you are very, very beautiful.”

      “are you going to say that every time you see me?” henri blushes. she appreciates the compliment, though. it fills her belly with something light and ticklish. “thank you, though. and i study french literature.”

       “ah, a topic of interest very fitting for a girl like you,” he says, the french sounding misplaced in his voice. henri can’t help but giggle at his accent. “what? is it that bad?”

      “it needs some work.”

      “i’ll have sinclair teach me, next time i’m in seoul,” he says, and henri’s throat tightens a little. 

      “do you know if he’s settling in well?” she can’t help but ask, eyes shifting to the floor. 

      “his father tells me he’s a hair away from stripping sinclair of his entire inheritance,” theodore starts, and henri’s snap up to his smile. his laughter rings out clear in the foyer they stand in. “i’m just kidding, henrietta. payback for laughing at my french. that’s cute, though you’re so worried about him.”

      henri’s eyes roll, stomach summersaulting. “that’s not funny.”

–

      the third time she sees him, he asks her to leave with him. she takes him in warily, before his hands raise in innocence. “no funny business, i promise. we’re friends now, we shouldn’t confine ourselves to all this small talk and handshaking. though, i know that you love it so much.”

      “ha ha, you’re hilarious.” she says, standing from the cold, concrete steps. today they’re in the city, an event space rather than someone’s home. the steps they sit on are right in the front, and henri enjoys watching the city sparkle before her. something exiting hangs in the air, and it keeps her from sitting still. “yeah, let’s ditch.”

      theo’s apartment is dark even when he flicks the lights on. dark floors, dark furniture, warm yellow lighting. the brick along the expanse of the back wall is covered in windows, and the view is stunning. 

      “this is an incredible space,” she says. 

      “do you drink whiskey?” he calls, his suit jacket already discarded across the kitchen island. 

      “socially, yes.” she replies, discarding her coat and laying it across the back of a lounge chair. when he returns with the short glasses, he hands her one with a lopsided smile. 

      “you know, i’ve been dying to ask you, but why did you and sinclair split up?”

      henri almost chokes, the liquor catching in her throat and burning her nostrils. “i’m sorry?”

      “sorry. i thought you knew that i knew. i mean, you still wear that ring, of course, so i wasn’t entirely sure, but. you never mention him. and you had to ask me how he was doing. and any time he comes up you get this... this sad look in your eyes.”

      henri stares at him, wondering if it’s that obvious or if it’s just because theo is so insanely smart. has he known since the beginning, or did he just put it all together? everyone assumes it’s the distance, the reason she doesn’t mention him or why the subject changes so quickly. it’s tough living so far apart. but theo noticed the things no one else did. 

      “i, um... we,” she struggles for the right explanation. “he was preoccupied. by other things. like, ex-girlfriend kind of things.”

      “ah.” theo’s face goes blank, like he’s playing something over in his head, before he looks back to her with a small smile. he raises his glass. “then let’s cheers to you finding out now rather than later.”

      it isn’t exactly something henri wants to celebrate, but she raises her glass anyways. 

–

      “who first started calling you henri? it’s an interesting nickname for a girl,” he asks her a week or two later. they’re in his apartment again, a few days before christmas. it’s become their special routine, ending their nights at his place with a glass of something deep and dark after ditching some prior commitment. the first time she’d texted him on her own and asked if she could come over, had been after a charity event he didn’t attend. sad to see you had something better to do.. still could use a drink tho. a real one, it had said. and he’d replied with a simple, doors open.

       and then it was more often. he’d text her, rough day, and she’d show up with indian takeout. eventually they were seeing each other a couple times a week, and somewhere in the midst of it all something shifted. they sat closer on the couch, or she’d let her feet fall into his lap. she started to stay later and he stopped trying to hide the way he likes to look at her body. she pretends not to notice, but it makes her stomach go warm and tight anyways. 

      “i don’t know. my dad, maybe,” she says. “but i’ve always just remembered that being what everyone called me. except for my mother, of course.” and sinclair, when we first met. 

      “hm. my mother used to call me teddy,” he supplies, eyes watching her closely. she watches him back. 

      “teddy? that’s pretty cute, i wish i’d known that sooner,” she laughs, but his own smile has fallen from his face. he reaches across the sofa for her ankle, and tugs her towards him, until she’s half in his lap and gasping. 

      “i think you’re quite cute,” he breathes, a hand reaching up to cup her jaw. the oxygen  has suddenly evaporated from henri’s lungs, and she freezes under his touch. “i don’t want to play around anymore. i want you.”

      “do you?” she whispers, and it’s all she can manage because she can’t find her voice. his thumb runs across her lower lip, and her tongue swipes at it. he hums deep in his chest, his other hand tickling across her shoulder and arm, down to the ring on her left hand. when he slips it off her finger and leans forward, henri’s heart skips in her chest. she’d been rational, with sam, but she has a feeling it’s not going to be that way with theo. not even slightly.

       “you don’t deserve to be sad anymore,” he whispers, before kissing her.