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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 28 days ago

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A Curse [Chapter 10: Pacific Palisades]

A/N: Only 2 chapters left 🪄

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, illness/death, minor injury and blood, a wild Becca appears, a super relaxing beach day! 😍

Word count: 5.4k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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“I’m so sorry,” you say as the green jasper buttons on the coat won’t quite close. “My agent keeps buying me Cherry Cokes and vanilla lattes.”

The costume designer, mid-forties with box-dye red hair, laughs. She ceases the tugging she’s been doing, ultimately in vain. “The wardrobe is supposed to fit you, sweetheart, not the other way around.” She sweeps the coat off your shoulders and hangs it back on the rack full of Gilded Age-style garments, some faux, some genuine. “We’ll take it in here and let it out there and get everything sorted out.”

“Thank you,” you tell her sheepishly.

“For what? It’s my job.” Then she gestures to the rack. “Which one was your favorite?”

You scan the assortment: chemises, corsets, hoopskirts, stockings, dresses, tea gowns, evening gowns, nightgowns, hats, gloves, fans, shoes, seemingly endless bejeweled ropes of necklaces and bracelets. “The yellow tea gown,” you say, beaming. “I love the ruffles and how flowy it is. And the buttons down the front.”

“Oh, it’s exceptional, isn’t it?” the costume designer agrees. “I found that at an estate sale a few years back, it had been squirreled away in a collector’s attic. It’s authentic, probably made in the 1890s.”

“You told me not to touch the buttons when you put it on. And you wore latex gloves.”

She nods. “They’re brass gilded with gold and mercury, which was common back then. People didn’t know better. But mercury can be absorbed through the skin. We can’t be careless and end up with heavy metal poisoning, now can we?” She grins at you. “But you don’t mind a little danger.”

“Everything worthwhile is a risk.”

“How long have you been in Los Angeles?”

You do some quick math in your head. “Almost six months.”

“Planning to stay long?”

“Forever, hopefully.”

The costume designer smiles warmly. “Good. We need more people like you here.” And as she pulls the rack of clothing out into the hallway on its four small wheels, the director strolls into the room. He is in his thirties, bald, black rectangular glasses, always wearing a suit jacket over a graphic tee. Today’s shirt features the Jurassic Park logo.

“Hey!” he says excitedly, clapping his hands together. “How’d it go?”

“Hi, Dusty!” His name is Dustin, but everyone calls him Dusty. “It was amazing. I love all the weird vintage clothes, they’re so modest but also very sensual, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s fascinating, I feel like with those restrictive modesty standards people really had to get creative to evoke ideas of playfulness, flirtatiousness, power, vulnerability, seduction...and of course, we’ll be experimenting with all of that in this film. You felt okay in everything?”

“Yeah!”

“Because...I mean...I know some of the chamises and nightgowns are a little sheer, but we’ll do a closed set on those days. I won’t even be there, Camille can handle it.” Camille is the assistant director, young and quiet but very sharp. “So it’ll just be her and the camera operator, also a woman. And if you want anyone else there to be your advocate, that’s open for discussion.”

“Can my agent be there?”

Dusty looks a little surprised. The grumpy middle-aged dude? his face says. “Aegon? Yeah, sure, he can be in the room. If you want that.”

“He’s gotten me out of some uncomfortable situations before, so I trust him.”

“Oh yeah, well in that case, I get it,” Dusty says. “Totally. And things with Santi have been fine?”

“Santi is wonderful. Always completely professional, but very inspiring to work with.”

“You guys have great chemistry. Platonically, I mean.”

You laugh. “I know what you meant.”

“And I’ll keep checking in with both of you, to make sure that’s going well and you’re happy and comfortable. I want you to start seeing a personal trainer, by the way. It’s not to lose weight or get toned or anything, it’s for injury prevention. He’ll help you get flexible and teach you tricks for how to move without hurting yourself when we do some of the more physically taxing stuff, like that scene where you and Santi are chasing each other all over the house and slamming into the walls and stuff.”

“That makes sense. Who’s the trainer?”

“His name is Roy, he’s in his sixties and a former Marine. I’ve worked with him before and he’s really chill, I’ve only ever heard good things. But if you end up not liking him, just let me know and I can find somebody else.”

“Dusty?” you say.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for caring about what I think.”

He chuckles uneasily, like he’s not sure if you’re serious. “You’re welcome...?”

Aegon walks in—hair gelled back, wrinkled black suit on—carrying two Starbucks beverages; he left fifteen minutes ago to fetch them. He keeps the Frappuccino topped with whipped cream and chocolate syrup for himself and hands you the iced latte. You take a sip and are startled. “Cinnamon Dolce?”

“Isn’t that what you like?” Aegon asks.

And before you let yourself think poisonous thoughts—he doesn’t care, he doesn’t remember—you consider a different explanation. He might be sick. He might be dying. You give him a radiant smile. “Absolutely. And it’s delicious.”

“She must think very highly of you,” Dusty tells Aegon. “She wants you there on the closed set days.”

Aegon raises his eyebrows at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you admit, a little shyly.

“I’ll send out the filming schedule as soon as we get it finalized,” Dusty says. “Like I said earlier, we’ll start sometime in mid-September. Some soundstage stuff here in L.A., some on-location work in Ontario—that’s where they did Crimson Peak, there’s fantastic Gilded Age architecture—and maybe a trip to London if we can scrape the budget together.”

“Huh,” Aegon mutters to himself, like he suspects Dusty will soon be receiving a sizeable and anonymous donation for the project. He pulls out his iPhone and texts someone.

Dusty shakes your hand. “Thanks for being here today and suffering through approximately one thousand costume changes. I really appreciate you being such a good sport about everything.”

“I told you she had the right temperament,” Aegon says.

“She does.” Dusty smiles at you. “She really does.”

You and Aegon leave Dusty’s suite, office space rented in Downtown, and take the elevator from the tenth floor to the ground level. It’s Wednesday, August 13th, and it’s almost a hundred degrees outside, the sunlight drenching you like a downpour. Fortunately, it’s a short walk to your Honda. Aegon was serious about not driving when you’re in the car anymore; you picked him up in Elysian Park before your appointment with the costume designer. Now you walk together across a pavilion and towards a concrete staircase that will lead you down to the street with the parking garage. You’re wearing a pink floral sundress, matching TOMS wedges, and a pinkish-gold sheen across your eyelids: Fathom by NARS, Phenomena by Natasha Denona. You slurp on your Cinnamon Dolce latte, sweet and warm and blameless like a treat you deserve.

“You know I won’t be there for filming,” Aegon says. “That’s going to be after my wedding. I’ll be long gone, I’ll be in Houston.”

“Maybe not.”

“Uh, I definitely will be.”

“Maybe you’ll fly back to be here for certain things because you know they’re important to me.”

Aegon stops and whirls to you, his voice low but cutting. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, bewildered.

“You know I wish I could be here. Don’t guilt me for something I’m already torn up about.”

“Nothing is stopping you from flying back to L.A. for a few days. Houston isn’t a prison, you can come and go as much as you want to.”

Now he’s somber, quiet, repentant. “I just can’t. I’m really sorry.”

“But who’s going to look out for me?” How could I even begin to forget you?

“I found you a new agent. Her name is Kristen, and she’s great.”

“I don’t want her,” you say immediately.

Aegon sighs. You begin to descend the staircase together. “Look, I know this isn’t easy for either of us, but I need you to—”

“Oh my God, it’s the girl from the Maroon 5 music video!” a young man shrieks, and then he sprints up the concrete steps. You smile when he shoves his phone in your face, recording for TikTok or Instagram or wherever he’s planning to post this...or maybe he’s even streaming live. “Hi!” he bellows at you as Aegon glares. “I love that video, you did an amazing job!”

“Thank you so much,” you say, and you mean it down to your bones. You’re beaming without reminding yourself to; you’re focused on him as you continue to descend the staircase. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Jonathan!”

Aegon snaps at him: “Back up.”

“Hi, Jonathan,” you say, wobbling on a step. “It’s so nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

“I’m from a town in Iowa that you definitely haven’t heard of.”

“That’s okay, I’m from a town in Minnesota that you definitely haven’t heard of.”

“Hey, back up,” Aegon says again.

Jonathan either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t listen. “What was it like working with Adam Levine? I’m kind of obsessed with him. He was my first crush.”

With those tattoos? you think but blessedly don’t say out loud. You have barely ever interacted with Adam Levine, and certainly not in a meaningful way. But of course you don’t say this either. Jonathan’s phone is only inches from your face; it’s practically all you can see. “Oh, it was an incredible experience. He’s so talented and kind—”

Your wedge slips off a step, and you go sprawling; one knee hits the concrete, is scraped raw, begins bleeding down your shin. Your latte flies out of your grasp and spills down the staircase. You clutch for the metal railing, find it, and haul yourself upright. And even through the searing pain you’re already laughing, embarrassed, relieved.

Jonathan is saying as he reaches for you, though he’s still filming with the phone in his other hand: “Oh no, are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, I’m totally fine—”

But Jonathan isn’t, because Aegon’s knuckles connect with his face, draw back, hit him again, and blood is gushing from Jonathan’s nostrils, and Aegon’s hand is stained red. “I told you to back the fuck up!” Aegon is roaring, and he goes to punch Jonathan again as he’s staggering down the steps, blood drops splattering to freckle the concrete.

“Aegon, don’t!” you scream, grabbing his arm. People on the sidewalk below are staring and pointing. “He didn’t do anything!”

“If you get hurt, you can’t act—”

“Aegon, I’m alright!”

And when Aegon turns to you, wayward flecks of blood on his cheeks and in his sand-colored hair, he’s not just furious but afraid: I couldn’t stop. You remember when he put a dent in the wall of the Beverly Hills mansion where Dan had planned to film you practically naked, and you wonder if that was a symptom, volatility, rage, a transient blindness to consequences. Is everything he does a symptom? Is what he’s done with you?

“Aegon...?” Jonathan says from several steps down the staircase. “Aegon Targaryen?!” He’s wiping the blood off his face with the back of one hand but still holding his phone with the other. Now he’s filming himself. “Holy shit, I just got punched by a Targaryen! This is going to go viral! I’m going to be rich!” He dashes off, still dripping blood.

Aegon looks at you, dazed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

You’re trying to catch your breath; your knee burns. Pedestrians on the sidewalk are still gawking. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to fuck up anything related to your career. I’ll fix this, I’ll get Aemond to make it go away.”

“I’m not mad, Aegon.” I’m worried about you. I’m scared for you.

“Are you okay?” He’s scrutinizing the thin tendrils of blood snaking down your leg, the crimson stains on your pink sundress.

“Yeah,” you say gamely.

“No you’re not.” Aegon takes your hand, leads you swiftly to the parking garage, doesn’t stop to talk to any of the people who are staring and pointing and taking out their phones to record him.

You drive your Honda back to Elysian Park—just a quick jaunt northeast on the 110—where Aegon scrubs his hands clean and then plays doctor with equipment supplied by the first aid kit in Brandon’s desk. On the scuffed wood floor of Aegon’s office—mint green walls, cluttered haphazard desk, photographs of him and Becca together sneering down at you—he disinfects the raw patch on your knee and gingerly wipes away flecks of dirt, then slathers it with gooey transluscent Neosporin, the kind that dulls pain. As he is trying to peel the backing off a large rectangular Band-Aid, his hands begin to shake.

“Aegon, here, let me help you—”

“I can do it,” he insists; and it takes him a while, but he does.

~~~~~~~~~~

Baela is back in Paris; Jace is eating a Chipotle burrito on the velvet orange couch and spilling leafy shreds of lettuce everywhere. You are arranging the dried sunflowers in a yellow vase you found at T.J. Maxx. You are careful not to dislodge any of the fragile preserved leaves, curled and brittle. When you are done, you position the vase on the kitchen counter near the refrigerator. The calendar there, affixed with pineapple-shaped magnets, is filled with red-ink appointments related to your indie film, the one you still sometimes can’t believe is real: workouts with your personal trainer, table reads, costume fittings, meetings with the dialect coach, lunches and drinks with your new coworker Chloe. She has third billing, and she’s from Maine, and she loves hiking and flannel and granola and the lobster rolls at Saltie Girl in West Hollywood. You teach her about makeup and dresses; Chloe teaches you about nature and hiking boots. You might even let her talk you into horseback riding lessons on the beach one day.

Jace asks from the couch as he scrolls through his phone with his non-burrito-occupied hand: “Hey, random question, but did your agent beat up a kid?”

You sigh deeply. “He wasn’t a kid. I don’t know why people keep saying that.”

“The TMZ article says he’s a teenager.”

“He’s nineteen years old. He’s legally an adult.”

“Oh.” Jace keeps reading. “But your agent did beat him up.”

“Aegon punched him twice, does that count as beating someone up?”

Jace looks up from his phone. “Yes. Yes it does.”

You sigh again.

“You’re lucky he’s not suing,” Jace says as he resumes reading the article. “Damn, he’s gotten 200,000 views on the video so far. He called it STORYTIME: Targaryen Terror!! I almost died!! The thumbnail is a close-up of his bloody nose. Let’s see what derangement we can find in the comments.” Then Jace recoils, squinting at the screen. “Whoa, the whole article just disappeared.”

Thanks Aemond, you think. “I’ll be back around dinnertime if you want to order Thai food and watch True Blood or something.”

“Cool,” Jace says, and chomps on his burrito. A glob of guacamole drops onto the couch.

In Elysian Park, you park on the curb and step out into sweltering mid-August humidity, the humming of air conditioning window units, ambient dog barks and car radios. You’re wearing flip-flops, a purple maxi skirt, and a black tank top; on your eyelids shimmers Natasha Denona’s silver-and-violet Bolt.

You can hear the shouting before you open the front door, heavy footsteps, chairs screeching as they are pushed out. You run inside to find Brandon standing beside his desk. He looks at you wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t know what to do. From within his office, Aegon is yelling something you don’t understand—“I don’t want it! No, get rid of it, get out of here!”—and then Becca appears through the doorway, backing away from him, fleeing from him, confused and heartbroken. She’s dressed like a bride, white lace and long beachy waves. She is crying and holding two sealed envelopes in her hands that gleam with rings.

“What’s going on?” you ask her.

Becca freezes when she sees you. She’s too stunned to be angry. “I don’t know, it was supposed to be a surprise, we were going to open them together and it would be fun, but now he’s...he’s...he’s freaking out, he’s completely lost his mind!”

You peek into Aegon’s office; his chair is knocked over, and there are papers and photographs and Honeycrisp apples on the floor. He’s slumped against the wall with his knees to his chest, gazing out at you with vast, glassy eyes, tears painting rivers down his flushed cheeks. “Open what?” you ask Becca. And then you read the artful black lettering on the envelopes: Legacea: Discover All the Wonders of Your Heritage!

“Becca,” you say softly. He’s been caught. He can’t hide it anymore. “Aegon’s dad died of Huntington’s disease.”

“Okay,” she replies, puzzled, not understanding.

“And it’s genetic, and he doesn’t want to know if he has the gene.”

She stares at him, thunderstruck. He hides his face in his hands. And you feel a compulsion—an instinct, a gravity, a predestination—to go to Aegon and hold him, comfort him as much as you can, ward off all the world’s curses here in this undistinguished alcove of Los Angeles where you first met him.

“Here,” Becca hisses, grabbing your hand and pressing one of the envelopes into it too quickly for you to resist. “You’re the person he always wants to talk to anyway.” Then she shoves you so hard your back hits the doorframe, storms across the lobby, slams the front door as she leaves.

“I’m sorry,” Aegon says hoarsely from the floor. “I’m sorry she did that, I...I...” And then he swallows with effort and shakes his head and covers his face again. In the lobby, Brandon sinks into the chair behind his desk and tries to disappear.

You step into Aegon’s office and close the door behind you. You cross the scuffed hardwood floor until you are right in front of him, and then you sit down amidst the bruised apples and splintered glass panes of photographs, close enough to reach out and take his hands if you tried. You look down at the sealed envelope and skim your thumbprint across the black ink. You don’t say anything. You wait for Aegon to realize the inevitable: If Becca paid for these tests, she can access the results anytime she wants to. He’s going to find out one way or the other. He can’t keep running. The answer is right here. Maybe it’s even good.

“You can open it,” Aegon says, barely a whisper.

“Are you sure?”

He nods and wipes his face with his sleeve, the same wrinkled tan sport coat jacket he was wearing for your very first appointment. Beneath that he wears a t-shirt the color of the ocean, a placid royal blue. Then he watches as you carefully rip open the envelope, unfold the stack of four papers, and scan the results. He tries to read the lines and color of your face; he waits for you to say something.

For a long still moment, you don’t say anything. And then at last you look up at him. “Your family can afford the best doctors, you’ll have access to the most advanced treatments—”

“No!” Aegon wails, a mourning, a surrender, and he collapses across the floor, and decades of fear and grief and fury come hemorrhaging out, and you expect that when you try to hold him he’ll push you away, but he doesn’t. He claws for you and his fingernails leave half-moon indentations in your skin, but you don’t mind because soon he’ll be gone: he’ll be flying to Turks and Caicos to marry Becca, he’ll be moving to Houston, Texas, he’ll be dying there of something horrible and painful and inglorious and unfair, he’ll be a secret and then a myth.

“I’m sorry,” you say over and over again, his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair, your voice fracturing and your throat burned to ashes. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. I wish I could change it. I would do anything to change it.”

And after a while, Aegon goes quiet and pulls away, and he sits on the floor as he absorbs it, staring vacantly at the photographs and the apples and the walls, dragging his hands through his disheveled hair to slick it back again. Then he turns to you and asks: “Do you want to go to the beach?”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve already been to Venice, and Baela and Jace once took you along with them to Santa Monica to walk the pier at dusk; and so today Aegon tells you to follow the 110 south, the 10 west, and finally the 1 north—and if you stayed on it you’d eventually hit Malibu, Santa Barbara, San Francisco, Point Reyes, Eureka, the Oregon border—to Pacific Palisades, where the water is calm and endless and the beach quiet, a few families picnicking on loose golden sand, a few amateur surfers bobbing on docile waves. Gulls flap and caw in a cerulean sky. From a boombox drifts Under the Bridge.

“I always felt like I had it,” Aegon says. His skin glows with the sunscreen you insisted on buying from a surf shop on the way here, SPF 50, but there is nothing in the world that can stop the poison his cells are already making, copying the defective gene’s lethal instructions again and again and again. You look at the crinkles that spring out from the corners of his eyes, the lines around his mouth, and you can see that he is aging—lack of sleep, lack of care—and you have the instinct to pull him back from the ledge of mortality. But for all the wonders of humanity, pyramids and chapels, submarines and satellites, for some reason the most essential magic eludes you.

“But you hoped you didn’t.” You hold the Legacea papers, still creased from where they were folded into thirds inside the envelope, as you and Aegon sit together on the sand. You keep reading the results: cystic fibrosis—variant not detected, hereditary thrombophilia—variant not detected, Parkinson’s disease—variant not detected, he’d be perfect if it wasn’t for one tiny thing, and that seems so unfair.

“That’s why I never told people. That’s why even though I was pretty sure I’d never have kids, I didn’t do anything permanent. Never got a vasectomy, even though I should have. Never saw a specialist. Never joined any support groups. I always thought...you know, maybe. Maybe I was wrong, and I was fine. And I wanted to have that to fall back on, so whenever I started thinking about it and got freaked out, I could say: You don’t know for sure. You might not have it. Aemond got tested because he felt it was the responsible thing to do, and Helaena and Daeron followed his lead because they trust him. I was the only one who didn’t want to know. And I’m the only one who has it.” He shakes his head; his blonde hair blows in the wind. “They had to deal with what happened to my dad. I can’t put them through that again.”

You re-read the results, the only one that matters: Huntington’s disease—variant detected, mutation of the HTT gene. “You’re so young, Aegon. Aren’t you too young to have symptoms? When I was researching, it sounded like it usually starts around forty, and then people can live into their fifties or even their sixties.” That’s almost a normal lifespan! you have to stop yourself from blurting out. That’s thirty more years we could have together!

“A lot of the time, that’s how it goes,” he says. “But there’s this thing in genetics called anticipation.” And then you remember what you overheard Aemond saying when you found him in Aegon’s office a few days after the charity gala: Because you’re still pretty young, but with anticipation...

“Aegon, what’s anticipation?”

“It means that in each generation, the disease shows up earlier and gets more severe. In Huntington’s, that’s especially true when it’s inherited from the father. My dad had visible signs in his late-thirties, got diagnosed at forty-five, and died at fifty-five. I’ve had symptoms since my twenties.”

So how many years does he have left? you think with horror. Five? Ten? And most of them will be bad. “Is that why you left acting?”

Aegon nods, looking out over the waves. “Every time I forgot a line or tripped over a step or something, I’d think it was proof that I had the gene, and it would send me into a spiral. And then because I was so nervous...fuck it, because I was so scared...I would make more mistakes, and get more panicked, and I just couldn’t deal with the...the emotional rollercoaster, I guess. So I got an office in Elysian Park far away from my family and all their industry friends, and I found an assistant I liked, and I met Becca...and I got everything lined up so if...” He shakes his head. “So when the time came, I could slip away without any drama or unnecessary pain for my family.”

“But you’re still mostly okay. You don’t have to leave Los Angeles yet.” You don’t have to abandon me yet. “I can drive you places. I can remember things for you. I don’t mind.”

Aegon gives you a sad, patient smile. “By the time people with this disease get really bad, they stop being able to tell how far-gone they are. And they aren’t competent to make decisions, and they hurt the people who are trying to help them, and it’s not so easy to disappear anymore. I can’t wait around for my brain to get hollowed out enough that I have no good days left. I can’t wait around until you’re finally convinced it’s the right time. You’re always going to be looking for excuses to keep me here. You’ll always see glasses as half-full.”

You think of the countless YouTube videos you’ve watched of Huntington’s patients since that night in Silver Lake when you learned what killed Woody Guthrie—people struggling to walk, to speak, to swallow, to recognize their loved ones—and you break down in sobs, covering your face with your hands as tears flood down your cheeks, the rivulets turning cold as the ocean breeze skates over them. “I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“None of us get a choice, sunshine,” Aegon says gently, laying a palm on your shoulder.

“Am I a symptom?”

“What are you talking about?”

You take a tissue out of your purse and sniffle into it, too mortified to meet his eyes. “Impulsive decisions, poor judgment, erratic emotions. Those are all symptoms of Huntington’s. So is this thing between us...is what you have with me, is it just...just...?” Just your brain dying, just a mistake like punching a fan or wrecking a car or forgetting that I was born in the Year of the Dragon?

“No,” Aegon says. “No, this is real. And the way I feel about you isn’t how I feel about anybody else.”

“But all those other women—”

“I fucked around because life is short and I didn’t want to miss out on things. And I felt like...you know...there will be a day when I’m never going to be able to have sex again. Just like there will be a day when I can never drive again, or help a client get a job, or make it through a barbeque at my family’s beach house without acting insane, or collect stars in Super Mario 64. But you’re not some maladaptive coping mechanism. I don’t sleep with clients. I genuinely really, really like you, and you make me feel better about the world, and I want to be around you all the time. But I can’t do that without ruining your life, you know? So what the fuck am I supposed to do with everything I feel for you?”

His hand is still on your shoulder, warm and safe and steady, and his oceanic blue eyes are resigned. You’re too late to change his mind. You’ve been too late since he watched Viserys crawl towards the grave over the span of a decade. “I would take care of you,” you tell Aegon, something you’ve offered before, and you mean this no matter how irrational he believes it to be.

“You’ll be sad for a while,” he says. “But then you’ll get busy with more roles and the promo tour for your movie, and you’ll have a nice normal boyfriend—maybe that Jace guy—and you’ll forget about me. And you can be an actress and have healthy kids and stay here in Los Angeles forever. You’ll have everything you ever wanted.”

Not everything, you think. Not you. “Why did you invited me to your wedding? It’s actually a really messed up thing to do. I’m supposed to celebrate you marrying Becca? Toast champagne and dance on the beach and eat hors d’oeuvres and then fly back here like nothing’s wrong?”

Aegon sighs and lies flat on the sand, lets the hot midday sun beat down on him, takes his black aviator sunglasses out of his jeans pocket and slides them on. “I invited you because my wedding is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, and I want all my favorite people there. And you are definitely one of my favorite people.”

You frown at the wave crests, glittering with daylight. “I can’t go to Turks and Caicos.”

“Why not?”

“Because Becca threatened to break my leg.”

Aegon bursts out laughing. “She what?!”

“She said she would push me down the stairs so I’d break my leg and wouldn’t be able to do any acting for months until it healed.”

He’s cackling. Circumstances aside, it’s nice to see him smile again. “Ignore her. She’s not serious. She tells everyone that.”

“She threatens all your mistresses with bodily harm?”

Aegon shrugs. “Her playbook is limited.”

You debate whether to tell him something, then decide this isn’t the day for secrets. “She pushed me outside your office one time. I fell over. That’s how I sprained my ankle.”

“Fuck, really?” Aegon says, peering up at you from the sand. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead, glistening with Coppertone Sport. “I’m so sorry. That should never have happened. I’ll talk to her.”

“I’m sure that’ll go well.”

“She’ll listen to me,” Aegon insists. “She’ll cave. She always does.”

You look at him, accusing, certain. “You don’t love her.”

“I couldn’t marry her if I did,” he says casually. “But she chose this. She could call it off anytime she wanted, but she won’t. I’ll go home tonight and find out she’s bought twenty books on nursing from Amazon. And it’s not forever. I’m a curse, not a life sentence. My clock is ticking down a lot faster than everyone else’s.”

What if I want that time with you? you think helplessly. What if I love you?

Aegon pushes his sunglasses up into his hair so he can study you with no obstructions, so there’s nowhere to hide. “The wedding might be your last chance to see me, you know?”

“Right,” you say, listening to the shrieks of circling California gulls and the dull primordial rumble of the ocean, a beast that swallows sunlight, a titan with no lifespan.

As you take the 1 southeast back towards Downtown, Elysian Park, Harbor Gateway, Aegon tells you to stop at the Getty Villa Museum. You don’t argue; you don’t want to go home yet either. You don’t want to lose a second of the time you have left with him.

There is an extensive collection of ancient Greek and Roman art, gods, goddesses, heroes, monsters, coins, weapons, magic. Here is an altar carved with the myth of Adonis, here is a horse made of oxidized bronze, here is a Breccia marble fertility goddess whose name no one remembers, here is a bust of Caligula, the emperor who went mad. You pause to admire a statue of Medusa, snakes instead of hair and a face twisted with wrath.

“Don’t look, she’ll turn you to stone,” Aegon whispers as he covers your eyes with gentle, feather-light hands. “That’s the last thing you need. Another curse.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon targaryen x you

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 6 months ago

Note

Love your fics!!!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️ Would you consider writing Hinny’s first „i love you”?

Love YOU, anon! I have to confess, I don't know if I answered your prompt, because I did write Hinny's first "I love you" in Ch4 of Someone Else's life. I toyed with writing this moment differently at a different time, but realized I think I'm sort of married to the idea of them confessing it right after the battle, and I couldn't think of a way to rewrite the moment in a way that was meaningfully different. So, I hope you don't mind, I wrote the moment Ron realizes Harry & Ginny are in love, instead:

It’s one of those evenings in late May after the battle - when everything seems to blur together and time ceases to have meaning - that Ron seriously considers the possibility that he might have been a bit thick.

Ron’s sat in the lumpy armchair by the hearth at the Burrow staring oddly at Harry and Ginny, tucked together on the opposite sofa. Ginny’s got her feet resting on Harry’s lap, and Harry’s absently rubbing her knee. It’s relatively innocent, as far as seating arrangements go, and yet Ron can’t help but stare at the casual intimacy of it anyway.

They’re back together now. It seems to Ron they must’ve gotten back together the minute they’d had a moment alone after the battle. Ron had left Harry asleep in Gryffindor Tower one minute, and when he’d come back from lunch it had been to find them holding hands in the Common Room.

“You together again, then?” Ron had asked, later. Harry had merely nodded. And Ron supposed that had been that.

Ron hadn’t had the mental space to give the matter much more thought since - there’d been funerals (so effing many), and repairing Hogwarts, and Mum crying, and Hermione, and meetings about Auror training…

He supposes it shouldn’t be surprising that they’re cuddling on the sofa. But, now that Ron at last has the time to think about them for more than a passing moment, he registers that he is surprised. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected it - them.

And why should he have? Harry hadn’t mentioned Ginny at all, had he?

Harry had broken it off with her - in public, at a funeral, of all places - and then never mentioned her again. Never intimated he was sad about their relationship ending, or that he missed her, or that he’d hoped they’d be together again when the war ended. It was partially why Ron had blown up on that awful night in that bleeding tent. Harry hadn’t seemed the least bit concerned with Ginny’s safety.

The closest Harry’d come to anything resembling emotion about it all was his last birthday, when Ron had caught them snogging passionately in Ginny’s room - with the door closed. It had seemed callous at the time, to Ron. One last chance to get a snog in before he left her behind.

Harry and Ginny had only been together a few weeks, after all, much shorter than he and Lavender had been. And while, yeah, it was clear they’d liked each other, how deep could it have been, really? Ron had always assumed it had been new and shallow, maybe mostly physical (as much as that thought disgusted him). Like him and Lavender.

But it couldn’t have been, could it, if they’d got back together so quickly?

Just then, Hermione interrupts Ron’s musings by walking in from the kitchen and handing him a warm cup of tea. Ron sees that she’s made it just how he likes it, and smiles at her - she’s always doing thoughtful things like that.

“Thanks,” Ron says, and drops his arm around her shoulders as she squeezes in next to him on the chair. Her presence beside him feels exactly like the perfectly made cup of tea she's just given him - warm, and sweet, and calming.

He looks up again, watches Harry press a kiss to Ginny’s temple and mutter something to her with a soft look on his face, watches them smirk and share some private joke, and all at once, everything he’d thought about them subtly shifts and changes color.

He allows the inkling, the what if to take shape: perhaps Harry and Ginny had always felt like this together - a warm cup of tea in front of the fire. Maybe breaking it off hadn’t been like breaking it off with Lavender had been, but instead had felt like those long cold months after Ron had abandoned Hermione, when Ron had been tortured, wondering whether she was alive, whether he’d ever see her again.

The worst months of his life.

Ron stares at Harry. His best mate. His brother.

Harry hadn’t said anything about Ginny. But then, he hadn’t about Sirius, either, had he? Or his parents. Or Dumbledore. Ron knew that Harry didn’t talk much about his feelings, but he’d always supposed there were some unfathomable losses that you just couldn’t talk about. Having never experienced one himself - well, until now - Ron had thought that might just be the way it was. He assumed he would know if Harry was upset about something else. Something smaller.

But maybe Ginny hadn’t been something smaller, at all.

The thought that Harry might’ve been heartbroken on top of all the rest of the shite they’d gone through last year rankles.

“Harry was cut up when they broke it off, wasn’t he?” Ron mutters to Hermione, jutting his chin toward Harry and Ginny.

Hermione looks at him as though he’s daft, and he might be. “Of course he was.” She glances over to them to confirm they’re not listening, and then whispers, “I used to catch him staring at the Marauders Map all the time, when he was supposed to be on watch. He’d never tell me, but I think he was… you know, keeping an eye on her.”

The image is so pathetic that at first Ron’s inclined to laugh, but he doesn’t. “Blimey,” he says. “I didn’t… I thought he was alright.”

“Well, you know Harry,” Hermione says, but that’s just what’s bothering Ron, because he’s wondering how it’s possible he hadn’t known this. Hermione takes a long sip of her tea, and then adds, “I’m so happy for them, now, though. They’ve got a chance to be normal.”

“Yeah,” Ron agrees, watching as Ginny pokes Harry’s side playfully and Harry grins. “Normal.”

Ron subconsciously monitors Harry and Ginny for the rest of the evening, the pieces slowly falling into place. The mood is dreadful - it always is, these days - and yet it seems that they’ve carved out a little bubble of contentment in the gloom. A clasp of hands, a nudge to the knee, a sidelong smirk - Ron realizes they’re having a second, silent conversation beneath the family chatter. A private one.

The wireless is on, covering the ongoing match between Ballycastle and Falmouth.

“Everton should pull a Krum and catch the Snitch, sod scoring,” Bill says. “Ballycastle needs some dignity.”

“Or,” Ginny interjects, “he could pull a Potter and take a same-side Bludger to the head, miss the rest of the match. Might be kinder.”

“Everton can only dream of pulling a Potter,” Harry says drily.

“You’re right,” Ginny says. “Only I can do that.”

Harry snorts and Ginny shoots him a playful wink while Bill groans. Ron would ordinarily groan too - he’s staunchly opposed to witnessing them flirt with each other on principle - but tonight… tonight it makes him feel something that isn’t quite happiness, but perhaps its cousin.

Because it occurs to him that they’re always doing that - bantering, setting each other up for jokes. They’d been doing that since before they’d got together, only Ron hadn’t thought anything of it then. Now, though, it strikes him as another piece of evidence he’d managed to overlook in the case he’s building: she makes him laugh.

The match ends, and with it any pretense they have for staying awake. They all stand and begin their zombie-like drift off to bed, still in that surreal state where none of the loss seems quite real, like they all might wake up from it all at any moment. But they don’t.

Ron’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth when he hears quiet murmuring in the hall. He slowly lowers his toothbrush, straining to hear.

Harry and Ginny seem to be loitering outside her bedroom, waiting to use the loo, probably.

“--wants me to wake up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to reorganize the attic–”

“The attic?” Harry asks.

“Yeah. Our ghoul put up a real fuss about moving back up there and wrecked it. Got used to living in Ron’s room, I think.”

“Poor bloke.”

“Yeah, mental that anyone would prefer Ron’s room.”

“Have you considered,” Harry asks drily, “that he’s just become a massive Cannons fan?”

Ginny barks out a laugh, and Ron can’t even find it in himself to be offended on behalf of the Cannons.

“Wow,” Ginny snorts. “Maybe we can plaster the attic with Cannon’s posters. Make him feel right at home.”

They laugh, and Ron finishes brushing his teeth. He clatters loudly so that they know he’s in there, just in case.

“‘We’ can plaster the attic…?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ginny says casually. “I reckoned you’d want to help.”

“You reckoned I’d want to get up at, what was it, ‘the crack of dawn’?”

“Before the sun, even.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Ron makes to dry his hands with the towel hanging by the door.

“Because,” Ginny answers, “You love me.”

The towel slips from Ron’s hands and falls with a muffled thump to the floor, so that he nearly misses Harry’s dry reply. “Yeah, fair enough.”

Ron turns his head slowly to stare at the closed door in shock.

“How long is that going to work for, d’you reckon?” Ginny asks.

“Dunno,” Harry says. “Let’s not test it.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

“You‘ll go mad with power.”

“Nah, I won’t,” Ginny dismisses. “I love you, too, so…”

Then there’s a suspiciously long pause that Ron doesn’t care to examine too closely. He’s too dumbfounded, anyway, by the casual admission of love they’d just thrown at each other, clearly not for the first time. He and Hermione hadn’t even said that to one another yet. They weren’t mental - it’d only been a few weeks since the battle.

And yet, here are Harry and Ginny, clearly comfortable enough with it that they’re already at the point of teasing.

The last piece clinks into place, and Ron realizes they must've felt this way for a long time, must've spent the whole sodding war waiting for each other. And he hadn't had any bloody idea.

Ron shakes his head like a waterlogged dog, and then makes a loud clatter of a job of opening the door so they have time to quit snogging or whatever the hell they’re doing before he has to see it.

He finds them with put-upon expressions of innocence on their faces, leaning casually against the wall outside Ginny’s door.

“Took you long enough,” Ginny complains. “What were you doing in there?”

“What were you doing out here?” Ron counters.

“Kissing,” Ginny says flatly, while Harry looks down at his feet. “Had to do something while you powdered your nose.”

Ron rolls his eyes, though he feels less disgruntled than he would ordinarily. “Well get on with it, loo’s open now.”

“Thanks,” says Ginny, not sounding thankful at all. She turns to Harry. “Night, see you at the crack of dawn!”

She stands on her tiptoes and gives him a quick peck, while Ron pointedly looks away. Then, she takes her turn in the bathroom, leaving Harry and Ron in the hall together.

Ron looks up at Harry, noting with some amusement the sheepish, guilty expression on his face. For a moment, an overwhelming desire builds in Ron to say something supremely soppy, like Happy for you, mate or I’m glad you’ve got each other or even Why didn’t you ever mention you were in love with my sister?

But, he thinks better of it, and instead claps Harry gruffly on the shoulder. “G’night, mate.”

“Night.

#hinny #canon compliant #missing dh moment #hinny fluff #ron pov

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howlett-n-morgan · 6 months ago

Text

More Than Words

2. Questions

Logan Howlett x OC!Reader

Series Summary: Having lived for over two hundred years and never having the privilege of human touch is the biggest burden imaginable... until someone comes along with the healing ability to withstand the touch of death.

Chapter Warnings: still a lot for now but: mild language, canon typical violence, mention of murder, death, mutant experimentation, and a depressive episode briefly described. Logan is a warning, especially here

Chapter Summary: The bad dreams have ceased, but many questions lurk in their place, and the meaning behind those dreams is still one of them. In the middle of all the chaos, a few things will come to light.

Word Count: 8.4k

“Of everyone here, I didn’t expect you to be keeping a stash,” he sat down on the edge of your bed, facing your back as you were hunched over the desk, writing sloppily a few notes for tomorrow morning. “I asked Scott and Storm, they had nothin…”

You put your headset on this morning. You usually only used it to drown out everything else when you really needed to. Everyone has noticed except those who don’t know what it means. Those who do, remember the times in which you were at your lowest. Back then you were practically unable to function without the damn headphones over your ears. The last time you even remember wearing them was when you first started teaching here, all the noise and rapid energy being quieted by the music in your head.

After last night, and the confessions made to Logan, he seemed to be open to hearing more from you then… but he kept you at arm’s reach now, and you couldn’t say you didn’t understand why. He’s not just been thrust into the middle of an age-old fight between friends, but he also is struggling with his identity.

You did however learn something interesting after hearing chatter when you woke up. Logan and Scott aren't getting along. Why? Because Logan has been relentlessly flirting with Jean. You’d scoffed when you found out. Not because you don’t think Jean is worthy of such advances, but because he was basically shooting himself in the foot by even trying to take her from Scott.

Jean is a rare bird, and a special person. Charles argues the same thing about everyone who sets foot on the property, but with her, it’s especially true. She’s smarter than most people you know, having gone to a college outside of the education given by Charles and the others. She even attended school alongside you for a while, although it only took you a few semesters to realize you weren’t cut out for the medical field like she was. You have to be able to touch your patients, after all.

She had a lot to offer, and anyone could see that. Even excluding her powers, which were enough to level a city on their own. She was kind, nurturing, and very strategic. All of those things combined with the looks of a super model made her one of the most desirable people in the entire mansion, so even though you and Logan made a connection, you don’t find it hard to see why he’s taken with her.

It may bother you just a little, but you would never admit it to anyone who asked, not even Charles.

All of this is not why you put on your headset, but it could be a contributing factor.

You’ve just met Logan, or at least officially. It stands to reason that you shouldn’t have an inkling of feelings yet. You can’t imagine that would be how it goes. In any rational situation, you have to get to know him. That’s how relationships work.

You remember how it was with Charlie, how it took more than one night of talking late when everyone else was asleep. You got to know him, and got to see his kindness and compassionate heart. You’d seen who he truly was, and it warmed your heart and soul, despite not being able to touch him. You don’t know Logan yet, but you imagine he’s not as soft and kind, nor gentle or compassionate. He seems like sort of a lone wolf, and the type to push away everything except for what he’s got his eyes set on. You don’t even know if the connection you made was real, or if he was just looking for company…

He has nightmares, but you don’t know why. It’s only one relation, that’s all. Maybe he’d only asked you to stay because he was frightened of them, just like you are of yours.

You’d gone back to your room near the hours of sunrise, and fell back asleep before your alarm woke you, but you were still exhausted, and wondered if he was facing the same conundrum. It was only when you went to ask him about it that he became colder to you than the night before. He’d given a stiff answer and gone about his morning, which you were confused by, since he wasn’t a student, nor a teacher.

You passed him in the halls throughout the day, and nodded to him with a sweet smile. He doesn’t really return it, just kept walking. You think that maybe he just didn’t see you, or was on his way to do something else and couldn’t pay attention, but then at dinner he refuses to look at you, and you can’t for the life of you understand why.

You decide to block him out, to deal with the more pressing matters. The school, the mutant rebellion, and Rogue, the newest recruit.

She’s like you in a few ways, and you feel sorry for her. You hope that by passing on some stories that maybe she can find hope in her powers. They are a gift and a curse, but she holds them wonderfully well already.

You found her on the back balcony, overlooking the gardens. She’d been sitting alone for about an hour, but didn’t seem to be bothered, just enjoying the peace. You debated whether or not you should disrupt it, but the second she heard you behind her, she turned.

You had been organizing things back where they go, following the mess of mutant children to try and keep the house in good shape, and now that you’d found yourself with her, you wanted to say a few things. You peeled your headset off and sat beside her, offering a smile first. Her energy felt stiff, like she’d been unwelcome where she was.

“You settled in yet?”

She shrugged, unsure of what to say. Even in a place full of people like her, she was an outsider. “I guess I’m getting there.”

It was silent for a moment, and you sensed her energy was low and draining. She must have been sad, or angry, or even flat our forlorn about her powers and the danger they hold.

“Y’know, when I first found out about my powers, it was the worst day of my life,” you started, but quickly followed up, knowing the words were not inspiring. “They are a blessing and a curse, but for most of my life they were a curse… until the Professor found me. Now, I’ve learned to use them to help people. You can, too.”

It should have helped, but her feelings on the power she held didn’t waver, she just wanted to know what she was in for, and you knew better than anyone what she would face.

“Did you ever… hurt anyone?” she asked sincerely, turning to face you but managing the distance. Both your touches were lethal and dangerous.

“Yeah,” you sighed, looking out to the gardens and hoping that the serene ambience would keep you in a good state of mind. “Most of them were the people closest to me. Always an accident, but still a deadly one.”

“I’m sorry,” she dropped her head, unsure of herself now, too. She didn’t know how to control it, or even subdue it. It may not even be possible.

“Don’t be sorry, it was a long time ago… I’m a lot more careful now.”

“They told me how old you were, how long you’ve been around…” she trailed, looking for a good way to ask such a terrible question. “How have you lived that long without being able to touch the people you love?”

You understood why she was asking. Of course, she was concerned about her future, but also her present. She’s a runaway, who’s left her entire family because of her ability. She must be feeling the lonesomeness that all mutants inevitably face at one point in their lives.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying not to become emotional. You’ve loved many people in your lifetime, many people you’ve lost early, or at the right time, but you could never go with them. You can’t seem to die, but everyone else does when you need them the most. “I think that being here is really what saved me. Not only knowing there are others like me, but knowing I can have a family who doesn’t fear me, doesn’t judge me. Even knowing all the things I’ve done.”

“You didn’t do them on purpose, did you?”

“No,” you shook your head. “But I’m still responsible for them, for the people I’ve killed.”

You’ve killed people. How many, she doesn’t know, but she feels as though you’re the only person that can understand her. That can understand being afraid of herself and what she can do to others. She knows that you’ve probably gone decades and decades just trying to learn how to be more careful, and that she’ll have to learn, too.

“You said you’d hurt people you love… what happened?”

This was a very soft spot for you. Even after a century, it was still an open wound. Something that would never fully heal, because there was no way to achieve closure over it. What’s lost is gone, and your powers were the cause.

“I was engaged once,” you dropped your gaze to your lap, looking at your hands and the way they were so well fitted with the green gloves. You practically never took them off.

“Engaged?”

“Yeah, engaged. I’d somehow managed to find the single man in the entire universe that didn’t require me to touch him to achieve his affection…” You trailed, trying not to go into detail. Searching for a small distraction, you fiddled with the hem of your sweater, pulling loose threads to ignore the sad memories. “I touched him by accident.”

“And he died?” She widened her eyes, both upset for you and becoming more afraid of herself. She doesn’t want to fall in love, not if she’s going to hurt that person eventually.

“He did,” you wiped your hand over your eyes before any tears could even fall, and then let it rest back in your lap. “But you’re not gonna make the same mistake that I did, I promise. I’ll help you.”

“You will?” Her eagerness to accept the assistance was clear. “Thank you.”

“Of course… and don’t give up hope. There could be someone out there that can withstand your powers just as they are.”

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to offer such things to her, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Her brow furrowed, unsure if what you were saying was true. From your earlier words, you’ve been around a long time and it’s never happened for you. “Sounds impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” you told her, standing up from beside her on the bench. “Nothing is impossible.”

You left her on that note, and went back inside.

On your way up to bed, you caught Logan in the hallway. You gave a tight lipped smile on the way to your door, expecting him to be cold like he was throughout the day… but he fell into stride next to you, walking to his own door.

“You guys got anything good to drink around here?” he asked, partially as a joke, but usually never going without a drink for more than a day was catching up to him.

“This is a school, Logan,” you turned to him with a laugh and a light smile. Maybe he’d struck out with Jean and was off her coattails now.

“Well I can see that, but I figured with a limited number of adults chasing after a million kids, someone’s gotta be drinking at the end of the day,” he leaned against his door frame, and you had completely turned to face him, neglecting your door knob which you had reached for originally.

You huffed a sigh, shaking your head at him. You may or may not have a bottle of Jack hidden where no one can find it. If anyone in this hell hole had a reason to drink it was you, but you never did it in front of the kids, or nearly anyone else. You reckon Charles or Ororo would march up to you if they found out, voicing their concern.

“Stay quiet, and don’t say a word about this to anyone…” You opened the door, letting him follow you in before closing it and locking the knob. “Under the bed, back right corner.”

You allowed him to go fishing for it himself, going to your desk in the corner to make sure you were caught up on everything and prepared for tomorrow’s history quiz before you settled in for the night. He’d already been ready for bed, seemingly just roaming the halls and looking for alcohol at this late hour.

“I surprised you, huh?” you ask, not even throwing a look over your shoulder. You may have an interest in this man, but since you started teaching here you were always efficient, and that wasn’t going to stop now.

“Yeah, a little,” he chuckled, taking swigs straight from the bottle. It had been more than half full the last time you drank from it, so there was a decent amount. “You just seem like the innocent one.”

This made you drop what you were doing and spin your chair around. “Innocent?”

He smirked at your furrowed brows, but having known of your mutation, he was willing to guess everything and even bet on it. “I believe that’s what I said.”

You tilted your head at him, the look on your face making him grin even more.

“I don’t think I like that word,” you leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest and thinking of all the reasons why. “I’ve done and seen things that would be considered unfathomable to other people.”

“I don’t mean how dangerous you are, I mean how corrupted you are,” he kept on, another swig taken from the bottle. “And I think you’re innocent.”

“I still don’t like it,” you shook your head, laughing a little and reaching for the bottle, which he was all too happy to hand over, fingers brushing your gloved hands. “I prefer inexperienced.”

“Does it matter? It means the same thing,” he argued, watching you take a nice lengthy drink of the whiskey in your hand.

“It does matter, actually,” you were all too happy to correct him. “Innocence implies that my mind is pure of corruption, but really, I’ve just never been able to do the things I’ve thought about.”

He rolled his eyes, taking back the bottle and trying to keep up with you. He pointed to your head with a swirling finger. “Yeah right, I’m sure you’re just all kinds of perverted up there.”

You just giggled and looked at him for a moment. He was funny, he was handsome, and he was clearly interested in your favorite choice of alcohol. Just more things to connect on, you supposed. Maybe feelings weren’t so far down the road, after all.

You blinked out of it when you realized you’d been looking at his bare arms for too long, the beater he wore left little to the imagination as to how fit he was, and it was a nice view to take in, but not this late, and certainly not with a bottle of Jack.

“I should be getting to bed soon, big test tomorrow…” you trailed, standing up and going to the door. It was late, no one else should be awake, but you still wanted to make sure. “You can take the whiskey for the road, if you want.”

“I’ll get you another one,” he returned, knowing that by the end of the night, the bottle was likely to be empty. He’d not had Jack Daniel’s in a while, so he was grateful for the favor.

“No need,” you shook your head as he met you in the doorway, peering down and clearly shadowing you under his tall form. You had to take a breath and smile to break the tension you felt, as it was thick and heated. “I really should stop drinking here, anyway.”

“I’m happy to pick it up in your place,” he smirked, still standing right in front of you. If anyone had stepped out of their room, they’d see how close he was looming.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” You asked hopefully, knowing full well that he could respond with an empty promise, and still be cold to you as he was today.

“Yeah, I’ll see you.”

And he left without another word.

You awoke in the middle of the night to chaos in the hallway. You were surprised not to be plagued with nightmares for once, but the screams of your next door neighbor didn’t exactly settle you back into your pillows. You heard footsteps outside your door, and when you sat up, Ororo opened the door without knocking, the urgency of whatever situation that had happened started to set in.

“There’s been an accident,” she looked to you with an expression of fear and shock, leaving the doorway as soon as she could see you were scrambling to your feet.

You could feel the energy, it was all over the place. Kids were scared, and so were some of the adults, Ororo being one of them. You ran into the room, avoiding the touch of everyone you passed by, and stared at the scene playing out.

“What happened?” you rushed over to where Jean and Scott were hovering over Logan, his unconscious body thrown over the bed and seemingly in a state of paralysis.

“Rogue, she touched him,” Jean was working the best she could to try and keep him from death’s door, but even with her skilled hands, she looked afraid. “He’s fading quickly, she may have drained too much of his regeneration.”

You tried to think quickly on your feet. She drained his regenerative energy, but you could restore it. The manipulation of energy was clearly something you were all too familiar with, but you were afraid if his regeneration was too low that he might die from your mutation.

If he’s already going to die, you’re going to do the only thing you know how to try and save him.

“Jean, move,” you reach for him, and she practically dives out of the way of your bare hands.

“You’ll kill him!”

“Just trust me,” you said, your hands finding his shoulders. You heard gasps behind you when your skin met his, and they all started whispering, assuming that if he wasn’t dead before, he definitely was now.

You focused your energy on him, using what was inside of you and around you to build back up what had been inside of him. His mutation, his strength and endurance, and most of all, his healing capability.

“Alice, he’s dead,” Scott nearly scolded you, shaking his head. He wasn’t fond of the man, but that didn’t mean he wished him to die… and now he had, by your hand or Rogue he wasn’t sure. “What did you do?”

You ignored him, and all the ones whispering behind you. You could feel his life force, like a branch in the air around you, reaching out just the smallest bit, but not strong enough to hold growth yet. You were slowly building it, letting it stretch out until his own body could take it from there.

When he took a sharp inhale of breath and his chest started to rise and fall again, everyone nearly fell over out of shock. No one said a word yet, because they were too stunned to speak.

Logan was still in bad condition, but you trusted that his healing could help him out from here. You pulled him onto your lap, head resting against your body as you felt for a steady pulse, and saw the color returning to his hands and arms.

“I got you,” you whispered, holding him close. This was the first person that you’d ever been able to save with your touch, as before, it killed everyone who came across it.

“Alice?” Jean called from behind your shoulder, her mouth still agape and her eyes wide. “Alice!”

You looked to her, only slightly fearful that she may tell Charles about this, and then you’ll be in for an earful. He was the hand that guided you along the terrible pathways of your life, but he was also the one who reprimanded you when need be.

“He’s alright,” you promised her, but she still didn’t come closer. Scott however, was completely baffled and had a million questions.

“How did you do that? You can’t touch anyone-”

“I can touch him,” you answered shortly, your arms still wrapped tight around his limp form. “Just him.”

Jean shook her head and snapped out of her train of thought. There was too much to be asked, but this was not the time for it. Logan still needed more treatment, despite the help you gave. You stood up to accommodate her, keeping your eyes on Logan and making sure he was still okay. You could feel his energy restacking, like building blocks in the air around you.

“Start talking,” Scott pressed, the urgent situation now overshadowed by a need for answers. Ororo joined Scott in front of you, her expression holding more than just shock at this point. She looked nearly excited, but you couldn’t say why.

“I know him,” you said, trying to start slowly, but knowing the two of them, it wouldn;t be good enough. “When Striker had us, he got Logan, too. He doesn’t remember it, but he saved my life… yours too, Scott.”

“That…” he trailed, shaking his head. He’d done the same thing that you’d done. He blocked it out of his memory. That didn’t mean that it didn’t happen. You just had a better reason to remember it. “That can’t be possible… he’s touched you before?”

“He practically dragged me out of that cell,” you told him, and he recalled the day of the mutant prison break. He remembers a man helping them, but never imagined it could have been Logan.

“How is it possible? I’ve seen you drop some of the most powerful mutants where they stand, no one survives being touched by you,” Ororo was the one to pitch in this time, her question not so much one of what, but how?

“His regenerative ability. The way Charles used to explain my powers to me, he said to think of my skin like a radioactive energy poison. When such a poison is absorbed into one’s body it can cause it to shut down. My powers work the same way, just a thousand times stronger and faster. The thing is,” you pointed behind you, where Logan was slowly gaining small bits of health. “His regen mutation never allows my energy to be absorbed… I can’t kill him.”

“Scott?” Jean called from the ground, trying and failing to lift Logan on her own. “Gonna need a little help here. I need him in the med bay.”

Scott shook off the conversation, focusing on the matter at hand.

When Jean and Scott got Logan through the crowd of kids, they all dispersed back to their rooms. The only two remaining were you and Ororo.

She stared at you for a moment, wondering if you were going to leave, but then watched as you shuffled around in Logan’s things, looking for what you leant to him. You were hoping by some miracle that there would be some left.

“Aha,” you let out, grabbing the bottle from inside the dresser drawer, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. There wasn’t much, but there was enough to ease your mind at this late hour. “Want some?”

“You really think this is a good time to be drinking?” she scoffed, crossing her arms and watching you fall back onto the foot of his bed.

“I think it’s the perfect time to be drinking,” you held it out to her, wondering if she’d actually take it.

She tried to keep her adult habits outside of the school, but these were tumultuous times, and she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to allow it under the circumstances.

Out of the silence, she turned to you, right as you took your next slow gulp of the smooth liquor.

“So,” her pause and sigh were unneeded. You knew what she was about to be getting on about. “You can touch him…”

“Yep,” you looked at her, a thin lipped smile on your face. You really didn’t have much else to say, but she did.

“I know you never got over Charlie,” she spoke gently, not wanting to pinch a nerve, or bring up bitterness in a moment like this. The calm after the storm, no pun intended. “But maybe this is your chance…”

“A chance to what?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” she leaned into your eyeline, still careful to stray from any of your exposed skin.

“Yeah,” you muttered, “I know.” And then with the last swig in the bottle, you felt the warmth of the drink, and the tiniest bit of a buzz. “I don’t think Logan’s that kinda guy.”

“You don’t think he’d commit to a relationship?”

“I don’t think he’d commit to me,” you corrected, shrugging your shoulders. You wished you had more to drink after that revelation, but unfortunately, this empty bottle contained the only bit of alcohol on the entire property.

“He seems loyal, maybe you just need to know him better,” she encouraged, bumping her clothed shoulder with yours. Always a kind gesture, one of friendship and to show she held no fear of you like others did.

“He doesn’t even know himself,” you chuckled a little. It may have been a bit of a mean joke to make, because you can’t even imagine how hard it is for him, but still you laugh, because you know him better than he does. “I know who he was that day.”

“When he saved you?”

“Yeah, saved everyone,” you dropped your head, focusing on your hands and trying to keep your mind from falling down any bunny trails. “He was a hero. I think he still might be.”

“You should tell him that.”

“I did,” you chuckled, tossing the whiskey bottle back into the soft pillows of the bed to rid your hands of it. “He didn’t believe a word I was telling him…”

She sighed, knowing that with your stubbornness, and your fear of hurting people, you may opt to keep him at arms length, regardless of his ability to touch you. She knew about Charlie, and what you did to him. She knew you’d sworn off love since that day, over a hundred years ago… but she still had hope that this could turn into a part of your happiness.

“Don’t give up on him so fast, alright?” She asked, her eyes turning to that of a puppy dog, pulling at your heart and nearly making you comply.

“I won’t.”

Rogue went missing the next day, and while you’d been chomping at the bit to find her, you were unfortunately called to the office of the professor. You wondered if you were in for a stern talking to after the previous night’s events.

“Take a seat,” he began, staring out the open window at the setting sun, and the children on property who were playing in the grass before dark.

You did as you were told, not because you wanted to, but because you respected Charles enough to listen to whatever diatribe he was about to drone on.

“I’ve had quite a few people visit my office today on your account,” he turned his chair around, his face not one of disappointment like you thought it would be. He didn’t look upset at all, nor did he look like he was going to reprimand you for being careless with your abilities. “I must say, I was surprised to hear of what happened.”

“I know it was careless of me,” you defended, unknowing if it was even necessary, but wanting to cover your bases, anyways. “But I can explain.”

“There’s no need to put up an argument, my dear.”

“There’s not?”

He chuckled and shook his head, a small smile spreading over his cheeks. “Not at all. In fact, I’m actually quite happy for you.”

“Happy for me?” you asked another question, the reasoning for your visit becoming more unclear.

“I know how long you’ve suffered,” he sighed, his tone returning to something more serious. “I have felt your anger and bitterness towards your abilities. I’ve sensed your hatred of them for years.”

“That was before,” you tried to interject, to tell him how thankful you were for his training. “But you taught me they were not just a curse, but also a blessing.”

“And do you really think I believe you when you say it? Miss Beckett, I’ve known you more than half my life… I can read your mind without entering it by now.”

You knew that if anyone could understand you it was him. You could feel other’s energy, but when he entered someone’s mind he could feel that and so much more. He could feel emotions, think that person’s thoughts, and even see what they see.

“You knew all this time, then?”

“I did,” he nodded, but didn’t stop there. “I knew that no matter what I did, it wouldn’t change your burdens.”

You ducked your head, thinking back to the times you’d lied, telling everyone that things were better. Truthfully, as a person you felt less alone, less hated and less dangerous… but you never felt loved. You couldn’t. No one could, or wanted to touch you, knowing your mutation.

“Scott told me about Logan, how you’d all met once before,” he said, turning the conversation back around to that of a better note. “When you’d repressed the memories of what Agent Striker had done, you’d forgotten him… but you didn’t forget what he did for you, and you didn’t forget a special detail.”

“He touched me,” you filled in the blank, waiting for him to continue.

“Precisely.”

“I think…” you trailed, unsure of where this chat was going to lead. If Ororo had come to him, you were sure the thoughts exchanged the night before had come up, even if it was just meant to help you. “I think he may have feelings for… someone else.”

Charles nodded, he’d not purposely looked into Logan’s mind, but when Jean was stirring restlessly in the late evening, he took a peek inside hers, seeing the struggle to combat Logan and his advances.

“I understand,” he responded, but thought it was worth mentioning what he knew. “But his advances are pointless.”

“I still don’t want to get my hopes up,” you reasoned, a good point to be made considering his behavior towards you. “I’m getting too old for shit like this, you know?”

His understanding went without saying, he remembers your past, and knows of the only person you ever truly loved. It was a story for the ages with a tragic ending that would even make the bravest of men shed a tear.

“Of course.”

You waited for him to dismiss you, and when he nodded to you in finality, you stood up from your seat.

“Stay open minded, my dear, you don’t know where your path may lead.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, giving him a smile as you left the room.

“Thank you, Charles.”

First Ororo, and now Charles. Your biggest cheerleaders since they met you… you love them both, and want to listen to them, but you are older therefore wiser, and must protect yourself from things that aren’t good for you. Everyday you grow older but your face and body stay the same. Your mentality weakens when you realize you’ve still got so much life to live, and it burdens you more when you struggle to live it alone. Having someone by your side would be the answer to your every prayer, the reason you could keep going. But you know you can’t endure another heartbreak, you won’t survive it.

It’s been days, nearly a week. Your mind is frazzled, and you think that maybe it’s time for a break. A quiet time to let your mind rest and restore itself.

So much has happened, and you can’t put your finger on what was the most stressful part of it all. The quickness, the escalation, the chaos… or what it almost cost you.

Erik is temporarily defeated, but you know he’ll keep at it in the future. There were several mutants in his gathering that were unapprehended after the final battle. It will make for an interesting hunt that the X-men get to pursue.

One of which you wouldn't mind letting go about her business for a while. You knew Mystique when she went by Raven.

So much has changed since then, and you've changed with the time gone by.

There's still something on your mind after everything that's happened this week, and of course that something is Logan. His past, his present, and what he wants to do with his future.

He’s an X-man now, a part of the team and a member of the mutant family… but he searches for who he is, and you can sympathize with that, especially because of what he did for you. He didn’t just do it for you, but with the state you were in, he could have passed your cell, given up on you. Instead, he practically carried you out of that prison, never knowing how lethal your touch was. He saved you and gave you the greatest gift you’d received. Hope. A fresh start. The thought that life didn’t have to be such a burden.

The kids were settled in early this evening, after the late night that was pulled the day prior, they needed to catch up on their rest… but Logan was having a hard time sleeping. You were, too.

It was about eleven when he came knocking on the door, softly so nobody else would hear him. Ororo was behind the door next over from yours, her light on beneath the slit in that door, and he mentally kicked himself for even doing this at all, so late at night.

When you cracked open your own door, peeking through to see who it was, you were surprised at the man standing in the doorway.

“Logan? What are you doing up? It’s late…”

“Yeah, I know,” he whispered, just above the level you were speaking at, voice barely audible. “I wanted to talk to you.”

You were unsure of what there was to talk about, really. It had been radio silence since the mission, and you figured he wanted some space after something like that… it wasn’t unusual for an X-man, but you didn’t know him as well, so you didn’t know what you were supposed to expect.

“Can I come in?” he asked, and it was only now that you realized you’d been frozen in your spot, a furrowed brow worn on your face.

“Yeah, sorry.”

You closed the door behind him when he passed through, going back to your bed to sit down. He followed suit, and it was nearly a reverse image of the first night he arrived.

“I wanted to thank you,” he cleared his throat, trying to sound grateful. “For saving my life. Jean told me what you did.”

You smiled a little and scoffed, shaking your head and waving him off. “Don’t thank me… I actually endangered your life.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I? Whatever you did, it saved me.”

“I had no idea that it would, it could have gone either way,” you argued, not for the sake of being right, but because you didn’t want him to think you’d done something extraordinary or heroic. You were actually being quite selfish in your actions.

“You like to argue a lot, huh?” he teased, remembering the last one on one conversation you both had. You would admit, you didn’t like being wrong. You’d gotten it in your head that after being alive for so long, you ought to know more than everyone.

“Well, I am a lawyer,” you shrugged, a slight smirk on your face. You’d never practiced in a firm, or even got a law related job, but you liked to remind people of it here and there, it was always entertaining.

“I noticed that certificate on your wall the other night, noticed em’ all, actually…” he trailed, throwing a glance over his shoulder to check and make sure they were all still there. He’d come to the conclusion that you were intelligent the first time you met, your dialect being very formal for the age he thought you were… but above that, you carried yourself in a way that spoke to being knowledgeable.

“Oh, those?” you laughed, tilting your head and making a silly face in their direction. “Those are nothing, just reminders of all the times I’ve been bored.”

“Bored? You’re kidding me,” he mused, crossing his arms and chuckling.

“Maybe I also wanted to better myself a little,” you answered truthfully, rolling your eyes after getting it out. He didn’t seem like the scholarly type. Not a bad thing by any means, but you were sure his abilities far accelerated him in other occupations before he ended up here.

“Well whatever the reason, you’ve clearly done good,” he complimented, and you were certainly not complaining. Getting compliments from your friends, from your mutant family, it uplifted you… but getting a compliment from him? It felt different, more weighted. “And whatever you did to save me, that was good too.”

“I didn’t even know it would work,” you huffed, looking down at your hands. You hadn’t touched him since he came in, and you weren’t sure if it was because you were doing so purposely, or if you just hadn’t gotten the opportunity. “I honestly thought I might kill you faster…”

“Then why would you have tried it?” He couldn’t believe you. A smart girl like you, with the power you held? It seemed out of character to make a decision like that.

“Honestly?” you raised your brows, thinking of a sentence that didn’t sound weird, or selfish. “I was scared you were gonna die before I could know you.”

He tilted his head slightly in confusion. “You want to know me?”

“I do,” you nodded with a sheepish smile. Thank God for the darkness in the room, because you’re sure your face is turning red. “I mean, it’s not everyday that I meet someone I can shake hands with, so…”

He laughed a little, reaching out playfully for a handshake. You smiled wide, taking his hand and giving it a nice firm shake. You’ve shaken hands when wearing gloves, but it’s just not the same. You’ve touched others while wearing them, too. But the skin contact you’ve always been deprived of, it’s something that sends chills down your spine, no matter how simple the gesture is. Even just a handshake.

“I’d like you to know me too, but there’s just one problem with that,” he sighs, shaking his head in a bit of something akin to sadness. “I don’t know me.”

You can’t stand to see that look on his face. His hand was still wrapped around yours, now resting on his knee and near your lap. An idea springs to your mind, and though it’s a terrible one, you think about all the good it could produce in the long run.

“What if I could help you remember?” You suggested, grabbing his attention almost immediately. “You’ve said you don’t remember anything past fifteen years ago… that’s when you saved me from Striker.”

“You think you could help me?”

“I can try, I owe it to you.” Your reasoning made him turn the idea over in his head, but he wasn’t sure of how you planned to help him, exactly. “Something must have happened that day to make you forget… we can go back to the base, look for answers, see if anything triggers your memories?”

It was a bold move, but you had to take it. No matter what happened the other night, you still owe him your life, and this could be a way to even the playing field.

“You’d take me there?” he asked sincerely, a bit surprised that you would even offer, considering what he knew of your time in that prison. You shouldn’t want to return at all, but what’s worse is you want to do it for him.

“I would… If you want me to.”

He grinned, his look of bewilderment still laced in. “I would be grateful, if you could.”

“It’s settled then.”

He nodded to you, and you both gave a glance to the door. It was time to say goodnight, though you wanted him to stay and talk till sunrise. You had so many questions, about him, about his life since Striker, and even about his abilities… but it would have to wait till another time.

He got up, and you followed, getting to the door before you heard voices outside of it.

“It’s Ororo,” you sighed, turning to him and huffing. “I don’t know who she’s talking to…”

“I better not let her see me sneaking around this late,” he said, looking back at you with a comical expression. “I have a feeling that she’ll tattle on me.”

“You’re right, she would.” You stood with your ear to the door, hearing that the other voice in the hall was Jean. They were talking about you, and you figured it was not a good time to let the Wolverine go traipsing out of your room. “You know, you don’t have to go… if you don’t want to. You could just stay here tonight.”

His smirk held a bout of confidence before he spoke, “You sure I’m not crowding your space?”

“I’ve got plenty of room,” You nodded to the queen bed you’d stood up from. In all truthfulness, it was a big bed to sleep in alone, and you’d been forced to for over a decade. “You also just happen to be the only person who wouldn’t die if I accidentally kicked you in the middle of the night.”

He laughed, nodding his head. He didn’t want to leave in the first place, he just felt like maybe he’d been imposing. Tough luck on that, because if you had your way, he’d stay longer than just the night.

“With an argument like that, how can I say no?”

“I might not sleep for a while, though… so if you wanna turn in, be my guest,” you sat back on the bed, shoving your walkman with the headphones to your side so he could settle in next to you.

“Couldn’t really sleep already, that's why I came here in the first place.” He started eyeballing the walkman, scooting in closer to where you sat, legs crossed and back against your pillows and headboard. “You got music?”

“Oh, uh… yeah, just a little mixtape I’ve been listening to.”

You’d just rewound the tape earlier, and almost put it over your ears when you found you couldn’t sleep. Maybe it would have settled the noise in your brain… but Logan seemed to do a pretty good job of that, too.

“May I?” He gently reached for the set, and your heart stuttered in beat when you saw the sweet look in his eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” You handed it over with a smile, no hesitation, even though this new mixtape was built primarily on the feelings for him you’d been fighting. “It’s mostly just girl stuff…”

He put the headphones on and started listening, and you felt a bit awkward just watching him listen to the music, unsure if he would piece anything together or not.

The first song played was Fields of Gold by Sting… just a soft ballad that made you think of what life might be like if things were different.

By the second song, you pulled the plug of the headphones, letting the music play softly through the speaker instead so you could both hear it. It felt much better when you could listen to the music yourself. Music always calmed you down, made you feel more at ease.

You helped him fast forward through some of the songs he seemed bored during, but he stopped you on a few, nodding his head and smiling as the music filled his ears.

“You like this one?” You asked, watching him start tapping his fingers to the song I Was Made For Lovin’ You by Kiss.

“This is my kinda music, right here,” he laughed, letting loose a little, breaking down his tough exterior just slightly so you could see the softness lurking behind.

The noise from outside your door had long gone, but Logan didn’t seem eager to leave whatsoever… you did after all invite him to stay.

When the song Wicked Game came on, you opted to skip it, and he grabbed the tips of your fingers to pull your hand away and ask why. The intro kept playing, the somber guitar filling the air between you.

“It’s a sad song, kinda haunting,” you explained, but the real reason you were trying to skip it was because you’d rewound this one a bit too much when thinking about him, the lyrics seeming to match up to every time you looked at him the way you were now. “It’s not as fun as the others.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, taking the walkman and holding it so that you couldn’t skip the song yet.

World was on fire, and no one could save me but you

Strange what desire will make foolish people do

You looked up at him and he seemed to really be into the music, but his brow was furrowed, like he was thinking about it in real time.

I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you

You had to look away from him for a moment, your face turning red and your eyes falling to your lap.

And I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you

No, I don’t wanna fall in love

No, I don’t wanna fall in love… with you

You took a glance back up, seeing his face and the way it seemed to turn almost upset by the lyrics. You almost thought about reaching for the walkman, but his death grip on it looked too strong to break.

“The next one is pretty good,” you smiled, trying to lighten the mood. He broke out of his trance and nodded, handing the device back to you.

The smooth and laid back energy returned to the room, and you could feel the peace of it engulfing you as you absorbed the energy from the air. It fed you, made you stronger, happier.

You couldn’t even help yourself by the time it got to the end of the playlist, the last song making you quietly sing aloud in front of someone you barely know… which was strange considering you wouldn’t even sing in front of your dearest and closest friends.

The song just did that to you… it used to remind you of a love you once lost, but because of the lyrics, you were starting to associate the beautiful melody with another face. The one looking back at you with a small lip tug of a smile.

The song in question? More Than Words by Extreme.

You didn’t look at him when you sang it, because you were already falling too hard, too fast. You needed to slow down… but just thinking about the lyrics…

More than words, is all you have to do to make it real

Touching someone for the first time is more than words can express… sitting side by side with someone without fear of hurting them means more than words could possibly say.

When the song ended you stopped the tape, setting it to rewind and putting it over on your bedside table.

“Not bad… that last one, I’ve heard it a few times somewhere else. It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, I like it better than the others,” you said jokingly, as if he couldn’t already tell by how easily the words came out of your mouth. “Saved the best for last, right?”

“I’d say so,” he wouldn’t look anywhere else but you, and you felt so powerless under his stare. You were folding in record time, and honestly at this point, you’d count it as a miracle if you made it out of this night without ruining it all.

“You tired yet?” you asked, changing the subject and pulling back your sheets.

“I’m getting there…”

His soft and pretty hazel eyes were starting to make you wish you’d not invited him. He was making this difficult. You wanted to know him, and not just physically. There would be time for that, but you had to wait and make sure he was the one. You weren’t willing to let yourself love him to the ends of the earth if you weren’t going to be able to keep him. It would just haunt you for the rest of your long and burdened life.

“Me too, but uh… I’m gonna try and finish my book,” you smiled, reaching for the novel on your bedside table. Fahrenheit 451. “So, just turn in whenever you’re tired.”

He debated asking you about the book, but ultimately decided that he’d bothered you enough for one night. It seemed like something he might research himself, if it was something you like. You obviously have good taste in music, maybe he ought to give reading the same books as you a try.

He’d never admit it, because it wasn’t like him to do such a thing, but he liked being around you. Liked touching you. The energy you gave off was pleasant, and every time your skin connected, he absorbed a little bit of it from you. Something that would kill anyone else, he got to experience first hand.

He smiled and lied down, giving a glance over his shoulder before he settled in. Your bed was warmer than his, more comfortable, too. “G’night, Alice.”

Your grin compared to his was like a young schoolgirl, completely and utterly lovestruck for the boy you met last week.

“Night, Logan.”

Tags: @ayamenimthiriel @levislegislation @reidsworld @melsunshine @clairealeehelsing

#logan howlett fluff #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #logan xmen #logan wolverine #x men wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #hugh jackman #x men

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runnning-outof-time · 1 year ago

Text

I’m (Not) Alright with a Slow Burn | Tommy Shelby x Reader headcanons

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader (headcanons)

Summary: How Tommy would go about being stuck in a slow burn with someone he's falling for.

Warnings: mention of death of grandmother, slight season 2 spoilers

Word Count: 2537

A/N: I really enjoyed this request! umm…I’m not sure if these are 100% written like headcanons - I wrote them like I was spewing out ideas lol. Kacey Musgraves’s song Slow Burn was also running through my head while I was writing this, hence the title. Also how the hell do you actually spell headcanons?? Is there 1 ‘n’ or 2?? Lol . Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you want to be tagged!

• (Y/N) was one of the few Shelby Company Ltd. employees that Tommy didn't hire. She was brought on board while he and the boys were off at one of the races. Polly saw the potential in her and immediately welcomed her into the company.

• when Tommy returned from said races, he was pleasantly surprised to meet her.

• and Polly clocked that immediately. She was able to tell by the lack of a fight - Tommy was always able to find something to pick at when she made decisions within the company, no matter how minuscule. But there was nothing to pick at with (Y/N).

• Polly also wasn't surprised to see (Y/N) completing more and more tasks that came directly from Tommy. They'd be tasks that Polly hadn't even known about...but for some reason Tommy trusted (Y/N) with them.

• (Y/N) didn't think anything different about it. She'd been hired into the company and one of her bosses was asking her to do things. That's what was supposed to happen, right?

• although she did find it odd that it was Tommy asking her to do these things when she'd originally been hired to help Polly with sorting out the books and the like.

• things persisted like that for a few months. (Y/N) would happily and eagerly help him with whatever he needed to have done around the company. He'd look out for her, making sure that she was happy in her position and just in general. And in return, (Y/N) would (try) to keep up the same for him. She'd show that in the smallest of ways and attempts, but he would notice. Over those few months and because of those small acts, Tommy's thoughts and feelings towards (Y/N) evolved.

• he can still remember the day when that switch began - because it haunted him every day after.

• she came into his office like it was any other day for her...but it wasn't any other day for Tommy.

• he'd been working under Campbell for a few weeks at that point, and it'd become apparent that he'd be dead at the end of the arrangement. Tommy wasn't afraid to die, but the thought of getting everything in order and making sure his family could go on without him was now plaguing his mind.

• so when (Y/N) asked him what he had for her to do today, Tommy rattled off his list without as much as looking up at her. He was fully expecting her to turn and exit the second he finished speaking.

• she didn't. Silence reigned for a moment or two before "are you ok, Tommy?" came quietly from her. This made Tommy look up, and when he did, all of the noise in his mind ceased. Sure he looked at her before - he'd looked up like this thousands of times, but he never saw her like he did when he looked up this time. It was this otherworldly experience that he'd only been through twice before. Which meant he knew exactly what was happening.

• even though he brushed her question off and told her that he was fine, he hoped that things wouldn't change between them.

• and thankfully they didn't because hell, Tommy Shelby was certain that he was falling in love.

• he began testing the waters carefully at first. (Y/N) was a good woman and he wasn't about to make her leave the company due to his actions. He couldn't stand to lose her.

• so he started by making sure she was being heard; by actually listening to her whenever she'd share ideas or tell him how things played out with what he'd asked her to do.

• then he emphasized making sure that she was safe - having blinders on her block, sticking around on the days where she and Polly would be in the shop tallying the winnings, and also personally offering to take her wherever she needed to go.

• (Y/N) reacted bashfully to these offers. She felt that the other company employees would think that she was getting special treatment or something — well...she kind of was...but she deeply appreciated Tommy doing these things.

• in regards to feelings, Tommy was putting his out there as best as he could (which, well I'll let you be the one to decide on how well that is) He really tried to make a more personal connection with her; to get to know her as her and not just another employee...and in turn he let her know him.

• (Y/N) stayed professional. He was one of her bosses after all. But she couldn't deny that she enjoyed being in his presence. Her friends found that crazy, too...how can she be happy to be spending time with Tommy Shelby? She swore it off as strictly work related until she couldn't anymore.

• the evening started like any other...(Y/N) went home after work with the intention of doing what she did every other evening. But something was waiting for her at home. Something that turned her world upside-down. She found out that her grandmother had passed away. The post had come and one of the letters was from a sibling of hers, sharing the news. She didn't know what to do.

• after exhausting all of her options, she found herself at the Garrison. Tommy had invited her there in the past, but she never accepted it due to wanting to stay professional.

• she asked around for him and the second she found out that he was in the snug, she made her way to it and opened the door. He was in there, but so were his brothers. "This was the last place I could think of," she blurted out. "Everyone out," was all Tommy needed to say before it was just the two of them in the room.

• (Y/N) quickly sat and let everything out. Tommy listened intently, something no one had ever done for her in the past. They sat in the snug for hours, (Y/N) talking and Tommy listening. Her ability to share her grandmother's story helped her immensely.

• from that evening, (Y/N) saw Tommy in a different light. The fact that he sat and listened to her as she lamented to him and not once did he even think of leaving meant the world to her. No one had shown her that sort of worthiness or attention.

• all at once it felt like she was head over heels for him. Like all of those little instances he'd shown her before had all culminated into this one, major display of devotion. It had her realizing that maybe it wasn't solely because she was his employee...maybe it was much more than that.

• and so when he went out of his way and made sure to check on her the next morning - she knew this because Polly commented on the fact that he was supposed to be in London by sun-up - and he couldn't get him off of her mind no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't beat around the bush anymore...she'd fallen for Tommy Shelby, hard.

• but things didn't hit off right from that moment.

• no, it took a rather long time for those feelings to actually come out.

• there was a lot of dancing around the other - the smaller gestures and moments still occurred, but neither one was willing to make that jump over the edge and confront the other about it.

• yes, you read that right...Tommy Shelby was actually keeping his feelings for her close to the chest.

• mostly it was because of the position they were in. He'd offer to take her to dinner and she'd politely decline (even though she really wanted to go) because she was worried the other company employees would suspect something.

• Tommy wasn't exactly into the dancing around it (he hated it at times actually), but he honored her choice.

• but that doesn't mean he wasn't taking every chance he got to spend time around her. To check in on her and see how things were. To walk her home if she stayed later. Anything to show her that he was serious...without actually saying that he was serious.

• he was hooked on her though, there was no doubt about it. All he needed was for her to really show that interest back to him, and then he'd know for sure that he could act on it.

• and then Polly's birthday came.

• the company/family decided to host a party at the Garrison. Of course (Y/N) was invited.

• a man named Louis was one of the men who worked the shop floor daily. He saw (Y/N) almost every day that she was also on the floor, and he made it a point to seek her out as well.

• much like with Tommy, (Y/N) kept things between her and Louis strictly professional.

• but this party is when Louis decided that he was going to make his move...to try and woo her.

• maybe he should have thought this through...

• (Y/N) was sitting at one of the tables, chatting with some of the other women who worked within the company. It was a surprise that she wasn't with Tommy, considering he sought her out almost immediately after she arrived. But Tommy was still present though.

• Louis had this plan to put everything right on the table. He smoothly walked over to her and, equally as smoothly, slipped into the booth that she was sitting in. (Y/N) was polite, but it was obvious that she wasn't feeding any more into it than a simple, friendly conversation.

• but of course Tommy didn't pick up on that. From where he was standing it looked like Louis was a little too close to her for comfort. So he quickly intervened.

• and he was anything but subtle with it. He was quickly able to make Louis feel uneasy and clear him out.

• (Y/N)'s confused, but happy to have the man she'd hardly talked to gone. She sends Tommy an appreciative smile and that's just about enough to bring Tommy to his knees. But that doesn't happen...instead he gives her one of his signature, lop-sided smiles and nods at the ladies sitting with her before going back to where he previously was.

• this interaction didn't go unnoticed though. Polly and Ada were watching from off to the side. These two know Tommy better than anyone, and they've rarely seen him react this quickly and in this sort of way. So it's glaringly apparent to them that something's going on here.

• and this becomes increasingly apparent as time goes on.

• also as time goes on, (Y/N) manages to move up in the company. She's basically right underneath Polly in terms of power, becoming her 'right hand man’ in the treasurer position.

• having this position means that she's more involved in the inner circle and is at all of the meetings.

• the entire family swears by the fact that Tommy is softer with her than he is with anyone else.

• you can literally see the change the second she shares her thoughts on a matter or even enters a room. The switch is practically on a dime.

• but these two keep dancing around each other - they've been doing it for close to a year at this point.

• and those who know of it are baffled. They are obviously in love with each other...why hasn't one budged and made things official?

• the suspicions on this topic all come to a climax on the first year anniversary of (Y/N) joining the company.

• Tommy invites her out to dinner. (Y/N) agrees this time mostly because she knows what day it is...and she knows that the Shelbys like to celebrate such things.

• but she's surprised when she arrives at the upscale restaurant and is escorted to a table for two. Tommy can't help but smile at the face she pulls when she sees that he's sitting there, waiting for her.

• but she gets comfortable very quickly. It's Tommy we're talking about here...she's never been more comfortable with anyone in her life if she was being honest. And the same goes for him too.

• the dinner lasts hours. They talk about everything and anything. Work's off the table, but yet they still manage to not have more than a moment of silence. Both are surprised at how freely the conversation flows.

• eventually Tommy brings up the subject they've been dancing around.

• he lays everything out on the table this time. There's no sense in holding back. He tells her how she makes him feel, how she's made him feel from the moment he first saw her.

• he also mentions the fact that he's felt this way for a while now, and that he can't continue dancing around it any longer. He honored her desire to stay professional for this time, but he wants her too much, loves her too much to keep going like this for even a day longer.

• at first (Y/N)'s shocked. She's not oblivious...she'd been catching the little hints that he'd been leaving all this time, but she was truthfully too hesitant to ever bring the subject up to him.

• but now that he's put it out there, she figures why should she hold back her feelings any longer?

• so she lays it all out for him as well. Tells him how she feels about him, how she's felt about him for some time now.

• Tommy can't contain his happiness as he hears this. He's grinning like a fool.

• so really there's only one last thing for them to do now...make it official.

• Tommy wastes no time in doing that.

• he asks her properly though. That's what she deserves, especially after all this time that's been invested.

• he stops them just down the road from where she lives. He tells her that he really likes her (he won't use the 'l word' just yet - even though the two of them are so clearly in love) and that he can't wait a moment longer to make her his.

• (Y/N) quickly agrees with the sentiment after everything that had been shared during their dinner.

• Tommy can't help but smile at her response, and he just barely nods his head in his Tommy fashion before continuing to walk her home.

• they share their first kiss at the front door, and it's absolutely magical.

• they then proceed to do a terrible job of hiding it while at work. Tommy's waited this long to be with her, he's not going hide his affection for her any longer.

• their definition of 'in secret' is soooo far from the actual definition. They think that they're being sneaky, only stealing kisses in empty hallways and in Tommy's office, but it takes Polly literally only two days to catch onto it.

• no ones upset with it though. Honestly everyone’s happy that they’re finally together.

• well everyone except Louis…Louis is a little bummed about the whole thing. But Tommy and (Y/N) don’t care about that in the slightest.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby headcanons #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders headcanon #tommy shelby headcanon #peaky blinders headcanons #fanfiction #fanfic

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sinning-23 · 1 year ago

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Parenthood

OPLA Dilfs with their s/o and their moody teen! Uhhh idk what possessed me to write this but here we go!

D/N= Daughters Name

S/N = Sons Name

Shanks

-Your daughter is literally a witty bundle of joy! She's may not be moody but she definitely had a sarcastic air about her. (Shanks think she gets it from you a little bit)

-She's fast on her feet but also has her pouty moments, most of which occur when she’s told to complete her chores and she'd much rather pretend to steer the ship and watch the water for sea life.

-The most she'll do is roll her eyes and anger her eyebrows but will clear her throat when you use your mom stare on her to get her to 'fix her face'

-"Roll them again and they'll get stuck like that! Now go do what your father asked!" you snap, seeing her scurry away.

-She rarely gives Shanks attitude but when she does she tries to have it come across as joking.

-"(D/N), take these to-" "Sure dad I'll give you a hand.”

“……”

“I’m telling your mother” he chuckles, the color draining from her face.

“NO WAIT!”

Buggy

-Your son is literally a menace and just as moody as his father, if not worse. You have to deal with constant attitude, eye rolling, and the frequent mumble under the breath.

-Buggy usually catches it and is quick to flick the boys forehead and that also results in a scuffle between the two.

-"Tell your husband to get off my DICK!" S/N shouts as Buggy chases him around the arena.

"WATCH YOU MOUTH YOU LITTLE SHIT! And quite trying to turn your mother on me!" Buggy shouts back, various body parts launching at the blue haired teen.

-Sometims it feels like youre dealing with two children because in the end each of them has and ear being pinched between your delicate fingers.

-"S/N, watch your mouth. Just because you’re a sailor doesn't mean yo need to swear like one. Buggy, darling." You begin sweetly before pinching harder,

"STOP PROVOKING OUR SON TO ANGER!"

Mihawk

-The twins have...rather manageable attitudes when they’re reminded to calm down.

-Hell, when they were born they’d practically sneer at you if their feeding or nap time was off by a milisecond.

-Your son and daughter look closer to you accept the obvious yellow eyes. (You didn't really stand a chance when it came to the eyes,)

-Your son is more subtle with his attitude, giving jabbs to his father while your daughter just flat out doesn't give a shit.

-One day, durring an outting to stock your home with more goods, the twins noticed how everyone that lived on the village you currently reside don sort of....stared and judged them. of course they could care less but tey couldn't help but shoot insults in quiet whispers.

"She's not nearly as alluring to be this witless." S/N states, following behind you but keeping pace with his twin sister.

"If only her mother had swallowed." D/N adds.

You choke at that last one.

-Both you and Mihawk ge your fair share of attitude but all it tasks if the threat of an intense and bone breaking training sessions and all attitudes simply cease.

#x reader #one piece #reader is black #one piece live action #i don't care he's hot #headcannons #one piece x reader #opla #smut #hes so hot #shanks is a daddy #opla shanks x reader #one piece shanks x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy #buggy the clown x reader #opla mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #opla mihawk x reader

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avifaunaa · 2 months ago

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i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v ] [ pt. 5 ]

Authors Note: i just went through a nasty breakup so. um, the last part of this may be emotional idk🧍🏻‍♀️so in writing this i had to do some digging. rio and wanda were never meant to be pitted against one another in the comics and stan lee had a really firm rule that any character can be stronger than another if the writer needs them to be. in my useless opinion, i believe that rio may have more power and knowledge than wanda, but wanda's abilities and her exposure to the Darkhold leave her incredibly formidable [ see her almost KOing Thanos BEFORE she touches the damn book ]. i do not think it wise to try and make these two enemies on a battlefield or else everyone else around them pays the price. lmao.

More Useless History Facts:

• Quaff-Aid, or brewer's yeast, was a "hang-over fix" that would be passed around at parties to try and prevent hangovers before they happened. It contained a mixture of vitamins and minerals -- and spoiler alert: it was not always successful lmfao

so like, parties were kinda funky in the fifties. they were a mix of formal and fun. i say this with confidence because on one end they had a "drop by and leave whenever" sort of feel and then on the other they were like, "oh here's a dress code and seating arrangements," type deal. not all parties were the same ofc, but it was interesting how people held parties like they were very important events lol even in their own home. it was apart of life and keeping appearances with peers.

Chex Mix was first created as a party recipe to be made in the home! It became a hit and used more broadly with various recipes in the fifties and did not become a pre-bagged snack until much later.

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART SIX

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rio is at a loss when one of Agatha’s old enemies comes knocking at her door, and now both of you are on guard as she plays neighbor until you can figure out what she wants.

Content Warnings: Still dark so ensure you take care of yourselves — period-typical views on gender norms and homophobia, misuse of magic [ Rio ], reader has a severe mental breakdown in one of her flashbacks, manipulation, possessive behavior, territorial bastard Rio, Stockholm Syndrome, Pregnancy and symptoms that come with it,

Word Count: ~4.3k

2024

Rio was very agitated.

You were still cozied up on the couch in the living room, television paused on the Tell All episode of your reality show while Tommy’s stiff form slowly moved over to drape across your body, staring hard at the entry way where Rio had disappeared.

The invisible magic that caressed your neck at all times was thrumming with an uncomfortable buzz — burning and restless like a caged panther pacing back and forth.

Whatever who rang the bell was not a Girl Scout, obviously.

You debated leaving it alone for once and letting the witch handle it like you knew she could. Rio was adept and likely had the place warded with an ancient type of magic that most things sensitive to it would steer from or be wary of.

Ah, but would there be any fun in that? You may have decided to wave a white flag and ceased fighting with her, but what was her life [ or yours ] if you didn’t add to her plate once in a while?

“Off,” you told your new companion, nudging your knee gently upwards until the dog reluctantly moved off of the couch and stalked behind you like a shadow.

“Rio?” you called softly, wrapping your sweater-clad arms around one another as you shuffled down the hall to the entry way. The sunlight outlined her form in the entry way.

You knew Rio in the same way she claimed to know you — it was a mirrored understanding of each other and years of memorizing the very molecules of both of yourselves.

She was extremely agitated. She had one hand stretched out against the corner of the doorway, blocking the view and entrance to the visitor of her home. Her stance wasn’t aggressive, but it was deceptively polite — almost friendly.

She stiffed slightly at your call, fingers pressing deep into the fixture that decorated the door to your home as she sent you a brief glance.

Her eyes swirled with a dark green and brown flame.

Normally, the bluer the flame the hotter it is and the more damage it does. But you weren’t sure those rules applied to Rio — most of them didn’t anyway.

Her eyes were quickly off of you and returned to whoever stood at the edge of the doorway, responding to a question asked by a curious, friendly voice.

A head full of fiery red hair popped into your line of view before Rio could block it. “Oh — is this your sister?”

You almost laughed if the recognition of who exactly the fuck this was wasn’t hitting you like a tone of bricks. All in a bag and dropped straight down from a high point of distance.

“No,” Rio replied tightly as you edged forward, Tommy on your heels. You brushed your fingers along his leather collar. The tags jingled with contact. “She’s —“

“I’m her wife,” you announced, releasing Tommy and quickly stepping the rest of the way over. You rest your chin on Rio’s outstretched arm, remaining behind her but making yourself appear in easier view. You tell her your name.

“Wanda, it’s nice to meet you,” she introduces, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

“We know who you are,” Rio responded lowly. Formalities dropped, and an uptick in the breeze outside had you shivering slightly. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Am I?” Wanda interlaces her fingers together. “I suppose so, yes. I made it seem like that.”

She seemed rather whole and put together for a woman who magicked an entire mountain down on top of herself after a fierce battle and using a lot of her powers.

You decided to not comment, instead focusing on burying your nose into Rio’s arm and inhaling her scent.

“What do you want?” the words vibrated against your cheek as you eyed the details of the area around Wanda. The garden needed a better upkeeping in the front.

“I made mistakes,” the once-Avenger confessed, “and I regret them terribly. I’m seeking to make them right.”

You moved your face so that you could see Rio’s expression. You found it to be as blank as a fresh sheet of snow. “This has nothing to do with me. I was not involved nor do I have any care to. The Darkhold is yours, no?”

Wanda tapped her fingers together. “I don’t. Not anymore. I destroyed it when I took out Wundagore. But I went to Westview and looked for Agatha — turns out she was swept away by a detective called Rio Vidal.”

Rio tilted her chin downward dangerously. “Was she, now. I’m surprised they let you back in and didn’t call the government.”

“I used magic to cover my basis.”

A mean smile crossed Rio’s lips. “You didn’t learn the first time?” she asked, condescending. You winced — and oh you were pleased to not be on the end of the time she used for once.

Wanda swallowed. “I regret using it — and I wish I hadn’t been so careless in my grief. But I do need to find Agatha Harkness. She’s . . .”

“I know what she is.” A flash in Rio’s eyes silenced Wanda Maximoff. “You’re not going to find her here. She’s dead.”

Wanda’s face dropped and she slumped visibly. “I see.”

“And even if she wasn’t,” Rio continued, ice starting to creep through her tone like a blade, “I wouldn’t so much as give you a hint. You left her at the mercy of those people with her mind in shambles until I could fix her.”

Wanda curled her lip, a mixture of shame, guilt, and anger rising in her, “She tried to steal from me. I don’t have much of an appreciation for that — especially with my track record. I wasn’t going to let her take what I had.”

“You had won your battle,” Rio rebutted, though she didn’t outright disagree with Wanda’s defense. She was right in that regard — Agatha had played a stupid game against a witch more powerful than her at that time. “What you did to her after was not a fit punishment. She was stuck inside of her own mind and could not escape — she was a slave to the magic that you put upon her just like you did to everyone else in Westview.”

There was a part of you that wishes you could call Rio out at this moment — she was scolding Wanda about breaking some rules of magic and being morally incorrect while at the same time breaking multiple rules of her own nature.

You dug your chin into her arm instead of speaking out, and when she glanced at you, you hoped whatever she saw in your eyes was enough to get to her.

The three of you remained in an awkward, tense silence. Wanda had turned red from her shame and Rio was still posturing in the doorway.

“I made mistakes,” Wanda started, “after Thanos. Big ones that can never be forgiven. But I lost so much to this world and was never given anything in return. How is that fair? Who gets to decide how much loss someone experiences before they break?”

Your heart broke for this woman, who the world sought to fear — the woman from rubble and war and death who never seemed to achieve the peace she seemed to desire the most.

“Death,” Rio said simply. “Death gets to decide. It is not your responsibility to work around Her to try and cheat.”

“I just wanted a family.”

Rio found herself trying not to look at you at all. “I know. But I cannot help you with that. Agatha is gone, Wanda Maximoff, and I am in no position nor have any desire to make an attempt to seek her out in whatever afterlife Death has stolen her to."

The way those words leaked from her . . . the disdain within them was not directed at Wanda in their delivery, but rather like a sharpened dagger aiming for herself.

You ran your chin along her arm in hope she would take some form of comfort in you being close to her, but if she did it went unacknowledged and her muscles stayed stony beneath you.

The unfamiliar weight of a gaze had your attention returning to the Scarlet Witch, who looked at you with a seemingly more tired stance that she did not carry moments before.

"I understand," she finally relented softly, nodding. "Thank you. I am sorry . . . about Agatha."

Rio locked up and regarded the fellow witch coolly, but kept a leash on whatever threatened to rise to surface. "You knew nothing of her," she said shortly, "and her death had nothing to do with you in the end. Agatha's life was lost at her own hand and another's -- not yours."

Wanda tilted her head to the side, just slightly, and you wondered if she had the urge to use her abilities on Rio. If they would even work against her -- and you wondered just how evenly matched they would be should they have to end up on opposite sides of a battle.

"I plan on sticking around for a while," Wanda started as she gestured toward the street with her body. "I will . . . I need to learn how to be human again."

"Think you can handle that without warping everyone around you? Because you will not like what my answer to your actions will be should you decide that course," Rio told her shortly, lips thinning. The dark swirled in her eyes again and a chill swept across your skin despite the warm clothes you were bundled in.

The redhead hesitated, too, it seemed. "No magic," she vowed quietly. "Just living."

Rio glanced at you. No magic, seemed to echo a lot around her head these days.

"I cannot control you," your keeper said slowly as she began to inch the door closed in a way that would end the conversation, "but I will be keeping an eye on you. This is my territory, Maximoff. Tread lightly."

Wanda opened her mouth but Rio slammed the door in her face.

1955

"Go away," you moaned from under the sheets as a chilly hand crept up your naked spine. You were hiding from the shame of last night's events and no amount of seduction would rip you out of hiding.

The New Year's party Rio and you had hosted had been successful. There had not been very many people at all, only around fifteen in total. Her coworkers and their wives or sweethearts. When questioned about your status, you were easily able to lay on the widowed wife tale.

While most parties had a tendency to be formal and therefor fancy, Rio had no such taste and simply passed out invitations at the drugstore and gave a time in which the party would start and that there was no requirement to stay for a certain period.

You had decided on a different spread for the food after Rio had left for work that day. You went with your mother's Swedish meatball recipe and made life simpler on yourself by making finger sandwiches.

Shrimp cocktails were easy to procure -- all you had to do was make those just before the party guests would arrive and have them ready on the coffee table in the living room.

By the time Rio had returned from work with two hours before the party, the house was cleaned obsessively and you had showered and changed twice.

She paused in the kitchen where you were pulling out the Party Mix from the oven and pouring it into the large serving bowl for snacking on later.

"Angel." Rio watched you with hawk-like eye movements as you adjusted the placement of your creation on the table where the shrimp cocktails would be going later. "You are outdoing yourself."

"It's a party you are hosting," you said as you turned to her. She quirked her lips up at you in amusement as she strode toward you. "I decided to do something a little different than what we talked about yesterday."

"Hmm," she murmured as she wrapped her arms around your waist and drew you in for a soft kiss. One, two, three. Then a warm smile when she saw your sparkling eyes. "Whatever my girl wants."

You groaned when the hand ran up your back again. "Rio, please. My skin hurts and if I am forced out from under these covers I may simply vomit everywhere."

The hand paused movement and pressed directly into the middle of your back. "Awe, my poor Angel," the raspy voice responds from above you. Usually a comforting, welcoming sound brought pounding to your head in the moment.

"I shouldn't have had more than the cocktail."

A soft laugh that reverberated through Rio's body down to the hand still glued to your back. You closed your eyes tight and breathed out when the vibration threatened to upheave the uneasy calm in your stomach.

"You had fun," she murmured. You heard the rustle of sheets and covers over your head and you readied yourself for their removal. Cold air overtook the warmth that you once were cocooned in. Soft lips on your temple. "Do you want me to get you some ginger ale and perhaps a painkiller?"

"Please," you moaned, burying your face into the pillow. The lights were off but the light from early morning was piercing.

Rio scritched nails down your tender skin before padding into the master bathroom. You heard her moving around and searching for the painkillers and not long after, the bed dipped.

“Ale?” you slurred, eyes opening to a foggy Rio, still naked and smiling sweetly down at you when you turned over.

“Right here, Angel.” She briefly turned her back to wrap her hand around the neck of the bottle, newly opened and still cold as she helped you sit against the headboard. “Open.”

Your mind wandered to how quickly she gathered everything as she deposited the medicine and washed it down with the ginger ale. You didn’t hear her go downstairs, the loud humming of the fridge being opened and closed. You didn’t so much as hear the stairs creak.

But the drink was ice cold, and the bottle cap still lay atop your side table. Had you drifted back to sleep and lost time? Had she gotten the ginger ale before coming to wake you?

“You’re fading on me again, my sweet,” Rio commented as she pressed the cool glass against your temple. The effect was immediate — it pulled you straight from your own thoughts and you moaned. “That feel good?”

“Mhmm. Everything hurts. I am not a woman of the drink.”

Rio laughed, obviously amused by your lightweight approach to your own hangover as she sat the bottle back down and rubbed the back of your neck. “I suppose not. You enjoyed yourself, though.”

“Did I? I cannot seem to remember.”

And with a crushing reality, you couldn’t. You were sure Rio spoke honestly in that regard — but the last thing you can recall is greeting the last of the guests and enjoying the Swedish meatballs before pouring yourself wine after you finished your shrimp cocktail.

Did two drinks truly do you in?

Your teenage self would be ashamed.

“Hmm, maybe we keep you away from the wine. Or the cocktail mix?” Rio teases, leaning down with pressure keeping the ache at bay to kiss you sweetly.

“I feel as though I must go back to sleep, but I can’t even come to think about how many dishes I must do.” You raised the heels of your palms and rubbed your eyes. “Oh, the vacuuming, too.”

“I will do it, Angel,” Rio, your beloved gentle Rio, announced as though she were taking on a difficult quest in one of those fantasy films you’d seen grow popular lately. “You get some more sleep. Take a bath. But do not touch a dish in that sink or breath near any vacuum in the house.”

Your cheeks turned red as you watched her dress into some slacks from the previous night and a barely buttoned white shirt, hair messy and undone as she smirked at your expression.

“If you feel better, I wouldn’t mind an audience,” she added offhandedly, then broke into laughter when you dove back under the sheets, still in love with your shy nature.

You don’t remember falling back asleep, nor do you remember waking up. What awakens you isn’t a noise or a hand along your back so comforting, this time it’s a taste so foul in the air that you nearly choked on it.

Your head throbbed and the time was barely past noon when you sluggishly peeled away the covers and got into a sitting position. Why was the air so . . . Angry? Sad?

You forced the bedroom windows open on the other side of the bed, letting winter air rush across your skin and into the house.

It only allowed for little more breathing room, but you took whatever you could get. You swiped the bathrobe off of the door and tied it on as you snuck out into the quiet hall.

This was not the quiet you so adored with Rio. The quiet you two had built like a new home that you could fall back on when you needed it.

This was a quiet that was so familiar, with bitter reminders and tension stringing tight.

It lured you down the stairs as you called out for your lover, wondering why such an air filled your home that not even hours ago was happy.

“. . . me to leave you alone. Couldn’t find you, so I gave you what you wanted. Now you seek me out?” Rio, sounding much unlike herself.

You paused at the end of the stairs, hidden from the living room and kitchen both. Waiting.

“Gave me what I wanted,” an angrier [ angry like the air ] reply chortled back, a hard clank of something landing on a surface. “You took whatever you wanted, you mean.”

“I had no choice,” oh how you twitched in place at the pain in your Rio’s tone. How it echoed so freely within her in a way you’ve never heard her speak of before — not about her husband. Not like this. “I do not know how long you wish to punish me for my nature. For what I am.”

You placed a hand smooth on the wall, words spoken sinking into you and only filling you with a spiral of confusion. Nature? What she is?

“For the rest of time,” the other female promised darkly, deep and almost like some sort of contract signed with words rather than pen and paper.

“Why are you here, Agatha?” Rio finally asks after the two of them — her and this Agatha — fall into a pit of tense silence again. Rio sounded more exhausted right now than she ever had since you had met her.

“I need to have the Road brought back. To be used. I think I’ve been able to master myself again and I want more.”

The Road? Your head was spinning again, and you lowered yourself on the steps before a fall overtook you. Black spots invaded your vision.

“No.” A firm answer, unmoving and stony.

“Excuse me?”

“I said no, Agatha. I have given you everything and anything I could. Your last and final request of me was to leave you alone and never come to you again — I am fulfilling that request.”

You startled when a shatter and hard creaks groaned across your tiled kitchen floors from the chairs, no doubt. You hoped Rio cleaned the glass.

“Control yourself,” said woman snarled.

“You owe me,” Agatha announced, sounding suddenly closer to the archway of the kitchen that lead to the hall. “You owe me this after — after —“

“He was my son, too,” Rio spoke so lowly that you almost missed what she said at all. Even then, in your foggy state, you were unsure you heard right. “You don’t get to claim what you’re owed when I tried my best even when I prevented it for as long as I could. Because I loved you both, so very much.”

A son. A son. He was my son, too.

Who was this woman to Rio? How deep did her lies go?

“Your claim on him is null,” Agatha spat and hurried footsteps sent you careening upstairs as quietly as you could but it was too late. You heard a disbelieving scoff behind you, and you could not force yourself to keep from looking.

She was wild, and fury, and everything a feminine beauty demanded. She broke all laws of nature and she was dressed in flaring purple robes with a broach on her chest. Her hair was purposefully untamed, her eyes dark with a merciless glare.

Agatha — apparently.

“She found another one, did she?” Purple began to dance around her fingertips and you blinked multiple times.

“I think I may need a hospital,” you said in response, once again collapsing on whatever stair you had been stopped at. You would be sent off to the hospital and never released if Rio decided you weren’t fit anymore.

But the woman you loved so was hovering behind Agatha and suddenly shot forward. “Enough. She’s not like us.”

The glow flickered with Agatha’s arching brow, surprise sprouting on her features with a smirk. But then it ebbed, and her hands dropped. “You’re shacking up with a human woman?”

“Leave, now.” Rio put her body between you and Agatha as though it would help your hallucinations from taunting you. “I gave you an answer, and we have nothing else to say to one another.”

Agatha’s eyes were stormy, but she slammed the door shut behind her as she left.

Rio stared out the window for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth wildly for a brief period of time before she slowly turned to you and narrowed her eyes to study you closely.

But you . . . Were stuck in a motionless state, staring back at her, throat dry and sandpapery as you swallowed.

She went to climb the stairs and you flinched, forcing her to stop.

“Angel,” she said, crooning soft. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Am I having a terrible dream?” you asked her as she drifted closer slowly, inch by inch, eyes beginning to have a glow around the edges.

“Yes, yes it’s all but a brutal nightmare, my sweet,” she murmured as her fingers trailed up your jawline as she stood over you. “It will all be fine when you awaken. I’ll be there to ease the panic.”

“You never married a man . . . Did you, Rio?” you asked, distantly and blinking at the beautiful woman you had trusted so.

“No, Angel, and you’re incredibly intelligent to come to that conclusion and confront me about it.” A pause as you nodded dreamily. “But I’m afraid you won’t be privy to that when you wake up. I can’t . . . I can’t lose you.”

“Where would I go?”

“Away from me. Something I simply cannot allow.”

“I don’t understand. Why would I leave you?”

“Why indeed?” Rio agrees gently, crouching down on one knee and pressing her lips to your forehead. “That is why I am going to go inside and fix this little tidbit. You never have to worry about being scared around me, or feeling lost.”

You leaned into the woman’s warmth even as her skin gave off a warning chill. You buried your nose into her soft shirt and inhaled this scent that you had come to know as yours.

“So pretty,” Rio murmured as a heaviness threw you into knowing no more.

2024

“Rio my feet hurt,” you called, laying on a thick tone of pleading as you watched her pace like a caged beast near the windows.

Two more episodes of your show and she was less eased after Maximoff had left.

She still donned her robes as if they were armor, but now that cursed dagger was back to being belted on her hip, catching the light whenever she moved into the light and nearly blinding you.

“Rio.”

A pause, glancing at you with darkened eyes as she let them roam you. She hesitated for a few seconds and decided against ignoring your calls again, striding over like a pissed off cat.

She sat down gingerly next to you, the robes fluttering gracefully around her as she took one of your ankles in hand and lifted it into her lap. They felt swollen already and you were barely pregnant.

“You’re in a foul mood.”

“Did you not see the Scarlet Witch parade herself up to our doorstep?”

“What’s she going to do, exactly? Magic some sugar from our cabinets?”

Fingers dug into the fleshy part of your ankle, the only warning you’d receive for the attitude you just gave her. “You’re a smartass.”

“You knocked me up, so you’ll deal with whatever comes with that.” You waved her off and let your neck angle backwards and groaned

As thumbs dug circles into the sole of your foot. “Jesus Christ, Rio.”

“I don’t trust what she’s doing here,” your captor said, eyes watching couples yell at one another on the television screen. “My instincts are telling me something about this is off.”

“Your instinct always tells you that everything is off,” you muttered, cheek resting against the body of the sofa. “Part of being Death, having Deathly duties.”

“You’re mouthy.”

“Why are you so worried? Aren’t you like — I don’t know. Death?” You smirked, lifting your head.

“Yes.” She wouldn’t meet your gaze. “But she is the Scarlet Witch — and that has always been a match against Death.”

Rio and reader will return in part six.

PART SIX

my often forgetful taglist: @dandelions4us , @flow33didontsmoke , @girlsgotissues

#rio vidal x reader #rio x reader #rio vidal #marvel fanfiction #marvel #fanfic #dark fic

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writtenfangirl · 2 years ago

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Dancing

A short one this time! I just wanted to write a really fluffy piece without drama although, yes there is a very small conflict if you squint hard enough. I wanted to write another fic that made me feel good just cause life's been extra hard lately.

Although I have a ton of ideas for this one so a sequel if people really enjoy this. I briefly wondered making Y/N be Lady Whistledown and pairing her up with my favorite Bridgerton brother to see what would happen.

TW: People being mean. Gossiping mamas. Cressida Cowper mention.

The ball, as most balls tended to be as the night waned, had grown stale and boring. The dancing had ceased despite the wonderful string quartet that played their music and people had broken off to their own parties. As the guests become accustomed to the taste of alcohol, words began to flow with reckless abandon.

“Did you hear? Viscount Dotsfield has a bastard with a scullery maid!”

“The Earl of Blackfield is said to engage in… relationships with Sir Lockling.”

“There are rumors going around that one of the Colton daughters has a French paramour whose name is Ravilli. An ambassador of sorts…”

Gossip is what fueled the ton, the very lifeblood that had men and women of varying ages coming to these balls in the first place. No one in the ton wanted to be caught unaware and one could never be too careful of the rumors that could be fabricated about you. According to Y/N’s mama, the only people who didn’t come to balls and to the gatherings hosted by members of the ton were those of them whose reputations were in ruins. You were either gossiping or you were the one being gossiped about.

So she came and endured even if she was bored out of her mind.

It wasn’t anything she wasn’t use to anyway. She was a woman and women were seen and not heard. Not only that, but she was a wallflower. Wallflowers were hardly seen at all.

“Lady Y/L/N.”

She knew that familiar voice, smooth and deep yet somehow still bright. If sunsets could speak, Y/N imagined they would have his voice.

“Mister Bridgerton,” Y/N said as she spun around, hiding her smile behind her bejeweled fan. “I half expected you to have taken your leave by now.”

“Under usual circumstances, I might have. But I have yet to dance with the most beautiful girl in the room.” Benedict said with a crooked smile. “And my mother has always told me that dancing is one of men’s greatest assets to encourage affection.”

“There’s hardly anyone dancing,” Y/N said bashfully.

“All the better reason to do so.”

Y/N wasn’t naive. She knew Benedict was only speaking to her because his mother asked him too. She’d always rather liked Lady Bridgerton and she had a penchant for forcing her sons to dance with the wallflowers. At every ball Y/N attends, her dance card, though usually empty, always had three names: Anthony Bridgerton. Benedict Bridgerton. Colin Bridgerton.

And there was no man who made he heart beat faster than Benedict Bridgerton himself. Because it was Benedict who offered to fill up all of the other spaces in her dance cards even though he didn’t have to.

All the Bridgerton brothers were kind to her but Benedict was more than that. Anthony and Colin were polite but Benedict laughed with her and conversation flowed between them like water from a fountain. And though she knew Benedict was unlikely to return her feelings, she occasionally let her delusions run wild. She often spent her days imagining what their future would look like. Would their children have his eyes or hers? Their hair would probably be different too. And their noses—

“Y/N?”

Blast! What a bloody idiot! She shouldn’t have let her mind wander like that! And now Benedict was looking at her expectantly with those luminous blue eyes and she couldn’t focus her mind to remember what it is he’d asked of her.

“Yes?” She asked, fighting to stop herself from sounding so breathy.

“Excellent,” Benedict grinned with an outstretched hand.

The dance. She’d forgotten about the dance!

She briefly wondered if she could find a way out of it. Getting on that dance floor would shift everyone’s focus on to them and she already knew what people would say.

“The Bridgerton charity case.”

“Of all of the young ladies, he chose her?”

“He deserves better.”

She glanced around nervously. Everyone else was too engrossed in their own conversations to pay them any heed but those conversations would instantly stop the moment she and Benedict stepped on the dance floor alone.

And she knew that if she were to reject Benedict’s advances, her mother would kill her. Though Anthony was but a Viscount, his fortune was considerable large. His father before him had managed their estate well and Anthony was known to make cunning investments that grew their already large fortune, a fortune that would also provide cushy lives for the rest of his brothers. Perhaps not the large estate of a Duke but certainly nothing to scoff at. And Y/N didn’t doubt for one second that the rest of the Bridgerton brothers weren’t as smart as Anthony was when it came to their finances.

It’s why Y/N had constantly heard her mother’s say, “you will marry a Duke or a Bridgerton. Anything less is unacceptable.”

Luckily for Y/N, her mother wasn’t around to see her reject Benedict.

Still, with the way Benedict looked at her, it was hard to say no.

“Just one dance,” Y/N ceded with a sigh, slipping her gloved hand onto his.

His smile widened considerably. “You mustn’t be nervous.”

“Easy for you to say,” Y/N huffed. “You look perfect everywhere you go.”

“Oh?”

Damn. Damn damn damn. Damn the world. Damn herself. And damn Benedict Bridgerton.

“You think I look perfect?” He asked, cocking a brow in question.

“U-uh, I m-mean, that is to say, I don’t—“

“You truly must calm your nerves, my lady,” Benedict said with a chuckle as he pulled her to her feet and led her to the dance floor. “I am only teasing.”

Y/N could hear the stream of gossip stop as members of the ton watched them. There was a pregnant pause and then the chatter began once again. She couldn’t hear the full conversations but she heard enough.

“…fat…”

“…ugly…undeserving…”

“…he is too kind…”

It made Y/N want to curl up into a ball so that the earth may open up and swallow her whole.

“Pay them no heed,” Benedict muttered as he pulled her close, his hand resting on the small of her back as his other hand found hers. “Focus only on us. And tonight, you look beautiful.”

“Only tonight?” Y/N joked in a bid to ease the coil of tension tightening around her core.

“Every night.” Benedict’s tone was too serious to be called teasing.

Soon the new music started, washing away the ton’s horrible words. She could still feel their watchful eyes on her skin, felt the way they judged her.

“Focus on me,” Benedict muttered before he began their dance by swaying them back and fort.

She let the music fill her, weaving through the muscles in her body. Their dance was a complicated one and though she wasn’t an accomplished dancer by any sense of the word, with Benedict leading it was hard to fail.

In and out, push and pull, with complicated lifts and turns yet somehow always finding their way back to each other. It was as if their bodies were magnetized, attracted only to the other. As the music swelled, she forgot all about the gossiping ton and their prying eyes. Instead she only felt Benedict’s body heat, the hard chords of muscles hidden beneath his jacket, his hands steady around her waist.

His gaze on her felt soft, like staring at the afterglow of of dusk. She was never much of a drinker but Benedict always had the ability to make her feel drunk, as though each of her inhibitions left her the moment his luminous blue eyes landed on her.

When the last notes of the song echoed between them and Y/N and Benedict detached from each other to curtsy and bow at one another, the entire ballroom erupted into applause.

A soft gasp left Y/N’s lips. She’d completely forgotten about the ton watching them with Benedict commanding all of her attention.

She raised her head, meeting Benedict’s eyes once more.

“You were marvelous,” Benedict muttered with a grin as he took her hand and placed a chaste kiss against it before leading her out of dance floor. The ton’s eyes had grown less hostile and more appreciative on and, for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt exhilarated.

“I would like to call on you tomorrow, Ms. Y/L/N.” Benedict said, letting his voice be carried throughout the ballroom. His words brought on another wave of whispers. “If you would let me?”

Y/N was absolutely sure she would be the center of gossip tomorrow. Perhaps until the end of the season if Benedict’s intentions are what she thought them to be.

To call on her would mean Benedict would like to get to know her better, to suss out if she would make a good wife or not. And with him a Bridgerton and her a lowly Y/L/N, they would make waves with the ton. She could practically feel Cressida Cowper glaring daggers at her back.

But she didn’t care about that right now. She was still riding the high of their beautiful dance. She was no great beauty, that much was true. But with Benedict, she felt beautiful. And his opinion mattered to her more than the Queen’s and the whole ton’s combined.

“Of course you may call on me, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said graciously, ignoring her fast beating heart. “I’ll have the cook prepare that raspberry marmalade you enjoy so much.”

Benedict grinned. “I am much obliged. I shall see you tomorrow. I hope you have a good evening.” He took her hand again, placing another gentle kiss on her knuckles before he straightened and walked away.

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starryevermore · 11 months ago

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the house of snow (21) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: changes are coming.

word count: 2,010

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: implied smut, sickness, pet name (petal), not proofread

“I never imaged that Coriolanus Snow would be the sort of man to wrap himself around his wife’s finger,” Clemensia said, stirring her spoon in the china teacup. The metal clinked against the porcelain. She lifted the spoon from the cup and set it on the plate before taking a long drink.

You had invited her and Livia, among some other young ladies of the ton, for tea. The rest of the ladies had broken off in their own conversations while you remained with your friends. It was nice to see them. Though you loved your Coryo, sometimes it was good to spend time away from him. It reminded you of how much you enjoyed his presence.

“I never imagined him married. I sort of thought he’d live alone forever. He never cared much for chasing after girls at the Academy,” Livia admitted. Her face paled as though she realized who she was speaking to. You almost laughed at the scared, mouse-like expression. “I mean no offense, Your Majesty.”

You waved her off. “You can speak freely to me. I must admit, it is nice to hear that someone didn’t think my Coryo to be the marrying type.”

“Oooh, your Coryo,” Clemensia teased, brushing her elbow against yours.

“Oh, hush,” you laughed. “I thought I was truly blind when he told me he’s wanted my hand since we were fourteen. At least now I can say I was not blind, but rather that he was terrible at communicating his feelings.”

Livia’s brows raised to her hairline. “Fourteen? Really?”

“He’d been asking my father for my hand since we were eighteen,” you added. “My father refused until Coryo made a name for himself.”

“And of course he would take that to mean he must be crowned King,” Clemensia said. “He was never anything but ambitious.”

Livia smiled and reached for your hand. She gave it a squeeze. “That is so romantic. A man who will take a kingdom so he can earn his love’s hand. People write stories about that sort of thing.”

“That sounds like the stories you would read, petal.“

All other conversation in the parlor had ceased. You didn’t have to turn in your seat to know that Coryo was behind you. His firm hands came to rest on his shoulders, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. A smile pulled at your lips.

“Do you think all I read is romance?” you said.

“Not all. But everyone needs something lighter after reading about history and politics all day,” Coryo said. His fingers trailed off the lace of your gown and to the exposed skin by your collarbone. A shiver ran down your spine. Why had you tortured yourself with this tea again? “Besides, you had to get the idea of a love match from somewhere.”

You watched as Clemensia leaned over to Livia. Her voice dropped to a stage-whisper as she said, “Aren’t they much cuter than her and Lord Plinth would ever be?”

Coryo’s fingers curled into your skin. It didn’t hurt, but it reminded you of how you and Coryo lost a friend. Even if Sejanus could leave the Peacekeepers and return to the Capitol, nothing would ever be the same. You couldn’t imagine a world where you all could be friends again. You reached up and took his hand, lifting it to your lips. He relaxed as you kissed his knuckles.

“Much cuter,” Livia agreed.

Clemensia’s eyes glinted with mischief as she turned her gaze to you and Coryo. “A shame he enlisted with the Peacekeepers. I wish he could see the two of you so sickeningly in love.”

“Perhaps that’s why he enlisted. Because he couldn’t live with himself if he wasn’t the one making her so happy,” Livia mused.

Oh, that was such a romantic way to think of it. If only they knew it was because he was so in love with you that he begged you to run away with him. If only they had seen the King so red with anger, how you had thought he would have killed his once-friend with his bare hands. If Livia was writing your story, she would make it seem like Sejanus peacefully stepped out of the picture. She wouldn’t make it seem like the betrayal it was.

You lifted your chin to look at your husband. While his face was painted to look calm, you could see the anger swirling in his pale blue eyes. You kissed his knuckles again and said, “Why he left doesn’t matter. Not when I have such a wonderful husband by my side.”

Coryo’s tight-lipped smile turned genuine. “And with that, I must steal my wife away. We have important matters we must discuss.”

You held onto Coryo’s hand as you rose from your seat. He led you out of the ignore, the both of you ignoring Clemensia’s giggled “important matters, hm?”. Your heart beat hard in your chest as you walked down the hall. He wouldn’t harm you, you were sure of that, but you didn’t like when he let the anger simmer.

Coryo took you to the office and shut the door behind you. Once alone, he tugged you against his chest and pressed his lips against yours. A gasp escaped you, allowing him the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. Your arms wound their way around his shoulders. You hand tangled itself in his hair. Well, this certainly wasn’t what you expected, but you weren’t going to kick a gift horse in the mouth.

“I would marry you again,” he grunted against your mouth. “I would marry you every day for the rest of my life.”

“What’s stopping you? You are King. The only person you let order you around is me, and I would never deprive myself of you again.”

Coryo pulled away. Before you could inquire why, he was sinking down on his knees. He pushed your skirts up, hooked one leg over his shoulder. His nose brushed against your clothed core, wet mouth pressing kisses. Coryo pulled down your undergarments and began to recite his vows.

“I, Coriolanus Snow, take thee to be my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward…”

Your stomach churned as you ate breakfast. With every bite, it took tremendous effort to keep the food down. Even with a generous amount of water between bites, it doesn’t seem to help. Part of you wanted to believe it was because you would be meeting with the Electors for the first time since your engagement to Coryo. But you knew it wasn’t nerves. You had had a rare clear schedule two days prior when you found yourself knelt over a chamberpot, the remnants of lunch spilling out with no end in sight.

“You don’t need to meet with the Electors if you are not feeling up to it,” Coryo said from the other end of the table. He had finished his own breakfast what felt like hours ago. In reality, it had only been a few minutes. Yet every effort to eat your own meal seemed to take eons. “I can meet them on my own, or we can reschedule. No one will fault you if they wish to live.”

The threat was meant to make you laugh, and you might have if the nausea didn’t overwhelm you. A Peacekeeper from the corner of the room raced over with a vessel for your vomit. You heaved until there was nothing left, barely noticing that Coryo had came around your side and was rubbing your back.

“I take it back. You are not going,” he said. “They should be arriving soon, but I will inform them that we cannot take visitors at the moment.”

You lifted your head. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and you knew you looked as sick as you felt. Still, though, you argued, “I am fine now. I-I just need a moment to freshen up. Whatever sickness that was has passed. I am fine, Coryo.”

“Is that why you pretend I don’t know you have been sick every day this week?”

You had prayed he didn’t notice. A foolish thought, to be sure. But he never made a comment when you would slide out of bed or would excuse yourself from the office.

“You never said anything.”

Coryo sighed. He ran a hand over your hair, careful not to mess up the delicate pinnings. “Nor did you. I thought you might have wanted space. If you do, I will continue to allow you it. But I will not let you go to meetings and make yourself worse. Go back to our chambers, take a bath, and I will have a physician sent up.”

“Coryo—”

He hushed you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Please, petal.”

You frowned, but conceded. When Coryo looked at you with that serious look in his eyes, it was hard to fight back. So you rose from your chair and retreated to your chambers. A lady’s maid was quick to help you out of your dress and undid your hair while another servant drew you a bath. Once in the bath, you tried to push your mind away from your sickness. It was easy to do until a servant came in to let you know the physician arrived.

Rather reluctantly, you left your bath and slipped on a shift before letting the physician inside your chambers. You offered a tight-lipped smile as he gave a quick bow.

“Thank you for your haste,” you said, sitting on the edge of the bed. The physician pulled the bench by your vanity over so he sat in front of you. “I am certain this will pass soon, but Coryo wanted to be certain.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said. “I am sure you would much rather return to your duties, so we can make this quick. Could you tell me your symptoms?”

You began to rattle them off, your heart sinking as you began to realize how much you had been sick over the last week. How had Coryo managed to stay silent this long? Did he realize how ill you had been? Judging by the on the physician’s face, you began to worry that you and Coryo had waited too long to do anything.

The door creaked open. Without really thinking of what you were doing, you stood up as Coryo entered the room. He nodded at the physician before coming to your side. You sat together. His hand instinctively took yours.

“Is everything well?” Coryo asked.

“I will need to ask a few questions first, but I am certain all is well, Your Majesty,” the physician said.

“Ask away then,” Coryo said.

The physical looked to you. “Forgive me for my bluntness, but when was your last courses?”

Your grip on Coryo’s hand tightened. When had that been? It felt like nearly a lifetime ago. How long ago had it been since you bled? You used to be so diligent about this. Your mother always stressed the importance of it. She would say it would be important when you were married, because that’s when you knew when you would have children. Children. Oh.

You counted back the days and the weeks, your heart racing as you couldn’t pinpoint the exact time. “Right before the wedding,” you decided. “The day you threw the ball, Coryo.”

Coryo’s head snapped to yours. “That was nearly two months ago.”

The physician smiled. “Ah, well, then that’s likely what’s at issue. I have a few tests we can do to be certain, but I do believe we have found the source of your sickness, Your Majesty.”

Suddenly, you very much wanted to throw up again. Could it really be so soon? You tried to recall married couples that came before you. How long had it been for them? You wanted to say a lot longer. Certainly not a mere two months.

“Congratulations,” the physician said. “Panem will rejoice when your babe arrives.”

You vomited on his shoes.

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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secret-places-of-the-heart · 7 months ago

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⊹ how overwatch heroes love

⟢ i found the start of this in my notes from last summer and decided to finish it. only did a few because they stuck out to me the clearest

⟢ cw :: none; just drabbles of their "vibe" or whatever. includes junkrat, ashe, and widowmaker

also putting it here since i dont have it anywhere else: yes i do requests

| ♡₊⋆ˎ-ˊ junkrat

junkrat would, fittingly, love like a bomb. jamison fawkes has no experience with a partner, let alone love. but he’s diving in headfirst, fuses alight with hearts for pupils. he’s unpredictable; you never really know where he’s going to land emotionally. all you know is the blast will be damaging — not particularly in a bad way. those little explosions of love will burn away your skin and all those fleshy layers until he can see your heart. he doesn’t mind the blood as he cups his hands around it, so raw and so you, the beating of it against his palms akin to a countdown. and then every burn scar he gets while tinkering on his creations he dedicates just for you. his love is always around, just a constant ticking clock until the wick is at its end and you hear that familiar ring. he’s a block of c4 strapped right over your heart.

| 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ashe

ashe is a hole in the head. something so intense it disrupts your entire way of thinking. a shot she never misses. her love is all you can focus on, dripping all out down your forehead and into your eyes and mouth, staining your teeth a visible red when you smile so love-drunkenly for her. it’s a consistent shot of pain, an ache that will never cease. she leaves your brain all mushy, torn up so all you can really think about is her. when you look, she’s stood in front of you with her hat tipped down, muzzle of her gun pressed to red pouted lips, blowing a leash of smoke around your neck with no intention of letting go. your head is split open for her viewing pleasure, and she makes sure you know. but she cradles your jaw with lissom fingers and wets a white handkerchief with her tongue, dabbing it over your heart-shaped wound. she sort of revels a little in the way you wince at the sting, cleaning you up just enough so the wound never really heals. it may scab over, but ashe is always ready with another bullet, and you know how quick she can reload.

| ᥫ᭡₊ ⊹ widowmaker

widowmaker loves like a spider bite. you’re tied up in her sticky strings of love, her carefully woven web tied from lamenting bone to lamenting bone. and it seems for a moment the spider whose web you’re caught in has died with how long you struggle all alone. but she’s there, perfecting her poison before her final performance. widowmaker is graceful as she moves along that pretty, heart-shaped web of her design. long legs tantalizing you, love just dripping from those sharp fangs of hers. you can feel it spread painfully through your veins, pumping into your heart. and it’s like your chest constricts; she’s taking you for herself from the inside out. she’s focusing in on every single part of you, scoping into the sweat that’s dripping off your face, the intoxicated way your eyes fight to stay open. your vision is so foggy when she lifts your head by your chin, all you can really make out is her shadowed form. and now it’s like the web that ensnared you is the only thing holding your body up. your veins write jeremiads up your arms; her love is a pain you just couldn’t bring yourself to hate.

#technically yes a spider bite is venom but poison just sounded better in the sentence #junkrat #jamison fawkes #elizabeth ashe #ashe overwatch #widowmaker #amelie lacroix #junkrat x reader #ashe x reader #widowmaker x reader #overwatch x reader #overwatch 2 #overwatch headcanons

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falling-star-cygnus · 22 days ago

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you ever be writing a fanfic and then two days after posting you're like "I CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT THE WORD GLOB" when thinking over a scene you wrote -> but then you've already reworked the scene too much to include it

anyway, impulsive DBD fic!!!

Summary: Post Port Townsend, Crystal not-so-subtly tries to get Charles to open up about his feelings. Edwin is there for moral support when things go awry [a lot fluffier than it sounds, pinkie promise]

tap. tap tap.

tap tap.

tap-

"Crystal." Edwin says, looking up slowly from his book to side-eye her, "Either tell me what's so clearly bothering you, or cease that tapping."

...tap. snap.

The Edwardian shuts his book with a flourish, dramatic down to his pinkie bone. Honestly, he was like a huffy grandmother with misophonia.

Heh.

Anyway-

"Look at them," Crystal huffs, staring pointedly ahead, "Being cute and shit. It's suspicious."

'Them' in question, was Niko and Charles. Being cute and shit. Suspiciously.

Well- okay, not really. The were just by her bed, talking, with their cute little happy smiles. Charles had insisted on helping her pack the heavy things after- well. Everything.

He'd said he didn't want her to strain herself, but.. Crystal thinks, privately, he just wanted to feel useful.

Dumb boy. Acting like he hadn't killed a giant snake.

Somehow, their conversation had drifted from packing to Niko showing off her very extensive wardrobe- probably trying to strong arm him into a makeover.

Definitely trying to strong arm him into a makeover.

She was holding one of her more tame blouses up to his chest, a somewhat sheer- collared sort of thing, with lantern sleeves. Pale orange.

It kinda reminded the psychic of cream soda, on those foggy beach days.

"This would look so nice on you, Charles!" Niko says, beaming as his gloved hands come up to the fabric, "Do you wanna try it on?"

"Think I'd stretch it out, wouldn't I? I don't wanna ruin your clothes, Neeks."

Interesting rebuttal.

"This one was going into the donate pile, actually! It's not really my color.."

Lies, that girl could pull off anything. She just wanted to play dress-up. As is her god given right, after the whole.. stabbing thing. Crystal had been subjected to many different makeup looks.

A few of which would definitely be making a reappearance.

Edwin shifts next to her, poorly pretending like he wasn't watching the conversation unfold.

There's no way the nerd reads that slow.

"Aw, I'm sure that's not true," Charles says, turning the shirt around, "It is rather charming though, I could never wear pastels when I was alive."

Simultaneously, everybody in the room seems to freeze.

There's- so much.. to unpack in that sentence. That Charles doesn't even seem aware of. 'Could never' wear pastels, because he was a boy from the 80's. 'Could never' because his dad was piece of shit.

'Could never' because they didn't hide anything.

"...why is everyone looking at me like that?"

Oh, sweet summer child.

"Charles, you do not have to wear anything that makes you uncomfortable." Edwin says, his book all but forgotten around his thumb, "I'm sure Niko did not mean to drudge up any unfortunate memories."

She looks like she's about to cry, actually, at just the thought.

Her hands land on his face, inadvertently drawing a startle out of him, "I am so sorry, Charles. If I'd known-"

"Neeks, it's aces, I swear-! I didn't mean to-"

His dark eyes glance around near frantically, gloved thumbs making soothing circles on the outsides of Niko's wrists. Unsurprisingly, he's the one that looks the guiltiest.

Dumb boy.

"Sorry," Charles apologizes, "Didn't mean to bring the mood down. Just forget I said anything-"

"No-" Crystal cuts off, exasperated, "No. Jeez, you didn't- 'bring the mood down'. Are you even capable of saying one negative emotion you've had?"

He looks affronted, "'Course I am."

"Prove it."

Let it be known, he did try. So so hard.

Alas...

Every time he opened his mouth to say something, it died before fruition. Like- straight up wheezed out like a deflated balloon. Niko had long since removed her hands from his face, and sympathetically patted his shoulder after every attempt.

"I-" something ticks in his jaw, "..don't.. like-"

Jesus Christ, you'd think they were holding him at gunpoint.

"Why is this so hard for you!?" Crystal asks, fully in disbelief. She could name hundreds of things she was mad about, or that she disliked.

"I don't know."

Charles buries his face in his hands and leans against the wall, thoroughly defeated.

He lists forward for a second, from his heels to his toes, and- the back of his head meets Edwin's palm.

Huh?

"..you were doing so well," the nerd doesn't sound disappointed, but unfathomably worried. For- what?

"..sorry, mate."

"Do not be."

Crystal... vaguely feels like she missed something. Especially when Charles pulls away and examines Edwin's gloved hand- like he could see through the material for damage.

What the hell happened in Hell.

Niko's carefully steps forward, more than aware of the sudden tenderness between their ghosts, with the shirt in hand.

"I think you should try it on," she offers it out, gentle, "If you don't like it, then we don't even have to talk about it. Please?"

Charles tries the shirt on.

[+-+-+]

It's a tedious process, that really shouldn't have needed to be a two-person job.

Regardless, Edwin's glad his partner chose him to help- instead of Niko, who had offered. There was a part of him, after Esther- after Hell- that was worried that.. well, that Charles would be uncomfortable with tactility.

From Edwin specifically.

He shouldn't have worried.

Though... now the two were in the bathroom, Edwin was being turned to face the wall.

"Charles-"

"I know- I know," he sighs, his hands still on the Edwardian's shoulders, "It's just- I can't-"

...ah.

Maybe that worry was warranted. Touch was one thing to someone who thrived on it but-

"It is alright, I understand," Edwin replies, staunchly ignoring the stab of hurt under his ribs, "After everything, it's perfectly reasonable that you wouldn't feel comfortable-"

"What? No- mate, It's not a you thing."

Oh.

Well, that was a relief- a proverbial millstone off his unbreathing chest.

"Then why-?"

The hands on Edwin's shoulders twitch, clenching at the fabric but carefully avoiding the muscle, and then smooth out the creases. Edwin pretends his heart doesn't jump.

"I.." oh, oh no, "It's just- There's... you know, on my back. I-"

Charles Rowland should never sound like that.

There's a painfully watery inhale, one that boasts of poorly tamped down panic and tears. Charles clears his throat.

"Bloody hell, why is this so hard-"

Right then.

Edwin brings his hand up to rest upon his best friend's, now painted a picture he honestly shouldn't of needed. He doesn't say anything, doesn't know what he can say, but he hopes the touch is grounding enough.

Reassuring enough- that it says everything that Edwin can't bring himself to lest it scare Charles back into hiding. Take your time, I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere, it's okay, breathe, it's okay, it's okay- I'm right here

"I- there's... scars," the boy of sunshine finally forces out, resting his forehead against Edwin's nape, "On- you know- I.. on my back."

Oh..

Edwin turns around and pulls Charles close- tucks him into his shoulder like he could protect him.

Protect him like he did to the three of them.

"That is nothing to be ashamed of," he says, into the soft curls atop his best friend's head, "I promise you."

Of all the people in the world, in the afterlife, Charles Rowland was the last person who should be ashamed of- well, anything really. How was it that someone so kind, so protective, deserved to tremble like this?

"I.. wish I had scars," he finds himself tacking on, hands on Charles' bicep and neck to hold him closer, "To prove it was real."

The Edwardian might just be babbling nonsense to an unwilling ear, at this point, but he hopes it helps. His friend has always been better at this kind of thing..

"Mate- of course, it was real. You-"

No. Edwin can feel him start to pull away, and he bumps their foreheads together decisively.

This was not about comforting him, it was about Charles.

"Your experiences were real too," the Edwardian says, "You are not worth any less just because they show on your skin."

The younger ghost doesn't meet his eyes.

"Bit different, isn't in? You escaped. I-" his voice breaks, and it feels like a knife through Edwin's unbeating heart, "I just took it."

"Charles Rowland, you did not 'just take' anything."

His words are firm, perhaps a touch too firm by the way Charles jumps, but they need to be said. And they're no less true.

"What else could you possibly have done?" he asks, pushing their heads closer together, "When your mother could've been next? When that boy you protected could've been in your situation?"

He might despise this self-sacrificial tendency in his best friend, might despise that he protected everybody before himself, but.. it was undeniably one of the reasons he fell too.

"Charles, every mar you have is the result of someone you protected. I truly don't think you're capable of 'just taking' anything."

Despite his words, his anger that no one could be bothered to protect Charles, Edwin finds himself smiling.

"Well. Except my heart, that is," the Edwardian chuckles, pulling away just enough to get a decent look at his best friend, "But I think you'll find that it's been yours since the attic."

The sound Charles makes is nearly inhuman.

"Mate- you can't just say things like that," he says, strangled and red as he reburies his face in Edwin's shoulder, "My heart can't take it."

"It's a good thing our hearts don't beat anymore, then."

"Edwin."

The hug goes on for a minute or two more, before either of them feel comfortable enough to detach.

Charles eyes are suspiciously misty, and Edwin's shoulder is suspiciously damp. But that's neither here, nor there.

Baby steps, as Niko would say.

Soon enough, they've got themselves back on track.

Edwin turns back towards the wall, trying not to burn at the sounds of rustling fabric behind him, until Charles told him it was okay to turn back around. And..

Oh this wasn't good for his heart.

Or whatever muscle was suddenly clenching in his chest.

He was right, the shirt was charming. On him. Especially on him. A soft orange, like a sunset, with small flowers embellished on the collar and sleeve cuffs.

It paired surprisingly well, with his gloves and trousers- and accentuated the slip of waist from where it was tucked into his pants.

Goodness.

Edwin clears his throat, struggling to keep his hands steady enough to slip the button at the back of the neck through it's little hoop.

Charles was still wearing his white vest underneath it. Understandably, of course, considering the only thing holding this shirt even somewhat closed in the back was the button.

A fact neither of them had noticed till now.

When his best friend turns around, his doeish brown eyes are nervous. Self-conscious.

Expectant.

Edwin smooths out his collar and offers his hand- of which is immediately taken. [like a dog doing 'shake']

"You look lovely, Charles."

AND THERE IT IS: ao3 fic: here ↑ please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed!!!

#catch me sneaking my hc into everything #the ramblings of a fallen star #dead boy detectives #dbda #dbda fanfic #charles rowland #edwin payne #payneland #crystal palace #niko sasaki #painland

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wayward-dreamer · 1 year ago

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Slow Night

Square/s Filled: FREE @anyfandomgoesbingo | Pet names @anyfandomkinkbingo

Pairing: Steve Harrington x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2,262

Summary: A slow night at Family Video has Steve and Y/N face the reality of how they feel about each other.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, smut: dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving)

A/N: My first Steve fic which wouldn't have been my first if it hadn't taken me so long to write lol. Hope you all enjoy it! Thanks to my loves @hintsofhoney and @makeadealwithdean for looking over this for me! <3

Lashings of rain beat down on the cars in the parking lot, some of the downpour hitting the windows of the building as it ran off the thin shelter above the store. Wednesday was already a slow night for Family Video, and the rain was an added factor on that particular night. Y/N leaned back against the counter, her arms crossed as she grimaced at the weather outside, hoping that the rain would cease, and the last two hours of her shift would take a turn for the better. Another customer or two and they would make a good enough profit for the day, despite it being their least busy.

With a glance behind her, she took a deep breath as she watched her co-worker for the evening push the cart of VHS tapes down the aisle, stacking them back on the shelves. Steve Harrington. Yet another reason she wanted a few more customers to come in, so she didn’t have to be completely alone with him. It wasn’t because she didn’t like him, but because she did. A little too much maybe.

He had joined the team along with Robin about 5 months ago, and while Keith hadn’t been thrilled about Steve as a new addition, she definitely was. Or at least she had been at the time. The crush settled in pretty quickly, and she had hoped that he would notice, but he hadn’t. So, she did what she did best, pushed down her feelings and ignored the ache in her heart.

“Alright, I’ve put back every single tape that was in the office,” Steve informed as he took the same position as her against the counter, “can’t we just call it a night? I really don’t think anyone’s braving the rain.”

“You’re already on Keith’s bad side, do you really wanna mess with that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought you had my back with him,” he countered, turning to face her as he placed his hands on hips, his eyes locked on hers.

“I mean, I usually do. But see, if I let you leave early and Keith asks, I’m gonna have to cover for your ass… and I just risk my own this time, Stevie,” she teased, a smirk pulling at her lips as she turned to him.

“Okay, well… then we just cover each other’s asses,” he suggested, leaning his elbow on the counter as he continued to face her.

She chortled, staring up at him before she shook her head, stepping away from him. “That’s some idea, Steve Harrington.”

“See, you’re being sarcastic but I really think there’s something to it-” he started to explain himself, but stopped as she grabbed his hand and dragged him behind her.

“I bet there is, but how ‘bout you help me sort the posters that came in this morning,” she interjected, pulling him into the back office.

Y/N walked into the room with Steve in tow, the desk covered with rolled up posters for the movies that they would have available at Family Video. She dropped his arm as she stood in front of the table, shuffling the pile in half as she moved one set closer to him.

“Alright, let’s open them and see what we got, then we can decide which ones go where,” she instructed, looking up at him.

“Yeah,” he breathed, quickly getting started.

They took several minutes as they unrolled all the posters, seeing what they had and where in the store they were going to put them up. Y/N took the ones that they weren’t going to use and put them aside, keeping the ten that they were going to put up open with paperweights.

“I think we should put these four in the window,” she stated, pointing them out. “And these six inside, two on each wall.”

“Okay,” Steve said, removing the weights and picking up the first poster.

Y/N yelped as the corner of the paper nicked the top of her finger, causing her to flinch and pull her hand back. She looked down, trying to see if the skin had broken and if there was any blood.

“Oh shit, s-sorry,” he stuttered, moving over to her and quickly taking her hand in his. “You okay?”

She gulped, the feeling of his skin against hers having more of an effect on her than the paper. “Y-Yeah. No blood. I’m good.”

“Good,” he muttered, as he gave her a once over. “Those papercuts can be nasty.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, looking down at their hands.

Steve’s thumb brushed over her knuckles as their hands remained locked, neither of them pulling away. Her mind was reeling, and she knew she should’ve moved away from him but she couldn’t bring herself to. His fingers pressed against hers, feeling how soft her skin was. She didn’t even know that he felt the same way, and he had since the moment they met on his first day of work. It was as fast as a bullet, and he had only felt like that once before. Nancy Wheeler, second semester senior year. It was different to Nancy, though, and he knew that was a good thing but he was too scared that he would get burned like he had previously.

But he had to start letting that go.

Steve leaned in slowly, the gasp leaving her before he pressed his lips to hers making him smile a little as they kissed. It was soft, gentle, amazing. Along with that, it was far too brief as Y/N pulled away first, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“I-I shouldn’t have done that-” he began to apologize, thinking that he misread the moment, but she stopped him by shaking her head, tugging on his green work vest.

“No,” she breathed, her lips pulling up into a smile. “I’m just surprised. I liked it, though.”

“Me too,” he added, smirking. “I like you, Y/N. So much.”

She huffed in disbelief, a small giggle escaping her. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he replied, before dipping his head once more.

She met him halfway, their lips moving against each other’s in a passionate kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she pushed herself closer to him, his hands sliding down her back and onto her hips. He shifted her backwards towards the desk, his right hand leaving her and swiping the posters off the surface, sitting her down on top. Her legs wrapped around him as she reached for his work vest, pushing it off his shoulders and letting it fall on the floor. Their lips continued to move sensually as her hands slid down his chest, tugging at his shirt that was tucked into his jeans, but he stopped her, his fingers clasping hers.

“We shouldn’t do it like this,” he stated, softly once he pulled away. “I mean, I should at least take you on a date first, right?”

She smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and stared into his eyes. “You should… but not right now.”

He smirked, leaning in once more and kissing her, with as much passion as when their lips first touched. When she reached for his shirt again, he didn’t stop her, briefly pulling away to let her take it off him. She gasped softly as her hands slid down his soft, alabaster skin, feeling the ripple of his muscles. Their mouths met again as he pushed her Family Video jacket off her shoulders, her arms moving back to let it slip down and onto the floor. The kiss became heated just as her movements became frantic, not wanting to waste any more time. She laid back on the desk and pulled him close once he leaned over her. His lips left gentle pecks along her jaw and neck, his fingers plucking the buttons of her shirt open and exposing her white lace bra and more of her skin to pay attention to.

“Steve,” she breathed, her fingers combing through his incredible locks as he drifted down her body. “I-I”

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he muttered, leaving a kiss over her ribcage just as his eyes glanced up at her.

She gulped as she looked back at him, the glint in his eyes and the way she had always wished to hear him call her ‘baby’ being too much for her in that moment. She couldn’t think straight.

“I n-need, need your mouth,” she gasped, feeling his lips brush over her skin in the most delicious way possible.

“Here?” he asked as he placed a soft kiss to her stomach.

She groaned slightly. “L-Lower.”

“Oh,” he smirked, slowly unbuttoning her jeans and pulling them down sensually. He nipped at the flesh over her hip, a low chuckle leaving him as she jumped. “There?”

“Steve, please,” she whimpered, tugging lightly at his hair. “Don’t tease me anymore, please…”

He laughed again as he continued to remove the denim along with her panties, throwing them on the floor. He didn’t bother to remove her sneakers as he was far too impatient to get his mouth on her. He felt his cock swell, straining against his jeans but he wanted to pay attention to her first. He really did like her, and if he couldn’t take her on a first date before doing this, then he at least had to show her he cared in other ways. Y/N’s head tilted back and scraped lightly against the desk, a loud moan escaping her as his tongue licked a long stripe against her sex. Her calves rested on his shoulders as he shifted closer to her, his skilled muscle continuing to move over her folds. He groaned at the taste of her arousal as it met his tongue, the sounds vibrating against her and making her fingers clench in his luscious locks.

“Fuck,” she gasped, her eyes fluttering closed. “Steve, that feels so good.”

He pulled away briefly, kissing her inner thigh as he peered up at her. “You taste so good, honey. Wanna feel you cum on my tongue. You can do that for me, can’t you, baby?”

“Y-Yeah,” she stuttered, glancing down at him.

Steve continued his ministrations, bringing her the most euphoric feeling she had ever experienced as his tongue moved to her clit, running circles around it as he grabbed her hips tight in his hands. She pushed herself up one elbow, moaning as she bit her lip, watching the way he pleasured her. He picked up the pace, causing her to throw her head back with a lustful whimper, her hips rocking against him, grinding against his mouth.

“Fuck, yes, oh, Steve,” she moaned, wantonly. She held him in place by gripping his hair, wanting to get him as close as possible and hoping he didn’t pull away. “Oh god, r-right there…”

He alternated between paying attention to the bundle of nerves and her folds, moving his tongue faster. Short puffs of air left her as she became overwhelmed by what she was feeling, while he was like a man starved, relentless with his talented muscle as he brought her closer to the edge. She felt her core tighten and she knew she was close, her pelvis continuing to grind against him as she chased her release.

“Oh god, S-Steve, I-I’m close,” she cried out, her hands so tight in his hair she feared she’d pull out a few of those precious strands.

“Cum for me, honey, wanna feel it,” he muttered against her sex as he pulled away slightly, before he picked up where he left off.

She felt the pressure build up as waves of pleasure washed over her, and it was only a matter of moments before she fell over the edge, her arousal covering his tongue and mouth. He grunted against her as he lapped at everything she had to give him, making her shiver with a small moan leaving her. She breathed heavily as she giggled, her fingers combing his hair back while he shifted away slightly, their eyes meeting.

“That was…” she started, biting her lip to keep herself from grinning. She couldn’t stop herself though. “I think I saw stars.”

“Well, that was the goal,” he said, standing up between her legs, bringing them around his waist.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as his moved around her, pulling her close as they kissed, passionately. She moaned at the taste of herself on his lips, her arousal growing as they continued their embrace. They were too caught up in their need for each other to hear the bell above the entrance to the store ring.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she ripped her mouth away from Steve’s, pushing him away and getting off the desk, picking up her jeans. He took his vest and put it on, as he was more decent than her at that point.

“You get ready, I’ll handle this,” he promised, kissing her cheek.

“Thank you,” she blushed. She loved how sweet he was and she couldn’t wait to see where things went with them.

He tucked his shirt back in, wiped his mouth and fixed his vest, looking her over once more and winking. She was amazing and he couldn’t believe that he finally got to be with her, but he was going to make sure he earned that. With one last look between them, he walked out of the office, clicking his fingers as he shook his head, smiling.

“So much for going home early.”

#anyfandomgoesbingo #anyfandomkinkbingo #Steve Harrington x Female!Reader #Steve Harrington x Female!Reader Smut #Steve Harrington x Female!Reader One Shot #Steve Harrington x Female!Reader Fanfiction #Steve Harrington Smut #Steve Harrington One Shot #Steve Harrington Fanfiction #Stranger Things Smut #Stranger Things One Shot #Stranger Things Fanfiction

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