#she's just my type; impeccably dressed and SO fucking MEAN :' )

[scare-ard--sleigh]

do really love that the fandom came together and agreed that madame crocodile would in fact be the most beautiful woman any of us have ever seen :' )

[tewwor]

——— BASICS ! ♡

NICKNAME : ro, kc, etc.

PRONOUNS : she/they

ZODIAC SIGN : taurus

TAKEN OR SINGLE : taken

——— THREE FACTS ! ♡

i developed a good amount of scar tissue in my ankles back in high school because i kept twisting them so often :) yes, i was a part of cross country / track the entire 4 years :) yes, i did twist both my ankles during running camp :) :)

i have stupid good hearing, and it drives me up a wall to hear things that most of my friends cannot hear. who, coincidentally, are mostly hard of hearing to some degree so it's just over stimulated hell & ear plug city over here ( i am suffering )

i... do have a bachelors in fine arts....... the thought of paint thinner, any paint types, specific smells of cleaning solutions and orange scented oils give me immediate flashbacks to art classes in the most feral way possible. have i put my degree to use professionally? absolutely not. im in accounting, go figure.

——— EXPERIENCE ! ♡

y'all... i have no clue and i'd like to keep it that way. i started rping probably way too early online. was my starting point when spn was at it's peak? yes, please don't bring it up ( cries ). have i met at least 1 lifelong friend that i have, and continue to be, friends with for 10+ years? yes. his parents love me and they're so sweet and he bullies me in game because we both suck at them. anyways, tunglr's a shitshow but writing silly things on here makes it worth it

——— MUSE PREFERENCE ! ♡

for muses i prefer to write? THE silent and wrath filled type ( each one lacks more and more restraint ), Pathetic Man™, that one cartoonish annoying but posh / socialite-esque personality & impeccably dressed figure, himbo and heavy on the dumb aspect, 'i'm so totally normal and not a weird fucked up obscure creature', wet creaturesTM, the 'oh no, i can help! but i will then immediately need help right after!', the 'i just wanna have fun and get random people into the weirdest shit possible' thrill seekers, That One Man That Shall Not Be Named Lest He Appear Like A Dream Paralysis Demon, that one idiotic dog that keeps biting people, sweetest... most uncertain and self-conscious man ever..., and of course - eldritch horror creature dating simTM

for muses i write again? Morally Grey, feral characters with so much backstory it really does wind me, silly......, creatures, just a human in a very supernatural situation, rays of sunshine, mean mfers.., well intentioned but comically comes in at the worst time possible, complex like it's the ny times crossword ( i am very bad at these ), came back Wrong, MisunderstoodTM but for good reason, etc.

——— FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT ! ♡

FLUFF : goes so well with silliness, excellent balm for the soul, love it!

ANGST : bread and butter........ brick and mortar... required for me and my characters to strive... hurts so good, 100/10, always need more

SMUT : just dipping my pinky toe in it! still rather low on the types of threads i get the most consistent muse for, but it's there.... lingering.. waiting.......

PLOT / MEMES : always down for both, but i do tend to hop from one side to another. sometimes my brain favors plots. other times it's all about memes.

tagged by: i stolt it from someone

tagging: EVERYONE. idc if we just became mutuals, or we've been mutuals, i wanna know so tag me.

[forever-rogue]

I’m so excited that your doing these requests!🥳 could you please do prompt 36 from prompt list 1 with javier please, think I would cry😂💖 Thankyoux

Oh, okay, I see what you’re doing to me here! 🥺😌 Enjoy!

Prompt: 36. “Does he know about the baby?”

Javi x Fem!Reader ; warnings: language, pregnancy

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

You knocked on Connie and Steve’s door, hesitating for just a moment before opening once you heard her call to you. As soon as you walked into the Murphy’s place, you were overwhelmed with the smell of her delicious cooking. You grinned as you walked in, following the smell of the percolating coffee. 

“Good morning,” you grinned at Steve who was setting the table. He looked up and smiled, offering you a small wave. You were just about in the kitchen when you felt a pair of arms wrap tightly around your waist before you were held against a strong chest. His smell immediately overwhelmed your senses as he pressed a few kisses to your bare shoulder; you’d purposely worn a sundress, one you knew he loved just to tease him a little...and for one other very specific purpose - but he wasn’t privy to that just yet, “good morning, Javier.”

“Good morning to you, Dulzura,” he whispered in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek, “you had to wear that little dress, didn’t you? You drive me crazy sometimes.”

“Hmmm,” you mused as you hastily pulled out of his grasp before turning to face him and pressing a kiss to his lips, “maybe I like to mess with you...maybe I just really like this dress.”

“You are…” his hands his found purchase on your hips as he gave them a gentle squeeze, kissing along your jaw before stopping at the shell of your ear, his warm breath tickling you, “an absolute little -”

“Hi babe!” Connie beamed when she stuck her head out from the kitchen, her smile stretching from ear to ear, “so glad you made it! Do you mind giving me a hand real quick with finishing up? Javi - let the poor thing breath for a moment.”

Javi sighed dramatically before hanging his head; but you didn’t let him down that easily, instead putting a few fingers under his chin and turning his face up so you could kiss him properly. He instantly lit up at your touch, those soft brown eyes crinkling in the corners as his dimple made its appearance, “te amo, Javier. Now go and help Steve or something. I’m all yours after brunch anyway.”

“Fine,” he pouted as you pushed him in Steve’s direction. You watched him go with a laugh before joining Connie in the kitchen. She just smirked at you, handing you a bowl of fresh fruit to cut up.

The two of you fell into easy conversation, and you thoroughly enjoyed her company. But as you kept chopping away at the fruit, your stomach started to churn more and more with each slice of your knife. When you were halfway through cutting up the mango, you couldn’t handle it anymore and practically threw down the knife as you dashed towards the bathroom. You almost kicked the door open as you got onto your knees and heaved up the contents of your stomach. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. You sighed at yourself when you were all done, wiping at the corners of your mouth. You’d thought you’d gotten over this part by now, hoping that it wouldn’t rear its ugly head again - especially not in front of your friends and boyfriend. No - the morning sickness should have been done by now.  

“Dulzura?” Javier stepped into the small bathroom and shut the door behind him, immediately dropping to his knees next to you. Flushing the toilet, you turned to him and put on the most innocent face you could. He grabbed your face gently in his hands, brushing a thumb over your cheek as he studied you intently, “what happened? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Javi,” you promised him softly as you put your hands on his wrists and gave them a gentle squeeze. Although you were sure that the average person would have easily believed your little lie, Javier was no average man and he was able to easily see through your white lie. You sighed heavily before pulling his hands from your face and moving to stand up, “please don’t worry about me, it’s probably something I ate.”

“I do worry,” he insisted, just as firmly, as you turned on the tap and stuck your head under it to swish your mouth with water, “it’s my job-”

“Your job is to be my boyfriend,” you spit out the cold water, “and to trust me when I say everything is fine. One little upset stomach is nothing to worry about, Javier Peña. You have enough to worry about, don’t worry about this one too.”

“Fine,” he held up his hands in defeat, but you could tell that he wasn’t going to let this one go; for now probably, but forever, “but-"

"If it happens again, you'll be the first to know mi amor," you promised him, "now go and finish up with Steve and I'll finish the fruit."

Javier gave your hand a squeeze before slowly making his way out of the bathroom, with you quickly following on his kneel. Before he walked back over to Steve while you rejoined Connie in the kitchen.

She'd taken it upon herself to finish cutting up the fruit, but a knowing little look was on her face. You walked back over without saying a word, fully intending on not mentioning a word, but just like Javier, Connie was sharp and perceptive and wouldn't let it go. You'd surrounded yourself with a particular type of person and right now you were regretting intensely.

"Does he know about the baby?" she whispered under her breath as you stilled in your motions. Your breath hitched in your throat as you slowly met her eyes, wanting to cry at the little smirk on her face.

"I-I-I…don't know what you're talking about," you lied lamely, more so wondering if she would go along with what you were saying or call your bluff.

"Honey," she gave you an almost pitying look, "you just had a bout of morning sickness and you're starting to show. I've seen the old dress trick tons of times."

"How did you know that's what it was?" you asked in a rushed whisper. She was a nurse...of course she'd know.

"Randomly throwing up at the smell of food? And it's not the first time - it's happened not infrequently over the past two months," she stated as you groaned, "just because those two are oblivious, doesn't mean I am."

"Fine," you hissed quietly, making sure that Javier and Steve weren't paying attention, "how can you tell I'm showing?! I thought it wasn't...obvious yet."

"Not to the untrained eye," she admitted, "I'm guessing you just started to pop? You've been wearing looser clothes lately… I'm guessing...16 weeks?"

"14 weeks...shit Con," you sighed softly, "I...I've been too obvious! I haven't...I haven't told Javier! I haven't found the right time and I've been so nervous and I-I-I...just I'm scared, Con. What if…"

"No what ifs, honey," she said softly as she put her arm around and pulled you into a hug, "you need to tell Javier. He deserves to know...and I know you're scared, but you know how much he loves you and this won't change anything. You've turned Javier into the best version of him - he adores you. But you have to tell him...besides you're not going to be able to hide it much longer…"

"Fuck!" you whined softly.

"Just tell him," she stated firmly, "you have to tell Javier."

"Tell me what?" Javier and his impeccable timing struck again as he walked into the kitchen and grinned at the two of you. You exchanged a nervous look with her before turning back to him.

"How much I love you," you swallowed nervously before grinning at him with the best smile you could muster up, "which is a lot whole, mi amor."

He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off with a kiss. Javier made a small sound but said nothing, instead giving you another kiss. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

"What's wrong, Dulzura?" Javier asked as he pulled you into his lap; you had stiffened immediately upon his touch. As soon as you'd gotten back to his apartment, he was all over you, his touch was like fire and he was all consuming. It had been easy to get lost in his touch, the feel of his lips on yours,  his large hands roaming your body. 

But as soon as he had led you back to his bedroom and he flopped down on the bed and pulled you into him - sheer panic set in.

"N-nothing," you lied as you stood up and took a step back. A look of confusion crossed his features as you tried to keep it together, "just tired…"

"Okay," he sighed softly before running a hand over his face, "what the hell is going on? You've been acting off all day…"

"Nothing…"

"Dulzura."

"Javier, you're worrying over nothing again."

"You won't even let me touch you," he sighed lightly, "if you don't want me to let me know. We don't have to do anything…"

"I do, Javier...I'm just tired."

"Bullshit…"

"Javi…"

"You can tell me anything, Dulzura. I love you, you know that."

"I-"

"Anything at all."

"I-"

"Nothing will ever change that I love you."

"I'm pregnant."

It came out as an almost shout as you finally plucked up the courage to just say it. Javier's jaw dropped as he immediately looked at your stomach and then back at your face. A million different emotions flickered over his features as he tried to figure out what was happening. 

Oh, he'd heard you - he just couldn't come to terms with it.

"What?" he said softly as he met your eyes. His eyes were glossy as he tried to figure out if it was true, "Dulzura...what did you say?"

"I...I...I'm pregnant," you whispered softly, your own eyes starting to prick and burn. Slowly, you reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it up as gently as you watched his reaction. He sucked in his breath as he watched your stomach become revealed to him. It was small, still barely evident, but it was there - the sweetest of bumps, "I...I should have told you sooner, Javier. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"Why are you sorry?" his eyes were practically twinkling as his lips trembled slightly. He stood up and came over, a hand gingerly going to your stomach as he paused to see if you would stop. But you didn't - you let him put his hand on your belly before putting your own on top of his, "our baby...how far…"

"14 weeks," you said nervously as he nodded, trying to keep it together and not completely lose his mind, "I found out about 6 weeks ago and I-I-I panicked so much and I kept trying to figure out the perfect time to tell you and I keep not. I'm so sorry for that, Javier. You deserved to know sooner...and I completely understand if you don't want...anything to do with me or the baby."

"Why would you think I wouldn't want anything to do with…" he paused as he looked up and met your eyes, his free hand moving to your cheek, as you keened in to his touch, "did you think I was going to be mad...leave?"

"No," you admitted honestly, "I just didn't know what you'd...think. I'm scared and nervous and I didn't know what to do, and I just kept not telling you. And we didn't plan for a baby, I mean...its a mess."

"I love you," he whispered before kissing your forehead, "and - fuck - a few years ago I didn't think I'd ever love someone again or be in this situation. And now...I'm scared, don't get me wrong, absolutely terrified. But I am...I'm excited. This is...you...I love you."

"I'm scared too," your lips trembled, but in a quick measure of reassurance, he pressed a kiss to your lips in a sweet, gentle manner, "its a baby, Javier. What if-"

"Dulzura," he whispered softly, "I know there are a ton of things to think about - but I promise you this - it will be okay, we will be okay. I'm not going anywhere and I will protect you and the baby, and fuck - I'm happy. Scared but happy."

"Yeah?" you asked softly, not hesitating to throw your arms around his neck and holding him tightly, "I love you, Javier. More than you will ever know."

"I love you too," he kissed the crown of your head as he gently rubbed your back in soothing circles. He held you silently for some time, letting you get your soft cries, these ones not of worry or sadness but nervous happiness out, "can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"How did I never...notice? What if I hadn't found out and you'd gotten bigger?" he chuckled warmly as you snorted with laughter.

"Well, I've been keeping the lights off," you reminded him and he made a sound of 'oh yeah', "and this little bit just seemed to pop out the last few days...I don't know...I guess I would have blamed...bloating?"

"You are too much," he laughed as you gave him a sheepish look, "do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Next time, just tell me as soon as you know," he insisted gently, "I...I want this - to be a part of this - and to experience it all with you."

"Next time?" you quirked an eyebrow gently, "you presume there's a next time?"

"Maybe…" he grinned with a cheeky smirk, "but seriously, Dulzura - I'm happy, scared, but happy. And I love you, always."

"I love you too," you promised, "con todo."

"I know," he whispered, "now - will you let me show you how much?"

"Javier…"

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[missymurphy1985]

Nobody's Perfect (part2)

The aftermath of your apparent one night stand with Cillian Murphy.

Warnings - smut / angst / language

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x

The hangover was pretty mild compared to the absolute shame you felt walking onset that afternoon. Not only did Cillian simply discard you after he had his way with you, now you had to face him in an intimate scene. Well, as intimate as Clara Rose being fucked over a desk by Tommy Shelby can be...

Paul greeted you with a warm smile, which you didn't expect, surely the whole set would be laughing at you?

"Y/n! Where did you disappear off to last night?" He hugged you and you walked over to the canteen area together, one eye over the whole set checking whether he was here yet.

"Oh, I think I just had one too many.. once my head hit the pillow I was out like a light!" You lied, convincingly. Well, you were an actress...

"Cillian said it wasn't difficult to get you into bed!"

"What?!" You nearly got whiplash from the sudden neck movement.

"You were so drunk, you were practically asleep before you got there!" Your face softened in relief. Paul was one of his closest friends onset. If he hadn't told him, maybe no one else knew..

"Yeah, didn't put up much of a fight, did you love?" That voice appeared out of nowhere behind you both and you couldn't help your hands shaking a little.

You smiled, gritting your teeth.

"Bet you weren't feeling too hot this morning?" Oh when was he going to shut up... "Bit sore?"

"I felt fine thank you." You forced a smile and turned your back on him before walking over to Sophie and Natasha to get a coffee and some adult, non-innuendo conversation, leaving Cillian and Paul to head to makeup to get ready for their scenes.

You forced it down enough that Tash and Sophie didn't notice anything untoward. Before long, the director was calling you to get ready and your heart sank - THAT scene. Brilliant.

The set was closed to everyone except you, Cillian and the directors due to the 'sexual nature' of it, and you were casually sat leaning against the desk waiting for Tommy Shelby to make his way over. The sooner this was over, the better. A few moments passed before he made his way over. You didn't speak as he sat on the chair next in front of you, both of you in full costume.

"Can we at least be professional?" You asked, breaking the silence.

"It was just sex y/n," he chuckled making your blood boil. The directors came onto the set and took you both to the side explaining what they needed. These scenes were never fully choreographed - it was down to the actors to know their characters well enough to just run with it.

You both got into position, ready for the call of Action. You, dress hitched over your waist bent over the desk, Cillian behind you ready to go. One of his hands on your waist, the other on your lower back. You could feel him rubbing the skin there gently, as if he was trying to make you feel more comfortable.. but as quick as it started, it stopped. The director called Action and the pounding began.

Once the 'climaxes' had been reached, he 'removed' himself from you and you straightened yourself out, turning to face him. The cameras still rolling, the scene wasn't done. But the script couldn't have been more perfect.

"Better, Mr Shelby?" You asked, as Clara.

"Much. Thank you Clara, you can see yourself out, eh?"

"Does this life satisfy you, Tommy? A different girl every week? Just mere objects for you to get your end away... Never spare a thought for them do you? They're just there to what, serve a purpose I guess? How many was it this month, huh, do you even know?" A pause, his gaze never left yours. You weren't talking to Tommy now, and he knew it. Finally he took a deep breath and pointed behind you.

"The door's over there."

Your eyes watered. Unscripted, but the director didn't call cut... You bit your lip and headed out the door.

"CUT! Jesus y/n, you nearly had ME welling up.. that last shot was incredible..." You smiled at the director and looked back at Cillian, who was still watching you, a stony expression on his face. Without missing a beat, you walked off set and back to your trailer.

You sat at the table in your trailer with a coffee, closing your eyes and pushing away everything from the last 24 hours. A knock on your door stunned you. You opened it to find Natasha, who saw your red eyes and immediately let herself in, closing the door behind you and pulling you into her arms. Without thinking you allowed your tears to fall. Sobbing almost uncontrollably.

"Y/n, what's wrong?" She asked, easing you onto the sofa and kneeling down in front of you.

"Y/n... Talk to me, you're worrying me.." you took a deep breath and shook your head.

"I'm fine... Just a tough week and... I guess I'm just overwhelmed with it all a bit... you know?"

"Your acting skills are impeccable, y/n, but I'm not buying that for a second," she smiled. "He's an idiot, Y/n... And I should have warned you..."

"Oh god... Everyone knows don't they?"

"Only me. He doesn't know I know. He's a sucker for a nice pair of legs and dark brown hair. When he came back down after taking you to your room, it was written all over his face. That, and he had his t-shirt on inside out." You couldn't help but laugh. Idiot!

"Everyone was wasted - no one else noticed. But when you're on antibiotics and can't drink? You notice it all." Your smile was gone, as you held your head in your hands.

"I can't believe I let it happen.. he must think I'm such a slut.."

"You never had a one night stand before?"

"No, and I wasn't planning on having one with Cillian fucking Murphy either. My GOD he's an arsehole.. how the fuck am I gonna get through the next few months?"

"You hold your head high and walk proud. Kill him with kindness. Nothing more satisfying than letting him think you're not bothered! Come on, you're an actress aren't you? Channel your inner Clara!" She squeezed your hands and smiled.

"Thank you Tash..."

"And your secret is safe with me. Cillian's not the type to go shouting his mouth either don't worry. He's too in love with his reputation." She smirked.

You knew she was right - time to channel your inner Clara.

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

The next few days went well. Your conversation with Tash played over in your mind every time you felt down about what had happened, making sure you remembered exactly who was in control here - and it certainly wasn't him. You couldn't help but notice him watching you from the other side of a room though, and Tash had certainly noticed him glancing at you when you weren't looking.

You were sat reading in your trailer when the door opened.

"Paul asked me to drop this off, said you left it onset." Cillian's voice filled your trailer as he placed your handbag on the table in front of you.

"Thanks." You looked up and smiled, before returning to your book. He went to speak, but seemed to second guess himself and stayed quiet.

"Door's over there, Cillian." You stood up, moving past him to get to the door to open it for him, brushing your body against him as you did. You felt him tense and smiled internally.

"What are you reading?" You were stood by the now open door, he hadn't moved.

"A book."

"You gonna be like this for the next two months y/n?"

"I don't know what you mean Cillian."

He moved closer to you as if to leave, his body now in front of yours. He held his hand over yours on the door and your breath caught in your throat. Without thinking, you closed the door and his lips were on yours. The kiss soft at first, increasing in intensity as he pushed you against the wall. You lifted one leg up to his waist as he pushed his arousal into your core, making both of you groan at the contact.

"What are you doing to me y/n..." You wanted him, that much was clear.. but your brain suddenly kicked back in and you put your hands on his chest to push him away.

"I'm making you leave.. now.." your breath was heavy, you were turned on beyond belief but you couldn't let him do this to you again. He rested his head against yours and nodded. Without a word, he straightened out the clear erection in his trousers and wrapped his jumper round his waist to hide it, before stroking the side of your face and heading out the door.

[fierycosmos]

Going to try my hand and share some prompts i’ve come up with (they’re not organized by any one genre, it’s kind of a mess and i hope don’t sound too similar to other people’s i types these late at night right before bed lol)

Feel free to use (the / indicates another person speaking if that wasn’t clear)

Just give me your goddamn hand

I don’t offer piggyback rides to just anyone

Slow your roll, princess

(S)He’s not moving!

You have to call them

Run that by me again

You’re a sore loser

Give me your phone

You never gave a damn about me

Been there, done that

Use your head for once

Would you just listen to me

Stop jumping to conclusions

Stay behind me

I go left, you go right

Get the hell out of here!

What do we do about him/her/them?

Cancel my reservation

Won’t you join me?

It’s too crowded in here

Maybe you should reconsider

Very perceptive of you

Be careful what you wish for

Are you happy now?

Look at what you got us into

You just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself

I don’t play well with others

You can’t double dip

What’s a cassette?

I don’t like condiments

I’m going to have to ask you to remove yourself

Touch me again and you’re losing that hand

This is not how i envisioned myself dying? / do you do that often?

Can we please stop running into each other?

You’re miss/mister/misses butterfingers

Slip me a $20

You still owe me for last time / put it on my tab

You’re lucky you’re cute

Don’t be a smartass

Don’t come out until I get you

Here’s where it all went wrong

You���re just in time

You’re up to something and I’m not interested

Don’t get me involved in your messes

Do me a favor - lose my number

I’ll make this worth your while

When has any of your big brain ideas worked?

Please back the fuck up

You’re just going to end up embarrassing yourself

I can’t watch this

Here, on the house

She’s/he’s/they’re staring at you

Snooze you lose

You’re such a poser🕷

Get me my gun

Since when do you ever listen to me?

Don’t quit on me now, we’re getting through this

I’ve been looking all over for you / and now that you have?

I hate playing these games with you

Up to you how this goes down

I can’t trust you, not after what happened

I never said I didn’t love you

I hate the way you phrase things

Get to the point already I can’t take it

Have we been going around in circles?

Do I even want to know?

Can we be serious for a second?

I haven’t heard from them all day

Nearly there, don’t give out now

You were always going to win

How is it this is the first I’ve heard of it?

Does everyone around me think I’m stupid? I can take it

This is insane and you know it

Get up, we’re fixing this ourselves

Know your place, rookie

Don’t think you can get out of this one

Please tell me this is some sick joke

Can we go home now?

You’ve never told me any of this

How was I supposed to know? I’m not a mindreader

Is there something on my face?

Why is everyone staring?

Just walk it off, you’re fine

Please tell me you got that on tape

Be very careful with what you say next

This wouldn’t have happened on my watch!

How illegal are we talking?

How many laws have we broken? / You mean today?

You’re bogarting that roach!

How many drinks have you had?

This is unacceptable behavior - you should be ashamed of yourself/yourselves

Hey can you hand me that?

Untie me NOW!

I never asked for your opinion / Well too bad

It broke again?

Did you check everything off the list?

You lost them?!

Have you done this before? / How hard can it be?

Stay here - I’ll be back

You promise you’ll call?

Has anyone seen my bag?

Get the keys, we’re leaving

You can’t leave now, we’re just getting started

I can’t believe you lived like this

Congratulations, you’re now the proud owner of [ ]

I really like playing with your hair

You’re going to hate what comes next

You can’t be that dense

Don’t flatter yourself

We’re in this mess because of you!

There has to be a brain under all that hair

Do you really think this can work?

What are you so afraid of?!

I haven’t been able to get a hold of them, have you seen them?

Where were they headed?

I’m not playing any more of your games

I’m really sick of your glass-half-empty attitude

You just need to relax

Man, you’re all kinds of messed up

Just say the word and I’m gone

Keep the change, darling

Man you’ve got issues if you’re willing to put up with him/her/them

I want a baby / how about a puppy?

You can’t hurt me anymore

Stop, you need to save your energy

Stay in bed, please

Please, for me?

Don’t bat your long lashes at me

You did NOT just eat the last poptart

You’re getting on my last nerve

You talk in your sleep / what’d i say?

I’m calling backup

We’re in over our heads again

Every time i see you i can’t think straight

If there was any other way, we’d be doing that

Please, don’t call the police

Now, just hear me out

I’m asking you to trust me one last time

We’re getting out of here, together

I’ll see you when all this blows over

Have you thought about me at all?

Here we go again with more of your antics

I don’t want to hear any more of your longwinded stories

I’m tired of you telling me that everything’s going to be okay

You dress like my grandmother

You really need to stop biting your lip

You’re just full of bad habits

Your timing is impeccable as always

Don’t stand in the way of progress

We’re finally getting somewhere and you want to stop?

You can’t give up on me, not you too

I had to make sure you were okay

I know i’m the last person you want to see, but …

If you would just let me explain i think i can clear the air

It’s ride or die, baby

Don’t wait up, i’ll be right behind you

You have to keep going or we won’t make it out of here

I can’t do this without you, you know that

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, you have to know that

Why do you never take me seriously?

This isn’t funny, I’m being serious

I open up to you and you shut me out

Please if there’s something I’ve done wrong you have to tell me, I need to fix it

I don’t want to see you walk out that door

We can’t keep going on like this, it’s eating me up

Why is it I know everything about you?

[animalkingdom-an0nymous]

False God- Sean Wallace

Disclaimer: No gifs or photos are mine unless stated otherwise.

Warning: A violent, smutty NSFW Sean Wallace fic. What if that last day ended differently? What if Sean made it out with his wounds? And what if there was someone from his childhood who haunted him just as much as he haunted her?

Subject: Sean X Y/N

Growing up, Sean Wallace and I were one in the same. We liked the same jokes, ate our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut the same way- in triangles- and our only real difference was that I was an American. Our fathers, both legendary crime bosses in their own right, were great business partners and made each other filthy rich. We were dangerously similar.

Until we weren’t.

I’d been in America when Finn Wallace was murdered, and I’d stayed in America during the aftermath. My father had cared deeply for Finn, but the world we lived in was fucking brutal, cold, and my dad would never risk my well being by allowing me to go to the UK to be with Sean.

Hearing about all of it had been a nightmare, though. Hearing about murders and the carnage, communities and families wiped out when Sean locked the city down. My heart ached for the boy I once knew and feared for the man that was, and then, just as quickly as it all blew up, the flames went out. All was quiet.

Sean Wallace was dead.

Or so the world thought. My father, who had an in with Billy and Jac, knew the truth. The Wallace family had connections within the police force- cliché, right?- and when a few of their own found him lying in a pool of his own blood, bleeding out from his fucking face, they quickly pronounced him dead at the scene. I didn’t know the ins and outs, didn’t care to, because the life I lived now was so far from the life I was forced to live as a child. All I knew was they got him out of there and Sean Wallace, as London knew him, was dead.

I needed him to stay that way.

It had been nearly a year since then, nearly a year since I last had the nerve to ask my dad about him. I think he knew how I felt, knew I had gone to great lengths to distance myself from him and my mother and the hellish, brutal life they created. But that didn’t mean my dad didn’t love me. I knew he did in his own, twisted way, and I knew he caught on to the hurt I felt whenever Sean’s name was mentioned.

So he stopped mentioning it.

Billy and Jac were stateside and living under different names, that much I knew. I had yet to see them, but I knew they were close enough to drive to because my mother had made sure to mention in her last email that their “home was beautiful and they think it was quite rude of you not to come around and visit, Y/N.”

It was bullshit. Billy and Jac didn’t feel any type of way about me, we were never close. That was reserved specifically for Sean and me. And look how well that turned out.

I was haunted by the ghost of a man I didn’t even know anymore.

He was labeled as a terrorist and maybe that’s what hurt more than anything. I could never scream from the rooftops how much I fucking loved him because that’s crazy. Because who could love a terrorist? Who could love a man that had murdered, cheated, stolen to get his way? And if I did love him, what kind of woman did that make me?

It was a thought that had been in my mind on replay all day long, the musings drifting into the night as I drove towards my childhood home. I had made the agreement with my parents- namely my father- that once a month I would return home for dinner. It was nearly a two hour drive but one that I committed to because if I didn’t I knew they would show up at my apartment. And what twenty-something year old woman wants her parents showing up at her apartment unannounced?

The gravel ground under my tires as I pulled my all black BMW into the driveway. It was already dark and I knew my mother would have something to say about me showing up late, but at least I showed up. Sure, I was still wearing the navy blue pantsuit I’d worn at work all day and I usually changed whenever I had dinner with them, but my mind was occupied tonight. By thoughts of Sean. By thoughts of Sean getting his face blown off. Did it hurt? Did he remember? Would I ever know?

My father met me at the door. Six foot three and wide like a linebacker, the man was not to be messed with. He was no nonsense and the only people he smiled at were me and the people he was going to shoot right before he shot them. You can do what you want with that information.

“My little angel,” he said and reached for me, taking both my hands in his and bringing them to his lips. It was a simple gesture but one he did every single time. It was the one constant my dad ever provided me. “How was the drive up?”

“Traffic wasn’t too bad tonight, but I ended up getting out a bit later than I thought I would.”

He swung an arm around me as we made our way through the marble foyer, my heels clacking against the floor. “My art gallery owner. Your mother and I are so proud of you.”

I raised my eyebrows. He was feeding me bullshit, both he and my mom wanted me in the family business more than anything, but from the time I could voice my opinion I let them know. No. I would be taking no part in the family business.

Not that I didn’t know my shit. I knew my way around a gun shop and had a better shot than half the men my dad hired to protect us. I hit harder than my first two boyfriends and let everyone know that my last name was still my last name and not to fuck with me. I knew I was untouchable.

That didn’t mean I was embracing the lifestyle.

“Yeah, business is going great, I even hired someone part-time to help out.”

“Background check?”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Of course.”

“Family ties?”

“Her name is Mindy and she’s from a farm in rural Kansas.”

He paused and raised his eyebrows, one of the rare times my father ever looked shocked. “She doesn’t even know what our last name holds, does she?”

I shook my head. “Not a clue.”

He laughed his hearty, deep chuckle and stopped us at the bar cart outside of the dining room. As always, he grabbed two tumblers and threw a handful of ice in each before adding to fingers of whiskey. Our favorite. One of our few commonalities. “Proud of you, kid.”

“Thanks, dad.”

I was about to ask him how his week was when my mother’s voice drifted in from the balcony. She liked to drink her wine out there at night, before dinner. Just one glass, but it was a ritual she followed religiously. Her voice was somewhat raspy, a little cold, and I could hear her laughter as though it was wrapping around me like a vine.

But that was the thing; my mother drank her wine outside alone. That was her time. So who was she laughing at?

I glanced over my shoulder at my father to find him looking as though he was at a loss for words. It was so rare that he was speechless, a man of his stature always held a level of composure that was sometimes shocking. But not this time.

“Dad, wha-“

“You’re going to want to finish that drink, angel.”

My blood ran cold at his words. His tone was low, suddenly serious. The lighthearted moment from before was gone, something dark and heavy in its place.

I should have listened to him and finished the drink because as soon as I turned around I was met with the coldest, most pristine set of blue eyes I’d ever seen. Eyes that I once swore I would drown in someday.

Sean Wallace was standing eight feet in front of me. It was the first time we had seen each other in years, the first time I’d seen him since he was… dead.

His face was… fucked. Marred by the bullet that ripped through his left cheek on that fateful day. The skin was raised, almost burn-like, and left a medium sized indent in what would otherwise be a perfectly symmetrical face. His left eyelid held a little lower and it looked like he tried to cover up the other, minor scars with the facial hair that littered his jaw and around his mouth.

But even with the new, broken face, Sean Wallace was still the most breathtaking man in the room. His suit was impeccable and fit him like a glove, the stormy gray matching the storm that seemed to be raging in his eyes. His tie was a navy that matched my own suit and it felt like the universe was pointing at me and laughing. It felt like that bitch was having the time of her life watching me suffer.

“I…” I started, unsure of how to finish.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I know this” he held a hand up to his face “is a lot to take in.”

I already shook my head, my stomach turning at the thought of him thinking he was ugly. “No! No, I… I, I’m, I wasn’t-“

“Best private schools in the state and she still has that damn stutter.” My mother’s cutting voice ceased my own and I bit at the inside of my cheek. She came around the corner in all her glory, designer dress, perfect manicure and not a hair out of place.

She made me fucking sick.

“It’s nice to see you.” I finally managed to get the words out, although I didn’t know if I was talking to Sean or my mom.

“Jesus, Y/N, you couldn’t even change first?”

“I think she looks great.” Sean’s voice caught everyone off guard and even my mom turned to look at him. “Beautiful, really. You always looked great in a suit.”

I knew he was referring to my high school graduation. Sean was two years older and had flown in to see me graduate. My mom, ever the lady, was determined to force me into a nightmare of a ball gown while I wanted a simple, chic suit. Sean had been there for the entire screaming match, laughing at my mother as she tripped over the dress she had been hellbent on making me wear.

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged my lips and nodded at him. “Thank you.”

He nodded in return and said nothing else.

“Let’s eat, shall we?” I felt my dad’s hand on my back as he ushered me into the dining room. My feet felt like stone blocks were attached to them as I walked, feeling Sean directly behind me with his eyes burning holes into my suit jacket.

We all sat in silence with the ghost of my past sitting directly across from me. Sean made no secret that he was staring at me and it reminded me of the ignorant young boy I once knew. Sean knew he was handsome, powerful, and could easily get his way. He held himself with the confidence of a man who had everything and it seemed a gunshot to the face didn’t change that.

“You’ve managed to stay under the radar.” I noted as one of the maids poured red wine into my glass.

“Y/N!” my mother scolded.

I raised my eyebrows and didn’t glance in her direction, my eyes holding Sean’s. “What? Are we supposed to sit here and pretend everything is normal? You want me to ask him about the weather?”

“Y/N…” my father’s tone held a warning in it.

“No, she’s right.” Sean spoke up as I took a hearty gulp of wine. “Facial reconstruction had me laid up for a bit. Reconstructing an entire cheekbone can be tricky. And expensive.”

I nodded. “Especially when the entire cheekbone belongs to a dead man.”

The room fell quiet with even the staff scurrying to disappear. My mother was glaring at me and I was sure my father was too, but I didn’t care. I’d spent my entire childhood and teen years caring about and loving Sean only for him to cut me off when he became Finn’s minion and then fake his own fucking death a few years after. He got so caught up in the Wallace life, in the life I thought we both hated, that he forgot about me. And I was angry about it.

“I deserve that.” His accent was the same as always. Smooth. Elegant. The best that private school could buy. “I should have reached out sooner as I knew my siblings were in touch.”

My mother, the martyr, was quick to reassure him. “Sweetheart, you don’t owe us anything. We’re just so happy you’re alright.”

She was so warm with him, a complete contrast to how she acted with me. It was a constant reminder that she always wanted a son and ended up with me instead.

My father opened his mouth to speak when his right hand, Marcus, walked in with a phone in his hand. His face looked pinched, stressed, and my father immediately stood. “Excuse me.”

Sean nodded politely and turned to my mother, but she was already standing and following behind dad, sensing his stress.

“Should we be concerned?”

I shook my head, my eyes still trained in the doorway. “I doubt it.”

Things were quiet then. Too fucking quiet. So quiet I felt like I was suffocating. I took a sip of wine. Then another. Another until my glass was empty and the bottle was taunting me from the center of the table.

“You have every right to be angry.”

“I’m not angry.” I was instantly defensive.

His smile was small, but it was there. “You always were a shit liar.”

“You were always a good one.”

His smile disappeared then and I was soon sitting across from the gangster that was always lurking underneath. Sean could do cool, calm, and collected. But he could only hide the angry, arrogant Wallace traits for so long. 

“I… can’t remember the last time we were face to face.”

I shrugged my shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable. “Christmas. Six years ago. Kingston.”

His smile- God, that fucking smile- reappeared. “You threw a drink in my face.”

“You called me a spoiled fucking twat.”

“You were acting like one.”

Now it was my turn to smile. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. My early twenties were filled with vodka soda fueled arguments and boyfriends that my family- and Sean- hated. I was so different, that girl doesn’t even seem real anymore.

I was about to respond when I heard shouting coming from down the hall. My father’s office.

Sean and I stood at the same time, both of us sensing a certain level of danger. My father rarely ever shouted, it had to be something catastrophic for him to raise his voice like that.

Entering the hall, I quickly grabbed my bag next to the bar cart and produced my glock before tucking it into my waistband. Sean watched me silently the entire time. He was getting a little too comfortable with staring at me.

“Always prepared.”

“Family business, right?” I shot back at him over my shoulder as we neared my father’s study.

“No, no, fucking No! What do you mean they’re all dead? An entire fucking warehouse of people and they’re all fucking dead?”

My heart stopped in my chest. That was… impossible. The warehouses were untouchable, no one knew where they were unless they were part of our inner circle. Our microscopic inner circle. Which could only mean one thing…

It was an inside job.

“Fuck.” I spat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Y/N, something’s happened.” My mother appeared in the doorway as we approached.

“Who did it?” I asked, getting straight to the point. “Any ideas?”

My dad was seated behind his wooden desk, a desk so large it was fit for a king. When I was a child I would spend hours in there reading on the stuffed leather couch while he worked silently. It was one of the few places I felt “safe” growing up.

“Kensington’s dead.” Our eyes met.

Rodger Kensington was my father’s longtime business partner and someone who was like an uncle to me. He’d been there at my prom, my graduation, and when I took my first steps. He was… family.

“Shit.” Sean’s word was quick and quiet, but then I remembered he knew Rodger too, and he knew what this meant.

“What about Sherry? The kids?” I was desperate to make sure their little ones were alright, they were all so young.

“They’re fine. They weren’t home, they-“

My father never got the words out as one of the staff walked in. I had turned at the sound of him entering the room, just barely meeting his eye as he raised his arm, a small handgun pointed directly at the man whose home we were in.

“Y/N!” My mother screaming my name like that would haunt my nightmares for months after.

A single shot rang out and my ears rang, a gasp leaving my lips as I reached for the gun in my waistband. But it wasn’t there.

The man was dead, a gunshot to the temple with crimson blood spilling all over the Italian wood floors. And then there was Sean, standing at my side with my gun pointed straight ahead, a dead look in his eyes.

It was all dangerously quiet and I could hear my own heartbeat, but only for a moment. Because as soon as I took a single breath, shit hit the fan.

My mother released a blood curdling scream, Marcus rushing to her side and grabbing her as she collapsed. My father, stoic, stood and walked over to the wardrobe near the window, swiftly pulling out guns and rounds of ammo. More security rushed in and I stood next to Sean, everything moving in slow motion. I could hear voices, hear my dad barking commands at his security who acted like his soldiers.

“There’s blood on my shoes.”

“What?”

What? Did I just say there was blood on my shoes? But it was true. My expensive cream suede shoes had blood splatter on them and I was ninety percent sure there was bone fragment near my heel.

“Blood. On my shoes.” My voice sounded far away.

Sean was suddenly in front of me and tucking my gun back into my waist while everyone shouted around us. “I’ll buy you a new pair. Bought them at the store on fifth, yeah?”

“How the fuck did you-“ I stopped, putting two and two together. “Have you been watching me?”

Sean’s face changed then and he straightened his shoulders. Our height nearly matched but only because of my heels, and I knew his gesture was dominant, authoritative. “I promise we can talk about that later, but-“

I pushed past him and walked towards my father who was barking orders into a phone. “Did you have Sean keep tabs on me?”

“Y/N, this isn’t the time for you to complain about your independence.”

I slammed my hand down on the wooden desk the same way I had watched him do it so. Many. Times. “Answer me!”

My father, all six foot three of him, stood tall and looked over me even with a desk separating us. “Watch yourself, young lady.”

“What the fuck is going on that you hired someone to watch me? That you hired Sean to watch me? What aren’t you telling me?”

He paused for the briefest of moments while everyone moved around us. I could hear safeties being turned off, my mom screaming down the hallway, and feel Sean standing close enough that I could smell his cologne.

“I’ve known for a bit that someone on the inside was giving information to Merkov brothers. Rodger and I spent months sifting through the weeds trying to figure out who it was. We had a break last night, I was going to tell you everything-“

“Four black SUV’s were spotted five miles from the property. Moving quickly. We need to go.” Marcus had appeared in the doorway sans my mother, his face wiped of anything sort of emotion. In fact, Marcus may have been the most emotionless man I had ever come into contact with. I would even venture to call him heartless.

“Shit.” My dad scrubbed a hand over his face. “I promise I will tell you everything, angel.” He looked at me, the desk separating us. “But right now you need to go and it can’t be back to your apartment.”

“Dad, I…” I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t go back to my apartment in the city, there was most definitely a hit out on my family, including myself, and Sean Wallace was back from the fucking dead. My day was going from bad to worse, my life blowing up in a twenty minute time span.

But I knew my last name, knew the weight it carried. I knew I had a certain responsibility to handle my shit and handle it well, with my shoulders back and my chin up.

“Where am I going?”

He was already on the move and I was on his heels, following him down the winding hallways of the home I grew up in. It was the same house that was sure to be shot to shit as soon as those SUV’s showed up.

“Harbor House.” He barked over his shoulder. “You can drive down there in the charger. Tinted windows. Marcus, have Anthony load a bag into the car. Ammo, guns, everything she’ll need.”

“No one knows where Harbor House is except us.” I reminded him. His business partners may have known about the warehouses and my father’s permanent residence, but Harbor House was for family and family alone.

“I’m not taking any chances, Y/N, not with you. Sean will accompany you and you’ll stay there until you hear from me. I’ll call-“

“What?” I cut him off. “Sean’s not coming with me.”

“I’m not taking any chances with you.” He repeated.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Sean cleared his throat behind me and I refused to look at him. I knew he was offended by what I’d said, but quite honestly I was offended by everything he had done since stepping foot in my parents’ home that day.

“This isn’t about what you need or want, Y/N. He’s going with you.”

I was about to fully lose my temper when shots rang out through the house. I reached for my glock and turned the safety off, immediately ducking behind a marble pillar with Sean’s hand on my elbow, holding me still.

There was yelling and gunshots, some of the housekeepers screaming bloody murder from the second and third floors. There was no way those SUV’s were already on the property, no way. It had to be someone else.

Someone had burned our entire fucking family.

“Dad!” I yelled as a bullet whirred past my head.

“Y/N, go! Now!” I could hear him but I couldn’t fucking see him. Marco was beating the shit out of a man dressed all in black, ripping his gun away and firing off a round into his chest. The smell of blood and gunpowder burned my nostrils and I winced.

“I’m not leaving you!” I screamed so loud my voice cracked.

“Sean!” My father shouted. “Get her the fuck out of here! Get her out now, kid! Now!”

I glanced over at Sean, warning him with my eyes not to touch me, but it was too late. He ripped the gun from my hand and wrapped an arm around my waist, tugging me backwards.

“Sean, no!” I screamed, trying to pull away.

“We have to go, Y/N.” He dragged me down the hall while I fought him the whole way , dragging my feet and scratching at the suit clad arm wrapped around my waist. He finally stopped at the side door at the end of the hall and yanked it open before tossing me in.

I stumbled across the cold concrete of the garage and caught myself against the car I was supposed to be leaving in.

Sean locked the door behind him and turned to me, my gun still in his hand. “In.” He motioned to the car.

Still the same, bossy man he always was. Without responding, I turned and made my way across the expansive garage, shoving a table out of the way and yanking open the drawers of a metal cabinet.

“Y/N!” Sean was losing his temper and we were losing time.

“You took my gun!” I finally screamed back, practically growling at him as I picked up twin Berettas and tucked them into the back of my waistband. I grabbed a rifle to throw into the backseat, and one more Glock since Sean had unceremoniously stolen mine and left me empty handed.

He was staring at me as I made my way back to the car, his chest heaving. God, he still looked good. A gunshot to the face only amplified how rough and beautiful he was. Dumb fucking asshole and his dumb fucking face.

I grabbed the keys from the wall and tossed them to Sean who caught them with one hand.

Show off, I thought to myself sullenly as I got into the passenger side, my heart leaping out of my chest. I was about to leave my parents to potentially die. My childhood home was being torn apart, half the staff that knew me since I was a child were now lying dead in the same house they’d dedicated their lives to. It made me sick.

“Just focus on driving.” I told him as the garage door began to rise. I could already see the shadows of feet on the concrete leaned halfway out the window, my nine millimeter raised. One shot to the knee and a man fell, a second shot between the eyes and he was done.

The second man was smart, moved off to the side and just out of aim, and Sean floored the gas pedal while I kept watch.

“Your left.” I said quietly and pointed the gun in front of him, sending shots flying out of the driver’s side door, taking out the second man who had been waiting for us.

“Three of them in front of the gate.” Sean nodded towards the gate at the side of the property, all of them holding assault rifles and aiming at us. “Duck.” he commanded with the car still in reverse.

“What?”

“Duck.” I felt his hand grab at the back of my head he shoved me down, my forehead nearly knocking against my knee as he picked up speed. A loud blast blew out the back windshield and then there was a loud, violent thunk.

His wide palm was still resting on the back of my head, grip so tight it made my scalp prickle in a way that annoyed me. My body had no business getting turned on while in the midst of this shit.

When the tires squealed against the gravel and we went surging forward, I sat back up. I could see smoke coming out of the windows, bullet holes in the brick and mortar. It was a fucking war zone and we were on our way out, leaving behind my family and any shred of sanity I had left.

Fuck.

* * * * * *

The ride to Harbor House was almost completely silent. Sean, ever the Brit, would curse out other drivers every now and then even though ninety percent of the mistakes were his own. Maybe I should have insisted on driving, but at the time the only thing I could think about was whether or not my parents got out.

Although we were never close, I didn’t wish death on my parents. Sure, I resented them for bringing me up in a life of chaos and violence and I’m well aware they caused me a lifetime of trauma, but that didn’t mean I wanted them dead. Definitely not murdered.

It was nearly midnight by the time we arrived. Harbor House was in an exclusive neighborhood and every home had a gate. It had been years since I was last at the house, but it held the only fond memories from my childhood. Harbor House and the Wallace house always felt like home to me. Strange that I was sitting next to a Wallace and not a single shred of me felt comfortable or at home. It was strange, when we were kids he was always my safe space.

I punched in the code and black iron gates opened up, promptly closing with a loud clang behind us. The property itself was a sprawling estate with a two floor home as well as a large yard, pool, and separate guest house. It was on the edge of a cliff and overlooked the Atlantic. Isolated. Safe. Private. The kind of place my family relied on to keep us safe.

“Pull the car into the garage, we’ll get a rental tomorrow.” My voice was monotonous. I felt so drained of every emotion other than pure exhaustion. I was covered in blood, my clothes smelled like gunpowder and sweat, I needed a hot shower.

Sean silently pulled into the garage and killed the engine. We sat there quietly for a moment, so quiet I couldn’t even hear him breathing. If he had any blood on him, I couldn’t tell. From this angle he looked every bit the GQ model. It was only when he turned his face to look at me that I got a glimpse of the mauled left half and got angry all over again.

I was angry at my parents for birthing me into this.

I was angry at whoever burned us.

I was angry at Sean for disappearing from my life in favor of violence. But I was so fucking angry that he had let it go so far that the world thought he was dead.

I almost wished he was.

“There’s five bedrooms. I trust that you’ll find one far away from me?” I phrased it like a question but we both knew it wasn’t.

He gave a curt nod.

The house was exactly as I remembered it. It even smelled the same. Hardwood floors, light walls, French doors leading to a beautiful deck. A kitchen so modern it would make Gordon Ramsey cream his pants. It was the homiest home my family had. It was my haven.

Only now Sean was here to cast a shadow over it.

“There’s plenty of clothes in all the guest bedrooms. My parents like to be prepared for every emergency, you know that.”

Sean nodded as he closed the door that connected to the garage. He locked it and was quick to set the code. The code that he definitely shouldn’t have had.

“How did you-“

“Your father.”

I raised my eyebrows incredulously. “My father gave you the codes to Harbor House?”

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes narrowing. “He gave me the code for the gate too, but I was polite enough to let you do it. That’s something, innit?”

He was being a smart ass, pushing my buttons on purpose simply because he could. Or because he’d had enough of my attitude. Either way, I wasn’t having it.

“You must be so fuckin’ proud of yourself. You still have an in with my father even after the shit you pulled in London. My father, Sean, not me. You don’t have shit with me and you made that perfectly clear.”

He squared his shoulders and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I sat on the edge of a beautiful cream colored sofa. I couldn’t wait to sink into it tomorrow with a good book.

I quickly fingered at the straps on my heels and kicked them off while mentally preparing for whatever speech he was about to throw my way.

“I’ve really had enough of you talking to me like I’m some shit person. Enough, Y/N.”

I stood back up, hating that I was smaller than him now as I turned on my heel and headed up the stairs. “If you hate my attitude so much then leave me the fuck alone and let me take a shower in peace.”

* * * * *

My shower was hot and relaxing and everything I needed. As soon as the steam surrounded me, I was able to calm down a bit, and once the hot water hit my skin I was able to sigh in relief. Washing off the blood and grime left me feeling like a whole new woman.

So new, in fact, I briefly forgot about the bane of my existence showering down the hall.

Sean. Showering. Sean in the shower with water dripping down his chest and into that perfect V of his hips. Sean’s hot, wet body pressed against mine. Sean’s-

“Can you not?” I said to my reflection as I ran a brush through my hair. Even when I was angry at him, violently angry, it was impossible to deny that he was attractive.

We never hooked up, not even when we were young. But there was always something there. We flirted. We toyed with each other. We got into nasty arguments. People noticed, my friends made comments. I always ignored them and played it off and said it was because we knew each other forever and just connected that way. They all argued that it was more.

I ignored them.

After changing into a comfortable pair of loose cotton pants and a long sleeved shirt, I made my way downstairs. The windows were open and I could hear the waves crashing against the cliff side. My favorite sound. It gave me peace. It soothed me.

The kitchen was empty and I grabbed a bottle of red wine with every intention of drinking the entire bottle. After pouring a rather large amount into the pristine crystal stemware my mother bought, I threw my head back and took a long, large sip.

Ugh. That’s better. I closed my eyes and took another sip, getting lost in the sound of the waves and the dark, cherry taste of the wine. A moment of peace after all the bullshit I had to endure tonight.

It was only when Sean cleared his throat that I realized I wasn’t alone. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs wearing black sweats and a white t-shirt. Simple. Clean. Comfortable. If this had been a few years ago I would have been aching to curl up against him.

“Kitchen’s all yours,” I said as I grabbed my glass and bottle, preparing to go out back.

“You told me you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.” His words cut like a knife to my retreating back and it made me pause, not yet turning around. “You fucking told me you were done.”

I knew what he was referring to. The last time we spoke had been over the phone, maybe four years ago. It had been a normal night with normal conversation and normal “I miss yous”. Sean had truly been one of my best friends and closest confidants. And then the conversation turned ugly when he informed me his father was sending him out on a seriously violent, potentially fatal, mission. Our argument had gotten vile and I said horrible things. He did too, including telling me to “stop acting like a girlfriend because you’re so fucking lonely”.

That had been my breaking point. He reminded me so much of Finn then. He dressed like him, spoke like him, became a carbon copy of him, and I was having none of it. So I had told him to fuck off and lose my number, to never call me again, to pretend I was dead.

It was the one time Sean listened to me and the one time I wished he hadn’t.

To this day, I got embarrassed when I thought about what he had said to me. The way he screamed and the way he humiliated me. Maybe I was lonely, maybe it came off as clingy, but my intentions were always good and I never thought I was a burden to him. But after that last conversation I spent years telling myself that’s exactly what I was. A burden. I checked in too much, my double texting him probably got on his nerves. Constantly complaining about our families when I knew how fortunate I was to live such a lavish life made me sound spoiled, he got tired of it. I spent years convincing myself there was no possible way he missed me and I didn’t miss him either.

“Do you even remember our last conversation?” I turned slowly to face him. “Do you remember what you said?”

He took a step forward and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Of course I do. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it- you. I’d been out drinking with my father-“

“And then turned into him?”

“Oh, fuck off then.” He shook his head, his frustration evident as he rounded the marble island in the kitchen. An expert, he seemed to know where everything was. The glasses. The whiskey.

“I’m not wrong.” I defended myself.

Sean laughed and the sound was hollow, sarcastic. He took a sip of whiskey before turning to me with a cold look in his eyes. “And I wasn’t wrong that day either. Was I?”

I scowled at him to mask the absolute hurt I was experiencing. My heart ached. He’d known he was hurting me. He didn’t care. He remembered and he didn’t care.

“Oh, fuck you, Sean.” I whispered before quickly pushing through the french doors and stepping onto the deck.

“Oi!” Sean shouted as I slammed the doors behind me, taking off down the steps, wine glass in hand.

“I’m not done talking to you.” Sean was hot on my heels.

“The conversation is over.”

“Like hell it is.” I felt long, thick fingers curl around my elbow and then he was hauling me back against him. “You say what you want to say and then think we’re done. We’re not.”

I ripped my arm back and shoved my finger in his face. “I’ve waited four years to say this shit to you!”

“So have I!” He shouted back, the vein in his neck becoming prominent. The female part of my brain wondered what it would feel like to run my tongue along that vein, feel it pulse against my mouth.

Wrong time, I thought to myself and shook my head. “You fucked off for four years, faked your own death, and now I found out my father has had you following me. I don’t know what kind of weird, stalker fetish you’ve developed, but it’s really not doing anything for me.”

Okay, maybe that last part was flat out bitchy, but at that point I didn’t care.

I drained my wine glass while I waited for his response.

“Would you like to tell me about your fetishes?”

“Sure, they all involve watching you bleed out.”

“Should have been there a year ago then, yeah?”

I didn’t have a response for that. I zeroed in on the left half of his face, the scar on his cheek. His cheekbone curved differently, probably because it was handmade, and his scar disappeared into his stubble. He looked so vastly different from the Sean I used to know. He was hardened by life, by Finn’s life. Thirty and angry and alone and legally dead.

I ached for the Sean I once knew, but this wasn’t him.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“A little more than three months.”

“Three months?” I was shocked. I’d had a tail for three months and I didn’t even know it? How embarrassing.

“You wouldn’t have known.” It was as though he could read my mind. “I’ve always been better at it than you.”

“You’re so fucking cocky.” I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or slap him, so instead I walked past him and back up the stairs, making my way back into the house to refill my glass. I knew he was following me, knew that the alcohol in my bloodstream was making me feel bold, more bold than I was sober.

Sean closed the French doors, the lock clicking with a tone of finality. I was too aware of it.

“You were shit as hide and seek when we were kids.”

“So that makes you a better spy?”

His tone was serious when he responded. “I was never spying on you. I didn’t have access to your flat. I didn’t follow you around with that ugly wanker with gray hair.”

“Leave Beckett out of this.”

“Beckett?” It was the first time his face had resembled something other than anger. He looked amused. “You’re dating a man named Beckett?”

I cocked my head to the side, narrowing my eyes. “We actually aren’t discussing my dating life, we’re talking about my stalker.”

“Stop saying that. It was to and from work. Only when you were out in public.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” I finally shouted. None of what happened today was okay. Sean, my dad, the shootout. None of it was okay. “You don’t get to keep up with my fucking life when I have to pretend you’re dead!”

“Lower your voice.” Sean took a step forward.

“Fuck off!” I shouted even louder than before. “You don’t get to just come back and bark orders at me. This isn’t London, Sean!”

“Enough.” He took another step forward and I backed up, reaching for my wine glass.

He was so calm, so fucking collected while I was beginning to fall apart. I hated him for it. Fuck Sean Wallace, I wanted him to hurt the way I did. So, without thinking twice, I hurled my glass at him. Sean barely dodged it, whipping his head to the side as it soared past him and landed on the floor in a million little pieces.

He was a blur as he flew across the kitchen, growling as he slammed my back up against the wall. I cried out as searing pain sent shock waves down my back, but I was too angry to focus on it. My hands instantly went into fight mode and my fingers caught the tip of his nose as I swiped at him, but he pulled his head back, out of my reach.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He roared in my face. “Are you bloody mental?” His hands circled my wrists and he pinned them at my sides, effectively halting my movements.

Stuck between Sean and the wall, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. “Let me go.”

“The fuck I will.” He squeezed my wrists harder.

“Sean.” I shoved myself against him and he did the same thing, his face even closer than before. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, see the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. God, he was a sight. “Fuck. Off.”

His eyes zeroed in on my mouth as I enunciated the words, nostrils flaring slightly. My breasts were pressed against his chest and I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, because suddenly we were staring each other eye to eye and I couldn’t look anywhere else. I was drowning the way I always imagine I would except this time I didn’t want it. I wanted no part of it.

“Don’t even think about it.” I whispered softly.

“Or what?” Sean’s remark felt snide and childish, something I would have happily said to him had he not leaned down and slid his lips over mine. It was a light touch, so soft I barely felt it. But I still gasped because it was Sean’s lips touching mine and I hated that I liked it so much.

At the sound of my sharp intake of breath, he smirked. “I fucking knew it.” And then he smashed his lips against mine, not letting up on the grip he had on my wrists.

Sean’s tongue pushed past my lips and slid against mine, weakening my reserve just a bit. He tasted good, his scruff scratched against the edges of my mouth and I reveled in it, loving how rough he felt.

He fucking engulfed my mouth, taking complete control of the kiss and demanding that I give him more. Forgetting the position we were in, he let go of my wrists in favor of cupping my face, wide palms against my cheeks.

I should have pushed him away, should have told him to leave, but the simple truth was that Sean Wallace knew how to kiss. He kissed like a man, held my face, stroked rough thumbs over my cheekbones, and swallowed my moans. He crowded me, stood so close our torsos were touching while we made out against the kitchen wall. Our tongues touched, teeth clashed, and when I sucked Sean’s bottom lip into my mouth the groan he let out was guttural. Animalistic.

But the noise was enough to bring me back to reality and I shoved my hands against his chest, pushing him away from me as hard as I could.

Sean stumbled back and caught himself on the counter. He was just as caught up as I was, his eyes wild, cheeks flushed red.

“You’ve got some nerve.” I cleared my throat and wiped my mouth, still tasting him on my tongue.

“Me?” He had the audacity to smile, still clearly fired up. “You were the one sucking my lip like it was my cock.”

My cheeks felt hot. The way he said cock with the accent and the smirk… it murdered me on the inside. It absolutely killed me how good it sounded. “You wish.”

“Every fucking night.” Sean stepped forward again. “I think about you sucking my cock every. Fucking. Night.”

His admission left me breathless. It felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me. The thought of Sean laying in bed at night and thinking about my mouth wrapped around his dick lit me up. I was hot everywhere.

“Sean-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He crowded me again, this time wrapping one arm around my back and pulling me against him. “For once in your life, please, Y/N, shut the fuck up.”

Cupping the back of my head, Sean kissed me again. I wanted to fight him, wanted to tell him to fuck off, but that would only prove him right. I really did have a problem with shutting the fuck up.

So, I kissed him back. I gave it my all, twining my arms around his neck and leaning against him. Sean tongue fucked my mouth as though he’d been dying to for years, and after his admission I wondered if he had. His body felt warm against mine and feeling his fingertips glide along the exposed area of my lower back made my knees nearly buckle.

He smiled against my mouth and before I knew it, Sean was sliding both hands down, gripping my hips and hoisting me in the air. My legs locked around his waist instantly, ankles crossing at the small of his back while he carried me through the kitchen.

Our mouths never stopped touching. I’d been waiting years to kiss Sean. I’d been waiting years to slap the fuck out of him as well, but right now the only thing I cared about was keeping our mouths fused together for as long as humanly possible. I felt drunk on him, on the taste of whiskey on his tongue.

I didn’t realize we were in the living room until Sean sat down on the couch with me straddling his lap. I took the opportunity to pull back slightly, his lips chasing my own, and I smiled at the way he leaned forward. I cupped the right side of his face, loving the way his scruff felt against my soft palm. He truly was beautiful, the red-brown hair and beard, the plump mouth that spent more time scowling than smiling. His freckles, God, when we were young I could have spent hours counting them.

And then there was that scar. That brutal, obvious scar. The trauma his body must have gone through made me sick and when I reached up to run my fingers over the jagged, raised skin, Sean was quick to grab my wrist in a bruising grip.

“Don’t touch me there.”

But I wanted to. So badly. But it was clear in his reaction, in the stiffness of his body, that he was serious. Of all the limits Sean DIDN’T have, touching the left side of his face was one of them and I had no choice but to respect it.

“Fine, how about you touch me then?”

It was all the incentive Sean needed and he flipped me onto my back, hovering over me with one hand braces on the back of the couch. Our eyes held as I slid my hands down his chest, his heartbeat pulsing under my hand as I slid lower, lower still until I gripped the hem of his shirt and yanked it up. He leaned back, only for a moment to rip the shirt off his head and send it flying.

Fair skinned with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, I itched to lick the V that disappeared into his waistband. He may have been injured, but he hasn’t been resting this last year. Sean didn’t have the body of a man who rested, he had the Jody of a man who was constantly pushing himself. He was strong in every sense of the word and it made me pathetically, desperately wet for him.

“Your turn,” he said against my lips, fingers playing under my shirt and sliding along my ribs. “You’re so fucking soft.” He whispered against the skin of my cheek.

Unable to help myself, I reached down to cup him through his sweats. Jesus… Christ. “You’re so fucking not.”

Sean laughed then, but I was dead serious. Either Sean was hiding a gun in his pants or his cock was just that fucking solid. And… thick. Even through his pants I could tell. I squeezed once and he let out a guttural groan, the sound sending shock waves between my legs. I wanted that sound on a loop for the rest of my life.

He pushed my shirt up and over my head, eyes zeroing in on my breasts. “Fuck me…” He trailed off, cupping one in his hand and giving a firm squeeze as he settled his eight between my legs. I could feel him against my clit even with barriers of clothing separating us.

“I always wondered what your nipples looked like.” He licked one gently and my back arched hard, my whole body tightening. “They’re so much better than my imagination.”

Sean fastened his mouth against my nipple and he sucked, flicking his tongue against the sensitive bud while I writhed underneath him. My nails scraped through his shirt hair, digging into his scalp and holding him against me. He said he had wondered what they would look like, but I spent the better part of a decade wondering what this would feel like.

Fuck, it felt good.

Sean’s hips ground against mine as he moved to my other nipple, hands roaming felt over my body, gripping my clothes thighs and sliding up my sides. Tracing along my collarbone, fingers tugging at the nipple that wasn’t getting any attention.

I felt like a horny teenager, aching to have him inside me as fast as humanly possible. My nails raked over his shoulders and he gave a delicious growl in return, leaning up and hovering over me again. 

“I’ve thought about your mouth on my cock for ages, but right now the only thing I want is to be buried inside you. That okay?”

I was modding before he even finished speaking. Fuck a blowjob, fuck foreplay. I didn’t need that with Sean, not now. Right now I just needed… connection. I was almost desperate for it and it fucking terrified me.

Sean leaned back on his knees and hooked his fingers into my pants, tugging them down in one swift move and leaving me completely naked and sprawled out in front of him. His eyes raked over me and my breath hitched in my throat. He could see… everything.

“Fuck me… this body was fucking made for me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, wiggling my brows. “A bit cocky, yeah?”

“No.” His face was serious, eyes focused as they raked over my breasts, my hips, my legs, zeroing in on the spot between my thighs. Sean slid one long, thick finger over my slit and I cried out, my body stiffening. “I knew you’d be bald here.” He repeated the motion. “Been dying to see that tattoo on your thigh for ages.”

I’d gotten the tattoo when I was 20 and officially moved out of my parents house. It was one of those stupid young decisions, but I didn’t regret it. It was a snake that wrapped all the way around my right thigh, the snake’s tongue permanently engraved on my inner thigh like an invitation. Or a warning.

“And?” I asked inquisitively, rubbing a hand absentmindedly down my stomach.

“And I think this body was fucking made for me.”

His lips came crashing down on mine again and I wrapped my bare legs around his waist, loving the way his hip bones pressed into my thighs. He littered kisses over my cheekbone, an oddly sweet gesture, and then absolutely assaulted my neck, licking and biting and nipping at my collarbone until I cried out.

I reached down, yanking at his sweats and pushing them down his thighs with my heels. I was fucking dying for Sean Wallace to be inside of me, I couldn’t even breathe because I wanted him so badly. Needed him, needed to know what it was like to feel him.

“Sean.” I gasped as he braced one hand above my head, the other one gripping his cock and lining it up at my entrance. I gripped his bicep when he pushed the tip in, my nails digging half crescents into his skin.

“Sean.” I repeated his name, this time somewhat panicked because what the fuck was I doing? Was I really about to fuck him?

“Remember when I told you to shut the fuck up?” Sean’s eyes met mine and he gave one sharp, hard thrust and was suddenly inside me so deep I swore I could feel him in my cervix.

I didn’t even have time to gasp, my mouth fell open in a silent scream and Sean’s groan was something I’d think about for months. He was so deep I felt as though I couldn’t breathe, looking up at him completely frozen.

“Oh, fuck.” He finally breathed out. “That’s right, so good you can’t even speak.”

“I… hate you.” I finally managed, leaning up and catching his bottom lip between my teeth, tugging so hard he let out a groan of pain.

“You don’t hate me.” Sean pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back inside me, giving me no warning or time to breathe. But the yelp I let out was enough to make him smirk.

Cocky bastard.

Fine, I could play. Tightening my legs around his waist, I raked my nails down his back and watched his face change, jaw clenching tight. I licked his collarbone before sucking the skin there. I sucked hard and didn’t stop until I felt his fingers tangle in my hair and yank me back, forcing me to look at him.

“You’re not the fucking boss right now.” He practically growled the words, not letting up on the grip on my hair. He pumped in and out of me, my scalp pricking with a weird, pleasurable pain that left me moaning for more.

Sean’s thrusts got harder and I cried out when he hit that spot, so deep I could feel him everywhere. “Sean!” I cried his name, my breath hitching in my throat.

He let my hair go in favor of those perfect ducking fingers wrapping around my throat. His thumb pressed firmly under my jaw, I had no other choice but to look at him as he fucked me into oblivion.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He groaned, pressure on my throat tightening just a bit. “Thought about you every fucking day.”

I was instantly thrown back into reality. Everything that happened that day. The shooting. Sean coming back from the dead, all of it.

“Nope, stay with me.” Sean commanded, sensing my disconnect. He slowed his thrusts leaning down to lick at my lips lightly. It was oddly erotic and I found myself whimpering for more. “That’s it, relax for me.”

“I…” I started desperately. “I can’t. Sean-“

He squeezed my throat harder and I suddenly gasped, my air being cut off. “Relax.” His voice was oddly soothing. “You can still breathe.”

I shook my head.

He paused his thrusts, once again settling deep inside me with my legs splayed. “Yes, you can. I’m not squeezing that hard. Breathe.”

I took in a breath. It was shallow, but it was there. Letting it out slowly, I repeated the motion, Sean catching on and thrusting every time I exhaled. It all felt different like this, barely able to breathe and dripping wet onto the couch. I’d never wanted someone more and I was terrified, I’d never been “handled” the way he was handling me, treating me like I was his.

“Been waiting years to feel you come on my cock.” He groaned when he released my throat, leaning back on his heels and looking down at where we were connected. “God, you’re soaked. Made a proper mess all over me.”

I moaned because at that point words were not possible. My stomach felt tight, I felt like I was going to cry or laugh or scream. I felt like I was going crazy.

And then Sean rubbed his thumb over my clit, watching me jerk, and I knew I was done for. He did it again and again, giving me shallow strokes while he rubbed the little bundle of nerves that were certainly going to send me into a tailspin.

“Sean, please.” My back arched and I shouted, so fucking close, teetering on the edge.

“Come all over my cock so I can watch you lick it off after.”

My mouth fell open and I screamed his name, my orgasm hitting me like a ton of bricks. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling Sean lean over me and wrap an arm around my back.

He picked up the pace while I clung to him, whispering in my ear about how he’d wanted it forever, how this was his, how I was his. It was overwhelming, yet I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than rake my nails through his hair and whisper his name over and over again in his ear.

“Fuck.” Sean’s groan was long and low, stroking into me one, two, three more times before holding himself still, his climax hitting him as hard as mine hit me. 

His arms shook as he held himself over me, eventually collapsing onto my chest in a huff. We sat there silently, the sound of the waves crashing against the cliff side lulling us. Sean’s right cheek was pressed against my breast and his dick was still inside me. He was as close as he could possibly be but I somehow wanted him closer. I wanted to fucking absorb him into my body, keep him there forever and enjoy the weight of him on me.

“Sean?” I whispered, wondering if he was still awake.

“Hm?”

I ran my fingers lightly over the back of his neck and delighted in his shiver. “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

He lifted his head then, searching my face for some sort of emotion, but I forced myself to remain stoic. It took Sean fucking my brains out for me to realize how much I missed him. How much I fucking loved him. But I couldn’t tell him that, I couldn’t give him that much power over me.

“Today was the first time in a year that I was thankful that bullet didn’t kill me.” Sean’s words were honest, quiet.

We didn’t say anything after that, we didn’t really need to. In that moment we were safe, together after years of being apart, and now all we had to do was wait for word from my father. Until then, I was going to enjoy whatever time I had with Sean and I prayed I would never have to pretend he was dead again.

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Call Forth Love - Chapter 5

Here it is! Ivar and Kari’s “date”....between friends of course. 

Norwegian translations are via google, apologies if incorrect.

Warnings: swearing, Ivar being Ivar, sexual tension, fluff 

Words: 8000 

Series Masterlist

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius

"Stupid, stupid, stupid." Kari repeated to herself as she fixed her chocolate brown hair in the bathroom mirror. She hated how Ivar had manipulated her into going out with him, coming to her work and turning her class into participants in his scheme. Why couldn't he just let this go? Why did he have to keep injecting himself into her life?

 She vehemently ignored the small part of her that enjoyed his attention. Sure, she found him attractive, he was gorgeous, there was no denying that. It did not help how her mind liked to vividly recall how intoxicating his kisses felt, how passionate his embrace was. Never had she had a man pursue her so intently; well really, any man pursue her in general. The conflicting emotions were warring within her mind. It was best if they did not interact, if he forgot about her and moved on…. for both of their sakes. The traitorous part of her heart that yearned for more, whispered beguilingly for her to just try. 

 She still hated his manipulation. 

 A loud banging on the front door jolted her from her thoughts. She raced back to her room to see a luxury Mercedes car parked in front of the driveway. This was it. Her breath hitched in her throat. Was she really doing this? A second pounding on the door forced her to move. Snatching her purse off her bed, she made her way down the stairs and opened the front door. 

 Only for her jaw to drop. 

 There stood Ivar dressed in a designer black suit and white shirt, that complimented his body in all the right ways. His dark hair was braided back impeccably. One hand tapped on a dark metal cane by his side. He looked so deliciously suave and sophisticated; it was unfair. A runway or photoshoot seemed a more appropriate place for him instead of waiting for her at her front door. His blue eyes, even more striking in contrast to the dark colors of his suit, traced over her body with a severe scrutiny.

 "You're not wearing that."

 And that harsh statement was enough to rip her attention back from her ogling. She glanced down at her clothing, a nice pair of jeans and one of her favorite flowy blouses. 

 "What? You said dress nice."

 He tapped his cane on the ground once, as he scoffed. "Yeah, not dress like you're going to a fucking outdoor festival."

 "Well you didn't give me much information to work with." She retorted, already fed up with his attitude. It was his fault she was unaware to dress like they were going to some black-tie event. Since agreeing to this ill-conceived date, she had been on edge; and now him throwing this in her face, even more solidified this was a bad idea.

 "Right, let's go." He started past her, heading towards the stairs. 

 "Wait, what?"

 He looked at her over his shoulder and stated-as if it explained everything in the world, "I told you, you're not wearing that." Turning back, he began ascending the staircase. 

 She groaned, shutting the front door, and pressed her forehead against it. What had she done in a past life to deserve this? If she walked out of her front door and disappeared, how long would it take for him to notice? The idea was tempting. 

 The thumping of his footsteps and cane up the stairs preceded his voice yelling down, "left or right?"

 "Right!" She called back, then realized he was heading to her bedroom alone. She scurried towards the stairs and up them to enter her room just as Ivar stood in front of her closet. 

 "Do you own anything that isn't fucking athletic clothing?" He waved a hand at her wardrobe like it personally offended him. 

 She gestured to the clothing on her body. 

 "Right. We're going to fix that." He said as if to himself before diving into her closet. 

 Unsure what to do, she sat on the edge of her bed watching the scene unfold before her. Any other time this might have been amusing to witness. Ivar pushed around the clothing on the hangers, opening a couple of the drawers before returning back to the hanging clothes. The whole time she noticed, even as he muttered to himself, he was never rough with her stuff, nor was he delicate either but he seemed to take care of how he handled her things. 

 "This." He pulled out a dress after a couple of minutes, holding it up on the hanger. The dress was something she had bought spur of the moment when she first moved here as a treat to herself but never actually had a reason to wear it. It was a rich purple, off-the-shoulder, high-low skater dress that she loved. On more than one occasion she pulled it out just to admire it and hope one day to have a reason to wear it. It was most likely the only thing she owned that could pretend to be black-tie appropriate, even if it fell woefully short. 

 "Come on, we don't have all day." He shook the hanger, holding it out towards her. 

 She pursed her lips in annoyance but snatched the dress from him. Wordlessly, she went to the bathroom attached to her room, making sure to lock the door behind her. Changing into the dress, she reminded herself she just had to make it through tonight. He would realize how boring and uninteresting she was and then she would never hear from him again. 

 Once changed, she tried to touch up her make-up better. Adding some eyeliner and darker eyeshadow, she only added a gloss to her lips to finish it off. Make-up and fashion had never been something she excelled at but she could hold her own. Luckily, she had painted her nails a shimmery silver so they matched her attire.

��With one last look in the mirror, she gave herself an approving nod. Her blue-green eyes popped with the enhancement around them, the bit of blush and bronzer made her cheekbones sharpen and her lips looked fuller and shiny due to the gloss. The dress itself flattered her nicely, emphasizing her small waist and toned legs. She ran her hands over her sides, loving the soft feel of the material. At least she had the chance to finally wear the dress. 

 "Here goes nothing." 

 Opening the bathroom door, she was surprised to see him seated on the end of her bed, typing away on his phone. "Shoes and jewelry are on your table." He said without looking up. 

 A small table sat shoved into the corner of her room, her bed taking up most of the space. On it was the small jewelry box she owned, along with her aloe vera plant and a couple of small succulents. Laying out on the table was one of her few expensive necklaces she had brought with her when she moved, and it was one of the most sentimental. Reverently, she put it on, running her hand over the small diamond pendant hanging on the dainty, silver chain. It matched the small diamond earrings she always wore. A gift set from her grandmother. 

 "Who taught you fashion? Most guys are hopeless." She jabbed, as she slipped on the slender, black heels that he set out for her. She had forgotten she owned them. He must have dug into the recesses of her closet, a terrifying thought. 

 Either he ignored her tone or was not paying attention, as he was still focused on his phone. "You spend enough time with my mother, you begin to pick up useless information."

 That answer she did not expect. She peered over at him, still staring down, and smoothed down her dress once more. Nerves fluttered in her belly. Which was ridiculous since she did not really care what he thought of her appearance. Right? 

 "Alright." She announced. "Does this earn the highly esteemed Ivar's seal of approval?"

 He rolled his head to the side, a sharp comment obviously on the tip of his tongue, but when his eyes locked on her…. he froze. A myriad of emotions flickered through his eyes before he blinked and swallowed thickly. "Come here." He commanded, holding a hand out to her. 

 There was a tenderness in his gaze that beckoned to her, even more than his words. In three strides she found herself taking his hand and standing in front of him, before she could rationalize her actions. It felt almost instinctual, like she was drawn to him without conscious effort. Plus the way he gaped at her now, it was like he was admiring the rarest gem or most breathtaking natural phenomenon. The vulnerability in his admiring gaze caused her to look away, unnerved just by the sheer awe in his eyes; yet at the same time she had never felt so beautiful or safe.

 "Vakker, kattungen min." He murmured, almost inaudibly. 

 "I don't know what that means." She whispered back, the air feeling heavy with something unnamed. 

 "I know."

 "So…" She glanced at their hands, his thumb running lightly over her knuckles. "This alright?"

 His gaze greedily trailed over her, taking in every curve and dip of her body. Then once his eyes met hers, he winked salaciously. "It's adequate."

 Her jaw dropped for a second before she shook her head and laughed. "Well you dressed me. So, if it's only adequate, it's your fault."

 "I didn't have any good material to work with." He let go of her hand, rising to his feet. 

 "You sound like a diva."

 His heated gaze instantly transformed from sensual to threatening in an instant. "The fuck does that mean?" He sneered, looming over her. 

 "Not...nothing...I'm just teasing you." 

 Tension surrounded them, Kari had to physically restrain herself from squirming under the feel of it. It was terrifying how his demeanor could switch so drastically. How he could go from sweet to dangerous in the blink of an eye. Finally after a long moment, he huffed and turned away. 

 "Come on, we're going be late already."

 Silently, she followed behind him, unsure of what to expect next. They headed out and into his vehicle, the driver taking off as soon as they were both seated. 

 The residual anger rolled off of him like encroaching mist, not sure if it would eventually dissipate or grow into a storm. So she watched the city pass by out the window, a place still both unknown and becoming familiar. After ten minutes, suddenly thick, calloused fingers hesitantly entwined with her slim ones. Peeking over, Ivar was also looking out of his window but his hand reached across the seat between them, his fingers gently holding hers. She wondered if this was his silent way of apologizing. Instead of pulling away like would have been the intelligent thing to do, they rode the rest of the way with their fingers entangled and a comfortable silence between them. 

 When they pulled up to the restaurant, she now understood why they were dressed so formal. She had heard about this place but never in her wildest dreams thought she would actually be eating here. Casa mia, Maggiore ranked in the top five most popular and most expensive restaurants in the city. To even get a table, it had to be booked months in advance. The Italian restaurant was legendary, catering an old-world theme while boasting the best chefs in the country. From what Kari overheard, all the praise was well-deserved. 

 She could only gape as she scooted out of her seat and took Ivar's hand to help guide her out, too distracted by the magnificent building and the shock they were eating here. Her head swiveled about, like a child in a candy store, trying to see everything. What appeared to be stone columns lined the short walk to the entrance. Once inside, the tantalizing aroma of garlic bread sticks, wine and savory meat blended together with underlying hints of seasonings to immediately make her mouth start watering. A small fountain bubbled in the front entrance, a peaceful sound amongst the dim noise of conversations. Ivy hung strategically around from more columns or baskets on the walls. Marble-esque statues decorated corners. The rich colors of the restaurant tied in beautifully with the stone and wood making the place feel like you stepped through a portal straight into Italy. 

 The two walked up to the host standing behind a podium. 

 "Two for Ivar Lothbrok." 

 The sharply-dressed man barely glanced down before he responded. "Ah, yes, thank you, sir. Follow me."

 "Ivar, how did you get us in here on such short notice?" She quietly asked as she walked beside Ivar, not even realizing they were still holding hands, too caught up in staring at everything. 

 "I know the owner."

 "Of course." She muttered, earning a playful wink from him.

 They were led to a partially secluded table, which had a perfect view of the restaurant and the live instrumental band on a small stage. 

 She started towards the opposite side of the table, to sit across from Ivar but stopped when he said her name. 

 "Sit by me."

 Tilting her head in confusion, she just shrugged it off and moved to sit next to him instead of across the table. Soon as she sat down, she was grateful. Now she faced the direction of the live band and the captivating mosaic on the far wall. Every time she turned around this place continued to astound her. 

 "Anything I start off for you, sir?" The host asked as Kari and Ivar settled into their plush seats. 

 "Yes," Ivar answered immediately, "we'll start with a bottle of the Fontodi 2017 Chianti Classico."

 "Excellent choice, sir. I'll send your waitress with it in a moment."

 As the host walked away, Kari turned to him. "This is…. this is too much, Ivar. Why did you bring me here?"

 He shrugged, leaning back casually. "It's my favorite restaurant." Like that explained why he was prepared to spend a couple hundred dollars on their dinner. 

 "This feels like a date-date. I told you I was only going out as friends."

 "Yeah, well I have expensive taste. So shut up about it and enjoy. I swear you'll be thanking me after you taste the food here."

 Silence descended once again. As he scanned over the restaurant, she took the moment to stealthily appreciate how handsome he looked. His chiseled jawline, beguiling eyes and plump lower lip was enough to entice anyone; but his broad shoulders, strong upper body and toned stomach could make anyone swoon. Her mind drifted into wondering what he looked like bare chested, what his apparent muscles would feel like under her hands. Heat flooded her face and belly as she realized where her mind went. Friends, just friends, she tried to remind herself. 

 He must have caught onto her blatant ogling because he spoke to her without turning his head away from the band. "See something you like?"

 Her face further inflamed, fiddling with the necklace as she tried to compose herself. To change the subject, she blurted out the first question that came to mind. "You said earlier, spending so much time with your mother, you picked up some fashion sense from her….is she….um…." Her question trailed off, not quite sure what she was trying to get at. 

 He studied her for a moment then returned to watching the band. "My grandmother, my mother's mother, was a fashion icon who wanted her daughter to follow in her footsteps. Instead my mother married my father. She still has connections in the fashion world but she focuses more on the hotel chain she and my father started."

 "Aesir, right? Aesir Luxury Hotels?"

 He nodded. 

 The cost for one night in those hotels was more than a down-payment on most houses. Only the wealthy and elite ever stayed in them because of their outrageous costs. 

 "Are you…. close….to your mother?"

 He hesitated for a moment but she could visibly see his gaze and demeanor soften. "Yeah, I guess. She spent most of my childhood at my bedside or in a damn hospital. And when I wasn't bedridden from surgeries, she forced me to travel with her or be at her side because she didn't trust many people to "properly" take care of me. Floki and Helga were the only ones she truly felt confident in. Even father or my brothers, she would call almost every other hour to check in on me."

 "I met Floki, didn't I? He has the head tattoos."

 Ivar paused as the waitress returned with their bottle of wine. He waved her off when she went to pour it and quickly gave her their order, sending her away with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

 "I didn't get a chance to look at the menu." The brunette protested.

 "Kitten, trust me. I know you'll like this." He said as he poured them both a glass of wine. "And yes, Floki has the head tattoos. He's been a friend of my father's since they were children, he's even more of an uncle to us than my actual Uncle Rollo."

 "Oh, he seemed…. ah, nice?"

 Ivar laughed loudly, startling an older couple at a nearby table. "He's a mad bastard, smoked too many herbs when he was younger but he's solid. I'd trust him with my life. I have on occasion. What about you?"

 "What about me?"

 "Are you close to your family?"

 "Not really. My father died in a car accident when I was five so I don't remember him much. My mother is…. she’s a complicated woman. We don't talk much. My grandmother was the one who really raised me. She was my safe to go to when I was a child." That was as close to the truth as she could get, every word honest but certainly missing a few important details. 

 He hummed, swirling his wine seeming deep in thought. After taking a sip, his eyes landed on her with an intensity that threatened to split her soul. "Is that why you moved out here from England?"

 She froze, the glass just touching her lips. 

 "What?" He asked, eyes wide in innocence. 

 "What do you know?" She breathed out, mind frantically racing. 

 He answered her with a sly smirk, looking pleased with himself like the cat that caught the canary. "You moved here almost two years ago from a small village in England where you lived with your mother. You had top grades in school, played football for a few years while in school, tried to go to university but dropped out. Not too much later you moved here. Also, you have the worst fucking taste in music. Ed Sheeran? Adele? Could you be any more stereotypical?"

 "How...how do you know that?"

 "The security on your phone is pathetic. Even an amateur could hack it. Don't worry, I already ordered a new iPhone for you when it comes out in two weeks. The Playlists on your phone are fucking boring. And your Netflix account...remind me to introduce you to good movies and TV shows instead of that shit you've been watching."

 "You…." Her words tumbled out as her mind refused to fully comprehend what he was admitting. "...you are unbelievable. You hacked my phone? You looked up information on me?" 

 He shrugged. "I always do that with anyone I meet."

 "Ivar…. that’s…. that’s not ok."

 "Why?" 

 "Because…. people deserve their privacy. I mean, if you wanted to know that information about me you could have asked, LIKE A NORMAL PERSON." She tugged on her earring as she looked away. Thankfully the information he got on her was only her cover. She made a mental note to thank Albus when they talked on the phone next. Still, if he could find all this out about her in a week…and he acted like there was nothing wrong with his behavior. She could tolerate many things but this, having her privacy invaded like this. She pushed her chair back and started to rise. "I think, I think I need to go." 

 "What are you talking about?" His voice dropped to a low, menacing tone, a sudden fire blazing in his eyes. 

 "Ivar, I like you for some reason, you're fun to talk to and you're interesting but this…. I don't know if I can be alright with it. You crossed a line and I think it's best if we stop talking now. I'm sorry. I'll get an Uber to take me home."

 He seized her wrist in a firm grip just as she took a single step away. "Is this because I hacked your phone?" He sneered, only tightening his grip on her as she tried to tug her wrist away. 

 "Yes….and looked into my background." She sighed, holding his burning gaze. "That's just not…. that’s not normal behavior."

 "It is in my family. We have to be careful who we get close to…. who we let in."

 It was in his hushed tone, the way he made his answer sound like a confession that held her in place even more than his physical grip on her. Sincerity danced in his eyes, but also something more. Something far stronger and darker. Staring at him, the only word that came to mind was fear. Was he truly that terrified by the idea of her leaving? Although he tried to hide it behind the anger, it lurked just within view. That vulnerability she caught glimpses of, that drew her to him. How much of his instant rage was only a mask?

 Then she thought about his response. Even if the answer did not completely pacify her, it kind of made sense. Was his family even able to fully trust people or did they constantly second guess their motives? 

 His eyes dropped to their hands, his grip loosening marginally. "If I promise not to do it again, will you sit back down?"

 When she did not respond, he looked back at her. She was never one for direct confrontation, but passive-aggressive, the silent treatment, she was a professional at. So she waited, pressing her lips together intentionally. He was the one continuously forcing himself into her life, manipulating her. If he did not want her to walk away right now, he was going to have to learn her boundaries. And abide by them. She was done fully playing by his rules only. 

 A voice in the back of her mind that sounded eerily like her roommate screamed at her, reminding her of the darker side of the Lothbrok reputation, particularly Ivar. 

 His words struggled to come out through his clenched teeth. "I promise not to hack into your phone or run anymore backgrounds on you unless I think it's absolutely necessary."

 "Your definition of necessary is probably different than mine."

 "Fuck. Fine. Unless I think you or someone else is in danger, that kind of necessary…. fucking happy now?" He released her, running his hand over his braids, and glaring in the direction of the live band as if plotting their murders. 

 "Thank you." She slowly settled back into her seat. 

 Ivar grabbed his wine glass and drank the whole thing in two gulps before reaching for more. Luckily the waitress returned with their food, setting a plate in front of each of them and a basket of breadsticks in the middle of the table. 

 "Oh gods. This looks delicious. What did you order?" She eyed the plate set before her, her senses overwhelmed with how utterly mouth-watering it smelled. 

 "You have Pansotti Alla Genovese."

 Without another word she took a bite of her pasta and practically moaned. She closed her eyes as she let the flavors settle on her tongue. There was no doubt, whatever was in this pasta was pure magic. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Ivar staring at her with a hungry look in his eyes, and she did not think food would satisfy that appetite. It made a warmth curl in her belly and a flush rise to her skin. 

 "What?"

 He blinked. "Nothing." He abruptly dropped his gaze down and started to cut the meat on his plate. 

 "What did you order?"

 "Osso buco alla Milanese."

 "It looks good." She lightly commented, taking another bite of her pasta. Maybe the chefs were all wizards here, that's how the food tasted so good. Forget the train platform, the kitchen here was the secret entrance to Hogwarts. 

 "Want to try?"

 She almost choked on her food. Chewing quickly, she took a sip of her rich wine before speaking. "Excuse me?"

 "Open your mouth."

 She just stared at him. 

 "Come on, kattungen." He cut a small piece of the meat and speared his fork with it. A mischievous smile on his face, he held it close to her lips. "Trust me."

 It smelled divine whatever it was, so she opened her mouth and allowed him to feed her. Soon as it touched her tongue, her eyes involuntarily closed again. 

 "Mmm…. that’s amazing."

 "I told you to trust me." He winked, putting a bite into his own mouth. 

 "Yeah, yeah. So, you know all about my favorite artists and movies. Are you going to tell me about yours?"

 "You know, you asking me all these questions is really starting to sound like a first date. You sure we aren't on a real date and you're just saying…."

 She reached over and swatted his arm. "Unbelievable. Now answer my question."

 It took a tense minute before he really started talking but before she knew it, she was regaled with a comparison of heavy metal bands, the ones he liked and disliked plus some rock bands he listened to. Several jabs were made at his brothers and some of their choices of music. Next they easily slid into comparing movies, him continuously making fun of her love of animated movies. The rest of the dinner flew by as they talked effortlessly, never a dull or awkward moment in their conversation. It was completely different from how tense everything started, it almost felt like two separate dates…. between friends. 

 All too soon they were walking out of the restaurant.  The air was still warm from the late summer, even as the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon. People still wandered along the stretch of businesses. The loud thumping from a nearby club intermingled with the sounds of cars and pedestrians. 

 Before they left the table, Ivar had called his driver. Now the luxury car waited for them just off the main sidewalk. As they approached, her gait began to slow down. 

 "Do we, um, never mind." She started then changed her mind last minute, hurrying the extra steps to catch up with him.

 "What is it?"

 "It's nothing really, let's go."

 "Kari," he stopped her with a hand on her arm, uncaring of the people that had to swerve around them as the two stood in the middle of the sidewalk. "Just tell me."

 "Do you have to take me home now? I mean, I get it if you need to leave so you can sleep and be ready for work or whatever you do."

 "No, no, I don't have to drop you off yet. What do you want to do? I mean if you want to go back to my place and take advantage of me, I did drink more than you so…."

 "Stop it. I take it back. I want to go home now!" 

 As she tried to step away, he dropped his cane to grab both of her wrists, pulling her closer and placing them on his chest. "Tell me." He commanded gently, looking down at her with those bright eyes that pierced her soul. 

 "It's stupid." She mumbled, fiddling with the lapels of his suit jacket. 

 "For fuck's sake, just tell me."

 "Alright." Although she hesitated a moment longer, the words slipped out hesitantly, like she expected him to laugh at her when finished. "There's this ice cream place around the corner I've always wanted to go to. All the flavors are named after famous art pieces."

 "Masterpiece. That's the place?" He clarified, head cocked to the side. 

 "Yes…"

 "You want to go out for ice cream?"

 "Yes?"

 He was quiet long enough for Kari to start to fidget out of nervousness, then a bark of laughter erupted from him with a broad grin on his face. "Fuck it. Why not? I don't think I've been out for ice cream since I was four."

 "Well all the more reason to go. See I'm doing you a favor."

 "Shut up. Stay right here." He snarked without malice, then picked up his cane and headed over to tell their driver about the change of plans. After quick instructions, he walked back over to where he left Kari on the sidewalk. "He'll meet us there. Come on."

 She did not complain when he wrapped an arm around her waist as they started in the direction of the ice cream parlor. Instead she slipped her arm around him, too happy to be going somewhere she had only dreamed about. Of course the place was expensive, just based on its location that was evident, but she would have felt weird going alone. Plus, she did not have anyone she felt comfortable asking. Alana might have been willing but she was busy lately with her work and school. Gyda was the only other person Kari could think of that might go with her. The thought reminded Kari of how few friends she had here. 

 The parlor was everything she had hoped for. The interior looked like a high-class art studio. Various sized canvases hung along the exposed brick walls, the entire wall facing the street was a window. None of the chairs or tables fully matched giving an eclectic vibe. Classical music played in the background, only competing with the handful of other patrons in the parlor. 

 Not caring how childish she looked, she practically sprinted to the counter and pressed her face against the glass to see all the different flavors offered. 

 "Gods, how old are you, Kari?"

 "This is ice cream! Age doesn't matter!"

 They both scoured the many flavors, laughing at some of them and debating the merits of others. A couple comments were made about what they should try next time, which sent Kari's heart fluttering, even if she tried to not let it get to her head. Eventually after much deliberation, Kari ordered a cup of Girl With A Pearl Earring while Ivar chose The Garden of Earthly Delights. 

 Ivar paid, ignoring her insistence that she pay for herself this time. She thanked him, grabbing her cup and looking towards the tables. Only two tables were occupied, both pressed against the large window so there were plenty of spots to choose from. Ivar was finishing up the transaction when the patron standing in line behind them whispered loudly. 

 "Fucking move already. Your crippled ass is holding up the goddamn line."  

 Ivar whipped around without hesitation, his icy blue eyes overflowing with rage. "You want to fucking say that to my face?"

 The man dressed in a light gray business suit glared at Ivar. He could not have been much older than Ivar or Kari but the way he sneered down at them gave the impression he thought he was more mature. "Are you done yet? Just move, if you're able to."

 Without a word, Ivar took a menacing step forward, twisting the top of his cane with his hand. Immediately, Kari crowded Ivar's side, grabbing his face with both of her hands, forcing him to look at her. The snarl on his face and the wrath in his eyes terrified her, promising blood to be spilled. 

 "He's not worth it." She cooed, trying to put out the raging fire in him. "We're having fun, ok? Just ignore him." 

 He took several deep breaths, the tremble in his body dissipating with each second as his eyes bored into hers, before giving a faint nod. That fury lingered under the surface, just waiting for a spark to set it off. Kari slowly moved her hands away but not before caressing his cheeks, hoping to instill some sort of calm. His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest of moments under her touch, tipping his head to lay his head in her hand for a second. 

 After Ivar straightened, he looked back at the man. "You're fucking lucky, if she hadn't said something you'd be in for the ass-whooping of your life."

 "I'm so scared." The man mocked, rolling his eyes. "Are you fucking done yet?"

 Kari turned back to the man, having grabbed her ice cream cup quickly off the counter. "We'll be out of your way, I'm so sorry…. oops." She "accidentally" tossed the ice cream cup onto the front of the man's suit. The cream-colored ice cream slid down his gray suit, to start dripping on his shiny leather shoes. 

 "You bitch! Do you know what you've done?!" He screamed, hands frantically waving. 

 "I'm so sorry. Would you like me to grab some napkins?" She asked with a sickly-sweet tone. 

 Before the man could say another word, Ivar raised his cane to press the end against the man's chest. "You better take care of that before it stains."

 If looks could kill, Kari and Ivar would have dropped dead. The man glared and muttered curses under his breath as he stormed out of the parlor. 

 Kari looked over to the lady behind the counter. "Do you have a wash cloth and bucket? I can clean up the mess."

 "Oh, don't worry about it. He's always an asshole. Honestly, this just made my night. Let me get you a new cup on the house."

 Kari convinced Ivar to go choose a table for them as she waited for her new ice cream cup. While making small talk with the lady, and learning about a new seasonal flavor coming out soon, she noticed Ivar had picked a booth across from the large windows. After thanking the lady once more and grabbing her cup, Kari walked over to him, ice cream in one hand and purse in another. 

 "Thank you again for…." She started as she slid into the booth seat across from him but her voice trailed off as Ivar slid out from across and onto her bench. "Wha…"

 Without warning, he wrapped an arm around her, clutching the back of her neck while the other hand cupped the side of her face. His lips descended on hers with a bruising kiss. She gasped at the unexpected action, which allowed him to deepen the kiss. It felt feverish and not appropriate for their surroundings. Her hands clung to the lapels of his suit, to keep herself upright under the onslaught of his delicious mouth. 

 "That was so fucking sexy." He mumbled as he switched to placing soft pecks against her lips.  

 "Ivar, stop…." She tried to lean away from him, to be able to think and breathe fully, but the grip he had on the back of her neck prevented it. 

 He pressed his forehead to hers, his erratic breathing matching her own. "Gods, you don't know what you just did. Fuck, kjære…. only family ever stands up for me, never...never anyone else."

 Her heart broke at hearing that. She did not know what to say, so she cupped his face, stroking his sideburns as they both just breathed. This felt even more intimate than the kissing their swollen lips were evidence of. It was sweet and raw. No facades, no boundaries, just a moment of understanding and connection. 

 Eventually he stole another quick peck before leaning back. She knew she would have to address all the kisses but with what he just confessed, now did not seem the time. 

 Kari took a bite of her ice cream, both to distract herself and try to erase the feeling of his lips. "Wow, this is delicious." She gushed, eyes wide. 

 "What is yours?"

 "Mmmm…. it’s praline, I think." She peeked at his cup. "What’s going on with yours? It looks like it's got a little bit of everything possible."

 "Garden of Heavenly Delights. Just like me." He winked flirtatiously, scooping some onto his spoon. 

 She snorted, covering her mouth quickly. 

 He narrowed his eyes, "what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

 "Nothing…. just something caught in my throat."

 "Yeah, and I was going to share with you. Changed my fucking mind now."

 "Ivar, you are the best and are truly a delight! Anyone who says differently clearly has never met you! " She squealed, placing both hands over her heart and fluttered her lashes at him. 

 "That sounds much better. Open your mouth."

 "No, I can…"

 "The only way you are trying this is if I feed it to you. Your choice."

 His ice cream looked amazing. She was not sure what exactly was in it, looking more like a conglomerate of all the best ice cream toppings mixed into the frozen ambrosia….and she really wanted to try it. He fed her back at the restaurant and nothing bad happened. This was just sharing food between friends, nothing special. At least, that's what she told herself. 

 "Fine." She opened her mouth and wearing a self-satisfied smirk, he gently stuck the spoon in. First the chocolate hit her tongue followed quickly by the caramel and the little bits of candy mixed in. "Oh, that is divine!" This time she did not even try to suppress the moan. Ice cream was a gift from the gods and no one could convince her otherwise. 

 "Told you, just like me." He winked and licked his lips. 

 Signing in mock annoyance, the way her lips curved upward teased of her amusement. "Alright, your turn." She stated, scooping up some of her ice cream and holding her spoon at his mouth. 

 He opened his mouth, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time as his lips and tongue worked the ice cream off the spoon. She bit her lower lip at the suggestive look he gave her, unable to tear her eyes away. It was a miracle their ice cream did not immediately melt from its close proximity to his blatantly heated look. Slowly she pulled her spoon back, only to scoop up some for herself to try and distract from the ache pooling between her legs. His gaze lingered on her; she could feel it even as she stared down at her cup. 

 "Tell me about your brothers." She said, not so subtly, trying to diffuse the growing heat between them and the way her mind kept creating images of tasting the ice cream off his tongue. The kisses he kept stealing were not helping her resolve and her stance as just friends. 

 "Why?" He asked with an incredulous look.

 "Well, I already know Gyda. And I'm an only child, so call me curious."

 "Nothing interesting to tell. They're all idiots."

 She giggled. "They can't be that bad…. please?" She tried batting her lashes at him again, knowing she looked ridiculous but did not care. 

 He groaned, running a hand over his mouth, before speaking. "You met Bjorn. Him and Gyda are from my father's first marriage to Lagertha. Then there is Ubbe, the oldest, Hvitserk, and Sigurd."

 "Do they all work with your family?"

 "Why do you care?"

 His sharp tone caught her off guard for a moment, but she kept her voice light. "It's interesting." She answered honestly. 

 Taking another bite of his ice cream, he surveyed around the parlor. There was no one sitting close by them. Only one other table was occupied now and it was almost across the dining area. Finally, he leaned back with a grimace, throwing his arm on the back of the booth, toying with the loose strands of her hair. "My father started Ragnarssons Trading but over the past few years he's slowly handing it out over to Bjorn. Fucking imbecile. If it wasn't for Torstein, Torvi, Hvitserk and Lagertha, Bjorn would drive the company to the ground."

 "Why?" She desperately tried to ignore the way his thick fingers felt twirling her hair and just brushing through it. All of her muscles fought with the desire to relax into his touch, but she kept her back straight. 

 "He's better at social connections, traveling, meeting new vendors and creating trade agreements. The day-to-day running of the company, he sucks at."

 "Wait…. Lagertha?" Her mind jumped back to the name previously mentioned. "She works for your father's company?"

 "She heads the second office in Istanbul, though she focuses more on trade around the Mediterranean."

 "Isn't that awkward? I mean, I guess they must still be friends, right?"

 He shrugged but by the way his jaw tensed, she decided to drop the subject. There was a story there and it sounded full of drama. None of it was her business anyway. 

 "Ok, um, Hvitserk." She tried to get back on the subject. "I met him the other day too, right? What does he do?"

 "He advises, but he helps head the finances also. Making sure father and Bjorn don't spend all the company money on huge parties."

 "Ok, Sigurd?"

 "Nothing useful…. wastes his days on music and women." Contempt laced his every word, shocking her but she pressed on. 

 "And the oldest?"

 "Ubbe." He nodded. "He helps advise but mostly helps my mother run the hotels."

 "And you? What do you do?"

 "I'm hoping to do you."

 "Oh gods! That was terrible." She laughed loudly, swatting at his chest. A genuine smile teased his lips and his eyes lit up, erasing the intensity he wore like a mantle. Seeing that, all she could do was stare. She had seen him angry, cocky, smug, charming and furious, but this look, an almost boyish sweetness peeking through made her heart swell. Silently, she decided it was her favorite look of his. It was like the dark clouds rolled back to reveal a sunny day. It was breath-taking. 

 If he noticed her gaping at him, he thankfully ignored it. "Security mostly." He replied indifferently, scooping up some ice cream with his left hand. 

 "I feel like there is a whole lot there you aren't telling me."

 "Anyone tell you, you're damn nosey."

 "I am not!" She gasped dramatically, but a smile quickly settled on her lips. "I just want to learn more about you."

 He stared at her for a moment as if lost in thought, then rubbed a hand over his mouth before speaking. "I sometimes help my mother out but I do mostly contract stuff so I can make my own schedule."

 "Do you like it?"

 "I guess, I'm good at it." He tugged on her hair lightly, that sweet smile still on his face. "What about you? Why yoga?"

 She thought about her answer, how best to articulate her feelings. "It was something that I did for me, you know? Back in England. When I moved out here…. if I had to work, I wanted to do something I enjoyed."

 He hummed in understanding. "Your family did not approve?"

 "My mother thought it was stupid. My grandmother was the only one who encouraged it. She was the one who would drive me to the yoga studio whenever I could go, even though it was an hour away."

 "Sounds like she cared about you."

 Kari felt her breath hitched for a second, emotions swirling in her chest at the memory of her grandmother. "She did." She softly said, dropping her gaze to the table. 

 "Done?" He asked after a quiet minute, both having finished their ice cream and now just sitting there talking. 

 "Yeah."

 They disposed of their trash and walked out onto the sidewalk together. Ivar's car was parked just off to the side, the driver leaning against the car and smoking. The late summer's warmth still permeated in the air. Without a word, they slid into the Mercedes. With the ice cream settling in her stomach, Kari shivered once she got into it. The temperature difference was just enough to cause goose bumps to break out on her skin. 

 "Here." Ivar slipped off his jacket and laid it across her lap. Then, in an almost practiced move, he slung an arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his side. 

 "I'm fine." She grumbled, even as she made no indication to scoot away from him. 

 He chuckled, but made no sarcastic comment. They rode in silence for several minutes, cuddled together in the back seat and watched the city pass by under the starlit sky, before he spoke up. 

 "Are you glad you agreed to come out with me?"

 Unable to help the slight jab at him, she muttered. "I didn't have much of a choice."

 "You have more of a choice than you think." He whispered, barely audible even with her sitting next to him. 

 "What?"

 "Nothing." He snapped, sounding suddenly defensive. "So?"

 "I had fun. You aren't so bad to hang out with, I guess."

 "Shut up."

 She giggled at his mock annoyance, the smirk he was trying to suppress gave him away. Wordlessly, he tugged her closer, if that was even possible, and laid his head on top of hers. After they both drifted back into a comfortable silence. 

 The line of friendship she was trying so hard to maintain was blurring and she found herself struggling to try and fix it. Never had a man held her like this and she found herself unconsciously melting into his embrace. In his arms, she felt safe and warm. A fact that concerned her. This was Ivar Lothbrok, someone with a dark reputation for anger and violence, if you believed all the rumors. Cuddled up with him right now, she was not sure what she believed. 

 When they arrived at her place, she winced when she noticed Alana's car in the driveway. Hopefully her roommate was asleep or watching a movie in her room. Somewhere where Kari did not have to explain why she was dressed up fancy. There was no simple explanation she could conjure that would be believable. 

 Sitting up, she slipped Ivar's jacket off her lap and turned to say thank you but stopped when he cupped her cheek. 

 "I want to kiss you." He breathed out, staring at her like he was unsure if he wanted to worship or ravish her. 

 She tried to shift subtly, the blooming ache between her legs distracting. Teasing him, she purposefully kept her voice light. "Do you always kiss your friends?"

 His lips twitched but he remained focused on her. 

 "Ivar…. we’re just friends. I told you. I can't be anything more."

 "Samme det. Jeg har ikke tenkt å gi opp når som helst snart, kattungen min." The foreign language rolled off his tongue gracefully, as he rubbed his thumb along her cheek. 

 "What did you say?"

 "Nothing." He pressed a kiss to her cheek, lingering a moment too long for it to be considered chaste. "I'll text you."

 "Ok. Good night, Ivar."

 She slid out of the car and walked to the front door, her skin tingling from the warmth of his body against hers. She waved at the dark vehicle before letting herself in. 

 Once she was finally in bed after taking a hot shower, she laid there for a long time, her time with Ivar replaying in her mind. Did she hate how Ivar manipulated her into going out with him? Yes. Did she actually enjoy her time with him? Yes. It was all so confusing. She repeatedly told herself she needed to stay away from him, it was better for their lives to diverge…. but he was making it hard to follow through with that conviction. The more she learned about him and spent time with him, the more she found herself not wanting to walk away. Even if it was the best thing to do. 

 She rolled over onto her stomach and pressed her face into the pillow. She had meant to get away from drama, to live simply and just enjoy life. That was why she had moved away in the first place. Now having Ivar inserting himself into her life, he was turning her life upside down. And she could not decide if she was truly upset about that or not. 

[tothemeadow]

~*ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ OᑎE*~

warnings: alcohol consumption, oral sex

words: 2.8k

Prologue

-

Perhaps you should’ve have taken Daki more seriously. After that fateful night at the so-called gathering, she’s become adamant on getting you hooked onto the luxurious life. Frankly, you thought the rest of the night was a bore, watching rich people mill about, talking to each other about issues that you could wish to understand. The only thing that really kept you going was the company of your best friend and the delicious edibles set on the many tables.

Time and time again, Daki brought up the encounter you had with Idris’ friends – could they even be called that? She gushed about how handsome Rengoku Kyojuro was, how darling it would be to hang off his arm. You noticed the suggestive hint to her tone; you knew exactly where her train of thoughts was going, and you’d be damned if she acted upon them.

In fact, you’re entirely positive that she’s planning on whisking you into her lifestyle. Even now, as you sit in some one-roomed, slinky club, she taps a manicured finger against her chin. The place itself is dripping with wealth, from the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the clusters of velvet chairs, right down to the mahogany bar you sit at. You don’t have the slightest clue how Daki knows of a place like this, but – judging from the few other patrons acquainting the place – it’s meant for those types of meetings. You have the slightest inkling that this is where she met Idris in the first place.

Glancing over at her, you can understand why Idris was drawn to her in the first place; of course, Daki has always been insanely beautiful, but her sense of fashion is impeccable. Combined with her short skirt and the thick platforms on her feet, her legs are long, soft. She looks like she just came off straight off a runway; she might as well have, if the big Chanel logo on her beret hints at anything. She’s perfect sugar baby material, and you’d be lying if you’d say you didn’t respect her for pulling off such a feat.

“Mitsuri really liked you,” Daki’s saying. You snap back to attention, mentally cursing yourself out for getting lost in your thoughts. “She thinks you’re really pretty, too.”

Ah, Kanroji Mitsuri: renowned fashion designer and easily one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever met. Her welcoming, bubbly personality had definitely struck a chord inside you, and you were more than thankful that she had been so nice. Hearing something like that, though… Well…

Staring down at your wine, you swirl the deep red fluid around in your glass. “She’s just being nice,” you say, deflecting the compliment. You didn’t want to get your hopes up for nothing.

Rolling her eyes, Daki pops a grape into her mouth and waggles a finger at you. “Listen here, darling; Kanroji Mitsuri thinks you’re pretty. I wouldn’t take that so lightly.”

“You’re also drop dead gorgeous,” you shoot right back. “Of course you wouldn’t take it so lightly.”

“You’re missing the point,” Daki says with a sigh. “An insanely hot and rich woman – who has a great personality, by the way – is interested in you. By the way you two were talking at the gathering, it’s almost like you two have known each other forever.”

Deciding to take the bait, you set your wineglass down and turn towards her. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Go on a date with her, obviously. I know Mitsuri will treat you right. And, if the night ends well…” Trailing off, she follows up with a giggle. “We’d be sugar sisters.”

“Come again?”

“Oh, come on, (y/n)! Think about how much fun it’ll be! Mitsuri will spoil you rotten and you’ll have mind-blowing sex.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at the unexpected confession. Wait, did that mean…?

Daki flashes you a sly look. “What, you don’t think I only like men, do you? I may have fucked around with Mitsuri once or twice… But it was only a physical attraction, nothing more. Sometimes you just need to get with a woman.”

Embarrassment crawls up your neck at the mere idea of Daki and Mitsuri engaging in certain… activities. Warmth floods your system; you should be ashamed of thinking of your friend like that, but she did just tell you something you particularly didn’t want to know. And, truth be told, you are growing the slightest bit curious as to how Mitsuri’s like in bed…

A smirk pulls at the corners of Daki’s pretty mouth. She obviously knows what’s going on in your head – the two of you have been friends long enough for it to be second nature at this point. However, it still catches you by surprise as she fishes out a little piece of paper and slides it across the bar to you. “Since you’re clearly thinking about it, have her number,” she purrs. “I don’t think you’ll regret giving her a call.”

Taking the paper into your hands, you examine the neat, curly writing. You can imagine Mitsuri writing down the number, a flattering smile on her face. Your heart nearly skips a beat; did she really feel attracted to you? It’s just that, well, somebody at her social standing would usually stick to someone in the same group. You’re nowhere near it, so to have something like this happen… It’s kind of incredible.

You sigh. “Fuck it. I’ll call her.”

Daki eagerly claps her hands. “That’s my girl!”

-

On second thought, you might be regretting your decision.

Around you, the delicate clank of crystal glasses and fine platters intermingle with the soothing piano music. Other patrons talk amongst themselves, the slight murmur of dozens of voices reminding you of a hoard of bees. Some call out to the waiters passing by, wanting them to refill their glasses or get the check.

The dim, golden light makes the place ethereal, a heavenly glow surrounding everyone’s heads. Your hands glide over the spotless tablecloth, the pristine white of it practically mocking you. Jeez, if a single drop of wine spills on it, they’d probably just throw it away. Damn rich people and their ways – the mere idea of how much this tablecloth costs has your head spinning.

“You don’t have to look so scared,” Mitsuri says. “Believe it or not, but everyone here is just like you.”

You nearly scoff at that. You want to tell her that no, nobody is like you. You’re not rich and swanky, not by a long shot. Besides, this is Kanroji Mitsuri you’re speaking to. She’s part of this crowd; and since she’s a renowned fashion designer with a fairly large following, she’s practically a celebrity.

“I find that hard to believe,” you mutter. Picking up your glass, you take a careful sip of water, not wanting to cause a spill and embarrass yourself.

It’s not helping your nerves in the slightest that Mitsuri looks the way she does; hair pulled into a high ponytail, a slinky dress with a plunging neckline, dangling earrings that reflect the soft golden light. You don’t want to be disrespectful and stare at her pure, creamy skin, but it’s so hard. She’s downright beautiful – breathtaking, even – and it’s a challenge to keep your head on straight.

Her green eyes practically light up at your comment, a light giggle passing through her plump lips. “Everyone feels the pressure, you know. The need to keep up a perfect façade. It’s a shame, really, how so many people in this room wear a mask constantly.” She sighs, then, leaning forward and perching an elbow on the table and resting her chin in her palm. “I’ll be truthful, darling. The very first moment I met you, I knew you’d be different. You’re not some stuck-up corporate brat who’s too deep in their own shit to know right from left anymore. It’s refreshing.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. She hit the nail right on the head; sure, the upper class are usually depicted as being entitled assholes, but to hear it from Mitsuri? That’s just gold. She joins in on your laughter, the sweet, tinkling sound gracing your ears. It’s actually incredible how comfortable you feel around her, despite only knowing her for a couple of days.

“Plus,” Mitsuri continues, her laughter dying down, “I think you’re really cute.”

Scoffing, you try to downplay the excited fluttering in your heart. She’s almost been gushing about how nice you look all night, how much of a pleasantry it was that Daki introduced the two of you. Even better, she was so freaking ecstatic that you called her. Okay, yeah, so maybe you’re interested in Mitsuri. Who wouldn’t be? With the personality of a puppy and the looks of a supermodel, how could anyone say no to her?

“Now you’re just spoiling me,” you tell her.

“What can I say?” Mitsuri replies, voice smooth. “You deserve to be spoiled.”

Shock floods your system, sucks almost all the air from your lungs. Jaw dropping, you gape at her, completely at a loss for words. It doesn’t matter, though; your waiter comes back with the meals the two of you’ve ordered, placing them down gently on the table and busying himself with pouring glasses of wine.

“Enjoy the meal, ladies,” he says, his thick accent flooding his words. With a polite bow, he takes his departure, stepping away with quick, precise movements.

Staring down at the food you ordered, your mouth begins to water. Even though you aren’t the biggest fan of these damned rich people, you’ve got to admit that you’re jealous of the things they eat. Like, look at this! This is something King Midas would eat himself!

“It’s almost as if you’ve never eaten before,” Mitsuri says along with another adorable giggle. “If that’s your reaction, then I’m going to have to take you to every high-end restaurant in town!”

“What? No! Mitsuri, you don’t have to do that!” you ramble. “It’s just… Well…”

“Oh, come on. I want to.” Mitsuri pauses, then, picking up her glass with slender fingers and taking a sip of her wine. “I agree with Daki, you know,” she continues, “I think the two of us could have a lot of fun together.”

“…I’m afraid I don’t understand…?”

Mitsuri casts a devious smile over the rim of her glass at you. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll find out soon enough.”

-

If you can recall it correctly, there’s a saying that would fit perfectly into this moment – blame it on the alcohol. Oh, but you’re not stupid. No, you at least have the guts to own up to your actions, as great or as stupid as they can be. That being said, you don’t want to admit to how desperate you’re feeling.

You didn’t doubt Daki for a single moment. As kind as she is beautiful, Mitsuri is the perfect package. She only managed to prove that point over and over again throughout the evening, swapping stories and genuinely taking the time to get to know you better. You still can’t believe she’s taken so much interest in you, but you aren’t going to complain about it any time soon. In fact, you’re glad that she’s into you.

Perhaps it was your tipsy mind that made you say yes; that’s what you want to believe, anyway. You don’t want to own up to the fact that you practically jumped at the opportunity of Mitsuri taking you home, to some swanky penthouse in one of the richest parts of the city. You barely had any time to gawk at the immaculate décor or overpriced furniture; no, what you got was a short tour as Mitsuri drug you off towards her bedroom.

The moments from there on out became nothing more than a blur. Clothing being slipped off, hands roaming over bare skin, the delicious heat of Mitsuri’s mouth. Your mind is still reeling from the turn of events, but you don’t have a single chance to think about it.

Heavy pants break through your lips, grace the still air in Mitsuri’s bedroom. The mattress is large, unforgivably so, topped with some of the softest blankets you’ve ever felt. Settled between your open legs, Mitsuri looks nothing short of perfection; long ponytail clutched in your grasp, her full eyelashes fluttering, the prettiest of blushes on her face, she’s a remarkable piece of art, reserved for your eyes only. The sounds spilling from between your legs is utterly sinful. Her lips and tongue eagerly work away at your sopping cunt, break down your walls until you’re a moaning mess.

“Fuck, Mitsuri,” you breathe, voice turning shrill towards the end. “That feels so good.”

Mitsuri moans at the praise, her manicured nails digging into the plush flesh of your thighs. Arching her back even more, you’re presented with a better view of her godly ass, the defined dimples on her back. She’s too gorgeous to handle, too fucking sexy. Giving her ponytail a yank, you relish in the pleased hum vibrating in the back of her throat.

“Naughty girl,” Misturi purrs as she pulls away. A mix of slick and smeared lipstick cover her lips, the lewd shine making your insides tighten. “I didn’t say you could do that, now did I?” The mere controlling tone of her voice causes another fat drop of slick to push its way out of your pussy. Eyes locking onto the sight, Mitsuri cracks a salacious smile. “Does baby girl like being talked down to?”

“Don’t… Don’t say it like that,” you whimper.

“I’m just speaking the truth,” Mitsuri purrs. “It’s not my fault this pretty little pussy likes it.” With her words, she traces a finger up and down your slit, collecting even more slick. Waggling the coated finger in your vision, she makes sure your eyes are on her before she slips it into her mouth, her swollen lips wrapping around it. “So tasty,” she moans. “So fucking sweet. You’re a real treat, you know that? It’s a shame Daki didn’t introduce us earlier.”

“Mitsuri-“

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t call me that,” she warns, the honey in her voice turning into something darker, heavier. You swallow thickly. “If you don’t mind, sweets… Call me Mommy. That is, unless you don’t want to cum? That works too.”

Oh, god, with an expression like that and her fingers playing with your sex, you’ll call her anything. “Mommy,” you murmur, “please.”

“Hmmm… What was that?”

Clenching the blankets between your fingers, you call out louder, “Mommy, please!” A loud gasp bursts from your throat, then, as Misturi shoves three fingers into you with no hesitation whatsoever. Her mouth descends on your clit once more, a pleased hum escaping her mouth at your sweet, sweet taste. Your hips buck into her wildly, your back arching off the mattress.

Mind clearing, vision turning fuzzy, your orgasm crashes over, your slick spilling all over her fingers and onto the blankets below. Mitsuri chuckles at that, seemingly pleased with both herself and your reaction. She keeps pressing on, though, her mouth and fingers working you through a second orgasm, and then a third. She’s relentless in her quest to make you cum over and over again, leaving you a shaking, crying mess of overstimulated nerves.

“Oh baby,” Mitsuri purrs once she pulls her mouth away. “You’re such a good girl to me, aren’t you? I’ll groom you real nice, shape you into something utterly perfect,” she continues, leaning in close and brushing her lips against your ear. “You’ll let me, won’t you? Come on, baby, let’s have some fun.” Shuffling up your body, she perches herself over your face, thick thighs encasing your head. “Be a darling and help me out, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mommy,” you coo. “Yes.”

-

In the end, Daki got what she wanted – a sugar sister.

Granted, you weren’t super eager to jump on the opportunity at first, but after some convincing from Mitsuri, you figured why not? As long as it’s with Mitsuri, there’s no harm, really. Plus, if you’re going to continue having incredible nights with her… Hell, of course you’re gonna agree!

“So, how did the date go?” Kyojuro’s voice rings through the phone. He sounds a bit too eager to hear the fine, juicy details.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Mitsuri teases. Sitting comfortably next to you in bed, she scans her eyes of your sleeping form, at your bare arms and shoulders unhidden from the blankets. She smiles. “It went great, actually,” she says, voice gentle. “(y/n)’s incredible.”

“She’s a looker, too,” Kyojuro says. Even though Mitsuri can’t see him, she knows he’s smirking. “Real beauty.”

“Heh. It almost sounds like you want me to share her.”

Kyojuro huffs in amusement. “Now that sounds like a good idea. Even Tengen wouldn’t shut up about her after she left. Maybe if you’re feeling generous…?”

Running her fingers over your smooth skin, Mitsuri bites her lip. “…Maybe. If she wants to be shared, that’s up to her. Either way…” she trails off, gives a light giggle. “She’s great in bed.”

[yanderemommabean]

Do you got any more victoria stuff 👉👈 I know it's been awhile but she's always been my fave

Interviews were always nerve wrecking for you. Working for any high profile fashion designer is a dream but to work for the most famous and influential twins on the planet? Your anxiety is almost enough to make your heart explode.

Victoria and Victor, creators and owners of V&V, were the most notorious and cutthroat people in the business. Victoria was known for making interns cry and feel absolutely worthless by just wearing the wrong necklace with an outfit. Needless to say, you took your time making sure your clothes were impeccable and that no hair was out of place.

You’ve worked your ass off in order to even get a passing glance by this agency, so you feel that you’ve at least earned a few minutes of the twins time to show them what you’re capable of and what ideas you can come up with to expand their empire (even though they practically ruled the fashion world already).

Sitting in the elegant waiting room, you cross your legs and begin to think about what exactly you’re going to say. Looks are one thing but phrases and tone make just as much of an impact in these interviews, and you don’t want to come off too shy or too self centered. Your knuckles are pressed to your lips as you think, going over every possible scenario that your racing mind conjures up, lost in your thoughts so deeply that you don’t even notice the woman walking out to greet you.

Long strawberry blonde hair, dark red lipstick, and eyes that could stare a lion into submission. Anyone could tell this was Victoria. They’d be a fool to assume she was anyone else. Or they’d have to be completely blind.

She snaps her fingers at you, scowling as you flush and begin to apologize. Before the first syllable could leave your mouth, she holds up her hand and gives you a cold stare that makes you feel meek and vulnerable as her words cut into you like shards of glass. “I don’t want to hear it. You can’t even stay focused enough to meet me and you have the audacity to show up anyway? You’re clearly not what we need on the floor if you can’t even think properly”.

Usually, tones like this would make you tear up and apologize, beg for another chance, even have you feeling small and insignificant. But you had worked your ass off for two years, spent an entire week planning on a color scheme that would be pleasing to the eye, and woke up at three in the morning to make sure your looks were past the expectations the V&V twins so notoriously made.

You didn’t mean too, but you lashed out.

“You have a lot of nerve saying that for a woman who chose to walk in quietly and not make an entrance. Is that not what your agency promotes? Making people notice you? Maybe you should’ve worn something that caught my eye instead of this bland get together “.

Well shit. Now you’re definitely not getting the job. You just lost your chance at the most prestigious fashion angencies around the world all because Victoria hit a nerve. Guess it’s back to working odd jobs and small gigs.

Her eyes go wide as she soaked in your comment. She was expecting gross sobbing and begging, maybe even some temper tantrums, but to hear such a comeback so swiftly and smoothly delivered was a pleasant surprise. You’re just what she needed in this place! Polite but able to bite. Doing what you’re told but taking no shit. It’s such a breath of fresh air!

“I’ll be going-“ you start to say, turning towards the exit.

“You’re hired”.

What?

“E-excuse me?” You asked with a quirked eyebrow, looking incredulously at the woman. She gestures toward you with a smirk, eyes drinking you in as she gets closer “You’re hired. I’ve been aching for someone like you to be my underling”.

“But I just-“

Victoria ignores your confused protests, her fingers toying with your clothes as she inspects you with a pleased expression. “Oh these are wonderful. But I want you to try some others on for me. As a matter of fact I think we should do that now”.

She curls her finger, coaxing you to follow her through the lobby to the elevator “Come.” Her voice was firm, but softer than what you’ve been hearing. You decide that this was the universe giving you a second chance at your dream job, and you really didn’t want to fuck it up this time, so you comply.

Once you two reach the fifth floor, Victoria simply manhandles you to the dressing room, tugging at your wrists and pushing you into closet after closet for you to pick clothes out to try. Of course, you figured she’d just want your opinion on them and see if you could guess the material, or maybe she wanted a test run, but regardless you comply, grabbing whatever caught your eye.

She sits back in a lounge chair, humming as you lay the clothes out neatly. You were looking around for curtains, or a closet with an actual door, needing privacy to change into everything. She simply gave an amused chuckle, wetting her lips as her eyes gave a taunting expression.

“Looking for something?”.

You nod, nervously playing with your fingers “I guess I need to head down the hall to change? There’s no real privacy in here”.

She gave another predatory gaze, sitting up slightly “That’s not going to happen”.

“But-it’s inappropriate to undress infront of my boss” you stutter, swallowing nervously when Victoria strided over towards you with the sly, confident demeanor of a fox.

She tilts your head up, swallowing you whole with her piercing eyes “That’s right. I’m your boss. You do as I say or things might get...” she paused, her lips teasing the crest of your ear “...difficult”. Her fingers toy with your hair for a second as she inhaled your scent, giving an amused huff as your clear bafflement and embarrassment.

She kisses your temple, pulling back to look you up and down while you stand there gawking and speechless. “You belong to my agency now. You belong to Me. So be a good little girl, and put on a show”.

((Sorry for all the typing mistakes! I hope this was ok! -Mommabean ))

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

As it turned out, Tony did make great pancakes. Peter woke up the next day to the smell of them, and shyly headed in the general direction it was coming from, until he reached the kitchen. Tony was standing there, wearing impeccable gray dress pants, a crisp white shirt and a green tie, as he added batter to a frying pan. Peter supposed that was what heaven would look like when he died.

“Oh, hey, kitten, you’re up.” He grinned at him, who smiled in return, nodding. He had put his clothes from the night before back on, and he was glad he did, because Tony was dressed to the nines and it would have been awkward if he had shown up in just his boxers or something. “Sleep well?”

“I did, thanks.” And it was surprisingly true. Peter hadn’t had such a good night’s sleep in a while, he supposed he missed sleeping next to someone. He did share a bed with Beck for two years, so it felt awfully lonely to sleep by himself. “Are you headed to work?” He asked as he sat on a stool by the kitchen island and Tony nodded guiltily, fixing two plates of pancakes.

“I’m so sorry, I tried to make arrangements to get the morning off, but duty calls.” To his credit, he did look genuinely sorry, so Peter thought maybe it wasn’t just an excuse to get rid of him. Maybe.

“It’s okay, I have to be home soon, or my friends will worry.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but not exactly a lie either. They wouldn’t notice he was gone until lunchtime, since they both had work or class in the morning, but when they did notice, they would freak out.

“I thought you lived by yourself?” Tony sounded interested as he sat beside him by the kitchen counter and pushed a plate his way. Peter thanked him, taking a bite of the surprisingly good pancake.

“I do, but we live in the same building, so we’re always checking in on each other.” Tony hummed, nodding, and they were silent for a little while, until the older man spoke up again.

“Can I ask about your relatives?” He felt his eyes on him and knew that, much like the night before, he was testing the waters, making sure Peter was comfortable with that subject.

“Sure. I don’t have any, though. I’m an orphan, I’ve lived in foster homes for most of my life.” Peter didn’t really mind talking about that period – it was basically all he knew. He was too little when his parents died and was only ten when Ben and May passed away, so the foster homes were where he made most of his memories.

“Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that.” Tony winced, maybe thinking he had touched a sensitive subject after all, but Peter smiled and shrugged.

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago. My friends are like family to me now, so I’m good.”

“I’m glad you have them.” Again, he gave him that genuine smile that made Peter believe he was actually glad to hear that. Like he actually cared. “So… Can I see you again? Or was this just a one time thing?” The older man turned his body to face Peter, who froze for a second with the mug held to his lips, mid-sip.

“Oh, uhm…” Peter almost chocked on the coffee, not quite believing his ears. He honestly thought that the older man would slowly disappear from his life. Or maybe not even that slowly. Peter figured he had gotten what he wanted, so why would he stick around? “I mean, sure. If you want.” He said, like an idiot, and Tony raised a brow.

“I really do, but I don’t mean to pressure you, so if you want to say no and just go back to what we had, that’s okay. Or not even that, if you prefer. Just say the word and I’ll get out of your hair.” He sounded honest enough, but Peter quickly shook his head, eyes wide.

“No, it’s okay, I definitely wanna do this again.” He assured him, and Tony seemed satisfied with his answer, expression softening as he nodded.

After breakfast, the older man insisted on driving him home and when they arrived at his building, he felt a little awkward as to how to say goodbye, but Tony made it easier by simply leaning in and kissing him softly on the lips, one hand stroking his knee in a gentle caress.

“I’ll call you later, kitten.” He promised and Peter just sighed quietly, feeling dizzy.

He was a little out of it for the rest of the day, both Ned and MJ asked what was wrong with him in separate occasions, but he just said he was tired from his new routine. They had dinner together and when he went back to his apartment that night, he was just mildly surprised that he actually got a call from Tony. It was an innocent, sweet phone call, too. He did not expect that, to be honest, they had been sexting for two months and they had actual sex the previous night, so he kind of expected Tony to just go for it.

But no.

He asked about his day, about his friends, he told him about his own day, then somehow they ended up talking a little bit about Peter’s childhood, his parents, aunt May and Uncle Ben, it was just a really nice chat, which he appreciated. Not that he didn’t enjoy talking dirty to Tony, but the fact that he called just to have a normal conversation with no second intentions was, well. Nice.

He didn’t really know where they were going with that, probably nowhere, really, Peter was an ex-porn star, Tony was an A-list celebrity, a billionaire and a fucking Avenger, so there was literally zero chance they could evolve to something else. They would probably just go out a few more times, have mind-blowing awesome sex, and then go their separate ways. And Peter was okay with that.

It was fine. Really. It was just fine.

And it was for the best, otherwise how would he explain to Ned and MJ that he was dating Tony Fucking Stark? It would be a nightmare. MJ would kill him and lecture him on how big corporations like Stark Industries were destroying their way of life and Ned would pass out – and possibly die – so, yeah. It was a good thing they had no real future together.  

That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it while it lasted, though. Tony was really nice, a true gentleman, a good conversationalist, a great kisser and an amazing lay. So whatever he could get out of those moments they had together, he would. Everything was perfectly fine and under control. And did he mention fine?

The next morning, he woke up early and went for a jog around the block. He had been experimenting with different types of workout routines, but he thought he might stick with jogging and yoga for a while, he was even looking for a yoga studio close to his building so he could start training more seriously. When he got back, he took a long shower, made breakfast and spent a few hours answering people on Just4Fans, then posted a few pictures there, linked it to his twitter account and let people know on Instagram.

Tony texted him mid-morning and Peter blushed like a teenager when he read his message.

“Just saw the new pics, you look stunning as always, baby, but I have to admit I’m spoiled now, pictures are not enough. Can’t wait to see you again. Dinner tomorrow?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, sir, keep it coming.” He smiled to himself and bit his lower lip, excited by the prospect of seeing Tony again so soon. “Tomorrow sounds great, where are we going? Should I start stressing about the dress code?”

“I was thinking you could come over. Did I mention that I’m a great cook? Pancakes aren’t my only specialty.” Peter felt butterflies in his stomach. It was stupid, of course, but he just found it endearing that Tony wanted to cook for him.

“I’d love to. I’m curious about your cooking, your pancakes did taste fantastic.” Just the thought of that morning and, more importantly, the night before that, made his mind wander, as a quiet sigh left his lips.

“Prepare to be blown away.”

“You’re so humble, I love that about you.” The young man smiled to himself.

“Thank you, kitten, it’s one of my many qualities.” Peter laughed at his antics.

They settled on a time and Tony insisted on picking him up, even though it was obviously inconvenient since they were having dinner at his place, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so Peter gave in. They talked a little more, but soon Tony had to go back to work and now that the younger man knew exactly who he was, he imagined it was a lot of work.

He went on with his Saturday – in the afternoon, he took a few pictures and videos with different sets of lingerie he bought with MJ when they went to Victoria’s Secret, and that should be enough to last him at least a few days. At dinnertime, he went down to his friends’ apartment, as usual, and they were both home.

“What’s up, nerd,” MJ greeted from the couch, but didn’t raise her eyes from her phone.

“Hey, Pete, dinner is almost ready,” Ned called from the kitchen island.

“Want me to set the table?” He walked over to where Ned was fishing a plate out of the microwave.

“Sure.”

Peter knew his way around the kitchen, so he got to work, placing the plates and cutlery on the small, square table by the counter.

“Hey, are you up for a Star Trek marathon tomorrow night? I don’t have any classes next Monday morning, we can stay up late.”

“Oh, uhm. I –“ Fuck, he hadn’t really thought of an excuse for why he wouldn’t be having dinner with them. “I can’t, because…” He noticed that MJ had finally raised her eyes from her phone, only to stare at him suspiciously. “I have this thing, uhm, on my Just4Fans… Tomorrow night.”

“Can’t you just schedule the posts?” MJ asked from the couch, because of-fucking-course she knew about that.

“Uhm, yeah, I can, but – uhm. It’s a live stream. I’m live streaming tomorrow for the first time. It’s good for tips and stuff, so. Yeah. I’ve already let everybody know, I can’t cancel.” He gave them an apologetic smile, trying to look convincing, but he was pretty sure he just looked like a nervous wreck.

“Oh. Ok, then.” Ned shrugged and didn’t seem bothered at all, but MJ kept staring at him from the couch, like she could smell his bullshit from a mile away. She didn’t say anything, though, for which he was grateful.

The next morning, he woke up early and decided to skip his usual jog around the block and just did a short yoga session in his living room, warmed by the morning sun that flooded his apartment at that time. He had lunch with his friends and spent the afternoon with them, but left early with the excuse that he had to get ready for his “live stream”.

When the older man texted to say he was waiting outside, Peter was already showered and dressed and skipped downstairs two steps at a time. He didn’t know what he was supposed to wear to a billionaire’s house, but he decided casual was probably fine, so he put on a pair of light blue jeans and a light pink, thin sweater.

Tony was driving a low-profile, black SUV and he got out of the car when Peter stepped outside the building. He had a baseball cap and tinted glasses on, dark blue jeans, a Metallica t-shirt and sneakers, and if Peter didn’t know it was him, he would never have thought that was actually Tony Stark.

“Hey, gorgeous, looking good.” Tony didn’t think twice before reaching out to pull him closer by the hips, stealing a chaste kiss from his lips. Peter blushed and completely forgot he should be worried that Ned or MJ might see them if they came downstairs for something, or even if they looked out the living room window. He wrapped his arms around the older man’s neck and deepened the kiss.

“Thanks, but you should get your eyes checked.” He joked as he let go, taking a small step back.

“Yeah, I think so too, I think constantly staring at such beauty is taking a toll on my eyesight, I’m an old man, after all.” Tony pulled him by the chin and stole yet another kiss. When he pulled away,  Peter shook his head and laughed.

“Oh my God. Seriously, do you practice these lines in the mirror or something?” He had a feeling that if it was anyone else saying half the things Tony said to him daily, he would find it corny and possibly annoying, but somehow the older man made everything sound charming, sweet, sexy, endearing – hell, everything at once. And he always knew what to say to make Peter’s knees go weak, it was unnerving sometimes.

“No, you just inspire me daily, baby.” He gave him a charming smile, as he opened the door and gestured for Peter to get in the car.

The ride to Tony’s place was filled with the sound of the older man humming along to the music playing. Peter didn’t recognize any of the songs, it was a classic rock playlist, but then he heard a familiar beat and thought it was a great opportunity to stick his foot so deep inside his mouth he almost choked.

“I love Led Zeppelin!” He didn’t exactly love Led Zeppelin and he was quite sure he had just heard a cover of that song, not the original version, but he thought he’d sound cool if he said that. When he looked over, though, Tony was laughing his head off. Peter blushed a deep crimson, eyes widening as he realized he must have said something incredibly dumb.

“Oh, you’re not joking.” Finally seeming to realize that the younger man wasn’t laughing along with him, Tony turned down the volume, as they approached Stark Tower’s garage entrance. “That’s Back in Black by AC/DC, kitten. But hey, I love Zeppelin, too, who doesn’t?” He smiled warmly, looking at him sideways, and Peter nodded.

“Oh, right. Yeah. Of course.” Fuck his life. Of course he had to make a complete fool of himself right at the beginning of the night. He wanted to jump out the window from embarrassment, but it would only add to his humiliation, since Tony had already parked and got out of the car.

The older man opened the door for him and Peter avoided eyes contact, as he led him to the elevator. He could still feel his cheeks burning on the ride up, his head was starting to hurt from shame. Was that a thing?

“Hey, don’t be like this.” Tony pulled him into a loose hug, kissing his temple with a soft smile on his lips. “It was an honest mistake. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to identify whatever it is you kids listen to these days.”

It was oddly comforting to hear that. Even though he knew Tony wasn’t trying to be mean to him back in the car, it was hard not to feel attacked in situations like that. Beck always tried to make him feel dumb, inferior and juvenile whenever he got the chance.

So he rested his head on Tony’s shoulder and nodded slowly. He was going to say something like “don’t worry, I’m fine” but it got lost somewhere in the back of his throat when the older man held him a little tighter and stroked his hair.

The whole interaction lasted merely a few seconds, soon the elevator doors opened to the familiar sight of Tony’s living room, looking just as impeccable as it did a couple of nights earlier. The older man gestured for Peter to lead the way and he did, paying closer attention to the details, since he was a little too nervous to do it the last time he was there.

What he realized when he took a look around, was that the penthouse didn’t look lived in at all. It was all glass and metal, shiny floors and sophisticated furniture, black and gray decoration – it looked ready to be featured in one of those shows that listed the most beautiful houses in the world, but it didn’t look like a place he would like to go back to at the end of the day.

“You don’t spend a lot of time here, do you?” Peter asked, as Tony led them in the direction he remembered the kitchen and the dining room were.

“That obvious, huh?” The older man winced and Peter flushed, realizing he might have been a little rude in his observation. “But yeah, when I’m home, I spend most of my time down in the workshop.”

“Ah, the famous workshop. I suppose if I were to visit right now there would be pictures of me hanging on every wall?” He joked, remembering that Tony had once told him that he would hang his pictures in the workshop and never get any work done.

“I mean, not every wall…” He turned to him and winked, leaving the younger man a little unsure if he meant it or if he was just messing around. Sometimes it was hard to tell with the man’s sarcastic sense of humor. “I’ll give you a tour after dinner.” He promised, when they finally reached the dining room.

The table was set in a simple manner, for what Peter was glad, it made him feel more comfortable and at ease. Tony pulled out a chair for him then headed to the kitchen, which was separated from the dining room only by a long, wide counter, where the had breakfast the other day.

The man came back with wine, pouring two glasses for them, then he started placing the dishes on the table. There was mashed potatoes, grilled veggies and roast chicken, and the smell was to die for, Peter’s stomach rumbled and he wasn’t even that hungry.  

“Voilà. This was my favorite meal as a kid, my grandma used to make this for me all the time when I spent summers with her.” He took a seat across from Peter, looking at him expectantly. The younger man found his enthusiasm amusing, so he fixed a plate under Tony’s eager supervision. “Tell me what you think. But be nice, I haven’t cooked this in a while, it might be a little dry.”

Peter took a bite of the chicken first, and it took him a few moments to feel the explosion of flavors on his tongue. The meat was tender and juicy, cooked to perfection, and the seasoning tasted inexplicably like home – it didn’t taste like something he could order at a restaurant, let alone a frozen meal he could buy at the supermarket. He then tried the mashed potatoes along with the grilled veggies and almost cried.

“Tony, this is so good, have you considered dropping everything and starting a restaurant?” he gushed, taking another bite of the chicken only to confirm that, yes, that was probably what paradise tasted like.

“Don’t exaggerate. I already like you plenty, kitten, you don’t need to flatter my cooking skills.” Tony smiled, shaking his head lightly, and if Peter didn’t know any better, he might think he was blushing.

“I’m not, this is seriously the best homemade meal I’ve ever eaten,” he insisted and Tony cocked his head to the side, with a confused smile and a frown

“What the hell have they been feeding you, kid?” He asked and Peter chuckled.

“Well, I spent most of my life in foster care and I was never lucky enough to end up in a family that liked to cook.” The families he stayed with weren’t bad – not compared to some of the horror stories he heard from other foster kids he met in the past – they just weren’t good. They provided him with the bare minimum for survival, so water and enough food to avoid starvation. “And uncle Ben and aunt May, dude… They couldn’t cook for shit.” He laughed, remembering Aunt May’s date loaf, which was probably the worst thing he had ever tasted in his life.

“Well, now I feel obligated to feed you properly,” Tony announced, and Peter quickly shook his head, feeling his face grow red for the hundredth time that night.

“Oh, no, you don’t need to, I wasn’t–”

“I want to, if I’m your only source of good, homemade food, then I’m taking this seriously, kitten.” He pointed a fork at him as he spoke. “And you can help me cook, what do you say? That way I can teach you a thing or two so you won’t starve to death.” Again, the idea that Tony wanted to cook for him was too sweet. He was an incredibly busy guy who probably didn’t even cook for himself, but he was willing to waste that kind of time on Peter. It just–

“Sounds amazing.” He smiled, nodding, and the older man’s face softened when their eyes met.  

“Good.” He took a sip of wine and topped off both of their glasses. “Did you tell your friends you were coming here today?” That seemed like a polite way to ask if they knew about him, and Peter wasn’t sure what kind of answer he was expecting.

“No, they think I’m home.” He watched the man’s face, waiting for his reaction, but there was none, so Peter felt like he should explain himself further. “After my ex – they’re just a little too overprotective, so, you know. I just don’t want them to worry.” Tony raised his eyebrows and Peter’s eyes widened, realizing what that might have sounded like. “Not that I think you’re my – that we’re – I mean, I’m not assuming anything, I just meant –“

“Hey, it’s okay, I know what you mean.” He reached across the table to squeeze one of his shaking hands. “Your friends sound like good people, by the way. You’re lucky to have them.”

“Thanks.” Tony smoothly changed the subject and started talking about his summers with his grandmother and how she taught him everything he knew about cooking. He said that was the reason why his repertoire consisted only of comfort food and Peter thought that was the sweetest thing he had learned about him so far.

Once dinner was done with, Tony kept his promise and gave him a tour. The place looked like a labyrinth made of glass and steel, there were five floors, several rooms with various purposes, but everything seemed sterile and impersonal, like nobody ever stepped foot in any of those places, which somehow made them look lifeless and even a little scary – like a ghost town of sorts. Peter couldn’t help but think that his tiny, mostly empty apartment felt more like a home than all five floors of Tony’s.

Well, all except for one.

“And this is the workshop,” Tony declared with a flourish when the glass doors slid open, revealing a wide, open space filled with worktables, holographic screens, robots, cars, Iron Man suits, and so many other things he had never seen before in his life. “Sorry about the mess.” He didn’t sound sorry, though, he sounded happy and proud, and Peter thought it was the only place in the penthouse that felt weirdly cozy and homey. To his relief – and secret disappointment –, there were no pictures of him in lingerie hanging on the walls.

“This is amazing…” Peter breathed out, realizing that that was Tony’s actual home. There was even a kitchenette in a corner, and next to it there was a small, cozy couch in front of a reasonably sized TV and a fluffy rug. He supposed Tony took naps there, too, because there was also a blanket draped over the back of the couch.

He walked over there, followed closely by the older man, and took a seat, sinking into the soft pillows.  

“I think this is my favorite room.” He blinked up at Tony, who regarded him silently for a few moments, and Peter started to think he had fucked up again. “What?” He whispered, but his answer came in the form of a kiss. He immediately melted into it, all worries flying out the window as he opened his mouth to taste him better.

Tony pushed him gently until he was lying on the couch with his larger body on top of him, and he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t the best feeling in the world.

It was a tight fit, but they made it work, as pieces of clothes were thrown to a pile on the floor; as skin met skin and made the room feel unbearably hot; as hands explored and mouths danced together and teeth left secret claiming marks on eager necks; as he felt, once again, full and sate and whole, and then spent and lax and dazed in the best of ways.

Suddenly, what had been frantic and passionate became slow and soft, what had been loud and messy became quiet and wholesome.  

The room was silent then, as their bodies slowly cooled down. Tony was lying on his back on the couch and Peter was lying on top of him, chests flush together, breathing in and out in sync. He felt a blanket being draped over his shoulders and he all but melted into the body underneath him.

“Can I ask you a question?” He whispered quietly into Tony’s neck, after several minutes, not sure if the older man had fallen asleep, his breathing was slow and constant.

“Baby, you could ask me anything right now, there’s no way I’d say no to you.” He answered right away and Peter giggled, pushing himself up on Tony’s chest to look down at him.

“Why did you want to meet me? For real?” Tony, whose eyes had been closed until that moment, opened them to gaze at him. He was quiet for a while, as one of his hands found the small of Peter’s back under the blanket and started rubbing circles on his skin.

“I liked talking to you.” He answered quietly, eyes locked on his. At first, Peter thought that was all the answer he was getting, and he would have been fine with that, but Tony kept talking. “You made me feel alive again.” His heart raced and his breath hitched in shock. He blinked down at the older man, who raised his free hand to tuck some of Peter’s curls behind his ear. “You see, things were… rough. After Thanos.” He remembered the funny story Tony told him in the restaurant a few nights earlier and was surprised to see such grief in the man’s eyes. “I had these nightmares. Anxiety attacks. Couldn’t sleep most nights.”

Peter reached out and ran a finger across the man’s forehead, trying to smooth down the frown that had formed there. Tony smiled, grabbing that hand to give it a little kiss.

“Pepper wanted me to give up the suit for good, said it was killing me and she wouldn’t stand by and watch it happen. On top of that, my relationship with some of the Avengers was strained, to say the least. I thought retiring from the Avengers would be enough to solve most of my problems, but I was wrong and everything just kind of snowballed from there. So what I mean to say is that by the time I met you, I was… Fucking exhausted.”

“Tony...” He frowned, heart clenching, because he could hear the pain in the man’s voice and how much he meant every word and it was devastating.  

“I looked forward to talking to you every night, you know. Still do. I don’t why you got under my skin like that, but you did. So when I said I needed to meet you, I meant I needed to meet you.” He smiled and Peter’s heart skipped a beat. The whole confession was almost too much to handle, too much to believe. At the same time, he knew what Tony meant because he had also been in a very dark place when they met and, somehow, talking to him brought some light back into his life. “My turn?”

“Sure.” Peter smiled, entwining his fingers on Tony’s chest and resting his chin on top of them, looking at the older man’s face.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer, I have a feeling this might be a bit of a touchy subject for you.” He cautioned, and Peter gulped. He knew what was coming and he thought about not answering, but Tony had been honest with him, so he took a deep breath and nodded.

“O-okay.”

“How did you end up doing porn? Not that it’s bad or anything, you just sounded so uncomfortable the other night... Like you’re ashamed of it, or regretful.” Tony asked carefully, one of his hands was still rubbing soothing circles on the skin of his back.

“Hm… Well. It’s complicated. I guess the short answer is: I was young and dumb and my older boyfriend convinced me it was a good idea. Then he left me and took all the money and everything we’ve ever built with him and – and now the only thing I know how to do is porn, so… Yeah.” It was a very short version of what happened, but very accurate as well. Tony frowned, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you mean he took everything?”

“He told me to pack a bag and leave. Whatever I couldn’t fit in my bag stayed behind, as well as the social media accounts, the channel, the money… He locked me out of everything.” Peter’s voice grew weaker as he spoke, because he felt so fucking ashamed. Of everything. Of admitting he let a man like Quentin into his life, that he made so many terrible decisions just so he could stay with him, only to be treated like that in the end. It was fucking humiliating.

Tony sat up in a haste, forcing him to do the same, until they were both facing each other on the couch. The older man’s eyes were wide, he looked so shocked it was almost funny. Almost.

“Peter, that’s – why – wait, and what do you mean he convinced you to do porn? Is it not something that you want to do?” Peter dropped his gaze for a second, not really sure what the true answer to that question was. If he was honest with himself, most times he just avoided thinking too much about what he was doing.  

“Well… I don’t hate it anymore, I guess,” he settled on that, after a few minutes of silence. “Sometimes I even enjoy it now, like… Like when we talk,” he mumbled the last part, raising his eyes again to look into Tony’s warm ones, and the older man looked back at him with – what? Worry? Regret? Guilt?

“So you hated it? Before?” He insisted, and Peter knew he could still choose not to answer if he wanted to, Tony wouldn’t force it out of him, but still – Peter wanted to tell him. He wanted Tony to know.

To know him. All of him. Even the parts that hurt.

“I did.” He whispered, holding back the tears that filled his eyes when the confession left his lips, because that was something that he never wanted to acknowledge. It took all he had to hold Tony’s gaze and not look away in shame. “I just felt… kinda shitty sometimes. Like… I wasn’t even human, just an object to be used and abused and disposed of.” He continued, swallowing a lump in his throat. He couldn’t read Tony’s expression, but his eyes were gentle as always, there was no judgment there. “I didn’t feel like my body belonged to me anymore.” Saying that aloud came almost as a surprise to Peter himself. He always tried so hard not to think about those feelings he almost believed they didn’t really exist, even though they were always there at the back of his mind.

“Pete...” Tony cupped his face in both of his hands, he looked so torn, it almost made Peter regret telling him.

“I’m doing okay now, I promise. I’m in control of my body, my choices, my money. I’m fine now, really,” he vowed and Tony pulled his head closer and pressed their lips together – it wasn’t even a kiss, just a caress.

“I can help you.” He offered with determination, holding his face in his hands, looking straight into his eyes and they were burning with anger, but Peter knew it wasn’t directed to him. “I can help you get everything back, I can make his life a living hell for doing that to you, I can –“

“Please, don’t,” He winced, shaking his head firmly, lifting his hands to hold Tony’s wrists, feeling his pulse and how fast his heart was beating. “Okay? It’s in the past. It’s over now. I don’t want to – relive it, I just want to forget.” His heart raced when the older man closed his eyes and started shaking his head. “Tony?”

“Peter, you can’t ask me to –“

“I am asking you leave it alone.” He insisted, a little desperately, but Tony’s face was locked in a frown and panic started creeping up on him. He couldn’t bear to think about confronting Beck, having to see him again, maybe talk to him again, he just wanted to move on, to forget he ever existed. His eyes burned and he closed them, trying to get his breath under control, but he could feel his hands shaking. “Please, please, don’t make me –“

“Hey, no, no, no.” Tony gathered him in his arms, rubbing his shoulders in a soothing way. “I’m sorry, no, I would never force you to do anything, okay? It’s your choice.” He cupped his face in his hands again, peppering kisses on his cheeks and forehead. Peter started calming down slowly, and even laughed a little when the man’s beard tickled his nose. “You know that I see you, right? And I mean I see you, Peter Parker, not the persona in the videos or the pictures, and you sure seem pretty fucking human to me, kid. You know that, right?” Tony kept holding his head in between his hands, forcing Peter to look back at him, which wasn’t necessary, he couldn’t look away if he tried.

He smiled, nodding slowly, leaning in to kiss his lips. The older man lay back down, pulling him along, until they were back to their original position. He rested his head on Tony’s chest and closed his eyes, sighing in relief.

He felt Tony wrap his arms around his waist, holding him tight, and he thought to himself that if heaven looked like Tony making breakfast in the morning and tasted like his cooking in the evening, it certainly felt like holding him at night.

-x-

Tag list (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list):  @sadachmesarthim @iamnotparticularlyproud @staticwhispersinthedark @bluestarker

Sorry for the long chapter, guys, it really got away from me 🥴 Only four more chapters to goo ✨✨

[olivetreehugger]

SnK Scouts/Veterans as Health Care Workers

Note: features Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Levi, Erwin and Hange. A part two to my “SnK Warriors as HCWs” post found here. warning: mentions of blood, trauma, gore (it’s healthcare). Also, I know Hange is nb, I headcanon them as female, so I will be using she/her pronouns. 

Eren: this boy is definitely too involved in everything and has too many people depending on him at once to not be a nurse. The kid barely passed the NCLEX but that didn’t stop him from applying to every trauma center within a 25 mile radius of him. He got hired as a night shift trauma ICU nurse  and he frequently picks up shifts in the ER. He wears the cheapest scrubs he can find, often stained with ink in the pockets area. He isn’t a shitty nurse per se but there are tasks that still need to be done at the end of his shift and he gives a crappy report that’s missing too many details. Nurses hate picking up his patients, it’s always a mess. His charting is really spotty and he gets called into the manager’s office all the time to fix it. 

Still, he tries really hard to improve his time management and skills. He wants to be like his friends Mikasa and Reiner, who are the best nurses he knows. He wants to be involved in the traumatic cases and emergencies because he wants to learn as much as he possibly can. He’s really good at wound care, for some reason (hint hint). He’s kinda cocky sometimes too, which can be troublesome when Dr. Galliard is working. People know to steer clear of those two when they’re both  in the ER. Also, Eren always has a black cloud around him; whenever he works it’s gonna be a hella busy day in the hospital. Lots of emergency surgeries, intubations, codes and deaths. He’ll always jump in to help you if your patient is crashing, though, no matter how busy he is. 

Mikasa: she’s a prodigy. She was a straight ‘A’ student in nursing school, got a perfect 75 on the NCLEX and was immediately hired to the trauma ICU after doing a short internship there. She worked night shift for a year but her sleep schedule was so so fucked she started having night terrors, so she switched to day shift. Eren still calls her a traitor for it :/. She keeps trying to get him to switch over but he just hisses at her and threatens to chug a case of Monster energy drinks. She hasn’t given upon him yet, though.

This girl’s work ethic is beyond measure. She comes in exactly at 6:30 am, looks up her patients, takes report, gives a great update to the doctors when they round, and provides impeccable care to her patients. She knows exactly which treatments the doctors will order before they even speak. She’s incredible at inserting IVs--everyone in the hospital knows Mikasa Ackerman can put an 18g in a 90  yr old lady’s arm AND get blood return (just trust me, it’s flipping impossible). She has great skill when it comes to emergency situations and is a big believer in team work. If she notices your patient’s crashing and you don’t know what to do, she’ll calmly coach you and save your patient, too. All before lunch time. 

It doesn’t take Mikasa long to be promoted to charge nurse. When she’s in charge all the reports, paperwork and audits are completed before shift change. She divides the patient assignments really well and is very fair to the new grads. All around she’s an incredible nurse and leader on her unit, but don’t be fooled. If it’s been a rough day, Mikasa will get in her car and sob so loud her throat goes raw. A lot of people depend on her and working in a trauma ICU is really, really demanding. A lot of patients are demanding, rude and busy. She has a lot of trouble with stress management and is thinking of cutting her hours down so she can catch a break. Someone please hug her <3

Armin: for some reason my brain is just SCREAMING respiratory therapist. Like, I imagine this beautiful blond boy in gray scrubs (the color for RT’s in my hospital) going around helping intubate patients, giving nebulizer treatments and doing blood gases. I can just see him huffing and puffing when the attending doctor is overzealous about weaning vent support. -“Why are we changing the patient to pressure support? do you see how tachypneic he is on volume control?”

-“are you gonna put in the order? if not, your patient’s gonna be on PRVC all day, I’m not changing it without an order”

-“Doc, the patient looks like crap and their blood gas looks like death...oh, you still wanna extubate? ok, well I’m gonna leave the ventilator in here just in case. better yet, let me call a pastor in here, too.”

This kid is sassy af and he knows it. He’s smart af too, knows everything there is to know about the lungs and respiratory care. Knows every ventilator mode better than most doctors. Will certainly tell a resident off for ordering the wrong type of inhaler for a patient. He’s so damn intelligent that he even made the ice queen Annie melt like a popsicle. 

 He has no chill when it comes to his patients and even less chill (like -4078875874670) when a doctor gets in his way. For this reason, Armin has recently been toying with the idea of going to PA school so he can have a little more autonomy. He works al over the hospital, usually frequenting the trauma, CV, and medical ICU. The nurses there love him. 

Jean: Jeannie boy. Baby. Sweetie. He’s also a nurse. He is strictly dayshift and trauma. When he first started, he thought he’d do a year in the ICU and then go to CRNA school. He didn’t want to be around sickly patients with hopes and dreams and fears--it was too icky for him. But, over time, he learned that he LOVED trauma. Jean loves the controlled chaos that comes with the ugly, bloody messes that roll in through the ICU’s doors. He always gears up for trauma season (summer time) by bringing Dunkin Donuts iced coffee for everyone on the unit (day and night shift because he’s a supportive king). He gets really good at dealing with arrogant trauma residents and ortho docs who think they’re hot shit. When Jean sees a resident yelling at a nurse, he jumps in and threatens to have their license revoked. He will dig under their skin and page them incessantly throughout the day, too, just to get back at them. Jean is not a fan of lateral violence in the workplace, no sir. 

He always, always makes sure every room is stocked and new bags are hanging for the next shift. He has a thing where if things aren’t properly organized on the unit his brain just spazzes. He’s on the unit council and education committee because he also loves to teach the new grads. He also doubles as charge nurse, when management can’t be there (there can be one or more charge nurses amongst the staff, they usually work different days, though) He and Mikasa work so well together, teaming up to get tasks done, coding patients, running them down to get scanned, etc. People joke they’re the mom and dad of the unit. It makes them both blush <3 (Eren doesn’t like it, lol)

Jean loves to see patients healing from horrendous injuries, he’s constantly cracking jokes with the awake patients to try to make them feel better, and he’s really good at calming anxious family members down. Our boy just makes such good connections with people. He’s the guy you call when your confused patient is one second away from ripping his breathing tube out. He can convince the most restless, agitated patient to chill out. He’s got the voice for it. Also people love his mullet. It looks great. 

Connie: I really didn’t know at first but I feel like Connie would make a great physical therapist. He’s got great energy, he’s funny and I could see him dancing to Earth, Wind & Fire in front of his patients to hype them up for therapy. He’d be very sweet with them 

Sasha: I’m sick and tired of the food jokes, quite honestly. She’s more than that. In my mind, she’s an occupational therapist, helping disabled patients learn to feed, dress and clean themselves again. She works directly with Connie as they round on all their patients in the hospital, they make a great team!  She’s extremely patient and would make a very good nurse, but is unsure of where life is taking her. That is until she meets Niccolo the dietician in the cafeteria, and she falls hard. He encourages her to follow her heart and she does!  

Levi: Hm. This one stumped me. Levi is a bit...cold. It’s not like he has incredible social skills. He’s meticulous and focused and kinda mean? He reminds me of an anesthesiologist, tbh. Like he’ll sedate the shit outta you for surgery, makes sure you don’t die on the table, and then drops you off to the unit as fast as he can. He never takes off his mask while in the hospital and he scrubs maybe four times before surgery. He is very good at medication calculations and knows everything about nerve blocks, intubation, pain medication and sedation. He can look at a person and just KNOW what kind of sedative to give and how much. Your blood pressure will never bottom out while he’s there, he’ll warn the surgeon and immediately get that norepinephrine started.

 If Zeke is the one operating, Levi is on his ass to finish up the surgery ASAP and to not linger, because Zeke takes his time and ignores the tele monitor alarming in the background. After surgery, this 5′2 demon will scream at the 6′ resident about the importance of blood pressure management and sedation in neurosurgical patients. Levi plays no games and he also just really hates Zeke lol

He seems like a jerk but genuinely cares about getting his peeps through surgery. His favorite surgeon to work with is Hange Zoe, because she’s brilliant and fast, but also cognizant of her patient’s hemodynamics. Levi likes taking trauma cases as long as it’s with her. When he drops a patient off to the trauma ICU or goes there to intubate, he makes sure Jean or Mikasa are there because he knows everything is gonna go smoothly. He trusts them a lot. He likes Armin, too and even let him intubate a few times. On his breaks, he’s drinking tea and reading a Williams & Sonoma catalog or scrolling through cleaning Tik Tok lol.

Erwin: This man. This beautiful and hunky beefcake. Omg. I HC him as someone who went to nursing school, became a charge nurse on the trauma unit back in the early 2000′s and fell in love with it. Erwin would eventually fall in love with leadership and educating, too. He went back to school and earned his Doctorate of Nursing Practice (a practice doctorate). He managed the trauma unit for ten years before his brilliant leadership skills and wicked smart brain got him elected as the Director of Trauma Surgery recently. He is the first person with a nursing degree and DNP to ever accomplish this, so it’s very controversial. A lot of toxic doctors threaten to leave the hospital for this (because they’re assholes), but Erwin threatens to fire them in response and it usually shuts them up. 

He often holds lectures in the hospital auditorium. With a mind and voice like his, people are so drawn in by him. He advocates for nursing staff, for reimbursement when continuing their education, better staffing, parking, etc. He makes nice with doctors and gets them to sign petitions for the nurses to get these things. He’s a bit manipulative He’s also a fantastic manager and director, he’s really good at negotiating things. The nurses and residents all love him because he rounds on every ICU frequently, brings food, and asks them how he can help. He can be a bit daunting because of his height and deep voice but once he starts talking to you, you just get sucked in. All around an absolute king. 

Hange: This character reminds me of a trauma surgeon and intensivist (ICU doctor) we have, Dr. Omi. A great surgeon, really really smart, but takes absolutely NO bullshit. She will yell at you if you freeze during intubating. She wants you to recite every step before you take it, otherwise she’ll take the tube from you and do it herself. In surgery, she’s the same way. She wants you to learn, but by her standards. If she asks a question, you better know the answer or fess up right away, she doesn’t like the “uhms” of uncertainty as you try to search for a shitty response. Either you know it or you don’t. And if you don’t, she’ll teach you. Yeah she can be rough around the edges, but she’s got a big heart. She loves her trauma team. She buys them breakfast and gives them funny personalized gifts. One time, she bought an apply tree for Mikasa and brought it to her car at the end of a shift. Mikasa forgot to plant it and it died in her backseat. Hange will sometimes ask, “Mikasa, how’s your apple tree growing?” and Mikasa will lie through her teeth. “It’s growing!” Fess up, Mikasa. Those google search apple trees are starting to look familiar.

All around Hange loves to work and teach. She is a wonderful trauma surgeon and has saved tons of lives.  

[mirabelthemiracle]

What fashion types do you think they wear in modern style? What cliques do yo uassociate with the characters for actor au?

OMG OK so this might be a long one cuz i’m pullin up w EXAMPLES ALRIGHT LET’S GO (not doing everyone in this post i’m sorry there’s a picture limit 😭)

starting with mariana, of course. she’s a very “girl next door” type with a bit of a tomboyish influence, but still v feminine. definitely a choir kid. she’d dress kind of like this i think

next we have carlos. and i hate to do it to y’all but carlos would be an eboy. he just would. i’m sorry i wish it wasn’t this way but that’s just the facts. luckily he wouldn’t be like... a dick he would just dress to the aesthetic. really he’s just everyone’s bestie; a loveable goofball. wearing such things as this

now my girl daniela, she is a fucking queen. always dressed and styled impeccably, with or without makeup, every sidewalk is her runway. she is exuberant, playful, and funny, and fits into every friend group due to the fact that she just knows how to vibe. she’s chill. she’s fun. she walks around like this

and then there’s rafaela. rafaela is... not isabela to say the very least. she looks like a mean lesbian but really she’s a cinnamon roll who drinks too much coffee and shouldn’t be spoken to before 11 am 👀 oh and she’s a gym rat sorry about it.

and i’m gonna end it here bc i have spent at least 45 minutes on this ask 😭😭

[bts-hyperfixation]

Love You Too Much

Part 4

This fic is discontinued and will never be completed

Warnings: stalker!Namjoon-Army y/n. This fic will contain smut at a later date. Currently no warnings are needed but this fic will likely get very dark. Obsessive fan.

I don’t condone any stalker or abusive actions shown in this fic. This is all purely fiction

(back)/(next)/(Masterlist)

By the time you got back to your hotel room you were floating on air. His driver had picked you both up from the park shortly after your kiss. You had wanted to get a taxi, but he refused, saying it was way too late for you to be travelling alone. Sensing there was no point in trying to argue with him, you’d accepted, glad to have a little more time with him. Your friend had yet to return from her evening’s exploits, so you would have to wait until the next day to comb through every detail of your night with her. You slip out of your heels, glad to be on flat ground again, and go into the bathroom to remove your makeup. Lipstick was smeared around your mouth and the back of your hair stood at an odd angle in places from where he had grabbed at it to pull you closer. You looked a mess but couldn’t bring yourself to care. It was the most amazing night of your life.

Walking back into the bedroom and putting your phone on charge, you were pleasantly surprised to already have a text from Namjoon, well texts:

N <3: I really enjoyed tonight y/n

N <3: like really enjoyed, the best time I’ve had in a while

N <3: I need to see you again before I leave

N <3: I know you’re supposed to go home tomorrow, but maybe you could come with us instead?

N <3: we have another concert nearby tomorrow night.

N <3: please, say you’ll come.

You’re sure you are smiling like an idiot. Your heart swells as you read and reread the texts. You were supposed to be back at work, but how often do you get to go to BTS concerts (let alone as one of the members dates).

Y: I have to go to work 😭 I might get fired if I don’t

You’re teasing, more than willing to blow off work for this. Your record is impeccable and for one day you won’t need a doctor’s note. Figuring he will take awhile to reply you go to change apps, but are stopped by the little typing notification.

N <3: fuck em, you’re mine now you don’t need a job 😘

N <3: please please please come. Pretty please. You can drive in the bus with us.

You can’t help yourself giggling.

Y: okay xx

Y: but I need to drop my friend home first. I can meet you in the right city.

N <3: amazing! You won’t regret it. Anyway I’m sure your tired. Goodnight beautiful.

You spend a long time staring at that text until you drift off into your dreams.

….

The next morning your friend is back in the room softly snoring next to you. She must have had a really late night you think, as you hit her full in the face with your pillow.

“GOOD MORNING STARSHINE” you singsong, way too loudly for her hangover. She groans and rolls over away from you. Mumbling under breath that you are way too chipper this early. “Sorry, Hun you need to get up and we need to go. I have plans to attend to.” This gets her attention back.

“What do you mean, you don’t have work until six,” she checks her phone and groans again “it’s literally eight in the morning.”

“Oh I’ve urm… Had a change of plans” you go on to recount your entire night to her. Eyes wide in disbelief, she sits with her mouth agape not sure whether to believe you at first.

“damn…” she’s at a loss for words “I guess we really should get you home then.” The two of you rush to get dressed and head out. Too eager to think about anything else, the drive home is extremely quiet.

As soon as you get home you leave a message for your works sick line and tell your parents that you’re spending the night at a friend’s. It’s a small lie but it doesn’t feel good. You’re usually reasonably open with your parents but somehow you don’t think they’d understand you pulling a sicky to run off with a guy you just met. You rush to book train tickets and pack a bag. Public transport is definitely the best choice with how distracted you are. As soon as you’re ready, you’re on your way.

(next)

Masterlist

[yespolkadotkitty]

Crosswind, Chp.2

A Frankie Morales x OFC love story

Chapter 1

Thanking my loves @songsformonkeys and @heatherbel for the beta and the enthusiasm! <3

She woke to a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she gaped at the stranger in the seat next to her, an inquisitive expression on his handsome face.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he was saying. “Stewardess couldn’t reach. You want something?” He removed his hand from her person, gestured to the trolley where an immaculately dressed attendant waited, trays of snacks in the multi-drawer cart she pushed.

“Oh. Um, thanks,” she told her fellow passenger.

“Blueberry muffin, apple chips, or fresh banana?” the steward asked.

“Chips. Thanks.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Just water, please.”

The stranger requested coffee - black, one sugar, no snack.

The stewardess moved on and Lara noticed the seatbelt light was off. She unstrapped, unplugged her headphones and put her tray table down.

“Thank you for waking me up.”

“No problem.” He had the headset hooked around his neck - a very biteable neck, she noted. 

“I’m Lara.”

His gaze flicked to her, and he paused, coffee halfway to his lips. “Francisco.” He took a sip, winced.

She smiled. “Bad?”

“It’s obligatory on aircraft, I think,” he coughed. 

They passed the next hour in companionable silence. Eventually the bottle of water hit Lara’s bladder.

“Sorry. I’ve got to get up.”

He nodded, unbothered, stood up to let her out. The top of her head would fit perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder, Lara noted, and that thought gave her stomach a serious case of butterflies. When she brushed past him, she caught a gasp of his scent - woodsmoke, citrus, clean sweat, coffee.

The bathroom was tiny but clean. Lara looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes could use more sparkle, but her Asia-straight hair was reliably tidy.

Has Francisco noticed?

Her belly tightened and she scoffed at herself.

You can’t just fall in love with every nice-looking man who’s polite to you. She knew her ego was bruised - and that hurt, because she was starting to realise that maybe her heart wasn’t.

She should be more torn up about Drew, but she felt… not a lot.

And that meant - what the heck did she do now?

She flushed, washed her hands, patted her hair for no real reason and returned to her seat. Francisco let her back in, a slight smile ticking up the left side of his mouth. Oh no. That made him hotter.

She did not allow herself to look at his left hand to check for a ring, or a tan line.

She switched on a recently released action flick that required minimal thought. At some point during it she looked around and noticed Francisco had the same thing tuned in on his screen. She glanced over - he slept, his chin resting on his chest. It was kind of endearing.

The trolley came over as the credits rolled on the action film. Lara leaned over and patted Francisco’s thigh to wake him up - it was the easiest part of him within reach.

He jerked away, his hand coming down to clamp over hers, eyes dark and hard as he met her gaze.

She recoiled for a second, scared.

“Shit. Sorry. Sorry,” he murmured, eyes soft now, large in his honey-gold, weathered face. Now he looked so very… tired. “I’m ex-military. Light sleeper. Not used to being touched.” He released her hand as the trolley rolled into view.

Lara recovered. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“I am. Thanks. And sorry - really. I swear I’m not the kind of creep who scares women for fun.”

Their gazes held for a moment.

“I believe you,” Lara said softly.

Dinner was mediocre - options of either a beef stew with bread roll or a vegetable pasta bake. Lara and Francisco both opted for beef with a diet soda on the side.

“So,” Lara said at length. “Military?”

“Pilot.”

“Wow.”

“The flying bit is. The military part, well. It’s a long story.”

I have time, Lara almost said, but she bit the words back. They didn’t know each other, and would likely never see each other again after the plane landed.

The stewardess came to collect the empty meals, and now that she’d eaten, tiredness caught up with Lara. It was full dark outside the window now. She started to close it, hesitated.

“Mind if I shut this?”

“Go ahead.”

She unfurled the blanket from under her seat, checked behind her - an empty seat, perfect - reclined herself, and, eventually, slept.

She didn’t dream this time.

*******

The light woke her, along with the dulcet tones of the airplane pilot over the intercom, and the blinking of the overhead seat belt light. The whirr of the landing gear made her sit up.

“We’re here?”

Francisco looked over at her from where he was packing up his headphones. “We’re here.”

Lara pushed her hair out of her face. Wondered if she’d drooled in her sleep. She busied herself with folding the blanket neatly.

“You got far to go?” Francisco asked. His voice still held that wonderful gravelly rasp that made her stomach flip - in a giddy, teenage kind of way.

“No, I’ve got a pick up.”

“Well, then. You have a safe trip.” His gaze held hers for a long moment, and she saw something pass through his eyes - sadness? Wistfulness? - and then the plane stopped, everyone stood up, and the moment was lost forever.

“You, too.”

She waited for the majority of people to disembark at KL airport before she stood up herself. She’d never liked the rush and press, the squeeze of bodies. Her hand luggage came free from the locker easily and the flight crew thanked her as she exchanged pleasantries with them and disembarked.

Francisco stood about six people ahead of her in line for passport control, head bent a little, curls sticking out of his cap, typing something on his phone. A message to his wife? Girlfriend?

Calm down, Lara reminded herself. But she did relent a little and let herself peek at his ass in those ancient jeans.

Great ass.

Figured.

She watched until he’d cleared passport control. The line of his back was quite something in that button-down; it fit him in all the right places.

And then he walked through the gate and out of her life.

The cheery Mr & Mrs Tuthill sign held by the smiley driver at the arrivals gate didn’t make her feel the sudden sadness she expected - more a sort of resigned numbness.

Had choosing to keep her maiden name of Chen for some stuff been a harbinger of her marriage failing?

No, we had so many good years. Didn’t we?

She just needed to escape her own fucking thoughts. For a while.

Wine, she told herself. Hotel, unpack, wine.

“How was your flight?” the driver asked in impeccable English. He wore a loud, oversized Hawaiian print shirt and an earring that glinted in the airport strip lights.

“Fine, thanks. Quiet.”

“Where is.. Mr Tuthill?”

“He won’t be joining us,” Lara said shortly, trying to keep her tone friendly. “Please call me Lara.”

“I am Ashraff.” He reached for her suitcase and she thanked him as he wheeled it to the waiting estate car.

“How far is the hotel?”

“About one and a half hours, Mrs - Lara,” Ashraff replied as he set her case gently in the trunk. “It is the closest one to the Elephant Sanctuary. Are you planning on a visit?”

“Oh, yes.” 

Ashraff went to open the back passenger door, but Lara hesitated.

“Um, do you mind if I sit in the front with you? Kinda lonely in the back.”

“Of course.” If he thought she was weird, he didn’t show it.

“I’ve only been separated from my husband a few days,” she explained, settling in and clicking in her seatbelt.

Ashraff flicked a glance at her as he pulled out of the pickup space. “I’m sorry.”

The car AC kicked in and Lara sighed. The heat was more than she’d expected - she’d become used to London and its usually mild or cold climate. 

They drove through the built up area of KL in companionable quiet for twenty minutes or so. Ashraff had the radio on, Taylor Swift playing. It was strangely comforting to hear familiar pop music.

“Have you been to the elephant sanctuary before?”

Lara jerked from her reverie. She’d been staring out the window, looking but not seeing, replaying pivotal moments in her marriage. What she could have done differently. If Ally were here, she’d be disgusted.

“No. My cousin runs it - but we’re not close. I’ve been meaning to come out for years, but…”

“Life got in the way?” Ashraff filled in.

“Yeah.”

And for the rest of the car ride, Lara closed her eyes and lost herself in her own thoughts, wondering what else her life had pushed from the path she could have taken.

She would never regret Drew, because he had given her Ally. But this whole time, had she been loving the wrong man?

And if she wasn’t Drew’s wife anymore, who organised lunches and dinners and client events and who kept the family’s schedule running tight -

Then who was she?

*****

Tagging: @thirstworldproblemss  @mitchi-c @roxypeanut @holographic-carmen @mrsparknuts @mskitty790 @lackofhonor @ijustlovetoreadalways @cassiopeya81 @rsunflowerks @inlovewithloki16 @joanbushur @littlewingcreates @myoxisbroken @alienprincesspoop @frannyzooey @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @sketchy-britt @jazzelsaur @pedropascalito @keeper0fthestars @filthybookworm @a-seeker-of-imagination @astroboots @abuttoncalledsmalls @autumnleaves1991-blog @10-96dispatcher @liakrichards @einbuergeraufirrwegen @strangelittlenobody​ @graveyardnails​

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty. || 17

All For You.

A few months later

April

I walk the gardens, appreciating the crisp air and the morning fog, accompanied by the grounds’ quietness. For the first time since my father passed, the grounds are quiet, no civilians are waiting and paying their respects, the flowers have gradually decreased, and the palace is relatively untroubled— a little too quiet.

I haven’t seen Harry since he left my room at four this morning. Ever since Henry’s passing a few months ago, I haven’t seen much of Harry during the day. Harry has been pulled in one-hundred different directions and forced to balance everything.

He is handling things better than I ever could have. The Henry situation would have tipped me over the edge. Harry has been the one to deal with Pippa. She hasn’t had much to do with me; she seems to avoid me for the most part. I’m not sure why she would instead work with Harry, but she appears to be a fan of him.

Madeleine and Louis have stayed at the Palace, staying under the radar and staying out of the public eye. It’s probably the best option for now. I haven’t observed much of Madeleine; she has spent most of her time with Louis and walking the grounds, and finding various places to read and write quietly. Madeleine has always been the type to keep a journal, and when she gets stressed, she writes her thoughts down. I, on the other hand, let the ideas run wild until I break down and snap.

“Her Majesty?” Oliver breaks the silence.

“It’s Anna, Oliver,” I correct him.

Oliver nods his head. “Uh, sorry,” he nervously chuckles, “Are you ready to head inside?”

I nod my head, “I guess you and Harry don’t let me stay out long, huh?”

“It’s just protocol not to stay too long out here just because of how open it is, especially with people coming and going.”

“I know,” I sigh, understanding the reasoning behind things.

I’m hoping that come summertime. The restrictions won’t be as stringent. It would be delightful to be able to roam the gardens or sit outside with disturbances. If we were to move palaces, I would be able to have more freedom, but for right now, I don’t think Matthew will agree to travel, although I plan to ask Harry. A change of scenery would be nice, even if it’s to go to Kensington or the Palace of Holyroodhouse in Scotland, any of the crown estates would be pleasant.

A small smile forms on my lips the moment I recognise Harry marching closer to us, “Good morning,” I welcome him cheerfully, delighted to see him.

Harry kisses my cheek, “Morning… Did you give Pippa permission to announce our relationship to the staff?” Harry questions, his voice deep and far from impressed.

I shake my head, unsure of what he’s talking about, “No?”

“Well, she took it upon herself to announce things on our behalf. Since when does she have any say on what the fuck happens at the palace?” Harry’s voice sounds like bottled thunder, and his eyes are dark with fury.

“Harry, I do not know… She doesn’t, and she has no say at the Palace… When did this happen?”

“Just now, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to go strangle her,” Harry mutters, shoving his phone into his pocket before I grab his wrist and pull him back towards me.

“Calm down.”

Harry shakes his head, “I’ve had enough of her shit.”

“Harry, we had to tell them anyway. Let me handle this. Go back to the security room.”

Harry becomes speechless for a moment and takes a breath, “It wasn’t her business to tell. She doesn’t know if the staff will release it to the press. The press is always writing articles about us. One minute you’re dating Louis in the media, and the next minute you’re having an affair on him with me. I’ve had it.”

“You sound like you’re having a shitty morning. Just relax.”

“I am having a shit morning. I have shit to do. I love you,” Harry mutters, kissing my cheek before hurrying off.

“Pippa is about to get an earful,” I sigh, watching as Harry walks towards the palace. Oliver hums his response and continues to unobtrusively walk beside me, not giving me any queries, genuinely allowing me to wander the grounds at ease.

I am not sure who killed Henry, nor am I sure when the next attack will be or on whom it’ll be, but I do know that at some point, this will end. I can't point fingers on who’s to blame, and I wish I could. I wish I could say it’s Pippa or the government, but truth be told, I don’t know specifically who it is, and I don’t have much proof. For all I know, it could be one member of the staff who is in control of it all, one of the maids could be the mastermind of all the plans and running a circle of mass chaos. At this point, I’m starting to wonder if Harry and Matthew will ever figure it out, they’re not detectives, and all their leads seem to fail them, as do my own. I haven’t heard anything from Harry about the list of names I gave him. I don’t think he believes that it is anyone that works at the palace.

“Are Matthew and Harry working on who has killed everyone?” I ask Oliver, curious as to how much information he knows.

“Yes, Princess… That is why Harry has been hard to find lately.”

“Have they found anything?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you. I’m sorry,” Oliver shakes his head. “Please don’t threaten my job,” Oliver quickly emphasises, referencing the morning I threatened his job if he didn’t allow me to go to the security chambers. In my defence, it was the morning of my fathers funeral, and I didn’t want to be alone.

I wanted the comfort of Harry, and Oliver was not comforting me the way I needed.

“I said I was sorry about that,” I grant him a soft smile, “I really just needed Harry, nothing personal.”

Oliver nods his head and chuckles, “I know, Harry told me, but I am not letting you live it down.”

“Go figure,” I roll my eyes before I chuckle to myself.

There are days where nobody can fix the void that you feel, and the morning I went on a rampage and threatened to fire Oliver if he didn’t take me to Harry was a morning where I just needed Harry. Nobody else would suffice.

“We need to go inside. It is time for you to get ready for your coronation.”

I stop in my tracks and look at Oliver, “You and I both know it isn’t mine.”

“Anastasia,” Oliver begins, “For what it is worth, you will make a great Queen.”

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, “I will not be crowned Queen. Pippa will not allow it,” I respond, dreading today.

I am not envious of Harry for him being crowned. I am somewhat delighted that he has to handle the mess of the monarchy. But, I am disappointed that the monarch is binding and controlling.

This wasn’t the life I envisioned for myself, nor is it the life I envisioned for Harry and me. I never thought the monarchy would control us to the extent it does. I knew it would have its ties, but I thought it would be imperceptibly more manageable. I never imagined my husband would take my crown and the problems that go with it. I applaud Harry for being capable of handling things with such strides. I don’t think I could— Hence why Pippa refuses to permit me to have the crown.

Harry’s pov.

As with all royal events, coronation day accompanies its own sets of rules and regulations. Westminster Abbey has been the environment for every Coronation since 1066, and today it will be no different. I succeeded to the Throne when Anastasia should have succeeded. She will be the first successor to have not succeeded as rightfully anticipated. What a strange read in history books this will be when the public finds out about it.

We were escorted from Buckingham Palace to Westminster Abbey in the Gold State Coach – drawn by eight grey horses, selected by Anastasia and myself. The public is anticipating a closed ceremony for Anastasia to become Queen. What they don’t know is the scandal behind it all and how they’re accepting a King.

Everything has been precisely placed and designated to accompany all coronation protocols for the day to be impeccable. The coronation Bouquet was made up of white flowers – comprising of orchids and lilies-of-the-valley from England, stephanotis from Scotland, orchids from Wales, and carnations from Northern Ireland and the Isle of Man. Every little detail is intricated for a specific reason. It has meaning— all of which I do not understand, but I am sure Anastasia knows the reasoning behind every painstaking detail. The only thing that is not a part of the royal queue is Anastaisa’s dress. On coronation day, most Queens wear neutral colours for a coronation. Anastasia, however, came down the stairs in red. She looked beautiful, but her attire was not what was expected of a royal. Buckingham Palace housemaids, chefs and gardeners gathered inside the Grand Hall at Buckingham Palace to see Anastasia. 129 nations and territories will be officially represented at the Coronation service, and I have been more concerned about Anastasia’s dress.

I smile at the members of parliament, eager to announce to them my first order as King. Pippa is intrigued and waiting for me to reveal what she had planned. She told me what my first executive order should be. To her disappointment, I’m about to cause her whole world to crumble.

I clear my throat and take my position, “As reigning King, my first executive order to be signed will be reinstating Anastasia’s title. Anastasia will, as a result of this be titled, Queen. She will be the reigning monarch,” I instruct, watching Pippa’s eyes grow wide and parliament members’ jaws drop at my words. I wander towards Anastasia and her mother, who is trying to conceal her smile. Her mother nods her head towards me, granting me her approval.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Anna softly challenges me as I take off the St. Edward's Crown and place it to rest on her head. This is rightfully hers.

I delicately take off the purple robe of estate before I move to place it over her shoulders, “I believe these belong to you, my darling,” I beam at her, honoured to be the one to crown her. I kiss her forehead before taking my place beside her, “I give you, your Queen.” I place my hands behind my back, watching as an undivided room of officials gazes at me in utter silence.

There’s absolutely nothing they can do— I played the monarchy and successfully so.

The Archbishop standing before us who administered the Coronation Oath to me, steps forward with a smile, handing Anastasia the same bible I was delivered, “Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, the Union of South Africa, Pakistan, and Ceylon, and of your Possessions and the other Territories to any of them belonging or pertaining, according to their respective laws and customs?”

Anastasia takes my hand and arranges it on the bible before placing her hand over mine, “We solemnly promise to do so.”

Anastasia continues her oath to the bitter disappointment of Pippa. I accompany Anna to the alter before stepping back, enabling her to independently take the Bible’s oath. “The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep. So help me, God.” Anastasia speaks the oath's last words, and I take a glance at her mother, who winks at me. I nod my head— our duty is fulfilled.

The Queen, having thus taken her Oath, smiles over at me before I return her to her Chair, and the Bible is handled by one of the martials to be surrendered to the Dean of Westminster.

Anastasia turns to the parliament members, “Members of both Houses of Parliament are required by law to take an oath of allegiance to the Crown. I require you to do so formally… Pippa, you’re first.” Anastasia takes me by surprise when she halts the coronation to force the parliamentary oath.

Pippa leisurely steps forward and Anastasia stands to her feet, “What are you doing?” Pippa whispers, not charmed that we have transformed the entire plan.

Anastasia sincerely smiles and gestures for the archbishop to walk closer. “Swear her in,” Anastasia commands, and the man does as he is told. He holds the Bible out and proceeds to request Pippa’s hand. “Say the oath,” Anastasia presses.

“I, Philippa Louise Westbrooke, swear by Almighty God that I will be faithful,” Pippa trails off with a stutter before she clears her throat and composes herself. “And bear true allegiance to Her Majesty, Queen, Anastasia, according to law. So help me, God.”

Anastasia shakes her head, “And bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Anastasia, her heirs, husband and successors. So help me, God,” Anastasia changes the oath, adding the fact that Pippa is swearing under oath to be faithful not just to Anna as Queen but to our children and future successors.

I’m just as astonished as everyone else. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Anastasia has been planning this.

Pippa swallows hard and glances towards me for a saving grace— I view Anna with a first-class smile alternately. “And bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Anastasia, her heirs, husband, and successors, according to law. So help me, God,” Pippa repeats the oath.

“You may take your seat now. We can get back to the coronation now,” Anastasia views everyone else.

“Do you have any other requests or announcements?” The archbishop questions, appearing intrigued and finding the coronation humerus. I don’t believe he thought this day would go as it has— I don’t think anyone did. Madeleine Noelle Veil even appears to be somewhat bewildered.

Anastasia nods her head, “If there is to be an intermittent King or Queen, the spouse of royal blood can rule on the conditions the royal spouse is unfit or unwell, but only the royal blood can make the decision on the stand-in ruler. While I reign, Harry can sign on my behalf if only I give him consent— We rule the monarch— not parliament. Do you need that in writing?” Anastasia questions, causing my eyes to grow wide. I had no clue that giving her an inch of power would turn out to become this. “May I sign the declaration after?”

“That would be best,” George, one of the members of parliament, speaks up, the same man who declared that Henry was the new King once Anna’s father passed. The Coronation ring, known as 'The Wedding Ring of England', makes an appearance, slowly becoming placed on The Queen's fourth finger of her right hand following tradition.

I’m not sure what Anastasia’s plans are for the nefarious parliament members, but something tells me that she has some sort of devised method to execute her dynamism and shift them out of office. I am not sure if she can overthrow Parliament as she wanted to destroy the monarch and abolish it, but I feel she will try. Anastasia will be one charismatic woman, and I would hate to be the one that has stepped on her toes. She is coming into her power a lot quicker and with more intensity than I ever imagined. I am not sure what changed in her, but she went from the grieving woman who couldn’t get herself out of bed to the woman who is about to govern the monarch with an iron fist.

*** ***

The day has been long and eventful. The return route was designed so that the procession could be seen by as many people in London as possible. The 7.2 km route took us two hours to complete. I’m exhausted, and I know Anastasia is, but she’s currently wound up on adrenaline and awe. Anastasia stepped into her power today, and she has been humble about it all, but I can see the twinkle of excitement in her eye.

She has won. We have won.

Although we have won this small battle, we have more to go through, and as much as Anastasia is thankful for taking control, I can tell she’s anxious and unsure of how or what to do. Anastasia has self-doubt, and she made the obvious on the car ride to the palace when she asked me if she would make a good Queen. She wanted assurance that this is the best decision for the monarch and her. Nothing I do or say will convince her that this is one-hundred percent a good idea. She will always have doubts. After all, look at the people who have pushed her down and doubted her. For months she has been told she is unfit to rule and doesn’t deserve her fathers legacy, she has been beaten down to the point I wasn’t sure she’d manage to get back up, but she has.

“Anna, darling,” I gesture for her to walk closer to me. At first, she’s hesitant, unsure of what I want, but begins to step closer with gleaming eyes and that winsome smile of hers, “This… this is what you need to remember any time you have doubts about being Queen,” I instruct before I shift to open the glass windows, enabling the crisp air to flow into the room, along with the sweetness of her people cheering, “God save the Queen,” applauding her coronation. “Parliament might want to see you fail, but the people don’t. This is all for you; they believe in you, you better bloody believe in yourself, too.” I show Anastasia the stance she has and how she has the backing and endorsement of her people.

Anastasia grins and nods her head, “Would the King join me to express my gratitude?” Anastasia questions, taking my hand and beginning to wander to the large glass doors with the gold trim that only opens on exceptional occurrences. Anastasia stands at the doors, and I reach towards the handles, pushing down on them before gingerly opening the doors that lead to the balcony. Anastasia takes a breath and peers at me, “It’s my pleasure to greet the people as Queen formally, even more so do it with you as King, will you?” Anastasia signals towards the balcony that overlooks the people below. I swallow hard and stare at her, unsure of what to do.

If I step on the balcony with her, that’s it. That’s the end of our secrecy; our relationship will be in the public eye. “Anna, there’s no going back if I do this.”

“I know… but if you don’t want to—“

“Baby, that’s not what I mean,” I shake my head, “This announces us as well as a couple.”

Anastasia nods her head, “I know, it’s what we want, right? To no longer hide?”

I grow withdrawn for a minute. We are finally getting what we want, and somehow I’m still nervous and fearful—going public concerns me for various reasons. We aren’t just dodging the bullets of parliament. We will now be avoiding the people’s bullets if they disapprove of me. I’m still nothing but a simple man who fell in love with a woman with a royal title. No matter what has transpired or what will follow, I will never be royal. I may honour the title dubbed upon me, but my blood is not royal. I’m a commoner.

I kiss her forehead before taking a step back, “After you, Queen,” I smile, motioning for her to step out on the balcony and address her supporters. Anastasia steps out wearing the Imperial State Crown and the Royal Robes to greet the cheering crowds. I move behind her, in awe at how the people applaud her the moment she is regarded. I do not doubt in my mind that Anna is going to go down in history as an astonishing Queen.

Anastasia glances over her shoulder, and I step closer to her, placing my arm around her as she does an honorary wave, “Your Dad always said that you could tell a lot by the way a royal greets their people— But I think you can tell a lot by the way the people greets the royal,” I comment, still in awe at how welcoming and pleasant the crowd is towards Anastasia. I have never witnessed such an event. They love her, absolutely love and adore her. They approve of her reign, and I think that’s something Anna didn’t realise would occur. Although Parliament is against her, the people are living proof of where true loyalty and power lies.

“You can tell a lot by the person standing next to the reigning ruler,” Anastasia answers, leaning up to kiss my cheek, sealing our fate of publicly expressing our relationship. “I love you, Harry. I love you today, and I’ll love you tomorrow and the day after. The monarch, the people and parliament do not define that. They do not control us– we reign,” Anastasia informs me, “As quickly as we have gained this monarch, I’ll gladly give it up in a heartbeat for you. You once asked me to surrender the crown for us to be together, and I denied you… standing here, with the crown, I’ll happily give it up if you have second thoughts about this.”

Even at her highest moment where she should be proud of herself and what we have contrived to do, and even after how hard I fought to not only keep her crown but to hand it back to her strategically, she’ll still selflessly give it up for me. I shake my head, “This is your fathers legacy to live on. I don’t want you to surrender for me.”

Anastasia does not know, but I have fought Pippa for weeks to let Anna take her crown back. I have contended and pleaded until I broke and spoke to Anastasia’s mother, where we devised the plan to double-cross Pippa. I allowed Pippa to believe I would support her dream and take the crown officially today; I allowed her to think that I recognised that Anastasia was unfit to rule and that it should be left to me. I kept the crown and what the King worked for safe. I protected the palace against the media and spread of false rumours, I defended the castle from the backlash of Victoria and Henry’s murders— I worked diligently to be able to give Anastasia her rightful crown— I worked hard to provide her with the right to choose to do as she wishes with the monarch. I will stand by her with whatever decision she executes if she rules; I will stand by Anna and proudly watch her govern the country. If she abolishes, I will stand beside Anna and hold her as she makes the hardest decision of her life. If she chooses to overthrow parliament, I will stand beside Anastasia and grin as she takes back the control they have taken from her family. I will honour Anastasia as my wife, and I will protect her as her husband and security detail. Still, most importantly, I will love her no matter what decision she chooses to make regarding the crown.

The crown has broken her, but it has also made her who she is. It has challenged her to no ends, but she has perpetually come out on top. She’s a fighter and doesn’t back down from a fight, and I don’t think she’s going to back down from the monarchy now.

“I love you,” Anastasia breathes out.

“I love you, too,” I respond, straightening her crown that has fallen a little too forward. No matter what occurs in this life of ours, I will always be here to adjust her crown, literally and metaphorically.

Anastasia presents the people one last wave before she turns on the 'Lights of London'. Lights cascade down the Mall, kindling the tremendous cypher on Admiralty Arch and transforming the fountains in Trafalgar Square into flowing silver until all the floodlights from the National Gallery to the Tower of London have been enkindled.

The lights illuminate, as does her reign. Anastasia wanders inside, and I follow her, relieved to support the people on our side. Parliament and the monarchy’s dictates may disagree with our marriage. Some of the staff may not even agree, but possessing the people’s blessing makes things a bit more permissive.

I close the doors behind us and concede the sheer curtains to slide across so the people cannot see in. As this may be the closing of a chapter, it’s just the beginning for us and our story.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Protective Service

John Wick x Reader (A/n-Why must I always make things complicated?)

Warnings- Language (I don’t usually use language warnings, but its a lot this time), Violence, Bloodshed, Murder, brief mentions of SMUT (it’s not what you’re thinking.)

Masterlist  Chapter 1

Chapter 2 Crime and Punishment 

It was Saturday, and at all costs, Y/n usually preferred to keep her weekends to herself and leave her business, whatever it was, for Monday. Because of this, John was usually off on weekends too, though, he did still stay at her penthouse just in case, he never said of what, but Y/n knew. She’d always known, that was why she’d hired him. Nonetheless, while hitmen and mercenaries didn’t take weekends off, Y/n did, unless, of course, pressing matters arose. 

“What?” Y/n’s jaw clenched as she tried to keep her rage at bay, though, Donavan knew her well enough to be able to tell that she was a bit more than pissed off. Someone was going to die that day, it was just a question of who. With the book laid out before her, Y/n scanned the page, one, two and then three times, just to make sure she hadn’t read anything wrong, though, she rarely made mistakes. She was hardly perfect though, calculated was more like it. “Who the hell let this slip?” Standing abruptly, Y/n slammed the leather bound book shut with a thud.

“My guess is someone in accounting,” He stood before the sleek, white desk in her white walled, airy home office, his hands clasped in front of him, not in the slightest phased by her behavior, "But, it could be one of the guys you’ve got working in stock. What do you want to do about it?”

Moving out from behind the desk, Y/n slipped her hands coolly into the pockets of her grey, soft, paper bag pants, sauntering over to the window that overlooked the rest of Hudson Yards, the glass constituting the other towering complexes reflecting the afternoon sun beautifully and way down below, the people bustling were reduced to specs on the paved roads and sidewalks. “I want to find this person, and have them dealt with, today,” she emphasized the final word, before turning back to Donavan, finding his dark, steely grey eyes fixed on her, his sharp jaw set stiffly. When she got closer, close enough to see the hints of grey showing up near his sideburns and in his five o’clock shadow, he stood a little straighter and Y/n could feel the muscles in his biceps rippling beneath his black sweater when her delicate fingers trailed up to his shoulder, “Will that be a problem, Donny?” 

Y/n was the only person that ever called him that and Donavan was the only person privy to some semblance of non-familial affection from her. It was a consequence of being reared so closely; from the minute she was brought home in the arms of her mother, Donavan, at just ten, was taught that she was his to look over, that it would be her before him at all costs. Not looking down at her, he simply eyed her movements through his peripheral, quirking a rare smirk, “No ma’am. The car’s downstairs, ready when you are.”

Her tongue darted out quickly, moistening her lips as she tried to suppress her own mirth, “Good, I’ll go tell John and we should be off within the hour.”

“Forgive my…..boldness, Vila,” Donavan interrupted  nonchalantly just as Y/n neared the door, her hand just about to close in over the ornate knob, only continuing when she spared him a lingering backwards glance, “I’ve been meaning to ask; are the services of Mr. Wick really necessary? You know I would lay my life down for you, at any time, no question.”

Nodding slowly, Y/n’s brows knitted, of course, she could tell from the moment they’d met that Donavan had is own reservations about John as her security detail, he wasn’t the trusting type, and the older man had only served to put him on edge, though, for the life of her, Y/n couldn’t readily see why. She liked John as much as her jagged edged personality would afford, and even if she wouldn’t call him a friend, she hardly called anyone that, Y/n had started to see him as indispensable. “Mhm,” she hummed, not quite sure of why he’d chosen that moment to voice his concerns, “But that’s not your job,” she turned to leave again.

“I know that,” he insisted and she paused again, the first inkling of irritation seeping upwards, “But I would. And I just don’t think we need an unnecessary expense on our payroll, especially one…...that expensive.”

“Are you doubting my judgement, Donavan?” There was a sternness in her tone, one she rarely took with him though, it was enough to urge him to back off, and if he didn’t know her so well, he might have.

“I’m not,” he reassured, folding his muscled arms across his broad chest, “I would never, it’s just……”

“Don’t,” briskly, Y/n stopped him before he could find the words, “Never, ever, question my decisions, you know I don’t like it,” she warned firmly, “And as for John, he’s needed, and he stays, and if you think of questioning his employment here again, then I suggest you keep it to yourself? Got it?”

And then, before Y/n could hear Donavan’s response, she’d stalked out of the room, walking with purpose, down the hall, stopping at John’s room; the bedroom nearest to hers before heading there. As usual, it only took two knocks before John was pulling the tall door open. He’d been like that since moving in, always there when she called, never letting her wait a moment more than necessary. It wasn’t really obedience though, John had proven to be capable of following only his own rules, never needing her permission before acting and for what it was worth, she didn’t even think that ‘obedient’ was in his dictionary anyway. Instead, he was, as the legend had preached, a man of focus and commitment, and after only knowing him for just over a month, Y/n was beginning to think that there was very little that could successfully stand in the man’s way, if anything at all.

Another thing about John was that he was always impeccably dressed, persistently attired in a selection from his armory of Italian tailored, bulletproof suits. Never with a hair out of place and most definitely never looking as if she’d caught him off guard. Well, almost never. Except for that very Saturday, when they were both expected to be off and she’d broken habit and knocked on his door instead. “John,” Y/n didn’t think she could help if she tried when her eyes landed on his chest instead of his stoic expression. His torso, though very faintly defined, boasted how much an excellent shape he was in; the slight definition coming from years in the field as opposed to hours put in at the gym while scars of varying ages littered his skin. Hints of dark ink peeked out from his back while the bold cross on his shoulder was far more visible. Y/n had never seen his tattoos, but in that moment, she wanted to.

“See something interesting?” John broke her unconscious trance, folding his bulky arms and skewing her view.

Clearing her throat, Y/n shook her head, dismissing the feeling that had plumed in her chest at the sight of him so  sparsely dressed in nothing but a pair of worn blue jeans, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She rolled her eyes dismissively, “There’s a situation at the club house, we’re leaving within the hour.”

John never asked questions, and he didn't even protest that she'd been interrupting whatever he was doing, instead, he just held his head up, not even nodding as he offered a firm, "Okay," before shutting the door, leaving Y/n staring at the heavy white oak before swallowing her annoyance and turning to stalk off.

When the car pulled up in front of the warehouse, John and Donavan, who’d sat on either side of Y/n, got out before her, and by the time he'd had jogged around to the other side to help her out, John had already offered his hand. “I was coming to get you,” he grumbled, straightening the blazer he’d shrugged on over his sweater, moving to open the building’s front door for her.

“I don’t need anyone to get me,” Y/n scolded quietly, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous behavior as she stepped in front of John, who hung back for a couple minutes just to confirm that no other cars had lingered at the front gate. By then, he’d devised a working idea of the vehicles that usually moved in and out of the compound and who they were driven by, how he’d committed that and everything else to memory was still a mystery to Y/n. Satisfied, he followed Y/n into the building, eyeing everyone closely as they ascended the spiral steps, stopping only when they were raised over everyone else.

Y/n gripped the cool metal railing, her eyes scanning the floor as a chatter ran through the workers. The place wasn’t ordinarily quiet, but that mummer wasn’t friendly banter, it was fright; they weren’t used to seeing her there on a weekend, and if Y/n was there on a Saturday afternoon, it meant that something was sorely wrong. For a moment more, she spectated, trying to see who seemed the most nervous, inconsistencies like the one Donavan had brought to her couldn’t possibly be accidental, no, someone was stealing from her, and Y/n wasn’t going to stand for it. 

Ready to address them, she cleared her throat loudly, rousing attention and straightening her back to seem more intimidating when her underlings looked up at her, flanked by John on her left and Donavan, both eerily silent while her enforcers stood a couple feet behind, lurking in the shadows “It has been brought to my attention that there are some…..discrepancies in our books,” and when some gasped, others just looked on with awe, Y/n continued, “Twenty five thousand dollars is missing. And I know that twenty five fucking thousand doesn’t just vanish; this was not a mistake. Which means that it's gone on purpose, taken on purpose.” The gathered workers mumbled amongst themselves, looking around to see if someone would be brave enough to fess up, “And I understand that it's money,” she chuckled dryly, “And it's probably long, long gone. But whoever took it, isn’t, and if you think that I’m just gonna let this go, then you don’t really know me. So why don’t you, whoever the fuck you are, come forward and make both our lives easier? If you don’t, I will find you, and it will hurt when I do.”

Again, the workers chattered softly, probably nudging each other to say who’d done it if they knew. Though, minutes ticked by and nothing happened, and all the noise did was serve to irritate Y/n’s already sour mood, causing her to squeeze the railing tightly and hissing an exhale before, “Alight!” She snapped, “You want to make this hard? That’s fine,” Y/n reached behind her, snapping manicured fingers, “Boys,” she purred menacingly, “Get down there and find this fucker, and you do, bring ‘em to our playroom.”

From the minute the hasty order left her deep red lips, and her bulky henchmen started filtering out towards the steps, a man pushed through the crowd, making a break for the door. Though, his luck was as good as any common criminal, and fearing her to the point of faultless loyalty, some of her workers blocked him, a few others grabbing him before he could fight through, handing him over to Y/n’s men when they got through the thick of it. Even as they dragged him, the man screamed bloody murder, which in all fairness, was more than likely what he would be facing in just a bit. “Donny,” Y/n spoke without looking in his direction, and he simply hummed in response, “Why don’t you get our toys ready?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he nodded, sparing her one last glance before leaving her alone with John, still looking on at everyone below.

“What do you think?” She tilted her head, leaning in discreetly, “Anyone we should be looking out for, besides our little rat over there,” Y/n nudged to the young man being dragged up the steps. He was young, one of her newer hires. She hadn’t trusted him completely when he sought her out, seeking employment, but he was no more than twenty three and before, she was sure that she could mold him to suit, maybe make something of the kid. But betrayal wasn’t something Y/n fared well with, and second chances were rare in their line of work.

Slowly, John scanned the crowd, which had just started to disperse, though she was sure that by then, he’d already done the same thing well over three times. John was exceptionally thorough, “No,” he kept his gaze trained forward, “If it makes you feel better, I can get down there, shake up a few people, make sure.”

“It doesn’t make me feel anything,” she huffed, turning to walk away, gesturing for John to come with her. Y/n hated the mere thought that John had started to see her as vulnerable, someone who was afraid of the people that worked at her feet, even if the thought of a betrayal that could cost far more than currency scared her, she wasn’t going to show it. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone.

“You know I can’t protect you if you don’t tell me what’s scaring you,” John quipped, his words, as usual, were few, but effective, making Y/n come to an abrupt halt just as they were about to turn the corner and head down a dim hallway.

“I never said I was scared,” she turned to face him, her phlegmatic expression matching his. Y/n hadn’t expected John to be that close when she spun, and his proximity almost had her façade faltering, but she persisted, and for a moment, it seemed to be a war of stares, who ever looked away would be deemed a loser. Except, neither of them looked away and the longer their eyes locked, the more exposed she felt, like he was seeing her for who she really was, the person behind the hardened shell, who was scared that she was digging her own grave and destroying the empire her linage had afforded her. Y/n wasn’t sure if being seen, by at least one person, was comforting or frightening. On one hand, she sometimes tired of keeping up appearances, while on the other, it worried her that the tough, uncrackable disposition was all she had. If she softened, who was going to listen to a pretty girl half their age? 

“Not today you didn't,” his low baritone finally broke the silence, and unconsciously, John stepped forward, almost feeling as if she’d been reeling him in with those siren eyes. Those four little words were all he needed to put a chip in her exterior, to remind them both of the girl she’d been when they met at the Continental. The one whose perfume hung in the air even after she left and had left him with mixed feelings since they’d met. When he’d first started working there, he’d heard what they called her; Vila, and it was easy to see why too. Y/n had this kind of beauty, it almost didn’t seem real, though, her physical appearance was merely a mask, for anyone in her presence could tell that like him, she emanated danger. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands bloody when crossed.

Y/n’s gaze flickered away from his eyes, trying to shake off the trance his chocolate gaze had put her in, summoning up a dismissive smirk, “You’re smart huh?” She moistened her lips, preferring to be done with the subject rather than delve further into it, “Come on, I’ve got work to do,” she began walking again, “On a fucking Saturday too,” Y/n grumbled under her breath, and John didn’t let her see it, but he smiled faintly.

They walked for a while, all the way down the corridor, turning at its end and trekking up another set of stairs, those narrow and illuminated by an old bulb, leading to a lone metal door, rust gathered on the outer bolt and the creaking noise blood curling as she pulled it open, “Wait,” John grabbed her arms, “I go in first,” he reminded, not waiting for Y/n’s go ahead before stepping in front of her, his hand already reaching for his gun as he toed in. He’d stepped inside completely, sweeping the area for anything remotely out of place before letting her in.

When Y/n stepped inside, a tense silence befell the low lit room and the clicking of her stilettos on the worn, stained concrete floor was the only thing echoing. Without needing to be asked, Donavan approached her, helping Y/n out of her long camel coat, draping it over his arm as he stood back, near John against the wall. “Christopher,” she addressed, undoing the buttons at the cuffed sleeves of her silk, champagne colored shirt, rolling them up to just below her elbows and then putting her hair up in a loose ponytail, “You know, when I hired you, I took a chance. You were a kid and I thought that I could turn you into something great, teach you. I wanted to help you, Christopher.” There was a table, a wooden one, near the front of the large room, and on the surface, were all sorts of tools. A pair of pliers, a couple blades, bone saws of varying types, a thumbscrew, a pinwheel, an icepick, and of course, to end it all, a gun. Of course, killing and making an example of him would have been ideal, but Y/n didn’t want to risk missing his reasoning. “I really wanted to help you,” she carried on, swiping up the thumbscrew, sauntering over to the center of the room where Christopher sat, bound to the chair by a series of leather straps; two holding his wrists to the handles, his calves to the legs and his midsection to the wooden back. 

Though he fought against it, whimpering in fear as she drew closer, the chair, bolted to the ground, wouldn’t budge. There was no escaping, and he knew it. “Please Miss Romanov,” he pleaded pathetically, “I swear, I can pay it back, the twenty five grand, I can pay it back.”

“Pay it back?” She chuckled humorlessly, slipping his right index into the device, “Where’re you gonna get twenty five grand, huh? Besides, you know it's not the money, it's the principal. If we don’t have trust in this business, we have nothing. And I can’t trust you anymore Christopher,” slowly, Y/n started turning the pin at the top, her eyes fixed on how his features screwed up in pain as his finger was crushed, the sickening sound drowned out by his screams. The room was hardly soundproof, and even from the ground floor, anyone could tell what was happening, “Why do you think I can’t trust you?"

“Because of…...Arghh!” He howled, straining his neck as he shifted his head, his skin going red with the heat of pain and tears already streaming down his face. “The money!” He writhed, “Because of the money!”

“The money?” Hastily, Y/n grabbed his hand, situating another finger into the contraption, her anger flaring, “Have you heard nothing that I’ve said?” Her voice rose and she began turning again, up to her rope’s end with his ignorance, “Have I taught you nothing?” Y/n yelled.

“The principal!” Christopher sobbed, his breaths heavy and ragged and his eyes shut tight, as if not seeing the blood creating new stains on the grey floor might lessen the pain. Still though, Y/n continued, “But I had to,” he blubbered, “They would have killed me.”

“What?” snarling, Y/n paused, “Who, who would have killed you. Why’d you need the money?” Grabbing his wet face, her long nails digging into his blotchy, beat red cheeks, “Why’d you need my fucking money!”

“I-I….” hiccupping, there was a new wave of fear washing over him, and by then, the sweat had started to soak through his ratty plaid shirt, “The Irish...they-” the truth, like water behind a broken dam, came rushing out, “They have a….a gambling house up in Brooklyn.”

“You were fucking with the goddamed Irish!” Y/n released his face, only to grant him a backhanded slap, making sure the expensive stone on her ring broke his skin, “I’ve got you working here for me, I’m putting bread on your table and you go behind my back with the Irish? Motherfucker!” She slapped him again.

“Miss Romanov,” he begged messily as Y/n went back over to the table, that time to snatch up the brass knuckles, fitting them onto her right hand before returning to where Christopher, “You gotta understand, it was just supposed to be one card game and I-” Interrupting his hurried explanation, Y/n punched him, as hard as she could, hitting him square in the jaw and splitting his lip. She supposed that one of her men could have been far more effective, but following her father’s footsteps, she usually dealt out punishments on her own. “Please-” She reared back, socking him again, that tie hard enough to crack his jaw and dislodge a tooth. “Please,” he repeated, blood dribbling out as he spoke, “Money was tight, my girl hasn’t been working and we were in debt. I won one-” She hit him higher up, nearer to his eye, but he continued anyway, determined to beg for mercy with his last breaths, “I thought I could win more, but I started losing, so fast.” Another punch broke something else and bruises were already starting to favor the left side of his face while Y/n’s sleeves, which had fallen with the repeated movements, were more than spotted with blood.

“You needed money then you should’ve come to me. But you gave the Irish an in!” By then, Y/n had hit him so many times, that she’d lost count and Christopher was almost unrecognizable. She hadn’t realized how angry she was. From his on guard stance near the door, John kept his eyes trained on her; he’d never seen a more ruthless woman, or perhaps, person in general. Not even when he worked for the Tasarov mob, years before he single-handedly dismantled them in mere days. John had heard the stories though, of Y/n’s unforgiving father, how alarmingly frightening he could be given the right circumstances, no doubt he’d passed that on to his only heir. For someone else, watching Y/n might have been blood turning, despite her flawlessness, her ruthlessness might have easily made her ugly, the way she could ignore pleas and prayers for mercy, but for John, it was almost mesmerizing. She did the dirty work on her own, unafraid of bloodying her hands, and unashamed of who she was. Her bravery, boldness and ability to temporarily dispose of her apathetic demeanor was surprisingly attractive. Maybe he’d finally met his match.

When she was finally satisfied with the string of sloppy, bloody apologies and explanations, Y/n huffed, walking away, only to pick up the gun, checking to see if it was loaded before taking her aim, “I tried to help you Christopher, but you went behind my back, and now you have to pay for that.” He was already slipping in and out of consciousness, and when Y/n finally pulled the trigger with her bloodied finger, the only thing that sounded was the bang of the shot, the smoke dissipating as she lingered, staring blankly at the body for a minute.

“Vila,” It was Donavan that broke her trance, and ignoring him, Y/n tossed the gun back to the table snatching up the towel that he offered, wiping the warm red off her hands, barely registering how the color stuck to her skin before discarding it to the table.

 “Make a dinner reservation, leave the money out for ‘em, and meet us in the car after you call,” barely, she took note of Donavan’s acknowledgement as she stalked out of the room, John once again a couple paces behind as they moved.

“You okay?” His attempt at small talk surprised them both as they returned to the main floor, his words under his breath.

They broke out into the late afternoon, and moving ahead, John leaned forward, opening the door for her to get in, “Why wouldn’t I be?” Y/n got in, immediately reaching for the crystal carafe of whiskey, and two glasses, “Have a drink with me,” without awaiting his response, she poured two, handing over one.

“Must be hard, your job,” he mused gruffly, taking a tentative sip of his drink, enjoying the way the alcohol burned his throat. Y/n had good taste, and John could tell from just one sip.

Shrugging, Y/n downed her entire drink in one swing, barely hissing or wincing as she knocked it back, “Pay’s good.” Reaching for the bottle again, Y/n poured another, not understanding why she felt the turmoil that she did and ready to do away with it, “Thanks for uh…..coming with us today.”

“From what I can see, you didn’t need me,” at that, Y/n’s gaze snapped towards him, her plump lips agape and her eyes unusually wide and doe-y, “I’m just saying,” he cleared his throat, realizing how the air between them had changed once again, “You can hold your own out there Y/n.”

“You’re one of the only people that calls me that,” she wondered out loud, licking her lips as she looked at him, “It’s kind of strange to hear someone say my name.”

“Is that a problem?” John leaned in, catching a whiff of how the whiskey interacted with her perfume. 

“No,” Y/n breathed. It was the truth, and it seemed almost fitting, considering that John had proven to see right through her defenses, twice and had even been brave enough to call her out on it. He had seen just the tiniest glimmers of the real her, and it was only suiting that he be the one to call Y/n by her real name. “I do need you, by the way. So don’t go thinking I don’t.”

“Admitting defeat?” John smirked, and Y/n realized that that was the closest she’d ever got to seeing him smile. She bet he had a nice smile. Unconsciously, she leaned in too, something in the back of her head hoping he’d read the room and kiss her. 

“I’m just-” With a startle, her words were cut off, and surprised as Donavan entered, Y/n sprang back, averting her gaze as he settled next her, not even looking in John’s direction as he resumed his usual demeanor, pretending as if the moment had never even happened.

The ride back to the penthouse had been filled with silence, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife, and when it was time to get out of the car, instead of offering his hand that time, John had left, heading towards the elevator to do his usual checks before Y/n could even step foot near it. That time, it was Donavan that had hung back with her, still holding her coat, and that time her handbag, as they walked. 

Even the elevator ride up was quiet and when the metal box opened up to her foyer, they all went in and wordlessly, John stalked off in the direction of his room. She tried not to be, but Y/n was offended that he’d be willing to just bypass what they’d shared in the car and choose to pretend that he was nothing more than an employee. It was infuriating, though, knowing she could do nothing about it, Y/n decided that she’d deal with her frustrations with a more willing companion.

“Stay for a while,” she led Donavan down the hall, the sounds of their steps echoing off the soft white marble walls, “I’d like some company.”

“Of course,” he nodded, following Y/n into her room, shutting the door behind him as they entered. Y/n turned the lights on, the chandelier overhead casting a glow on the spacious master bedroom, and as she went over to a small sofa near the window to slip off her heels, Donavan set her bag down on an accent chair near the door, draping her coat over the arm. “I’m going to take a shower,” she explained nonchalantly, undoing and untucking her ruined shirt before pulling out her stylish leather belt and unbuttoning her pants. “Care to join me?” 

Huffing a quiet chuckle, Donavan started stripping on his way over to her, losing his blazer and sweater by the time he reached Y/n, “When have I ever turned you down?” He smirked confidently, “You had such a rough day,” his calloused hands slid up her arms, massaging her shoulders, “Why don’t we get in there,” he lifted one hand, only to pull out her hairband and free her tresses, “And blow off some steam?”

“Well I didn’t invite you here for nothing,” Y/n’s lithe fingers trailed down Donavan’s toned torso, pushing the memory of a shirtless John out of her mind as she did. At the top of his pants, her hands lingered, and standing on her toes, she planted a searing kiss on a pair of familiar lips, expertly popping the button on his back slacks, letting him unclasp her bra in turn.

By the time they stumbled to the shower, managing to get the hot water on in their steamy haste, Y/n was already hoisted up in Donavan’s arms. He pressed his back against the glass wall, and as he nestled his throbbing manhood between her slick folds, Y/n moaned loudly, combating the sound of the falling water as she felt him fill her up. Her hand was braced beside his head on the glass, the rivulets staining red with the remaining blood on her hand as it raced down the wall. As he moved, helping her forget the day, with John’s image still on replay in her mind, steam built up around them while hot water from the rain shower washed their bodies. That evening, it was hard to lose herself in the rough sensation and  Y/n could only hope that at some point, her mind would go right again so that she could return to the person that wasn’t affected by death, or worse yet, got flutters in her stomach because of John Wick.

*****

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