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rollingsins · 10 months

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all hers, part xx

summary: R's Dad gets wind of the plan. He's less than thrilled.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of murder. Mention of sex, mention of violence.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: sorry bbys, i know i've been MIA. just enjoying the summer, but I'm back for a new chapter! as always, thanks for all the love and let me know what you think!!

Several orgasms later - when you’re a sweaty, ruined mess underneath Tara’s body, you hear the murmur of voices and the front door slam closed.

Sam’s finally had enough, you think, a little sleepily. Her indignant request for the two of you to keep quiet had only made Tara fuck you harder. She’s annoying like that. And what had been Sam’s loss had been your gain.

Or so you had thought.

There’s a rumble against the floorboards downstairs. Boots, the owner heavy-footed. Sam’s voice - distant, a little apprehensive. And then you hear your Dad.

Deep, like thunder.

He sounds pissed.

“Tara, get off me,” You murmur, suddenly. She’s pressing you down into the mattress, lips on your neck, fingers wandering somewhere you definitely don’t need right now.

You sit up slightly, pulling her up with you.

“But I’m not done with you yet.” She says, eyes dancing as she pulls away from your neck.

She pushes you back into the bed, hard, taking your hands and pinning them over your head. You resist. Your Dad’s steps hit like lightning against the staircase.

“Babe,” You insist, “I’m serious, my Dad is home.”

She quells your fears with a kiss. Nips at your bottom lip.

“He’ll knock, babe, relax.” She assures.

She tilts your head to her lips, but you withdraw.

Panic surges through you.

You hear your Dad’s footsteps on the staircase. You wrench your hands out of her grip and reach for your t-shirt.

Your Dad doesn’t knock. You’ve known it for eighteen years and he certainly is going to stop it now. You pry your t-shirt over your head.

“Clothes, Tara. Now.” You hiss.

She rolls her eyes, but reaches for her own shirt.

But it’s too late. You hear the door click as the handle turns and then the bedroom door bursts wide open.

Your Dad stands, eyes wild, frightening as he looks over at you.

Tara gasps, and tugs the sheets over her body.

“Ever heard of knocking, dude?” She asks, cheeks red, in a rare moment of embarrassment.

Your Dad blinks.

The anger dissipates; he’s startled, like you in bed with Tara was the last thing he expected.

“What the hell is going on here?” He hisses, eyes wide with indignation. He flits between you trying to tug your shirt over your head and Tara pulling the sheets up to her neck. He looks outraged.

“Are you having sex?” He splutters. His eyes might bulge out of his head.

“No, we’re playing twister,” Tara says, voice dry, “Of course we’re having sex, what does it look like?”

She, as always, knows how to twist the knife.

You’d tell her to shut up, but your words - along with a piece of your soul - have died. Shock, embarrassment flood through you.

Rage explodes across your Dad’s face.

His chest heaves. He looks as though he might tackle her. You grip her hand, looking between them.

“Just give us one sec, Dad, we’ll be dressed in a minute.”

He takes a breath. Swallows hard.

Silence fills the room for a single, brutal second.

And then he’s blinking over at you, the rage simmering into a steady swell.

“Downstairs.” He tells you, his voice low, “One minute.”

He pauses, eyes flickering with disgust.

“And put some god damn clothes on.”

You briefly consider escaping out the window.

Taking Tara with you - with any luck you’d never have to look your Dad in the eye again. The thought of him tearing Woodsboro apart to find you again has you reluctantly pulling your jeans back on and helping Tara into hers.

“No talking back,” You say, lip between your teeth as you button her pants, “I mean it Tara. Say as little as possible, please. Let me do the talking.”

“Whatever you say, babe.” She grumbles. Her cheeks are still tinted pink. You kiss her cheek, rub her hip. She’s cute when she’s embarrassed, but you save that thought for later.

Right now you have bigger problems.

Your Dad is wildly pacing when the two of you come downstairs. Sam looks over at the two of you, offers Tara an appraising I told you so glare, but your focus isn’t on her. You chew your lip, settle into the sofa with Tara at your side.

“Sorry, daddy,” You say, voice small, “We thought you’d be at work a little longer.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, you know it the moment it leaves your lips.

Your Dad whirls around, eyebrows knit almost comically. Deep, angry frown lines mar his face.

“Where do I even begin?” He asks, eyes flashing, “The arrest? The murder? Setting up Ghostface? What the hell has been going on and why wasn’t I told?”

“Dad, please, calm down-“ You start but the look in his eyes quietens you.

“Not to mention the sex?” He thunders as if it’s even vaguely comparable to the others. He points a beefy finger at Tara, “You spent the morning in jail for multiple murders.”

The finger turns to you.

“You spent the morning committing manslaughter. And then the two of you decided to come home and what? Celebrate?”

His face turns red, “With underage fornication?”

Tara can’t help herself.

“It’s not underage sex, we’re both eighteen-“

“Quiet.” He snarls, “We’ll start with you - Sheriff Hicks arrested you this morning. For six murders.”

“That was a mistake,” Interjects Sam, “Sheriff Hicks got it wrong. The culprit was caught. He’s…. in custody.”

“In custody?” Your Dad says, “He’s dead. And the Sheriff tells me it was my daughter who did it.”

His fingers flex, menacingly. He’s scary like this. You’ve always been aware of his temper, walked on eggshells to please him, but this is something different.

Something terrifying.

“He attacked us at the school, I had no choice.” You say, voice small. Tara’s arm snakes around your waist. She squeezes your hip, gently.

“You had no choice?” Says your Dad, taking a step closer, “You arranged it. The Sheriff told me everything. The plan. The guns. You walked in there knowing you were going to take his life. It was calculated. And you didn’t tell me a fucking thing. How dare you.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Says Tara. Your Dad isn’t the only one with a temper, but Tara’s is much, much worse. If he invokes The Rage, there isn’t much you can do to stop it.

You grip her hand, trying to signal for her to back down.

“I’ll talk to my own child how I please,” Your Dad sneers, “And as for you? You want to tell me why the Sheriff suspected you so much she had you hauled off in handcuffs?”

“Because she got it wrong,” You say, “Dad, are you even listening?”

He’s quiet a moment. His eyes swell. He looks the way he did like the first time you had told him you didn’t need him to push you on the swings anymore. Or the time he’d found out you’d had your first kiss with Aaron, or when you’d bought Tara home for the first time.

He looks devastated. Betrayed.

“You never told me you were having sex,” He says, voice hoarse.

You swallow.

“Dad, that’s - a little too uncomfortable of a conversation to have, don’t you think?”

“I thought you were a good girl. I thought you had values.” He looks distraught. So much so, that you almost feel bad.

“Dad… I’m eighteen, it’s not like I’m a kid anymore,” you say, voice slow, “And Tara and I have been dating for two years. I figured you just… knew.”

Clearly, he didn’t.

If anything, the sex has wounded him more than the murder you’d just committed.

“You’re a Christian girl,” He says, voice insistent, “We raised you Christian. I thought that would mean something. I thought you were a virgin.”

Tara can’t help herself; she snorts.

You dig a sharp elbow into her side, but it’s too late. Your Dad’s eyes flash with fury and embarrassment and grief and before you can even blink he’s reaching over to grab Tara by the arm.

He yanks at her, hard, pulling her up like she’s a rag doll.

You scream out, trying to draw your body between his and hers but Sam gets there first.

She shoves him back, hard as she can and steps between them, her eyes flashing.

Looking wounded, Tara rubs at her arm, face flashing with aggravation. There’s an angry red handprint blooming on her. You pull her back, behind you, wrapping your arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t touch her, don’t you dare touch her.” Sam snarls.

Your Dad breathes out, chest heaving. He glares at Tara, and if you and Sam weren’t between them, you really think he might try and hit her.

It’s a sobering thought. And suddenly all you need is to get her out of here.

“We’re going to go.” You say, voice a little shaky, “Me, Sam and Tara are going, Dad. Until you calm down.”

His eyes flash.

You grip Tara a little harder.

“You’re not going anywhere,” He growls, “These two - they can go. They’re trouble. I want them out. But you?”

He points a finger at you.

“You’re grounded. You’re not leaving the house, as of now. Mom will home school you, you’re not seeing the rat-pack of delinquents you call friends again. And you’re breaking up with her, right now.”

Your heart thuds.

Your Dad’s face is brazen. Serious.

But so are you.

“No.” You say, drawing your shoulders back.

“No?”

“No. I’m eighteen, I can’t be grounded. You can’t tell me who my friends are and you certainly can’t stop me from seeing Tara.”

Your Dad slams his hand against the table. A cup shatters to the ground. You flinch.

“She’s been arrested for murder, YN.” He says, voice fraught. He blinks at you, desperate for you to understand, “And you might believe that she’s done nothing wrong but the Sheriff arrested her for a reason. Between that and the-”

He shudders.

“The fornicating. No. You’re not seeing her anymore. I won’t allow it.”

Sam stands up, hands raised. She looks furious, but there’s something in her voice. Like she’s trying to be the voice of reason.

“Sir - please. I know you’re upset but trying to stop them from seeing each other isn’t the right way-“

“You will not see her!” Screams your Dad, “The Sheriff thinks there’s something wrong with her. That she was in it with Richie. And I saw it, right from the start. There’s something wrong with her, YN. That girl is-“

“That girl is my sister, and I’d watch what you were saying if I were you.” Sam says, voice sharp.

“We’ll go,” Says Tara, rubbing your back. She stands a little straighter, “But YN is coming with us. I'm not leaving without her."

“Dad, I’m going.” You say, voice stern, “And if you try to stop me I’ll call the police myself. I’m eighteen, you have no right to keep me here like a hostage.”

There’s a vein on your Father’s forehead that looks like it might burst. You’ve never seen him like this before: bubbling with fury and fear and desperation. He’s acting irrational.

Crazy.

And you don’t want to be here a minute longer.

“We’re going,” Sam repeats for you. She still has her hand raised, as if she’s afraid he might lunge at Tara at any given moment, “Okay?”

It’s not okay, clearly.

But your threat of calling the police seems to work.

He swallows. Face still red.

He swears at you.

Calls you ungrateful. Smashes another glass against the floor.

But then he leaves.

And before he can change his mind, you’re gripping onto Tara for dear life and leading her out the front door.

Sam drives.

You sit in the back seat, head against Tara’s shoulder, inspecting the red hand marks on her forearm.

Your Dad got angry sometimes, sure, but he’d never physically hurt anyone before. He could have killed her right there, you could tell by the look in his eyes, if you and Sam hadn’t been there to intervene.

You press your lips to the mark, heart aching at the thought your own Father had been the one to hurt her.

“You couldn’t have waited a couple more hours before you jumped each other?” Sam asks, voice wry.

She peers into the backseat just in time to catch the flash of indignation across Tara’s face.

“Way to victim-blame, Sam,” Tara says, crossing her arms, “We were just fucking. He was acting like we were dissecting live cats together or something.”

“I thought he knew we were having sex,” You say, absent-mindedly, “What kind of couple is together for two years without having sex?”

“Mormons,” Tara says, her nose wrinkled, “Or your parents, maybe.”

You roll your eyes.

“It doesn’t matter, now.” You say, a little nervous as Sam pulls into the driveway of hers and Tara’s house, “What matters is we get this place safe and secured before we go to bed tonight.”

Tara squeezes your thigh.

Sam gets to work immediately.

She gets her drill out, installing new locks on each of the doors. Tara hides the knives, holsters a small pistol around her waist.

They both look hot.

You keep that thought to yourself and watch Tara as she leans over and reaches for Sam’s drill. She bites her lip as she drills the hinge into place and then turns and catches your gaze.

“What?” She asks, small smile on her face.

“Nothing,” You say, voice coy as she moves over and snakes her arms around your waist, “You just look sexy doing that, that’s all.”

“I look sexy drilling a hinge into the door?” She teases. She presses a kiss to your lips.

You bite your lip and look over at Sam. She’s picking up the drill and then traipsing off into the next room.

“I want you to drill me into the door.” You say, voice low.

Tara’s eyes spark.

Then you hear Sam groan from the other room.

“Again?”

Your cheeks flush red. Tara laughs.

You smack her gently, then nuzzle your head into her neck.

Tara presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m going to finish up these doors,” She says, voice light, “And then I’ll drill you into anything you want, baby.”

You half consider dragging her up the stairs and taking her up on that promise. The adrenaline from the day is manifesting in some particularly horny ways. You don’t know if it’s the fear, or the shock but all you can think about is Tara and how much you want her.

But before you can so much as kiss her, the doorbell is ringing.

Sam peers back into the room, frown on her face.

“If that’s your Dad-” She begins, but you cut her off, miles ahead of her.

If it is your Dad, the last thing you need is Tara around.

You shake her off, worry overtaking your expression.

“I’ll get rid of him,” You say, hurriedly, “Baby, stay here.”

But when you make your way to the door, and swing it open, it isn’t your Dad standing there.

You frown. Clutch at the door a little tighter.

“Sheriff Hicks?” You ask, a little confused. She’s standing with her hat in her hands, looking nervous. More nervous than you’ve ever seen her.

And this is the third time you’ve seen her today, and in all honesty, you’d rather not see her again for a few weeks, at the very least.

You’ve had your fill of her.

“YN,” She says, peering behind you. She wrings her hands, “Samantha Carpenter, is she here?”

You frown, a little confused.

You feel Tara come up behind you, press her hands to your hips. You don’t need to look at her to tell she’s less than pleased to see the woman who’d arrested her standing on her doorstep.

“Sheriff,” Tara drawls, shoulders tight, “Here to arrest anymore innocent people?”

The Sheriff ignores her. She looks to you.

“May I come in?” She asks.

“No.” Says Tara, arms crossed.

The Sheriff falls silent. Her eyes flit between yours and Tara’s. She looks grave. Like she’s seen a ghost.

“I’m not here to arrest anyone,” The Sheriff says. She sounds serious, “I just need to speak with Sam. It’s about Richie.”

“Richie?” His name draws Sam out from the kitchen.

The Sheriff nods.

“If I could just come inside-”

“You’re not coming inside my house,” Tara says, voice sharp, “Tell Sam whatever you want about Richie, and then leave. Please.”

The Sheriff looks like she wants to argue. But then her shoulders drop. She takes a deep breath and looks Sam right in the eye.

“He’s gone.”

Sam blinks.

“I know, Sheriff,” She says, voice slow, “I was there, remember?”

The Sheriff shakes her head.

“No, Sam. He’s gone. As in we can't find him anywhere.”

#tara carpenter #scream #scream vi #tara carpenter x reader #mine #fanfic #jenna ortega #tara carpenter x yn #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x yn #all hers #ghostface!tara

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mika-no-sekai-blog · 18 days

Text

Word count: 3200+

Warnings: a bit of violence

Part XVII | Part XIX

You jolted awake, heaving, skin sticky with a cold sweat. Your trembling fingers found the pendant safely hidden under your clothes. It was dream, another nightmare, you thought at first as your sight focused on the light colored chiffon curtains around the bed.

You tried to calm down, inhaling deeply. But it didn't work, panic gripped on your trembling heart that beat too fast. Why it was harder than usual? Your throat was closing, you couldn't breathe. Why hadn't you forgot it as soon as you opened your eyes?

"Y/N!" A males voice cried out. Before you were able to comprehend what's happening, mattress dipped and strong arms wrapped around you. "Thank the Mother."

You finally breathed in. You had to repeat it several times to be able to speak out.

"Rhys," you whispered, your voice hoarse. Your brother was with you. You were safe. The panic began to dissipate. Tears rolled down your cheeks and you weren't the only one crying. Rhysand sobbed, his grip growing stronger.

You stayed like this until both of you calmed down. You didn't speak, just held each other.

"I'm so sorry," Rhysand whispered as he pulled away to look down at you. "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have revived those memories."

No dreams, but memories. That's why it didn't disappear after you woke up. You closed your eye and immediately opened them because the horrors started to play out behind your eyelids again.

For the first time in your life you saw Rhys struggling to find words. He was opening and closing his mouth like a fish. You finally looked at him properly.

Rhysand looked terrible. Red eyes with dark circles under, dishevelled hair, wrinkled clothes that remembered better times. He was a mess, much messier than after all-day training in the camp.

For Cauldron's sake, you were so confused. You pressed palms to your face. The horrible headache was back, too.

"Y/N, are you okay? Tell me what should I do? Do you need something?" Rhysand was immediately cradling you.

"I have just this insane headache," you rasped.

"Do you want that powder from Madja?"

You nodded without thinking twice. Small bottle and glass of water appeared on the nightstand. Rhys added a spoonful of powder to the glass, mixed it and handed the glass to you. You gratefully drank it. It worked almost immediately. You sighed with relieve.

"You okay?" You asked Rhys. "You look.. tired at best."

"You were unconscious for last five days. I couldn't leave you alone. It's all my fault.."

"Five days?" you choked on water. "It doesn't matter. Anyway. Don't you dare to blame yourself. I was the one who asked you to do that."

"It was so.." Rhysand fisted on his hair. "If those bastards weren't already dead, I would.." He was so angry that air around him crackled with power.

But you didn't have a chance to talk with him more as a roar came somewhere from the hallway. "Where is she?"

Both of you turned to the door at the same moment, eyes wide. Rhysand was about to stand and go to see what was going on down there when the door flew open and hit the wall hard.

On the threshold stood Azriel. His eyes dark, face full of rage, body ready to strike. The shadows wildly swirled around him, wings stretched behind his shoulders. He was so scary, looking like the embodiment of death itself. If you didn't know him, you would be so panic-stricken, unable to even blink. His hazel eyes scanned over you still in the bed.

In a blink of eye he had Rhysand pinned to the wall, his feet in the air. "What did you do to her?!" he growled, baring teeth at him. Blue siphons on his leathers shone dangerously.

Your brother struggled against his grip, his lips turning blue, but he didn't use any magic to protect himself. Azriel was so blinded with the rage he would kill him and Rhys would allow it. You had to stop him somehow.

You leapt from bed and tried to pull his muscular arm away from Rhys' throat. "Az, calm down," you whined, but you didn't make him move for even an inch. "Azriel!"

Rhysand's eyes began rolling back, now whole his face was bluish.

"Azriel! Let him go!" You were pulling on his arm even more furiously now, your nails digging into his flesh. You drew blood. Only then his gaze moved to you and his arm fell back.

Rhysand fell to the ground gasping for air and coughing. You knelt beside him, rubbing on his back. "Rhys, are you okay?" He just nodded still panting and coughing.

"Are you crazy?" you turned to Azriel. "You could kill him."

"That's exactly what I wanted to do," he retorted, glaring down at his High Lord angrily. "He promised to not push you further. You weren't ready for that and he fucking knew it."

"I asked him to do that!" You shouted back.

At that moment Feyre appeared in the door. She was dirty from a paint, apparently somebody ran to her studio in the city to alert her after Azriel arrived.

"Rhys," she cried out when she saw him panting on the ground and ran to him.

You both helped him stood up and get to the door. Feyre gave you a worried look. A silent question. You just shook your head and smile and so she took your brother to their room, leaving you alone with Shadowsinger.

Azriel glared after him, promise of death in his eyes.

"Don't even think about that," you warned him. "It was my decision. I went to him. If you need to vent your anger on someone, here I am."

He grumbled something you didn't understand and stayed silent with hands crossed on his board chest, hazel eyes watching you.

You gazed back at him.

"How do you feel?" he asked much calmer.

You raised a brow at him.

"What?"

"You were about to kill Rhys. Don't I deserve the same?"

His mouth opened and closed, no words coming out. "It's different."

"How?"

"Simply different."

You angrily glared at him until the spymaster did unthinkable thing. He backed and disappeared in his shadows without another word.

Exhausted you sat down and pulled knees to your chest. As it became your habit, you took the pendant out and played with it. Now you knew. You regained the last bit of your memory. You had everything as you'd planned. You were trying to avoid thinking about the horrors of the last night your mother was alive and rather tried to focus on finding a way how to get to Spring Court.

That night you couldn't sleep. You aimlessly wandered through the house until you found yourself in front of Rhys' and Feyre's bedroom. You were about to knock on the door, but you changed your mind at the last second and decided to go to the garden.

The door behind you opened quietly and Feyre came out. "Oh, it's you," she smiled tiredly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."

She just waved a hand. "I was about to get some tea. Will you join me?"

You nodded and a few moments later both of you were seated in the sitting room with steaming cup of tea in hand.

"How is Rhys?"

"Oh," Feyre smiled. "You don't need to worry about him. They're fighting quite often. He's fine, sleeping like a baby at the moment. By the morning he won't have a single bruise."

You shook your head. "It's my fault. Azriel burst out like that because of what I asked Rhys to do."

"You did nothing wrong. Anyway, it was up to you to decide that. Azriel can't be angry for that."

You sipped your tea while Feyre watched you, face tense with worry. "Are you okay?"

You tried to smile, but it turned into grimace. "I will be."

Feyre sighed. "I guess you can't sleep. Rhys showed me what happened there. It was.. well.. more than terrible. If you would like to talk about it.." she offered gently.

You thanked her and this time you managed to smile properly. "It's enough that you are here."

She nodded. You finished your tea mostly in silence, just occasionally doing some small talk. That's how you found out there would be Starfall in a week.

Starfall, the biggest and most beautiful celebration in Night Court. How could you forget about that? An idea began to form in your head.

"Who will come?" you asked subtly.

"As usual. It will be us, my sisters, some friends and people from the city," Feyre smiled, already imagining the party.

"Friends?"

"Yes, Winter Court's High Lord with his wife and few generals. Helion will come and a few friends from Summer Court. Lucien should be here, too." Feyre was counting on fingers, roaming through the list in her head, but you stopped listening.

You already heard what you needed. Lucien would be here. Such a big party was a good occasion to disappear without being noticed for hour or two. It should give you enough time to speak with Tamlin, if things went in your favor.

Thinking about all possible alternatives you even forgot about the horrors of your past and spent that week mostly peacefully.

Evening of Starfall

You stood in your room in front of the tall mirror, admiring yourself. Mor convinced you to go shopping dresses with her and this was what you ended up with. The dress she'd chosen for you for this event was beautiful. It was very simple long dress made of dark blue almost black velvet, the hem of skirt was decorated with shiny little stones that in narrowing chains rose up to your waist. It reminded a night sky full of shooting stars. Indeed, very fitting for today's evening.

She also insisted on helping with your make-up and hair. Since she left a few minutes ago, you had been standing in front of the mirror looking at your reflection. It wasn't like it didn't suit you. To be honest, it suited you a lot, you felt almost beautiful, but this wasn't you. It was too much.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by a knock on the door. "Are you ready?" Rhysand's voice shouted from behind the door.

"Yes," you answered. Door opened and Rhys strolled in.

As soon as he found you, his eyes widened. He froze on the spot, in silence gazing at you.

"What?" You raised a brow at him. "Is it too much?"

He slowly shook his head looking for his voice. "No, it's perfect. You're beautiful. I've never thought I will get a chance to see my baby sister like this. Tonight you'll be the most beautiful among the stars."

You frowned at him, blushing fiercely. "You are such an ass."

"I'm just honest," he grinned. "I can't wait to see Azriel's expression when he sees you."

You rather said nothing to that. Ever since he revived your memories, he kept making small remarks about Azriel and you. No need to say that the very next day after Azriel almost killed him, they were again brothers, talking as if nothing had happened.

"Let's go. I can't wait to show my Starshine to my friends," he teased you.

Party was held as always in the House of Wind. This was your first time visiting here since you came back, but you had to say that although Rhys had changed the furniture and decorations, the house itself hadn't changed that much. You still could easily navigate through narrow halls and numbers of rooms here.

Rhys' family was gathered in a big private sitting room. As soon as the two of you walked in all eyes turned on you.

Mor had already seen you, so she wasn't so surprised and sent you just a cheeky grin. Cassian's sonorous voice was the loudest one. He left his mate at the bar and hurrying to you he lifted you up, spinning with you.

"Our lil' sis finally joined the gang," he laughed as he put you down. "Look at you! You're so pretty, dove."

Laughing you pushed him away when he tried to kiss your cheek. Your face felt even hotter than after Rhysand complimented you. "Stop that, you big bear. You'll destroy Mor's hard work."

"You look amazing," Feyre hugged you. Even Amren nodded approvingly. Next to her stood male you'd never seen before, but it wasn't hard to guess he was from different court and had a thing for her. He smiled politely at you, which you returned.

Elain stood with her sister at bar. She frowned at you and turned away. As long as she didn't make another scene, you didn't mind. Nesta, on the other hand, winked at you and smiled, sipping from her glass. It was surprising.

Balcony doors opened and Azriel walked in with a glass of whisky in hand. "What's -" When his eyes met yours he forgot what he was about say, gaping at you. Hand that held the glass dropped and its content spilled onto the floor, splattering his shoes and pants.

Rhysand and Cassian boomed with laughter, others turned around and hiding their amusement pretended to be occupied.

You spared him an embarrassing situation and walked away to Mor. You hadn't talked with him since he attacked Rhysand and honestly, you were still a bit bitter about that.

As the evening progressed, the party was in full swing. Rhys and Feyre disappeared, certainly having their private party on one of the smaller balconies. Cassian with Nesta also disappeared together. They visibly needed an alone time. The rest went down to have fun with the other guests.

You were alone on the higher balcony, pretending to observe the crowd below you. True was you were looking for a certain redhead. Feyre said Lucien would come, but you hadn't spotted him yet.

"Drink?" A deep voice spoke to your right. Shadowsinger waited just a few inches from you with two glasses of wine in hands, offering you one. You hadn't heard him to come.

You gave him a tight smile. "I don't drink."

"Oh," his cheeks tinted with pink. Both glasses disappeared. "You are stunning tonight." You ignored that comment. He leaned against railing, looking down. "Are you still angry with me?"

"Little bit," you answered honestly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Well, at that moment I guess I did, but..I was angry. And so worried for you. Rhysand sent me on some damn mission that took weeks to accomplish. I couldn't see you for so long and the first thing I heard after returning home was that you aren't well, that you're unconscious because he returned you the last bits of your memories. He promised me to wait."

You placed your hand on his big scarred one. "As I already told you. It was my fault. I asked him to do so."

"Now I know. But back then.. I think I would react the same way even if I knew," he admitted."

"The three of you grew into brutes," you rolled your eyes.

He laughed, the sound so rare that you couldn't resist and had to look at him. He was handsome in the tailored suit. Even more than usually. Despite all hardships and wars that he survived, he still seemed young and innocent, just as you remembered him. Your heart stuttered, breathing became labored.

He had to hear that because he stopped laughing and looked down at you. Suddenly he seemed to be too close. The crowd below you gasped and went silent, all eyes turned to the sky. You did the same.

The show had began. Hundreds of spirits travelled above you. A warm wing wrapped around your shoulders, big hand landed on your waist. You turned to Azriel, his shiny eyes already on you. Now he was even closer than before. You could feel his warm breath full of freshness and woody smell of whisky on your face, strands of his hair tickling your forehead.

It threw you centuries back, when the two of you stood on the exactly same spot in the exactly same position. You were just a young female, still teenager, crazily in love with the handsome young male, best friend of your older brother, who loved you deeply. Your knees buckled just like they did back then, breath caught in your throat. His full lips brushed over yours. A moan made its way through your parted lips. You felt so lightheaded and drawn to him.

But..

This was wrong. You weren't that young female anymore. You didn't feel the same way anymore. Your heart changed. You were here on a mission. You blinked the haziness of your mind away.

"I'm sorry," you breathed out and ran away, leaving confused Azriel behind. He didn't try to chase after you nor he stopped you.

You ran until you got two floors lower and only then you stopped in one of the alcoves in the hallway to catch your breath. You forbade yourself to think about what just happened on the balcony.

You were upset. You needed to find Lucien quickly, before the party would be over and you miss the best chance. You walked down the hall and turn the corner just in time to see hair as bright as a fire disappear in one of the doors.

You stalked closer and carefully peeked in. You were lucky, it was Lucien. He stood with his back to the doors, pouring some alcohol to the glass. He was alone. You slipped in and closed the doors behind you.

Startled he turned to you. "It's you? You should have said something. You move around like a ghost. One day somebody gets a heart attack because of you." He turned his attention back to the drink. He seemed to be in a bad mood.

"I was looking for you."

"Really?" He took quite big gulp of liquor grimacing. "So congratulations. You found me."

"Are you okay?"

"Nothing I couldn't solve myself," he snapped. "What do you want from me?"

"I need you to take me to Spring Court." His brows raised, both russet and gold eye snapped back to you.

"You what?"

"You heard me."

Lucien laughed. "Sure. And next time I meet Rhysand, he will chop me into small pieces and feed me to some beasts. Thanks, no."

"He doesn't have to know you helped me."

Lucien tsked, but he listened. "All I want from you is that you take me to Tamlin. That's all. After that you can return to the party and pretend you haven't seen me at all."

"Why?"

"You said it yourself. Tamlin needs help and I can help him. Do I need any other reason?"

He looked you over from head to toe with narrowed eyes, thinking. A muscle pulsed on his tightened jaw. "Okay. How do you imagine we get out of here?"

It surprised you. You thought he would be harder to convince to do something so crazy and dangerous.

And so you presented him your plan. It was very simple: find unused balcony far away from prying eyes and winnow. You already had an idea which rooms with balconies would be safe for your escape.

Lucien agreed and obediently followed you through halls. You were already so close to the one of the empty rooms when a deep voice came from behind you.

"Where do you think you are going?"

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia @paleidiot

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aajjks · 1 year

Text

The Conqueror (XIX)

Synopsis: He had conquered everything, anything but your heart.

Pairings: Yandere!King Jungkook x Commoner!servant Reader ( FT. Cha Eunwoo From ASTRO.)

warnings. YANDERE THEMES, EXTREME YANDERE THEMES, DARK THEMES, obsessive!jungkook, unhealthy obsession, unhealthy possessiveness, mentions of self h-rm, crying, vulnerable!jungkook, plot twists (you aren’t ready for, buckle THE FUCK UP)

note. AFTER WHOLE FIVE MONTHS ITS FINALLY HERE… tysm for being SO patient and kind to me… I LOVE YOU GUYS SO SO MUCH… I’m so in a tc mood now, send me asks, SHARE YOUR FEEDBACK BECAUSE THIS CHAPTER WILL LEAVE YOU SHOCKED!!!! 🫡 istg y’all aren’t ready for this… ENJOY!

series masterlist.

*not edited, roughly written!*

taglist: @mageprincess7 @starsggukk @sprinkleoftee @koremis @minshookie29 @sana-b @bangtannoonalvg @oonaaurora @jeonsweetpea @sugaslittlekookies @outro-kook @kthyg @lunaashes @debicaptain-saturn @laurynne5 @captainsjoongs @myblackconfessions @lanalanexpjm @namjooncrabs @shadowmoon21 @kookunot @natalie-rdr @angelicasdre @iwasfuckinginnocentonce @mermaidtea @foulnightharmony @ungodlyjoon @quechulitaaa @telepathytae @silversparkles11 @j3alous-ang3l @bunzom @1-in-abillion @breadgeniedope @jiminie-08 @artgukk @lovesthetword @bunijmin @pinkcherrybombs @afangirllikeme-blog @twilight-love-nochu-main @wedarkacademia @hollxe1 @bighitfics @darkuni63 @golden-thv @investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @koocreampie (I can’t tag anymore people, it’s full 😭😭)

Jungkook was elated, he turned for the nth time on his mattress, you loved him! His eyes were wide open, his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest, you loved him! He breathed deeply into his pillow.

He couldn’t wait for the morning.

Jungkook wanted you to sleep with him in his chamber but he knew it wasn’t the right timing, as much as he wishes he could have you beside him in his bed.

He needed to wait.

He was longing to hold you, to feel your warm body pressed against his chest, so he could play with your H/C hair, Jungkook felt so wide awake, you loved him, that’s why you were crying when he had the dagger pressed on his neck.

Even though you didn’t confess to him yet, but he could see the love in your eyes.

You loved him.

He inhaled a deep breath, pressing his palm on the left side of his chest, his heart was pounding, closing his eyes, the king smiled.

The first time he saw you.

he remembers it faintly, yet it’s engraved in his memory.

The little boy was confused as he held his mothers hand, walking with her in the congested streets. His clothes were rough, his feet aching but his mother was not focused on him.

He stared at the woman with his large brown eyes.

“Mother..” he whined in his small voice. Shaking her hand so she would focus on him.

“Mother!” The child cried out, he wanted to leave, this was not the environment he was used to, the sun was burning hot, the sunshine blinding him.

“What is it, my sweet? We’re almost there.” She cooed, her feet didn’t stop, the child had no choice but to keep walking with his mother.

“I wish to go home.” The child confessed, closing his eyes and crying, “I’m thirsty!” He whined again.

“Jungkookie… my sweetheart… I am aware. But I have some important business to do… I’ll fetch you some water soon!” The mother replied to her ten year old son as she finally stopped at a flower stall, fixing her veil quickly, “be a good boy, will you?” She caressed the crown of his head.

Jungkook grunted under his breath, he was a good boy, he had to listen to his mother.

He was perplexed as to why his mother, the queen of Corea was disguising and stalking this area, particularly this flower shop?

He was regretting for demanding to his mother that he accompany her to wherever she was planning on visiting. He was too attached to his mother after all.

And terrified of his father.

“Mother… what is it?!” He whispered to her. The child was utterly confused. He knew his mother visited the empire in disguise as she liked to escape his father for some hours, he could understand her decision but…. Why this flower shop?

“Excuse me?” His mother called out to a man, he noticed that the pitch of his mother’s voice was low, what was going on?

Jungkook shrugged away his thoughts, he rufused to understand his parents, they were too complicated for him to understand, the boy stared at the flowers, his eyes searching every inch of the wooden shop, he was not amused, it was plain, broken and boring.

Awfully boring.

“Yes, madam? How can I help you.

He was not interested in his mother’s conversation with the man.

As the shopkeeper turned his back to look at his customer, his mother to be exact, a sketch caught his attention.

A girl smiling with her crooked teeth, his eyes were crinkling as she stared directly into his face.

A big toothy smile on her face and a flower crown on her head.

He felt his heart beat loudly, his eyes fixated on the paper, focused on the girl's smile.

The boy was mesmerized at the sight of it.

She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, after his mother that is.

Before Jungkook could take his time to focus on that mysterious girls face, he felt his mothers hand tighten around his hand as she left the shop, dragging her son along.

“M-MOTHER?!” The boy called out, his feet forcing him to walk, his mother looked like she had seen a ghost.

Her eyes looked wild as Jungkook watched her.

“I-It’s him, I-It’s him!”

“Who’s who? Mother?”

She gazed at the young boy for a brief moment, a hush of warm wind hitting them as she spoke.

“The man your father has assigned for my assassination!”

His eyes opened wide, his mouth agape as he sat up abruptly, Jungkook was breathing heavily, his chest shaking as he looked around.

The same nightmare over and over again.

His nightmare wasn’t just a nightmare but it was the flashback to his past.

If only he had believed his mother then,

She would still be alive.

“Y-Y/N!” Jungkook noticed his tears as he cried out your name, the sun was almost out through the dark curtain of his chamber, the king fixed his robe, as he stood up from his bed and left his chambers.

He was so scared. He needed to see you before his nightmare enveloped his sanity completely.

He rushed out to the halls leading to your room, his eyes frantic and glossy, his head was hurting.

He needed you to calm him down.

He needed your warmth.

He needed you.

“Y-Y/N!” The man called out your name as he stormed into your chamber. He was sobbing, he was scared.

“Y-Y/N! S-Save me!” He closed the doors behind him before turning towards your sleeping figure, he watched your body stir, you were waking up, Jungkook climbed into your bed and grabbed your body before you could wake up properly.

“D-Don't leave me… please… save me.. from him..”

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obobro · 2 years

Text

Kazakh girls clothing, XIX c.

#historical dress #central asia #kazakhstan #culture #clothing

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odetopictorialism · 2 months

Text

Arthur "Boy" Capel • Coco Chanel sur la plage d'Étretat, 1913

This is the first known picture of her wearing a camellia. In this image the flower is pinned on the waist of a belted jersey suit, a long pullover top with large pockets over a long skirt, with a sailor top underneath. Her hair is parted in the middle and pulled back into a loose bun. The use of the camellia in her designs had begun in the 1920's, but camellias had been appearing on her black dresses and sweaters before the flower’s official launch in 1933. In the XIX century courtesans wore the flower indicating they were available, especially during the Second Empire and Belle Époque. Danièle Bott wrote: “In France under Louis-Philippe and in Tsarist Russia, the immaculate white flower, so voluptuous yet radiant with purity, accentuated the beauty of women, flattered their décolletés and adorned their hair. They donned the flower as a sign of seduction and flirtatiousness.” At the time, wearing the flower was shocking, but society and aristocratic women dared to be bold. Marcel Proust started the trend of wearing a camellia in his lapel at the Salon de Guermantes. After that, young men wore carnations or gardenias. (And we know how much Chanel was inspired by masculine clothes so, she decided to borrow the new trend.)

#history of fashion #historical fashion #fashion history

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universitypenguin · 8 months

Text

Chapter 19

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: Princess tries to make things right with Lloyd. An arrest is made in the case and fur flies when Detective Roth meets Lloyd for the first time.

Word Count: 4,643

Masterlist

Warnings: References to stalking, murder, serial killings, criminal investigations into violent crimes

Author’s Note: The winds from the outer bands of Hurricane Hillary are just starting to blow up to my area and it knocked out my electricity for a few hours (thanks, Spectrum Internet! 😤) Fortunately, it’s back on now and I can finally post this chapter!

Chapter XIX

Sunlight gleamed off the slow-moving Shenandoah River and reflected across the valley. Lloyd’s cabin was perched overlooking the basin where the river wound around a bend and slowed to a crawl. From your current position on the front porch, the river looked more like a sheet of glass than a body of water. Lloyd had brought you here after you’d been released from the hospital. Landon arrived the next day with a suitcase of your clothes and took up quarters in the basement. His presence had been a welcome relief from the thick fog of tension hanging over the cabin.

“Are you going to talk to him soon?” Landon asked.

You tucked your knees under your chin, wrapped your arms around them, and stared at the ex-SEAL without really seeing him. The idea of apologizing had been circulating on a loop in your head for the past seventy-two hours.

“I don’t know what to say. It’s like there’s a wall of ice between us.”

“Yeah. I didn’t realize a person could get frostbite in the middle of August until I spent a few hours with you two. Is this how you normally fight?”

“No. Lloyd usually blows up. The only person I’ve seen act like this is Zach. And we know how that usually goes.”

Landon winced. There was no softening the burnt of Zach’s temper. Reason and appeasement had no effect on it - once he turned into Jack Frost all you could do was wait until he de-thawed. Landon leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

“Finding out the way he did was hard on him.”

You shut your eyes as if doing so would block out the truth of his statement.

“I know. Not telling him was wrong, but the risk of him losing control and doing something reckless was too much. I was trying to protect him.”

Landon’s eyes softened. “Everyone knows how much you try to shield Lloyd, but you can’t always stand between him and the rest of the world.”

“I’ve seen him spiral before. I don’t want to do anything that would send him down that path again… but here we are. He’s barely looked at me for more than three seconds in the last few days and he’s treating me like a barely tolerable houseguest.”

“You have to talk to him. It’s been three days and quite frankly, I’m sick of walking on eggshells around you two. He’s not angry. He’s hurt. That’s why you’re not seeing an explosion of temper.”

“He’s never been like this before and I don’t know what to say. I’ve been trying to figure it out for days.”

Landon shot you a sardonic look. “Princess, get it through your thick skull: Lloyd isn’t angry, he’s hurt. You’ve never seen him like this before because you’re the only one who could make him feel like this.”

“Trust me, underneath that hurt, he’s angry. Lloyd is always angry.”

“Fear lies at the center of anger. He’s afraid your relationship is broken and that’s why he can’t look at you. Come on, take one for the team - and by team I mean myself. Go talk to him.”

“How do I face him after what I did?”

“He won’t bite,” Landon said.

“No, but his razor blade tongue should be registered as a weapon.”

Landon’s phone buzzed on the unfinished porch railing. He checked the message.

“If you’re going to apologize anytime soon, do it now. Zach is on his way up with Bishop. They just stopped in town for gas and they’ll be here in thirty minutes or so.”

You glanced through the window into the living room where Lloyd sat on the couch, laptop in front of him, scowling. Your stomach pitched at the prospect of the conversation you needed to have.

Landon stood up, his chair scraping against the unfinished planks of the porch floor. “I’ll take a walk down to the river and give you guys some privacy.”

“You’re leaving me alone with him?!”

“You made this mess, you clean it up.”

“If you hear screaming, come rescue me,” you muttered.

Landon crossed the yard to the trail leading down to the river basin and disappeared into the thick wilderness.

You were suddenly alone. Your hands clenched until your fingernails dug into your palms. There wouldn’t be a good time to do this. You’d never feel ready for it, and Landon was right - walking on eggshells was exhausting. You pushed to your feet, pulse thrumming in double time and turned the knob on the cabin door with trembling fingers, steeling yourself for the ugly confrontation.

Lloyd didn’t look up when you shut the door. He was too engrossed in his laptop. You paused and took in his furrowed brow as he tapped the down arrow to scroll through a page. Finally, when it became clear he wasn’t going to acknowledge your presence until you demanded it, you stepped forward.

“Lloyd? I need to talk to you.”

His finger paused on the keyboard and even though he didn’t look up, you pressed forward.

“I didn’t tell you about the stalker because I thought Aiden was behind the messages and I didn’t want you to react impulsively. I figured he was upset about losing his job and had decided to take his frustration out on me. That’s why I got in touch with his father. It seemed like the most efficient way to handle things.”

Before you could continue, Lloyd’s scowl deepened, and he resumed tapping the keyboard.

“Where’s the transcript of my interviews with Dr. Nguyen? I thought I saved them to my files.”

“The interviews? Um… there should be a copy in your email.”

He grunted and began typing. A few clicks later, his chin tilted up.

“Found it.”

You pressed a hand to your hot cheek, took a deep breath, and marshaled your courage.

“Lloyd, I’m trying to talk to you. I want to explain-”

He wasn’t listening. His fingers were dancing over the keyboard and he was blatantly ignoring you. Peaking over his shoulder you saw the website of the local news station pulled up on the laptop.

“I need to catch this broadcast,” Lloyd said tersely.

Your shoulders slumped. Repressing a sigh, you sat down and decided to wait him out.

The anchor’s voice filled the small living room, announcing their lead story - a thunderstorm warning and flood watch. You settled in as they turned to their human interest story about Harmony High School students giving back to the community with a fundraiser for the local food bank. Then the ‘Breaking News’ banner appeared on screen and you sat up straighter as you read it.

“Now, to the latest developments in a breaking news story. The arrest of a suspected serial killer has stunned the community of Harmony, Virginia. Leo McKenzie, an evidence clerk with the State Police, has been taken into custody and charged with twelve counts of murder.”

You gasped.

“Hush, I’m trying to listen,” Lloyd said.

“The case drags up ghosts of the past. In 2003, Dr. Shun Nguyen attracted international attention to the town of Harmony when he was arrested and charged with the murder of his girlfriend. Nguyen was widely considered to be responsible for the rash of disappearances of several local women between 1999 and 2001, culminating in the murder of his girlfriend in 2002. However, his conviction for that crime was overturned in 2013…”

The reporter droned on as you watched, growing confused as the cameras showed the Fairfax County Sheriff arresting a man in his mid-sixties with graying blond hair. He was stocky and dressed in a rumpled green button down and khaki slacks. His expression was slack with shock as he was escorted to a Sheriff’s cruiser.

“McKenzie’s arrest has cast a fresh spotlight on these unsolved cases, igniting painful memories for the families affected. We’ll keep you updated on this developing story throughout the night. Stay tuned for more right here on-”

Lloyd muted the video. You turned to him and for the first time in days he met your gaze.

“Leo McKenzie? The guy who leaked information for the Rolling Stone article?”

“He’s not a bad suspect,” Lloyd said. “Zach found evidence that he’s tampered with evidence before. Plus, he went out of his way to de-stabilize our relationship with the Roth when he contacted Peter Shaw and framed us for leaking confidential information.”

“You think he’s the killer?”

“No. There’s a few holes in the logic, but I’m waiting to see if those can be resolved. The fact that he leaked information to journalists and tried to manipulate the narrative around the case is significant.”

You tried not to be surprised at how quickly Lloyd had gotten up to speed in a few days.

“This was a calculated move,” Lloyd said, his gaze returning to the muted news cast. “There’s enough agencies gunning for the credit on this case that it wouldn’t have taken much more than a well-timed tip-off to persuade the Fairfax Sheriff to make an arrest.”

You nodded. “Right.”

“It’s impressive, really,” Lloyd mused. “Zach is quite the strategist. I hadn’t planned on making a maneuver this bold, but if it gets McKenzie off the street…”

Your mouth fell open. “Zach is behind the arrest?”

“He didn’t run it by me, but I suspect this is what he’s coming up here to discuss. Leo McKenzie crossed him with that journalist and even though it probably wasn’t intended as a personal slight, Zach’s not the forgiving kind.”

“And I thought I was pissed off by Roth’s decision,” you murmured.

“Zach didn’t blame Roth. He went for the root cause of the problem: McKenzie.”

Put like that, the connection between Zach’s interference and Leo’s arrest was undoubtable. You glanced at the clock and saw that he’d be arriving soon. The deadline refocused you on your goal.

“Lloyd, as I was saying, I want to explain why I didn’t tell you what was going on. When I thought Aiden was responsible, I didn’t want to put you in a situation where you’d react before we’d gathered all the facts. I thought what I was doing was appropriate, but in retrospect…”

He stood up and paced to the window and stood there, staring at the driveway. You heard the crunch of wheels over gravel and understood what he was watching for. Zach had arrived. Your eyes closed on a wave of regret.

Great. Lloyd wasn’t listening to a word you had just said.

“Zach brought company.”

*****

Bishop and Detective Roth arrived with Zach.

They shuffled into the living room with the rugged-faced detective trailing behind. He was dressed exactly the same as he’d been the last two times you’d seen him. A white collared shirt, striped red tie, and his holstered weapon prominently displayed on his right hip. His nod of greeting to you was barely perceptible. In response, you crossed your arms over your chest.

Childish, perhaps, but you were still irritated with him and he was interrupting your conversation with Lloyd. Bishop made introductions and Lloyd and Roth immediately began sizing each other up like boxers dancing around a ring.

“I looked into your previous work, Mr. Hansen. You’re quite the character. It seems your investigative techniques involve more theatrics than actual evidence gathering.”

“And your speciality seems to be old cases and old gossip. Slow and methodical hasn’t paid off in the Nguyen case, now, has it?”

“Slow and methodical is standard procedure and I’m a standard procedure kind of guy. It helps me maintain my credibility, which reminds me, your kidnapping conviction got you disbarred, didn’t it?”

Lloyd smirked. “So, you’ve been through my international portfolio as well.”

Roth studied him with an inscrutable expression, then the corner of his lip twitched. “What did you have to do with Leo McKenzie’s arrest? The Sheriff wasn’t supposed to take him into custody until next week.”

“I’d love to take credit but it wasn’t me. However, McKenzie is at the top of my suspect list.”

“What position?” Roth asked.

“Second place.”

Bishop lips pursed. “I can’t believe Sheriff Cerano swept in and arrested him so quickly, considering the history of this case.”

“He’s got enough evidence to hold him, thanks to my team,” Detective Roth said.

“What are the charges?” Zach asked.

“Tampering with evidence, improper release of classified information, and other charges related to his conduct as an evidence clerk. I’d like to apologize for jumping to conclusions and accusing the two of you.”

You uncrossed your arms.

“Are we good?” Roth asked you.

You tilted your head. “Consider yourself on probationary forgiveness. I’ll let you know in a few days if it becomes permanent.”

Roth looked at Lloyd. “Is she always so hardheaded?”

“Sometimes. Usually it’s directed at me, so this is a nice change of pace. Let’s sit down and compare notes.”

Despite the earlier verbal sparring, or perhaps because of it, Lloyd and Roth put aside their differences and shifted into professional mode as everyone assembled in the living room.

“I consider Leo McKenzie our prime suspect,” Detective Roth said.

Bishop scowled. “Why?”

“There’s long term storage of the surveillance camera footage in the evidence lockers. We were able to confirm that McKenzie wasn’t at work on the night of April 18th.”

“Was he scheduled to work?” Zach asked.

“Yes, swing shift, but he swapped with a co-worker. The co-worker reports McKenzie told them he was going to a concert,’” Roth said.

Lloyd crossed his legs. “A concert in the middle of the week? That’s ridiculous. Is there any other evidence against him?”

“He owns a .22 caliber rifle and matches the description of the person Mr. Corbin saw at Shun’s house on that same night, April 18th. He’s been known to smoke occasionally and frequented the same coffee shop where Julia’s book club met.”

“What about access to the chemicals to dissolve her corpse?” Lloyd asked.

“His work as an evidence clerk might explain that,” Bishop said.

“Technically speaking, all the ingredients he needed are available over the counter,” Roth said.

Lloyd grunted. “What about knowledge of the area where the bodies were dumped?”

“He kayaks up there every summer and his uncle used to work in the concrete industry,” Roth said. “At the moment he’s our top suspect. The Sheriff was preparing to arrest him on charges of improperly handling evidence and obstruction of justice. That’s sufficient to hold him for a long while. Virginia law enforcement jointly decided that everyone would be safer if he was off the streets.”

“So, if you have your man, why are you here?” Lloyd said.

“Because knowing he had the opportunity, means, and access to commit a crime isn’t the same thing as being able to prove he did it. That’s why I need your help. We have a window of opportunity to prove a solid case against him, but it won’t be easy. Bishop and I have discussed it with my superiors and we’re inviting you down to Harmony on a full-time basis to assist with the investigation. You’ll even get your own shared office.”

“It’s the conference room, isn’t it?” Zach asked.

“A windowless conference room,” Roth said, his lips twitching into a smirk.

The Detective’s gaze shifted to you and he tilted his head. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’m very interested in seeing the database you were working on for the case.”

*****

The guests stayed for dinner but left quickly afterwards to get back before the storm made landfall. Lloyd took a walk down to the river and you retreated to the living room where Landon was relaxing with his feet up.

“I take it apologizing didn’t go well?”

You sighed. “It didn’t go at all.”

“How come?”

“He wouldn’t hear me out. I managed three half apologies but he wouldn’t let me finish.”

“Are you going to try again, or call it a night?” Landon asked.

Your shoulders straightened. Where was your spine? Sure, all things considered, you weren’t at the top of your game this week, but the ability to make Lloyd listen was a skill you’d mastered a long time ago. If you couldn’t get through to him, then you had lost more of your self-confidence than you’d realized.

“I’m going down to the river.”

“Have fun…”

Lloyd was easy to find. He was on a bench by the water with a legal pad on his knee, reading a handful of loose leaf pages. As he read, he paused every now and then to consult his legal pad and twirl a pen around his fingers. You paused at the bottom of the concrete stairs that led down to the river basin and watched him from a distance.

His alabaster complexion was darker than usual from a summer of golfing and the week spent on the ranch. His thick hair ruffled a little in the wind because he hadn’t worn as much hair gel at the cabin, choosing to smooth his hair back instead of plastering it into place like usual.

You liked the more relaxed look on him. You wished the image matched his mood but the rigidity in his shoulders proved he was just as tense as he’d been since Tuesday.

When you approached he tucked the pages into his legal pad and clipped the pen to the pad. You sat down on the far end of the bench, leaving an arm’s length between you. The wind carried the scent of pine trees and the smell of rain hung in the air as storm clouds amassed in the southeast. The atmosphere between you held a quiet tension, an undercurrent of repressed anger. The gusting winds that rustled the leaves seemed to echo the mood. You shivered as a gust of wind cut through your blouse.

Lloyd leaned back. “You didn’t need to come all the way down here. It’s getting cold.”

“I’m fine,” you said, wrapping your arms around your torso. “I wanted to apologize. I guess my timing this afternoon wasn’t great. I was only halfway through when Zach arrived.”

“I was still too pissed at you to listen.”

“I gathered as much. I’m sorry for not telling you about the stalking. It was wrong of me to cover it up, especially for as long as I did.”

He sighed, eyes drifting to fixate on the water. “What was it? You thought I’d over react?”

Your hands twisted in your lap. “Yes. Your temper is a force of nature and you don’t have a great sense of self-preservation under the best conditions. You dive headfirst into danger without considering the consequences or your odds of survival.”

“Princess, I’ve faced much worse threats than a vertically challenged lunatic with sharp elbows. I can handle myself. Don’t worry about me.”

“But I do worry about you! I know you can take care of yourself, but as your friend it’s my job to protect you, too - including from yourself! When I decided not to tell you what was going on, that’s what I thought I was doing. After what happened on Tuesday, I know how wrong that was. I’m sorry for hurting you by holding back something I should’ve shared with you as soon as I was aware of it.”

“What was the other half of your apology? I think we got to about this point before I cut you off.”

“I’m sorry for not trusting you to respond with restraint and assuming you’d fly off the handle. Overall, you’ve taken this a lot more calmly than I thought you would.”

His left eyebrow arched. “Calmly? If you hadn’t willingly gotten in the car on Tuesday afternoon, I’d have thrown you in the trunk.”

“And compared to what I thought you might do, that was a very restrained reaction.”

Lloyd snorted. “Don’t be so sure. If Aiden had been your stalker I’d gladly have taken him apart with my bare hands. That’s part of what pissed me off. Your reasons for not telling me were valid. As much as I wanted to tear into you for it, I can’t deny that point. I guess I feel more disappointed than anything. I’ve always struggled with honesty, but with you, it was easy. I didn’t realize that trust was a one-way street.”

You groaned. “If this is you ‘not tearing into me’ I’d hate to have seen what you had in mind earlier.”

He shifted closer and a thick arm curled around your shoulders. You snuggled into his chest as another gust of wind kicked up.

“I really am sorry,” you said. “I’ll say it as many times as you want.”

“Since I’ve been giving you the cold shoulder for the past three days, I think we can call it even.”

You squeezed his waist and burrowed into his arms. “I promise to be more honest with you, even when I’m worried about your reaction.”

His lips brushed your temple. “I’ll try not to sulk so long next time you decide to bottle things up.”

“Is that a whiff of skepticism I’m sensing? You don’t think I’ll be honest?”

“You protect others, Princess. It’s in your nature. But your takeaway from this experience needs to be that lies of omission aren’t how you protect me, or yourself. I need you and I…”

Love you.

Your heart leapt as you filled in the next words, holding your breath to hear him say them for the first time.

“Was that a drop of rain?” Lloyd said.

*****

You and Lloyd made it back to the front porch of the cabin just as the clouds opened up and poured rain down in buckets. Both of you had escaped the worst of the onslaught, but droplets went flying when Lloyd shook out his hair. You squealed when the water hit your face.

“Sorry, honey,” he said, and held open the door for you.

There was no sight of Landon in the living room, so you assumed he’d retreated to the basement.

Lloyd led you upstairs to the loft which housed the master bedroom. He tossed his legal pad on the bed and went to retrieve towels from the bathroom. You stripped off your wet clothes in the closet and found a clean t-shirt of Lloyd's to slip on. When he came out of the bathroom with the towels, you were sitting on the bed leafing through his legal pad.

“Who’s Tate Corbin?”

“You remember Nguyen’s across the street neighbor? Mr. Corbin?”

“Yes. These notes are about him?”

Lloyd rubbed the towel across his damp hair.

“Yeah. Corbin doesn’t have a file, officially at least, so I’ve spent the past couple days putting one together.”

“Why?”

“Because after l reviewed everything Zach has collected on McKenzie, there was one glaring problem. Leo McKenzie isn’t good at chemistry. He failed the class in high school and took the easiest science credit he could in college: Biology 101 for general studies. He passed with a C minus.”

“Not everyone can be a scientific genius.”

“I doubt our killer is a scientific genius, but they know the basics of chemicals, either by trade or education. The brittle bones that were observed in Julia’s remains and the lack of bodies from the remains from the other nine victims points to a chemical dissolution process of some kind. Leo McKenzie doesn’t have the knowledge to perform that kind of a reaction.”

You made a face of disgust at the imagery his words brought to mind and scanned through the file.

“It says he wasn’t named as a person of interest in 2002. Why wasn’t he a suspect?”

“Actually, the first responding officer did raise suspicions about Mr. Corbin. When he answered the door the next evening - this wasn’t long after Shun was taken in for his first round of questioning - he appeared sweaty and pale. Mr. Corbin attributed it to being on a new blood pressure medication.”

“Did he work with chemicals?” you asked.

“He was a merchant marine in the 50s and 60s, working for companies like Odfjell and Stolt-Nielsen.”

“What does that have to do with the case?”

Lloyd’s grin widened. “Odfjell and Stolt-Nielsen were chemical tanker companies. left the industry in the late 60s and settled down in Fredericksburg. He got married, had two kids, and in 1975 the family moved to Harmony where Corbin started a contracting business. His specialty was laying foundations. Between the physical nature of his work and a penchant for jogging and hiking, Corbin stayed in excellent shape. He even hiked the Appalachian Trail from start to finish in 2003.”

“This is interesting, but what about the evidence Roth and Zach collected against Leo?”

Lloyd shrugged. “He’s worth investigating. I’m open to the possibility that he’s the killer, if evidence comes to light that he knew enough chemistry to dissolve a body. But the way Shun reacted when you questioned him about who the killer might be has stuck in my head. He was clearly afraid of someone, so I’ve been trying to figure out who.”

“Right, I noticed that too. He was visibly shaken when I told him about the second body.”

“Shun’s social circle wasn’t extensive, which narrows the potential suspects to his coworkers and a handful of other associates. When I couldn’t establish a connection between Shun and Leo, I kept searching, which led me to Tate Corbin. The guy is a towering ex-sailor with a linebacker’s shoulders. If he posed a threat to Shun, it could explain why Shun didn’t fight the charges harder or point the finger at another suspect.”

You flipped to Corbin’s demographics page and checked the data. “But Tate is eighty-three years old now. Why wouldn’t Shun just take his story to the media?”

“Remember his reaction to hearing about the second body? Someone - probably the killer - put the fear of God in him. Besides, to Corbin, age is just a number. He’s still running half marathons and 10ks.”

“Holy smoke. Do you have his times? Like, is he any good?”

“He’s placing ahead of runners who are a third of his age. The cincher for me is that there’s only one person whose presence at the house on the evening of April 18th can be verified. By his own admission, Tate was at the crime scene and reported seeing a ‘very large man’ lurking around. Conveniently, Tate Corbin is a very large man.”

“You think he lied to the police?”

Lloyd chuckled. “I don’t think he anticipated the interrogation. When he was caught off guard, his brain couldn’t compose an entirely fictional story, so instead of lying outright, he just bent the truth.”

“Should we bring Roth into the loop?”

“Let’s continue piecing things together over the weekend. We’ll let the news about Leo circulate and make sure Tate has a chance to see it. And since we’re relocating to Roth’s conference room on Monday, we can present our findings to him then. I want to have a clearer picture of the case against Tate to make sure he merits our attention before we discuss it with Roth.”

You looked down, pretending to read, and hid a smile at Lloyd’s final comment. Evidently, Roth’s barb about theatrics had stuck its target.

“That sounds like a plan. I think working together will be good for you two.”

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. He’s such an asshole.”

“Mmmhhh. A real piece of work.”

Irrespective of the investigation, Monday promised to be an exciting day. The anticipation of the clash between Lloyd and Roth brought a real smile to your face for the first time in days. And as fiery as their reaction to each other might be, you had a suspicion that they might turn out to be an excellent team - if they didn’t kill each other first.

*****

Next - Chapter XX

*****

Masterlist

*****

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#the princess and the lawyer #the princess & the lawyer #Lloyd Hansen x princess #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen fanfic #lloyd x princess #lloyd hansen fic #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen au #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen fanfiction #chris evans characters x reader #chris evans charaters #chris evans characters fanfic #no minors #minors dni

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around1302 · 1 year

Text

XIX. GRIEF

SPARE PARTS: a series (19/20)

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

(W) strong language, implant-protected sex, a chapter that’s probably gonna have u all screaming at me lol…

THIRD PERSON’S POV

“Oh, fuck, yes. Right there.”

“There?”

“Yeah, shit. Don’t stop.”

“Hittin’ your spot, huh?” Harry lifts Charlie’s leg higher, pressing a kiss to her ankle, not giving up on his merciless strokes in her cunt. “Feel good, baby?”

“Feels so good,” Charlie cries, eyes squeezed shut as her fingers grip the sheets, the pillows, him, anything till they blanch.

The headboard bangs against the wall till paint is practically flaking away, the pillows they placed there in an attempt to be kind to their neighbour (Liam) long gone. A quick one, he promised, when he showed up at her door all hot and bothered and needy.

“Just your mouth,” he had said. “That’s all I need, please.”

Cut to the birds chirping outside and the sun slivering its way through the thick curtains and Charlie still writhing around his cock. Sweat shone on both of their tired bodies, round three showing in the bruises that already developed on her breasts and his hips and their necks.

But just they couldn’t stop. It’s like their bodies knew this was the last show of tour and soon they wouldn’t have the ability to just wander down the hallway or step across the small bunk space. Soon, they’d have to arrange time. They’d have to drive, or Uber, or walk.

Which, sure, is just a normal working relationship – but when you’ve been within armsreach of each other for six months, it feels like you were preparing to be miles away.

“Come on, Char, I know you can give me another,” Harry pounds into her, thumb swiping over her sensitive clit, “just one more, please, baby.” The sensitivity is so deliciously painful it’s nearly too much, but his words, that nickname, has her teetering over the edge.

She pulls him down just before coming for the nth time, wanting to feel him against her. Sticky chest against sticky chest, hands raking through his knotted hair, lips panting against one another. She wraps her legs around his hips, pushing him deeper and forcing him to hold his arms on either side of her, biceps aching in near agony at this point.

As she orgasms, pussy clenching around his throbbing dick, Harry comes too, moaning the loudest he has all night into her neck as his back muscles pulse with his hips. Sharp gasps fill the room as he collapses on top of her, unmoving while she softly scratches his spine, fingers running over the pre-existing red marks.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes in a way that has Charlie considering round four. “That was incredible, baby.”

Charlie grins, craning her neck to see his tired eyes through the hair she’s working to finger-comb.

“You’re a big fan of that one, huh?”

“Baby?”

“Mm.”

He presses a lazy kiss to her shoulder before pushing himself up and pulling out, both of them wincing but feeling a smidge of relief. Maybe five plus orgasms is a little too much for one night.

“You said you liked it.” Harry answers simply, chastely kissing her lips before heaving himself from the sweaty sheets. “Wait here.”

“Not going anywhere.” Charlie jokes, stretching on the sheets, the promise of sleep already settling her into a heavy pile of bleh.

The duvet was long gone, thrown onto the floor in the midst of it all, and there was only one pillow left on the bed. While Harry steps into the bathroom, Charlie starts to recollect the bed, struggling with the ones that fell behind the headboard but managing with weak limbs and an exhausted huff.

Returning with boxers on and a damp cloth in hand, Harry sits at the edge of the bed and bends Charlie’s knees to clean her. She just watches him, half as a distraction from the sting of the cloth against her sensitive groin, but mostly in awe. He concentrates so hard on being gentle, it’s hard to remember a time when she was running from his room before he could even come back to bed.

“I love you.”

The words just slip out, much like Harry’s confession those weeks ago. Harry pauses everything, taking a minute before looking up at Charlie. Her heart is going a mile a minute, not having meant to say the words, but her exterior is completely calm.

(Probably a little fucked out, but calm nonetheless.)

“You mean it?” He whispers. Charlie smiles, sitting up.

“I didn’t even think about saying it,” she carefully straddles his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Harry looks at her like she just gifted him the moon.

Charlie leans down, nudging the tip of her nose against his. His hands come to her hips, warm palms soothing sore muscles as he rubs them round to the small of her back.

“You love me?” He asks again, seemingly in utter disbelief.

“I love you.” She repeats. He grins.

“You what? Sorry, my hearing’s not great.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Still fucking insufferable.”

“If that’s the case I can just–” he goes to move her off him, but she grips his nape.

“I love you.” She blurts out, entirely too comfy to be shifted.

Harry grins even wider, cheeks aching already.

“You love me.” He says, more to himself than anything.

Charlie feels slightly completely terrified, but she nods.

She loves him.

“You did also just make me come like, a million times, which might have something to do with it.” She leans back, tilting her head, soft teasing smile on her lips.

“Mhm,” Harry pushes her messy hair back, “yeah, that does make more sense.”

Charlie sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, really about ready to start round four with the way Harry looks at her. “Are you going to kiss me or–”

Charlie doesn’t even have to finish that sentence before Harry’s lips are on hers, slow and firm, like he’s kissing her for both the first and last time. Like he’s savouring the taste of those words – those three, delicious words – from her tongue.

Charlie tries to grind on him, but instantly winces at the bolt of pain caused by the simple action. Harry chuckles against her mouth, pecking the corner of her lips.

“Did you just really try for another go around?”

Charlie shrugs, “I’m ambitious.”

Harry rolls his eyes playfully. “Later. Right now, we need to sleep.”

“Shit, right. We have a show today,” Charlie remembers.

And not just any show. Madison fucking Square Garden.

“What time is it?” Charlie asks, climbing off of his lap. Harry stands to grab her some pyjamas, checking the time on his phone as he does.

She’s going to flip, he thinks.

“We have a few hours.”

“Harry, what time is it?” She repeats, stepping into the cotton shorts and shirt he passes her. He then hesitantly shows her his phone, eliciting a gasp. A little dramatic, if you ask him.

“6AM? Harry, you came over at twelve! Okay, shit,” as Charlie enters panic mode, Harry crawls into bed, stealing one of her hair ties (unnoticeably). “I need to pee, and then we need to be at MSG for two, but Amelia wanted costume fittings at twelve, and then Paula wanted us to go over– Harry, are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Harry, who was not fucking kidding her, was on his side of the bed, eyes closed and moments away from blissful sleep. He grumbled what he considered to be a response, opening his arms out on the mattress.

“Harry.” She snaps again, not wanting to be alone in her panic. Mostly because it was his fault she’d have, like, an hour of recharge-time.

“Jus’ go pee,” Harry mumbles, sleep already dangerously close, “then come to bed. They can’t do it without us, anyway.” His sentence trails into nothingness, and as much as Charlie hates to admit it, her chest leaps a little at the way his swollen lips fall into a snore the moment silence falls onto the room.

“I like waking up next to you.”

Harry kisses sweetly beneath her ear, large hands roaming the warm skin beneath her shirt. Charlie hums something that was supposed to be agreement, reaching behind her to cup the back of his neck. The room is still dark, and for a moment, she had completely forgotten where they were. It was just Harry, and his lips marking her neck in lazy, chaste pecks.

“Shit!”

Like I said, momentarily.

“Shit, Harry, what time is it?”

Charlie shoots out of bed, stumbling on the hotel slippers by the bed in a scrambled effort to find her phone. He sits up, entirely too casual about the whole thing, yawning and stretching before even bothering to look at the time.

“Twelve.” He sinks back into the mattress, pulling the sheets to his neck.

The sheets which Charlie promptly strips away.

“Which means we’re late,” she brushes away Harry’s protests and effort to steal the sheets back for rushing to the bathroom to brush her teeth. “Amelia’s gonna kill us.” Charlie mumbles, messily tying her hair up before shoving entirely too much toothpaste into her mouth.

“Charlie, baby,” Harry slowly pads out of bed, stretching as he makes his way behind her in the ensuite, “I’ve been late to every single thing ever, and I’m fine,” he ignores the glare she shoots him in the mirror, bending down to kiss her jaw.

“Go back to your room,” Charlie muffles around her toothbrush, spitting the paste into the sink before continuing her scolding, “and clean up.”

“Okay, mum.” Harry tries to joke. Big mistake.

He holds his palms up, raising his brows.

“Not a morning person, I get it.” A small smirk etches its way onto his lips at the pure ferocity Charlie’s staring at him with. If looks could kill he’d be out cold, but unfortunuately for Charlie, it’s only turning him on. A little.

(A lot).

“Sorry,” he mumbles against her skin, kissing her neck. Charlie sighs, falling back into his torso, letting him glide his lips along her throat, even letting him turn her around and attach their mouths – toothbrush still in her hand.

But, no. Shit.

“Mkay,” Charlie shoves him away, keeping him at arms reach. This man is way too easy to sink into. “No. Go.”

“Can I at least pee first?” He grins, dipping his head to kiss her neck. Again.

“Yes.” Charlie musters all the strength in the world to slink out of the cage he’d made around her and the basin, even taking her toothbrush with her into the main room. Harry tries not to laugh at her, or call her adorable. “Be quick.” She nods, twirling around so she doesn’t have to look into the eyes of temptation again.

Harry chuckles as he closes the door, leaving Charlie to throw her toothbrush on the hotel desk and rummage for some sweats. She knew Amelia wouldn’t actually kill them, but Charlie hates being late, and she’s not going to start because of Mr. Tardy himself.

A loud shrill stops her in her tracks. Harry’s phone, buzzing like crazy on the bedside table. She goes to just turn it off so the ringing doesn’t cause a migraine (who has their ringer that loud?) but in seeing the caller ID, panic starts to bubble.

‘C Management.’

She doesn’t know what the C is for, but she sure as Hell knows what management means. Her heart starts to race – it’ll only be a matter of time before Paula tries calling, her, too and if there’s anything Charlie hates more than being late, it’s being reprimanded by management.

It’s only happened a handful of times (mostly from turning up to work still drunk because her friends are just that persuasive) but she’s hated the feeling every time, so – despite knowing it’s probably wrong – she picks up the phone.

“Paula, we’re so sorry. Harry’s just in the bathroom but we’ll be two–”

“Hello?”

That’s not Paula.

A deep voice comes from the other end, making Charlie pique. It’s not a voice she recognises, but then again, she doesn’t know every member of Spare Parts’ management. It could be anyone on their team.

“Sorry, I just assumed you were Paula. We really will be two minutes though.”

“Did I get the right number? Is this Harry Styles?”

Charlie pauses. Right. Because who did she think she was, just answering Harry’s phone like that? Even if it was a member of a team that works for both of them, it’s an invasion of his privacy.

“No, no this is Charlie. I just answered his phone.”

“Charlie…?”

Is this the dude’s first day on the job? “... Greene.”

“Right. Right, well can you let Mr. Styles know we rang?”

Charlie perches on the edge of the unmade bed, glancing at the caller ID again.

“Sorry, I’m just a little confused. Who’s calling?”

“I’m a representative for Rob Stringer at Columbia Records. Mr. Stringer would like to speak to Harry, so if you could just ask him to call back as soon as possible that would be greatly appreciated Miss. Greene.”

Before Charlie could ask anymore questions, the line cut dead.

Rob Stringer? Columbia Records?

None of this was making sense. The band was signed with a completely different label, Charlie had only ever heard of Rob Stringer through articles and conversations she’d had with other musicians in the industry. Why would he be calling Harry?

When Harry emerges from the bathroom, hair now loose and face looking a little brighter, his smile promptly drops at Charlie – sitting on the edge of the bed, the picture of confusion with his phone laying limp in her hands.

“Char?” He questions, snapping her out of her head.

She blinks a few times before standing, holding Harry’s phone up.

“Why is Rob Stringer trying to get a hold of you?”

Her own phone started to ring now, probably someone wondering where the Hell they were, but the tune went unnoticed. Harry’s vision went pale.

“What?” He murmurs.

“Someone from Columbia just rang,” Charlie throws his phone on the bed, “said Rob Stringer wants to talk to you. Seemed to have no idea who I am.”

Harry licks his lips, runs his hand through his hair. Charlie notices how shaky his wrist is. “Harry,” she softens, stepping forward, “what’s going on? You can talk to me.

“I…” Harry’s throat dried so quickly anything more than that was painful.

“You can talk to me,” Charlie repeats, reaching out to his elbow.

“Look, it’s not… I… fuck. I don’t even know how to say it.” Harry pulls away, starting to pace the room. Charlie has no idea what’s going on, but gauging Harry’s reaction is only making her more and more anxious.

“Harry–”

“I signed a contract.” He blurts out, wringing his hands together.

“You… you signed what?”

“It was months ago, Charlie, you have to understand it was a completely different time and I–”

“Harry, you signed a contact to do what?” Charlie can probably guess at this point, but she needs to hear it from him. She prays she’s jumping to conclusions, that it’s some weird prank, that she’s still dreaming.

Harry hesitates, finding her eyes.

And, barely above a whisper, he explains.

“I’m leaving the band, Charlie.”

Charlie gulps. Inhaling sharply as her palms fly to her hips. She turns, begins to pace as Harry did. He’s leaving the band? He’s leaving the band. He’s… he’s leaving?

“Baby–”

“No.” Charlie promptly cuts him off. She needs silence for a minute.

But silence isn’t getting her anywhere. It’s not answering any of the one million questions boomeranging around her head, it’s just making everything louder. Why would he leave the band? When did he sign the contact? Why would he lie?

“Can I explain, please?”

Harry’s a bundle of desperation, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts of panic.

Charlie contemplates it. She could either ignore him completely, or get answers.

Neither sounds fun, but she knows what’s right.

“Speak.” She spits, the hazy warmth of their morning together chilling.

“Months ago, before the album even came out, they approached me. I never even considered leaving, and at first I flat out refused, but then… I don’t know. I realised I wasn’t writing what I wanted to write because I had to run it past four other people first, and that whilst I love the band, I can’t stay in one place because of fucking friendship.”

“Friendship? Jesus, Harry, it’s more than that. We’re… we’ve all… we did this together. From the start. You can’t just leave.”

Denial.

“I know, but I didn’t know until they offered me a solo contract how much I’d want that. Complete creative freedom, performing where I want how I want, being able to control when I want to put music out. It’s all just…”

“Better?” Charlie finishes his sentence. Harry winces at her bitterness.

But she wasn’t wrong.

“Wait,” Charlie pinches her brows, “before the album came out?”

Harry swallows thickly, and nods.

“You…” Charlie breathes out in disbelief. “You had this lined up last year? You knew… you knew you were about to fuck us over and you’ve kept to yourself for a year?”

“I’m not fucking you over–”

“Of course you are! How are we supposed to do this without you?”

Anger.

“What are you talking about? You’re more than capable without me, I barely even contributed to this album–”

“They love you, Harry. I see them when we’re on stage. They watch you, they don’t give a shit about us. If you leave, you take them with you. You realise that, right?”

“That’s not true.”

Charlie paces again. “God, this whole time. This whole tour! What was the plan? To tour the world with us for half a year then just fuck off? Were you even planning on telling us?”

“Yes, Jesus, I just… things got complicated. It got harder and harder to say it.”

“You made things complicated. You– oh my God. You made me love you, Harry. Do you know how fucking sick and twisted that is? What did you think was going to happen? You were going to leave and we were going to just have a normal relationship?”

“I don’t know! I signed the contract while you still hated my fucking guts, Charlie. I didn’t think you’d give a shit.”

“Of course I’d give a shit! We need you, I need you.”

“You didn’t need me–”

“I’ve always needed you. And you just… God. You just don’t think!”

“I know! I know, and I’m sorry, and I can never stop being sorry but I couldn’t do this forever. I couldn’t sing songs I don’t like, I couldn’t put out music I didn’t even write, and I couldn’t sit back and watch you hate me. Leaving felt like my only option.”

“And now?”

Heaving breaths from the first screaming match they’ve had in months fills the space between them. Harry’s eyes are brimming with tears that refuse to fall, whilst Charlie fights against that lump in her throat. She can’t cry here, in front of him.

“I’m still leaving, Charlie.”

The lump wins.

“You could have told me.”

“I couldn’t have.” Harry whispers, tears betraying him, too.

“Why not? You’re supposed to love me, you’re not supposed to lie to me.”

“You would have left me, Charlie.”

Charlie sniffs, pressing the heel of her palm to her eyes. All Harry wants to do is step forward and wipe her tears, to hold her in his arms and make it all go away.

“Why are you leaving?” Charlie sobs.

“I told you–”

“I love you now. You don’t have to sit and watch me hate you anymore. A-and we can talk to Paula, get you more fuckin’ creative freedom. We can play different shows, y’know. Different venues.”

Bargaining.

“Charlie,” Harry steps forward, gingerly bringing his hands to her arms, “I can’t stay. I wish I could have gone about it differently, but I don’t regret signing that contract.”

The way Charlie looks at him like he just ripped out her heart is making him regret it, just a tiny bit.

“At all?”

Harry sniffs, and shakes his head.

“Fine.” Charlie looks down, stepping out of his touch. “Not a problem.”

Acceptance.

“Charlie?”

“I’d like you to get out of my room, please.”

“Charlie–”

“Get out of my room.”

“Charlie please–”

“I’m not repeating myself for a third fucking time,” Charlie sets her jaw.

Harry listens. And he leaves.

taglist: @lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles

#harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles x oc #harry styles series #1d ot5 #one direction series #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x singer!reader #one direction #1d #1d series #1d smut

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rhaella-rhavelli · 4 months

Text

She heard the rustle of clothes behind her, a soft thwump as heavy fabric dropped onto the wooden floor, and then more fabric rustling. She bit back a smile and took her time smoothing out the dress before turning back to him.

Rhaella never would have thought it was possible to be so amused and so aroused all at once.

A stunning commission by the talented @ladywarlock03 to go with Julian’s Book XIX - The Sun, Chapter 1 paid scene rewrite by the amazing @lunastarhawk. 💕

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fanart #Julian devorak #Lady and Luna: yall made my dreams come true 🥰#ive selfishly held onto this one for awhile!#fun fact I messaged ladywarlock out of the blue one day with a request and a reference pic of Burt reynolds #the fellow olds will know which one 😏#it’s also not too dissimilar to the Jeff Goldblum one in Jurassic Park #fave

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iseo58 · 3 months

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Bulgarian women’s festive clothes from the town of Komotini. second half of XIX c.

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rollingsins · 11 months

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all hers, part xix

summary: Vindicated, Tara comes back home.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of murder. Smut: strap-sex, pussy-eating, light choking, possessiveness.

word count: 4.7k

a/n: i'm alive! and pookie is free! thanks for all the love and patience with this chapter, hope you all enjoy :))))

You ride with Sam to the police station.

What you thought would feel like a euphoric victory suddenly feels hollow.

There’s two.

Of course. Why wouldn’t there be? It was always two. And you’d just murdered someone’s partner in crime, no doubt there would be retribution.

It feels different this time.

Wes had sent you spiraling, but Richie’s death leaves you almost unperturbed.

He’d tried to kill Tara. Take her away from you.

And you’d given him exactly what he deserved. The justice he thought he was delivering to you.

It’d be scary, your nonchalance towards murder, if you didn’t have much more pressing matters. Namely, your girlfriend sitting in a five by seven jail cell.

She’s still in there when you arrive.

You can see her looking over at you through the bars.

She looks terrible. Dark circles under her eyes, messy, tufted hair. She’s very the same clothes as she’d been brought in with and she’s staring right back at you, something in her face akin to fury and relief all at once.

When they finally draw her through the doors she all but knocks you over in her flurry to get to you.

You gasp. She’s tiny, but she lifts you off the ground with no qaulms. Presses you down and kisses you, a little rough.

Then she drops you and rounds on Sam.

“What the hell were you thinking?” She snarls.

“I was thinking my baby sister is in jail and I needed to get her out.” Sam answers, smoothly. She presses a hand to Tara’s cheek, rubs at one of the circles under her eyes, “Are you okay?”

“No I’m not okay,” Tara snaps, batting her hand away, “I gave you one job and you-”

“-Killed him,” You interject. You draw her in closer, try and soothe her with a kiss, “It’s okay, baby. We got him.”

One of them, is what you should say, but Tara’s so anxious you think it might send her right off the edge.

She looks over at you, look in her eyes frosty.

“Don’t even get me started on you,” She says, voice curt, “You’re in so much trouble. If you think I’m letting you out of my sight ever again-”

“I was worried about you too, baby.” You press a kiss to her hand, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Sam drives.

Tara pulls you into the back seat with her, tugs you into her lap and pulls the belt around both of your bodies.

You would think she’d been gone six months and not six hours by the way she kisses you. Desperately. Needy. Her hands roam wildly, like her sister isn’t in the front seat.

Sam clears her throat.

“Can you two not fuck in the back seat of my car?” She asks, “I just had the leather reupholstered.”

It’s a perfectly reasonable request, but Tara glares at her like she’s just killed her puppy.

“How could you not know you were fucking Ghostface this entire time?” Tara asks, gripping your hips, “You brought him into our lives, Sam, jesus.”

You press your hands to Tara’s face, smooth her dark hair back.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Sam says, voice quiet.

“Tara,” You whisper into her ear, “Your sister has just been betrayed by someone she thought she loved. A little empathy wouldn’t hurt.”

Tara’s quiet a long moment.

Then she kisses your cheek.

“Sorry,” She says to Sam, somewhat awkwardly, “I know it must be a shock. It’s not your fault, Sam. Are you okay?”

Sam peers into the backseat, face awash with surprise at Tara’s newfound empathy.

“Don’t worry about me,” She says, “What we should be worried about is his partner. Mindy’s right, Richie wasn’t Ghostface the night he attacked you. It was someone else.”

You fiddle with Tara’s fingers, nervously. The very thought of there being someone else who wanted to hurt Tara out and about and walking around in the world made you want to cry.

Tara rubs your back, reassuringly.

“So we’ll catch whoever it is and dig them a grave next to Richie,” She says, more to you than Sam. She presses a kiss to your cheek and lowers her voice, “Are you good, baby?”

She’s referring to the murder you’d just committed, no doubt.

She has fears you’ll freak out again and jet off to a cabin with your family like last time, you can tell by the look in her eyes.

But Richie isn’t Wes.

Richie was guilty, and somehow it makes all the difference.

“I’m fine, Tara.” You assure. You press a lingering kiss to her lips for good measure, “I’m just happy you’re coming home.”

“It should have been me who did it,” She says, eyes mournful, “I’m sorry, baby.”

You can feel a pair of eyes on you. You clear your throat, tilt your head into Tara’s neck. Sam’s watching, eyes squinted from the front seat. Like she has questions she needs answered.

“Richie said you deserved to pay,” Sam says after a long moment. She’s looking at the two of you through the rearview mirror, a little confused, “He said if I knew what you did in your spare time, I wouldn’t be trying to protect you. What did he mean?”

You swallow. Tara tilts back in her seat.

“Who knows what he meant?” Says Tara, “The guy was a nutjob. Maybe I told him to fuck off out of my house one too many times.”

Sam hums.

“You were a little harsh on him.” She says, absent-mindedly.

Tara balks.

“A little harsh on him? He was Ghostface, Sam.” She all but hisses.

Sam waves her hand.

“We didn’t know that at the time.” She says,.

“You didn’t know that at the time,” Tara says, crossing her arms, “I knew it from the minute YN was attacked.”

She did, you remember all at once. So much could have been avoided if you had just believed her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t take you more seriously, babe.” You say, pressing your hands to her cheek. She leans up and kisses you.

You press your nose to hers.

“Was it horrible?” You ask, brushing the hair out of her face, “Jail?”

Tara brushes it off.

“It was fine,” She says, “It was fine until I heard over the radio there had been an attack at the school.”

You kiss her, soft.

“I’m sorry, babe,” You say, “It was the only way to get you free. And it worked.”

“You broke your promise to me, Sam,” Tara says, an edge to her voice, “You promised me you wouldn't lead her into danger.”

“I’m sorry, Tara,” Sam says, “I knew it was the only way you’d go without a fight.”

“You lied to me.” Tara says, and you squeeze her hand.

“I’m sorry.” Is all Sam says.

She parks the car, looks over at her sister.

Tara clicks her seatbelt off.

“Whatever,” Tara says, “But if you think I’ll trust you with her ever again-”

“I’m not a dog, Tara,” You say, frowning, “Going there was my choice too.”

“And you need to promise me you’ll never do something like that again.” Tara says, voice serious. She holds out her hand, “Please baby. Do you have any idea what I’d do if I lost you?”

“I thought I’d lost you.” You say. You press into her side, kiss her once more, “I thought the Sheriff had taken you away from me for good.”

“She’ll never keep me away from you.” Tara says, voice stern. She presses a long kiss to your forehead.

“As sweet as this is,” Sam says, tilting her head to the porch, “We’ve got a welcome party.”

Chad, Liv and Mindy are waiting by the porch when you enter.

You let them all in, watch as Sam triple locks the doors, and head to the den where Mindy sets up camp once again.

She has a fresh powerpoint with a list of suspects. It’s a little impressive - and Sam rushes off to the kitchen to fix Tara a meal as you all settle down.

“What was prison like, Tara?” Liv asks, wide-eyed, “Did you have to join a gang?”

“I was there for less than six hours, Liv.” Tara says sounding exasperated, “And they didn’t take me to prison. Not a real prison. Just the holding cell in the Sheriff’s office.”

Liv nods, seriously.

“I’ve heard in prison you have to exchange what you have for what you want,” She says, “We can bring you cigarettes, if you go back. My cousin Tammy said she exchanged sexual favors with some of the guards so she could get extra time on the phones.”

Tara looks aghast.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks Liv.” She says, nose wrinkled.

You climb into her lap, kiss her softly.

“She’s not going back there, Liv.” You say, “They have Richie now. He’s to blame for the killings.”

“But he’s not the only one,” Mindy says, voice serious, “And that brings me to my presentation.”

She clicks play.

Tara rolls her eyes.

It’s a series of floating images; faces. Yours, Tara’s, Richie’s, Sam’s.

It has everything. The exact times of the attacks. The weapons. The final slide is a picture of Richie, side by side with a giant gray question mark.

“Richie has a partner,” Mindy says, “But the question is - who?”

“Who was Richie close with?” Chad asks, sitting up.

“No-one.” Tara says, “He stayed at home all day playing video-games in his boxers. He didn’t have any friends.”

“He had at least one friend.” Mindy says, lowering her voice. She jerks her head towards the kitchen, where Sam is preparing food.

Tara groans.

“Mindy, not this again-”

“It works.” Mindy says, voice hushed, “My baby-sitter theory. She comes back into town, the attacks start happening. We catch her boyfriend red-handed-”

“You’re forgetting one thing,” You say. Mindy tilts her head, “Sam was in on the plan. To catch Ghostface. If she was in it with Richie, why would she let him get caught?”

Mindy pauses.

“Maybe she was sick of him?” She suggests, “Maybe she wanted to break up with him but didn’t know how to do it?”

“So she had him murdered?” Tara asks, eyebrow raised.

“If she is Ghostface, she’s a psycho, Tara.” Mindy insists, “If she’s Ghostface she’s trying to kill her own sister. Why not her boyfriend?”

“This is stupid,” Tara says, sounding tired, “Sam’s not Ghostface. She’s my sister. I think I know my own sister.”

“I thought I knew Richie,” Sam says. Your head jerks over to her. She’s leaning against the doorframe, frown on her face.

“Sam.” Mindy says, blinking, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Sam gives her a look.

She settles down against the couch, beside Liv.

“It’s fine,” She says, “I get it. I’d suspect me too.”

“No one suspects you, Sam,” You offer, “Mindy just gets over-excited. Right, Mindy?”

“I’m just considering all the options,” Mindy says, voice a little high.

“And you should,” Sam says, “Right now, we should suspect everyone. Everyone except Tara and YN.”

Silence fills the room.

Chad looks up.

“What if it’s Wes?” He suggests, a little hesitant. Mindy stares. Your heart flips at his name. Suddenly, your hands are clammy. Tara squeezes your hip, subtle as can be.

“Wes?”

Chad shrugs.

“They never found a body. They never even found evidence of a crime. What if he skipped town, faked his own disappearance to get off the radar?”

“I really doubt that, Chad.” Tara says.

“Why would Wes want to hurt Tara and YN?” Sam asks with a frown, “You guys were friends, right?”

“Right.” You say, voice a little tight.

“Wes had a crush on YN, everyone knew that,” Chad says, shrugging, “Maybe that’s why this Ghostface hates Tara so much.

At this, Tara’s head snaps around.

“What?”

Chad blinks.

“Yeah. I thought you knew?” He says, head tilted. He looks over to Mindy, “Right?”

Mindy nods, stern.

“Everyone knew.”

You wince as Tara’s hand tightens around your waist.

“Well, no-one told me.” Tara says, eyes ablaze. She looks over to you, face enraged, “Babe, did you know?”

“Of course not.” You say. You squeeze her hand, try to calm her down, “It’s Wes, babe. He never would have done anything.”

And he’s dead. You leave that bit unsaid.

It doesn’t seem to help. You recognize it immediately. It’s the Rage taking over. Tara’s chest heaves. Her eyes spark like fire.

“Asshole.” She gasps, “Fucking asshole. He was supposed to be my friend-”

“Tara, it’s not his fault,” Liv says. She reaches out to touch Tara’s arm but Tara retracts like Liv’s burned her, “Really. You can’t help who you fall for.”

“You can not have a crush on my girlfriend.” Tara says, sounding outraged. She looks around the room, to the sea of taken aback faces, “Anyone else have a crush on YN? Mindy? Chad?”

“No.” They both say flatly, in unison.

“Baby-” You touch her again, but she’s too far gone to reason with.

“Sam? You’ve all but moved in. Made best friends with her parents. Do I have to worry about you as well?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tara.” Sam says, rolling her eyes, “Can we focus? What do the police have on Wes?”

“Nothing,” Mindy says, sounding a little gloomy, “No body, no evidence. I mean, they arrested Tara for his death so I guess he’s assumed dead?”

“Put him on the slideshow.” Chad says, sitting up, “If we’re considering everyone, that is.”

The rest of the afternoon is almost unbearable.

Mindy and Chad bicker over who their top candidates are. Sam joins in, here and there.

And Tara sits, arms crossed, pouting like a storm cloud ready to spark lightning over everyone.

Chad and Mindy are halfway through an argument about what the next plan should entail when Tara stands suddenly, bringing you up with her.

“It’s been a long day, can you all please leave, now?” She says, abruptly.

Mindy looks over to her, apprehension on her face.

“Tara, is that a good idea? I mean, with Ghostface still out there and all? He could be back again tonight.”

“We’ve got enough locks to house a small prison and Sam walking about with an arsenal like she’s Lara Croft. I think we’ll be fine.” Tara says, sounding tired.

Chad looks over to Liv, touches her head.

“You want us to stay?” He suggests, “We could all camp out in the living room, like a sleepover.”

“We’re good, thanks Chad.” Tara says, voice firm. She’s still annoyed, you can tell by the tone in her voice. What had been an offhand remark about Wes for Chad she’d been toiling with for the last two hours - you can tell by the look in her eye.

“Are you sure?” Chad presses, “If Ghostface attacked you again and we could have done something about it-”

Tara cuts him off, voice curt, “I said, we’re fine, Chad. Besides, I’m about to nail my girlfriend and would rather you weren’t all down here listening.”

“Tara.” You hiss, mouth open. Sam wrinkles her nose and sees herself back off to the kitchen.

But it works.

Chad blinks back at her, and without a word, leads Liv and Mindy to the door.

And then Tara takes you by the hand and all but drags you upstairs.

There’s a dangerous look in her eye. Foreboding, almost. Her shoulders are drawn, her eyebrows knit tight in a frown.

It’s The Rage.

And you need to get rid of it, fast, before she does something she’ll regret.

“He’s dead, babe.” You say as she closes the door. You reach for her, but she withdraws from you, instead moving over to the window, watching her friends leave.

You’re exhausted. The day has been brutal - the morning worrying about Tara and the afternoon putting a bullet through Richie’s brain. You want to collapse onto the bed, take Tara into your arms and not think about the days to come.

The days to come with another Ghostface to contend with.

But Tara has other plans.

She’s pacing. Like she’s about to put on her Ghostface outfit and pry Wes’ body out of the river she threw him in.

“How did I not know?” She says, eyebrows pinched, “Babe, if I didn’t know about him, who else do I not know about?”

She chews her lip.

“Mindy, I bet it’s Mindy. Mindy has a crush on you. Chad too, why not? He’s all brawn and thinks he can get any girl in this town. Hell, I bet Liv’s thought about you too.”

“Liv’s straight.” You say, voice stern, “And you sound crazy right now.”

She looks over at you, eyes wild.

“Do you like Mindy?” She asks, moving a little closer, “Do you think she’s cute? Would you fuck her, if I wasn’t around? Would you leave me for her?”

She’s tiny, 5’1, but at the moment she looks seven feet tall. Shoulders drawn, she almost towers over you.

Menacing.

“Tara, you’re scaring me.” You say, taking a step back.

She blinks. And then drops her shoulders.

“Sorry,” She says, after a moment, “I’m sorry, babe.”

She brings her hands to her own face, and then sinks down into her mattress.

“It’s taking over me, I can feel it.” She says, sounding mournful, “I’m trying to fight it, baby, I am.”

You swallow. Move over to her and wrap your arms around her shoulders.

“It’s okay, Tara,” You say, “Look at me.”

She looks up, brown eyes wide. It’s still there, The Rage, you can see it swimming in her eyes. You lean down and press a kiss to her lips.

“I don’t want anyone else, it doesn’t matter who it is,” You say, voice firm, “So tell The Rage to fuck off. It isn’t needed. No one is going to take me from you.”

You kiss her again. Her hands grip around your waist, holding you tight.

“Promise?” She asks. She looks so vulnerable. Like a child asking for her favorite toy. Her brown eyes are wide, mournful.

“Promise.” You whisper and kiss her once more.

She sighs against your lips.

You curl your hands around her neck.

She feels so good against you. Warm and solid and there. Not in a jail cell, facing life in prison. With you, under you, where she belongs.

You push her back onto the bed and climb on top of her.

You missed her. Less than six hours and you missed her. Like someone had cut off your arm or something much worse.

Your kisses climb. You slip your knee between her thighs and press down onto her.

She squeezes your hips. You slip your tongue between her lips. You move your body against hers.

Her smell, her taste encompasses you.

You move your hands down to her waistband. Fumble with the buttons on her jeans as you hurry to slide them off her.

You manage to half pry them down her legs before she’s rising up and flipping you over onto your back.

If getting you naked was an olympic sport - she’d win gold every time.

You don’t even know how she does it so quickly.

A single tilt of her wrist and your bra is unclipped, your shirt being pulled off in one quick swipe. Then, your skirt. Down your legs with your underwear faster than you can moan her name.

She has the precision of a sniper.

She spreads your bare legs and clambors between them, helping out your fruitless attempts to get her out of her shirt in seconds.

Then she’s back on top of you, warm, naked, kissing you like she’s still in prison and you’re her last meal.

She juts her hips out, hits you in just the right spot.

You curl your hand around her neck, fingers gripping at her dark hair. Her lips don’t give you a moment to breathe. She’s kissing you desperately, hands on your hips, gently thrusting into you in that way that makes you soak.

You moan her name, once, twice, before she’s pressing a final kiss to your lips and moving down your body to curl her hands around your thighs.

It’s embarrassing the way she never needs to tease you.

You lean back into the mattress, close your eyes as you feel her lips press to your inner thighs.

“Mmm.” She murmurs as she grazes her lips over the inside of your thighs, “Looks like someone’s ready for me.”

“Shut up.” You say, touching the back of her head, trying to press her into where you need her the most.

“That’s not a very nice way to talk to your girlfriend,” She teases. She darts her tongue out, smoothes over the milky skin of your inner thigh. You let out a harsh sigh, thighs closing around her shoulders.

“Baby, please.” You beg.

She smiles. Presses one last kiss to your thigh.

“That’s better,” She says, “Missed you too, babe.”

Her tongue works against your folds, darting and licking up traces of your arousal like a hungry cat lapping at its milk.

You lean back onto the mattress and sigh, taking your own breasts in your hands.

It isn’t long before she’s trailed her way up to your clit, licking gently in the kind of way that makes you ache with desire.

You curl your hands in her hair and moan, softly.

She presses a final loving kiss to your thigh before she’s moving up and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. You make a noise of protest, but she leans down and quiets you with her lips.

Then she’s retracting, eyebrows raised.

“Fingers or strap?” She’s asking, eyes dark like she already knows the answer.

“Strap.” You all but beg, and she gives you a wicked smile before rolling over and fumbling through your top drawer.

Sam’s still downstairs, you think vaguely as you watch Tara slip into the harness. Sam’s downstairs and Tara’s looking at you like she’s about to make you scream so loudly the neighbors might complain.

Tara climbs between your legs, a dirty grin on her face.

She’s reaching over your body for the lube bottle but you touch her hand.

“We don’t need it,” You say, voice graveled. She ducks down and kisses you.

“We need it,” She promises. She bites at your bottom lip, a little playful, “I’m about to fuck you so hard and I want you nice and wet and ready to take it. I love you baby. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You groan.

She coats the tip of the dildo, then reaches her hands between your legs to massage it into you. You let out a sharp gasp at the cool of the liquid, but she makes it better instantly. Thumb on your clit, rubbing slightly and she sinks her fingers inside you.

“Good?” She teases as you flush red.

You’re in no mood for joking. You grab at the head of the dildo and tug her forward, pulling her on top of you and taking her lips in a desperate kiss. She slips her tongue into your mouth, distracted, only slightly, before she’s spreading your legs with her knees and reaching between her own legs to guide herself inside.

Her mouth presses against your neck.

You gasp as you feel it: the tip of her cock against your entrance, her hands around your hips keeping you from running from her. She sinks in slowly, biting her own lip as she looks down to admire her work.

The stretch feels incredible. You dig your nails into the skin of her biceps, tilting your head back onto the pillows as she fills you up to the hilt.

She’s still a moment, letting you adjust, before she’s leaning down once again to kiss you.

“Does that feel good?” She murmurs, pressing her nose to yours.

You nod. Curl your hands around her shoulders, burying your face in her neck.

“Tell me.” She insists, tilting your face back up to her.

“It feels really good, baby.” You say, voice high. She kisses you once, and then jerks her hips back.

“Fuck.” You gasp.

Her hands grip tight suddenly around your neck and your stomach flips. She thrusts her hips towards you, pulling back slightly to build a steady, hard rhythm.

You’d gasp but her fingertips are tight around your neck, eyes ablaze with lust, and want and the kind of possessiveness that makes you spread your legs a little wider.

“Nobody else will fuck you this good,” She says, jerking her hips forward once more, “Nobody. Not Mindy and her micro-strap, not Chad and his carrot dick and certainly not my sister and her-”

“Can we not talk about your sister when we’re fucking?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed.

Tara slams into you a little harder, making you cry out.

If Sam didn’t know what the two of you were doing up here, she certainly does now.

But Tara doesn’t care. She pounds into you, her slow rhythm out the window.

“Tell me you’re mine.” She growls. Her hands are back around your neck, “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Tara, only you.” You gasp.

“Good girl,” She purrs. She drops her hands from your neck and leans down to kiss you, slow, “That’s my good girl.”

She pulls back slightly, and you groan as part of her length slips out of you. She hushes you with a gentle squeeze to your thigh, before she’s taking your legs in hand and placing them over her shoulders.

She slides back into you, pressing a feverish kiss to your lips. The position means she’s so deep it almost hurts. Her belly presses flush against your own, her hips moving only slightly as she settles into place.

You reach out to touch her face, curl your hand around her cheek as you tug her down to kiss her. She shifts her hips slightly and it makes you gasp.

You moan her name again.

She kisses you fiercely, and you know that kind of kiss. It’s the kind she gives you before she’s about to let loose on you. It’s like a warning, and it makes you flood with arousal and grip the back of her neck tighter.

She pulls back from your lips, eyebrows furrowed, determined look in her eyes, and then she’s holding onto your thighs and fucking you as hard and fast as her hips will move.

The bed frame squeaks. She’s gasping, you’re moaning, the only kind of choir that could ever make you believe in God.

It builds in you quickly - her furious fucking, the sight of her red lips and messy, hair sticking to the sweat on her forehead.

You cry out, gasp her name and then stars are exploding behind your eyes as you cum. She grips your thighs, tight, not far behind. With a final messy thrust, her eyes are clamping shut as she gasps out and collapses against your body.

Your ears ring. You wrap your arms around her body, press a kiss to her sweaty forehead, rubbing her back as she comes down.

“I love you.” You murmur, “And I missed you so much.”

She kisses you.

“It was only six hours, babe.” She says, voice playful.

“Worst six hours of my life.” You say.

Her eyes sparkle. She nudges her nose against yours.

Then, sparking you out of your love-filled bliss, there’s a knock at the door.

“Tara. YN’s parents will be home any minute,” It’s Sam, sounding aggrieved, “You’re making the ceiling shake and the two of you sound like something out of a bad 80s porno. You might want to tone it down a bit.”

Tara rolls her eyes.

Embarrassment flushes through you. It stains the tips of your ears and your cheeks bright red.

“Thanks Sam, fuck off now please.” Tara asks.

You groan, and push her off you.

She sits up on her side, pout on her lips.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s just mad she’s not getting any.” Tara says. She leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your lips.

You pull her into your side, press your lips to the top of her head as she settles against your chest.

The events from the day weigh over you like a wet blanket. But you can’t bring yourself to worry about them, not tonight. Tonight, all you want to do is be with her. Love her.

Make your parents probably hate her even more.

Judging by the way her hands run up your thigh, she’s on the same page.

Ghostface is tomorrow’s problem. But tonight? Tara’s naked, and beautiful and yours and in your bed.

Ghostface can wait.

#tara carpenter #all hers #scream v #scream vi #jenna ortega #mine #fanfic #tara carpenter x yn #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #ghostface!tara #jenna ortega x yn #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader

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monsoon-of-art · 2 months

Note

I like Irida's in that "this what person from mid XIX century would dress like in modern times after like 2 weeks".

But at least Silver has drip.

Silver is a very fancy boy with his daddy's credit card

But like...idk. it feels weird? To see them in modern clothes

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padfootagain · 1 year

Text

The King and You (XIX)

Chapter XIX : The secret weapon

Hello everyone!! Here we are! This is the final chapter for this series! It was a wild ride, but I’ve finally finished it! I would be lying if I pretended that I’m not very emotional about this.

I hope you enjoyed this story, and that you will like the new chapter. Also… there is a little surprise at the end… can’t wait to see your reactions to that 😉

Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Caspian x reader

Warnings: a bit of angst… and lots of fluff!!!!!

Summary: Somehow, Caspian stumbles out of Narnia and into your world. He’s utterly lost and has no idea how to get out of this world filled with scary toasters, strange carriages and a woman who literally knocks him off of his feet. But does he really want to find a way back?

Word count: 3022

The guard was intimidated. His captain was standing before him in a large office, the walls covered with painted walls and richly carved wooden columns.

He would have been lying if he claimed not to be a little scared. He had never talked to Reepicheep before, and of him he knew little; merely that he had impressive fighting skills and was a loyal friend and adviser to the King. These facts alone were enough to make the guard stumble on his own words.

And he was made even more uncomfortable by the fact that the mouse took his whole story very seriously.

“What do you mean this woman claims to be coming from another world?” Reepicheep asked, frowning hard.

“She says she knows the King, and wants to see him. She says she knows the Kings and Queens of old as well.”

But Reepicheep knew about the Pevensies’ fate. Caspian had told him everything about the graves. So… how could she know them?

“Did she give you her name?” he asked despite his sudden doubts.

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

The mouse’s eyes grew round.

“Are you certain that it is the name she gave you?” he questioned the poor guard while jumping off the large desk.

“I am certain, sir.”

“I must see her now, then.”

As he followed the guard and his captain across the fortress towards your cell, Reepicheep was hesitating. After all, Caspian had been clear: he was certain that the door to your world had been closed again after he came back to Narnia. There was no way for you to cross between your two worlds.

And yet… who in Narnia could use your name? Caspian had told only his closest friends about you, on that wall…

Reepicheep knew about what had happened to Caspian. He could judge whether the prisoner was telling the truth or not. But he needed to hurry. He had seen Caspian, Emilia and her father talking for a long while in the courtyard. Soon, the treaties would be signed. And then, the King would have no choice but to marry Lady Emilia.

He found you sitting in a corner of the cell, your back resting against the stone wall. You stood up in a hurry, tripping on your own feet, as you saw the guard reappear.

You recognized Reepicheep in an instant. You were holding on the bars as tightly as you could again.

“Are you Reepicheep?” you asked, your voice desperate.

“I am indeed, my Lady. I have been told of your claim to know the King. But I must check your identity before letting you see him. You will have to answer a few questions.”

“Anything, go ahead.”

“How did you come to Narnia?”

“I walked through my own wardrobe. Like Caspian did when he arrived. I have no idea how this thing works, but it opened again. And then, it closed right behind me.”

“Why did it open again?”

“I don’t know. I just… I wanted to go back to London, to try to go through the wardrobe Caspian used to go back to Narnia. I just… I just wanted to leave. And then I opened my wardrobe to get some clothes and… poof! Trees everywhere!”

Reepicheep nodded slowly. This story, however, couldn’t be checked and verified by the knight. On his way to the cell, he had thought about a few questions only the woman Caspian had met could answer to. He asked only one.

“The King left you a message before he would leave. What was it? And how did he leave it behind?”

Despite the dimly lit room, he noticed the tears that formed in your eyes.

“He moved some of my books around so it would read ‘I love you’.”

Reepicheep’s eyes grew round. There was no way anyone but you could know that.

“Please, let me see him,” you asked, begging now, and not caring at all about it. “Let me see him. I heard about Lady Emilia. I can’t be too late. Please…”

But Reepicheep turned towards the guard.

“Let her free. She must see the King immediately.”

You thanked Reepicheep with profusion, while the elder guard opened the door.

“Follow me,” the mouse ordered. “We have but little time left before the King signs the treaties.”

“What does that mean?”

“If he signs them, he will have to marry Emilia. The only way out of this arrangement if he signs will be war.”

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

Caspian watched carefully as Lord Cirvan signed the tree parchments. They stated the taxations, trades and alliance between his lands and the kingdom of Narnia.

They also stated as condition for the treaties to be applied that Caspian would marry Cirvan’s daughter, Lady Emilia, in the month following the signatures.

Caspian felt nauseous…

Cirvan looked up at the king with a bright grin on his face. He handed him the quill.

“Your turn, Your Majesty.”

Caspian nodded, trying his best to keep a polite smile despite his jaw clenching.

He waited for Cirvan to step away from his desk. There were about twenty people gathered in the large room. Emilia, some of Caspian’s advisers, Drinian, and a couple of Lords here to support Cirvan. But as Caspian looked around, he noticed that Reepicheep was absent. Strange… he had asked his friend to be here…

But Caspian shook himself, pulled his high chair and took a seat. The light coming in from the windows behind him bathed the chair in a golden halo. It was late in the afternoon already, almost dusk. It felt ethereal. Kingly. Now more than ever, Caspian looked like a king.

His eyes quickly travelled across the documents, but he couldn’t do it… couldn’t sign them…

He had thought it would be easier after knowing you. After being granted a taste of what his life could have been, had he not been king. A taste of what it felt like to be loved for himself. A taste of what it felt like to love someone so deeply, thoroughly, absolutely…

Truth was, it wasn’t easier at all.

He faked to be checking the documents once more, but he was just buying himself some time.

What for though? He knew you would never come. He would never have you. You lived, literally, in another world. Emilia or any other woman… it didn’t matter. He would need to marry, eventually, because he needed to ensure an heir for the crown, build alliances… And in all scenarios, it could never be you. So… Emilia or any other woman… what did it matter? None of them would be you…

He dipped the quill in black ink, and was about to rest the tip against the parchment when the doors opened wide, making everyone turn around.

When Caspian looked up, it was to discover Reepicheep, two guards and one of his captains stationed in this fortress, and he frowned hard at the sight.

He was about to ask what all this was about, when you pushed the guards away.

Caspian froze.

You were there.

He saw your hand appear between the two guards, gently pushing them to the side to let you through. He saw your face appearing, and the rest of your body, and the next second you were standing there… you were there, in the middle of the signing room. You were there… it was you. He recognized your green sweater, the one you wore that evening when he talked with you sitting on a bench at Digory’s cottage. He recognized your pair of jeans, you wore them at the airport. Your blue sneakers, he recognized them too, you wore them the evening you went to see his friends at the graveyard…

It was you. You were there.

You seemed frozen as well, right there, in the middle of the room. Unable to move, to speak, to breathe…

The two of you kept on staring at each other. The room was silent. Or actually, it wasn’t. But Caspian couldn’t hear Reepicheep’s explanations, he couldn’t hear the lords’ whispers, he couldn’t hear Cirvan’s protests…

It was as if everything but you had vanished.

Slowly, he stood up, walked around the desk without looking away, not even for a second. He was too scared that you would disappear again if he did.

He didn’t come too close though, stood there before his desk…

“Y/N?”

He was about to cry. You saw the tears glistening in his eyes. You had the same ones blurring your vision. You blinked them away.

Your throat was too tight for you to speak. You merely nodded instead.

“What are you…? Is this… Is this real?”

His voice was a mere whisper, shaky and weak and so vulnerable.

The lords could barely believe their ears… such a tone did not fit their King…

But you nodded, unaware of the stares aimed at you around the room.

“The… the magical passage… it appeared again, in my wardrobe.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah, in my apartment. I just… I found your bloody message, you idiot!”

There were protests blooming around the room, louder than mere whispers, at the way you called Caspian. None of you cared. You were both crying by now.

“And I just… I just wanted to go. I wanted to go with you. If you had told me that night, when you left… I would have come here with you.”

“I know.”

“But you didn’t say it.”

“I didn’t want you to regret this. And… it was too painful to say it like this. I thought I would never see you again.”

“Guess you were wrong, as usual.”

Outraged whispers shook the room again, but Caspian merely laughed.

“You have a point,” he conceded, and the lords were more and more surprised.

There was a moment of silence. A quiet that was almost unbearable. So, you spoke again, the first words that came to your mind. They made him laugh again.

“I got arrested too.”

“What?”

“I saw you on the wall. But you didn’t hear me as I called you. Turns out… you’re not supposed to call a king by his name like that. Especially when you’re shouting. In front of his fortress.”

He walked slowly to you, raising his hand to touch your cheek, but he stopped before he would touch you, mere millimetres separating your skins.

“I heard you,” he whispered, and his smile had disappeared; he wore a frightened expression again. “I just… I thought it was in my head. You… You are always there. I cannot stop thinking about you. I thought… I thought it was just a dream…”

You leaned towards him, so your cheek could brush his fingertips. You both took a sharp intake of breath as your skins met.

“I’m really here.”

“You will never be able to go back.”

“I know. I don’t want to go back. I have everything I need here.”

You stared at each other for a few more seconds, his hand now resting against your cheek, cradling your face in his palm. But then, you rushed into each other’s arms.

You held him so tight, as tightly as you could, closing your fists around his velvety red coat. It was soft against your palm. He was so handsome wearing it…

You buried your face in his shoulder, letting out a small sob. He only held you more tightly against him. He held you so close, like he was afraid you would be gone all over again if he didn’t, like someone would pull you away from him, like you could be gone in the blink of an eye… But seconds passed, and you remained. You and your familiar scent, your familiar hair against his cheek, your familiar weight pressed against him, your familiar heart beating against his…

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered. “I’ve missed you, you absolute moron…”

He let out a chuckle.

“It really is you. No one else in Narnia would so blatantly insult me.”

“One more reason why you needed me to come.”

“Of course.”

You were finally home. Holding him against you, wrapped in his comforting and warm embrace, as if the world around you had disappeared. The entire universe had shrunk down to rest only between his arms. You had him back…

But way too soon he tore himself from your embrace. He wiped the tears across his cheeks in a hurry before striding to his desk, picking three pieces of parchments, and tearing them into shreds.

Everyone but you gasped. Reepicheep was smiling, and so was Drinian, who seemed to have understood what was happening, more or less. Enough so, at least, to understand who you were.

Cirvan stared at the King, angry and aghast at the same time.

“Your Majesty…”

“I apologize, Lord Cirvan, but we will need to settle on a new treaty. One that does not include marriage.”

You felt a tidal wave of relief washing over your heart. You were not too late. For a while, you were so happy to see Caspian, to have found him, that you had forgotten for a moment about Emilia.

But it seemed that Caspian had not signed anything. And indeed, you had arrived just in time.

“This is outrageous!” Cirvan protested.

But Caspian ignored him, and turned to Emilia instead.

“I apologize, my Lady. But I cannot marry you.”

“I see that. I will not pretend that I am not disappointed, though.”

“I am sure you will find a husband who will be better suited to you.”

She didn’t answer, merely nodded. There was nothing left to say. Caspian turned to you again, and seemed only then to realize that the room was filled with so many people…

He cleared his throat, straightened his posture. You noticed then that he truly looked like a king. Hair perfectly in place, held back with a leathery ribbon. A large white shirt under a velvety red coat embroidered with threads of gold.

He really was a king…

“Leave us alone, please.”

“But… Your Majesty…” Cirvan tried to argue, but the glare Caspian threw at him shushed him immediately.

Despite his obvious anger, Cirvan, just like the other lords and advisers, left the room. He glowered at you as he passed you by, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was that Caspian was looking at you again, waiting for the wooden doors to close once more.

The clicking noise of the door closing had barely rung through the chamber that Caspian had stridden across the room to get to you again. You didn’t have time to think, or speak, or even breathe before he held your face in both his hands, pulling you to him, so he could crush his lips to yours.

He had believed never to be able to kiss you again. To never feel your lips against his, never taste them on his tongue, never hold your lower lip between his…

It felt like breathing after days spent without air…

When you finally pulled away, resting your forehead against his, you were both breathless, your hearts pounding.

You softly brushed your fingertips down the side of his cheek, across his short beard, and your touch made sparks of electricity shoot across his spine.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it,” he whispered. “I should have said it.”

“We have time now. It’s okay.”

“I still cannot believe you are here. I thought… I thought it was over.”

“You almost married Emilia…”

“I know. I apologize. I am so… terribly sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t know I was here.”

He chuckled, his eyes still closed.

“I cannot believe you got arrested…”

It was your time to giggle.

“Well… looks like we both share a common experience. We both got arrested in the other’s world.”

“Yes, but… it will never happen again. I will make sure of that. It will be terrifying for you. To be here, in Narnia… where you know nothing and no one… but I will help you. I will guide you. I promise you, I will.”

You pulled away just enough to stare at his eyes, chocolate brown orbs you adored more than anything, in this world and yours.

“I’m not worried, Caspian. I trust you. As long as I’m with you, I know I’ll be just fine.”

You exchanged a bright smile, and he ran his trembling fingers through your hair. He still had tears shining in his eyes when he spoke again, but they were not falling anymore.

“My darling… thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for finding me…”

He kissed you again, passionate and urgent and yet tender. Lips moving in perfect sync, as if they were made for this dance you shared…

“Let’s make a deal,” you whispered against his lips, and he pulled away to look at you, stroking tenderly your cheekbones with his thumbs. “Let’s… let’s stay together forever. Never let anything tear us apart… no matter if it’s magic, or people, or distance or… whatever weird things there are here in Narnia that I don’t know anything about yet… Let’s stay together. What do you say?”

Caspian nodded, tears threatening to escape. He was smiling despite all these emotions he couldn’t control.

“I think this is a brilliant idea. And I think… I think that I love you. I love you with all my heart. I love you so much…”

You dried his cheeks. He hadn’t noticed that he was crying again. But then, there was no shame to have. You were crying as well.

“I love you too.”

He held you close again, enjoying your familiar perfume, that reminded him of all your shared memories, of starlight, of quiet dawns…

“I have to warn you though…” he said after a while. “It will be difficult. We will have enemies here. I am King, everything is a question of politics. And they might want to tear us apart, or worse… Are you ready for that?”

“Of course, I am,” you smiled, your forehead still cradled in the crook of his neck. “I’ve brought my secret weapon. I am basically invulnerable.”

“Your secret weapon?”

“Yes. I brought my hairdryer.”

The End…

… or not!

Aren’t you curious to find out how you’re going to manage this new life of yours in Narnia? The first chapter of the sequel You and the King will be posted on May 27 2023!

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