Your Real Voice (Sherlock Holmes X Reader) [Request]

Your Real Voice (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

Hi! If youre taking requests can i please ask for a (henry) sherlock Holmes where the f!reader is Enola’s personal maid and when Sherlocl arrives they both fall for each and she’s clumsy around a lot and they confess one night and a lot of fluff ensures? Thank you so much!—Requested by anon

So, this is not quite as fluffy as you probably wanted, anon. One, because Sherlock isn’t exactly fluffy in any iteration he appears, and two, because I rather felt the exchange that occurs in this request is more honest and open than in what I could have written. I’m sorry if you don’t like it.

Warnings: none

Gif Source: mrcavill

The first time you met Sherlock, he swept through the door with Enola, taking in the hallway and adjacent rooms with one swift, all-encompassing glance.

He noticed you last, however.

You curtsied the moment he met your gaze, a nervous smile tugging at your lips, before you turned your attention to his sister. The young woman flung a shawl at you, not out of a lack of respect but merely because she yanked it so hard off her shoulders its momentum carried forward out of her hand. You caught it clumsily, not yet used to your mistress’s frustration with upper-class formalwear, and folded it awkwardly over your arm.

“And you are?”

Continua a leggere

Even If You Don't Mean It - Part One

Summary: An unexpected phone call from a brief fling grows into a new long distance romance.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 7.8k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Smut including oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, dirty talking, implied masturbation (m and f), showering together, slight praise kink, mentions of PTSD, descriptions of PTSD, mentions of war, angst, fluff.

Part One Warnings:

Implied masturbation (male), mild discussion of sex, mentions of war, mild angst, fluff.

Authors Note:

So this has been a lengthy saga. I need to thank @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed for their wonderful beta reading and guidance. As always they curb my crazier ideas or encourage me to go further and without them I wouldn't have pushed myself to get this done. I also need to thank @radiantheartbeat for her brilliant and ruthless editing. I have enjoyed working with you immensely, my writing definitely needs some tidying up and I thank you for your honesty and openness and for offering to help me out. I cannot thank you enough.

This story ballooned from a small one-shot to a three (maybe four) part series. I was inspired by a non-Sy moment in the movie Sand Castle. The scene where Harper calls home before the big operation always struck a cord with me. My heart ached for him, and was a glimpse into his private life. The scene made me think, would Sy make a phone call like that? Would Sy ask someone he probably shouldn't be for a promise? Anyway, thats what lead me down this crazy path. I hope you enjoy it.

Divider made by me.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part 2 (Coming soon)

2003

4.30am Iraq

6:30pm USA

The phone rings.

Absent-mindedly, you pick up the cordless phone from the dock and put it between your ear and shoulder to keep your hands free.

“Hello?”

Picking up the wooden spoon, you stir the chicken stir-fry, that’s nearly ready, making sure nothing sticks to the pan as you give the vegetables another minute to cook through.

In your ear the line sounds strange; a digital, robotic hum buzzes in the background, like cicadas on a late summer’s day. Perhaps it’s a long distance call from a college friend, something.

A deep male voice, with a hint of a southern drawl, says your name. He sounds hesitant, as if he’s not sure he has the right number.

“Yeah,” you say, “That’s me.”

The receiver crackles, sounding as though the man must have released a held breath. There’s silence for a few beats. Then a few more; no sound except for the drone of the robot bugs. You sigh, wondering if this was a prank call or a wrong number. But that couldn’t be, this person knew your name. Maybe the call was dropped.

“Hello?” you ask irritably.

You impatiently turn off the gas and get a plate from the cupboard. You’re about to hang up, when you hear the man clear his throat.

“It’s Sy,” he says simply.

Sy? You almost drop both the stir-fry and the phone. You think fast, placing the pan on the stove and taking a seat at the small dining table in your kitchen. Gripping the phone in one hand, you quickly bring the waiting wine glass to your lips with the other, gulping down the dry Pinot Grigio and nearly finishing the glass.

“Syverson?” you ask stupidly.

Why on earth was he calling you? He should be overseas. At least that’s what he had told you two months ago.

“Are you home already?” Then you gasp, your hand covers your mouth. Oh my god. What if he was shot or injured? “Did you get hurt?”

“No… uh — I’m in Iraq.”

Images from the fall of Baghdad came unbidden to your mind. You prefer not to watch the news, but these days it is impossible to avoid. Between the 24-hour news stations, newspapers, magazines, or the homepage where you check your email, it was difficult not to absorb at least some knowledge of what was happening in the Middle East; bombings, firefights, IED attacks, and countless other presumed horrors.

It didn't explain why he was calling you though. The two of you hadn't known each other very well. You were barely even friends, having only seen each other a few times before he left for Iraq. You were undeniably attracted to him. To you, he was the total package: ruggedly good looking with his buzz-cut, chiseled jaw, blue eyes to die for, and a tall, powerful, burly physique. The fact that he was a soldier hadn’t put you off either. Your father was a retired marine, and your brother was currently serving, so you knew enough decent military men to not instantly dismiss Syverson.

“Hello?” Sy says.

Shit.

What do you say? How do you talk to him? Why was he even calling?

The one date he had taken you on was good, the make-out session on your couch at the end of the night had been even better. As far as you were concerned, the date went well and you were sure he would ask you to go on another. Over the next few weeks he had called a handful of times, but when he didn’t ask you out again, you assumed that he wasn’t interested. The last time he called was to tell you he was being deployed. He gave you no promises and you offered none in return, knowing what deployment meant, especially during wartime.

“Sorry,” you say with a short laugh, “I’m surprised you’re calling me.”

“Want me to go?” His voice became gruff and guarded, but his tone softens your demeanor.

“No, not at all. I… I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Silence again.

You wrack your brain trying to think of something to say, anything to fill this awkward silence. You don’t know why he’s calling you, but you’re sure he doesn’t get to sit around making overseas calls all the time. You think back to when your father was deployed in the Gulf War, trying to remember what you would talk about. You remember telling him about school, about a new song you heard, you told him boring, everyday things.

You’ve been silent too long and you don’t want the short time he has to be wasted, so you say the first thing that pops into your head, “Hey, remember when we were talking about how I’d never seen Ghostbusters?” You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“Yeah?” You sit up a little straighter in your chair, he actually sounds interested.

“Well, I watched it a few weeks ago.”

“Ya did?” His voice became lighter, as though he were smiling.

“Yeah, it was on TV,” you say, smiling, “I sort of understand why you had a crush on Sigourney Weaver back in the day.”

“Hell, Sugar, you ought to see her in Alien.” Sy whistles, “She is fine.”

“I saw Alien: Resurrection,” you laugh, “She’s still looking pretty good.”

“She’s great in that, but ya gotta watch Alien. And Aliens as well. Ya can probably give Alien 3 a pass though.”

“Ok, I’ll put those on my list then.” Shit, there goes that topic. You quickly try to think of something else. “Oh my God! Have you heard they’re making an Alien versus Predator movie?”

“You’re kiddin’,” Sy says, “Really?”

“Yeah, I can’t decide if it will be awesome or terrible.”

“It could be awesome. The Xenomorphs will fuck shit up,” Sy says confidently.

“But the Yautja had a Xenomorph skull in the ship at the end of Predator 2, so we know they hunt them.”

From there the conversation between you both simply flows.

You go back and forth, each arguing for your side and gently ribbing the other in jest. The conversation is easy, as comfortable as it had been when you went on that date.

“Yup,” Sy says in an altered tone. It’s short and cold, and noticeably different, you realise instantly that he isn’t talking to you. Your father has a similar tone.

“Give me a minute,” Sy adds in his work voice.

No, not his work voice, that’s his Captain’s voice. Your heart flutters. Christ, that’s hot. The subtle air of authority in his baritone makes your knees weaker than you care to admit.

“I gotta get going, Sugar,” Sy says.

“Yeah, of course.” There is a sinking feeling in your belly, you don’t want him to go yet.

More droning bugs. This silence is short though and not as awkward. Progress.

“I don’t know when I can call ya again,” Sy says apologetically, as if you were expecting this phone call in the first place, let alone more in the future, “I’d like to, when I can — that is, if you want me to.”

“Sure.” You giggle a little, thinking about your conversation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask you how you were or anything. Just talked your ear off about a stupid movie.”

Sy hums, “No, Sugar, it was...” you hear him take a deep breath, “it was exactly what I needed.”

You shift in your seat as a feeling of pleasant warmth radiates through you, “Well then, next time, I’ll give you a review of Freddy versus Jason.”

“Hold on, now! Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees? They made a movie ‘bout that?”

“Like I said, next time,” you deliberately tease.

Sy chuckles. It’s a short laugh, more indulgent than amused, but you’ll take it.

“I look forward to it, Sugar. Bye now.”

“Bye, Sy.”

The phone goes silent.

For a while you sit looking at the receiver in your hand with a mixture of happiness and confusion. Was he just bored? Did he try to call other people and they weren’t available? Did this mean he liked you like you had originally thought? Will you have to wait another three months before he reaches out again? Maybe he does this to all the girls, calling them while he’s away to make them feel special so that when he comes home he doesn’t have to work so hard to get with them.

Shaking your head, you admit you can’t possibly know why he called. No amount of guessing or theorising would answer that question. Finishing the wine in your glass, you pour another before finally eating your stir-fry.

It’s a little cold, but you don’t mind.

About two weeks later Sy phones again. You’re in bed, comfortably reading, thinking about letting the call go to the answering machine as you normally would this late at night, but ever since Sy’s phone call, you rarely let the machine take them.

“Hello?” you ask, feeling a little silly when you hear the hopeful note in your voice.

“Hey Sugar,” Sy says, and your mood soars.

“Sy! Oh my God! How are you? What’s been happening? It’s good to hear from you,” you gush.

Sy chuckles, and although you feel a little embarrassed by your obvious excitement, you’re pleased that he seems happy.

“I’m glad I caught ya,” Sy says, “I’ve been curious about this Freddy versus Jason thing. Can’t stop thinking ‘bout it.”

“It’s just a movie, Sy,” you laugh, “It’s a good movie, but it’s no Citizen Kane.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve been lookin’ forward to hearin’ you tell me all about it.”

“Oh,” A warmth spreads over your cheeks at the playful way he emphasises those last few words, making them suggestive and flirtatious. You swallow hard as your words get caught in your throat and manage to rasp out, “Um, ok.”

Over the next couple of months, Sy calls you regularly, usually two or three times a month. The calls aren’t long, ten or fifteen minutes at most, but you look forward to them like a kid looks forward to Christmas. After each call you’re on a high for a day or two, replaying the conversations in your head. When that thrill wears off, you start to think about the next call you'll have with him and the excitement builds anew.

“Are you seein’ anyone?” Sy asks during the fourth or maybe fifth call.

The question seems to come from nowhere, but you’re relieved because maybe he will give you an idea of why he’s been calling you. Is this just friendship? Are you just a person to anchor him to normal life, someone to talk to so he can have a break from whatever it is he’s seeing and doing over there? Or is there the potential for more?

“I’m not dating anyone.”

Sy falls into silence and the robotic hum is back. Although you always do most of the talking, he hasn’t gone this quiet since your first call. Maybe he’s expecting you to say something else.

“Are you?” you ask with trepidation. What if he says yes?

“No, Sugar,” Sy chuffs and you feel a rush through your body as your heart pumps faster, “Now, uh, tell me more about this car you’re thinkin’ of buyin’?”

Months pass by and nothing changes. This thing between the two of you is never discussed and you’re mostly okay with it. Sure, when you think of him your stomach flips and you can’t concentrate, but you enjoy his calls, and you tell yourself that his friendship is enough.

One call seems to change everything. Sy is about to hang up when he asks you a question.

“Hey, before you go, I wanted to ask you a favour.”

“Sure. I can try.”

There’s a beat of silence while you hold your breath.

“Will ya send me a picture of yourself?” Sy asks.

Your eyes widen.

“A picture?” You shift awkwardly on your couch, bringing your knees to your chest, “What kind of picture?” you ask with a shake in your voice.

“Whatever you want, Sugar,” Sy says lightly, “One from your birthday, maybe from a party, or weddin’, or somethin’. I'll take anythin’.”

“Oh,” You let out a giggle of relief, “Oh, I can do that. I thought you meant…” Heat burns your ears, you aren’t going to finish that sentence.

“Thought I meant what?” Sy asks before suddenly barking out a laugh, “Oh, no. No, I didn’t mean a picture like that,” He pauses and while he still sounds amused, his voice lowers, “I wouldn’t say no though.”

“Well, I will say no, to that kind of picture,” you say, still thoroughly embarrassed by your misinterpretation, and a little shocked. It’s the first time he’s really flirted with you.

“Cain’t blame a man for tryin’,” Sy jokes.

“But, I will send you a nice one, if you send me one of yourself too.”

“Deal. Now, ya got a pen handy? I’ll tell you how to get it to me.”

The next day you look through the last couple of rolls of film you developed, and check the images on your new digital camera. There is one photo you like, taken at a game of putt-putt, but it’s casual and you aren’t dressed up. It’s a candid shot, you’re laughing and half looking at the camera while lining up for your putt. You decide to send that one, along with a picture you'll take this weekend when you go out with friends.

On Monday, you place the photos in a box along with the latest edition of Rolling Stone, a book, some pretzels and trail mix, hot sauce, a foam football, and some socks that your brother said all the guys were raving about. You wonder if it is too much, if it’s crossing a line, but your brother assures you that Sy will love it.

Nearing the end of the conversation with your brother, he becomes serious, giving you the third degree, and warning you that those Special Forces guys are a different breed.

“They’re gone six to nine months of the year just for training when they're not deployed. On tour, he could be gone anywhere from six months to two years. They frequently won’t be able to tell you where they’re going. Communication is difficult, coms black outs are common. I don’t know this for sure, but they seem to move more than we did growing up.”

“Are you saying I should stay away?”

“No. I’m just giving you the facts. You have to decide if he’s worth the price you’ll have to pay. Being alone and waiting isn’t easy, you saw how hard it was on Mom.”

He’s right, you know that. But the way your hands start to shake, and the way your mouth goes dry whenever you hear the phone ring, that can’t be ignored.

“We’re just talking,” you retort. “He’s never said he wants more than that anyway.”

“You know I love you. You’re my little sister. But, if you think he’s calling you every week…”

“Sometimes every two weeks,” you correct him.

“Fine, every two weeks,” You can practically see him rolling his eyes, “If you think he’s calling you that often because he wants to be your friend, then you’re a dumbass. He’s interested in you. He’ll ask you out at some stage, you wait and see.”

The call with your brother leaves you in a strange headspace. Part of you wants more from Sy too. Well, a large part of you wants that, but your brother's warning has got you all tied up in knots. Even if Sy does want more than friendship, would you be able to deal with that? Truthfully, you don’t know.

You stare into the shipping box, feeling like it’s missing something. Other than the photos, there’s nothing tangible of you in there, and it feels too impersonal. You think a letter might be nice, you’ll make it short and keep it light, just like your phone calls.

Dear Sy,

Forgive me if I’ve overstepped by sending you some gifts. I know my brother always loves getting packages from home, so I hope you do too. He recommended the socks, and hopefully the recommendation of a Jarhead is okay with you. Haha!

I can’t wait to hear from you again. I’ve really been enjoying our phone calls. I was thinking that I could keep writing to you too, if you’d like, and maybe send you some more magazines or snacks. Next time we talk you'll have to give me a few ideas.

I bought two copies of the book I sent you. I thought it might be fun to both read it so we can talk about it together. Maybe that’s silly. I don’t even know how much time you have to read. I don’t even know if you like reading, or if you do, what kind of books you like. But, I’d like to know Sy. I’d like to know those things about you.

Take care.

You sign the letter with just your name, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you throw it in the box, tape it shut and take it to the Post Office.

When you check the mailbox a week later, you see a small white envelope with your address handwritten in a small, narrow, but neat, script. You quickly turn it over and see that it’s from Sy.

It’s embarrassing how quickly you race to get inside your apartment. With shaky hands you unlock your door, dump your bag on the floor, and try to get comfortable on the couch. You’re too excited, your body tingles with goosebumps, and your fingers tremble.

He touched this, you think, he wrote this for me, this is his handwriting.

You carefully open the envelope, peeling back the flap slowly, watching as the glue pulls away in strings before it snaps apart. Inside is a photograph and what looks like a letter on white paper with faded blue lines.

You pull out the picture first. It’s a headshot and it’s a little blurry, but it still takes your breath away. Sy is wearing a dark brown shirt with a green and black scarf wrapped around his neck. He’s staring into the camera. His brows are drawn together in a serious expression. He looks different to the way you remember him; his face is a little slimmer, and the beard is new. You didn’t think they were allowed to have beards.

All at once you remember the night he took you on that date, and you subconsciously draw your thighs together. Looking at his short hair, you remember how it felt, soft like velvet as you ran your hand over it when you kissed. He was so warm, his skin was almost hot to the touch as your hand had caressed his neck.

You wonder if he’ll have the beard when he comes back. You wonder what his kisses would feel like with the beard. His lips had been smooth and strong. Would his beard prick at your lips? Would it chafe at your skin like a five o’clock shadow, or will its length make it softer? Would its coarseness add a layer of sensory pleasure that you haven't felt before?

Knowing that those kinds of questions will only lead you down a path of distraction, you put the photo down, and take out the letter. You have to read it several times before it starts to sink in.

Sugar,

Sorry about the quality of the photo, I didn't have many options. I got it from one of my team, he took pictures of all of us a few months ago before we left the city. If I don’t look impressed, it’s because I wasn’t. Thought it was a stupid idea, but I’m glad I let him take it cause now I can send it to you myself instead of asking my sister to send you one. Although, if you want a better one, I can ask her.

I want to thank you for talking to me. You didn’t have to, and I don’t know how to tell you how much I appreciate it. Talking to you has been just what I’ve needed. Remind me to tell you about the other girl who’s keeping me sane this tour, she’s a little smaller than you, much hairier, barks when she’s hungry, and answers to the name Aika.

I also want to apologise for not spending more time with you before I left. I was an idiot, an asshole really. I wanted to, it’s only that I was leaving and thought it would be better that way. I regret that now, I should have made more effort and not been

There’s more I want to say, but I want to say it to you in person. For now, I want you to know that I look forward to speaking to you, just thinking about it makes me smile, and more than once I’ve been caught thinking of you by my guys.

I’ll call you real soon and I look forward to your photo. I’m laughing now, thinking of how cute you must have looked, all embarrassed, when you thought I was asking for a dirty picture. I remember how cute you looked when I kissed you that night. I think about that sometimes. I think

Thank you,

Sy

By the time Sy calls you again, you must have read his letter a hundred times and looked at his photo twice that amount. You keep both on your nightstand, committing his words and image to memory before you sleep each night, strengthening your recall whenever you think of him.

“I gotta make this quick, Sugar. I ain’t got much time, but I got your package today and had to thank you,” Sy greets you.

“Yeah? You got it? Is it ok that I sent you the other stuff? I wasn’t sure. If you don’t want any of it, you can give it away. I don’t—”

“Hell no, baby! I ain’t givin’ any of it away,” he sounds a little outraged at the suggestion, “I love everythin’ you sent me,” his voice softens and you would give anything to see his face, “You’re just as gorgeous as I remember.”

You smile and you feel your body heat up. You’re glad he can’t see you right now, you would barely be able to look at him.

“Sy…” you murmur. “I, uh, thank you. That’s sweet.”

“Ain’t nothin’ sweet about it. It’s the truth.” Sy chuckled. “And you sent me two photos. And all the other things. Not gonna lie, darlin’, I feel a li’l spoiled.”

You laugh, feeling a little uncomfortable. Not because of anything Sy has said, but rather it’s your brother's advice that plays on your mind. You change the subject, first asking him about the book and if he wants to do a read-along. He does. Then you ask if he wants you to send more packages. He does. However, it takes a while for him to admit it, he doesn’t want you to go to any trouble.

“I should be the one buyin’ you things, and givin’ you surprises,” There’s a hint of flippancy in his tone, but not much, “Takin’ you out somewhere nice to eat.”

Oh. Maybe your brother was right.

You laugh it off, “It’s 2003, Sy, women can pay for themselves.”

“I’m serious, Sugar. No woman of mine would be buyin’ me dinner.”

Woman of mine? Did he even realise what he just said? Or was he just speaking in a general sense?

“Well, I’m not trying to pay for dinner. I just want to send you some more magazines and socks.”

“You’re a sweet thing ain’t ya?” Sy says and his words set fire to your cheeks. “You takin’ the time to talk to me is more than enough.”

“What if I send you another picture with each package? I'll—”

“Deal,” Sy interrupts and you giggle.

Sy laughs, it’s a little teasing and you think about the last paragraph of his letter, the part that until now you haven’t wanted to acknowledge. You two have grown comfortable with each other, and a little light flirtation at this point of a relationship is natural, even for friends. You’re both testing the boundaries, seeing what you can get away with, probing for the potential of more. But, even so, you still aren’t sure you want to go there with Sy because there’s too much to unpack, so you redirect and ask him about Aika.

“Should I be jealous?” you ask with faux petulance. Shit. You aren’t supposed to be flirting back.

“Maybe,” he concedes, “She makes me smile almost as much as you do.”

You fall into silence, dropping your head with a grin. Fuck, you do want him to flirt with you. You can hear him breathing, suddenly heavy, and so loud that the robotic buzz is drowned out, and you like that too. When he speaks again, his voice is husky and deep.

“I’ll bet you’re smilin’ right now, ain’t ya, Sugar?”

“Sy…” you say softly. You’re more than just smiling, your body tingles and your heart beats so hard, you can feel it in your toes.

“Yeah, you are. You don’t have to tell me, I can hear it in your voice.” He makes a noise in his throat, like a groan, “I gotta go. I… Things are a li’l crazy ‘round here right now. It may be a while before I can call you again.”

“Okay,” you say, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice, “Sy, I…”

“Yeah, baby?”

You shouldn’t say it. It’s on the tip of your tongue. You know you aren’t going to be able to stop yourself, because you want him to know. So much for working through how you feel about him later. Your heart already knows, it’s just taken your brain a little while to catch up.

“I think about that night we kissed too,” you whisper, referencing his letter.

He makes that noise again. You wonder if it’s the same noise he made in your ear that night and your spine feels like jelly.

“I gotta go,” Sy says so softly, you barely hear him, “I’ll be thinkin’ about you.”

Before you can say goodbye, the line goes dead.

It takes a while before you feel like you can move. You hold the phone tightly in your grasp, not wanting to let it go, because you fear if you do, you’ll forget the sound of his voice.

It’s over a month since you've heard from Sy. You know he said he was going to be busy, but after the second week of not hearing from him, you begin to doubt. You question everything, you stop reading his letter and looking at his picture. You remind yourself that he is on the other side of the world, and you remind yourself to protect your heart.

By the fifth week you’ve almost convinced yourself that he’s finished with you. You were just a distraction, a way for him to pass the time; a warm female voice to drown out the sounds of the cold men he dealt with daily.

What really messes with your mind is that even if he’s not calling because he doesn’t care about you, you’re incomprehensibly okay with that. You’re okay with it because it means he’s alright, it means he’s safe. He’d be a complete asshole, but he’d be fine. You can’t stand to think about other possible reasons for his silence.

When the phone rings, late on Sunday morning, you’re still in bed catching up on sleep. No longer do you answer the phone with your heart in your throat, indifference is all you can manage. It’s probably just your mother anyway, calling to remind you about meeting her for lunch.

But as soon as you raise the receiver to your ear, you know it’s him. The line crackles with the same robotic humming that you thought you’d never hear again.

“Sy?” you whisper, or at least you try. Your voice sounds strangled, even to your ears.

Blood roars in your head, from anger or relief you can’t tell because you feel both. You open your mouth to tell him you hate him, tell him you miss him, tell him you’re glad he’s okay. But you don’t. You slam your mouth shut, you keep it inside, you don’t want to give away too much. It was too painful after last time.

So you wait. As the silence stretches, the strange pulsing static of the line grows intolerable, and you begin to worry. Is this even Sy? Are you hearing things because you desperately want it to be him?

Then he clears his throat, a short cough that sounds wrong. As soon as he speaks you know something isn’t right.

“Hey, baby,” he sounds tired, but not just tired, depressed. Oh my God, what happened?

“Hey, Sy,” you say gently.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, you want him to tell you what happened, but you know he won’t. In all the time you’ve been speaking to him he hasn’t told you a thing, he hadn’t even mentioned Aika until his letter. You don’t take it personally, you knew next to nothing about your father’s or brother’s deployments. Sy may not even be allowed to tell you anything, that’s just the way things are in most military units. Still, after all these weeks, he must be calling you for a reason, you just can't put your finger on why.

“You never call me at this time of day, Sy. Are you okay?” you prompt lightly.

Sy sucks in a breath. It’s been so long since you saw him in person, and you can’t remember what he looks like when he does that. You wish you could remember. You wish for so much.

“I needed to hear your voice, Sugar,” he says softly, and your heart stutters as his reason for calling emerges. He’s speaking so slowly that his accent has become thick, and his voice is so heavy that it flows like syrup into your ear, “It's been too long.”

“You’ve been busy, huh?” you say, surprised at the lack of bitterness in your voice. You can’t bring yourself to be upset any more, not when he sounds so awful.

Sy hums in what could be agreement. He’s quiet for a while and you wait, hoping he’ll say something before you tear your hair out in frustration.

“When I—” Sy starts, then stops, and it takes a few moments for him to speak again, “I think about you, Sugar. A lot. More than I probably have a right to.”

You don’t know what to say. After all this time, are you finally going to have an honest conversation about your relationship? Are you going to talk about where this is going? If it’s going anywhere at all?

“Will ya do somethin’ for me?” He asks.

“Sure,” you say, “If I can.”

“Will ya tell me that you’re waitin’ for me? That you’ll be there when I get home?”

You’re a little taken aback, so you hesitate in answering. You think about the last month, the pain of not hearing from him, and the constant worrying. This is what a relationship with Sy would look like more often than not, irregular communication for months or years at a time. Is that what you want? Was he worth it?

“I won’t hold ya to it,” Sy says, “I just—”

“Sy—”

“Fuck, forget it—”

“Wait—”

“I shouldn’t’ve asked—”

“Sy, stop!” you say firmly, “Just stop,” Sy stops talking but he’s still there, you can hear him breathing, “I’m not going to say something like that just because you ask me to.”

“I know, I—”

“Would you let me finish, Sy?”

He grunts, low and guttural, his frustration as evident as yours. You wish you could see him. You wish he could see you. You don’t know if you have the right words to tell him how you feel, but you try.

“I want you to know that if I say something like that it’s because I really mean it. I don’t want you to doubt it, and if I tell you that now, like this, you will.”

The silence from Sy feels heavy, the dead air is thick with unspoken words. Your gut twists as you think of him alone, obviously going through something, and he reaches out to you, only to be rejected. But that’s not what you mean, and you need to let him know that.

“Can I tell you some other things? Some things you’ll know are true.”

“Please,” he murmurs.

“I can tell you that after we speak, I smile for hours, days, weeks,” your voice quivers and you take a deep breath. He doesn’t need your tears. “I think about how you laugh and how wonderful that sound is.”

You wonder what he’s doing in this moment. How is he sitting? Is he laying down? Is his head in his hands? Is he petting Aika? Is he alone? Has he showered? Can he shower? Is he wearing the socks you sent?

You want to comfort him, you want to tell him that it’s going to be ok, but you know you can’t. He knows you can’t promise him that. What do you say when you don’t know why he seems to be in so much pain? You don’t know what he could possibly need from you.

The truth. You tell him your truth.

“And I smile because for those moments that we’re talking, I’m not worried about you. I know you’re safe.”

You hear him expel breath into the phone. The speaker crackles and shudders, or is that him? Is he crying? Is he okay? You wish…

“I wish I could see your face when I talk to you. I wonder what it looks like when you say certain words or speak in a certain tone. I’d like to know what you look like when you’re quiet. Like now, I want to see your face so bad.”

“Me too baby,” his gravelly voice is throaty, his drawl is so strong.

“I want to see you when you get home, Sy. I do. I’m not making any promises, but I like you... a lot. I've liked you from the start. You’ve kept me at arm’s length though, and that just isn’t going to work for me.”

“Because I knew I was leaving,” he repeats the excuse he wrote in his letter, but his tone makes you wonder if he's not trying to convince himself more than you.

“When are you comin’ home?” you ask softly.

“Officially, my tour is up in a few weeks,” Sy’s voice is stronger now, more like what you’re used to, “But after what went down…” More silence, “Could be tomorrow, or six months from now.”

Six months. Or tomorrow. Or…

“Keep calling me, Sy. Or write if you can’t call. Do you have email where you are? Send me an email, even if it’s just one line.”

“I will, but I can’t email. There’s no internet at this camp.”

You hear him breathe in, long and deep. Then you hear that noise again, that deep rumble in his throat. Your thighs clench together and your face heats up.

“Sy, what are you doing?” you ask, just above a whisper.

“Right now? Layin’ on my bed. Just… thinkin’.”

“Yeah? What are you thinking about?”

Sy chuffs, “Not what, who.”

“Who are you thinking about then?” you ask innocently, not realising until too late what he means.

“You,” Sy says, and his voice takes on that low husky tone. Your thighs rub against one another, you can’t stop them, “I’m always thinkin’ of you— You wanna know what I’m thinkin’ about?”

“I don’t know,” you swallow, feeling breathless, “Do I?”

“How ‘bout I tell ya one thing I’m thinkin’ about, then you can tell me if ya wanna hear more.”

You want to know. You want to know if he’s having the same thoughts as you.

“Okay,” you murmur, and restlessness sinks deep into your bones. Your body is so hot, and you already feel the wetness ebbing from your center.

“I’m thinkin’ about that night I took ya out. Thinkin’ about that dress ya had on... God, you were so pretty. All night I wanted to kiss you.” He pauses, and you hear that sharp inahle again, “Then we went to your place and— fuck, baby, you really let me kiss you.”

“I liked that,” you tell him as you sigh, and he makes that noise that keeps driving you wild, “I liked you kissing me.”

“That’s good, baby,” Sy says, “That’s what I want... to make you feel good.”

“You did, Sy.”

“I wanna do that again. When I come home, I’m gonna kiss you just like that,” Your body heats even more at his suggestion. Would you let him kiss you again?

“I want that too, Sy,” you say firmly, despite your trembling voice, “I really want you to kiss me like that again.”

Sy hums, his deep voice rumbles in his throat, “Whenever I imagine that, making you feel good, it doesn’t stop at kissin’, Sugar.”

He just says it, a little tentatively perhaps, like he’s testing your reaction, but he just admits he’s thought about being intimate with you. And from the way he says it, he’s thought about it often.

“Do you wanna know more, or should I stop?”

You let out a small noise, like a squeak. You hope he knows that means yes.

“Where are you?” he asks. Is that a grin you sense in his voice?

You look around, like you've forgotten your location in this universe. God, he truly makes your brain shut down. He makes you stupid in the best possible way.

“Actually… I haven't gotten out of bed yet.”

“Shit,” Sy groans, drawing the word out.

His reaction makes you bold, and although your heart thunders, you close your eyes, and manage to speak, “I’m still in my t-shirt, the one I wear to bed.”

You hear him swallow, “Anything’ else?”

“Just my panties,” you barely breathe.

“Fuck,” Sy groans again. “You’re makin’ it really tough for me not to grab my cock right now, baby.”

“Oh,” you say on a long exhale, because you feel like you have to say something.

What you really want to say is: do it.

“Why don’t you?” you add quickly, squeezing your eyes shut in mortification.

Sy is quiet, all you hear is his quickening breaths. “Do ya want me to?” he asks, his voice is hoarse and breathy.

“Yes,” you admit. God, you’re shaking, your hands are trembling.

The speaker fills with static as he breathes out. “God dammit, I wanna touch you so bad. You gonna touch yourself too, Sugar?”

Shit. Oh shit. You weren’t expecting that. You’re definitely in the mood, but this is still too new and you’re insecure. You’ll probably end up replaying this moment later and cursing yourself.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Too much?” he says hoarsely, but gently. There’s no anger in his tone.

“I… I feel like I want…,” you don’t know how to explain yourself.

“Tell me, Sugar. It’s ok, tell me what you want.”

“It just feels… strange, to do this on the phone for the first time, instead of together, in person.”

Sy hums mulling it over, “But… you would want that?”

You don’t say anything. What can you say? You’ve just teased the hell out of him and now you feel like an ass.

“How bout we save all that ‘til we see each other again?” Sy suggests.

“I feel bad.”

“Nah,” Sy laughs, “I’ll just wait until ya hang up to finish.”

“Sy!” you exclaim, but you laugh along with him.

You talk for a few more minutes before you tell him that you have to go, “I’m meeting my mom for lunch. I’m already going to be late.”

“Yeah, I should go too. I’ve used every privilege I have as an officer, and some I don’t, to get the phone for this long,” He pauses and becomes serious, “I know what you said earlier, but… will ya do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me if you start seein’ someone.”

“I’m not going to start seeing anyone, Sy. I’m not sure where this is going with us, but I’m not about to throw it away either.”

Sy calls you more frequently now, usually once a week. There hasn’t been another call like that one, but you feel as though your relationship has changed again. It’s subtle, but tangible.

Sy says things like, “When I get back, we should see that,” or “I’d like to take you there when I get home.”

Tentative promises are made, and restrained flirtations are thrown around. You tell him you think about him, you tell him sometimes you want to see him so bad you ache. He tells you he wants to see you, he wants to kiss you; he hints that he wants you to be his, but the line you established on that earlier call is never crossed.

You both send more packages, more photos, and more letters. Sy sends you a picture with Aika, in it he’s wearing sunglasses, shorts, and a red shirt. He seems bigger than you remember. So broad in the chest. You wish he’d have taken the glasses off though, so you could see his handsome face.

Then the day finally comes, the day when he tells you he’s coming home. At first you can’t process it, like you had accepted that Sy was just a disembodied voice, not something to see, or touch, or smell. Then, as he lays out the process of returning home, you start to believe.

“I’ll really get to see you? In two weeks?” You ask incredulously.

“I’ll be all yours for thirty days. No work, nothin’.”

“What about your family?”

Sy grumbles, but you can tell he’s putting it on, “I suppose I’ll have to go see them for a few days.”

“Yeah, you should,” you say, smiling.

“Will ya come with me?” he asks.

“Sy…” You can’t fault his tenacity, “Let’s see how things are between us first?”

“There ain’t no way we won’t work,” Sy says, “I've never wanted a woman like I want you.”

“That’s only because you’ve had to wait over a year.”

“That ain’t it, baby,” Sy says seriously. Then his voice lowers, getting so gravelly he practically growls, “That’s why I’m so fuckin’ horny... but that ain’t why I want to be with you.”

As it always does when he talks like that, a fire ignites in your gut and radiates through you, heating your blood until you feel hot all over. You can’t imagine how it will feel to have him touch you and talk to you like that. You shiver just thinking about it.

You want to ask him why he wants to be with you, but he diverts the conversation and tells you he has to get you clearance to visit him. Sy lives on base, and he says it’s easier for him to pick you up to bring you to his place.

“Less paperwork,” he explains.

“Don’t you want me to meet you when you arrive?” The party atmosphere of homecoming was one that soldiers usually look forward to. If he doesn’t want you there, maybe he’s not as serious about you as you thought.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about that. As much as I want you to be there,” Sy makes a noise like he’s sucking in air through his teeth, and says amused, “I don’t think you’d wanna meet the guys that way.”

“Yeah ok, good point,” you concede with a laugh. The thought of meeting his group and their families in an atmosphere like that is a bit intimidating.

“We’re plannin’ a barbeque for a couple of weeks after we get home. I’d like to take ya with me, and you can meet the guys then.”

“Sounds like a much more relaxed way to meet them.”

“Good,” Sy says, sounding pleased.

“Shit, I’m nervous just thinking about it.”

“What?! Meetin’ the boys? Baby, they love you already.”

Your eyes widen, “You told them about me?”

“I didn’t say anythin’, they just figured somethin’s up. Been a few comments about my mood having improved this deployment, and the packages I’ve been gettin’, and how they wanna meet the girl that keeps makin’ me smile.” Sy chuckles.

Your cheeks burn, but it's a pleasant feeling and you smile widely. You like hearing that he’s happy.

“Okay.” You don’t know what to say, so you steer the conversation back to his homecoming. “Will Aika be coming home with you?”

“Yeah,” Sy says and you can hear the joy in his voice. “She’ll be quarantined for three months though.”

“Oh, that’ll be tough,” you say sympathetically. “You’ll miss her.”

“I will,” Sy agrees. “But I’ll have you.”

God damn him. Four words and he renders you speechless again.

“Baby? Are ya still there?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking,” you scramble, trying to remember what you were talking about. “Oh, yeah. So, if you’re coming to get me anyway, why don’t you just stay with me?” you ask.

“Cause your couch is too small for me to sleep on.”

“My bed’s not too small.”

You hear Sy suck in a breath. “I can just go home at the end of the night. It'll be easier that way. You should still fill out the forms though, so you can visit me when ya want to and—”

“Sy,” you interrupt with a smile. It suddenly dawns on you that he’s nervous.

“Yup,” His lips make a small pop when he says it.

“You don’t want to sleep in my bed?” you ask, playing a little coy.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” Sy says roughly.

“Me neither.”

“I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself.” There’s a question in his statement, like he’s unsure that you would want him to touch you.

“I wouldn't want you to,” You hold your breath in anticipation of his answer.

“From the second I see you, all I’m gonna want to do is touch you,” he groans.

A moan leaves your lips as your arousal wells between your legs. “I want that too.”

“And baby... Once I start, I ain't gonna stop,” Sy says.

His voice sounds strained, like he’s struggling to lift something. Then he clears his throat, his voice is back to its normal deep, soothing baritone, and he changes the subject.

“We’ll play it by ear then, Sugar.”

Part 2 (coming soon)

Guess what I’m working on 👐🏻…..

Hi just asking but I was wondering if your "the one with the one night stand (henry cavill)" fic is still going on? I'm sorry if this was annoying, I was just really curious. I'm invested in the story

Don’t worry, I’m glad you are so invested to ask. Yes I plan on finishing all my work in progress. I’m just trying to find back my motivation to write. I’m sorry for the waiting, I really am.

Wretched Enchantment P2 ♤ King!Steve x Witch!Reader

18+

Part 1

A sweet reunion, followed by a bitter one.

Content Warning: King!Steve x Witch!Reader, Bucky x Reader (platonic), fluff, angst, sexual themes.

•

It was satisfying to watch someone you cared about eating. Seeing their eyes light up as they replenished themselves, nourished themselves. Especially amplified was the feeling of joy when James was sitting at your table after so many years, stuffing his face with utter bliss blooming in his eyes.

"Oh, how I missed tasteful food," He groaned, the juices from the meat dripping down his chin. "For six long years, my tongue has known nothing but bread and water. I feel as the sky must have felt during the very first sunrise."

"Always one for dramatics," You teased him with a warm smile. "Now that you're free, I'm going to fatten you up and spoil you rotten. I have six years to make up for."

James grinned, wiping his hand on a napkin before placing it on yours. "Then my time in the dungeons will have been worth it."

You elected to ignore any mental images of what his imprisonment must have entailed; the rough treatment and lack of proper care making your chest ache. Now that he was back, you'd protect and cherish James with your entire being, because he deserved nothing less.

"Seeing as my left hand was the one I favored during... personal matters of pleasure," He began cryptically, a sly grin playing at his lips. "You wouldn't be averse to helping out a friend, would you?"

Immediately understanding what he was referring to, you gasped and hit his shoulder. "You absolute heathen. Have you no shame, asking such things of me?"

"I can't help it," He defended with an innocent look. "You are the first woman I've spoken to in years. The sight of you has admittedly grown prettier and more stirring, and I'd be forever grateful if you quenched my thirst. I am, after all, but a crippled man."

"Losing an arm doesn't get you into my bed," You scolded him with narrow eyes. "There will be no quenching of any thirst, Mr. Barnes, and I am appalled that you could ever think so."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You haven't changed a bit, my magic woman. It's a delight to know that. I was worried you'd be different."

"And it's a shame to know that your imprisonment didn't mature you in the slightest," You countered with a playful eye-roll, before glancing down to his mug. "You haven't had a lick of beer yet. Don't tell me you've chosen to embrace sobriety."

He stared down at it before his lips curled up into a smile. "I have been involuntarily sober for six years. Now that I'm presented with a proper drink, I've forgotten what to do."

Standing up, you stepped closer to him before picking up the mug and bringing it up to his lips. His eyes filled with glee as he looked up at you, hungrily gulping down the beer you carefully poured into his mouth. Halfway through, you paused to give him a break but he quickly lifted up his hand and tilted the mug back up, allowing himself to finish it all off.

"Wow," You commented with a laugh. "One-Chug Buck lives on."

He chuckles along before grabbing your wrist and pulling you onto his lap, his eyes darkening. "You have no idea how often I'd dream about a gorgeous woman plying me with beer while I was locked up. Would you truly not accept me as your bedfellow, even just for tonight? My first night as a free man?"

"James Buchanan Barnes; your mother is turning in her grave," You scolded him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders nonetheless. "You know that I'm awaiting a knight in silver armor to sweep me off my feet, and the only thing silver about you is that damned tongue."

"Silver my tongue may be, but it is also skilled," He teased, bouncing you on his lap with a sly grin. "Allow me to demonstrate."

Before he could plant a kiss on you, you moved your head back, abhorred. "The James I knew would have rather spent the night with Farmer Margaret than go anywhere near me!"

He held his hand up in surrender. "A lot can change in six years."

"And a lot can stay the same, too," You countered stubbornly, running your hands through his thick beard. "We need to get rid of this. You look twice your age."

"You don't like it?" James asked you with a pout. "I thought it made me look wise and strong."

"Perhaps, if you were to shape it a little closer to your jaw," You commented, tilting his head upwards. "Right now, it looks like the crow's nest on the roof."

His eyes lit up. "Cut it down for me, my pretty darling. Use your magic."

Glaring, you shook your head. "You deserve not an inch of the benefit my sorcery brings after the way you've been speaking to me."

"Come on," He drawled, raising his brow. "It'll be like when we were younger."

Unable to refuse him when he gave you that look, you sighed with defeat and lifted up your hand to his face. "Niti cisura," You muttered, watching as his beard decreased in volume and length, trimming down to a much more attractive shape and size. Just as you finished, you felt the block in your magic again, making you hiss with pain.

"How does it look?" He asked excitedly, having not noticed your grimace.

"Perfect," You replied, stroking it and smiling at him while hiding your discomfort.

A curious look came about his face, his grin gradually dropping. "Are you ever going to tell me what it is you did that won me my freedom?"

Swallowing, you shrugged. "Does it matter?" Truthfully, you didn't want to expose the full truth to him just yet. He held deep trauma from the last time he encountered Hellbound sorcerers, and you wanted him to enjoy himself for as long as possible before you told him.

"You didn't do anything... unsavory, did you?" James asked cautiously, frowning.

"And what might you mean by 'unsavory'?" You questioned, narrowing your eyes.

"You didn't..." He whispered, taking a breath before speaking. "Did you give yourself to the King in exchange for my freedom?"

A soft laugh left your mouth and you shook your head. "Nothing like that, James. Though, that would have been a fine idea. Damn, I should've thought of that six years ago."

"Stop," He muttered lowly. "I hate that man. Don't even joke about being with him."

"You only hate him because of who his father was," You said quietly. "Steve-"

"Steve," James repeated bitterly, glaring at you. "He isn't your beloved anymore, Y/N. He's your King; and your wretched one, at that."

"The wretched King that pardoned you of a life sentence," You added curtly, feeling oddly defensive over Steven.

"And why?" He asked. "Why, Y/N? Did you lay with him? Promise him free reign over your body? Did you let him fuck you?"

"No, James!" You exclaimed, standing up and huffing. With a deep breath, you rubbed your forehead, knowing there was no way you could keep the truth from him any longer. "There's a Hellbound sorcerer in Rauphine."

James' face paled at your revelation, and you could almost see the horrific memories flashing in his eyes. "What?"

"Whoever they are, they've placed a hex on the Princess. A sleeping spell. The King has appointed me to undo the curse, and in return he granted you your freedom," You explained, before tightly taking his hand in yours. "But you need not hold any fear or anxiety, James. Once we find a way to awaken Kelsini, you and I are going far, far away from this place."

"What do you mean?" He asked weakly, processing your news.

"This kingdom has brought us nothing but despair and tragedy," You said with irritation. "The only way we are to find respite, is if we leave. Peace can only be found elsewhere."

"No," James spat. "I meant, what do you mean by 'we'? Why would I bother trying to help that bastard at all?"

"What is your enmity with him?" You asked, shaking your head. "Yes, he imprisoned you, but what else was he to do?"

Pursing his lips, he glared at you. "So you think I'm guilty of a crime? You look at me and see a murderer, do you?"

"No!" You exclaimed, your eyes widening. "Of course not, James! I hate him for locking you up for the crime of being used as the Hellbound's puppet, in which you were a victim, but he is also the man who set you free."

He said nothing, sitting back down with a thud.

"His father died," You uttered lowly, resting your hands on the table. "The only thing Steve knew to do was to lock up the hand that stole his father's breath - whether it was intentional or not."

"I do not wish to speak any more on the matter," He said gravely, his eyes on his lap.

"Very well," You replied. "I suppose you also do not wish to accompany me to the palace?"

James' head shot up to you. "Why on Earth-"

"I need to see Kelsini," You explained calmly. "I need to know what we're dealing with; if I'm lucky, her sleeping body will present me with some clues as to how to undo the curse. You can stay here and rest. There's cake in the pantry."

A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. "You think cake will cheer me up?"

With a grin, you leaned down and pushed his cheeks together. "I know it will, my sweetheart. I used the last of my cocoa in that cake, so I hope you greatly appreciate it."

James' eyes fluttered down and he smirked. "I greatly appreciate this view."

Realizing his gaze was firmly on your cleavage which had now become much more visible in your position, you huffed before trying to stand up straight. He placed his hand on your shoulder and kept you in place, delight in his eyes.

"Just a few more seconds-"

"Perverted bastard!" You cried, hitting the back of his head while he laughed heartily.

Relieved that you were leaving him in high spirits, you made your way to the King's palace, the walk taking you some forty minutes. For such a long journey, you'd have typically charmed a horse-owner to lend you a mare and cut the time of the journey in half, but with the task ahead of you, you'd have done better to reserve your magic.

"State your business, witch," The guard ordered you gruffly, his hand on his sword.

"I'm here to see the King," You told him with a frown. "You'd do well to let me in."

"Is that a threat?" He questioned, glaring down at you. "Do you know what happens to those who threaten the Knights of the King?"

"Verus," A steely voice called out, loud and commanding. "Step aside."

He did so, revealing an auburn-haired woman in a red dress. She approached the gate, her eyes steadily remaining on you.

"You're Y/N, aren't you?" She asked, tilting her head. "The witch?"

"That's me," You confirmed with a nod.

"Please, come in," She insisted, before shooting her fierce eyes at Verus. "You are under strict authority to allow Y/N access to the palace, until further notice."

The guard nodded in obedient response with a fearful look on his face. You followed the woman through the courtyard and to the doors of the palace, which were opened by guards the second she came into spitting distance of them. Her head turned to you slightly as you entered the building, a small smile on her face. "My name is Wanda; I am King Steven's closest advisor. It was I who suggested he ask for your help rather than arrest you after the attack on Princess Kelsini."

You were taken aback by her revelation. "Well, I thank for you that, ma'am."

"Please; just 'Wanda' is fine," She insisted with a smile, leading you past the throne room. "I assume you are here to see the Princess?"

"Indeed," You replied. "I was hoping to find some indication of the nature of the hex. It may help me to awaken her."

"Of course," Wanda said before reaching a large hall and turning to you with a whisper. "The King has some guests at the minute, but they are on their way out- in fact..."

You looked over her shoulder and saw King Bruce from the neighboring kingdom of Bordovia speaking with Steve, along with his daughters three. The Princesses were smiling up at Steve while they said their goodbyes, before they were lead out by one of the butlers.

"Go; he'll be glad to see you," Wanda told you with a hushed tone. "He has been ever so broken apart by his sister's condition. I believe speaking with you may bring him some respite."

With a slow nod, you wandered into the hall, where Steve stood with his hand on his forehead. He didn't notice your presence, so he did nothing to hide his stress.

"Why were they here?" You asked, too curious to keep your question down.

He was startled by your sudden voice, looking up at you with a frown. "Why are you here?"

"To see your sister," You answered. "Scan her body for marks that may allude to her curse. Why were they here?"

"King Bruce came to show his support," Steve informed you, facing away from the room. "Support for our current crisis."

"You have informed them of the situation?" You asked him, shocked. "I would've thought the presence of a Hellbound sorcerer in your land is something you'd want to keep a secret from your enemies. It makes you look weak, no?"

"Bordovia is not our enemy, nor are they a kingdom to keep secrets from," He told you plainly. "We are soon to be allied."

"Oh?" You were surprised by the news as Bordovia had never before been a friend of Rauphine. "Are they offering help?" Perhaps if they, too, had a magic user or two in their midst, you could've received some help in undoing the curse.

"No," Steve answered bluntly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I am to marry Bruce's eldest daughter."

His words took you aback and you had to take a few seconds to process them. It didn't feel good to hear of his betrothal, but you'd be weak to show that on your face. "Oh."

"Yes," He muttered with his hands behind his back.

Unable to help yourself, you took a step closer to him, tilting your head upwards to meet his eyes. "Is she prettier than me?"

His eyes fluttered shut and a heavy breath left his mouth. "Y/N-"

"Is she?" You pushed, blinking up at him with a look of innocence.

Reopening his eyes, Steve kept his face blank and his voice curt. "You know my answer."

Ignoring the warmth you felt, you pressed on. "I'm not asking because I don't know the answer. I'm not doubting my worth next to some Princess. I'm asking because I wish to hear the words fall from your lips."

He swallowed thickly before pulling back his shoulders. "Yes. She's prettier than you. Not only that, but she is a much more appropriate match for me. For a King."

You knew he wasn't being truthful, but it hurt to hear all the same. With narrow eyes, you took another step closer to her. "Do you love her?"

"I hardly know her yet," He admitted. "But I'm sure, with time, I will grow to love her."

"And you'll care about her?" You questioned. "More than you care about yourself?"

"As my wife, she will naturally take precedence over all else. Including myself," Steve confirmed emotionlessly.

"And you would do anything for her?" You asked him carefully, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing.

Looking down at you, he gave you a stoic nod. "I would."

A bitter laugh left your mouth. "The very things you once promised me, all those years ago."

"Things changed, Y/N," He said coolly. "I'm the King."

"With a king-sized ego," You muttered under your breath, before lifting up your chin. "And you deserve to be wed to a natural-born Queen; not a peasant witch?"

He rolled his eyes. "When ever have you felt degraded by me? Put down by me because of your status?"

"Just because the words don't leave your mouth, it doesn't mean I fail to notice the look on your face," You say gravely. "It doesn't mean I fail to remember the look on your face the day your father found out about us. The day you snuffed out our light."

"I had no choice," Steve countered with fire in his eyes. "Do you know what fate awaits the forbidden lovers of the royals? What would have been your fate had I been selfish enough to stay with you?"

You didn't speak, having lost your voice because of how much vigor he was speaking to you with. He hadn't spoken to you so emotively for years, and it was overwhelming to witness his passion after so long.

"I'd have been fine," He told you dryly. "I'd have been scolded and my transgression would have been hidden beneath a betrothal to a Princess. But you? You would have been killed, Y/N. And that, I would never have been able to live with."

You took another step towards him, shocked that he was being so open with you for once. "Steve-"

"See to my sister," He cut you off coldly, avoiding your gaze. "Do what needs to be done." Just before storming away, he bitterly added, "And keep your palace visits to a minimum."

• ♤ •

hi! i no longer use a taglist, but if you follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications, you'll know when i update! 🥰

Actor On Model

Summary: Chris and you do a couples interview.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Model!Reader

“Hi, I’m Chris Evans,” you said. “I’m an actor with the piercing blue eyes and rugged good looks.”

Your husband snorted which some tea went up his nose and you grinned.

“Are you good?” You asked leaning closer and taking the mug out of his hand.

“Totally,” Chris said as a producer hands him a towel and you put down the mug onto the little table. “We should do that again.”

“Am I being you again?” You asked. “And you’re being me?”

“I wanna try being you,” he said wiping his face.

“The stage is yours,” you said.

He turned the camera and gave a smolder look.

“Hi, I’m Y/n Y/l/n and I’m a supermodel,” Chris said and he mocked a hair flip.

You laughed and said, “you got put your head into it.”

“I’m gonna get whiplash,” he chuckled.

“You’ll be fine,” you said. “Let’s take it from the top.”

“Alright, you going first?” he asked.

“I can,” you said.

“Then go,” he said.

“Hi, I’m Chris Evans,” you said with a horrible Boston accent and you looked to the camera. “I’m an actor with the blue eyes and rugged good looks.”

Chris chuckled as you exaggerated your smolder look and wiggled your brows.

“I’m- I’m Y/n Y/l/n-Evans,” he said with a higher pitched voice. “I’m a supermodel.”

“And we’re here at Vogue to have a conversation with each other,” you said.

“Was that good?” Chris asked.

“No, that sucked as an intro,” you said.

“We’ll deal with it later. Let’s just talk, Darling,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. “You wanna start?”

“Sure,” he said grabbing a card off the top of the pile on the coffee table at his right side. “Oh! When were you first discovered?”

“I was actually fourteen when I was first scouted,” you said. “But I didn’t really get into modeling till I was 17.”

“What was it like to be scouted?” Chris asked.

“It was weird. Especially since it was a grown man who told me that I could be one in front of my mom,” you said. “She got real overprotective and called the guy a perv. But it kept happening. Though I’m pretty glad I started out when I was a little older.”

“Didn’t you move to New York at 17?” He asked.

“Yeah, I did. You did too, right?” You said.

“I did once I graduated high school and I was nearly 18. Didn’t you like just turn 17 when you went to New York?” your husband questioned.

“Yes. I graduated early,” you said. “It was pretty scary living on my own for the first time but I was put in one of those model apartments that my first agency had, ya know.”

“Those are crazy. I remember being in one but for actors,” Chris said.

“They’re the worst especially when everyone thinks they’re gonna be the next Cindy Crawford or Naomi Campbell and in your case, like the next Paul Rudd,” you said.

“You really love Paul Rudd,” your husband smiled.

“I really do. I’m glad you held me back at the premiere of Endgame,” you said.

“I did what I had to,” he laughed. “And you did the same for me at the Oscars with Sandy.”

“You mean Sandra Bullock?” You grinned.

“Yeah, I do but she’s Sandy to me,” Chris said.

“Man, we really like older people,” you said looking at him.

“You especially do,” he said. “I’m like the youngest guy you’ve ever been with.”

“Ew, no. I dated guys my age before,” you said. “I’ve only dated a fifty year old once when I was just 20 to see what it was like to be with someone who had their life together and was doing pretty well for themselves.”

Chris can’t help but laugh and put his hand over his mouth. You’re very honest about your previous relationships which is sometimes shocking for him to hear about the guys or women you briefly dated before him.

“It was pretty nice until I met his kid who was the same age as me,” you said. “I was not ready for that responsibility.”

“I think you would’ve been a great stepmom to his kid,” your husband joked.

“Nah, I think I’m gonna stick with you,” you said.

“That’s great to hear,” he said. “Pull a card.”

“Remember when we met?” You asked after grabbing a card from your pile.

“Of fucking course I do, —I shouldn’t swear,” Chris said.

“I don’t know why you say that when we both know you’re gonna let another word slip,” you said.

“You know what’s crazy?” Chris asked.

“What?” You asked.

“You don’t really swear. You’re so clean with your words,” your husband said. “It amazes me.”

“Thank you. It’s only ‘cause I used to swear like a sailor until a client overheard me and fired me for dropping an f-bomb,” you said.

“That jackass,” he said with frown.

“I get it though,” you said. “They’re looking for certain types of people and those who can work in professional settings. The client was a bit older so swearing was not.. what they wanted to hear coming from a model’s mouth on set.”

“You’re much more mature than I would’ve been in that situation,” Chris said.

“Thank you,” you said. “Let’s get back to when we met.”

“Right, it was at Givenchy’s show during fashion week in 2016. I was given a ticket and I reluctantly went. I saw you in that dress and I kid you not, my heart skipped a beat,” he said.

“Did you get it checked out? I can’t have you croaking out on me,” you teased.

“Haha, very funny,” Chris said sarcastically.

You grinned. You love teasing him.

“Back to what I was saying- I got to go backstage and people were able to take photos with the models. I only took a picture with you,” Chris admitted. “It was all I wanted.”

“Aww,” you said.

“And then we see each other again at some after party,” he continued. “I got to speak more than a few words to you. We got to talking and you asked what food I could go for at that moment.”

“You said Philly cheesesteaks,” you said.

“And you agreed and ended up having a friend take us to fucking Philadelphia,” Chris said.

“That was a lot of fun,” you said.

“It was until your friend ditched us,” he said. “And I had to get us an Uber.”

“I actually got the Uber,” you corrected.

“Whatever- you took me back to your place. You ended up putting on a movie and then we just fell asleep in your bed,” Chris said. “And I’ll never forget that you slept like two hours before leaving me in your apartment.”

“I had a 4am call time,” you said.

“Which is insane,” he said.

“But worth it especially since it was for Tom Ford,” you said. “I’ve always liked working with him.”

“I love his suits. They’re amazing,” Chris said.

“I know. We should get matching ones,” you said.

Your husband laughed making you laugh as well.

“I keep seeing those paparazzi pictures where we’re pretty much matching,” Chris said. “I don’t know how it happens.”

“Well, sometimes I’ll see what you’re wearing and I’ll be like ‘that’s fire. I got some pieces that’ll match’,” you said. “And then we’re matching. Does it piss you off?”

“No, I find it adorable except when you specifically steal my sweatpants and I can’t find them because you stole them,” your husband said. “You’ll like pack them in your suitcase and jet off to wherever the bum-fuck of nowhere you have a photo shoot at. And I have to buy more because I have none because you steal them. They don’t even fit you around the waist.”

“That’s why I only take the ones with the drawstring,” you said.

“Do you know how many times I’ve had to pull up them up for you?” Chris asked.

“Quite often,” you said.

“Exactly,” he said.

“Have you seen the paparazzi photos where you’re trying to be discreet about it?” You asked.

“Yeah, they said I was handsy with you. I think uh.. someone did a review of our body language on YouTube and said I was very controlling of you and possessive of you,” Chris said. “I saw one of the comments was #freey/n.”

You laughed and said, “you were keeping my pants up.”

“You mean my pants that you were wearing,” Chris corrected.

“Ugh, whatever,” you sassed.

“But yeah I loved seeing people assumptions about us,” your husband said sarcastically.

“Especially when you’ve been nothing but good to me,” you said.

“You sure?” He questioned

“Yes. You haven’t really done anything with a malicious intent to me,” you said.

“You haven’t either. I mean you’ve been an asshole like with stealing my pants-,” Chris said.

“They’re comfortable and fit me,” you said.

“Not around your waist,” he said.

“It’s about the length,” you said. “‘Cause I’m not gonna wear capris.”

“How tall are you?” Chris asked.

“Five feet and ten inches,” you said. “How about you, big man?”

“Six feet and half an inch,” he stated.

“How does it feel to be married to a chick who is two and a half inches shorter than you?” You asked.

“Pretty good. I don’t have to strain my neck to look at your eyes,” Chris said. “Unless you put on your six inch heels which belong on the bedroom floor.”

“What? You wouldn’t want me to keep them on?” You asked.

“No,” Chris said without hesitation. “You look fucking sexy in them especially in those blacks ones with the gold chain but they’re dangerous. Especially if I’m gonna get it on with you. They’re a weapon and I don’t want to get stabbed during it.”

“Oh my god,” you said.

“I only speak the truth,” Chris said softly and grabbed his tea.

“Clearly, you do,” you said as he took a sip.

“I wanna keep talking about assumptions and rumors,” your husband said.

“Assumptions are awful,” you said.

“What was probably the one that got to you the most?” Chris asked already knowing the answer.

“That I’m using you for fame,” you said.

He kept quiet to let you continue on. He knows how much it’s affected you in the beginning of your relationship.

“No doubt... I have been noticed more since we were seen together for the first time,” you said being careful with your words. “Especially outside of the usual followers and people of the fashion industry. You’re obviously a big name in the film industry which being seen with you brought more attention to me. I remember first seeing those comments on like a fan account for you and it was a paparazzi photo of us outside of a pizza joint.”

“It’s sad we can’t go there anymore,” your husband said.

“You can just put on a baseball cap and sunglasses and you’re good,” you said.

Chris chuckled.

“Anyways, it was— I- I was— I just wasn’t expecting to see that the comments were claiming that it was a setup,” you said. “Like it was just a fake relationship that management set up. I don’t why it got to me so badly.”

“You wouldn’t see me or respond to me when I sent you messages or pick up my calls,” Chris said.

“What did you do?” You asked.

“I went to your place and I took your ass to Philadelphia,” he said. “And I went to Twitter and I posted a picture of you about to fucking inhale one of Geno’s and stated that I was gonna marry you.”

“You were cocky with that,” you said.

“Yeah, I was. I even picked out a ring the next day but I was never more sure in my life,” Chris said.

“You picked out a ring the next day?!” You exclaimed.

“Yeah, it’s on your finger. I texted Scarlett to meet up with me at Cartier’s and she’s like, “no, I’ve got a child to take care of.” So, I went by myself and one of the like top dog designers ended up talking with me,” Chris said pointed to your hand. “And we designed that ring together over a couple days. I even had it based off of my grandma’s as it was what I thought was classic and timeless. We were what? Like 5 weeks into the relationship?”

You have no words. You didn’t know what he went that early on in the relationship.

“Best decision I’ve ever made,” he said.

“That’s insane,” you said.

“I agree completely. My mom freaked out when I showed her the ring,” your husband said. “My sisters were even nearby. I got so much shit.”

“I bet you did,” you said. “How far in the relationship did you show your mom the ring?”

“When I got the ring, I took it back with me to Boston. It took like six weeks to make and get it how I wanted it,” Chris said. “My mom flipped her shit when I told her how long we were dating for and how old you were. My sisters called me a fucking idiot.”

“Obviously,” you said. “You still are one.”

“Rude,” he said making you grin.

“How long did you have the ring before you proposed?” you asked.

“Like 10 months,” your husband said.

“You really had it for 10 months?” You asked.

“Yes. I knew I had to not jump the gun with you even though I had the ring for that long. I felt like that it might be a lot for us since it was still early in the relationship,” he said. “And even though I was so certain on marrying you, we were still getting to know each other and we couldn’t often be together.”

“There were a lot of phone calls and FaceTime calls,” you said smiling. “You even sent me letters.”

“Yeah, and I had bird send them to you,” Chris joked.

“I had to keep asking for the address of wherever you were,” you said. “Your assistant got annoyed with me because I had to ask multiple times.”

“I remembered that, she just now sends you itinerary of where I’m gonna be if we aren’t together,” he said. “Your publicist downright doesn’t let me know and pretty much told me to “fuck off” and that she doesn’t have time for me to be a sap. I have to text your friends to find out.”

“I still have all the letters,” you said.

“I have yours as well. I think the favorite one you sent me was a dinosaur that you drew on a slightly used napkin where your lipstick was smudged on one side and used your lipstick to draw it. I cried laughing— like that silent laugh,” Chris said. “Rian thought I was dying. I think Ana thought someone I knew died and she kept asking me who died. I don’t even think I told anyone on set why I couldn’t speak for 20 minutes.”

“I think my favorite one was the one you had given me right before we got married— like the day of,” you said. “And it was just you explaining how Anthony had clogged the toilet in a strip club at your bachelor party and how you guys just continued to make it worse in trying to cover the evidence to the point where you guys had to bail.”

“I accidentally put the wrong letter in,” Chris said. “‘Cause the actual one was more romantic and telling you how I couldn’t wait to marry you.”

“But I think that other letter with Anthony clogging a strip club’s toilet calmed my nerves down especially since it was pretty stressful up until Sebastian delivered it to me,” you said.

“I hadn’t even realized until I asked what you thought of it and you just started laughing. You couldn’t speak in complete sentences,” he said making you laugh at the thought.

“That entire day was wild,” you said.

“It was amazing,” Chris said. “I think one of my fondest memories was when we cut the cake.”

You smiled at him.

“We kept pushing the time back since we weren’t too focused on it. We were having the time of our lives,” Chris continued. “The photographer ended up leaving because we were obviously went over the time that we were paying for her.”

“She was very sweet,” you said.

“Yeah, we definitely picked someone amazing. We probably should’ve gotten an extra one since she shot us for the whole day along with her two assistants,” your husband said. “And we were fucking exhausting.”

“I know,” you said chuckling.

“Anyways, when we did get to the cake, we didn’t have anyone to take the pictures,” Chris said. “We also didn’t want any of our guests on their phones.”

“But somebody brought them out,” you said.

“And everyone turned on their flashlight and took photos of us,” he said.

“Those were probably my favorite pictures,” you said. “And when we all jumped into the ocean after.”

“It was so fucking cold,” he said.

You chuckled and said, “we should have a counter on how many times you swear.”

“No fucking thank you,” your husband said.

“Put dolphins over the words. It would make my day,” you said looking to one of the producers.

Chris laughed. He tried making dolphin noises but he fails so badly. You giggled.

“Hang on,” he said pulling out his phone from his back pocket.

He searched up dolphin sounds and he tapped on the first video. He tried mimicking what he hears but his voice just doesn’t go that high.

“You’re doing great, Honey,” you said with a big smile.

“Cut this out,” Chris said looking at the camera.

“Don’t,” you mouthed to the camera.

“Anyways!” Chris said. “We got other questions.”

“Oh shit,” you said.

“Language,” he said.

“I’m gonna fight you,” you said.

“I can’t wait,” your husband said. “Grab a card, Boo.”

You grabbed a card from your pile and read it.

“This is so obvious— do you want kids?” you asked.

“Yes!” Chris said. “Of course! We’ve talked about it multiple times.”

“We have,” you said. “When would you want to have one?”

“Like in a heartbeat but right now, it just wouldn’t be a great time. I have a lot projects lined up and you are jetting off to places. Whenever you aren’t, you’re accompanying me to wherever I go,” Chris said. “Or we’re meeting up in neighboring countries or cities.”

“What if I was pregnant right now?” You asked.

“I’d shit my pants,” Chris said.

You laughed leaning forward. He paused. Could you be? He would be very happy about the news. It would just be a very hectic year. You both are very busy people with busy work lives. There’s also tons of projects already booked like this Vogue cover interview.

“Are you pregnant?” He asked.

“Not yet,” you said.

“I might have to change that,” Chris muttered.

“We got more questions to get through, Big Boy,” you said with a sneaky little grin on your lips.

“Can’t wait,” he said rubbing his hands together.