#chavalentine

But it was worth it because in the bag was a delicate silver necklace with a tiny D20 pendant, the kind of understated nerdy thing Charlotte would probably squeak over in that quiet, delighted way of hers.

He wasn’t her boyfriend, but he hoped the necklace would solve that. Not because she would be so taken by the necklace but because it was enchanted to make her fall in love with him. Maybe it was all bullshit and the magic store he bought it from was a scam, but he was sick of his love being unrequited.

The mysterious shopkeeper guaranteed it would work. Hell he even took some of Francis’ blood to ‘infuse’ the gift, promising that whoever wore the necklace would fall deeply in love with him. Francis didn’t know why but he believed him.

Truly the only thing that gave him pause on whether it would work now was the fact that he dropped the necklace before he even left the shop. Although it wasn’t his fault, it was the that dickhead Luke, so call ‘king of the estates’.

Francis had no idea why Luke was in the store but in his excitement at receiving the gift that would hopefully change his life, he didn’t see the brick wall that was Luke and crashed right into him.

“Oi, watch where you’re going cunt.” Luke had snarled.

Francis stumbled back, glasses sliding down his nose, blurring his vision. His gift flying from his hands. Thankfully for Francis, Luke was in a rush.

Luke looked down at the ground, looking for his own valentines gift that had fallen after the collision. Seeing what he thought was his, he scooped it up.

“Sorry, sorry!” Francis mumbled, already retreating, picking up the remaining bag. “Didn’t see you.”

Luke snorted, gave him a once over that seemed to make francis feel even smaller. “Whatever, limp dick.”

They brushed past each other without another word.

Fifteen minutes later Francis was pushing open the glass door of Byte & Brew, the little cafe tucked between a comic shop and a retro arcade. The bell jingled. Charlotte was already at their usual table, hunched over her Switch, earbuds in, tongue poking out in concentration. Her dark hair was covering as much of her face as usual. She looked up, saw him, and her whole face softened.

“Hey, you.” She said, pulling one earbud out.

“Hey.” Francis slid into the booth opposite her, heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did. “Sorry I’m a bit late. Wind’s awful. So, um… I got you something. It’s not much, but…” He pushed the pink gift bag across the scratched tabletop.

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Francis. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. For a long time actually.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Go on. Open it.”

She untied the ribbon with careful fingers. The outside of the bag, in glittery silver script she hadn’t noticed before, read: Be My Queen. “He finally made the first move.” She thought to herself. She paused for half a second, a tiny smile flickering, then pulled out the tissue and lifted the small velvet box.

When she flipped the lid open, revealing oversized gold hoop earrings. They were massive, almost cartoonishly big, the kind of jewelry that belonged on someone posing in a club bathroom mirror, not on Charlotte.

“Oh.” Charlotte said softly.

Francis’s stomach dropped through the floor. He opened his mouth to explain, wrong bag, must have grabbed that brute Luke’s, but the words stuck. She was already looking at him with that gentle, patient expression she always used when he got flustered. He couldn’t bear to make it worse.

“They’re… really something.” She finished, voice neutral.

“Yeah.” He croaked, trying to cover. “I just thought… maybe… you’d like them?”

Charlotte stared at the hoops for a long moment. Then she closed the box with a quiet click.

“I’m gonna pop to the bathroom for a sec, okay? Be right back.”

She slid out of the booth, gift bag clutched to her chest, and disappeared down the narrow hallway.

In the single stall bathroom, Charlotte locked the door and set the bag on the edge of the sink. She opened the box again. The earrings looked even larger under the fluorescent light, gaudy, loud, everything she usually avoided. She didn’t own a single piece of jewelry that wasn’t a stud or a thin chain. These things would scream. They would demand attention. She hated attention.

But Francis had picked them out. Francis, who got anxious buying birthday cards, who triple checked every gift receipt, who once spent twenty minutes agonizing over whether she’d prefer the blue or the teal dice set. He’d chosen these for her. And written Be My Queen on the bag like it was the most natural thing in the world. That meant something.

She had waited for so long to make the move. Ever since they met in the first year of uni. It may not have been the exact gift she would have chosen for herself but at least it showed Francis making the effort to try and woo her.

She sighed, lifted one heavy hoop, and slid it through her piercing. Then the other. They felt cold against her lobes, pendulous and strange.

For a heartbeat she recoiled at her reflection, two ridiculous golden circles framing her plain face, making her look like someone trying to be someone else. She almost yanked them off.

Then she blinked. And blinked again. The disgust… softened.

The hoops caught the light every time she turned her head. The motion was kind of satisfying. Bold, even. She tilted her head one way, then the other. The weight tugged pleasantly. They framed her jaw differently. Sharper. More… deliberate.

“Huh, they’re not bad actually.” She murmured.

She reached up and gathered her hair, twisting it quickly into a high, tight ponytail. The kind she usually only wore when she was washing her face or playing an intense raid. Always preferring to hide away, now she wanted to show off the hoops.

She stared at herself for a long minute. They actually… looked kind of good.

Not “good” like her usual soft cardigans and oversized hoodies. Good like someone who didn’t care who was looking. Good like someone who’d decided to be loud today, just because she felt like it. Good like… a queen.

A small, surprised smile tugged at her mouth. She straightened her hoodie, smoothed her ponytail, and pushed open the bathroom door.

When she walked back to the booth, the hoops swung against her neck with every step. Francis looked up and froze. Charlotte slid back into her seat, chin lifted just a fraction.

“So?” She said, voice a little brighter than usual. “What do you think?”

“They… they really suit you.” He managed, cheeks going pink. “Like, properly. I didn’t think… I mean, they look good. Really good.”

Charlotte’s lips curved, just a little sharper than her usual soft smile. “Thanks. They do look good don’t they?”

He relaxed a fraction, relieved she wasn’t mad. Maybe he could even salvage this after all. Sure the earrings weren’t enchanted but she seemed to like them and they did look weirdly good on her. Now was the time to make his feelings known. “So Charlotte, I’m glad you like your gift because I wanted to make it clear how much I care about you. How much you mean to me. When I first met you three years ago-”

Charlotte nodded along at first, chin resting on her hand. Her fingers drifted up almost without thought, brushing the heavy gold hoop, rolling it gently between thumb and forefinger. The metal was warm now from her skin. She half listened to Francis, something about longing and her eyes, but her gaze slid sideways, past his shoulder, to the big plate glass window.

Across the street the neon sign of Fashion Frenzy blinked in hot pink and electric blue. Mannequins in the display wore skin tight leopard print, plunging necklines, latex everything. Girls who looked like they belonged in music videos or on corner streets sauntered past the entrance, laughing too loud, heels clicking. Charlotte’s stomach gave a strange little flip. Not revulsion. Not quite. More like… hunger.

Her hoodie suddenly felt wrong. Baggy. Invisible. She hated it.

“Let’s go shopping.” She said interrupting Francis.

“What? Now? But I was just in the middle of-” He began but she wasn’t already sliding out of the booth, ponytail bouncing.

He stared. Charlotte hated shopping. She’d once spent forty five minutes in a department store and come out with only a single pack of black ankle socks because “everything else was too much.” He opened his mouth, closed it, then scrambled for his wallet as she headed for the door.

She was already crossing the street by the time he paid. By the time he entered Fashion Frenzy Charlotte was roaming the shop like a woman possessed.

She snatched a hot pink velour tracksuit off one rack, then a black minidress off another. Within a minute she had skimpy tight clothing piled high in her arms. She disappeared into the changing rooms without a backward glance.

Francis hovered near the entrance, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, feeling like he’d wandered into someone else’s fever dream.

Charlotte slipped into the cramped changing cubicle, the door clicking shut behind her with a satisfying thud. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, harsh but forgiving on the mirror that took up most of one wall. She peeled off the hoodie first, too big, too soft, too safe, and dropped it in a heap on the bench like it had personally offended her.

She looked at the pile of clothes she had brought in. A momentary doubt slipping into her mind as to why she was there, in that dressing room, with clothes she’d never wear in a million years. But then a voice slipped into her mind, easy as silk.

“Just try one babe, just for fun.” It purred in her own voice. As if in a trance she picked up a a pair of animal print leggings and slipped them on. The fabric slid up her legs like liquid. Tight. Snug around the thighs in a way that made her pause.

“This feels… nice.” She thought. “The way it hugs. Like it’s holding me. I’ve never worn anything this fitted before. It’s kind of… flattering?”

Next she pulled on a white cropped tee, so small she could see her own heartbeat. It did however show off her figure well. A figure she honestly didn’t know she had.

She smoothed her hands down her hips. The reflection stared back, curves she hadn’t noticed an hour ago, waist dipping in sharper. A tiny thrill fluttered in her stomach.

“Francis would blush so hard if he saw me like this. Like some chav. But he picked the earrings. Maybe he wants this. Maybe I look… hot.”

She swapped for the black minidress next. Shiny. Stretchy. The neckline plunged so low she had to tug twice to keep everything contained. When she finally let go, the fabric settled like it belonged there, framing deep cleavage that hadn’t existed when she woke up this morning.

“Oh… wow.” Her internal voice softened further, almost reverent. “I look… sexy. Actually sexy. Not cute. Not nerdy cute. Proper sexy. The kind of girl people stare at. The kind Francis probably fantasizes about when he’s wanking.” The dirty thought gave her a wicked thrill, enough to distract her from the fact that her hair had lightened several shades.

Next came the baby pink velour tracksuit. Nearly sheer enough to see through and hugged her body so tightly it almost felt like she was wearing nothing at all.

She zipped the jacket halfway. The material pulled across her chest, strangely fuller than it should have been. She turned sideways, admiring the outline. She tossed her glasses off in near disgust, feeling it was ruining the look.

“Mmmm now this is more like it. I look proper mint now.” She said, her accent rougher, her drawl harder. “Poor little Francis is going to cream himself when I walk out, I must be his wet dream looking like this.”

However something felt off to her. It wasn’t the fact that her skin had taken on several layers of fake tan or that her nails were now somehow long fake pink acrylics. No, it was a feeling that her look wasn’t quite right.

She looked at the pile of clothes and knew what to try on next.

Francis meanwhile was starting to get worried that maybe the earrings weren’t as plain as he thought. Sure Luke had been in the same magic shop as him but what why would he need a magic gift to make someone fall in love with him. He was a known womanizer with a new girlfriend every week.

Before Francis could contemplate any further he heard slow, thunderous heels walking out of the dressing room and looked up to see a Charlotte that was quite unlike the Charlotte he had ran in after.

She emerged in latex pink pants so tight they looked painted on, the material gleaming under the store lights. Platform heels, six inches at least, clicked against the tile with every step. A white tank top barely brushing containing breasts he was sure had been several sizes smaller. Cleavage spilled over the low scoop neckline. Her high ponytail swung behind her like a whip.

“Charlotte?”

She sauntered over, hips rolling in a way that felt completely natural now. One hand on her waist, the other toying with a hoop earring.

“What d’you reckon, then?” Her voice had dropped half an octave, gained an edge. “This more of what you were after?”

He swallowed hard. “You look… uh. Wow. I mean… really wow.”

She smirked, slow and knowing. “Thought you might say that.”

She turned on her heel, admiring herself in a full length mirror and sauntering back into the store to find more clothes to wear. Francis stood frozen, heart hammering, trying to reconcile the girl in front of him with the one who’d been geeking out over puzzle games twenty minutes earlier.

He knew there had been a terrible mix up but she was undeniably stunning and better yet she seemed to be still interested in him. He thought maybe this was going to work out for the better. That thought was short lived.

“Hey what gives?” He heard a girl say, and looked over to see Charlotte gripping on tight to shiny black puffer jacket and staring daggers into a teen holding onto the other end of it.

“Sod off.” Charlotte said, voice flat but authoritative. “It’s mine.”

The girl’s grip tightened a fraction. “I had my hand on it first. I was literally about to-”

Charlotte yanked harder, pulling the jacket toward her chest. “Yeah? Well now you don’t. Piss off, yeah?”

The girl’s lip trembled. “You don’t have to be so-”

“You’re a fat cow.” Charlotte snapped, loud enough that the girl behind the counter glanced over. “If you wear this you’ll rip it with your fat fucking chubby arms. So get lost before I make you get on all fours and moo. Try me.”

The other girl’s eyes went glassy. A tear slipped free almost immediately. She let go like the jacket had burned her, took a shaky step back, then turned and hurried toward the exit, shoulders hunched, cardigan sleeves pulled over her hands.

Charlotte watched her go with a small, satisfied smirk. Then she slipped the jacket off the hanger, shrugged it on in one smooth motion, it hanging perfectly off her frame.

Francis, who’d been hovering a few feet away pretending to examine a rack of fishnet gloves, stepped closer.

“That was… really mean.” He said quietly.

Charlotte turned to him, one eyebrow arched. “I know.” Her lips curved wider. “Wasn’t it mint?”

Charlotte didn’t wait for an answer. She spun toward the nearest full length mirror, hands on hips, ponytail whipping behind her. The cropped puffer sat like it was made for her. The oversized hoops swung as she tilted her head, admiring the whole effect.

“Now I’m perfect.” She said to her reflection, voice low and pleased. “Don’t you think?” She caught Francis’s eye in the glass.

Francis eyes however drifted to the window, where he could see the teen girl outside, wiping away tears from her eyes as she waited for her uber.

He cleared his throat. “Eh, Char… I really think you hurt that girl. Don’t you think you should apologize?”

Charlotte froze. Slowly, deliberately, she turned to face him. Her expression was like she’d just caught a whiff of something rotten. Nose wrinkled, lips pursed in disgust.

“If you love that cow so much.” She said, voice low and venomous, “Why don’t you piss off outside and milk her?”

Francis recoiled as if slapped. “Charlotte-”

She cut him off with a sharp laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “Go on. You’re fuckin’ annoying me now. I’ll be out when I’m done.”

She turned her back on him completely, ponytail whipping like a dismissal, and went right back to browsing as though he’d ceased to exist.

Francis stood there for a frozen second, mouth open, words dying on his tongue. Then, shoulders slumping, he shuffled toward the door. The bell chimed weakly as he pushed through it, the girl already gone by the time he got out.

He leaned against the brick wall a few metres, needing the time to think what to do. Maybe the magic shop had an antidote or something.

He didn’t get long to stew.

Heavy footsteps crunched up fast. A thick hand clamped onto his shoulder and spun him hard against the brick wall. Francis yelped, glasses sliding crooked.

Luke loomed over him, face twisted in a snarl, breath reeking of cheap vape and aggression. Behind him stood a woman that reminded Francis a lot of Charlotte. Not new Charlotte but the old kind Charlotte. Baggy hoody, hair obscuring her face, thick glasses.

“Where is it, you fuckin’ loser?” Luke growled, fingers digging in.

Francis blinked up at them, heart slamming. “Where’s… what?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Luke snapped, shoving him harder against the wall. “The pink bag. The hoops. You bumped me earlier, swapped ‘em. Those are suppose to be Bek’s. Instead I got some dork shit that’s given her a nerd disease.”

Meanwhile inside, Charlotte was trying on some of the chunky rings, thinking how easy it could be to swipe them, when she heard to commotion outside.

From her vantage point she could only see the back of Francis. He was pushed close to the window, but she almost didn’t notice him there because her gaze was so locked on the mysterious brute manhandling her friend.

Charlotte’s breath caught. At first it was just pure surprise. Then warmth bloomed low in her belly, slow at first, then spreading fast, liquid heat pooling between her thighs.

“Look at him.” The voice in her head purred, low and filthy. “Big. Brutal. Doing what he wants. No hesitation. No apologies. That’s real power. That’s what makes your cunt throb now.”

She pressed her thighs together. The latex squeaked softly. Her nipples hardened against the thin white fabric, aching. Francis whimpered something, too quiet to carry into the shop and Luke shoved harder. Francis’s head knocked back against the wall with a dull thud.

Charlotte’s pulse hammered in her ears. A flush crawled up her chest, her neck, her cheeks. This was something more than just, more than desire. This was destiny. There was something cosmically drawing herself to him and it was making her earlobes tingle. It was filling her mind up with knowledge she never had before.

Not just knowledge about the best clubs in town, the sexiest clothes to wear, or even how to turn the screws on someone but intimate knowledge about the guy outside. The guy she knew instinctively as Luke. He wasn’t a stranger. He was hers.

She didn’t notice how her breasts were swelling, slowly, then insistently, pushing outward until the straps of the crop top bit into soft, newly plush flesh. The deep plunge widened as curves spilled further over the edge, the fabric stretching taut, threads straining. She shifted and the jacket gaped open more, exposing the obscene swell.

Her lips tingled, plumping fuller, softer, glistening as if slicked with gloss she hadn’t applied. She licked them unconsciously, slow and deliberate, tasting something sweet and synthetic.

Her ponytail grew heavier and longer. Strands slipped free, lightening from honey brown it had just recently become to bright platinum blonde, lengthening past her shoulders to the small of her back.

"See how pathetic Francis looks?" Her inner voice continued, amused and cruel. "Helpless. Shaking. That’s what gets you dripping. Not sweet little boys who stammer and buy you nerd trinkets. You want the kind who’d slam you against this wall and fuck you until you can’t walk. You want to watch a real man break someone weaker just to prove he can take whatever and whoever he wants. You want Luke."

She stared, transfixed, as Luke’s fist tightened, knuckles whitening. Her arousal reaching a fever pitch. Her feet were moving before her mind. She need what she wanted. No, she knew what she needed.

Outside, Luke’s fist was cocked back, ready to smash into Francis’s face. Francis was still pinned, eyes huge behind cracked glasses, mouth open in silent terror. The door chimed as Charlotte stepped out and lazily leaned against the wall. One hand on her cocked hip, the other lazily twirling a lock of blonde hair around a long pink acrylic nail.

“You messing with my fella?” She called, voice low and amused, thick with that new chav drawl.

Luke froze mid swing. He turned, already snarling, mouth open to spit something vicious about some interfering nerdy dork like Francis.

Then he saw her. The snarl died in his throat. Eyes dragged from pink platforms up glossy latex legs, lingered on the bare midriff and the impossible cleavage heaving against the tight white tank, climbed to the sharp cheekbones, full lips, sulty eyes, and finally locked on the earrings. His earrings. The Queen hoops he’d bought for Beks, now dangling from this goddess like they’d always belonged there.

His fist dropped. Arm went slack. Mouth parted.

Francis, still crushed against the wall, tried to speak. “It’s ok, Charlotte, he’s just-”

Charlotte’s head snapped toward him so fast the ponytail whipped across her back.

“I wasn't talking to you virgin.” She spat, voice ice cold and cutting.

Francis flinched like she’d slapped him. She sauntered forward, hips rolling, breasts bouncing with every deliberate click of her heels, straight to Luke. Without hesitation she slid her arm through his free one, pressing her body against his side. Her tits squished against his bicep. The scent of cheap sweet vanilla body spray and fresh latex filled the space between them. She tilted her head up at Luke, lips curving into a slow, filthy smirk.

“I was talking to my king.” She purred, voice dripping honey and venom. “This dweeb annoying you, babe?”

Luke blinked once, twice, still half dazed, pupils blown wide. His free hand twitched like he wanted to grab her waist but didn’t quite dare yet.

His plan had been simple. Beks had been the closer thing he had to a girlfriend over the years. Loyal, fairly fit but she lacked the killer instinct. She lacked the full on queen bitch mentality he needed from a partner. If he was going to expand his operations to other estates he was going to need a girl just as ruthless as him.

That’s where the earrings had come in.

He knew about shop because he has been a customer himself. Back when he was invisible, weak, boring. Before he bought the thick silver chain that hung from his neck. He knew the earrings would work because the chain had. He had even had the earrings specially attuned to the chain. Made for each other. He knew Valentine’s Day would be the perfect cover and the earrings the perfect gift. But when Bek opened the box and it was that dorky necklace, he figured he might have ordered the wrong thing.

He couldn’t stop Bek from putting it on but after a few minutes he knew there was a mistake and then he remember Francis and their collision. He had went searching for Francis immediately, hoping there was time to make Bek the chav queen he needed her to be but as he drank in Charlotte he decided Bek was old news.

“Charlotte was it?” He said cupping her chin, watching her shudder in pleasure at his touch.

“That’s the old me babe. She’s dead and buried. You can call me Chantelle.” She purred, slipping her hand into his back pocket.

“Chantelle. I like that.” He said, completely enamoured by her.

“Well, you know what I like?” She prompted, squeezing his arm. He shook his head.

“I like bad bastards beating up weak like pussies.” She grinned with cruel beauty and turned her gaze towards Francis.

“Me too.” Luke replied and free fist snapped forward without warning, straight into Francis’s gut.

Francis doubled over with a choked wheeze, air punched out of him. His knees buckled. He collapsed to the cold pavement in a heap, arms wrapped around his middle, gasping.

Chantelle threw her head back and laughed, loud, cruel, delighted. The sound bounced off the brick walls like broken glass.

Bek, let out a small, horrified cry and rushed forward without thinking. The delicate silver chain with the tiny D20 pendant swung against her chest as she dropped to her knees beside Francis. The necklace Francis had meant for Charlotte.

Soft visions washed over Bek in a gentle tide of what would be her future.

Francis. Her Francis. Late nights rolling dice at his tiny kitchen table, laughing over critical fails. Him blushing when she kissed his cheek after he finally beat that owl puzzle. Her in oversized hoodies and messy buns, him in hoodies with anime prints, both of them safe and quiet and kind. Loyal. Always loyal.

He didn’t call her Bek. No that was a name for some trashy girl who lived to cause drama at every turn. No she was Rebecca. His Rebecca.

She reached out, hand trembling, to touch his shoulder.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay-”

Chantelle’s hand shot out like a viper. She grabbed a fistful of Rebecca’s hair and yanked her head back hard.

“Don’t help that fucking loser.” Chantelle hissed, voice dripping venom. “I want to see him struggle to get up. Let him crawl.”

Rebecca yelped, eyes watering, hands scrabbling uselessly at Chantelle’s wrist. Luke turned, eyes dark with heat, watching Chantelle hold Rebecca by the hair like a trophy.

“Stop, babe.” He growled, but his voice was rough, hungry. “You’re making me so fuckin’ hard watching you be a cruel cunt.”

Chantelle’s lips curved into a wicked smile. She released Rebecca’s hair with a dismissive shove, letting the other girl stumble back onto her hands and knees. She locked eyes with Luke.

“Well then.” She purred, stepping closer until her body was flush against his again. “Let’s leave these two wasters and go fuck back at the house, yeah?”

Luke’s hand slid down to grip her arse through the latex, hard, claiming. “Fuck yes!” He rasped.

He didn’t spare another glance for Francis wheezing on the ground or Rebecca kneeling beside him, necklace glinting softly in the streetlight.