#she framed it like it had been a decision she’d come to on her own
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Chapter 1: Under My Skin
Written for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang
Art (coming soon!) by @glitterfang
Beta'd by @penny00dreadful
Rating: E | WC: 5937 | Chapters: 1/2 | AO3 Link
Not for the first time, Eddie was really regretting his decision to book a client on a Friday night, and a new client at that.
It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, exactly. There were no dates on his calendar, and going out to random bars and clubs on the weekends to look for quick hookups had begun losing its appeal lately.
But it’d been a long week, and he’d much rather have been getting ready to plop down on the couch with Chrissy to split a bottle of red wine while they watched Drag Race, than preparing to do a cover up for some idiot who’d gotten his girlfriend’s name tattooed on his body, only to fall victim to—The Curse.
Ask any tattoo artist and they’d be the first to tell you, there was no surer way to guarantee a breakup than to ink your significant other’s name on your body forever.
And yeah, it probably wasn’t fair to judge the guy before they’d even met, but there were only two kinds of people who tended to make that particular mistake—dumbasses, and hopeless romantics. He just kind of assumed his client fell into the former camp, rather than the latter.
Eddie had just started wiping down the front desk counter, which doubled as a display case for the various accessories and body jewelry they carried trying to kill some time between his last appointment and cover-up-guy, when Chrissy came walking out of her studio.
It was one of the biggest perks, in his opinion, of owning their own shop. Not only did each of them finally have their own work spaces—no more having to listen to other client conversations or fighting over a single bluetooth speaker—but being their own bosses also meant they could decorate and customize their own studios to their heart’s content.
The main area of the shop was a bit of a catch-all, much like his and Chrissy’s shared apartment. It featured neutral walls lined with a mishmash of all the things they loved, sprinkled in and amongst odd antiques, knick-knacks, and various pieces of unique artwork. There was everything from vintage vinyl record jackets tacked to the wall, to faux taxidermy mountings of creatures that had never existed in real life.
Entering Chrissy’s studio was a little like stepping inside a Lisa Frank notebook cover. All vibrant rainbow colors and aggressive animal print. Eddie had painted the walls himself, color matching the exact shade of fuchsia as the adjustable chair he’d custom ordered just for her. He was no interior designer so she’d taken it from there, and though the finished product was a little too bright for his tastes, even he had to admit it was still pretty fucking metal.
Eddie’s space was the polar opposite, featuring dark stained wood furniture and a style of decor that could be best described as a slightly more grown up version of a teenage boy's bedroom. Band and movie posters lined three of the walls, but instead of being held up with thumbtacks, or scotch tape, they were neatly laid in matching frames with thick black edging. The remaining wall held a gallery of photos. Him and Wayne from their last fishing trip, one from when he and Chrissy had received the keys to the parlor unlocking its doors on the first day that it was theirs, and an old snap of him and his high school bandmates standing in front of their homemade banner, among many others.
It wasn’t until Chrissy came up to lean on the counter with her jacket zipped-up and her purse slung over her shoulder that he realized something was up.
“Don’t forget to lock up when you're done.” She said, tapping her nails on the glass. “Oh! And can you stop and pick up some oat milk on your way home? We’re out.”
“Wait, where are you going? Didn’t you have a client booked tonight too? I thought we were in this together, Cunningham!”
“Not anymore.” She said cheerfully, leaning across the counter to rest her elbows on the glass, leaving an ink smudge on the exact spot he had just finished cleaning. He swatted at her with the damp rag and she jerked back with a giggling-gasp.
“Mine had to cancel.”
Eddie groaned. “I hate when clients do that.”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. It’s like a free night off I wasn’t expecting.”
“Not exactly free, since canceling means not paying in full.” He grumbled.
“Oh lighten up! It’s not like we’re that behind on bills or anything.”
“Tell that to the electric company.” He said, mostly to tease her, though he couldn't help glancing up at the excessively large and kitschy skull chandelier he’d found on Amazon that definitely didn’t use high efficiency light bulbs, but he had sworn at the time was worth it for The Aesthetic™.
“Why are you always so grumpy?” Chrissy asked, jutting her lip out in a dramatic reenactment of him pouting.
Not that he was one to pout.
“I’m not!”
“Look at your face, you're grumpy right now!”
“That's because y- you’re…” He cut himself off with a sigh.
He couldn't begrudge her the time off, he’d be hightailing it out of there just the same if it had been him.
“Just get out of here.” He said, conceding defeat.
She beamed. “Okay! See you later!” She said, all but sprinting to the front doors. “Don’t forget about the milk!”
“Wait, why can’t you–” He started to ask, but she was on the other side of the door before he could get the words out.
“Oh forget it.” He mumbled, stashing the glass cleaner away where it belonged.
About fifteen minutes later the bell above the door chimed, signaling the arrival of what Eddie assumed to be his last customer of the day.
Except, it couldn't be.
It couldn’t possibly be because the Adonis that had just entered his humble tattoo parlor was, quite frankly, bonkers hot. There was no way, absolutely no way someone had this guy—this guy—so obsessed with them that he went and got their name tattooed on his perfect body and then just… let him go.
It was unthinkable.
“Hi, you must be Eddie. I recognized you from your Instagram.” Pretty-boy said with a shy smile.
“Steve?” Eddie asked, blinking hard, completely unable to mask the tone of disbelief.
The other man nodded.
Shit, okay.
So this was him—Steeeeeeve Harrington. This was the guy.
Maybe there was something wrong with him? There had to be a catch, a series of very red flags or something because all Eddie could think about at that moment was, if he ever got a chance with Steve? He’d never let him go.
Get it together, Munson!
The bright side, of a sort, was that Steve smacked of straight guy energy, so it was unlikely Eddie would even be in the running for a chance anyway. Better to just put it out of his mind.
Though, he supposed he could still… look. It's not like looking ever hurt anyone. Not that he made a habit out of ogling the clientele. Of course, none of his other customers had ever come in wearing vintage Levi’s that fit their ass like a glove, not to mention the way they fit around his–
“Eddie?”
Fuck.
Had Steve been talking this whole time while he’d been off daydreaming about what those sinfully tight jeans might look like on his bedroom floor?
“Yeah.” A soft chuckle fell from Eddie’s lips as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “S- sorry, man. Spaced out for a second there I guess.”
What the fuck was wrong with him today?!
“It’s okay. I was just asking if the plan was still the same? In your last email you suggested we should do this over two appointments.”
Work question… yes, good. Focus on the job!
“Right. With what we talked about I'd like to concentrate on just the outline today, maybe a little shading, and then in six weeks or so once that’s healed have you come back for the color. If you’re still alright with that?”
Eddie could do the whole thing in one shot if Steve really wanted to sit that long, but with something like this he didn't want to feel rushed. He’d done a few concept sketches after emailing back and forth with Steve about what he was looking for, and honestly what they’d come up with wasn’t really his usual style. He could do it, he was more than capable, but he had to wonder why Steve had picked him, out of all the tattoo artists in the city. He’d seen Eddie’s Instagram, so he knew the kind of work he usually churned out. Hell, Chrissy would have been the more obvious choice for this.
Of course, now that he’d gotten an eye-full of Steve in person he was glad he hadn’t tried to pawn him off on her. He was also really hoping Steve would agree to the split sessions, it would give them an excuse to see each other again.
“Whatever you think is best. I’m putting myself in your expert hands.” Steve said, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks.
That was… interesting.
Maybe Eddie had been a little bit hasty in his initial straight assessment?
Steve’s deposit had been paid, and they’d already gone over pricing through email so there wasn't much to discuss as far as that was concerned, After signing some paperwork and getting the other man’s ID scanned into the system there was nothing left to do but walk Steve back to his studio and get this show on the road.
“You can go ahead and take your shirt off, get comfortable. I’ll show you the stencil I drew up and if it looks good we can put it on and get started.” Eddie said, gesturing to his client chair.
He leaned over his desk while Steve got situated, taking a second to gather his thoughts, as well as add a small finishing touch to the transfer sketch before turning back to his client. The sight made his throat go dry.
It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was.
At Eddie's direction, in preparation, Steve had shaved his chest. More specifically, Steve had shaved half of his chest. The side Eddie would be working on, that sported the existing tattoo, was bare—smooth as a baby's bottom. The other side was…
It was…
Jesus Christ.
It should have looked ridiculous actually, and it was a little funny, but honestly all Eddie could think when he stared at the untrimmed side of Steve's upper body, resplendent with the most glorious chest hair, was that it was a travesty, a crime even, that he’d never get to see the whole thing grown out in its full glory.
The lack of a shirt also highlighted the fact that Steve was incredibly toned, much more so than he had initially appeared even through his slim fit henley.
Eddie shook his head, praying it had suddenly become an etch-a-sketch and he could clear out his thoughts by sheer force.
He truly didn’t know what had gotten into him. It was hardly the first time he’d worked on someone he found attractive, but usually he didn’t notice it quite this much. When you pierce and tattoo for a living you get used to seeing a lot of bare skin, including occasionally, areas typically reserved for romantic partners. Professional hazzard, but it’d never been a problem for him before. He was an artist, this was his craft, and bare skin was just another kind of canvas.
He blamed it on his current dry spell, self-imposed as it was.
It was easy enough to go out on a Saturday and find a guy or girl to bring home for the night, but he was so tired of one night stands and meaningless hookups in bar bathrooms. Where was the substance? He wanted companionship. He wanted a partner. He wanted to fall in love.
Eddie cleared his throat and crossed the room to hand Steve the stencil, busying himself with raising up his stool to the proper height and pulling on a pair of thick black neoprene gloves while the other man looked it over.
“It’s great.” Steve said.
“Good.” Eddie quietly let out the breath he’d been holding. “Alright I'm gonna put this on and have you take a look at the placement, make sure you like it, then we can get started.”
Eddie squeezed out a dime sized amount of the stencil gel and rubbed it into Steve’s chest, laying the transfer paper down in just the right way so that the final design would sufficiently cover what was underneath, assuming he had scaled it right.
It was perfect. After a quick check in the mirror, Steve agreed.
While they waited for it to dry Eddie double checked his set up to make sure he had everything he would need for the session.
“Ready to get started?”
Steve took a deep breath and blew it out slow. “Yeah. I am.”
His reply felt heavy, like maybe he was talking about more than just the tattoo. Had they known each other at all Eddie might have asked about it, but they were basically strangers, and it wasn’t his job to pry.
With steady hands he set the needle to Steve's skin and got to work.
They weren’t at it for very long before Steve started to squirm.
Eddie ignored it at first, he could tell the guy was trying hard to keep himself still, and he wasn’t really moving enough to actually disturb the work. Sometimes it took a bit for clients to sink into the feeling, to let the pain fade to the background enough that they could relax a little bit or at least be able to keep their body from trying to react to the odd sensation. But then he noticed the light sheen of sweat spreading over Steve's upper body, and would have sworn he could somehow feel the other man’s pulse quickening beneath the hand he had pressed so closely to his heart, even over the vibration of the tattoo machine.
He should probably stop and do a check-in, suggest a breather or some water. It wouldn't be the first time a seemingly tough muscle-bound guy had struggled to sit for him.
He opened his mouth to say something about it, lifting the needle as he took a quick glance up at Steve’s face, but what he saw had the words dying on his tongue. Steve was staring back at him, face flushed, breath coming quick and shallow, bottom lip trapped between his teeth.
That… did not look like a face that was in pain—or rather—it didn’t seem like the pain was unpleasant.
Fuck.
Eddie flicked his gaze quickly back down to his hands, the needle, fighting the urge to look lower.
He shouldn’t.
It wasn’t right.
The professional thing to do would be to ignore the reaction completely.
But Eddie was a weak, weak man.
He looked.
Just a quick peek, less than a half-second that his eyes wandered south, and immediately he regretted it.
Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck.
Suspicion confirmed. Steve was hard. He was also huge if the unmistakable outline was any indication. Eddie bit his tongue, fighting back the groan that was trying to fight its way out of his throat.
Those jeans should be fucking illegal. The only thing worse would’ve been a pair of gray sweatpants. Now he was the one sweating.
“Sorry.” Steve said, voice strained.
Eddie stilled, lifting the machine away from Steve's chest again before looking back up to meet his eyes.
“For?”
Steve raised an eyebrow, challenging him to continue to pretend he hadn’t noticed.
“It’s fine, really. It… happens. Everyone reacts differently to the pain.”
Steve let out a high pitched and breathy huff of laughter. “It wasn’t like this last time.” He muttered under his breath.
Eddie tried hard not to read into that, not to think about what the difference might be.
“Do you need to take a break?”
“No,” Steve swallowed hard. Eddie watched, momentarily mesmerized by the bob of his adams apple. “But, uh, can we talk or something? To distract me?”
He sounded so vulnerable, and a little embarrassed. It was enough to snap Eddie out of his daze. The last thing he wanted was for the person in his chair to feel uncomfortable. Talking he could do, it was one of his best things.
“Sure, what do you want to talk about?” Eddie asked casually, getting right back into his line work.
“You.” Steve answered quickly, pausing to clear his throat. “Um, I mean, did you always want to be a tattoo artist?”
Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, pretty much. I used to spend all my time, including the time I should have been using to study or do my homework, drawing, sketching, painting, you name it, and it just kinda developed from there. I gave myself my first stick-and-poke when I was about 15. My uncle was pissed. Not about the tattoo exactly, but he was worried I wasn't being safe enough about it—sanitary and stuff. Of course, he wasn’t wrong. So, Wayne took me out the next day and we got a book about it, and he bought me all the right materials. Even let me practice on him when I graduated to a tattoo machine.”
“He sounds like a really great guy.” Steve said.
“Yeah, he is.” Eddie could feel the wistful smile spreading across his own face. “Not just anyone could step in and raise someone else’s kid like that. Just wish I got to see him more. I go back to Indiana to visit him a few times a year, but it’s not the same.”
“I don’t see my family very much either, but we’re not close.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. My parents, they’re–” Steve trailed off as if looking for the right words. “Well, let's just say they're not as supportive of my—life choices, as your uncle was for you.”
“Oh?”
“I, uh, came out to them a while ago… as bisexual? They didn’t take it very well. Said I was just going through some kind of phase or crisis or something. Sorry, this is probably, like, way too much information to share with someone I just met.”
“No. it’s—Okay, maybe to a normal person it might be but I've never been what anyone would describe as normal. And… I get it.”
Eddie didn’t really have to say it. The outside of the shop sported every kind of pride flag you could think of. There were pictures right behind him on the wall of him and Chrissy at their first ever pride parade right here in the city. Not to mention his social media profiles, where he had a bi flag right next to his age and pronouns in his bio. Steve knew, was the point, and Eddie was glad he’d felt safe enough in his shop—with him, to talk about it.
“Wayne was really good about that too.” Eddie said softly. “I’m sorry your parents weren’t.”
A comfortable silence settled between them after that and Eddie left it unbroken, better to let Steve decide which direction their conversation went from here—if he wanted to continue it. He seemed more relaxed already and his… predicament had mercifully gone down as they spoke.
“When did you—how did you… know?“ Steve asked after a while.
“Junior High.” Eddie answered quickly, smiling to himself as he indulged in a little nostalgia. “Kinda the opposite of the usual story, I guess. I thought I was gay. I had such a crush on this boy a grade above me. Nobody that would have given me the time of day mind you, I was a band geek and a huge nerd, but he was very nice to look at. Then he changed schools. I was heartbroken of course, which is my excuse for why I let this girl drag me under the bleachers during gym class. One second we were just sitting there talking and the next she was in my lap with her tongue down my throat.”
“And?”
Eddie shrugged. “And I didn’t hate it. I reacted exactly the way a young boy reacts when a pretty girl is kissing them and grinding in their lap. Honestly, it blew my mind a little bit—had to reevaluate my whole world view.”
Steve hummed in understanding.
“It’s still mostly men for me but–” Eddie sighed wistfully, “Women.”
“Women,” Steve agreed reverently, letting out a soft laugh. “It was a bit more recent for me. A friend took me to a gay bar—dragged me there actually.” He started to shake his head, stopping instantly when he seemed to realize he might be moving too much.
Good boy.
Eddie smirked. “I bet you were popular.”
“You could say that. I’ve never had so many people offer to buy me a drink in my life.” As Steve went on he began to rub his hand along the chair's armrest, mindlessly drawing patterns into its surface with his long fingers.
“It’s funny, at 25 I didn’t think I had anything new to discover about myself, at least nothing big, but after that rather eye-opening evening I had to, like you said, reevaluate some things about myself. It wasn’t a huge shock I guess. Like, I had found guys attractive before—friends, celebrities, whatever, I just thought everyone felt that way.”
“Ah, the bisexual’s fallacy. Sure I think about other dudes sometimes, but only the normal amount.” Eddie said.
“How was I supposed to know it wasn’t!”
Eddie stopped tattooing as they held each other's gaze, both managing to keep a straight face for only a second before simultaneously dissolving into hysterical laughter.
Figuring it was as good a time as any to take a short break, Eddie stripped his gloves off and slid across the room on his stool to a small mini-fridge he kept tucked under his desk, stocked with water and juice—something he always kept on hand in case a client got lightheaded.
As they sipped their drinks and both took an opportunity to stretch, Eddie decided it was finally time to put his foot in his mouth.
“So, how are you enjoying things on this side of the field? Someone as pretty as you, I'm sure you get asked out a lot.”
“No, uh, I don't know. I- I haven't really been out on any dates with guys.” Steve stuttered out nervously. “Kissed a few, but that’s all.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Eddie said. He meant it too. Not only was Steve something special to look at, but he seemed like a nice enough guy. He deserved to be taken out and shown a good time. Maybe he was shy.
Steve laid back in the chair, puffing his chest out as he got back into position while Eddie slipped a new pair of gloves on.
“Why, you offering to show me the ropes?” Steve asked, pointedly raising an eyebrow.
Eddie’s mouth went dry.
Okay, not that shy then. Surely it was just fun friendly flirting though, right?
“Don’t tempt me.” Eddie teased back. Two could play this game.
“Why not?”
“First rule of the trade, or at least the Munson doctrine, no dating the clients.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Steve said, and without even looking up Eddie could hear the smile in his voice, a hint of–challenge accepted–in his tone.
The next hour flew by as they continued to chat, both remarking on the differences between small town life and city life, as well as lamenting how expensive it was, and how neither of them thought they’d still be living with roommates in their mid-to-late-20's.
For a while Eddie waxed poetic about Chrissy, who of course filled the roles of bestie, roommate, and business partner, which tickled Steve to no end.
He told the other man how they’d met, apprenticing at the same tattoo parlor at around the same time. and wound up bonding for life almost immediately. They were total opposites on the surface but deep down they were remarkably similar. Eddie didn’t go into too much detail, as it wasn’t his story to tell, but alluded to the fact that he and Chrissy had the shared experience of being born to shitty parents, only to be raised by another family member. A grandmother in Chrissy’s case.
It meant that they understood each other more than most, and yeah, being around one another 24/7 also meant they got on each other’s nerves a lot, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
At some point Steve’s cell phone began to ring from where it was shoved in his front pocket. He apologized profusely for forgetting to switch it on silent before they’d gotten started, but Eddie assured him it wasn’t a big deal.
Or—it wouldn't have been, except either it was some kind of emergency, or someone who was intent on reaching Steve immediately, and continued trying to call three more times.
“We can take a break if you need to get that.” Eddie offered.
Truth be told he could use a little breather himself. All this time of being essentially face down in Steve’s incredible chest was getting to him a little bit, not to mention the way his forearm lightly brushed along Steve's stomach whenever he braced himself across the man’s body. The feel of their bare skin touching was almost too much, and more than once Eddie felt himself breaking out in goosebumps.
“Yeah, I think we’d better. It’s gotta be my little brother and knowing him he won’t stop calling until I answer.”
Eddie busied himself removing his gloves and taking a long drink from his water bottle while he flipped through a few drawings on his side table, trying to look like he wasn’t hearing every word of Steve's side of the conversation.
“Hey buddy, I'm a little busy right now. What’s going on?”
Steve paused, listening attentively to the voice on the other end of the call.
“Dustin, he’s not abandoning you. Just because he wants–”
Sighing as he was abruptly interrupted, Steve somehow made the huff of breath sound both annoyed and fond.
“Well, did he actually say he didn’t want to play D&D with you anymore?”
Eddie’s head snapped up of its own volition. Did the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen in real life just say D&D?
“That’s what I thought.” Steve said with a satisfied tone. “It's gonna be fine. I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay? Tell your mom I said hi.”
“Sorry about that.” Steve said, addressing Eddie this time, rolling his eyes as he ended the call. “Teenagers.”
“Pretty cool little brother if he plays Dungeons and Dragons.”
“Oh no.” Steve groaned. “Not you too! He and all his little friends are obsessed with it.”
“I used to play all the time with a group back in high school. We still try and get together for a one-shot at the holidays when we’re all back home visiting.” Eddie paused, concentrating for a second on wiggling his fingers into yet another set of gloves. There wasn’t really all that much left to do, another 20 minutes or so and he’d be done with the outline. “Was he alright, your brother?”
“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” Steve replied as he sat back, getting into position. “We, uh, technically we’re not actually related—I'm an only child. But I used to babysit Dustin when he was younger and when he grew up I just sorta stuck around. It’s only him and his mom at home and I guess I thought… I dunno, like, maybe I could help? I drove him to his first school dance, taught him how to do his hair, shave, that kinda stuff.”
“That's… that’s really sweet, man. I’m sure he appreciates having you around.”
With every new thing he learned about Steve, Eddie felt like he was in deeper and deeper trouble. He’d been having a tough enough time keeping it together with simply lusting over a hot body, but now Steve was turning out to be this sweetheart of a guy and, client or not, Eddie thought he might just be worth breaking all the rules for.
“He’s worried his friend group is falling apart because one of the guys is going out for the basketball team. He’s afraid if Lucas gets in good with the jocks he won’t want to play with them anymore.”
“As a former outcast and enemy to jocks everywhere, I can understand his concern.”
“Are you saying we wouldn't have been friends in high school then?”
“Steve, Stevie, please. Please don’t tell me…” Eddie trailed off, stopping what he was doing and gasping for dramatic effect–hand over his heart. “Oh god, you were captain of the sportsball team weren’t you?”
Steve giggled, his beautiful eyes sparkling with it. “Basketball, to be exact. I was the co-captain of the swim team too.”
“I knew it would never work between us.” Eddie tutted, shaking his head as he got back to tattooing. “Are you reformed, at least?”
“Once a jock, always a jock, I'm afraid. I’m a personal trainer now.”
It explained a lot, and the perks—pun absolutely intended—of Steve's day job were undeniable, but as hot as the mental image of him pumping iron was, the idea of Steve palling around with toxic gym bros all day was almost enough to have Eddie second guessing everything.
“Don’t worry though, I don’t like gym bros any more than the next guy.” Steve said conspiratorially. “My clients are mainly older women looking to maintain their strength and mobility as they age.”
Aaaaand Eddie stood corrected. “Lucky ladies.”
Jesus Christ, could this guy get any more perfect?
Steve shifted in his seat, starting to get antsy after keeeping still for so long.
“Just a few more minutes, almost done.” Eddie murmured, tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on a spot near the curve of Steve’s collarbone.
“Do you do a lot of these? Cover-ups I mean?” Steve asked. “My roommate is the one who actually suggested it. For some reason I just never thought about it as an option.”
“I don’t know if i’d say a lot, but a fair few, yeah.”
“You, um. You can ask about it… If you want.”
Eddie glanced up in surprise. He would never have brought it up without being prompted, it just didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t deny he was curious, and if Steve was okay with it then–
“Okay, I'll bite. Who’s Nancy?”
“My fiance’. Well, ex-fiance’ now. We broke things off a little over a year ago.”
“That’s rough, I'm sorry.”
“It’s okay. Honestly, It’s… I should have probably seen it coming? We were high school sweethearts—got together before we really knew who we were on our own. But I was dumb and in love. I got the tattoo and proposed. I was so happy that day, but looking back it was so obvious that she’d only said yes out of pity or guilt, not because she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with me.”
The part of Eddie that believed in true love—and all that cheesy shit—was sad that a couple who had been together for so long, who had essentially grown up together, hadn’t been able to make it work. Selfishly though, a small piece of him was happy to learn that they’d been broken up for quite some time, lessening the chance that, if he did somehow gather the courage to ask Steve out when the tattoo was done, he wouldn’t be on the rebound.
“It was tough. I felt like a failure for a long time, like I was having to start my whole life over from scratch when I'd thought for so long that she was it for me, but it's actually been… good. We weren’t right for eachother, I can see that now. As much as it hurt, I'm grateful she had the courage to break things off when she did.”
“I’m glad you’ve been able to come to peace with it.”
“Getting this tattoo feels like the final step into letting that life go, y’know?”
Eddie nodded. Steve’s demeanor before they got started made so much sense now.
“Is there some significance to the design?” He asked, making his final line and setting the machine down. He wiped at the excess ink on Steve's skin, raising his head just in time to see the way the other man’s eyes lit up.
“Yeah, Robin. She–she’s everything to me. Like a best friend, but more somehow. I don’t think I really knew what unconditional love was before her. She’s like, another piece of my soul or something. I don’t know what I would do without her.”
Eddie froze.
The tattoo design was a bird—a robin.
A robin.
For, Robin.
How could he have been so stupid!
Of course, Steve was getting one girl’s name covered up with something to represent the new one.
Jesus Christ, they were both idiots.
Eddie for getting his hopes up, and Steve for making the same mistake—twice. At least this time it was a symbol and not a name, so if he and the latest potential Mrs. Harrington didn’t work out, at least he wouldn't have to worry about covering it up.
“Everything alright?” Steve asked.
The question spurred Eddie back into action. He spread the foam soap over Steve’s chest continuing to clean the finished tattoo while his heart crawled up into his throat.
“Yup. All good.” Eddie forced the words out.
That's what Steve must have meant about not going on dates, he already had someone at home. Why hadn’t he just said that before though? And why had he flirted with him?
Maybe he’d felt funny at first about admitting to being with a woman after all the talk about being bisexual. Not that Eddie would have judged, but he knew a lot of people did—bi erasure was so real. He understood that, but it didn’t make it hurt any less that Steve had, inadvertently or not, lead him on.
Eddie gently patted the newly cleaned skin dry with a paper towel and carefully applied a square of Saniderm over the area, smoothing it out as he gave Steve his usual spiel, albeit a little robotically, about how to care for the tattoo over the coming days and weeks.
He quickly turned his back when he was done, telling Steve he could get dressed, and feeling stupid as all hell for being this upset about a guy he barely knew. He’d felt something though, potential—a spark. It was more than he’d felt for anyone in a long time.
Steve got quiet, looking a little confused with the sudden 180° Eddie’s mood had pulled. He felt a little bad about that as he brought the guy back out to the counter, but it wasn’t as though he’d suddenly become unprofessional. He was just… no longer being overly friendly.
After confirming the date for his second session, Steve paid his balance and Eddie walked him to the door.
“Have a good night, Steve. Call the shop if you have any concerns or questions about aftercare.”
Steve bit his lip. “Oh, I… okay. See you in six weeks then.”
Eddie forced a smile, waiting until Steve was out of sight around the corner to lock up, and slunk back to his studio to disinfect it so he could finally go home and sulk.
Chapter 2
All my thanks to @penny00dreadful for all of your wonderful beta work, and cheerleading, and support, and just generally being THE BEST 💜
#steddie fanfic#stranger things reverse big bang#steddie#tattoo artist eddie munson#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#steve harrington/eddie munson#steve x eddie#steddie fic#robin buckley#chrissy cunningham#tattoo artist chrissy cunningham
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Nothing has ever hit Lena like this.
She’s been abducted by aliens. She was almost shotgun married to an alien. Her ex was eaten by nanobots in front of her. She’s been tried to a chair while her brother tried to murder the world’s most beloved hero, and nearly vaporized by a man with a radioactive chunk of another planet for a heart.
Not to mention the mundane stuff. The L-Corp logo in the lobby almost crushing her. Bombs, bullets, blades, being thrown off a balcony, thrown off a roof, left to die in a plane crash.
Almost killed when her brother sent drones to shoot down her helicopter and a golden vision of inhuman beauty came from the sky to save her life.
Of course, that golden vision had tarnished, turned brass. She could be bossy, sanctimonious, paranoid, prone to snapping at Lena one moment… then making her knees weak the next.
Because sometimes, Supergirl wasn’t bossy, sanctimonious, or paranoid. Sometimes she was all dashing grace, with a profoundly frustrating tendency to scoop Lena into her arms and carry her there with surpassing tenderness, as though she were the most precious treasure the alien had ever seen.
Poor Lena’s heart had suffered terribly through all that, yet never skipped a beat.
It skipped now.
Kara looked up from her burger, apropos of nothing. Or, that’s what Lena would have thought a moment ago, before she recognized that scar.
The world spun crazily. Lena grasped the sides of her seat for dear life while alarms and sirens blared in every direction. Smoke coughed noisily from the remains of the turbines that had powered her chopper’s rotor blades. As the world seemed to grow weightless, Lena finally accepted what was happening- the chopper was going to crash. She was going to die.
And then there was a wind.
No, not a wind. A blur of motion, a red and blue streak cutting through the brilliant afternoon light and then a stomach-churning lurch as the falling aircraft just stopped, gently floating to a safe landing on the roof.
With a squeak of tearing metal, she was there. A goddess in primary colors, soft waves of golden hair framing her devastatingly lovely face as she checked the pilot and then turned those arresting blue eyes to Lena and then asked-
“Are you okay? Lena?”
With trembling hands, Lena reached up. Kara froze, a thousand emotions flashing on her face, fear flickering in the oceans of her eyes. They both paused, testing the moment. This was it. They had their choices: Lena could stop, make some excuse. Kara could flinch and offer some gee golly shucks reason to move out of reach and dissemble her way out of it. They could decide not to do this.
Lena did not stop, and Kara did not move. The frames of Kara’s glasses were surprisingly heavy in her grasp as she softly tugged them free and set them aside. Lena raises a hand to Kara’s cheek, ever hesitant quiver of her palm a question. She closed the gap between them on the couch and brought her other arm back up, circling Kara in something that was somehow more intimate than a hug. He best friend sat stone still as Lena worked loose the band that held her hair.
Golden locks spilled about her shoulders, and Lena gasped. She caressed her hand up Kara’s shockingly soft cheek and touched the scar lightly with her thumb.
Lena felt the tears trembling in her own eyes as Kara’s welled with her own. The moment had come; the river was crossed, the decision made.
And yet in this moment there was another one, at once simpler and more profound. Lena’s lip trembled. Anger welled in her chest, burning hot and bright.
It’s not a great question for a Luthor to ask someone in my family.
It twisted in her like venom, burning at her insides, trying to eat through her from the inside out. The fury rose until she thought she’d be sick, and then…
Kara Danvers believes in you.
Take me instead!
I can’t hold both! You have to jump!
I will always protect you.
“It’s you,” Lena whispered. “It’s always been you.”
Before she knew what was happening, Kara drew her forward with surpassing tenderness. Hands that could crack marble gently guided Lena’s weight into Kara’s lap. What had not been meant as an embrace became one, and Lena made her choice.
It was her.
It had always been her.
Noticing small details about them (physically)
#Supercorp#supergirl fanfiction#supercorp fanfic#supergirl#lena luthor#kara danvers#kara x lena#karlena#supergirl fanfic#ficlet#Lena Luthor figures out Supergirl’s identity#seriously she flew here on a bus?#Kara Danvers loves Lena Luthor#Supercorp from a prompt
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Fire & Ice
The case was over, the danger was gone and they could go home and finally celebrate Christmas.
The case was over, so she'd let her defences down, not knowing that the worst was to come.
-x-
Hi friends,
I actually have no idea where this idea came from. It was meant to only be one part, but me being me I got carried away and it is now two parts. Second part will be up in the next couple of days!
As always, let me know what you think <3
-x-
Words: 2.9k
Warnings: Canon Typical Injury, Aaron Hotchner Whump
Read over on Ao3, or below the cut
She had felt nothing short of an exhibit in a zoo for days.
Every interaction she had with Aaron, no matter how small, was observed carefully by their friends. The two of them watched by everyone in the team with a critical eye, the news of their relationship still fresh to the people they considered their family.
It had ultimately been her decision to tell them. Keeping it a secret had been practical at first, it helped them navigate the journey from friends to more, but then they realised they liked it. Both she and Aaron had enjoyed the peace that had come with the secrecy of the first 6 months of their relationship, the lack of involvement from anyone other than Jack and Jessica something they had both treasured.
She knew Aaron had wanted to tell their friends sooner than she had, his desire to share his love for her with the world clear in his eyes whenever he looked at her, but she’d been hesitant. It had taken a long time to feel like she was on even footing again after Paris, something she’s sure she would have never found if it wasn’t for Aaron, for his gentle but strong love as she came back to herself, and she didn’t want to shake the foundations again, to change the dynamic of the team once more.
In the end, it was the idea of not being able to spend Christmas with him and Jack without it raising suspicion that had pushed her towards telling their friends. She’d always loved the holidays, a fact that had surprised Aaron when she’d talked him into decorating his apartment much earlier than he usually would, her knowledge of him and the fact he could never say no to her, especially when she was naked, something she had used in her favour.
They told the team a few days ago, using the annual party that Dave threw as the perfect opportunity. It had gone exactly how she thought it would.
Dave had insisted he’d known for months, JJ had smiled knowingly, Penelope had asked intrusive questions and Spencer had avoided eye contact with both of them. It was Derek whom Emily had been most worried about, his dislike of any major change and desire for the truth were two things that made her nervous.
He’d been standoffish, a tension in his frame that she’d expected but had still hurt. He’d barely spoken to her since and it made her ache.
Ultimately, it had been for nothing anyway. They’d got a call for an urgent case on December 23rd, pulling them all out of their homes and the holiday atmosphere they’d fallen into, and they found themselves hundreds of miles away, helping a team of local detectives hunt down a serial killer who was haunting a town. The unsub was devolving at speed, which meant they knew it couldn’t wait until after the holidays.
She was furious about it, wanting nothing more than to wake up on Christmas morning with Aaron, snuggled up against his side as Jack burst into the room, his excitement forcing him out of bed earlier than normal. Instead, they’d spent the day in a cold police station in the mid-west, sneaking away to speak to Jack on the phone instead, once again promising him they’d have Christmas when they got home.
As annoyed as Emily was about the disruption to her plans, she knew Aaron was more upset. He always worried he was letting down his son, that Jack would look back at moments like this and feel like he’d come second to everything else. So she’d pushed her own feelings down, let them roll in her stomach, and tried to help him instead, making a point of making him smile whenever she could, of encouraging him back to their hotel room with the lumpy bed every night so they could have some time together. One advantage of everyone knowing they were together now was that they could share a room officially. He no longer had to sneak back to his room at dawn, and she could take advantage of every possible moment in his arms.
She groans as the alarm goes off, and she screws her eyes shut, desperate to steal a few more moments of sleep. Aaron chuckles from behind her and presses a kiss to the back of her head as he leans over her to turn off the alarm.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, his voice thick and raspy with sleep. She loved how he sounded first thing in the morning, it was a part of him that was just for her, a part of her Aaron that she could have before he slipped on his Hotch mask for the day.
“Let’s just stay in bed,” she replies, turning in his arms and pressing her face into his chest, hiding her smile when she feels his laugh more than she hears it, the rumble of it passing from his chest into hers, “No more work.”
“I wish we could, Em,” he says, kissing her head before he encourages her back to look at him, his fingers tangled in her hair, “But the sooner we finish this case, the sooner we can go home and have our Christmas.”
She hums and smiles sleepily as she looks up at him, “True,” she says, placing her hand on his cheek and tugging him in for a kiss. She sighs as she pulls back, her forehead against his as she thinks about leaving this room, the strange sanctuary they’d found between over-starched sheets and faded art on the walls. The second they were with the team again they’d be under the microscope, every little thing they did or said around each other scrutinised, “Think you can yell at the others for staring at us?”
He laughs and kisses her nose, his smile only getting wider as she scrunches it up at him, “I think that might be an abuse of my power,” he says, stamping a kiss against her lips.
She rolls her eyes playfully, “What is the point of sleeping with the boss if he won’t yell at your colleagues for you?” She says, the end of her sentence lost to a yelp as he rolls them on the bed, his body over hers as he presses her into the mattress.
He kisses her fiercely, his hands sneaking under her, slipping under her t-shirt that used to belong to him, his hands on her as he pulls her closer, his palms warm against her lower back, his touch something she now couldn’t live without. She kisses him back, her fingers tangling in his hair as she wraps a leg around his waist, her heel against his ass as he pulls back. She hums thoughtfully, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.
“I guess you have your uses,” she says playfully, pushing his hair out of his face, and he shakes his head at her.
“They aren’t that bad, Em,” he replies, his smile crooked as he looks down at her, and she raises an eyebrow.
“That’s easy for you to say, you aren’t the one Pen sends a daily sex update request to.”
His eyes go comically wide, “She does what?”
She chuckles and stamps a kiss against his lips as he pulls away, sitting up next to her as she sits up too, yawning as she rolls her neck.
“I wish I could say I’m joking,” she says as she stands up, stretching her arms over her head, smiling to herself as he watches her walk to the bathroom, his eyes fixed on her thighs, on the soft skin he’d sucked a bruise into the night before. She turns to look at him and winks as she switches on the bathroom light, “If it helps, I’m always incredibly complimentary.”
She closes the door before he can reply, his words muffled slightly when he responds.
“I think you know that does not help.”
___
She’s sure she’s never seen the team quite so relieved to catch an unsub. There’s a collective sigh of relief when they get a confession, all of the work of the last few days, the time they’d all lost with their families, had at least led to something.
She sighs as she starts to take pictures down from the board, carefully piling them in a file so they can be handed over to the prosecutor. She smiles as JJ walks over and joins her, the tension that had been in her friend's shoulders since they’d arrived nowhere to be seen.
“What did Will say when you called?” Emily asks, her smile getting wider as JJ’s does.
“Henry was already in bed,” JJ says, looking at her friend, “But Will said he was going to make cookies so we could ‘have a proper Christmas’ the moment I get home,” she chuckles and tilts her head at Emily, curiosity shining in her eyes, “How about Jack? Has Hotch called him?”
Emily nods, “He’s speaking to him now,” she smiles as she thinks of the little boy, her love for him nothing short of overwhelming, “I have a feeling I’ll also be talked into making cookies,” she rolls her eyes when JJ raises an eyebrow, “Fine, I’ll watch them make cookies and be the test taster.”
JJ laughs and looks past Emily, nodding when a uniformed officer they’d been working with beckons her over. She pauses briefly next to her friend and places her hand on Emily’s shoulder.
“You both seem really happy, Em,” she says, squeezing her shoulder, “If there’s any two people who deserve that it’s the pair of you.”
Emily presses her lips together, a failed attempt to hide her smile, and she places her hand over JJ’s, briefly squeezing it, “Thanks JJ, that means a lot.”
She was happy. Happier than she had ever been in her life. There were moments when it didn’t feel real, when the simplicity of the life she’d found herself felt like it was too much, like it would be snatched from her the moment the universe realised she didn’t deserve it. Sometimes, when she couldn’t sleep, she’d watch Aaron sleep, her eyes fixed on the peaceful expression on his face, another part of him just for her, and she’d feel nothing short of unworthy.
She’d told him that once, her insecurities catching up to her and forcing her to start an argument with him that she’d regretted immediately, her instincts to ruin something before it could be ruined for her still going strong. When she’d admitted that to him, tears she’d refused to shed shining in her eyes as she told him she felt like she didn’t deserve him, all the fight had drained out of him. He’d pulled her into a hug before he cupped her cheeks and held her in place as he told her in no uncertain terms how wrong she was, how much he and his son loved her, how she had been the missing puzzle piece they’d been looking for.
She was still learning to trust being this happy, to allow herself to feel it, but day by day it was getting easier. She saw everything with him. A house. Marriage. More kids.
She wanted it all.
She continues packing away all of the casework and she looks up from the board when she hears footsteps, her smile turning tight when Derek joins her, the tension immediately palpable.
“Hi,” she says, clearing her throat as she looks back down at the papers in her hands.
“Hi,” he replies, barely looking at her as he helps her break everything down. She sighs and shakes her head, her patience with her friend, one of her best friends, fraying after days of him barely speaking to her over nothing more than the fact she’d fallen in love.
“Look, Derek-”
“Morgan, Prentiss,” Aaron says as he walks over, his hands on his hips as he blows out a breath, “I’ve got to go with them to book the unsub at the county jail.”
Emily frowns as she crosses her arms over her chest, “But that’s an hour away,” she says, sighing as she steps closer to him, unable to stop herself even though they were working, “Why can’t Detective Rooney do it himself?”
Aaron’s jaw tightens at the mention of the lead detective they’d been working with since they arrived. He was a good man, but in over his head, the serial killer that had torn through his hometown at Christmas the biggest case he’d ever handled.
“He’s asked for my support,” he says, a wry smile flashing across his face. She sighs, the thought of being here, of delaying going home for any reason, enough to make her chest feel tight again. Aaron notices, because he always noticed everything about her, determined never to let anything slip by him again, her fake death something that still weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he steps forward. He doesn’t touch her, won’t cross that line here, but he does get close enough that she can smell him, his presence enough to ease some of the tension that had started to build back up. He smiles at her, a soft thing reserved for her and Jack, “It’s only another couple of hours,” he says, “Then we’ll be on our way home, I promise.”
She nods, biting the inside of her cheek as she fights a smile, “Yeah,” she replies, tightening her hold on her triceps so she doesn’t reach out and touch him, “We’ll be home soon,” she says, smiling at him before she steps back, “Be careful, the roads will be icy.”
“I’m always careful,” he replies, winking at her before he turns away and she shakes her head at him.
She only looks away when he’s out of her sight and she freezes when she sees Derek staring at them, a stern expression painted across his face. She shakes her head and clenches her teeth as she steps towards him, avoiding eye contact as she goes back to her task.
“I get it was a shock,” she says, not looking at him as she finishes up packing the first of the boxes, “And I’ve put up with you being standoff-ish for days,” she looks at him, her eyes fierce “But I’d like it if you could get your head out of your ass soon, and just be pleased that your friends have finally found happiness after everything,” she lifts the box off of the table between them, “This isn’t some fling, I love him. He loves me, so get over yourself.”
She walks away, and she makes a point of not looking back.
___
Aaron sighs as he checks his watch, any hope of getting home before the sun rises fading with each passing second. They were on their way back from the county jail, the unsub successfully handed over, and the drive home was dragging out longer than the drive out there had.
“Keen to get home?”
He smiles tightly as he turns to look at Detective Rooney and then nods as he looks back at the road, his hands tight on the steering wheel, the bad weather making it harder to drive than usual.
“Yeah,” Aaron replies, a smile flicking onto his face as he thinks of his son, “My son, Jack, said he’d wait to open all his presents until we got home, he’ll be so excited he’ll be bouncing off the walls.”
“We?” Detective Rooney asks, his eyebrow raised, and Aaron fumbles for a second, realising he’d slipped up, before the other man laughs, “We all knew you were with Agent Prentiss the moment you scowled at one of my men for flirting with her.”
Aaron clears his throat, trying to push his embarrassment back down, “Well, I appreciate you not saying anything when we were working the case, we try our best to be professional,” he says, his smile tight as he tries to change the subject, “Do you have a family?”
Detective Rooney smiles widely, “A wife and three girls,” he says, patting his pockets to try and pull out his wallet, “I have photos somewhere, our youngest is only just a year old so this was her first Christmas,” he looks in the back seat and sees where he’d thrown his wallet when they got back in the car, “There it is,” he says, unhooking his seatbelt as he leans back to get it, “My wife was furious I was working, but I told her this is the kind of case that makes or breaks a career-”
His words are cut off by the screech of the tires, the car moving of its own accord as they hit a patch of ice.
It takes a matter of seconds, but it feels like an eternity, everything slowing down around them as Aaron does his best to gain control of the car again. It feels like it’s floating, any grip the tires may have had long gone as the car spins out of control.
The car leaves the road and goes down a hill, time only speeding back up as it hits a tree, the bonnet crumbling around wood as if it was made of paper.
Aaron hits his head hard on the steering wheel, his world narrowing down to the pain in his forehead, the way he feels immediately dazed. His last conscious thought is of Emily and Jack, and of the promises he might not be able to keep.
-x-
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Can you do a fanfic of what if Densi had come their separate ways after the season 9 finale. You can make it really angsty. I'd also like to see Kensi have a moment of realization, regretting she was the one who drove Deeks away cause I always found it unfair that he had to apologize when I've always felt it should have been the other way around!
A/N: I kind of made this after the season 10 premiere, because rewriting things to exclude Mexico felt too involved.
I think both Kensi and Deeks said and did some things that were unfortunate. Though I don’t think Deeks ever was trying to give Kensi an ultimatum when he said they shouldn’t get married.
***
Shattered Beyond Repair
Kensi stood in the center of the living room. She’d made it past the front door, finally, but couldn’t seem to get past this point. Everywhere she looked, there were little signs of the life she and Deeks shared.
Had once shared, she reminded herself internally.
After they returned from Mexico and Deek was released from the hospital, Kensi had stayed with him to nurse him back to health. Even though they weren’t together anymore, she couldn’t justify abandoning him to a rehab center, or some stranger. Not after everything they’d been through, all they’d overcome.
The cavern between them had persisted though, and Kensi could never quite find the words she needed to fix things. Then before she knew it, Deeks was well enough to be on his own, and decided to stay with a friend of his. Unable to stay there on her own, with the constant memories, Kensi had temporarily relocated to a hotel.
She drew her finger along the top of the coffee table, leaving behind a streak in the thin layer of dust. It was just another sign of everything that was wrong. Pressing her lips against the tight, painful sensation rising in her throat, Kensi moved on. She didn’t get very far; stilled by the sight of a picture frame tucked between some knickknacks.
It contained one of the pictures from their engagement shoot. The pure joy on her and Deeks’ faces is such a cruel juxtaposition to the constant ache in her chest.
“Hey.”
Kensi spun around at the sound of Deeks voice, tucking the picture against her chest. It had only been a few days since she’d seen him, in passing, but her eyes roved over him like it had been weeks.
“Hey. I didn’t realize you were coming today,” she said when he didn’t say anything else.
He hesitated in the doorway, head dipping for a second before he looked up again, gaze focused beyond her.
“Uh, yeah, I just came to pick up a few more things. I won’t be long,” he said.
“You don’t have to rush,” Kensi told him, not even caring that she sounded desperate. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been, um…” he shook his head, and made rough, sarcastic sound. “It’s been hard.” He looked as hurt and lost as she felt.
Kensi started towards him before she even fully registered the decision.
“Kensi,” Deeks protested softly as she wrapped her arms around him. “This isn’t—”
“I miss you,” she whispered softly, and he broke off. His remained stiff in her arms for a few more seconds, and then his arms slowly rose to enfold her shoulders, his chin lowering to rest on her head.
“I do too. You don’t know how much, Kensi.”
“Then we should talk. We can work this out, Deeks.“
She felt his chin move against her head, side to side.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” he said.
“We’re both miserable. I know I made mistakes, I said things I didn’t mean, but I was angry and scared, and I definitely don’t feel that way now.”
“And what about when we have another issue we don’t agree about?” He paused briefly. “Are you going to walk away again if you don’t like what I say?” It wasn’t said maliciously, but Kensi flinched at the reminder.
Deeks eased back slightly, cupping her cheek so he could turn her face to his. She was so used to looking to him for positivity, for the humor in moments of darkness, yet she only found deep sadness in his eyes.
“I never meant to give you an ultimatum that night, Kens,” he continued, his thumb brushing along her jaw almost absentmindedly. “And I would never force you to do something you’re not ready for. Like leave NCIS.” He sucked a shallow breath between his teeth. “Or start a family. But I want those things, Kensi. I want them with you, and I…selfishly, can’t live a life where I might lose out on all of that. Or you.”
Tears filled her eyes, and this time she did nothing to stop them. She wanted to tell Deeks that she could give him everything that he wanted. Now. It would be so easy, but the words stuck in her throat.
“So, what are you saying?” she croaked out finally.
“I can’t—I can’t do this anymore,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word. His eyes were wet too, a couple tears creasing down the sides of his nose.
“No, please, baby.” She held him tighter, as though she could physically keep him with her.
Deeks dipped his head, his nose brushing against hers, his mouth so close. Cupping his cheeks, Kensi tugged his mouth down to her, and kissed him. She expected Deeks to pull away, but instead, he drew her closer, his mouth moving over hers with a desperation that was almost terrifying.
It ended far too soon. Kensi buried her face in Deeks’ neck, breathing in his sent, relishing the feel of his skin and beard against her cheek.
Slowly, Deeks encircled her wrists, and gently drawing her hands down. “I love you,” he whispered, and Kensi couldn’t contain the sob that erupted from her throat.
“I love you, too,” she gasped back, clutching at Deeks’ shirt for a few more seconds until he pulled out of her arms. He stepped back, fists clenched at his sides.
“Good bye, Kensi.”
She watched him turn, walk away, the door closing behind him. Sinking to her knees, Kensi sobbed.
***
A/N: I hope that was suitably angsty. Honestly made myself cry a little bit writing this.
Thanks for the prompt!
#ncis la fanfiction#densi#marty deeks#kensi blye#I guess technically ex densi#au#post to live and die in Mexico#angst#get your Kleenex#anonymous prompt#ejzah fanfiction
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All Along, Like Fire (Part 2)
Read Part 1
R | 1.8k words | MSR, AU
Summary: What if Mulder had been married to Diana Fowley when Scully joined the X-Files?
A/N: I think one more part after this… again, assuming it doesn’t get out of hand, lol.
—
October, 1994
Fox Mulder did not react the way Diana anticipated. She watched him crumble from the inside, watched him throw himself into fire and rail screaming against the night. This wasn’t just guilt and devotion, she realized. It was love: hot and soul-deep in a way she didn’t think he’d ever felt for her.
The thought burned acidic in her gut.
It was never a lie when she told him she loved him. She did, with all of herself that was able to love. There was just so much she couldn’t tell him, that he wouldn’t understand. Dana Scully might have been “good,” but such a position was relative, and to think her goodness more pure was naïve. On the deeper scale of history, wasn’t saving the human race better? Wouldn’t advances in genetics, and these future children, be the key to survival some day?
Diana looked down over her medical mask at the red-haired woman, petrified but immobilized, on the metal gurney. She dare not speak, lest the other woman recognize her voice, but she placed a hand on Scully’s arm—whether to comfort or reassert her own power, she wasn’t sure. Both, perhaps.
Now you’re a part of this, she thought.
Diana could tell the other woman wanted to scream, but the intravenous paralytic kept her from moving, tied her voice down in her throat, even as her belly distended for the hyperovulation.
We’ll be the same, she thought. They’ll have your future, too.
And when Scully died, whether from this procedure or the cancer that would inevitably follow, Mulder would be broken. Diana would be there waiting for him with open arms and open ears.
—
November, 1994
Scully was soft and fragile and freckled, teetering just this side of life and no memory of where she’d been. Mulder returned her cross to her: a symbol of both her faith and his, though not in the same things. When darkness came and her mother and sister had gone, he wielded his badge to reach her floor and stole back in when the night nurse took a break—even if Scully were sleeping, he needed to see her.
But she wasn’t sleeping. She was deep in thought with a reading lamp on, fingers clasped around the necklace on her chest. She looked up at the sound of the door.
“Hi,” he said.
She smiled at him, and he felt dizzy for a moment at the sober cobalt of her eyes.
“Did you sneak in?”
He frowned. “I don’t sneak, Scully. I deftly maneuver.”
She gave a slow nod of humoring agreement.
“Are you feeling okay? I was just going to sit for a minute and then sne— maneuver my way out.”
Another half smile before she scooted over, patted a space on the bed by her hip. He crossed the room to sit facing her, like she’d done for him in a hospital bed not long ago. He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, pushed her hair from her face with a gentle touch. His eyes carried a weight that looked like it could pull her down and drown her. It scared her a little.
“Mulder—“
“I thought I’d lost you,” he said, voice low and full of gravel. “It ripped me apart. I wasn’t sure I…” He breathed in once, twice, pushing down some dangerous confession. “They reopened the X-Files and I almost didn’t care. I only cared about finding you.”
Scully’s eyebrows went up at this. “They reopened the files?”
Mulder brushed his lips across her fingers one more time and then let them go. “Yes.”
“When?”
He shrugged. “About two weeks ago.” A pause as he considered how to frame his next words. “I don’t want to pressure you to make any kind of decision. I know you need time, and you may not want to come back at all—“
“I do.” Her voice so firm, so sure.
“Scully, there’s a very good chance someone took you because of our work.”
Her chin jutted up to cut the air with determination. “Then we can’t let them get what they want.”
He opened his mouth to speak, to argue, to say something protective and reassuring like that he’d be okay without her—a lie—but he swallowed it back. He wanted her with him, needed, couldn’t imagine his life without her now. “Scully…” a croak, an admonition, a declaration. He leaned forward and turned to lay his head on her pillow, pulling her back with him. He swung his legs up to lay alongside hers and curled his body around her.
Scully stiffened. This was a dangerous game—dangerously close to the mistake they’d already made. “Mulder, I—“
“Please,” he said. “I just need to hold you for a few minutes. I just need to know you’re really here.” She relaxed, softened against him, and after a moment let her head fall onto his chest.
“You’re married,” she said. “It’s not fair to—“ she swallowed around a click in her throat, “to her.” Or me, she thought. But her arm had come around his waist and her palm was on his back, under his jacket and t-shirt, warm on his skin. She wanted all of him around her like a cocoon. It was the safest she’d felt since waking.
“I know,” he said. He kissed the top of her head.
He didn’t let go.
—
It would be almost Christmas by the time they left quarantine, another whole month gone and so soon after losing time already. Alone in all this quiet sent Scully reeling into the blank void of her lost memory, grasping at scraps and finding only terror, meaningless sensations, dead silence but for the whir of horrible machines.
Scully doubled over in the dark, clinging to her own knees in oversized hospital scrubs. She heard a low keening whine. The drill—
the drill the drill the drill the drill the drill
But it wasn’t the drill. It was only herself, her own throat squeezing out that high, desperate note. She choked on it and sobbed.
She needed to work. She needed to be anywhere but alone with her thoughts and the cold, medical smell of antiseptics, waiting to see if she’d sicken and die like the others.
Welcome back, she thought.
—
Less than two weeks left and neither of them showed signs of infection so they were given permission for contact. Mulder was practically banging at the door, ready to tunnel between their rooms to see her. Unlocking the passage between them was like the crack of gunfire at a race: he was off in a heartbeat.
What he found on the other side of her door was a pale, limp creature, wrapped in blankets and staring at the ceiling.
“Scully!” he rushed to her bed and checked her pulse, felt her throat and her cheeks. She felt warm, but not flushed. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes focused on him and her lips trembled. “I tried not to think about it,” she said, “but I was alone again.” He sank down beside her, watched her wrestle with herself, biting her lips and forcing herself to sit up. She was collecting composure from every last reserve. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”
He touched her face again—he couldn’t help it. “You’re not okay.”
For a moment, she leaned her cheek into his palm, eyes closed. She breathed deeply while silence hovered. When she finally spoke, nothing could have prepared him for her words.
“Do you love your wife?” she asked.
It was like a record scratch, a slap, a T-bone at an intersection. “What?”
His hand dropped back onto the bed, and she opened her eyes to look at him. “This is dangerous, Mulder. Whatever this is—“ she waved her hand between them, “—it’s very confusing.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“Do you love her?”
Mulder looked away, grappling with his own demons. “Yes. I do. I did? God, I don’t know.” He’d thought what he had with Diana was love, but now he wasn’t sure. Diana was a low thrum of lust and comfort. Whatever this was, it felt monumental, volcanic, planetary, cosmic.
Her voice was low and dry, like wind through leaves. “I won’t do this, Mulder. I won’t be the greener pasture or give her reason to hate me more. That’s not fair.”
“I know it’s not.”
“You’re my friend,” she said.
“Yes.” He thought of her naked under him, soft and unbearably sweet, pink-cheeked and mewling with pleasure. He felt like he’d swallowed fire.
“When you touch me…” She couldn’t finish. “I need to respect your marriage. Or I can’t respect myself.”
There was something in the way she said it that made him realize there was more—something she wasn’t telling him.
“Okay.” Still, he didn’t stand. When she looked up at him, her eyes were hooded, dark, hungry. Being this close to her was dangerous. He didn’t trust himself.
And he was stupidly in love with her, he realized.
He bent to kiss her, and she didn’t resist. She opened and softened and tasted like honey. He’d kill for her. He’d rip the world to shreds for her. He wanted to let her go, but he couldn’t—not after he’d felt this. It was danger love, cataclysmic love.
When he pulled back, her lips were swollen and the freckles stood out on her nose in the dim light. There was no regret her eyes, nor in him: only need.
“I’m not sorry about this,” he said, and he gave in.
—
January, 1995
In the real world of D.C., they put their professional composure back together. They were polite, protective, and professional—if somewhat flirtatious. Scully wouldn’t allow things to move beyond that, not in the city where they lived and worked, but the memory of how he felt over her, under her, inside her was never far away. It seeped in when he was giving slideshows and pinkened her face. She ached to touch him.
But he was married, and that thought would always follow the desire and fill her with a too-familiar shame. By some miracle, Scully had managed to avoid seeing Diana Fowley in the intervening months—was, in fact, terrified of running into her again. When it finally happened, she was shattered, knocked flat by the encounter.
She and Mulder had been working over lunch when Diana walked in, shoving her into panic mode and skyrocketing her blood pressure. Then the woman spoke, and everything came undone.
“Agent Scully,” Diana said, as if surprised to see her. “I was sorry to hear about what happened…”
Diana kept speaking, but Scully had stopped listening. The look in Diana's eyes, their shape and the pitch of her eyebrows rolled a tumbler in her mind.
no no no no no no no
Cold sweat broke out on her upper lip and she felt her face go white as blood left her and she was blanketed with terror. The machines, the drill, the hard metal slab...
Diana had been there in that cold, medical place.
Scully remembered.
—
End Part 2
Go to Part 3
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I’ll Be Okay, I Just Need Time - Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary: When things get tough, Y/N doesn’t want to say anything so as to not burden those around her with her struggles, but she could never hide it from her loving boyfriend.
Word Count: 2000+
Warnings: angst, mentions of depression, mentions of self hate, crying, comfort, reassurance, good ending
a/n: not proofread. Also this is based on my own experiences, it probably won’t apply to everyone.
Main Masterlist
It has been going one for several weeks now. The only reason she hasn’t completely cracked under the pressure was because she had friends and a boyfriend to distract her from the gloomy thoughts running wild.
No day was ever the same; one day she’d be totally fine, almost content with what she had and was grateful to have so many people that love her for her.
But then the next day, she’d fall into the depths of her depression, doubting every decision she’s ever made, feeling guilty for not doing one thing or another, or even becoming angry with events from her past that she had otherwise come to terms with.
Just when Y/N thought she was on the brink of recovery from the depressive bout, it would pull the rug out from under her feet causing her to fall again.
Why was the mind so complicated?
Currently, Y/N was leaning against the window frame while staring out at the raining streets below her apartment.
She had just finished up the laundry and was waiting for her favorite blanket to dry. Until it dried, Y/N resorted to gazing outside.
Most times, the rainy sky would have brought her a sense of comfort but right now it seemed to amplify the sorrow buried deep in her chest.
Why can’t I just be happy? She scolded herself, already feeling the tears gathering in her eyes.
It wasn’t even noon yet!
She quickly tilted her head back in order to force the tears to dissipate back where they came from; Bucky was going to be back any minute now and she couldn’t have him witnessing her like this.
He already worried so much over her, so she was desperate to not add fuel to the fire.
After a minute or two of making the tears disappear, Y/N took a step away from the window and headed straight into her bedroom.
Once her eyes set upon her desk sitting against the wall, it was brought to her attention how messy it actually was.
Since she fell into this mental state, she had almost zero motivation to fix the mess piled on top of the wooden desk. But now that she had nothing else to distract her, she decided to clean it up immediately.
Her fingers delicately traced over the stack of misaligned notes before neatly picking up page after page to stack them together.
When the papers were stacked, Y/N set them onto the shelf under the surface of the desk then moved onto the different sized notepads and journals littering the top.
In the midst of placing the notepads on top of each other, Y/N’s vision began to blur with the tears she had willed away only minutes ago.
She pressed on with organizing her desk, pretending like her vision wasn’t being continually blurred with the onslaught of tears threatening to fall.
“Damn it…” Y/N mumbled to herself as she planted her palms on the desk, her head tilted back again.
Just then, the sound of footsteps outside her door caused her to completely freeze.
Despite the lightness of the footsteps, Y/N could tell that by the way they sounded that it was Bucky coming back with her favorite take out.
Never in her life has she yearned for his presence while cringing at him happening upon her when she was so emotional. Though what did she expect, he lived here too.
As if by magic, the tears that she was barely holding back vanished from her eyes while she took a deep, and silent breath.
With a jingle of his keys, Bucky unlocked the door before stepping inside. “I’m back!”
Taking one more preparatory breath, Y/N turned on her heel to walk into the kitchen.
Bucky noticed her once she stepped into the kitchen. “Hey, doll.”
She put on a smile. “Hey!”
At first, he went on with setting the takeout onto the counter when he noticed the slight red rim around Y/N’s eyes.
Y/N had flicked her eyes up from the food to look directly at him for a moment, and that’s when he saw it.
The deeply rooted pain shrouded by a happy facade.
It wasn’t something he could really explain if anyone asked, but the way her eyes looked dark and glazed over with the intensity of a stormy tidal wave, caused him to wonder what was making her feel so much grief.
But she kept pressing on as if nothing were wrong. “Were they busy?”
“Uh…” he spoke, trying to bring his thoughts back to reality. “No, no they weren’t. In fact, the place was kind of empty.”
Y/N proceeded to take the last bit of package out of the brown paper bag. “That’s weird. Maybe it’s because of the weather.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Bucky paused to watch as Y/N continued on as if everything were normal.
It’s possible that they were; maybe he was being paranoid. But with everything that he’s seen, experienced, he didn’t want to risk it.
Y/N threw the paper bag away then immediately turned to the refrigerator. She opened the door and began to speak. “A lot of people don’t like the rain, so I guess it's not really that weird that they were empty today.”
She paused for a second as she leaned down a bit to grab two drinks from the lower shelf; all the while Bucky carefully eyed her mannerisms.
“I could be the weirdo, I enjoy rainy days. That’s probably out of the ordinary.” Y/N babbled on, taking only a few second pause between each thought she voiced.
Bucky could see that her being so talkative was a coping mechanism she’d developed to hide her feelings. Somehow talking gave her the opportunity to voice her thoughts without being too personal.
Y/N set their drinks on top of the counter, resorting to now look through the silverware.
His blue steel eyes landed on her face. It was at that moment that he could see the barely visible grimace hiding on her lips.
He hadn’t been able to see it before, but now from the side it seemed so obvious.
It was now or never.
“Are you okay, Y/N?”
Y/N’s hand stopped, and hovered over a fork she’d been about to grab.
All movement laid still until Y/N took a short comfortable inhale, like she wasn’t suffocating from her own despair.
She whipped her head up to meet Bucky’s gaze; a smile already prepared. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Bucky felt his chest tighten at the blatant lie.
He stared back into her eyes and saw that wall she always put around her feelings come down just a bit.
“Are you sure?”
That question made her smile dip down, receding back into her features. Her brain was now fighting with itself; on one hand she yearned to tell him every little thing that was wrong, but on another she was afraid of being a burden to him.
She kept repeating to herself: He’s been through enough… He’s been through enough… He’s been through enough… He’s been through enough… He doesn’t need to know what’s wrong.
Hesitantly, she nodded. “Y-yeah. I’m sure.”
Bucky nodded back in response, knowing that he shouldn’t push it. “Okay. It’s just…if you need to talk, you know I’m here for you. Right?”
Y/N slowly nodded again, but didn’t make any move to look away from him. Instead she kept her eyes solely on him, and he did the same.
Neither one of them said anything else for several more seconds, when Bucky saw it.
He saw the way her jaw clenched tightly, her lips tighten in on themselves, and her eyes became shiny like pearls in the ocean. Unfortunately, what followed was equal to a dam being blown apart rather than a calming sea.
She immediately began to sob.
“Oh doll…” Bucky whispered as he gently brought her into his arms. She reciprocated by wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.
She buried her face into the crook of his neck while she cried. Letting go of all of the pent up emotions she’d been feeling for days now.
Bucky rubbed his hand up and down her back comfortingly, like she had done for him many times in the past.
For him, whenever he was in a bad spot, having Y/N touch him in some way helped calm all the disorganized thoughts. And Y/N admitted once that it helped her too.
“I wish I wasn’t like this.” Y/N confessed in between the bouts of her sobs. “I wish I could be grateful for the things that I have instead of wallowing on the things I’ve lost or missed out on.”
Bucky turned his head a bit to kiss her hair.
“I wish I didn’t hate myself. I wish I could just be happy. I don’t want to be lost and confused and frustrated.” She let out a particular gut wrenching sob when admitting these things out loud.
At the mention of Y/N hating herself, Bucky felt his own eyes sting with unshed tears. He remembered thinking that very same thing about himself.
“I don’t want to be a burden. But I am.”
“No, no, you’re not a burden. You could never be.” Bucky countered gently.
Y/N shook her head adamantly this time. “Yes I am.”
Bucky carefully pulled her out from his neck, but still kept his arms around her waist. “I used to think the same thing about myself but you helped me realize the truth.”
He raised his flesh hand to wipe away the tears from Y/N’s cheek. “You taught me that these feelings don’t reflect what’s true about us. It reflects our fears, insecurities, things like that. But what is true is that no one is a burden, we all matter. You matter.”
Y/N lifted her hand to grip his, resting on her face.
“It took a long time for that sink in, but it’s thanks to you that I accepted it in the first place. And yeah, sometimes I still have bad times, but you made me see that at the end of the day; I matter too.”
Bucky leaned forward to plant a soft kiss to her forehead then rested his own against her’s. “No amount of thanks will ever be enough to empathize how grateful I am to you for that. But I sure as hell will spend the rest of my days showing you.”
For the first time that day, Y/N genuinely smiled. She tilted her head up to press her lips against his.
The kiss was slow, but nonetheless filled with the utmost love for each other.
Of course, his words didn’t completely wash away all the turmoil, however, things felt better; lighter.
He was right. She had spent countless times telling Bucky in his moments of doubt, which happened fairly often when they first started dating, that he wasn’t a burden. That he was just as important as anyone else despite all of the things he’s done.
It didn’t matter what his brain was telling him, what mattered is that he understood the truth. That he knew his life was significant. And just as she had done for him, he was trying to do now for her.
They pulled away after a few seconds to look each other in the eye. Only seconds passed by but it was like hours to them; seemingly existing in their own world with just the two of them.
Bucky grinned down at her and Y/N couldn’t help her smile from growing bigger.
Whenever he smiled, she couldn’t help doing the same. It was contagious.
He pecked her lips one more time before pulling back to again rest his hands on her waist. She kept her hands on his broad shoulders.
“I’ll be okay…” Y/N sniffled, wiping away the wetness coating her features. “I just need time.”
His metal hand rose up to tenderly tuck a stray piece of hair out of her face. “And I’ll be here by your side every step of the way.”
#marvel#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#fem!reader#female reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#winter soldier#winter solider x reader
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Gambling on Your Love - Ch. 7
Summary: Francesca Ferrara grapples with the fallout of her breakup with Elvis Presley. As she decides to prioritize her aspirations and move away, their complex relationship faces its ultimate test. Elvis, heartbroken but respecting her decision, finds himself lost in his career and memories of what could have been.
Word count: 8,000
Warnings: Mature subject matter; abortion.
Want to catch up on our babies? Start with these first: Chapter one, two, three, four, five, and six.
Francesca knew not where to be. She couldn’t find comfort anywhere. Her apartment didn’t feel like her own any longer. She didn’t have any friends in the city. Elvis wouldn’t stop calling her, so now her home had gone from ringing silence to ceaseless ringing in a frustrated snap. She just couldn’t take it anymore.
She answered his first call, without saying a word, and listened to him breathlessly plead with her to say something to him, to say anything to him. He didn’t understand. He was sorry. It was a horrible, sickly feeling she wanted to separate from so badly it made her insides twist. She held tightly onto a throw pillow and dreaded each moment that passed, knowing any moment he could come knocking at her door again.
It's been a week since she’d suddenly called things off with them. Whatever “them” had been. She sighed, burying her face in her bunched knees. How unsightly. She hadn’t left the house in days.
Her suspicions had just grown and grown and grown. She thought how easily he could be playing her. How blindsided she could be by her affections. Why wouldn’t he use her as a stepping stone? Wouldn’t putting her out see him in more pictures? His career had everything to gain by snuffing hers out. They were both triple threats in the same genre. Maybe the great Elvis Presley couldn’t bear to share the spotlight—even for a moment—even for a woman he…
Did he love her?
Gray morning sunlight filtered in, her cat chasing the fat beams on the floor. The churning within her stomach became too much. Her palms dewed with sweat, tingling when she tightened her robe. She swallowed thickly, the motion making her swoon. Slowly, she stood up from the couch. The room was spinning and her face felt hot while her body ran cold. Quickly, she fretted to the bathroom, going to her knees and desperately bracing her quivering frame against her commode.
No, no, no. She hated getting sick. Vomiting was damn near terrifying. Her eyes watered and she hurled into the porcelain. Again and again until she was heaving dry, just gasping for a breath. She crawled towards the shower, undressing as she let steam waft. She adjusted the water, lukewarm to ease her burning, shuddering, distressed body. Her stomach was empty and yet her head still spun. She’d never felt such distinct dizziness before. It rocked her for a long moment, where all she could do was brace against the porcelain and watch through slitted eyes as water circled the drain. It just felt good to have the water on her skin, pattering her like a lover's fingers.
Francesca didn’t know why, but tears welled in her eyes, mixing with the water as she blinked them away. It felt cathartic to weep, to release herself to an almost soothing sense of sadness that felt better than the nausea.
I miss him…
After what felt like an hour, Francesca was finally stable enough to stand up and cut the faucet off. That had been awful. Like the worst bout of acid reflux she’d ever experienced. She eased back onto the couch, still wrapped in a damp towel as she breathed. Normalcy was over her in a thin, wavering grain, not entirely rooted. If she moved too quickly, she’d spiral back into bleak dizziness. But if she remained still and slowed her breathing… Everything was alright.
Just when she thought she’d capture a comforting morning recovery nap with her kitty curled up in her lap— there was a heavy knock at her door. It wasn’t Elvis’s frantic rapping, her intuition confirmed when her courteous agent called her name from the other side.
“Francesca? I couldn’t reach you on the phone. I hope you don’t mind. My visit wasn’t totally unannounced, but I can see you haven’t checked your mail either.”
Frannie glanced over to a pile of letters sitting unread in a basket by the entrance. More still were caught in the letter slot, haphazardly spilling in. Cautiously, she rose up to unlock the door, sliding on her robe to undo the chain and let him in. His hair had grown a bit since she’d last seen him and he brought her flowers, gesturing a bouquet of tiger lilies at her.
“Did you sleep a wink last night? You look awfully pale. Running a fever?”
“I’m fine, just a bit of a stomach bug is all.”
He raised a brow at that but didn’t say anything as he stepped inside. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to swing by for a visit to check on her, but she wasn’t oblivious to the concern wrought on his face.
Francesca put her bouquet in a crystal vase, cutting the stems and submerging them in cool fresh water. She couldn’t help but feel like them. Sustained with the bare minimum, looking pretty until she wilted.
“Nick,” she began, turning towards him, slowly so that her head didn’t start swimming again. She still felt so floaty. Her throat burned. She was hungry but had no appetite. Ugh… “Thank you for the flowers and for stopping by.”
“I’m not here to fuss at you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Though, I will say,” he stopped, glancing at her pink rotary phone. Following the cord with his eyes, he slipped it back in with a finger wag. “Don’t do that to me. It’s one thing if I can’t get in touch with you, you’re a tough, independent girlie, I know you’re fine. But it’s something else to send Elvis Presley on a wild goose chase with me right in the middle of it. You know how many times that man called me looking for you? He thinks I’m the one who’s put ideas in your head about quitting.”
She scoffed. “He’s certainly committed to his bit. Tell him to… tell him to kick rocks!” On one hand, Elvis Presley was one of the most considerate, generous, thoughtful men she’d ever met. He gave her everything and more. But on the other, Francesca knew no man who was as steadfast at achieving his goals. He and his shifty little manager had gotten under her skin. It was exasperating, exhausting to constantly deal with. The reshoots had been another drop in the bucket. But that interview, that’d been the straw that broke the camel’s back.
It would have been so easy to attribute it to tabloid fakery that an opportunistic reporter just fubbed up to make a paycheck. But there had been intimate details in the paper. Things only Elvis should know.
“And the rumors about your and Ms. Ferrara’s on-screen relationship being more than just fictional?”
“Let’s just say, we like to do a little method acting. No runaway horse rides.”
“Oh, maybe runaway motorcycle rides then? Ladies, take note, this is how you can find an excuse to put your arms around that man you’ve been eyeing. Ask him for a ride on his motorcycle.”
Elvis laughs, looking coyly to the side before back at our mic. “Actually, Frannie has her own.”
“No kidding! Francesca Ferrara on a cycle?”
“She’s better at it than me. We made it all the way to Mt. Charleston Village together on iced over roads.”
“That’s dangerous, no? Driving in the mountains with all that ice?”
Elvis grins. “Well, we might have gotten snowed in.”
Francesca was equal parts furious and betrayed, that he would feel so careless to share her heart with him. Just when she thought she’d found the one that she might be able to spend the rest of her life with. It was like he understood her, would fly with her instead of trying to cage her down like many a man had seemed intent to do.
She yearned for the chance to talk to him again just as much as she braced for it. As soon as Dominick plugged her phone back in, it began to ring. He looked at her before they both glanced at the phone, anxiously calling out to her. The answering machine picked up and she could see the tape was almost full of unanswered messages Elvis had inadvertently left behind.
“Frannie. If you’d just talk to me. If you’d just tell me anything, I’d give it up. But I can’t stop thinking about you. You know I’m crazy about you. It feels like you took a piece of me with you when you left. Just talk to me. Call me. We don’t have to talk about the movie. Just… please, Chess.”
Oh, the longing. The pleading in his voice. It got to her. Her knuckles were pressed to her mouth, pursing the words back, holding the desire to pick up. Maybe she did owe it to them both to explain why she was so worked up. It wasn’t just that awful article… it was everything on set. The movie might not be cursed, but maybe she was. It felt like a specter had been looming over her entire presence on set, sabotaging everything. Things went missing from her purse. Objects in perfect condition were found broken. Her hospital visit, her dress, the film itself being cut—it all seemed too convenient that so many awful things happened to her and only her.
Elvis on the other hand, had only improved. Word was it that he had a three-picture-deal lined up whether Gambling on Your Love took off or not. At this point, Francesca worried if the film would ever be released. Her part in it had been so crucial. The reshoots had been sloppy, comparatively. She couldn’t get out of her own head. Cassandra might have been pacified, but Francesca wasn’t. That just wasn’t her best work. And there was still the final duet that needed refilming. It’d taken them just a few clean takes the first go around, Cassandra wanted the shot to be continuous and three solid minutes of song and dance under hot casino lights without breaking a sweat in high heels was easier said than done.
Francesca had been flawless. The first time. Elvis was with her step for step. He’d been practicing, not neglecting his vocals and his choreography recitals, even after their forays together.
How she missed him.
“You know I always want what’s best for you.” He patted his coat pocket, checking to make sure his cigarettes were there. He knew she didn’t allow smoking in her apartment. “I’ve got a few scripts we can go over. One of these is out there. It’s a macabre, black comedy thriller about a female doctor moonlighting for the mob. Another is a Bond-Type, special agent. You’ll be in a group with two other actresses and the director let me know personally that you were his first pick for the leading lady.” His voice was slightly upturned, like he had a few more.
It was nice to get her mind off of things and focus on her future. This was just a stumble.
“Anything else?” She grinned insinuatingly.
Dominick crossed his arms, his head leaning side to side like he mulled over whether to tell her or not. Chewing over it, he finally spat, “And lastly, I’ve got a screenplay and a hungry director asking for you again. It’s about a single mom whose husband dies in a factory fire and she makes ends meet as a dancer.”
At first, Frannie winced. “What type of dancer?”
“Eh…” Dominick was like a father figure. He didn’t like discussing relationship matters (other than his warnings about their effect on her public image), and he most certainly didn’t like discussing the racy and the tawdry. He nervously prattled his fingers on his knees. “A gentleman’s club. There wouldn’t be any topless scenes. Only implications. The offer is pretty good Frannie, the director in charge is Billy Wilder.”
Director of The Apartment. It was a pretty successful romantic comedy-drama. She wasn’t entirely certain that was on brand for her though. He could sense her hesitation.
“You'd be surprised how much classier the script is on paper. The female lead meets a rich client that wants to take care of her and her son. Only a few scenes are supposed to take place in the club.”
“How much?”
“More than Gambling.”
She inhaled. “Alright. Just, say yes to it all. Not all at once. I can’t be everywhere at once. And I need some time off in between... I’ve been writing some new songs.”
“You’ll definitely have to relocate for the first one though.”
“Oh?”
“The director doesn’t want to travel to Mexico for some shots, so Phoenix will have to do.”
Phoenix, Arizona? She was sunburnt just thinking about it. But at the same time, a change of scenery seemed exactly like what she needed. Maybe some sun would do her good, lots of it.
Dominick hugged her tight, ruffling her hair like one of his kids. Left alone again, her thoughts came rushing back as did the rings on the telephone. This time, she picked up the phone and Elvis must have been so surprised by an answer that he didn’t speak, he just waited on another ring to check if this was happening.
“Frannie? Frannie. What’s this about you leaving the movie? Talk to me… you know that interview is all bogus. You can’t really believe it! Anyone could have said those things!”
“And our trip?!”
“Maybe we were being followed! You have to believe me. I’d never do that to you. You know how private I like to keep my business...”
“I can’t believe you! I just can’t! It all just seems too convenient to me that—that you never wound up in the hospital with an allergic reaction to the makeup on set. Your clothes never tore, your shoes never broke. Your home was never ransacked. Your most private memories weren’t trampled through and sold to the highest bidder—still out there waiting to be drip-fed to the press. I—Elvis, I can’t even remember everything I’ve written in my diary over the years.” She inhaled sharply; she couldn’t get enough air.
“Frannie, take a breath. You need to calm down. You’re not thinking about things clearly. Why would I do anything to sabotage you? This is our movie. We’re in this together. Do you know how many strings I had to pull just so I could get on camera with you? Colonel Parker wouldn’t budge until I gave him a bigger cut.”
“Your nasty Colonel is the same man who gave me the newspaper with that… awful article. Elvis, I don’t want to lose faith in you. I want to trust you, but I simply can’t. There’s too much that’s happened and it’s making me sick the more I think about it.”
The room was starting to spin again. Her heartbeat was like a strobe, making the lights brighter with each pulse. She leaned against the arm of her settee. It was nothing like her other. So many things were changing, even her body felt different.
“So, what’s there left for me to say? Is there nothing I can do to make you change your mind?” She could hear him switch the phone to his other ear. “Because if you won’t talk to me, I’m coming down there. This isn’t right, Frannie. You know how I feel about you. You know I love you, Goddamnit.”
“Don't say that!” She gasped, like he’d struck her. “Don’t say that to me!” He was pure evil, holding those words until the last possible second. When he felt most afraid of losing his grip on her. That’s what this had all been about. His control over her, on set and in real life. If he got close to her off camera, there was nothing she could hide from him. She wouldn’t be his friendly competition anymore, she would be another one of his playthings, another woman tamed, another notch in his belt. She wondered how many other girls he’d confessed his undying love for, just to get them to stay another night.
“Why don’t you want to hear me say that, Francesca? Do you really hate me that much now?” The anguish in his voice was enough to make her second guess her words. It cut like a knife, the blade twisting when his pitiful voice would crack. “Fine. Have it your way. You have my number. You have a whole lot of me, Frannie.”
She listened to the static of silence on the receiver, threading between their ears like spider silk, ready to write her words.
“You have a whole lot of me, too, Elvis Presley.”
*
Their parting was tender enough, but that’s what frustrated Elvis the most about it. She wouldn’t answer most of his calls. She wouldn’t open the door. When he tried throwing pebbles at her window again, she didn’t come to meet him. She’d almost entirely cut him out of her life and perhaps the most painful part was how easy it seemed for her to do it.
It was going on nearly two weeks and each day trudged slower than the last. He went to the studio a few times, but the only thing left to film was an impossible scene. They might have a movie without that final duet, but it wouldn’t have half the heart, and Cassandra was devastated at the suggestion of trimming anymore fat. Elvis ached for her too, she was carrying a silent burden, trying to keep everyone on set smiling. She still had a payroll to make.
“You know, I’ve always been able to tell when to back down. I think that’s a good quality for someone to have. Does that make sense? Or does that just make me a quitter?” Cassandra was talking more to herself than him as she slowly drug a virginia slim down to the filter, tamping it out on the galvanized metal siding, dotted black with countless butts.
“I didn’t stop believing in her. Or you,” Elvis admitted.
Back home, he didn’t try calling her again. Well, for about half an hour before he couldn’t stand it anymore, but this time, he got nothing like what he expected.
Frannie picked up, but she didn’t say anything for a long moment. He heard her inhale and he savored that sound, like she was in his ear for real and not just miles away, avoiding him.
“Elvis, I can’t talk right now. I’m about to step out, can’t you call another time?”
“Why won’t you at least let me see you one more time? I can’t stand feeling so disconnected from you.” It was impossible for them to communicate solely like this, unable to see each other face to face, even if he could perfectly envision her sultry eyes and her red lips, the dark whirls of her hair framing her beguiling smile.
“I’m leaving, Elvis. I’m hanging up now.” But she paused again. He could hear her tighten her grip on the phone.
“Then why did you even answer me in the first place?”
Static. She hadn’t hung up. Her lips parted, he heard her take another breath. “Elvis, I feel like I should tell you something.”
He slumped into the couch, his heart racing. Say it, tell me. “I’m listening, Frannie. You can tell me anything.” He needed to hear her say it, that she loved him, too. That she was sorry for how she was trying to end things. He knew his persistence would pay off, and that was before the opal necklace he’d had made for her— sitting close to his chest in his breastcoat.
“Elvis, I’m… I don’t feel really well.”
"Well, we've had a rough time. I'm not feeling well either--"
“I might be… oh, I’ll just come out with it. There’s a chance that I could be pregnant.”
The emphasis on that last word struck him like a hammer. Recognition struck. Flashes of images arose in his mind of cold snowy mornings by the fire. Where they’d made love in primal, abandon fashion.
A wash of unfamiliar warmth, of stirring potential glinted in his eyes. He was speechless. The thought of Francesca, swelling with his child, was enough to make him swoon. She was going to have his child. He—
“Elvis. Did you hear me?”
“Yes! Yes. My God, Frannie. I’m on the way now. You can’t do this by yourself.”
“No, no, no. See, you’re—you’re getting… carried away. Just, listen to me for a moment, please. My monthly is late, and my mornings are horrible. I’m going to see a doctor now just to be sure.”
“Of course! Do you want me to meet you there?” He was overflowing with a frightening sense of giddiness. All at once, his future seemed more unsure and more hopeful than it’d ever been. It was like he could reach out and grasp it, a purpose that finally grounded him, fulfilled him.
Ah, but Frannie’s voice, the things she was saying, there was no elation. There was only a quivering fear. He could hear the tinny pitch of her voice when she swallowed. He could see the tears streaming on her beautiful face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m nervous enough about taking myself. It’d be over if we were seen together.”
“What will be over?”
“My career.”
To him, that seemed like a small price to pay.
Her apartment it was then. He waited out on the street for her to pull up, he wasn’t sure what to expect her in. With the evening sky darkening overhead, a few plips of rain stained the asphalt, precursors before the clouds dropped and curtains fell. He could barely see down the street past sheets of rain. Oncoming headlights, each pair, he hoped they were her. After another hour, maybe more of listening to the radio, intermittently cranking the car on to use the wipers—Frannie pulled up in a little yellow taxi.
She was dressed in all black, unassuming and dour but undeniably classy. Her pencil skirt flourished around her ankles, her small feet perfect in glossy black flats. She was quite obscured from the public eye. Any unassuming fan glancing her way wouldn’t be able to recognize her beneath her cat’s eye sunglasses and wide brimmed hat.
Elvis couldn’t get to her fast enough. He cut the car off and jogged across the street, dodging traffic as he made his way to her. Shucking off his jacket and holding it over their heads, Frannie glanced casually at him before fanning open a clear umbrella for them both.
She smiled at him and stepped closer. His arms were around her before he could think, before she could protest, before he could be bothered to worry about any onlookers. Her body was warm, trembling. In that instant, he felt inexplicably drawn to her—more so than ever before. But when he went to kiss her, she let him land only briefly before motioning quickly for him to follow.
“Good heaven, just get inside, dummy,” she laughed, sprinting across puddling cement to the revolving doors. Bennington greeted them with a tip of his dewed hat.
He was soaked to the bone, she, just so. But the dampness made her already bespoke clothing cling lovingly to her curves. His gaze was rapt, he wondered briefly if he was in a dream as she led them into the newly repaired elevator.
The tension between them was buzzing and he couldn’t stop looking at her. She was beautiful, her hair clinging to her face from the rain.
“I miss you so much,” he respired, turning towards her, just barely resisting pinning her against the wall. With his hand clasping her stubborn little chin, he turned her face towards him, dipping his head in for a kiss. But the elevator lurched to a stop and Elvis composed himself swiftly as a duo of retired elderly ladies stepped in, blinking wearily but amicably at the two of them.
The polite greetings passed as the ladies exited at the next floor and Frannie snickered, rubbing her face in her palm, like she savored her first laugh of the day.
“I missed you, too,” she admitted as the doors opened.
“Not enough to return my calls.” He pouted, only slightly playing it up. She still had a vice grip around his heart. It was a dangerous position to be in, a high that kept climbing and he didn’t know when it was going to end.
“I answered some of them,” she retorted, turning the key in her door. He watched as she winced before opening inside. Preparing for the worst. But relief washed over her features and she scooped up her cat who greeted her loudly (or begged for a refill on the kibble).
Her apartment had changed, most notably… There were moving boxes. Decorations had been taken off the wall. Most of her furniture was gone.
“Where are you going, Frannie?” He asked point blank, leaving her no room to dodge. But she didn’t squirm as she took off her glasses and hung up her hat, kicking off her shoes to sit beside him on the couch. She relaxed against him, like he hadn’t asked her anything—and with how sweetly she was curled against him right now, he was second guessing repeating himself.
“Frannie.” He brushed back her stray bangs, watching the corners of her mouth turn in.
“Phoenix.”
“Phoenix?” He asked. She settled deeper against him, her hand across his chest. She was relaxed, breathing slowly, like she could fall asleep at any second. “Is it for a movie?”
“Mmmhm.” She nodded, sitting up suddenly, her lovely eyes level with his. “I think it would be good for me to get out of this city for a while. Filming doesn’t start until May, but I found this beautiful townhouse in the suburbs to lease for a bit.”
Elvis could appreciate how easily she talked to him, but her lack of restraint was cutting him.
“What did the doctor say today?” He was dying to know. If she was carrying his child, he was going to need to make several sudden changes. But if it was for his family, he’d happily do it.
Frannie clearly didn’t want to talk about her potential pregnancy. Maybe it scared her, maybe she thought childbirth was painful. But he would see her through every bit of it. She wouldn’t ever be alone.
Although, Colonel Parker might have a few things to say about Elvis and Francesca’s situation at hand. He decided then and there not to tell him, not until the time was right.
Frannie nodded, with her hand bundled tightly in her lap and her face downward. He could see tears gathering at the corner of her eye. His heart ached to see her in distress. Arms winding around her, he pulled her close against his chest.
“I’m pregnant,” she breathed. Biting her lip so hard it whitened, she shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t be pregnant, Elvis!”
But he was already happily embracing her, thinking about the family they were going to start together!
“It’s alright! We can make it through this. You know I can support you and our little one,” he assured her. But the moment those affirming words left his mouth, he knew he’d regret them by the callous look she whipped at him.
“Support me?” Frannie reiterated. “Me? Elvis. I can support myself just fine. And you and I both know there… that there’s no way for a baby. Not right now.”
His brows knitted together. Confusion struck him. “Well, what do you mean there’s no way? If you’re worried about me being there, I’ll be the best dad a kid could ask for. I’ll marry you.”
Frannie threw her hands up, her face was burnt red. Tears streamed. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. She pointed at him. Lowered her hand. Opened her mouth. A small sound escaped and she buried her face in her palms.
“Elvis, we can’t do this!” She wailed.
“Frannie, Francesca, please, look at me. Talk to me. We can. We can.”
“I don’t want to!” She gasped. Like the words hadn’t meant to slip. “I can’t just put my career on hold. I’m just getting started, Elvis. I can’t stop now to raise a family and keep a home. I want to–”
“So, what are you saying? What do you think we should do about this then?”
Frannie’s frustration built to the point that she looked ready to scream. He’d never seen her so upset before and all he wanted to do was say the right thing to help make it better. But everything he did seemed to just be making things worse and worse.
He gathered her in his arms. He could almost feel the pieces of her shaking apart, like if he didn’t hold her close enough that she’d crumble. She turned into him. He could smell nothing but her intoxicating perfume. Her dark hair fell like waves over her shoulders.
“I just want you to hold me for right now,” Frannie whispered, burying her face in his neck.
“I can do that.” He could do anything for her, all she needed to do was ask. “You’re shaking like a leaf, Frannie…” He stroked her back, her tightly bound muscles cleaving against his gentle touch.
She melted into him and he wanted to rejoice. He praised her with his love. Lightly at first, like the rain that’d softened outside.
Elvis kissed her forehead, inhaled her feminine scent with his eyes squeezed shut. Thunder rumbled outside. There wasn’t any space between them anymore. It was electric, feeling her so close once again. He had been spoiled by her, he craved only her. His dreams were haunted by a dark haired goddess.
When he was aroused, he desired her—thought of her. She was the pinnacle of desire in his mind. He didn’t know why she didn’t believe him, but he truly did love her. The depth of his feelings could only be conveyed in the same way he’d always done so, with his touch and with his giving.
Frannie unbundled beneath him, breathing in his air. He kissed the fine bridge of her nose. Her eyes fanned shut and she tilted her head up to receive the next one. When his lips made contact with hers, it was crushing. He couldn’t get close enough. He slanted his lips against hers, fed his tongue into her mouth, felt her hesitant reciprocity.
She gasped, her hands clinging to him while he kissed her. His hands wove through her wild tresses, freeing it from the shiny little pins. He glanced down at her graceful neckline, and saw the pearl necklace he’d bought her months ago. She wore him over her heart still, even while she supposedly couldn’t stand to see him.
Here, she was fawning for more, reaching up for him passionately while he laid her back on the couch. Lightning flashed outside and they were caught staring at each other, just breathing.
He wanted her. He needed her. And every bit of Frannie said she needed him too.
Her knees parted just slightly, letting him slip in between her thighs. He settled against that softness and groaned, his arms shaking while propping himself upright. How he’d missed this. Frannie had inadvertently lowered his tolerance, heightening the experience even more. Had she planned to rile him up like this? Was she scared that he might abandon her? Maybe this was her way of playing hard to get— albeit later in the game than most women would dare.
“Frannie…” He purred, cradling her face in his hands and melding his mouth against hers. She tasted like cinnamon. Her cheeks were flushed pink still from her tears.
“Elvis— we shouldn’t,” she bit out, that protest prancing away when he lowered his attention to her sensitive nape. Instinctively, she turned her head to the side to give him better access to her neck. She adored when he painted his kisses here, or the occasional love bite. His mark was already thoroughly on her.
“Why not? Tell me that you want me to stop and I might.” He wouldn’t. He continued his path, pawing at the neckline of her dainty black top. Peeling it down with his greedy hands and with his teeth, he freed her lush breasts. He wanted to whip her into a frenzy. How could she be so cold towards him when all he felt for her was molten heat burning him up from the inside?
Elvis was crazy about her. He just wanted her crazy for him, too. He really thought she was. But somehow, he’d messed things up royally along the way. If she would just give him a chance to make it up to her—he would spend all of his time making it right. Making her happy.
But Frannie was pulling away from him, at first physically, but he could see her withdrawing from him entirely, even while she was still panting from his attention. She scooted up and at a distance from him, leaving him feeling cold in her absence.
He reached for her, stroking her arm. He couldn’t bear to have her pull entirely away.
“Elvis, you know I can’t have this baby.”
“No, I don’t know that.”
Francesca looked at him, her eyes pleading for him to understand, for him to listen. And he knew. He knew exactly what she meant, what she wanted. What he should say. But he just couldn’t bring himself to agree. It felt like the moment he cleaved, she’d be gone. The thread cut and Frannie would dance out of his life, merrily wagging her finger and leaving him a broken hearted mess while she went on to fame and stardom— all things that she deserved. But didn’t his happiness matter, too?
“I hate that I’m having to even make this decision. I can’t believe we were so careless. I… I just can’t help but feel that we met each other at the wrong time. We met too soon.”
As much as those words cut, they also rang true. He understood her. He felt an undeniable draw to her. Francesca Ferrara was his soulmate, but perhaps they had met too soon.
“So, what do you think we should do?” He asked. He wanted to hear her say it. The decision was ultimately hers. Try as he might, he couldn’t force her to do anything that she didn’t want. Not that he desired to. Elvis wanted Frannie as his wife because she wanted to be, not because she had to be out of societal pressure.
“God, I really don’t want to say it. The word, but… I’ll get… I’ll go to the doctor to have it taken care of. I can’t be that far along, maybe I can just take the pill...”
Elvis blinked. She’d been thinking this over. How long had she’d known? And sat alone in this emptying apartment with that heavy burden all solely placed on her shoulders. It broke his heart to picture her, with her knees drawn up to her chest.
“Frannie, is this really our only choice?”
“And my other option is what, exactly, Elvis? Who is going to hire a pregnant actress? The moment I start showing, it’s curtains for me. Even if I try to hide it—someone will find out. Someone always finds out! You can’t have these kinds of secrets. You have to know how relentless they are for any crumb of something. I’ll be plastered all over the papers, slandered, rumors—oh, God, the rumors. Is the baby actually Elvis Presley’s?” She shuddered. “I want to see just how far I can go. Is that so selfish of me?”
Elvis had so much left in him to push for it. He wanted to argue that it was better—it was right—for her to take her place in the homestead and help raise this baby, but… he would be lying if he said he didn’t see the logic in her decision. Maybe it was selfish of him to try and tie her down. But it made him panic to see her ready to take flight and leave him on the wire, watching after her as she soared.
“I know that you don’t want to hear any of this,” Frannie laughed bitterly, sniffling as she absently looked at the backs of her hands. “But you’re the only one I can talk to. I haven’t even told Dominick. Not that I plan to. I think it would be for the best if we went our separate ways after this.”
Neither of them spoke for a long pause. He nodded, understanding and respecting her intent, her decision, even while it burned him to agree. But loosening his grip might be the only chance he had at keeping her in his life. He was watching her slip through his fingers in real time.
“There’s really nothing I can say, is there?”
“I don’t really think you’re going to talk your way out of this one,” she smiled wryly, sympathetically. It apologized when she couldn’t bring herself to yet. “I’m sorry, Elvis. I am. Right now isn’t the right time for either of us to settle down. We’ve got so much left to do before we get married. I don’t want to be a wife yet, Elvis. I want–God, it sounds so stupid. I want to be a star.”
To him, she already was. She always would be. Brighter than them all, outshining her peers. Even him.
*
Colonel Parker was over the moon to have Elvis back almost entirely within his clutches. And with him more sad and more down and out than ever before with Frannie in Phoenix, his kniving agent found the perfect opportunity to deepen his influence.
The start was an influx up upper and downers just to help him get through the day. The boys were a marvelous help. Especially Red and Joe who were constantly by Elvis’s heartbroken side. He still tried to call her, even when the phone line went dead. He tried her number, thinking maybe it could be a trick and she was just waiting for him to call her bluff. She wasn’t really moving, but…
Elvis went to her apartment days later. She’d called him once more, only to tell him that the procedure had been a success and that he’d lost almost every piece of her. It gutted him to hear the pain in her voice when she told him that the ultrasound showed there was nothing. She was free to do as she pleased with her life.
Without him.
He remained in town for just another few weeks before it became too much for him and he too needed a complete change of scenery. He was still compensated for his time on the set of Gambling on Your Love and as far as the press knew, the movie was just stuck in development hell, which wasn’t entirely a lie. It was still possible for the film to find its footing—it just needed one more duet.
But Frannie would have none of it. No one could get in touch with her. Even Dominick didn’t return any of his calls, and he was always the staunch connection between Francesca and the vying directors and big wigs.
Time passed slowly and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She always occupied his mind. He wondered where she was in Phoenix. Did she like the warm air? Was she enjoying the view? What did her tastefully decorated townhouse look like now? Her outfit today? Was she trying a new perfume? If he could figure out her address, he could send her something. A letter. A gift. That necklace he never gave her.
But maybe, he could simply give her peace of mind. Frannie had run away from him, but she’d also taken on a new role. He couldn’t be happier for her. Well—he could, but it pained him to stay angry at her. He was usually really good at holding a grudge, but it frazzled him, tore at his mind. Was she thinking about him just as much, or was he just going insane?
*
“Love me Tender, Love me Alien,” Colonel Parker proudly proclaimed, slapping down a script that was too fat for its own good.
Elvis looked up from a bowl of butter pecan ice cream, blinking sleepily at his shrew faced manager.
“Is that a command or a movie?” Elvis picked up the pamphlet, riffling through the schlocky pages of self insistence and ill timed crude humor. Tasteless romance. Derivative plot. Predictable twist. And a C-grade actress he’d never even heard of. Now this felt like the type of movie that Elvis was used to.
“Chateau Marmont is calling your name. Because right after that wraps up, we’ve got,” he slapped down another two scripts. “Heartbreak Hotel of Horrors! Oh, and Curse of the Mummy’s Shaking Hips.”
Each subsequent title made Elvis want to sink deeper into his couch. “Is there anything else floating around?” But the punishing pace Parker set took its toll rather quickly. As long as he could keep payroll going with pictures, he’d star in as many films as it took. He missed touring, but that would have to be shelved for now.
He had to learn to let go of the hard work he’d put into Gambling on Your Love and accept that he’d learned. Working with Frannie had instilled in him a stronger work ethic. He’d practiced, honed his choreography just right, so that his every step would be in sync with hers, nothing calling attention to himself. They’d been perfectly in sync together on screen, it was exhilarating. Beat for beat, Frannie matched him and more.
Elvis shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”
The Colonel pumped his fist, clearly having won. It seemed like ever since Francesca moved out of his life, his agent was more jovial. It was almost indicative of… something.
“I told you that movie wouldn’t work out, didn’t I? I warned you about working with young talent like that. It was a real gamble,” he laughed at his own pun, nudging Elvis crudely with his elbow. “See, if you just trust in your agent, he’ll steer you right. I haven’t led you wrong before, have I?”
At that remark, Elvis’ stomach roiled, but the Colonel would only see the money they made, not the impact Elvis felt he so desperately lacked.
“Yeah, you’ve gotten me this far.” He managed to relay, though as of late, he was less and less trusting of Colonel Parker. Frannie had mentioned him in particular. Elvis wondered if maybe his meddling agent was the one behind all of the on-set mischief, perhaps even the break-in. But even the Colonel wasn’t so malicious, just greedy.
“I have, haven’t I? So what do you say? You in?”
Like he even had a choice. “I don’t suppose anything else has come in.”
“Oh, plenty. You’ve got them clamoring for you, kid. You might even have to go back on tour soon, just to keep the music current. We can’t have your voice getting left out of the spotlight.” Or, in other words, the Colonel wanted to market the absolute shit out of every aspect of Elvis. His look, his charisma, his personality. His agent loved it when he played it up and leaned into the rockstar playboy charm.
Anything to get his mind off of this pain. He needed to stop thinking about her or he was going to start tearing his hair out. His stylist would explode. He had to remain composed. He had to remain relaxed, like his heart wasn’t crumbling.
Frannie had told Elvis that he was one of the only people she could talk to. Elvis rarely made new friends. People often wanted to make acquaintances and more with him, and he wasn’t opposed to it happening— but it often never did, naturally, anyhow. He had a small circle of friends and Frannie had inadvertently wormed her way into that circle, because that’s what he felt was amiss. A very near and dear friend.
*
Los Angeles was… not his favorite destination. The party life never stopped, relentless lights, women and drugs. He had to resolve himself, to only imbibe when he had the time to treat himself. But his heart felt like someone had blended it.
Elvis hopped in the elevator with his boys. It felt just like old times. Joe was saying something about a new club opening down the street, open until 4 am. But Elvis wasn’t really listening to what anybody had to say. He was out of it for the most part, leaning against the rumbling wall and feeling the weight of himself. Rocketed up and up to the highest floor, he stepped out to new hopes, stumbling on paisley carpet.
Elvis wearily made his way down the corridor, flanked by his close-knit group of friends. Each step felt heavier than the last, burdened by the emotional turmoil he couldn't escape. Despite the upbeat chatter around him, his mind lingered on thoughts of Frannie, the one person who seemed to have cracked the surface of his guarded heart.
The hotel room door loomed ahead, a temporary refuge from the chaos outside. The keycard slid into the slot, granting access to a space where Elvis could momentarily escape the relentless pulse of Los Angeles. The room greeted him with subdued lighting, plush furnishings, and an air of hushed luxury. He loved this hotel and its castle-esq structure, the staff were all personable and timely, but still gleeful when handed a fat tip from Elvis Presley. But celebrities were the hotel’s usual clientele, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him being here. He recognized some of them from his previous stays here.
He liked to take long walks in the Huntington Botanical Gardens. Beauty and solitude abound, everyone was usually too dazzled by the myriad of exotic blooms to focus on one well dressed man amongst them. He wondered if Frannie had ever been.
Elvis wandered through the room, the gravity of his emotions etched on his face. He was a man known for his composure on stage, but in this private sanctuary, the weight of unspoken feelings pressed upon him. He glanced at the king-sized bed, an island of solitude in the midst of a stormy sea of emotions.
As Elvis sank onto the bed, the echoes of Frannie's words resonated in his mind. She had become a confidante, a rare gem in a world that often sought more from him than he was willing to give. Their friendship had become a lifeline, a tether to reality amidst the glitz and glamor of his stardom. He really didn’t know how he was supposed to find another girl like her. It felt like a one in a million comet, a shooting star he’d missed his chance to make a wish on.
In an attempt to escape the clutches of heartache, Elvis decided to draw the heavy curtains open. With a sigh, he gazed out of the hotel room window, his eyes drawn to the shimmering lights of the city below. The relentless pulse of Los Angeles, the city of dreams and illusions, seemed distant from the confines of his room. The sprawling urban landscape stretched out before him, a canvas of possibilities and uncharted territories.
Parting the curtains revealed a spectacular view of the cityscape. Yet, what captured his attention wasn't the sprawling city lights but a distant billboard, illuminated against the night sky. As the light spilled into the room, he recognized the familiar face of Francesca Ferrara, adorned in glamorous attire, promoting her latest movie. Whispers of Silk.
A bittersweet smile crept onto Elvis's face. The universe seemed to mock him with reminders of Frannie's presence, even in the solitude of his hotel room. Yet, it was a distraction, a tangent from his own heartache. As the billboard loomed in the distance, Elvis sank into a chair, contemplating the complexities of his emotions in the glow of the city that never slept.
#elvis presley#elvis#elvis fanfic#elvis fans#elvis presley fanfiction#elvis fanfiction#elvis presley fanfic#elvis presley fic#elvis x oc#elvis fic#gambling on your love
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Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark
Summary:
To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?
Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?
Content warnings for this chapter: threats, implied violence, ptsd references, gambling addiction
AO3 link: Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark - Chapter 2 - She_posts_nerdy_stuff - Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo [Archive of Our Own]
@justalunaticfangirl
Chapter 2 - Inej
“I’m going to kill him,” Kaz snarled, throwing open the door to his room at the Slat.
He marched inside, cane clacking loudly against the wooden floor.
“No you’re not,” said Inej, far more calmly.
She watched Kaz as she walked in behind him, studying every movement and trying to decide what kind of anger had its talons stuck in him tonight. She was not afraid of Kaz, or at least she didn’t think she was, but it was a practice she didn’t doubt would stick with her forever, to determine what kinds of anger different people suffered from, and what each one might convince them they should do. Kaz didn’t have any intentions of hurting anyone. Not tonight. Kaz got quiet when he was that kind of angry, and this was definitely not quiet.
“Careful Wraith,” he glared at her as he nodded for her to close the door, “Don’t add yourself to my hitlist,”
Inej raised an eyebrow. She didn’t need to point out the obvious but she did so anyway:
“And how long will you keep running on your currency of secrets, without someone to collect them for you?”
She pushed the door shut, and counted every breath she took until she’d crossed the room and opened the window. Kaz’s eyes followed her but she didn’t much care; every time he told her to close a door she always opened a window, and neither of them ever mentioned it.
“He hasn’t come back tonight,” said Kaz, pulling off his gloves, “Do you know where he is?”
Inej watched Kaz’s pale hands appear from beneath the black leather of his gloves. She didn’t know why he wore the gloves, though for every theory and rumour flying around the Barrel there was a far less gruesome or fantastical rebuttal by the simple fact that she could see his hands in front of her now: pale, trickster hands, with long slender fingers and soft-looking skin. Like he was specifically crafted for card tricks, for picking locks, for cracking safes. She could see no affliction or deformity he may be hiding. She’d heard plenty of toughs in the Barrel call them theatre - they were performative, they were part of the image Dirtyhands wanted to sell you for his profit. And that was a convincing argument - everything Kaz did was for some kind of profit - but of course it was the tales of blood and demons that prevailed, and even Inej was unconvinced that they were for appearance alone.
“No,” she lied.
Kaz watched her for a moment, then turned his attention to the water basin and began to wash his hands.
“And when should I expect him to return?”
Inej folded her arms, leaning back against the window frame.
“Of all people, Kaz, you should know it’s useless to try guessing at Jesper Fahey’s schedule,”
Kaz seethed, but said nothing. Inej thought of Jesper at the university this morning, slinking unhappily away from the office. She’d tailed him when she saw him run out of the Slat suspiciously early in a suspiciously beige outfit, though she’d been planning on telling him to make himself scarce anyway after the mess that was last night. She hadn’t listened to his meeting in the dean’s office - she’d been tempted, but she didn’t know the layout of the university buildings and she trusted Jesper enough to tell her the truth of why he was here. Once he was outside Inej had followed Jesper back to what she assumed must be a dorm building - clearly she needed to come back and teach herself the layout of the campus - and when he didn’t return after a while she began to head back into the Barrel. She steered to the south of the University District and moved along the edge of the Financial District, hopping lithely over the rooftops, to come up East Stave so she was almost immediately met by the Slat. Would Kaz be home? Probably not. She slipped along the next few rooftops and crossed the canal to approach the Crow Club. Kaz was predictably still in his office, where she’d left him hours ago after she dragged Jesper home to the Slat.
“What happened?” he’d asked as soon as she slipped through the window.
“It’s handled,” she said smoothly.
“Not what I asked,”
Inej had sighed, hand drifting to feel her knives. Their names murmured their way through her mind; Lizabeta, Vladimir, Anastasia, Petyr, Marya, Sankta Alina.
“It’s fine,” she said, “I got him back to the Slat, he’ll-”
“I’m not asking if Jesper’s okay, Inej, I’m asking if my business is going to survive the shit storm he brought into it,”
Inej pursed her lips.
Now Kaz was shaking the water off his hands, grabbing a towel from the side as he stepped towards Inej. His dark eyes were stone, but most of his annoyance seemed to be fading. Possibly. It was difficult to tell with Kaz.
“I have a job for you and Nina. Starting next week,”
“Next week?”
That was pretty short notice for the kind of thing she reckoned Kaz was planning when he got that glint in his eye. He nodded.
“I’ll give you details as we go, but for now I need you both to talk to Specht so he can forge some papers for you. You’re enrolling at Ketterdam University,”
Inej frowned. Something was telling her this wasn’t going to end well.
And did Kaz know that Jesper was a student? Probably, Kaz tended to know most things, but if Inej hadn’t known then maybe Kaz didn’t either. He must have other methods of getting his information beyond her, or he would’ve been struggling before he brought her in. Inej knew she had improved business, there was no point in being humble about it, she was damn good at her job, but the Dregs could hardly have been described as struggling beforehand.
“Why?”
“Just do your job, Inej,” said Kaz pulling his gloves back on, “Specht’s downstairs, Nina should be here in an hour,”
Inej watched him for a moment longer, then turned and left the room to slip silently away. She didn’t go to find Specht immediately - Nina wouldn’t be early, because Feliks would never let her leave early, and Inej hadn’t had any time to herself between hauling Jesper back, reporting to Kaz, and being on shift all day. She sat cross-legged on her bed, watching night begin to fall behind her window. It was too loud for her to get any sleep - of course it was, this was the Barrel after all - but she didn’t trust that she’d wake up within an hour anyway, so she kept herself upright and fought the need to close her eyes. It was easy when she distracted herself with concern over whatever Kaz’s latest scheme might be. The last time he’d been this vague about a job it ended with Inej clinging to the ceiling above a bunch of merchers for almost three hours, with nowhere to escape to and nothing but a prayer that none of them would look up.
The city had reached darkness by the time Nina arrived, clearly having rushed as she changed out of the kefta she never wore outside the White Rose because her hair was frizzy where she’d pulled her jumper on - if Nina Zenik had enough time to fix her hair, her hair would be fixed. Inej was just coming downstairs and Nina waved her across the room, smiling, her cheeks pinked by the cold.
“What does he want from us this time?” she asked, in a tone that could probably pass for reasonably cheerful, as they struggled their way through the shouting crowds.
Inej considered whether or not Kaz would want anyone else to know about the job yet, but he hadn’t told her to keep it quiet and if anyone wanted to overhear them this would be where they’d struggle.
“We’re going to university, apparently,” she said, “but of course we don’t know what for. How was your day?”
“Long. I don’t think Feliks understands the concept of tiring - it’s always using Grisha power is supposed to be energising and never you’re a human being and working for fifteen hours straight is exhausting, maybe you should take a break. You?”
Inej glanced up at the ceiling, as though Kaz could hear her from the floors above.
“Similar,”
“Well, when you’re a demon that doesn't sleep perhaps it’s difficult to remember that other people need to,”
Inej smiled, shaking her head.
“Students then,” Nina mused, “We robbing a professor? Lifting a rare book from the library, perhaps?”
“You know as much as I do,” Inej sighed, “All he said was he wants us to get the papers together tonight, and that we’re starting next week. I didn’t realise you could enrol this late in the year,”
Nina snorted.
“As long as you're paying, I don’t think they care,””
There was a brief pause, before Nina turned to Inej.
“Wait, Kaz is paying right? I cannot afford this,”
Inej shrugged.
“I assumed it was going on our tabs,”
*
“He’s what?” Jesper stared at Inej, halting in the middle of the corridor.
“Keep moving. And you heard me: Kaz is sending me and Nina to the university, I don’t know why. Specht forged papers that say we’re transferring from a school in Ravka,”
“I hate to point out the obvious, Inej, but how are you meant to study here if you don’t read Kerch?”
“I’m learning,” she said, defensively, “But anyway, I sincerely doubt Kaz’s intentions are anywhere near an interest in me furthering my education. Look, I can’t stay long - I didn’t tell him where you were but don’t think he won’t figure it out if I keep coming to see you,”
Jesper sighed.
“He’s really that pissed off at me?”
“Don’t you-?” Inej paused, studying him for a brief moment, “Oh, Saints, Jes, you really don’t remember the other night at all, do you?”
Jesper’s shoulders twitched as he averted his gaze, fidgeting with one of his rings - gold, or golden at least, with a green glass gem set at its centre. There was a long silence, before he said quietly:
“I went to class this morning,”
“How was it?”
“I wrote two lines of notes and then drew a butterfly,”
“Productive,”
“Well, it is a pretty cute butterfly,”
They were almost outside. Inej watched the rush of students crossing the courtyard opening up beyond the stone archway ahead of them, then looked slowly back to Jesper.
“I’m supposed to be on shift at the Crow Club tonight,” he said, “Should I-?”
“Don’t skip it,” Inej told him, “Just come back here afterwards. And…”
What was the point in telling him not to? It was not Inej’s job to drive herself insane over trying to fix people who would only ignore her. She had too many of her own problems to deal with. But she didn’t want to see Jesper fall any further out of reach.
“Just be careful, Jes,”
“Of course, love,” he winked at her, “Careful’s my middle name,”
#don't go blindly into the dark#six of crows#grishaverse#crooked kingdom#leigh bardugo#jesper fahey#wylan van eck#kaz brekker#inej ghafa#nina zenik#wesper#kanej#wylan hendriks#wesper fanfiction#wesper fic#matthias helvar#kanej fic#wylan x jesper#wylan van sunshine#six of crows jesper#soc jesper#soc inej#six of crows inej#jesper and inej
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passed down like folk songs
chapter 38: in my head i do everything right
Maegor Targaryen x OC
Also on Ao3
chapter index
Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, angst, mature themes, targaryen incest, violence, Maegor is a red flag himself, characters are ooc probably, MINORS DNI
Visenya tapped her fingers on the vanity. Rowan was never late, a trait she had inherited from her father. It was only normal that after everything she’d need more rest than she normally did, but Visenya was beginning to worry. The past few days on Dragonstone had been peaceful, and Rowan was clinging onto routine as a distraction from her melancholy, so the fact that she had yet to join her for breakfast was making her anxious. She stared at her own reflection, deep in thought. She was ready to go and check on her, but, as if she were hearing her thoughts, Rowan knocked and entered the room, a few letters in hand.
But the letters were the last thing on Visenya’s mind, as her eyes darted to Rowan’s hair. It had been a very long time since she had been stunned into silence. Rowan’s hair, the beautiful hair that framed her face so elegantly, was now back to being short, like it was when she was a child. Rather, a more honest approach would be that she had attempted to cut it like so, but it came out crooked and uneven, too short for her face, to the point where instead of framing her forehead, it had curled up. Judging by the clear embarrassment on her face, she had tried to do this herself, with no assistance.
“What happened?” was all Visenya could muster out. She wondered if she had drunk too much wine, but the girl would barely touch a cup, let alone get drunk. But perhaps heartbreak had led her to try something she hadn’t done before?
“I… I wished for a small change…” she replied, almost too ashamed to look at her. The change was anything but small. It was choppy and wonky and it was painfully obvious that it was a mistake.
“And you did not wait for any help from the maids? Quite a few of them know how to cut hair.” Visenya asked, approaching her slowly, trying to take in her new appearance. She looked ashamed once more. Of course she knew that the maids were skilled in cutting hair, but she did not seem to be thinking much while picking up the scissors.
“It was… it was a sudden decision…” she mumbled while Visenya studied her hair. Maegor’s actions affected her all the way here. No matter how calm she tried to keep, it seemed that her sadness overtook her judgement.
“I can see that.” she replied, trying to adjust some of her curls in a way that could conceal her choppy work, but with little success. It must’ve shown on her face, because Rowan spoke up as Visenya tried again.
“Is it horrid?” she asked, seemingly terrified of the answer. It did. It absolutely looked awful. But as raw and straight forward as Visenya was, she was not about to push Rowan into an even bigger pit of misery, so she shook her head.
“No, not horrid. Just… uneven.” she said softly. It was not easy to find gentle words to describe her awful haircut, but she’d manage to find some. “Do not cut any more. Let it grow out a bit and let the maids help you, my girl.” She comforted her, patting her back.
“I was feeling overwhelmed.” Rowan admitted, alluding to her late night decision. Visenya had many nights like that, overwhelmed by anger, sadness and grief, but they often ended with her taking dark sister to the training yard, not by giving herself a new and drastic makeover.
“I understand. A lot has happened.” she added softly, trying to think of something to take her mind off of things. She looked over to her vanity, thinking of applying some oils onto her hair to help with the frizz, but she knew Rowan had her own that she preferred to use. The younger girl followed her gaze, but caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and her brows furrowed.
“Gods… it looks hideous!” she shook her head, her eyes beginning to water.
“Nonsense! Come here.” Visenya was quick to intervene, lifting Rowan’s face in her hands, her expression one of sympathy. She rubbed her cheeks before moving her hands back into her freshly cut curls. “Just separate the curls a little bit and… alright, I’ve made it worse.” she bit her lip, as she realised she only made her hair much frizzier and more noticeable than before. “Once you’ve washed it and it curls back naturally, it’ll look much better.” she added, trying to save the situation from complete and utter humiliation, but it was not an easy task.
“I look a mess, it’s no use.” Rowan sighed, shaking her head again. Visenya frowned again, lifting her face with her hands once more. Sad, that’s what her eyes were betraying. Her poor girl felt everything too much.
“Do not say that. You are absolutely beautiful and lovely. This is just a bit messy. It’ll grow out in no time, before you even notice.” she reassured her again, giving her cheeks a squeeze, like she did when she was a child. Rowan sniffled, trying to not upset herself even more, but it was clear she did not believe her words.
The next fortnight was making Visenya feel vindicated in a way she hadn’t in a long time. Ravens and letters came flooding to Dragonstone, giving her updates of what was happening all over the realm, and things were not looking that good for her weak nephew. The capital was anticipating an attack. There it was, clear as day, and yet he was still hesitating to act. Still hesitating to get on his dragon and burn them all to the ground. She had always told Aegon he had spoiled him.
She was not about to allow anything like that to happen to Dragonstone, so she was preparing everything to keep it safe. The threat of Vhagar’s wroth was enough of a warning to any of those Warrior’s sons who were feeling overly brave.
In a sense, having Rowan worry about something as trivial as hair was a breath of fresh air. She had seen the girl worry about so many serious things, that made this distraction a very welcome one, regardless of how short lived it was. Visenya watched over the guards and knights from her solar window, and she felt the young girl joining her.
“Do you plan on flying over the capital?” Rowan asked, straightening her skirts after being seated for hours. A gentle way to ask if she planned on helping her nephew.
“I do not plan to offer him any help. He’s made his choices, let him live with them.” she replied, sharply eyeing the men preparing their weapons. Swords and axes and hammers and arrows. Good.
“What of Viserys and Alyssa?” Rowan asked, following the dowager Queen’s gaze. “What if… what if amidst the chaos that will ensue, something happens to them?” she added, turning to look at Visenya, who frowned.
“The King can handle it. He’s made that quite clear, has he not?” she asked sarcastically. Aenys had felt so confident in robbing her son of his title, let him deal with the realm on his own then.
“What if he cannot?” Rowan countered, fully turning to face her now. “You know how he is, what if he cannot protect them? Viserys is but a child, and Alyssa-”
“Do you truly think Alyssa was not in his ear, speaking in favour of her son receiving Dragonstone over mine?” Visenya asked dryly, turning to face Rowan as well. Of course Rowan knew, she was no fool, but she was too kind.
“I know. But they are still your blood. And seeing as Maegor has no heirs, any of the children’s deaths would make it harder for you two to establish stability once more.” Rowan replied, causing the former Queen’s brow to raise. Finally, Rowan spoke in a tone that got Visenya to stop. “Not to mention, the children are innocent. Completely innocent. They should be kept safe, if not in King’s Landing, then here.” she pleaded, her voice laced with concern.
Visenya thought for a second before smiling, pride in her eyes. As much as her girl had been unsure and scared and depressed, she still knew her language, still understood how she operated and how she thought. She turned her gaze to the window once more.
“I will not turn them away if they come here seeking refuge.” she concluded, making Rowan sigh in relief. It would not be wise to let them die out, even though their stupidity would surely lead them to early graves. It would be inconvenient.
She had given Rowan an early dismissal that day, giving her some well earned rest, after making her swear upon the seven to not touch her hair again. Visenya had loads of intricacies to plan out, to make her son’s return as smooth and grand as possible, so she’d stay over the map a bit longer. It was empty without Aegon next to her, helping each other with different tactics and ideas, though she doubted he’d be enthusiastic about his favourite son getting humiliated before the realm.
She decided to write to Duncan, as she wanted to keep him updated on how his daughter was doing, and she was walking down to the rookery to send a raven, when an interesting conversation caught her ears.
“Gods, you reckon she did that on purpose?” a female voice asked, her tone hushed. She recognised it as one of the maids, but she could not pair it to a face or name, not without revealing herself completely.
“Of course not! Who would do such a thing on purpose?” an older woman responded, almost offended that the first woman even asked such a thing. This caught Visenya’s interest, so she stalled, her letter still in her hands.
“Oh mother above, why would she do such a thing? She had the most beautiful hair, why would she go on and chop off the front bits? She could’ve asked me! I would’ve helped her if she wanted to have it frame her face again.” a third, more familiar voice sighed. Visenya raised both brows in amusement, as she realised they were talking about Rowan.
“So, who do you think broke her heart?” the first woman asked again, earning a confused ‘huh?’ from the third one. “That’s always why young maidens chop their hair all funny. No, no, really! Happened to my niece, when a boy she liked was caught with another woman in the stables! She chopped off her long hair all by herself! And gods, consoling her after the fact? Took ages!” she explained further, earning an amused gasp from the other two.
“You forget, the Lady Rowan is not the niece of some maid, she’s a proper lady!” the older woman countered, lightly patting one of them on the shoulder.
“Not to mention, the favourite of Queen Visenya, so you better hush before someone hears you!” the third woman scolded, but in a lighthearted tone. “The Lady Evergreen is kind and sweet, and it is not proper to joke around about her hair.”
“Were you not just crying about why she didn’t ask you for help just this very moment?” the second woman laughed. “Besides, it’s only hair. It will grow out.” she concluded, and Visenya could hear the three women start to disperse. “But come on, she does look funny.” the woman laughed, but once she turned the corner and came face to face with Visenya herself, her laughter died that very second.
The three maids immediately curtsied and kept their heads down in shame, as they realised Visenya had heard everything. She eyed them for a moment, recognising one as the maid assigned to Rowan. It was good that she was the one standing up for her.
“I believe you have better things to do than stand here talking about hair?” she asked, causing the three women to nod quickly before she dismissed them. She looked at their leaving forms for a moment longer, before slowly making her way to the rookery once more.
Duncan was going to be furious.
Aenys walked around the gardens, in a very rare moment of free time. Everything was a mess, everything was chaos and he was barely keeping himself together. His mind was on Rhaena and Aegon, who had begun their progress. It still felt like yesterday that he and Alyssa had seen them off, and it had been a moon and a half.
He kept telling himself that it would all be alright, as he was following his father’s plan to the letter, which was the only reason Alyssa had calmed at the idea of sending their eldest children away at such a rocky time. They would be alright. He had to remain positive. The people cheered for him and Alyssa, and they would surely cheer even louder for their children.
The gardens were still unfinished. It was one of the first things he had thought to fix when he became King, and yet here he stood, in an unfinished garden, in an unfinished realm that was on edge. His father was fond of roses, as he knew he had a garden on Dragonstone. There weren’t that many here, so he walked around to try and find some in bloom. He was just turning the corner, when he felt someone running up to him.
What followed was a complete blur, as he felt someone grab him by the cape and drag him back. He didn’t even have the time to scream out for help when he felt the man draw a blade. Thankfully, the Kingsguard were swift to save him, dragging the assassin away to the cells. Aenys was completely shaken as he was rushed back to safety.
He hated making Alyssa worried, let alone when she was with child. She had been resting when the attack happened, and rushed to Aenys’ rooms to comfort him. It hadn’t fully dawned on him what had just happened, until Alyssa went to touch the small cut on his neck. It was then that he realised that had the guards been a second late, he would be dead.
Alyssa was saying something, but no matter how much he tried to focus, he could not make out the words that were coming out of her mouth. His heart was pounding in his ears, and his throat was closing up. All he could see was his wife’s worried face, trying to calm his panic. He should be angry, should he not be angry? Should he not be shouting at his guards for allowing anyone to come this close to him to attack him? Then why did he feel like a frightened child, needing comfort?
“I don’t understand.” he kept repeating silently, as Alyssa ran her fingers through his hair. “Why don’t they like me? Why won’t they just speak to me? Why, Alyssa?” he asked and asked, before he realised his wife was crying. She did not understand either. He did what he was supposed to. He did as his father asked, and yet it was all crumbling. People no longer loved him, they all hated him for all he fell short of.
Panic arose once more. If they hated him so much, if he had fallen from their graces, then his family was in danger. If someone had managed to come this close to killing him, here, in the red keep, here with all the guards and protection, what was to happen to his children? They were so far away, and Alyssa and Viserys? What if someone had tried to harm them to get to him? Gods be good, what was he to do?
“You cannot stay here.” he said, finally shaking himself up. Alyssa was caught off guard, looking at him with worry, her eyes questioning. “It is not safe, I cannot risk anything happening to you, or Viserys, or our babe.” he took in a shaking breath.
“Aenys, what are you saying? We cannot run away from our castle. We just need more guards and-” she paused, trying to think, when she was not in any position to be making long term decisions with all her shock. Aenys shook his head. “We could… we could go to Driftmark, to my family. But I will not go without you, I will not leave your side.” she protested.
Driftmark was an option, but not the safest one. He had to swallow all his pride and shake his head again. Dragonstone was the safest place. It would be easier to control who came in and out of the island, and thus he could perhaps rest in ease. But there was an elephant in the room. How could he face his aunt again?
“Aenys?” Alyssa squeezed his hand lightly, trying to bring his attention back to her. “What do you think?” she asked, worried. She knew what he was thinking, but hoped she was mistaken. She did not get along with his aunt either.
“Dragonstone would be the safest place for you to go. I cannot risk your safety.” he said, and Alyssa sighed in disappointment. She could not argue. Visenya ran the castle so strictly, so harshly, that there was no room for error, for mishap. “Have the servants prepare your and Viserys’ things. I cannot risk another moment.”
“Aenys, I am not leaving without you. Either you come with us, or we all stay here.” she protested some more. It broke his heart to see her like this. Worried and stressed and unsure. It was all his fault.
But he couldn’t just run away, he couldn’t abandon his capital, the throne his father had forged with dragonfire. They’d all laugh at him, the coward King, the abomination as they began to call him. But what choice did he have? He could not leave Alyssa and Viserys in harm’s way for the sake of his own bruised ego.
The next few days he found himself unable to breathe, with the tension in the palace and the city reaching a new high. Home did not feel safe, because home was not safe. His mother wasn’t there to reassure him, and his father wasn’t there to protect him. It was like quicksand swallowing him whole and each attempt to pull himself out of it, it only pulled him down further. The only difference was that now, it was pulling Alyssa and their children down with him.
The people of the city were now fully against him, the high septon calling him a disgrace, a pretender who had no right to rule the seven kingdoms, an abomination. That’s what the man who tried to kill him believed, no doubt. The castle he was building was crumbling around him, leaving him in the middle of it all.
The Warrior’s sons had taken the sept of remembrance, the one on his mother’s hill, the one his father had built in her honour and her memory, and he stood there, doing nothing. His children were away from home, Rhaena without her dragon at his own insistence, a decision he was now regretting by the minute, as it would’ve been the only way for them to return to them unharmed. Alyssa was right to worry, right to doubt him. He had failed them again and again.
He had his servants prepare all his and his family’s most necessary items, but as he was rummaging through his rooms, he felt more lost than ever. How could one pack away all he deems important at a moment’s notice? Yes, he had clothes, but how could he leave behind his mother’s things? His father’s?
His father was never one for frill and beauty, but his mother loved it. Everywhere in her rooms, in his rooms, there were trinkets, little pieces of her. How could he part with them? Her elaborate headpieces, her jewels, her books, her old quills, what would happen to them if he was not there to look after them? What if, in his absence, thieves broke in and stole them, or worse, what if those who now hated him just destroyed everything they could get their hands on?
“Aenys, we’re not leaving forever, you do not have to pack every little thing.” Alyssa spoke softly, as she watched him from the comfort of the bed. She was still early in her pregnancy, but she needed all the rest she could get. Unlike him, she had managed to have everything packed in no time, and now she was trying to calm him down.
“I know, I know…” he mumbled, nodding, but did not at all stop rummaging through the drawers. Alyssa was right, but he could not do it. He couldn’t let go of the pieces of his mother he was left with. King’s Landing was home. It was where he was born, where he was raised, and now he had to leave it behind, with no certainty of when he’d return. And of all places he had been to, Dragonstone felt suddenly so far away and grim.
He wondered if Maegor had felt the same when he had to pack up his belongings within a day’s notice. This helplessness; this feeling of being lost, did he feel the same? No, he could not imagine his brother so attached to things to the point of stalling. He wondered what he’d say if he saw him right now. He’d scowl and berate him, just as he knew his aunt would do when they’d arrive to Dragonstone. He’d call him a coward, a shame, a pathetic weakling.
“Aenys?” his wife called for his attention again, perhaps because she realised he had tears in his eyes. “We can call for the servants to pack the rest.” she suggested, hoping to calm his nerves. She went to get up, but he shook his head.
“You do not have to get up. Just one more hour and I’m done, I promise.” he said, straightening his back. He couldn’t have Alyssa worrying about him as well. She was already worrying about so much, he did not wish to add more to her plate. Thankfully, she nodded, relaxing her head back on the pillows.
There was a moment of comfortable silence, before the doors opened, revealing a curious Viserys, followed closely by his nursemaid.
“Father, mother? Am I not to have my lessons today? At all?” he asked, barely able to hide his excitement. Aenys was well aware that Rhaena and Aegon would sometimes get Viserys out of his lessons with the maester to join them in their mischief, and he seemed to enjoy being included. He thanked every god that listened that their son did not pick up on the tense atmosphere, or if he did, he was not letting it affect him.
“No, my dear.” Alyssa spoke up, opening her arms for their son to walk into. “We will sail to Dragonstone soon, and you will continue your lessons there, but until then, I want you with me at all times. Do you understand?” she asked him, cupping his cheeks. Her voice was calm, and Aenys was in awe of how she could pull herself together to appear strong for their young son.
He wondered if he came across as calm, or strong. His father was always so calm, level headed, never afraid, not even when his mother was taken from them did he show any fear or uncertainty. Aenys took a shaky breath, feeling full of dread, and walked up to their son, ruffling his hair.
“It shall be a nice change of scenery.” he said, trying to mimic Alyssa’s steady tone. Again, much to his relief, Viserys nodded with excitement. He almost envied his little boy, as he was not yet fully aware of all the pressure and problems that plagued the adults, only concerned with his toys and his friends.
As Viserys jumped onto the bed, explaining in heavy detail his plans to find an egg once they reached Dragonstone to Alyssa, Aenys turned his attention to the drawers in front of him. There was so much, too much to leave behind, all of the things he wanted to pass on to Rhaena when she was old enough.
He did not know what to do with his eldest two. Would they be safer if they were to remain away from King’s Landing, or should he demand they go to Dragonstone as well? Would those who hated them assume that he’d call them back and thus ambush them on the way, or if they’d be tracked down no matter where they were? He had to swallow his pride and ask his aunt for help.
With shaking hands, he continued to pack.
taglist:@heartstalked@stupidocupido@discowizard88@slytherisstuff
#maegor targaryen#maegor targaryen x oc#maegor the cruel#visenya targaryen#visenya the conqueror#im alive besties
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Prom Dress
read my random hcs here! (i promise it will make more sense lol)
my own prom was two weeks ago and so i was inspired to write this and i s2g when i started this i did not ship bunny but these mfs grew on me like a fungus
if you have any ideas for any drabbles send me an ask!
word count: 1614
pairing: Lee!Butters/Ler!Kenny
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Butters really liked Kenny. They’d been friends since they were little but had become especially closer in their teens, with Kenny opening up about being transgender and Butters confiding in her about his less-than-stellar parents. On top of that, Kenny was the kindest person Butters knew, and she always supported him. She was funny, easy to get along with, and made Butters feel important, like he mattered. Honestly, he liked her a little more than as a friend but was too shy to say anything.
So, he really liked her and liked hanging out with her and spending time with her…
But.
Senior prom was coming up and everybody had been talking about it for weeks, even the least interested people had been drawn into the endless conversation. (Craig’s contributions to the discussion had been limited to “No.” and “I don’t know.” but at least he’d said something.)
Everyone had their own drama regarding the prom. It would be the first prom where Stan wouldn’t be going with Wendy, as the two had broken up for ‘the last time’ two months prior. Kyle was attending with a date (for once), a boy from North Park who he’d met through basketball. Cartman also had someone to bring, his long-distance girlfriend who was traveling to South Park from Canada (mainly to prove she existed). For Kenny, this was her first prom where she would be openly going as a girl, with Butters as her platonic date. This was a big deal, obviously, and with prom just a week away she was in full panic over what she was going to wear. Her panic had started on Wednesday morning-
“Oh, shit.”
“Huh?”
“Shiiit.”
“Oh, what’s wrong, Ken?”
“I just realized- I’ll need a fucking dress.”
“What for?”
“Prom!”
-And now on Friday she was still stressing out. She had scrounged up enough money to buy a dress from their local Goodwill. Now, she had narrowed it down to two options. A burnt orange gown with a bardot neckline, or a tight black bodycon with a long slit up the thigh. She had the body to fill them out, with a combination of exercise, padding, (estrogen that she’d bought online,) and luck she had a petite, feminine frame. Now she just had to choose which dress to wear.
“I just don’t know,” She was saying, swiping back and forth between the pictures on her phone, “The black dress is cool, but is it too edgy? And I dunno what accessories I would wear with it.” She shoved her phone in her pocket and started rummaging in her closet, “I like the orange one, but it could be too much… although these shoes would go perfectly…”
Kenny had been going on like this for nearly an hour now, and while Butters had tried his absolute best to stay engaged, from going to the store with her earlier to now helping her make the final decision, his attention was drifting. His phone buzzed and he glanced down at it.
eric✨: im board wanna play cod
butters: i can’t! im helping kenny pick her prom dress :(
eric✨: jfc is she still going on abt that
eric✨: she rlly is a girl
butters: of course she is! she’s the nicest, prettiest girl in the world <3
eric✨: dude
eric✨: gay
butters: shhh •////•
eric✨: wanna play l8r
butters: okay!! :D
“Hey! Did I lose ya?” Kenny said, suddenly appearing in front of him.
“Ah! Sorry Ken, got a lil’ distracted, hehe.” He said, throwing his phone to the side and smiling up at her innocently.
Kenny squinted at him for a minute and Butters squirmed under her stare. She was extremely pretty. Long blonde hair plaited into twin braids, smooth tan skin, and bright blue eyes, as bright as Butter’s glass one. She was dressed casually, with her oversized orange hoodie and black sweatpants, and was watching Butters with a mischievous smile.
“It’s okay,” She said, “Maybe I need to take a break and come back to it. And, I think I know something that'll catch your interest.”
Butters sat up straighter, excited. “And what would that be?”
She grinned at his eagerness and lifted her hands to show him her nails. Kenny had bought false nails at the drugstore and was planning on wearing them before prom so she could get used to the feeling. They were long and black, except for the ring fingers, which were orange
Butters gasped, “They’re so pretty! And they’ll match whatever dress you choose.”
“I know right, I’m so fuckin’ smart.” She trailed off, “Do you know what else they're good for?”
Butters hummed, thinking. “Peelin’ off stickers? Untyin’ knots? Oh! Makin’ clicky sounds when you tap on your phone!”
“Noho,” She giggled, “This.”
She put her hand on Butters’s chest and gently pushed him back on the bed, then straddled his legs. He felt his face get hot at their proximity and also began to squirm in anticipation. Butters liked many things about hanging out with Kenny, and this was one of his favorites.
She gave him that Cheshire grin, then pushed up his Hello Kitty t-shirt and gently traced one nail down his chest, towards his belly button.
“Wait! Kehehehen!” He giggled, wiggling in place.
“Whaaat?” She teased, dragging the tips of her nails down his sides and scratching them in small circles.
“Ahahaw jehehehehez,” He squeaked, “Thahahat’s reheheahahally tihihickly!”
“You’re so fucking ticklish. It’s adorable.” Kenny teased. She rested her nails on the sides of his ribs, then quickly swiped down to his hips and back up again.
“Kehehennyhy! Pleheheahasehe, ihihit tihihicklehes sohohoho bahahahad!” He giggled, bunching his hands in his shirt and wiggling in place. His faux complaints were part of the game, to spare him some embarrassment.
“You say that, but you aren’t moving, or pushing me away, or saying stop, or-“
“Hehehe! Yohohohuhuhu knohohow why!” It didn’t really work.
She hummed, lightly pinching Butter’s ribs, “Do I? Maybe I forgot.”
“Kehehen,” He whined, “Yohohouhur behehihin’ mehehahan.”
“You’re right,” Kenny said, “I know you love being tickled so fuckin’ much.”
She then started to gently spider her fingers over his stomach.
“Nohohohohot thehehe behehelly!” He laughed.
“Why not?” Kenny said, then leaned forwards and whispered in his ear, “Is your tummy too ticklish?”
Butters squealed, his face burning as he leaned forward to press his face into Kenny’s neck. His hands came to grip her waist as he giggled helplessly while her nails gently wiggled all over his body. He sat up even more, giggling into Kenny as her hands came around to skim over his back, making him arch into her.
“Ehehehe! Ihi dihihidn’t ehevehen knohohow my bahahack wahahas tihihicklihihsh!” He said, his arms wrapping around Kenny, hugging her while she tickled his back. Her hands began to crawl higher and higher until they brushed his shoulder blades and his long-forgotten flight or fight instincts rewoke as Butters flipped her onto the bed and grabbed her arms, pinning her down.
They both panted for a second, breathless for different reasons. While Kenny often played with him, Butters never took charge or fought back.
“S-sorry, Kenny.” He stuttered, his face burning. Kenny was still staring at him, her mouth agape. He let go of her hands and shuffled back a bit, ready to get off her. Instead, she sat up and took his face in her hands.
“...Kendall?” He said, flustered beyond belief. She was looking at him like she’d never seen him before.
“I-I just realized that I like you. Like right now, holy fucking shit.”
Now it was Butters’s turn to gape.
“You- what?” He said, brain struggling to comprehend her words.
“I like you. Romantically. Fuck! I mean, of course, I like you, it’s fucking obvious. I like being around you and you make me laugh and when I see you with other people I get jealous and I haven’t wanted to be with anyone since we became close and I think you’re wonderful and kind and beautiful and oh my fucking God, I might actually be in-” She cut herself off, staring at him.
He blinked. Turned to his brain, which hummed like static, and shrugged back at him. He blinked again. Suddenly, it seemed like there was only one thing to do.
He leaned forward, closing his eyes as their lips touched. It was the chaste kiss to end all chaste kisses, barely a brush of skin, but he felt a deep warmth that started at his mouth and spread throughout his whole body.
There was a beat, then Kenny pulled his face back in and kissed him properly. He made a little noise of surprise, tilting his head to press them closer together. His hands slid up her back, fisting into her hoodie as she moved against him, his stomach swooping when she softly bit his lip. He had never felt so right.
They kissed till they were laying down, breathless, and pressed against each other.
“So…” Butters said, never one to let even a comfortable silence sit.
“So,” Kenny replied, scratching her nails through his hair.
“Did you decide which dress you were gonna wear?” He asked, making her laugh.
“Yeheah, I think I did.”
Butters sat up, looking at her with sparkles in his eyes.
“Then let's go get it!” He said, springing off the bed.
Kenny laughed again, then followed him up, kissing him softly.
“Let’s.”
On the way to the door, Butters remembered his phone and grabbed it, opening his and Eric’s messages.
butters: cant play later anymore ;)
eric✨: r u and kenny gonna have gay sex
butters: … :)
eric✨: BUTTERS????
eric✨: YOU DOG
eric✨: BUTTERS I S2G MSSG ME BNACK
eric✨: PEICE OF SHIT
eric✨: BUTTERS
#lee!butters#ler!kenny#south park tickles#trick dont mention craig in a fic challege#FR im actuallty pleased w this one#i cant believe i wrote actual fanfiction in between the tickles
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Chestnut Stud Across Multiverse: Azeroth Metrion Zint-HOLY FUCK!!
It’d started simple enough for one Rachel Roth,or as friends took calling her, Raven,or Rae affectionately. Her and her friend Kori, aka Starfire or Star most referred to her, had come to Satan City to attend the university there. Of course the lodgements on offer were insane when it came to their prices,especially the rent but Star ever the optimist, thought it was a sign when they came across a flier offering room and board. Which had brought them on the doorstep of some blonde bombshell by the name of 18 who despite her cold looking demeanour was actually pretty chill. Kori of course simply adored their cute little angel Marron while Raven was perplexed and puzzled by 18’s choice of and taste in men when meeting the woman’s husband. A runt of a guy by the name of Krillin who apparently worked a police officer, which the goth girl found as bizarre as this whole relationship. At first anyway but it’s not like she was complaining plus the rent was decent, the place was cozy,their rooms had a good view and the distance to their campus was literal walking range. Besides it’s not like she wanted to debate Star and risk her flashing her those big emerald green puppy eyes of hers, so of course the matter was settled and the decision was made to stay.
it wasn’t too long before she and her exotic bestie found themselves settling well into a comfy enough routine. Breakfast, lunch and dinner always went down, especially when Krillin made it, proving he was quite the decent chef all things considered. 18 of course mauve been an adult woman but Raven found they shared a similar vibe wavelength and outlook on life. Her empathic abilities of course couldn’t help but pick up the absolute aura of love and romance between husband and wife coming off of Krillin and 18, it was rsther sweet in a way,reminded of the feelings of joy and confidence Star had come out of her like heat from a campfire. It made the goth babe rsther envious in a way but of course she had a feeling her empathy would bite her right in her thicc juicy ass. Lo and behold one fateful late night when it did, as she woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, careful not to disturb her roomie, when right as she was about to return to her bed, she paused in the middle of the hallway. Not because of a sound she’d heard but rather Somethjng she had sensed, felt it like how a gazelle picks up the sensation of a predator lying in wait as it stalked them, ready to pounce. The sensation of raw,primal passion and lust, coursing through her nerves as she found herself drawn towards it. Following the source like a trail of breadcrumbs to the bedroom door of Krillin and 18, unable to help herself as she stopped and looked through the opening, the door not closed completely and let out a silent gasp at what she was witnessing.
There was their landlords, both naked and going at it like horny animals, the blonde bombshell’s luscious lips letting loose with deep throated moans and cries of ectasy and sexual bliss. Her upper torso hanging off the edge of the bed,tits bouncing as her husband,his Herculean compact frame on display,flexed his muscles as he held her by the waist. Pumping and thrusting away into ehr snatch,the sound of skin slapping,nectar soaked penetration audible to the goth’s ears. Blushing as she’d cursed her psychic powers or causing her to become an unintentional voyeur, yet in awe and unable to look away, the raw passion and lust before her unlike anything she’d ever seen or felt before. The odd couple outting porn stars to shame and Raven could swear in her mother’s grave, she’d never watched or read porn before. She knew of it,certainly but this was unlike it in such ways she couldn’t begin to describe. Her hands acting of their own accord as she began to touch herself, groping her tits under her tanktop and teasing her camel toe thriugh her silky thong. Feeling her nectar flow snd run down along her thighs,silent pants and gasps escaping her lips as she watched husband and wife mate like animals in human skin, going through a veritable kama sutra of positions. Violet eyes widening at seeing the surreal length and girth of his cock. Who knew that five footer of a man was so well endowed? As she watched him bring his wife to the leak of climax,over and over again, silently cumming together with them as she fingered herself to the limit, shaking her head as she scrambled back to the room. Aghast at what she’d done and yet not feeling emote or regret. Had it been her imagination or did it seem like 18 would look her way, shooting her a wink and a smile? Like she knew she’d been there? To say Raven ha a sleepless night was an understatement but then did she get a shocker in the morning as she helped 18 with the breakfast dishes in the kitchen, soon as they were alone.
18:-w-Enjoy the show last night?
Raven:>\\\\<*shicked,she knew if she’d been drinking anything,she’d be going a spittake but found herself unable to reply or make a snarky retort*
18:-w-oh don’t worry,I won’t tell,it’s always good to know someone like you sees me and my man going at it.*sh said so matter of fsct lay,a hint of seduction in her tone as she moved to stand behind the big tittied,bootylicious goth girl,arms snaking around her waist as she caressed her stomach*
Raven:*gasps as 18 bit and licked her ear,those hands teasing toeards the easiest and of her jeans and her the lining of her shirt. Making her squirm as her treacherous body reacted with sensations of arousal.*
18:-w-All I ask in return is,do yourself and me a favour. Do more than watch,I want you to have a taste of my Krillin. Fuck him,much as Yiu ant,anywhere and anytime you want. Even when I’m in the same room or not,I want details. I want to see him ruin you for other men. So be a good little goth slut snd don’t keep You or me waiting hmm?*finishing her remark by blowing air into her ear, making her moan as she pried herself off of Raven. Leaving the goth a confused,horny mess as they picked up where they left off with the dishes, neither Krillin or Kori none the wiser*
To say Raven had been a sensual mess since then was an understatement. Not helping when her brain decided to be as treacherous as the rest of her bidy and subject her to intense wet dreams. Sexual visions of Krillin and her going at it like wild beasts, suffocating her with intense facefucks,plowing her with jackhammering anal and of course,the rush of her womb being flooded with his white,hot thick cream. Not helping was when the weekend came and she and star were invited to come along a little family outing to the beach, the goth beauty knowing 18 was settting her up in a way that would ensure Raven acted on sexual impulse and do the deed with her short king husband. She was a sly one,that was for sure, not helping that Star went and got her a new bathing suit to show, as she stood there pouting and blushing adorably,her slate grey sexy self on display in a simpe, skintight black one piece swimsuit, which made a great compliment to Kori’s own white two piece bikini and a rsther simple domino pattered outfit 18 herself weas wearing. A pleasant tingle running along her spine at seeing Krillin’s reactions to them, feeling flattered yet trying to remind herself the guy was married. To a wife who was encouraging her to have sex with him. The goth babe cursing herself as she felt her thighs becoming soaked with the slickness and warmth of her arousal. Suffice to say it was mission impossible to get through ths day at th beach and not have anything happen. But of course along came Murphy’s law like the bitch it was.
it had been innocent enough,18 and Kori were busy laying and making sandcastles with Marron as Raven sat under the shade of the parasol, reading a book to distract her from her libido. When 18 caught her attention asking her to bring Krillin’s towel to him a he’d gone to use the washing showers but forget to bring it with him. Raven figured it’d be innocent enough as she nodded and picked up the towel, making her way to the shower cubicles. All but one of them were unoccupied, figuring that was the one Krillin was in by the sounds of runnin water and the steam pouring out. Making ehr way over and pulling the curtain open, assuming he was decent and in his swimshorts, only for him and herself to look at one another with wide eyes of shock and surprise to find thst no,he eas in fact naked. His cock in full frontal view as Raven stammered and stuttered an apology, somehow winding up in a struggle over a tug of war for thr towel she came to provide him with, as they wound up stumbling and falling onto the floor. Raven finding herself landing and laying stop the compact fellow,her lips pressed to his as she felt her swimsuit clad mound press against his crotch. Blushing as he became erect,his shaft hotdogging itself between her camel roe and the buns of her juicy,bubbly ass. It was in the instance of that moment Raven felt a switch in her brain. Grabbing his head as she deepened the kiss, moaning as she gave into the heat of passion.
Raven knew she wasn’t normally so sexually impulsive or,prone to moving her libido’s erotic drum. But right here and now,she didn’t care for anything else but his short king of a stallion making her into a woman. Tits bouncing free from her swimsuit,the crotch portion moved aside as she ounces on Krillin’s cock,sitting n his lap Indian style as he pumped and thrust into her warm, wet snatch. Idly kissing each other as he squeezed and massaged her ass, eyes looking into one another as if trying to deepen a mental connection of erotic,tantric intimacy. She wasn’t sure how much time ahd lassed, quite frankly she couldn’t care less who would see or hear them right now, pausing in the midst of their rutting as they both noticed they weren’t alone. Glancing to the side to see Star standing by the shower door frame,green eyes wide and glued to them. One hand down the front of her swimsuit thong to indicate she was clearly fingering herself, biting her lip sensually as she groped and squeezed a tit with her free hand, not only liking what she saw but seeming to want to join in on the fun.
Join in she most certainly did,as as she and Raven were both naked,the shoerr water raining down on them and the lucky short king,who sat Indian style on the ground as the exotic college girl pair gave him a double team blowjob. Licking and sucking on his cock together, making out with it between their luscious lips as his groans were music to their ears. Raven had thought finding herself impulsively getting pornographic with Krillin was surreal enough but Star joining in? Well she’d be lying if she said she didn’t think she was the type or that she hadn’t thought of her sexually now and then. All that mattered was riding the momentum of pleasure that was coming down on them like a tidal wave as they gave into their desires and cast aside their inhibitions. Raven soon finding herself taking it doggy style, tits swaying as she howled and moaned, gasping when Krillin woild smack her goth ass in between jackhammering her with his godly cock. All the while Kori hugged him from behind, making out with him as they shared a sloppy kiss,hands caressing his Herculean physique with awe and tenderness before she found herself atop Krillin riding him in reverse cowgirl. Giving him a fine view of her toned sexy backside, ass jiggling as she bounced atop his cock while Raven laid beside their runt of an adonis, making out with him as he fingered her slit. The bestie duo shifting between one on onn to two on one,often one sitting in his face for him to eat out her oussy while the other rode on his cock,clasping hands together as they made out. It’d felt like hours passed before they’d finally finished and let the shower, clean and back in their swimwear as 18 shot Star and her a sly smile, making the goth babe blush as it was clear she knew what they’d done and more than approved.
It was after that little beachside shower encounter that Raven had found her and star’s co-Ed domestic life took a whole new erotic turn. Each and every chance they got,together or individually woild see them have sex with Krillin whenever they could. Sometimes it’d be something simple like Star going under the kitchen table to give him A blowjob or Raven would join him in meditation sessions which naturallt devolved into hot,sexy tantric yoga as the goth found herself addicted to this sex god in compact passage. O the times her or Star would invite themselves into a bath or shower if 18 wasn’t around. But oh whenever 18 got involved? The woman was a beast,often bringing the duo over to hers and krillin’s bedroom or bring themselves over to Star and Raven’s room to collect the “other part” of their rent. Or on occasion she’d see him by himself or have of them keep him company in bed. Either way not a moment ever went by they didn’t get naked,sweaty,deliciously sore and sticky with juices,it’s a wonder they weren’t pregnant. Yet anyway as 18 made it clear eben long after they graduated and moved out, they’d always be considered family and more than welcome in 18’s lewd antics. After all when you’d been with a man like hers, it wasn addiction ona dick you’d be crazy to think you could break off like a bad habit.
It a protest Raven had een thinking about,as she and Star relaxed in their be, idly enjoying some snacks and quality time together. When their door opened, there stood their stud runt landlord, a relaxed caring smile on his face while 18 leaned on the doorframe. A sensual expression in her fsce as she began to undo her top,hinting snd signalling it was time for their “rent payment”. Star grinning excitedly and Raven blushjng yet smiling softly as Krillin made his way over to them. Taking his shirt off as Star moved to undo his pants whole Raven kissed him,moaning as he groped her body,so very intimately well acquainted with her at this point. Raven had never planned for a part of her college life to play out like some real life porno fantasy but quite frankly, did it really matter when it felt so good? Damn right.
#sketchfan85#sketchfanda#sketchfan#krillin smut#krillin dragonball#dragonball krillin#krillin#raven#raven teen titans#raven dc#rachel roth#starfire#teen titans#starfire teen titans#starfire dc#koriand'r#android 18
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Intervention
Tea Type: Milk Tea
Potential Triggers:
Pairing: Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu/F! Reader
Length: 700
Summary: Your constant interference in Fuyuhiko's job makes him come to a difficult decision.
To say Fuyuhiko was pissed was an understatement. He’d tried so hard to keep this mission under wraps so you wouldn’t do something stupid again but here he was, nervously pacing a hole in the floor of your room as the best medic he knew looked over you.
The second the girl stood up straight Fuyuhiko barked at her, making her squeak.
“She’d better be okay!"
His former classmate knew him well enough to know his threats were out of fear and worry and she turned to smile patiently at him.
"She’ll be just fine. It was only a surface level bullet would. It didn’t hit any organs thankfully. She should be waking up soon, but still don’t push her too hard, okay? Her body is going to want to rest to heal itself."
Mikan placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder in support and then departed.
You groaned as you came to a few moments later, looking around groggily. Fuyuhiko frowned deeply at your side but you smiled and your eyes lit up at the sight of your boyfriend.
"Fuyuhiko! Thank God you’re okay I’m so-”
“We need to break up.”
“…What?”
Your smile fell instantly to one of worry as his frown never faltered though his eyes did drop and he shuffled his feet nervously. His face hardened suddenly and he met your gaze coldly.
“I’m done dragging you into this life. I’m not going to be responsible for you dying to protect me. I’m no good for you.”
You cried out as he went to stand, lunging forward to grab his hand and wincing as you jostled the wound in your side.
“Fuyu-ow!”
Worry flashed in his eyes and he rushed to push you down a little roughly as he put all his weight on your shoulders.
“Ok ok I won’t leave! The Hell are you doing, trying to reopen the wound!?"
You glared up at him suddenly passionate and he flushed as your hands moved to frame his cheeks so he’d maintain eye contact with you.
"Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu, I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. Just like you don’t want me to die; I’m not just going to stand on the sidelines while you put yourself at risk either! If you want to be a coward and run away from this relationship; make no mistake; you’re not doing it for me. You’re doing it for yourself you selfish jerk!”
His eyes narrowed as he growled down at you.
“Did you just call me a coward?!”
Of course he’d focus on that. Despite his apparent anger you could see he was flustered and his grip on your shoulders had softened. He was so close you could feel his breath on your lips.
You smirked.
“I sure did! And unless you make the right decision and let me help you’ll always be one. So…the obvious solution I’ve been asking for for ages is…”
You trailed off, looking up at him expectantly and he sighed in defeat gently pulling your hands away with his own and cradling them as he leaned down to press his lips to your fingertips, never looking away from your eyes the whole while.
He felt satisfaction go through him as you were the one looking flustered and sheepish this time.
“These hands are gonna cause me a lot more trouble…and maybe you’re right; I am a coward. A better Yakuza than me would have the strength to let you go. But…well.”
He chuckled and leaned down to seal your lips with his, only pulling back when you were both out of breath. His smirk was comfortingly familiar as he trailed his fingers through your hair.
“I am also selfish. I want you by my side for as long as we both live. You win you ballsy motherfucker… I’ll train you. But don’t expect it to be easy!”
The grin that broke out across your lips was legendary and Mikan had to tell Fuyuhiko to leave as you got too excited to sleep.
Maybe he had changed you…but you’d changed him just as much. Now he was hopeless without you.
Whoops.
Oh well. Guess it couldn’t be helped.
He was stuck with you.
#super danganronpa 2#danganronpa 2#danganronapa 2 goodbye despair#danganronpa fic#fuyuhiko kuzuryu x reader#fuyuhiko kuzuryu x you#fuyuhiko x you#fyuhiko x reader#danganronpa 2 headcanons#tlc: milk tea#tlc: fic
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What baking can do || Andy, Leah & Nicole
TIMING: Two weeks ago.
LOCATION: Ramirez Residence
PARTIES: @declinlalune @phoenixleah & @nicsalazar
SUMMARY: Leah plans a Christmas baking sale to help with Fully Booked's restoration. Andy and Nicole are there to help
WARNINGS: None.
It was gone. Everything. Everything Leah had ever worked for had just… vanished in one night, and technically by her own hand, too. Well, not everything was gone. The building was still standing, and their apartment, sure. But the books, her inventory, after years and years of being built upon… it was gone. It took her a week after the fire just to get out of bed before noon, and even longer to start coming up with a plan to get Fully Booked full of books again. She and Nicole, of course, still had Nicole’s income, and the money they’d been putting away for years (not many people in Wicked’s Rest didn’t have a just in case fund stashed away somewhere), but if she ever wanted to open the store again, they needed inventory, and they couldn’t cut into Nicole’s salary for that.
She couldn’t remember which of them had come up with the idea, but as soon as it was out in the open, she didn’t know why they didn’t think of it sooner. It would probably take a lot of fundraisers before they’d be able to open again, but people were going to be willing to donate, right? Fully Booked had been a staple of the community for years. A winter holiday baked goods fundraiser had to be an enticing enough first fundraiser to convince people to participate (just in case, for some odd reason, the allure of literature wasn’t).
“I think she’s here”, Leah chirped from the kitchen counter where she’d been organizing ingredients all morning. There was a gentle rap on the door just before, Andy no doubt still a bit anxious after all had transpired between the three of them. But she was more than the perfect fit to help, and Leah couldn’t wait to pick her ear about the perfect measurements, or which sprinkles went the best with which frosting. Even if it didn’t raise any funds, their time together today would certainly boost Leah’s baking in the future. “Do you mind going to get it?” she asked Nicole. Nicole, sweet Nicole who had been her rock through this all (even so far as helping her cover up her slight arson- would she have been able to pull off the controlled burn if her girlfriend hadn’t been a firefighter? “I have to admit I’m sort of… excited? If you can believe that.”
To almost everybody else, Leah had put on a brave face after Fully Booked burned down. She had remained optimistic in the face of adversity, talking about getting back to work to quickly ensure the bookshop was up and running in no time. To the outside world, it looked like this accident had ignited a fighting spirit within Leah. It was true, to an extent. The determination was there, keeping Leah’s spirit intact underneath her pain. But very few were privy to what the loss of her dream had done to the woman Nicole loved. In the few weeks that had passed since the incident, she found herself repaying a lot of that patience Leah had shown her at the beginning of their relationship. It wasn’t a debt Leah would’ve kept score of, of course, but Nicole knew. She always remembered. She’d carried the guilt of her shortcomings for years. So, as the tables turned, she stepped up. It had proven how solid the relationship had become. If only the circumstances that led to that realization had been different…
Nicole watched, leaning against the door frame, a fond smile etched on her lips. She knew better than to try to help with Leah’s organization. Her efforts were better spent encouraging her from a distance. So that’s what she did, only intervening if her girlfriend asked for it. It was a good system. Because there was something about the spark in Leah’s eyes that hadn’t been there in the past weeks. Nicole herself was uplifted by it, her heart lighter than it had been since the decision was made to burn it all down in order to preserve the scribe journals. Her girlfriend moved around the kitchen with more energy than she had in weeks, and Nicole stood there sinking into that pool of warmth and affection she had for her.
There was a knock on the door, and before either of them could speak, she heard Nacho’s sloppy footsteps rushing to the entrance. Nicole could’ve sworn Jane’s scent drifted into the room too, signaling she was on the move. Well, that was new. Apparently, everyone was excited to see Andy. “I can see that. Looks good on you,” she breathed out as her attention went back to Leah, nothing short of relieved. “Got it, yeah” Nicole nodded, flashing her a soft smile before walking over to welcome their visit. “Right on time” she muttered, as Andy appeared behind the door. She hesitated for a second, unsure whether to offer a handshake or a hug, or— a pat on the back? Until she settled for… stepping aside to let the woman in. They were still working on that, it was fine. It didn’t look like Andy noticed. “Be prepared, she’s… pretty fucking excited” and some of that joy was evident in Nicole’s own tone too. “Thanks, for doing this Andy”.
It was an odd thing, settling between the horrors of what happened in the cabin with that ranger, to finding Nicole in the woods, and now this. Now this, where Leah’s life’s work had been brought to its knees by something as stupid as book wyrms. Andy had done some research after being told what had happened, but she still couldn’t quite understand why it happened, and why it had to happen to her friend.
Hadn’t they gone through enough at this point? Andy wanted to scream at the sky, to something she didn’t believe in, to beg for something kind to befall them instead of tragic. She hated the way this all continued on, hated the way that she couldn’t be sure that her friends would be safe, even with something as simple as something non-hunter related. She hated this town and what it kept taking from the people she cared about, but did her feelings matter here? Not so much, no.
So when Nicole and Leah asked if she would help with a fundraiser, Andy jumped at the chance to help. To give her friends something to look forward to, to give them hope. She pulled in front of the building, frown twisting as she noticed the closed signs on the front door of the shop. It made her chest ache, knowing just how much Leah cared about the place to begin with. But she tried to give in to the lightheartedness of their interaction now, to give to them what they’d given to her time and time again.
The door opened not long after she knocked and she smiled as Nicole appeared in her view. She looked a little tired, but better than the last time she’d seen her. That was good. “You don’t need to thank me, I’m more than happy to help out.” That much was true, especially considering it’d been awhile since she’d last gotten into a kitchen to bake her heart out. “She’s excited? Really? That makes two of us.” Andy flashed Nicole a smile before kicking her boots off to the side. She leaned down to scratch Nacho behind the ears before following Nicole back into the kitchen. “You’ve got quite the spread going on here, Leah.” She grinned at her friend before padding further inside, looking at all the ingredients that the phoenix had laid out. “Damn, I think you might be more of a professional than me.” Andy went to the kitchen sink and washed her hands before patting them dry on a paper towel. “Tell me where you need me, boss.”
Leah could hear the faint sounds of greetings from the front of the apartment, and it brought another grin to her face. They should have thought of this earlier. Maybe this was the start of something better- maybe their wave of bad luck shit sandwiches was over, and all they had needed as a catalyst was some good old fashioned friend time and some baked goods. She was just finishing her last bits of organizing- a little more sprinkles in this bowl, that piping bag of frosting tilted just so, checking and rechecking that they had enough measuring cups..- when she heard Andy’s voice enter into the kitchen behind her.
She blushed with pride at Andy’s words, brushing them off with a quick toss of her hand as she went to stand by Nicole’s side. “A professional? Oh, no way. I just know the pride in an organized workspace, is all.” She said, admiring just how organized their workspace actually looked. She couldn’t help but get even more excited at the prospect of being called boss, even if by a close friend like Andy. She looked toward Nicole with a proud grin, and then back toward Andy, clapping her hands together. “Okay! So stop me if this is over ambitious, but I have more than a few ideas working for the Winter Fundraiser.” As she spoke, Leah realized she hadn’t even shared all of her ideas with Nicole, so this would be her first time hearing some of them, too. “My first idea was that we could make little cookies that look like books-super cute, right? We could even title them with all the classic names with little piping bags. But THEN that spurred on my idea to sell boxes of cupcakes, all themed after everyone’s favorite christmas classics! A Christmas Carol Cupcake? I’d take 20!” She was getting ahead of herself now, but no one could stop Leah’s idea flow once it started.
“Oh, and this next idea Nicole helped with, right, Babe? Edible Peppermint stick bookmarks! Obviously they have a shelf life, so we could even sell them with more sustainable bookmarks too, just so people feel like they’re worth it. But… totally cool. Right?! Who wouldn’t love an edible bookmark in their Christmas stocking?”
Nicole trailed behind Andy, stopping for just a second to crouch and pick up one of Nacho’s toys. She waved it at him, drawing his attention away from the kitchen. Hopefully, he’d remain entertained long enough while they got their hands dirty. He would certainly be rewarded if that was the case. She joined the pair a moment later, smiling at the ongoing conversation. Her eyebrows lifted, looking at Leah perk up after being called boss. Yeah, she was pleased with that one. Maybe even reminded her that she still was one. But… at heart, or— metaphorically, like kids said nowadays.
She nodded encouragingly as her eyes locked with Leah. She’d been scribbling in her notebook a little too much at night. An abnormal amount, if such a thing was possible for the scribe. Nicole didn’t ask why, she never questioned when Leah fell into those cryptic moods, because she knew eventually, her girlfriend would come out ready to share all of those thoughts she had been stewing on and putting on paper. It appeared the answer to the mystery was about to be revealed. Her face softened, an adoring glance on Leah when the woman started sharing her ideas, hands flying everywhere, eyes shining in excitement. It was nothing short of healing to see Leah like this again. Her own spirits were lifted by the sight.
Her gaze quickly turned to the floor, heat spreading in her cheeks at the sudden attention. She shook her head shyly, not exactly ashamed of the idea, but uncertain she deserved any sort of praise. Nicole had found it on one of those… websites. The pinning interest or something. She wasn’t sure how it worked still, but a search bar was a search bar everywhere, and some interesting results came back when she asked the right question. She liked the bookmarks, Leah liked the bookmarks, and she was as confident about the idea as someone like her could ever be about anything. Being suddenly put on the spot did make her nervous, however. Briefly. She was among people who cared about her after all.
With the ideas out in the open, Nicole moved away from the pair. “Haven’t baked in thirteen years,” she explained, anticipating a pang of grief. There was a reason why she’d lost interest in many culinary endeavors. “I’m good— I can hand you the ingredients. I’m good with that. And…stirring and kneading if that’s—” she stopped for a second, a sheepish grin on her face. “That wasn’t a cat joke” She tilted her head, flustered. But there was lightness in her chest that wasn’t there before. She was so relieved there were no secrets standing between the three anymore. “Can’t be too hard…” she shot a look at the counter, where Leah had printed a recipe. Cupcakes were entry-level, no? Cookies on the other hand, she knew they were incredibly deceptive. “Tell me where to stand and I’ll…” she trailed off, making her point evident by now.
Andy hadn’t realized it, but her smile only grew as Leah explained her plans. She was enthusiastic, and that made her feel a lot better about the situation. They could be sad about the book store, but also be proactive. It seemed like Leah wanted to take the latter approach, and Andy looked around the kitchen as Leah continued on. It was ambitious, but she didn’t figure it wasn’t anything they couldn’t do. Once she got back to work, maybe she’d see about taking a cut from her paycheck so that some of the proceeds of their sales went back to the bookstore, too. It could be a surprise for later on, or maybe a backup plan if Leah’s current plans didn’t exactly pan out. Though, it seemed like she was organized enough.
Leah’s determination rubbed off on Andy and she found herself nodding along enthusiastically with the plans that were laid out. At the mention of the edible bookmarks, Andy looked over at Nicole with a grin. “That’s actually a really good idea. If anything, it’d give the kids something to snack on and the parent something usable.” She wasn’t sure what peppermint bark tasted like, but she guessed she was about to find out.
“You’re going to have to give me a list of book names, I’m not really good with them, but otherwise I think it’s a really awesome plan.” She clasped her hands together and watched as Nicole moved towards the edge of the makeshift factory line Leah set up. With a laugh, she nodded. “Sure, but I’m going to pretend it’s a cat joke.” The constant buzz and prickle was easy to ignore now that she’d spent so much time with the two. It was like when she was with Alex. She was grateful for the normalcy in it, and in the situation at hand– even if it’d come at the price of Leah losing her bookstore.
“Okay, I’ll start on the dry mixes, then Leah, I think you should work onto the wet ones, and Nicole, you combine, you knead, you do whatever.” She looked between the two of them, smile still in place. “Does that sound like a good place to start?” Andy looked over the ingredients again before pointing towards the table in the other room, “we should clear that off, too.” They’d need to cool off the cupcakes and cookies before they even thought of icing them.
The kitchen, and Leah’s heart, felt abuzz in a way it hadn’t in a long time. “It’s like riding a bike”, she said as a way to reassure Nicole, sending her a warm glance. In truth, Leah had no idea if the process would come back as easily as that for Nicole. So many other things hadn’t, so why would this be any different? But like with so many other things, Leah opted to push through with an aire of optimism about it- with the intention of picking up the pieces later if it didn’t work. Nicole always responded well to this method, maybe she even found it comforting. “Ingredients and general cat-like duties. An integral part of the baking team!” With that, she grabbed Nicole’s waist and playfully led her toward the counter where she’d started laying out the ingredients, stocked with enough bowls to separate them accordingly. She spun her around once before she set her there for good.
Moving closer to Andy, she grinned, pulling a slip of paper out of her back pocket and sliding it over to her friend. “Way ahead of you”, she said. Sure, the list with various holiday book names was legible, but it was also filled with scrapped ideas being scribbled off and doodles of potential design ideas. She hoped Andy could make it out. “Okay- sounds like a plan”, she chirped, grabbing a bowl to get to work. “Babe, you think you could pour some milk in here for me?”
Then, she flew over towards the dining room table, making quick work of clearing the holiday decorations she and Nicole had laid out there a few days earlier. “What’s your favorite thing to bake, Andy? Do you want to add anything to our list?”
There was a stiffness to her soul, to her spirit. The human one. Nicole wasn’t sure if there was any other way to describe it. It was strange… being. Unnatural. For the longest time, she considered herself atrophied. The fibers of her essence weakened by years spent walking the earth as another being. There was no period of rehabilitation after, only a world that demanded her to be in touch with her humanity as soon as she was thrust back into civilization. But she’d had nothing to offer, she’d been empty at her core, so it became about surviving. Before Leah, it was all she ever did. To laugh, to joke, to even exist peacefully were luxuries she was too depleted to enjoy.
Stiff still moved though, stiff still worked. Heavy, like an old injury that didn’t quite heal as expected. But despite her body’s chronic pushback to the concept of being, her heart fluttered when Leah’s hand reached for her waist guiding her to the correct station. The sound of Andy’s laugh at the unintentional joke elicited her own smile. Tight, weary, but genuine. And still worthwhile. Very much so. The bike analogy didn’t escape her, Leah had used it before too. In every aspect, her return to society had been exactly that. The bikes kept coming. She wished they would fucking stop sometime.
Nicole snapped out of her thoughts before they turned into quicksand in her heart. For now, in this kitchen, surrounded by the people she felt safest with, she could put her soul in motion again. Exercise the muscle of living. She followed Leah’s scent as she rushed to the dining table, grounding herself in the process. Her hands touched the counter as she stood comfortably in her station, observing Andy and Leah hash out the final details. Pouring the milk she was asked to. She could do that, of course. Even if she and milk didn’t get along. She wasn’t incompetent. “Don’t know if there are… Christmassy bear claws” she mumbled, hesitating once Leah’s question came. Her eyes searched for Andy, their stories not too dissimilar. She wondered how she was doing without the bakery. How independence was working for her. If the evening might encourage her to go back. A break was always good, but surely everyone missed her at the Bread Cemetery.
The affection that Leah had for Nicole was bright— so bright in fact, that Andy felt the need to avert her gaze, to focus on something else. It was easier that way, anyway. She didn’t like to feel like she was somewhere she shouldn’t be, even if she and the other two were extremely close, especially now. It wasn’t that the affection made her uncomfortable, it was just that she hadn’t ever experienced anything like it, so it was a little foreign to her.
When Leah ventured back to her side, Andy took the list of book names from her with a grateful smile. “You know me so well.” She scanned the list, only being able to pick out maybe three or four from the lineup. She didn’t think it mattered, but she set it down to the side, careful not to get any flour onto it. She began to combine the dry ingredients into the mixing bowl and moved it closer to Leah’s station. At her question, she shrugged. “Bear claws are fun to make, but croissants take a lot of patience, and I think it’s fun making different ones.” It had taken her awhile to get used to the way precision was necessary, but over time, she got better. Now, her strawberry croissants were to die for, even if Bread Cemetery didn’t offer them. She made them at home, mostly— for Alex when she asked for them. Maybe she’d make them for Leah and Nicole, too.
“I’m sure we could make them Christmassy if we really wanted to.” She leaned against the counter on her side of the station, beginning to work on the second bowl of dry ingredients. “Maybe draw a Rudolph face or something? Alex and I never really got to do the whole Christmas thing, but I’d try to at least do something… maybe that can be a new tradition.” She dumped the salt and baking soda into the bowl and stared down at it, “thanks for inviting me to do this, by the way.” She looked behind her at the two of them. She had offered, but still.
Nicole was always thinking- deep and intuitive inner thoughts were almost constantly etched across furrowed brows. Leah loved to reach forward and smooth them out, even if she couldn’t help fill in any gaps that Nicole was missing. She’d fill them in time, Leah would tell her, though she often worried that sentiment might get more depressing than it was comforting. How much time would it take to experience so many years of missed milestones? It would drive Leah crazy, personally. Nicole was stronger than anyone she knew.
She smirked as Andy took the list from her, raising her eyebrows. “I have a motto, Andy! ‘By failing to prepare, you’re preparing to fail!’ Who would I be without my lists? Just a very well-read flaky person, I suppose.” She chuckled at the thought as she mixed the bowl in front of her, fascinated by how the ingredients combined together so seamlessly. In a way, it reminded her of their friendship. Three people who were so different managed to mold together like the sugar, butter, and flour they were forming into dough. It was a science she wasn’t privy to, but wouldn’t dare question.
“I was thinking the same thing!”, Leah replied right after Andy. “Anything can be made Christmassy, we just have to get creative.” And get creative they did. Like authors thinking up whole worlds of characters, the trio managed to think of ways to many even the blandest pastries into delightful Christmas treats. Nothing they produced felt forced or disingenuous, but then, nothing with the three of them ever felt that way. When they had invited Andy over to help make the treats, Leah had hoped it would be enough to start to save the store- to raise enough money so that they might be able to open again early in the New Year. And sure, the fundraiser was successful- townies were raving about those Rudolf bear claws for weeks. But what Leah hadn’t realized was how much their night together would fix her soul, too. Their time together baking and laughing and reminiscing? She was more grateful for that than any of the money that they raised.
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Chapter 5: Reflections
In the aftermath of her fraught conversation with Queen Anora, Theresa has a difficult conversation with Cullen. (CW for smut, though not explicit)
“Why? Why didn’t you tell your advisors?” Why didn’t you tell me?
She gives the same answer she gave when he’d asked why, upon discovering Rosalie’s magic before him, she’d kept it hidden. “Because it wasn’t my secret to tell.”
“Maker’s br—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I assume at the very least that you’ve been keeping tabs on their whereabouts.”
She blinks, a little surprised. “I’ve done nothing of the kind. Why would you assume I’ve…” Oh. “Because of his mother?”
“No!” His head snaps up, hurt and guilt both at war across his face. “Because of his father.”
They stare at each other in silence, both nursing old hurts, neither willing to give ground. Neither willing to risk a jab that will cut too deep. Until, slowly, the reflexive anger fades, and anger gives way to reason.
“I’m sorry.” Cullen says it first.
“So am I.” Theresa rubs at her eyes. “But Cullen, do you at least trust that I made the best decision available to me at the time?”
“Of course I trust you. I’m only asking that you trust me.”
He comes to kneel before her so they’re at eye level, resting his hands on her thighs. “I know that you couldn’t share everything with me as Inquisitor. I accepted that the moment I started developing feelings for you.”
She smirks. “So, since our first meeting at the trebuchet?”
“Exactly.” He smiles and leans in, resting his forehead to hers. “But I would have hoped… After all this time, do you still… Am I not…” But either he cannot force the words out, or he cannot find them, and he gives up with a miserable sigh.
Theresa rubs her nose alongside his. “I do trust you, Cullen. I’m the one who can’t… I keep trying to move forward, but old fears keep taking hold of me. And I’m ashamed of the person they make me.”
“Oh, my love…” Cullen frames her face with his hands and leaves a feather-light kiss across her lips. For a few precious beats, they share the same breath. “I know.”
His words draw out the pain, like poison from a wound, and she exhales with relief. Because he does know, as few others can, what it feels like to be controlled by fear. To have it corrupt and contort the mind into a hostile battlefield, until all you see around you are enemies. Until the person staring back at you in the mirror is so loathsome you can hardly stand the sight of it.
Yes, he knows. That spark of recognition had been one of the first corners of comfort she’d found in those early days in Haven, when the path forward was so winding and uncertain it was impossible to see an end. From first flush to this kiss, it has been a harrowing climb out of their respective darknesses and into the light. But there is no greater gift than to be seen – truly seen – by another.
And in facing each other’s darkness, they slowly found the strength to confront their own. But reflections can be frighteningly honest. Even now, sometimes, they still flinch. But there is at least enough trust to know that when they look back, the other will still be there.
DAFF tag list: @rakshadow, @rosella-writes, @effelants, @bluewren. @breninarthur, @ar-lath-ma-cully, @dreadfutures, @ir0n-angel, @inquisimer, @crackinglamb, @theluckywizard, @nirikeehan, @oxygenforthewicked, @exalted-dawn-drabbles, @melisusthewee, @blarrghe, @agentkatie
#my writing#while time remains#the black city#wtr: tbc#theresa trevelyan#cullen rutherford#theresa x cullen#hard conversations#long term relationship#seeing the reflection of your pain in the one you love#and flinching reflexively away#but trusting they'll still be there when you look back
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Wedding Break - Part 2
Masterlist
Thank you so much for all the love I received in part 1 💗💘💛💓❤️
Warnings: language
Word count: 2,6k
Adrenaline shot through Aelin’s veins, and her eyes darted back to the tree, her best escape. Still monitoring the prince, she slowly moved to the side, in a way that could stop Roman from blocking her way out. He cleared his throat before she could flee.
“You can answer me a few questions—“
“There’s not a chance—“
“Or I can ask the guard to show you the way to your room, since you’re clearly lost.”
Aelin froze on her spot, just the thought of losing her only scape had a grip on her breath greater than she’d like to show. By the triumphant smirk on the man’s face, he knew he had won.
With arms crossed, she narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you want to know?”
He leaned on the wall, mirroring a relaxed version of her movements. “For starters, why did you break into my bedroom?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed again. “Can we have another question?”
The prince took a deep breath. “Okay, then. Why did you jump from your balcony?”
For Mala’s sake, there was no chance she’d get out of this without telling him, was it? “If you really want to know, I was trying to temporarily leave the castle. Your guards won’t let me.” Ronan’s eyes were filled with amusement instead of the irritation she anticipated, which made her comfortable enough to explain further. “I just need to speak with my father, and then I’ll be back.”
Ronan tilted his head, trying to make sense of it. “Your father... who’s in Terrasen.” And then something clicked and his eyes went wide.
“You’re going back to Terrasen.”
Aelin shuffled her feet, second-guessing her choice to tell this stranger about her plans. “I need to discuss a few things about the wedding.”
“Why didn’t you do it before the decision was made?”
She swallowed, trying to ignore how humiliating it felt to say this out loud for the first time. “Because I found out I’m engaged this morning.”
“That’s odd. You’ve been the talk of the castle for weeks now.”
“I know you guys want me to stay, but—“
“I don’t.”
She frowned, confused by his statement. And a bit offended too. “I don’t get it.”
“Have you considered that my cousin might not want to marry you as well?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
Aelin’s cheeks started to burn, and she looked away to avoid his gaze. No, she was so focused on her own doom she hasn’t thought about Endymion’s feelings for a second.
“Well, Ro...” she trailed, forgetting his name again.
“Rowan.”
Aelin ignored the chill his deep accent sent down her spine.
“Rowan. Will you let me go, then?”
He smirked. “I have a better offer for you. Come on in.”
Following Rowan to his room, the welcoming smell of pine and snow almost rooted Aelin to her spot. She first saw his green walls covered by symmetrically arranged framed posters, and then noted that every boyish feature of his room was so tidy it almost looked comical.
She made herself at home and sat on an armchair, leaving for him the one on the other side of the coffee table.
“So, what’s your offer?”
“I can get you out of the castle and drop you off at the airport.”
“That sounds sketchy. You’ll just do me this huge favor and ask for nothing in return?”
Rowan frowned. “It’s a pretty basic favor, actually.”
Aelin pursed her lips. This deal still felt a bit off, but it was better than climbing off a tree and improvising her way out of the gates. She sighed and got up from her seat. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”
He stared at her with incredulous, bulged eyes while Aelin waited for him to get up with both hands resting on her hip.
“Are you coming?” Aelin sneered.
“Not now!” Rowan finally said, “I wouldn’t put past Maeve putting the city on lockdown five minutes after you’re gone.”
She tilted her head. “So we need to leave at night.” He just nodded from his seat. “That’s very cloak and dagger. Let’s do it.” Aelin said, smirking like Hellas himself.
“I’ll pick you up later, then,” he decided, assessing her with those piercing pine-green eyes. “Meet me at midnight.”
˜˜˜
For someone who was willing to escape with nothing but the clothes on her back, packing a travel bag was more challenging than she thought it’d be. Aelin was used to sneaking out of the castle every now and then, but never to make an international trip. Her duffel bag wasn’t big, so she packed only essential items like money, clothes, cosmetics and chocolate.
Aelin had just bought her plane ticket when two booming knocks sounded on her door and Aedion came inside.
He threw himself on her couch, resting his feet on the armrest. “You missed lunch today.” Aelin’s heart started pounding when she remembered the reason she didn’t attend lunch today, but she didn’t answer. The tense silence didn’t stop Aedion, though. “Evalin told me what happened.”
“Really?” Aelin said instead of really talking about what happened. The way her throat was closing up was as intense as Aedion’s gaze on her, and she knew her reaction would define his.
“Yes, really.” He clenched his jaw. “She asked me to make sure you keep it together.”
This news sent a sharp pain through Aelin’s chest, but she hoped her face didn’t show how much she felt. After all that happened, that was her mother’s main worry. This kind of behavior wasn’t surprising, yet here she was. “What did you say?” Aelin whispered. She was leaving. She was fixing this. With or without her mother’s approval this time.
“I called her a manipulative bitch and stormed out,” Aedion mumbled, shrugging. “Look, I know you don’t like it when I meddle, but—“
“No, it’s fine.” Aelin’s voice broke mid-sentence and her eyes brimmed with tears, but she took a deep breath and forced her gaze on the ceiling to stop them. Aedion has always been her fiercest ally inside the castle. Not that his competition was strong, though.
It turns out Aedion had come to take her to dinner, so she didn’t need to dodge his questions for long. He didn’t comment on her apparent resignation or choice of clothing, and she was glad. Aelin wore a pastel blue dress that fell below her knees and modest makeup. No trying to bend the royal dress code’s rules this time. If Aelin needed to act like everything was alright before escaping, so be it.
The seating arrangement was a complete nightmare. Stuck between her mother and Prince Endymion, Aelin had to choose between angry conversation and completely awkward conversation. Jokes on whoever arranged this, her focus went solely to her food. The fish’s rich yellow color caused by the sauce, accompanied by strong herbs and vegetables was the best thing she could interact with for now.
“You look great, darling. Are you feeling any better?”
Just like that, her meal felt harder to swallow than usual. After all that happened, Aelin hated how she reveled in her mother’s praise, but the small nod and approving smile Evalin sent her way after seeing her choice of clothes for the evening was an annoying kind of joy.
“Sure,” she answered her mother. Aelin needed to act like everything was according to Evalin’s plans, but it was more difficult than she expected.
“I’m glad.” Evalin opened her mouth to speak, but then closed again. In a lower tone, she said, “I love you, Fireheart. I’m just trying to do what’s best for you.”
Aelin’s throat constricted even more, so she took a deep breath and went back to her food before her emotions got the best of her. The worst part was that she knew her mother was telling the truth. Deep in her bones, Aelin knew how much her mother loved her. Their main point of conflict has always been about Evalin not wanting to accept what Aelin thought was best for herself.
By the time the dessert came, her focus was mostly on how long was this dinner going to be. Aelin was trying to control her bouncing foot, and it was hard to swallow the food when she didn’t even know what time it was. At least Rowan was there, so he couldn’t blame her if they were late, but it still made her antsy.
“Princess,” Endymion called, making the whole table go silent.
Aelin’s heart stopped. Dear Mala, did he notice something? She slowly turned to him, forcing a pleased expression.
“I heard you’re a great fan of literature. May I take you to the Royal Library after dinner?”
“Of course,” Aelin answered. Endymion’s face looked so kind it was hard to refuse. The fact that the whole table was listening played its part too.
However, there were only three people smiling after their exchange.
Evalin, beaming like the proud mother she was.
Queen Maeve, the way she curled her lips portrayed a satisfied look that wasn’t hard to decipher.
And Rowan, trying and failing to hide his wicked smirk.
˜˜˜
“So, what do you like to read?” Endymion asked while Aelin was looking around, mesmerized. The library was open, with one large floor and a mezzanine. The ceiling was painted with mythological narratives, but there was a huge, golden chandelier in the center as well. It was stunning, and Aelin could’ve spent days here if she wasn’t leaving tonight.
She focused her attention on her fiancé for the first time since arriving, but he didn’t seem upset. “I like Terrasen’s classics, and—“
“I read your profile.” He smiled. “I’m asking what you actually like to read.”
“Oh.” Aelin blushed and bit her lip. “I really do like them, I just happen to also like books that don’t belong in a royal library.”
Still grinning, he said, “I know just the section.” And led her towards some cartography books. There was just them and one employee filling an iron cart with books about the Southern Continent, and Aelin was confused until a door opened and she entered a secret passageway.
Not knowing what was going on, Aelin’s pulse picked up until a light turned on. She let out a small sigh. It was a large hallway with a superhero themed decoration, some bookshelves and two couches. It was simpler than the main library, but cozier.
Getting closer, she recognized a few fantasy titles she’d read and comic books Aedion collected when he was younger in the bookshelf.
“Endymi—“
“You can call me Enda.”
She smiled, glad he was being nice, but not wanting to give the wrong impression. “Enda, this is amazing.”
“Thank you.” After a stretch of silence, he continued, “Rowan’s mom made it for us when our... taste divergence began.”
Princess Rory. Aelin was only fifteen when she and her husband passed away, but it was hard to forget how devastated Doranelle’s people were. Not wanting to press on the subject, she grabbed one of the comics.
“I like Captain Rolfe’s stories.”
Enda raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” She smiled inwardly, still leafing through the book. “Aedion loved it, so we’d play around the castle pretending he was the captain and I was his first mate. My parents didn’t like it, but Uncle Orlon found it so adorable that one Yulemas he gave us a small boat that never sailed, just for us to play. I think I was eight at the time.”
“I never met him, but he always looked like the kind type to me.”
“He really was.”
As much as Aelin was beginning to enjoy Enda’s company, she needed to finish getting ready to flee. She couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity, so she needed to ditch her fiancé. Soon.
“So—“
“Look—“
The corner of Enda’s lip tugged in a smile. “Rowan told me about your plans for tonight.”
When Aelin’s mind processed what he’d just said, her heart was already beating a mile a minute. Her eyes went wide, darting around, searching the easiest exit in case she needed it.
He held his hands up. “I’m not mad, I promise.”
Taking a step back, she assessed him. “Are you sure?”
“Look, Aelin, this situation isn’t ideal for me too.” He sat on the couch. “I didn’t have much of a say in this deal, and apparently neither did you.”
She slowly reached the couch and sat facing him. “Go on.”
“Do I need to?” He sighed. “The rumors about my sexuality are pretty much true, and I had to break up with my boyfriend because of Maeve’s deal.” After a beat, Enda added, “I’m not mad at you, though. Just to be clear.”
She grimaced, realizing just now that Enda’s situation was a lot worse than hers. “I’m sorry.”
His expression softened. “Don’t be. Me and my boyf- ex-boyfriend, I mean.” Enda leaned back on the couch, running both hands through his hair. “Dorian and I knew Maeve wouldn’t let us get much further, so I’m just happy I got to spend three years with him.”
Aelin sat by his side, not knowing what to say. Her chest ached when she thought of him, being sold in a marriage which he couldn’t even grow to love the other person. Orchestrated by his own aunt.
Like he’d read her thoughts, Enda continued, “Before you go, I just felt like telling you that you seem to be someone very easy to love.” He sent her a watery smile. “I just can’t do it romantically, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be partners in every other way.”
Tears started pricking Aelin’s eyes, so she focused her vision on one bookshelf and took a deep breath. “Thank you, Enda.” She looked back at her fiancé and swallowed. “I think we’d be pretty good allies.” Aelin straightened her posture and forced a smirk. “If we ended up married. Which we won’t.”
Enda tilted his head. “We can be allies in not getting married, then. I can even do some damage control while you’re gone.”
Her eyes sparkled, and Aelin leaned back on the couch. “Tell me more.”
˜˜˜
Aelin has always liked when her clothes reflected how she felt, so she was a little disappointed over her lack of spy catsuits to wear. The black, tight-fitted shirt was close enough, but the tailored brown pants she chose was a far cry from the dramatic vibe she was aiming for.
It was almost time to meet Rowan, and she had everything ready. Everything Aelin thought she’d need, at least. She braided her hair once more to forget about her churning stomach, but the way her hands were slightly trembling didn’t help with that task.
Her last few minutes passed like a few hours, but when her phone started vibrating, she knew it was time to go. However, a knock sounded on her door before she could leave the room.
Her heart pounded with the possibility of it being someone else, but she relaxed after opening the door and seeing it was just Rowan. His outfit was a far cry from the spy vibes Aelin anticipated for the night, but she wasn’t in the place to complain.
“You’re late.”
Aelin frowned. “No, you told me to meet you at midnight. It’s midnight.”
“Yes, and you didn’t meet me when the clock struck midnight.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you always like this?” Aelin closed the door, and off they went.
“If Maeve turns these marriage deals into a thing, I very much pity the princess who ends up married to you.”
“Brat.” Rowan snorted. “After this, I hope I never see you again.”
Aelin didn’t detect any kind of hostility in what he said, so she knew exactly what he meant. If she succeeded, there was a chance they might never see each other again.
She smiled. “I hope I never see you again as well.”
Part 3 is out!
A/N: If you’re a swiftie reader from the future I just want to be clear that Midnights isn’t out yet so I have no idea what I just foreshadowed with “Meet me at midnight”
TAG LIST:
@autumnbabylon
@courtofjurdan
@elentiyawhitethorn
@goddess-aelin
@leiawritesstories
@rowanaelinn
@thegreyj
#rowaelin#throne of glass fanfiction#rowan x aelin#rowan whitethorn#aelin ashryver galathynius#rowaelin fanfiction#wedding break#runaway bride#arranged marriage
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pairing: Ona Batlle x f!Reader
warnings: amnesia and injury
word count: 2540
summary: ona’s remembered a little but will she remember everything else?
a/n: part three of this series
I Remember You
Love is a world on its own that lives in the heart and not the head.
It wasn't a lot but it was a step.
Ona starts seeing a therapist and she gets better. The nightmares become few and far between though that may be because she’d moved back into your bedroom.
There was never really a conversation about it, Ona had just come to your room one night, hovering by the door.
You’d simply smiled softly and lifted the covers on what used to be her side of the bed, letting her slip under them with a breath of relief.
If she had curled her body into yours that night, pressing so close that you could feel her breath fan across your cheeks, well neither of you minded.
She hadn’t ever gone back to the guest bedroom after that.
Sleeping beside you, with your arm resting protectively around her waist was enough to make the bad dreams stop. It made her feel safe.
You’d gone back to playing, Ona had progressed far enough in her recovery that she could walk, without her crutches but with the help of a knee brace.
The first steps she’d taken without them had been right into your arms. Right back home.
Physio was still hard, she often came back exhausted but she was making good progress and that made it all worth it. Plus you gave her cuddles after and she thought that made it a more than fair trade.
With her memories it was much much slower. She remembered small things like her love of sunny days and the name of her dog when she was a child but nothing significant. Nothing like how she had proposed to you.
Which was why the Spanish girl was currently looking through the many photos she had on her Instagram page, trying to recollect the smallest detail.
You were crying in the engagement photos and she was too. You were both at a really big stadium, far bigger than the usual one the Reds played in. It was obvious that you both had just finished playing a game there, there was confetti on the field and the two of you were still in your kits. The smiles on both your faces though, it was clear how much you loved each other, how joyful the moment had been.
Then she has a bright idea and texts Ivana, asking if she had a video.
She did.
And Ona presses play.
The noise of the crowd was the first thing she heard. Then she heard her own voice as she walked into the frame.
‘Mi amor.’
You turn around from chatting with Lessi, your eyes widening as you saw what she was holding.
Ona watches herself get down on one knee, finding herself tear up as the video plays on.
‘Mi amor I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. You make me so so happy, happier than I ever thought possible. When I moved to Manchester I was terrified, completely unsure if I had made the right decision. Then I met you and I knew I had. Just seeing you smile was enough to make all the bad days worth it. Tu eres mi vida, you are my life and I want to spend the rest of my days with you. I promise to take care of you, to love you, to never leave you and to give you all the happiness in the world. It’s what you deserve mi amor and I would be privileged to be the one who does all of that for you. So will you please marry me? Marry me so that you’ll be mine and I will be yours forever.’
You barely wait for her to finish before you’re flinging your arms around her, clinging to her tightly.
‘Yes. Yes of course I will!’
You’re laughing and crying as your teammates cheer, Ella already bringing out the champagne as Ona slides the ring onto your finger.
But then you lean in to whisper something in Ona’s ear, something the microphone didn’t pick up.
Whatever it was, she watches as her face lit up and she pulled you into a passionate kiss before lifting you up and swinging you around excitedly.
The video ends shortly after and Ona wipes away her tears, sniffling slightly.
Closing the video, she taps on Ivana’s contact and waits for her to pick up. The Brazilian does so almost immediately.
‘Ivana?’
‘Hi Ona. What’s up?’ She asks easily.
Ona bites her lip nervously, wondering how to phrase her question.
‘Is this about who I think it is?
The Spanish girl stays silent and Ivana laughs, taking it as a yes.
‘What do you want to know?’ She mischievously answers.
‘Were we married?’ Ona blurts out.
The teasing edge in the Manchester United forward’s voice disappears, taking on a sadder tone.
‘No but you were engaged to be.’
The unspoken words were clear.
If it weren’t for your accident, you would be married by now.
‘Oh…’
‘Look Ona, if you want to know more about your relationship, you should really talk to her. She’s the best person to ask and she loves you.’
‘I know.’ The Spanish girl mumbles and Ivana tells her a quiet goodbye before ending the call.
Ona takes a slow shower, letting the warm water run over her body and soothe her as she thinks. She dries off and puts her wet hair up in a messy bun before wearing her knee brace and settling herself on the bed.
Lost in her thoughts, she spins the ring on her finger, over and over again until she hears your key turning in the lock.
The two of you haven’t talked about what you were but you went to sleep together, woke up beside each other, gave each other more than friendly cuddles. Then there was also a matter of the rings.
She hadn’t taken hers off since that day but you still kept yours on a chain and she hadn’t dared to ask what that meant. You said you love her and she believed you. But did keeping it on the necklace mean that you no longer wanted to marry her?
Ona had developed feelings for you, that she was sure of. It was hard not to, she spent almost all of her time with you. One could say that all her memories were of you.
She loved you and definitely wanted to marry you. The Spanish girl could see herself spending the rest of her life with you, loving you as you loved her. Like you’d said, she had always loved you and you will always love her. Watching that video had only made her even more certain.
She fidgets a bit more till you finally walk into the room.
‘Hi love.’
There’s a bright smile on your face and Ona gives you one in return.
‘Hey.’
She lets you put down your bag and wash your face before she speaks.
‘Can we talk?
A cautious look flashes across your face and Ona shakes her head vigorously to reassure you that nothing was wrong.
Almost imperceptibly, you let out a relieved breath, sitting down beside her.
‘What do you want to talk about?’
‘Us.’
‘Us?’ You stare at her and Ona shrugs, fiddling with her ring some more.
‘I watched the video of me proposing to you.’
You suck in a breath and Ona bites her lip.
‘Will you tell me how we started dating?’
The Spanish girl doesn’t expect you to blush but she finds that she loves the way your cheeks heat up. Yet another thing that made her fall deeper in love with you…
‘I was hesitant at first. Don’t get me wrong but I was absolutely terrified of you.’ You begin wistfully. Gosh it seemed like an entire lifetime ago now.
Ona blinks. She didn’t think she was a scary person?
‘It wasn’t you per se but more like I was afraid of giving my heart to you, I was afraid I would end up hurt like before.’
Looking up then, you reach for her hand, holding it and bringing it up to your lips, kissing the back of it gently.
Ona’s heart skips a beat at the affectionate gesture and she smiles.
‘I should have known better but you were patient. You gave me all the space and time I needed even though you loved me already. It wasn’t easy for you but you did it for me. You waited till I was ready and I’ll love you forever for that.’
Then you chuckle softly, clearly lost in your memories.
‘There was once, early on when I fell asleep on you. It was the best sleep I had then but when I woke up, I panicked and ran away. I didn't mean to but I hurt you and I felt awful about it. So the next day I gave you a hug before training. You’ve always loved hugs and I wanted to let you know how sorry I felt.’
You glance at her shyly before continuing, ‘Before you, I never liked physical touch but then you came into my life and taught me to love it. You reassured me that you weren’t going anywhere and that it was safe for me to let you in. I believe that hug meant a lot to you because of that. You held me tight for a long time, telling me it was okay and that you understood. You didn’t push and I think that was when I really knew I was in love with you.’
‘Was?’ Fear rises in Ona’s throat and she swallows hard.
Squeezing her hand, in apology for your poorly chosen words, you try to make it clearer.
‘Sorry not was. Still am. But that was the first time I knew I loved you.’
The Spanish girl smiles and you smile back. Then Ona’s gaze drops to your engagement ring and her smile fades.
‘D-do you not want to marry me anymore?’
‘No!’
Ona startles a bit at the forcefulness in your answer and you apologise quickly, ‘I’m sorry. I want to marry you, Ona. Of course I do. Another thing that scared me so much when you told me you loved me was that I already knew what you are to me. You’re the one for me Ona, my one and only. That hasn’t changed, it will never change.’
‘Then why aren’t you wearing your ring?’ She whispers.
You blush furiously, cheeks heating up.
‘It’s silly…’
Ona smooths her thumb over the back of your palm and the familiar action makes you choke up. She used to do that all the time when you were anxious.
Quietly, you admit, ‘I wanted you to be the one who put it back on my finger.’
‘Oh!’
Ona grins and you blush even harder.
‘I took it off because I didn’t want to pressure you into a relationship, especially one where we were already engaged because I didn’t know if you would still love me but-’
The Spanish girl doesn’t let you finish, cutting you off with a swift kiss to your forehead.
‘I love you.’
Ona has a shy smile on her face but yours is so big your cheeks are aching.
‘You love me?’ You breathe, wondering if you were dreaming.
‘So much. I love you, I’m so in love with you. From the moment you walked back into my hospital room, I knew you were someone important to me. Someone special. And even if I never get all of my memories back, I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you, making new memories together.’
Ona’s softly spoken words are genuine, her chocolate brown eyes sparkling, whether from happiness or tears you don’t know. It could even be both.
Gingerly, she reaches around to the back of your neck, unclasping your necklace and letting the engagement ring fall onto her hand.
You shiver as her fingers brush against your exposed collarbones, leaning into her gentle touch.
Tears spill down your cheeks as Ona reaches for your left hand. The Spanish girl wipes some of them off carefully and you give a watery laugh.
Ona giggles, kissing the rest away before asking, ‘Will you marry me?’
‘Yes.’
You nod furiously and Ona slides the ring onto your finger, her free hand coming up to cup your face as she presses her lips onto yours.
Gasping in surprise, you respond immediately, the weight of the ring back on your hand and the familiar feeling of Ona’s lips on yours finally making the ache in your chest disappear.
She pulls away, her forehead resting again yours as she lets out a noise of disbelief.
Her shoulders shake and a relieved laugh sounds from her. Laughs that quickly turn into choked sobs that cause you to worriedly smooth her hair back, panicking slightly as she refuses to open her eyes.
‘Ona? Ona?’
‘It’s okay mi amor. I’m okay. I’m more than okay.’
She opens her eyes and you feel all the oxygen leave your lungs.
She recognised you.
‘I remember. I remember everything.’ She gets out, between her mix of crying and laughing.
You can’t stop yourself from throwing your body at her, Ona falling backwards onto the bed as she hugs you tightly.
‘I love you. I remember you.’ She repeats, over and over again as you cry, thanking whatever lucky stars the two of you had for bringing her back to you. Your tears soak her shirt as you wrap your arms around her.
You bury your face in her chest and Ona tightens her grip around you as you both sob.
It’s dark outside by the time you’re finally able to look up at her, by the time Ona could bear to loosen her hold on you.
The both of you are all cried out and Ona eases you up so that she can see your face.
She cups your tear streaked face with infinite care and she leans in for the softest kiss the two of you had ever shared.
‘I’m so sorry mi amor. I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m so sorry I put you through that. When I proposed, I promised I would never leave you and in a way I did.’ Ona guiltily says.
She remembered the details of the crash now, the way she had seen rapidly approaching headlights in her rearview mirror, coming too fast for her to do anything before she felt blinding pain.
The Spanish girl recalled the devastated expression on your face when the first thing she’d asked after waking up was ‘Who are you?’
You shake your head, no doubt thinking of the same moment.
‘Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault someone decided to get drunk and drive. And it doesn’t matter now because you came back to me.’
Ona’s response is resolute, ‘I’ll always come back to you. I love you, always have, always will. I’m yours mi amor.’
You kiss her ring and then her, letting yourself melt into everything that is the love of your life. The love of your life who was back and never leaving you again.
Spanish Translation:
mi amor - my love
tu eres mi vida - you are my life
#ona batlle x reader#ona batlle imagine#woso fanfics#woso fanfic#woso x reader#espwnt imagine#espwnt x reader#spain wnt x reader#spain wnt imagine#muwfc imagine#muwfc x reader#katelynnwrites#uswnt imagine
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