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ghostfanwriter · 11 months

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💖🧰 Dirty Hands 🧰💖

Part two

🧰 Pairing: Joel Miller x Afab!Reader

💖 Synopsis: Your dads, Bill and Frank, are the only people you've ever met. When Joel Miller comes to visit, you learn about new and exciting feelings.

🧰 Features: 🔞, soft!Joel, kissing, very secluded and kinda oblivious reader. Honestly there's not much, this is mostly just the setting of the story.

💖 Word count: A bit over 5k.

🧰 About this: Timeline's a bit different from the show. Basically their ages are the same from the show, Bill and Frank are older than Joel. But here, they all meet in 2023, after the raiders already shot Bill. The main difference from the show is that here Bill and Frank are not as old in 2023 as they are on the show, I picture then as old as they are when they meet Joel and Tess on the show.

💖 Author's note: She's finally here! I loved writing Bill and Frank ✋🏻🤧 literally my favorite. Writing their dynamics with reader was a joy, loved it.

Good reading 🧰💖

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You've lived in Lincoln your whole life, but the majority of it was inside the town your dad built for himself right after the outbreak.

He was the only person you knew — or remembered, at least — until Frank arrived.

You were six or seven when your dad told you to lock yourself inside your bedroom and gave you a gun, which he had already taught you how to use. "You only open this door for daddy or to kill whoever is inside that trap, alright, cupcake?" You obeyed, looking out the window and watching him talk and then walk the man past his gates.

You only opened your door when he called you, a couple minutes later, a plate of food in his hands. "This is for you, baby. I'm gonna feed him and he'll go away. He can't see or hear you, so you stay here real quiet. I'll tell you when you can leave."

And you did, but instead of calling you, he came back later, tucked you in and told you not to leave your room for the rest of the night. You had a bathroom and he brought you more food and told you not to worry, so you didn't mind.

Next morning he introduced you to Frank, saying he'd stay around for a while.

A while became forever, and before you knew it, you had two dads. Two very different men who did their best to look after you.

But nothing they did could prepare you for today.

Nothing could prepare you for the man you'd see today.

🧰💖≈

Your dads were having people over for the first time in literally forever. But you wouldn't be a part of it.

"Bill, for God's sake, she would have so much fun! She needs to see people." You heard Frank almost yell from the kitchen.

"I'm not letting them see her! I don't know what got over me to let you give them our fucking location! I won't let them know we have a daughter!" Bill sounded angry and upset, he was afraid everything he worked so hard on building could be destroyed by Frank's "friends".

So the first woman — if you don't consider the one in your faded memories — you've ever seen, and the very first man who wasn't one of your dads, had to be seen from your bedroom window.

When you saw her you smiled, thinking about all the things you two could talk about. Did her hair annoy her as much as yours did sometimes? Did she feel the same things that you did? What would her voice sound like?

Your wandering was cut by the next new person you saw.

Tall, broad shoulders, short and greying hair and beard and a sculpted face. An imposing figure that took over your senses, setting itself instantly as your new favorite sight. He made your stomach feel like it was loose, floating around your belly, but you couldn't bring yourself to look anywhere else.

You watched from your window as they sat down and ate. Your dads clearly having two very different experiences, Frank was laid back and having fun, while Bill sat stiff and you constantly saw his hand reach for his gun.

Your attention was focused on the man, though. The way he sat, how his jaw moved when he chewed on your dad's food, how his eyes were hooded and serious, most of the time holding your dad's gaze.

His eyes were so pretty, from a distance they seemed dark and mysterious, and you stared into them, your brows furrowing with the intensity of his look. You were so lost in them that it took you — way over — a second to realize he was looking right at you. And you only noticed because your dad yelled.

"Frank, not inside!"

You hid behind your curtains. Your chest moving so fast it hurts, and you can feel every contraction of your heart.

Your dad will fucking kill you. They shouldn't have seen you, but now the man has.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to her?" He had barely spoken yet, and his voice sent chills down your spine, pooling in your panties.

"Who?" Bill asked, his hand reaching for his gun. He was ready to kill both of them at any wrong move.

"Oh, shit." Frank sighed under his breath. "Bill, it's okay." He said, resting his hand on Bill's shoulder.

"There's a girl?" The woman asked excited, looking around to see if she could find you.

"Fucking — stay here." Bill told the man and the woman.

Him and Frank walked inside, and you, still hidden behind the curtains, kept looking at the man. Your heart felt like it didn't fit inside your chest anymore.

You stepped away when they walked inside your bedroom.

"Honey, I told you to be careful. Goddammit." Bill said, opening his arms as you run towards him, tugging yourself under his embrace.

"Sorry, daddy. I wanted to see them." Frank invited himself into the hug. "It's okay, darling. We'll take you to meet them, if you want to. They seem like good people, even your dad has to admit." But Bill's face didn't look like he agreed with it.

"Can I?" You looked into Bill's eyes and he looked at Frank, shaking his head no, but looking back at you and sighing.

"Okay. You can come down. But!" He said when you started giggling into his chest, hugging him tighter. "But they think we have others come over, so keep that in mind. And, listen to me. You're gonna stay with us, alright? I want to keep my eyes on you the whole damn time." You nod enthusiastically, hugging Frank.

"Oh, you'll love Tess!" He said and you made a little happy sound.

"I know! I have so much I want to talk to her about!" You say excited. Bill sighing behind you, scratching the back of his neck and shaking his head, a soft smile breaking through his face.

You three reach the front door. Your arm is tangled with Bill's, your eyes wandering around as you walk outside.

"Look, there is a girl. She's our daughter. She's... We wanted to know you first, before you could meet her." Frank said, walking outside first, you and Bill following right after.

You were wearing a yellow summer dress, and you could see the man gulping when he saw you. You were a vision he thought this world would never provide him again.

Feminine and pretty. Colorful amongst all the muted colors everyone was wearing.

Your dress perfectly outlining your curves, your hair looking like silk, falling carefully over your shoulders, your eyes wide; attentive but curious at the same time.

"Oh, look at you! You're so pretty!" The woman said, and you couldn't hold your smile back anymore. "I'm Tess, what's your name?" You looked up, at Bill, who caught your gaze and nodded for you to respond.

You told her your name, and you could see the man's brows furrow behind her when you said it.

"Well, it's really nice to meet you. This is Joel, we're..." She looked back at him, then at your dads, and she seemed uncomfortable for a second. "We're friends. And we're really glad to be here, to meet this place. To meet you!" She finished with a warm smile.

You loved her.

You shook her hand and the man approached you, shaking your hand as well, his eyes sweet but intense, and a soft smile on his lips. You couldn't help the girly smile that stamped your own lips while greeting him.

His hand was big, rough, textured, but also soft and warm, his fingers double the size of yours, distracting you. It made your breath get stuck on your throat, and your mind wonder what it would feel like if he held you the way your dads held one another. If he touched your face or your sides. If he ran his hands up your legs, like you do sometimes at night.

If his rough fingers would hurt you if they touched you on other places, how much further than yours his fingers could go, how much more you'd have to open yourself to him.

You loved him.

You all sat back down at the table, Bill insisting you'd sit between him and Frank. You talked a lot to Tess, about things you had tried to talk about with your dads, but they never seemed to fully understand.

After your dad lowered his guard a little, he let you, Frank and Tess walk around, show her some things and talk. You felt comfortable around her, like she was someone you had always known.

Whenever you looked at the man, though, you felt the same things from when you were watching him through your window. Your stomach felt funny, and your palms dry and sweaty at the same time. The fact that he kept looking at your direction didn't help you, either.

Everytime you were not around him you felt in your guts that you were wasting your time, that you should come back and try to get close to him.

It was like there was a magnetic field between you two. You couldn't stop looking for him, and he seemed to not find interest in anything else after seeing you.

Every fucking time you looked at him you found his eyes already on you. Analyzing you, studying you, as if he wanted to engrave you on his mind.

You were everything he thought didn't exist anymore. You were feminine, your hair was pretty, your skin was soft and you smelled good. Frank had made you a perfume with a few flowers and fruits, and you wore it everyday.

It smelled fresh and delicate, and the smell got stuck on Joel's wrist, coating his mind with a soft but persistent layer of you.

Even more than the smell, the hair or the soft skin, it was you that drove him crazy. The silly smile you had stamped on your face the whole goddamn time, the way you talked to Tess like you could never run out of things to talk about, how delicate you looked.

But also how your dads told the story of the day raiders tried to invade Lincoln, how you and Bill shot them, how you killed the one who shot Bill. Most of all how you told the whole thing with a smile on your face. How not fragile you were, despite your girly figure.

How intriguing you were.

And Joel couldn't keep his mind and his eyes off you.

He knew he wouldn't find someone like you ever again, so he wanted to make sure he had your frame right on his brain.

Having his attention made you feel good, in a different, new way. In a way you've never felt before. But it also made your stomach feel funny, like you were sick.

You went for Bill, who was sitting on a porch chair next to the man, taking to him. "Daddy, is it okay if I go to bed? Not feeling great." You asked your dad, the man shifting by his side.

"Yes, darling, sure. Do you need anything?" He asked, his voice coated with concern.

"No, I'm fine. Think it's just been a lot for one day. Just wanna lay down for a bit." You bend down to kiss his cheek, and he kisses you too, the man's eyes glued to your body the whole time.

"See you, Joel. Nice to meet you." You say to the man, who nods and smiles at you, offering you his hand again, making your cheeks burn at the feeling of them.

💖🧰≈

You wake up with a soft knock on your bedroom door.

You open your eyes to find Frank, who invites himself in, sitting on your bed.

"Hi, darling. How are you? Tired already?" He mentions for you to sit next to him, which you do, snuggling next to him, hugging his side.

"Doing fine. Better anyway." He looks down at you, worried. "Oh, what was wrong? You didn't say anything."

You don't know how to explain, but you try anyway.

"I don't know, I felt weird since they arrived. Felt this thing on my stomach, like I would throw up. But now I think it's gone."

"Oh, sweetheart-" your dad starts, but he stops when Bill and the man stand on your doorframe. The man looks at you from behind your dad, up and down, smiling softly at your sleepy face and hair. "Frank, cover her up, please."

He does it, covering your body — previously covered only by a tight tank top and an underwear — with your blanket. "I'm showing Joel his room. Baby, are you feeling better?"

You nod and smile. "Good, was worried about you. Now, keep your door closed. Locked, please." Bill says as he closes your door and leaves with the man.

You grunt, feeling the same thing again. "Ugh, here it is. Not gone yet. Dad's food never made me feel like this before." You snuggle closer to Frank, who sighs and hugs you tighter.

"Oh, honey pie, you're not sick. It wasn't dad's food." You look at him.

What could it be, then?

"But don't worry, Tess already left and Joel is just hanging over for a while to help me and dad around with some fixings."

You grunt, feeling funny again. Thinking about Joel leaving and never seeing him again makes your heart sink down on your chest.

💖🧰≈

You spend the next day inside your bedroom, watching the man work with your dads, fixing some things on the exterior of your house and helping them with things they can't do by themselves anymore.

Watching him carry heavy things around and laughing with your dads made you uncomfortable. Your body begging you for some relief.

So you give it some. You lift your skirt and touch yourself over your panties. Steady and fast circles around your clit until you cum, the man being the only thing in your mind.

You imagined what it would feel like to have him hold you, his skin touching yours, what kissing would feel like. How he'd hold you on his strong arms, how he'd move you around.

You wondered if he looked like the men from the magazines you found on your dad's car, and what he would to with it, what it would be like, what it would feel like.

As soon as your high was over you heard your name being yelled from outside. It was already dark, but you were close to the window and got worried they may have seen you.

You'd be fucked if they did.

You looked down and found all three of them looking at you. Bill was the one to speak.

"Baby, can you cook us something for dinner, please? We're gonna be here for a while still." You hoped your voice would come out okay.

"Sure daddy, be right down." You answered, Joel's gaze weakening for a split.

"Thanks, love." Frank said and they went back to work.

💖🧰≈

You felt funny while you cooked dinner. Specially since you knew Joel was gonna eat. You couldn't pull yourself out of him while you cooked, thinking about how tired and hungry he must be, and how you'd be the one providing food for him. How you'd be making him feel good after working all day.

It makes you want to do it more, to do things for him, help him feel better after a tiring day.

You're so lost on him you don't notice when he walks in the kitchen, watching you for a while in silence. You drop a wooden spoon on the floor and bend over to grab it, your skirt fully lifting and leaving your whole ass on display.

He chokes on his saliva, startling you, and you get up, looking at him. "You always wear that around the house?" He asks, talking directly to you for the first time since you introduced yourself the day before, his voice a little broken.

"Yes, she does. Because she's our daughter and it's usually only us around here." Frank says out of nowhere. "But I told her she should wear more appropriate things while Joel's around, didn't I, love?" You blush.

He did, but this was literally the first time you had someone over, so you forgot. And honestly "appropriate" isn't exactly clear. You weren't naked, and your clothes were never questioned before.

"Sorry, dad, I'll go change. Can you watch the pans for me, please? Thanks." You say rushing out of the kitchen, avoiding Joel's gaze.

"You back the fuck off, alright? Bill will fucking murder you if he sees you watching her like that." Frank says after a bit, while Joel grabs a cup of water.

"I wasn't watching her, I'm sorry. Just stopped and she dropped it. I just wanted some water. Besides, there's Tess—" Frank looked at him from over his shoulders while he stirred a pan with pasta. "Don't shit me, Joel. Tess told me about you two. I know you're not a couple anymore." Joel shifts on his feet. Tess shouldn't have said anything.

"But she's young, and she's used to only have us around the house. She got overwhelmed by you, and I believe you may be a good man, but not for my daughter." Joel's heart aches a bit. He thinks of Sarah, how livid he'd be if a man ever looked at her the way he found himself looking at you.

"And again, be thankful I was the one to walk in and not Bill. You'd be buried outside by now. If he left anything to be buried, that is."

You walk back in, in a sweater and pants. Bill walks in at the same time, drenched in sweat, panting quietly.

"You're sick, honey? Why are you wearing this?" You look over at Frank, who rolls his eyes. "She just wanted something more cozy, Bill. She's alright." He looked at the three of you, his gaze softening at you. "Okay then, I like that you're fully covered." He says, eyeing Joel for a second before looking at you again.

"I'm gonna shower and then we can eat. Thank you, darling. It smells amazing." He kissed your cheek and went to his bedroom.

"Love the outfit, sweetheart. Don't listen to your dad, this is perfect. Joel, why don't you go take a shower too so we can all eat together?" Frank says.

Joel looks at you, then at Frank, then grunts in agreement and goes upstairs.

"Dad, is it bad that I... Think about him?" You ask, genuinely concerned. Frank turns the stove off and looks at you. "What do you think about him, love?"

You feel your cheeks on fire.

"I don't know." You respond, not wanting to welcome your dad on your daydreams. He comes towards you, cupping your cheeks loosely.

"My love, do you think about him like dad and I? You you think of doing to him what you see us do? Kissing, hugging?" He asks low, afraid somehow Bill could hear them.

"I do." You whisper, pushing yourself into his embrace, hugging him tight and snuggling your face on his chest. "I think about what kissing him would be like. What having his hands on me would feel like. What hugging him would feel like." You say, knowing well that you can't lie to your dad.

"Darling that's perfectly normal. Joel is a beautiful man, the only man you've seen besides me and dad." He waits for a response, but you have nothing to say.

"Just... There's a lot you don't know, okay? A lot we didn't think we had to tell you about. And your dad and I are just afraid someone might take advantage of that." He hugs you tighter, hoping Joel wouldn't be that someone.

🧰💖≈

After dinner, you help Bill with the dishes while he chats with Frank and Joel, who are still at the table. They're talking about construction, cars and resources, and you're just listening to them.

Then you all go to bed and you lock your door, just like your dad asked you to.

Before you could sleep, though, you let the man take over you again.

You insert two fingers inside you and circle your clit desperately, trying to just get some relief so you could go to sleep. Softly, you moan the man's name when you cum, and pray he couldn't listen to you.

Your water bottle was empty, and you had to go downstairs to refill it. "Fuck!" You said, if one of your dads saw you outside your bedroom, they would kill you.

But your throat was dry and you didn't want to grab water from your bathroom. So you had no choice.

You almost fell on top of Joel when you opened your door and found him standing right in front of you.

"What are you doing here?" Your voice high and scared.

"Thought I heard you call me, came to see if you needed my help for something." His voice low and heavy, like his words were thick and hard to let out.

"I wasn't calling you. I don't need help, I was just going to grab some water." You respond way too fast, barely taking breaks between your words.

"Hum, I could swear I heard your pretty voice call my name just a minute ago. Joel, Joel, Joel. Multiple times. Didn't know you did those things, baby." His expression is serious and dark, looking down as he towers over you.

He wasn't going to try anything. But since you were calling him...

Fuck.

"I... I wasn't calling you. I'm sorry, I have to get back to bed." You try to close the door, but he doesn't let you, easily keeping it open with his forearm.

"But you weren't sleeping, were you, baby?" He steps in, forcing you to walk back inside. "I'm sorry. I just... I… I saw you and you were looking at me and I… I shouldn't, you barely even spoke to me, I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

He closes the door behind him.

"Oh, I don't mind angel, I'm not mad at you. My name never sounded sweeter. But I can't sleep now. Not now that I've heard it." His arm snakes around your waist, and he pushes you close.

He connects his mouth to yours, and you finally learn what a kiss feels like. His beard makes you flinch at first, scratching and almost hurting the sensitive skin of your face.

You're used to your dads' beards when you kiss their cheeks, but Joel's feels different, it hurts in a way that makes you want to feel it even more.

You moan into it and your body softens under his embrace, your legs give in and you're only standing because he's holding you. Your hands grab his back and his hair, and you moan into his mouth when his tongue opens it's way into yours.

His arms hold you tight and squeeze you, his large hands hold you you firmly, and you feel like that's what was missing for you all along. To be in Joel Miller's arms.

He is intoxicating.

His perfume, woody and different from the ones your dads have, mixed with his natural essence make you dizzy. His strong arms hold you in a way you didn't know you needed to be held. His mouth explores you with such hunger, such passion, and you've only just met.

It makes you wonder what it would be like if he loved you, if he cared for you. How much more of this intensity you'd feel from him.

You deepen the kiss, exploring his mouth with hunger and curiosity, all while doing your best not to drown in saliva.

He breaks the kiss and goes to your jawline and neck, smelling, kissing and biting you, his beard scratching you deliciously, making you moan.

"You smell so good, baby, you're so soft. Been a long time since I saw a girl like you. All pretty and sweet for me like this." He says as he runs his hand through your hair, his rough fingers caressing your scalp, pulling your head back to make more room for his lips.

You feel something hard pressing on your lower belly and you pull away. "Wait, Joel. I think there's something in your pocket." He looks down and laughs, grinding himself on you.

"This, baby?" His voice low and breathy. You nod and he looks at you, his breath heavy, his brows furrowed, now showing more confusion than arousal.

He lets you go abruptly, looking puzzled at you, analyzing you. "How old are you?"

You frown.

"I don't know, actually." You respond.

"What? How… how do you not know?" He turns his head, even more confused.

It was confusing, you'll give him that.

"Well, my dad, Bill, found me on a road a few days after the outbreak. After FEDRA evacuated the town. He said I could walk and speak, but was still really small. So he thinks I was around 2 or 3." He looked at the roof and then at you, doing the math in his head. "So you're 23?"

You nod. "Yeah, probably."

He puts his hands on his hips, looking at you and at the door.

"And... How do you not know what this is?" He asks mentioning the tent on his pants.

Oh... Maybe because you've never seen a man other than your dads, and you've never fucked any of them. Maybe that's why?

"Well, you and Tess are really the first people I see that are not my dads, and, well, the people I knew before them. Y'know, not a lot of friends to have around here." You say moving your arms around, mentioning the empty town and all the emptiness surrounding it.

You get close to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and talking close to his ear, your hands roaming all over his back and hair.

"But I know somethings. Things I listened in songs, read in books. Things I want you to teach me." You say, touching his crotch, his cock throbbing inside his jeans.

But he thinks about your dads again, about you, and how he'd kill the man who tried anything similar with his own daughter.

"Sorry, baby. I can't. Your dads didn't tell me this. They said they had people come over before, just never stay. I thought you maybe got with one or some of them."

"You're the first." You say, not fully aware of all the weight the sentence has.

"I can't be your first one." He says, making you furrow your brows.

He pushes you away, walking towards the door.

"Why not?" you ask.

"Because you don't know me, baby. You're young and you need someone who knows you, and who you know. Someone who'll take care of you like you need." He sounded serious and decided. His voice deep and just slightly above a whisper.

He was kinda into the idea of you being innocent and naive. But when you're this untouched, it feels too much for him.

"But I want you." You say, returning his whisper. "I've been thinking about you ever since you showed up. Sometimes I feel this burn, this ache between my legs, and I used to fix it by just touching it. But today when I did it, my mind kept going back to you." You confess, and he swallows hard, his Adam's apple moving slowly as he did.

You see his eyes wander back around your body, and his gaze get darker again. But as soon as it darkens, he sees your face and it softens.

He turns towards the door, walking towards it.

Noticing how your words affected him, you keep going.

"I was calling you, Joel. I was doing it because of you." His body stiffens and he stops, his hand on the door handle. He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder.

"Please." You say, your voice sincere and sweet.

He turns back around, looking at you like you were tearing him apart. "I'm sorry. Can't do this to you. I don't know if I know how to be gentle anymore, I don't want to hurt you."

"If it's not you then who is it gonna be? My dads trusted you enough to let you inside our house, to let you sleep here with us. That has to mean something." You say, and he moves his jaw from side to side.

He knows he can't, but you're right. Someone could do worse than him trying his best to be gentle.

"Baby, if I have you, I won't want anyone else to have you after. If I'm your first one, I'll be your only one." He said, getting close to you.

"I don't know if I'll want anyone else after you." You respond, walking close to him and caressing his hair with your fingers. "I know I don't regret my first kiss." You whisper, your face close to his, and his eyes go darker, staring into yours.

He was your first kiss too.

"Could've been more gentle?" He asks with an embarrassed smile.

"It was perfect." You respond with a smile.

He looked at your lips, his hand coming to cup your cheek. You snuggle your face onto his hand, enjoying the texture and warmth of it.

"But I mean it. I can't do it. Not right now." You whimper, and he gives you a faintly stern look, his fingers pulling your hair behind your ear.

"Told you. You don't know me. I'll be around for a few more days. We'll be patient and see how this goes." Your face must be the one of a lost puppy by the way he's looking at you.

"Just don't want you to regret it. Can't just sleep with the first man you ever see, princess." He says with s laugh. The nickname makes your knees weak.

He kisses your cheeks, both of them, and let's go of you, grabbing your water bottle. "I'll fill it for you. Don't want your dads seeing you downstairs."

After a few minutes he comes back, finding you sitting on your bed. He places the bottle on your nightstand.

"Sleep tight." He wishes, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" You ask, feeling vulnerable already being so clingy to the man.

He holds your chin, caressing your jaw.

"I'll be here for a whole while, angel. Promise I won't go anywhere before we talk about this, okay?" You nod, getting up to lock the door after him.

He gives you a little kiss on the cheek and leaves, and you go back to bed, letting anticipation bloom on you, feeling like you're gonna melt.

To think that he was indeed also thinking about you, that he wanted you the same way you wanted him, made you feel funny, like you're gonna scream.

It made you revisit all the times you caught his gaze, everytime you saw his eyes go from your body to your eyes when you looked at him.

How maybe he did the same in his bedroom, thinking about you the same way you thought about him.

Just picturing that makes you feel funny, and you smile to yourself. Feeling all special to be noticed by a man like him: strong and resourceful, the things your dads taught to be — and to look for.

Your dads were worried he would take advantage of you. But on his grand opportunity to do so, he said no and told you to go back to sleep.

And that just made you want him more.

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Coming up: You convince Joel he's the right one to be your first, but how hard will it be?

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Did you like it? Hopefully yes, I loved writing this so much it hurts that it's finally out. I'm currently working on the part two 💖

More from me 💖

As always, feedback, comments, asks, requests, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated. I love reading your thoughts on my work 🫶🏻

Part two

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #ghostfanwriter #pedro pascal's characters #smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #fanfic #joel miller x you

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trashywormeateroffics · 1 year

Text

i hate men (natasha romanoff x female reader)

the gif is not mine!

summary: so… being hopelessly in love with your best friend and getting super drunk is not the best combination? who would’ve thought? (a bit of angst but mostly fluff)

a/n: send me natasha requests if you want to!!!!!! you can send me normal requests, or you can also send me a taylor swift song and i’ll write a natasha fic with it!

masterlist

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you hated stark parties. they were loud, messy, annoying and did you mention loud?

being an introvert was a difficult task at the avengers compound, where these sort of events were being held every two weeks.

sighing, you gulp down the last of your drink. today you chose a coke, since you didn’t want to get drunk and embarrass yourself like the others always did.

“having fun?”

“no!” you say over enthusiastically. natasha snorts and shakes her head at you from behind the bar. she looks stunning, wearing a tight black dress that hugs her body perfectly and her red hair loose and wild. she never goes heavy on the make up, you noticed. not that she needs it, she’s breathtakingly beautiful without it.

“you should at least dance to one song, maybe you’ll even enjoy it.” she says, pulling you out of your not so friendly thoughts of her.

“i refuse.”

“don’t act like a petulant child.”

“don’t act like my mother.” natasha smirks. god that smirk. “if you call yourself mommy, i’m leaving.” the redhead shrugs.

“you handed it to me on a silver platter.”

“whatever.” you roll your eyes.

“i’ll have a manhattan, please.” a man slides up next to you on a barstool. natasha nods and begins preparing his drink. you don’t fail to notice the man’s lascivious look as he stares at her. it makes your blood boil. you know she hates when men sexualize her. and, truth be told, you hate it too. maybe not always for the right reasons, but most of the time they are. natasha romanoff is the best person in the entire world. she is also your favorite person in the entire world. she’s super smart, she’s so funny you almost peed yourself an embarrassing amount of times in front of her, she’s brave, she’s so goddamn brave you sometimes wish she wasn’t so she wouldn’t put herself at risk. but that’s the thing about natasha, she does that because she cares. she cares so much about everyone, and contrary to what people would think, it’s not because she feels guilty for her past, but because she’s good. her heart is so good, so kind. and she’s strong, the strongest. you know what she went through and still, she remained good. that takes a hell of a lot strength. and yes, she’s hot. she’s so fucking hot sometimes you can’t believe she’s even real. but she’s so much more than that. she’s your best friend, and the woman that you-

“thanks, gorgeous.” the man’s voice brings you back to reality and you look at him, hoping you’re shooting lasers out of your eyes and burning him. natasha simply nods and looks at you from the corner of her eye. you know what that look means, you know what every look means. if he tries something, i’m gonna shoot him.

you purse your lips to stop yourself from laughing loudly, your anger long forgotten when she enters your line of sight.

the man clears his throat, trying to gain her attention.

“so, you from around here?”

“no.” she tells him. then, she gives him a fake smile. “if you don’t mind, i’m pretty busy.” he does not seem to take the hint, so you turn to him.

“she’s asking you to leave.”

“and who are you?”

“one of tony stark’s closest friends. you wouldn’t want to be black listed for his parties for eternity, would you?” the man widens his eyes a bit. “yeah, i thought so. now, leave.” you shoo him away with a gesture of your hand, almost dismissively and he, thank every god that exists, gets up and leaves.

“my knight in shining armor.” natasha tells you, smirking. “you saved me.” you wish she was right. you wish you had done it to save her instead of yourself. but, to be frank, you didn’t. of course you don’t want her to feel uncomfortable, but you know she can handle herself just fine. the one who couldn’t stand it was you. you are an idiot. an idiot who’s hopelessly in love with her best friend.

“sorry, i know you can defend yourself. i just-“

“you just what?” she raises an eyebrow. you know that expression. it means she’s challenging you to tell her.

“i just hate men.” for a second, she looks almost disappointed. but you probably imagined that.

“yeah.” she nods. “i’m gonna head to the ladies room.” and then she leaves.

you sigh and run your hands over your face. natasha romanoff is going to be the death of you. but oh, what a sweet death.

“when are you gonna tell her?” sam’s voice makes you lift your head up.

“tell who what?”

“tell natasha that you love her.”

“i’ve already told her that a million times.”

“no.” he shakes his head. “that you love her love her, that you wanna kiss her.” you scoff.

“never. oh and also, could you keep it quiet? what if she hears you?”

“then finally you will both admit that you’re in love with one another and stop giving each other longing glances across every single room you’re in.”

“i don’t give her longing glances.” you lie. of course you do.

“uh-huh.”

“whatever samantha. don’t care, didn’t ask. plus i don’t even know if she likes girls.”

“she likes you.”

“as a friend.”

“you are so goddamn stubborn…” he begins saying, but his voice fades into the background when you see her. your breathing stops. she’s dancing. she’s swaying her hips and smiling and she looks so fucking angelic you want to pinch yourself because, surely, this must be a dream. but then, your heart drops to your stomach. he’s touching her. he has his fucking hands on her hips as he dances behind her and she isn’t pushing him away. you feel sick to your stomach. “hey, you there?” sam waves his hand in front of you. “hey…?” he trails off. then he probably follows your line of sight because he ohs in understanding. he says your name and pity drips from it. “they’re just dancing.”

“yeah.” you say, choked up. you hate that seeing her with someone else makes your heart burn from the pain. but it does, and it hurts so much. it was the first time since you admitted to yourself that you were in love with her that you saw her with another person. a man. stupid men and their stupid hands. tears well up in your eyes, but you won’t cry. you refuse to cry. not for love. never.

“what are you doing?” sam asks you as you walk all the way around the bar and crouch under it. “don’t.” he tells you when he sees what’s in your hands. you look at him dead in the eye and gulp down the whiskey straight from the bottle.

\\\\

“woo! this is so fun!” you shout over the music. you’ve been dancing for almost an hour now and you were most definitely drunk. you don’t even notice sam and natasha calling your name.

“what are you doing? you hate drinking.” the redhead frowns.

“maybe it’s time for someone to go to bed.”

“yes, nat. go to bed.” you tell her.

“no, whiskey straight out of the bottle, i’m talking about you.” you laugh at sam’s long nickname but then you pout when you sway and almost fall to the floor. “you wanna take care of it?” he asks the spy and she nods.

“i’ll take her to bed.”

“and what will we do there?” you ask suggestively. natasha looks at you unimpressed.

“you, lay down. me, scold you.”

“are you gonna spank me?” you smirk. she swallows hard. uh oh, she’s mad. you raise your hands innocently in front of you and she rolls her eyes.

“let’s go.” you want to protest but you know better than that. begrudgingly you begin following her, but stop when the room starts to spin. natasha must notice it, because she turns around and puts her arm around your waist and your arm around her shoulders.

the walk to your room is silent, except for your giggles. you don’t really know what you’re giggling about, but she’s here so it makes sense to do so.

she helps you lay down on your bed and takes off your shoes. as she does so, you look at her. god, you love her so much. and god, you are doomed for life.

“you’re never gonna love me.” you blurt out. she looks at you and frowns.

“what?”

“you’re never gonna love me.” you tell her again, pouting. she waits until she’s tucked you in the bed to answer.

“of course i love you.”

“no.” you frown. “you don’t.”

“what are you talking about?”

“i’m so drunk.” you say out of the blue.

“come on, on your side.” you do as she says and position yourself on your side, so you don’t drown in your own vomit and die.

“you don’t want me to die.” you slur, almost asleep now.

“of course i don’t want you to die!” you open your eyes and look at her. she’s kneeling next to you on the bed and sorting out some pills for tomorrow morning. you’re most likely going to need them. she then puts them on your nightstand next to your water bottle.

“but you don’t love me.” you say again. she looks at you, frowning. you stare at her. her green eyes, so kind. her cheeks, you want to squeeze them between your fingers and call her cute. her eyebrows, so perfect. and her lips, god, her lips. they look so soft. you bet they’re warm to the touch. so kissable.

“you’re so beautiful, natty.”

she looks taken aback by that, but she quickly recovers and smiles softly.

“don’t try to sweet talk me into not being mad at you.”

“i’m not!” you protest. “you can be mad at me but you’re still the prettiest girl in the world.”

“you’re drunk.”

“and you’re beautiful.”

she says your name softly with a smile on her face.

“get some rest, detka.” her hand is softly combing through your hair.

“i love it when you call me detka. did i pronounce that right? probably not.” you mumble. she chuckles.

“you pronounced it right.”

“nat…” you say.

“what?”

“i love you.”

“i love you too.”

“no.” you pout. “don’t lie. it’s not nice.” she stops caressing your hair and frowns.

“what is it with you today? of course i love you.”

“no, nat. i love you love you.”

“i love you love you too.” she tells you.

“i love you like i wanna kiss you love you not you’re my best friend love you.” she blinks at you. for a bit she doesn’t say anything. then she briefly shakes her head and sighs.

“you’re drunk. you should get some rest.” your heart breaks. she doesn’t love you like that. you should’ve known. now you’ve ruined everything. tears begin welling up in your eyes and it isn’t long before you’re crying.

“hey, hey- don’t cry.” she tells you as she wipes your tears with her thumb.

“i told you you didn’t love me.” she says your name again and takes a deep breath.

“you’re not gonna remember this but- if you do, we’ll talk in the morning.”

and then she leaves. tonight you are crying yourself to sleep.

\\\\

you open your eyes and stretch your limbs. then, you sit up and immediately groan. the most violent headache is currently splitting your mind into two. what possessed you to drink so fucking much? oh, natasha romanoff and her stupid beautiful self. and seeing her with another man, that definitely didn’t help.

you tsk and roll your eyes.

what even happened last night after you got hammered? how did you even get up to your room? did sam bring you here? did nat? no, she was too busy with someone else.

a knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts and you tell the person to come in, and even though it comes out more as a mumble, they seem to understand, because the door opens. there, standing in all her glory, is natasha romanoff herself, accompanied by a small brown bag and a coffee, you notice after a bit.

“hey.” she greets you from the doorway.

“hi.”

“i brought you breakfast. figured you might wanna eat before taking an aspirin.”

“thank you.” you tell her and she nods awkwardly. then, she approaches you and sits down on the bed in front of you while your back is against the headboard. “did sam bring me here last night?”

“nope. i did.”

“oh… thanks natty.” she swallows and gives you a small smile that actually resembles more a wince than anything else. weird.

“so… did i do something embarrassing? please tell me i didn’t try to strip on top of a table or something.” she chuckles and shakes her head.

“you didn’t try to strip.”

“but did i do other embarrassing things?” she opens her mouth to speak but then, surprising you, she pauses and abruptly shakes her head. oh no. what did you do that is making her act so strange? you try to remember. you saw her dancing with that man and decided to get drunk. she says she was the one who brought you to your bedroom so something must’ve happened here. did you puke all over her or something? or even worse, did you admit your feelings? your eyes widen. oh no. oh no, oh no, oh no no no. that’s exactly what you did, you goddamn idiot! you remember now. you told her you loved her! you told her you wanted to kiss her! of course she’s being weird!

“nat-“

“you don’t have to say anything.” she cuts you off.

“i really wish that was the case cause i’m really fucking embarrassed but- i need to say something.”

“we all say dumb shit when we’re drunk.”

“i said the dumbest shit i could’ve ever said.” you deadpan. for a second you see a flash of hurt in her eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it appears. could it be that she- no, no, she didn’t feel that way about you.

“nat-“ she puts her hand up.

“don’t need to say anything, i’ll just forget it happened.”

“but nat-“ she says your name again, almost begging.

“please, just drop it. i get it, you didn’t mean what you said. it’s okay.” you open your mouth to say something but then you close it and frown. did she think you didn’t mean what you said? that’s why she wanted you to stop talking about it? because she wanted you to mean it?

“i-“ you look at her with wide eyes. this is it. you’re gonna tell her in the most beautiful, poetic way that you- “i hate men.” what? the redhead frowns. “i meant, i- ugh- i hate men but i especially hate them when they’re dancing with you.”

“what?” she asks now, seemingly confused.

“i saw you dancing with that guy last night. i got- ugh i’m so dumb- i got jealous. i got jealous cause i’m in love with you and… and i want to be the one who dances with you like that.” natasha does not say a word. you simply continue, because of course once you’ve started you can’t stop. “i’m so in love with you nat, i- you are literally my favorite person in the world. you are so smart and funny and kind and strong and- you can totally slap me and never talk to me again but if this is the last time we’re gonna speak i want you to know that- that i love you with my whole heart and i will always love you.” for the first time since you’ve met her, natasha romanoff is speechless. you don’t know if it’s because she’s desperately in love with you too or she’s simply thinking of different ways to kill you and get rid of your body. you really hope it’s the former. “um- could you- could you say something, please?” she blinks but still, nothing. god, you broke her. “nat- i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have-“ and she’s kissing you. natasha’s lips are on yours and you’re in heaven. or something above heaven because this is simply too perfect, too beautiful. she moves against you, softly, so softly, as if she’s afraid to hurt you. your arms are glued to your body and hers are too. almost as if you were scared to break the spell if you touched each other. the kiss is gentle, sweet, but it sends a shock through your body. you’ve never felt like that. kissing was simply not that interesting to you, but now you understand why people in romantic movies do it so often. natasha’s kiss is healing every broken bone inside your body, it’s like a cure, fixing, mending. but unfortunately, it ends all too soon. when she pulls away you let out a soft whine and she chuckles, almost making fun of you. you lay your forehead on hers and you both breathe in deeply. then, you open your eyes to find that she’s already looking at you.

“so, does this mean you love me too?”

“oh no, that was a platonic kiss.”

“natasha!” you whine and she shuts you up by placing another kiss on your lips.

“of course i love you detka. i’ve loved you for so long.”

“i wasn’t even sure if you liked girls.” you tell her as you lift your hand and caress her face.

“i wasn’t either but then…”

“then…” you raise your eyebrows.

“this beautiful girl showed up in my life and i couldn’t help but fall in love with her.” your heart takes a leap and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning like a maniac.

“what an amazing girl.” you tell her.

“the best.”

“i love you.” you kiss her again. “i’m so happy i think i’m gonna vomit rainbows.” natasha lets out a laugh.

“don’t vomit on me or i’m kicking your ass.” you pout at her.

“you wouldn’t.” she looks at you, serious for a moment. then, she breaks into a smile.

“i wouldn’t.” you laugh breathily and purse your lips.

“i can’t believe i started this whole confession by saying i hate men.” the redhead laughs.

“i can’t believe you said that either.”

“hey!” her shoulders shake as she laughs. she looks so angelic when she’s happy. you sigh softly, dreamily. you might hate men, but you sure as hell don’t hate natasha romanoff.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst

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missmaywemeetagain · 3 months

Text

Broken Glass, Chapter 9 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Eeee! I can't believe it's finally DONE! At nearly a whopping 14k, I truly hope this makes up for me not updating this story since September! 🎉 Many thanks to my darling @ab4eva for finally helping me knock this loose and reminding me I could indeed still write! 💗💋💗

If I'm honest, Broken Glass is one of my favorite stories I've worked on. I know it's quite the slow burn and not nearly as smutty as my other works (...yet), but it really does make my creative heart sing and I'm so in love with these two and their stark vulnerabilities. 🥹

I highly recommend rereading Chapter 8 to refresh your memory, but the TL;DR is we left a jealous, ailing Elvis having just found out Lori's big secret from Sinatra and Sinatra calling Elvis out on feelings he hasn't quite been able to admit to himself until now. 😬

This chapter puts us firmly back in Lori's (rather confused) perspective. Elvis is acting weird, and she is feeling the fear of her past nipping at her heels. She's trying to manage her own emotions and health while chasing after Elvis' moody ass, which is going just as well as you'd expect LOL. And of course we have Welcome Home Elvis with Frank Sinatra! You might want to watch the Elvis portions on the show to fully get in the mood--I hope I did them justice! 🥰

Things will really kick into high gear after this chapter, so this setup is pretty important to what's coming. I really hope you enjoy! You can catch up here using the Broken Glass Masterlist ❤️‍🩹

I can't wait to hear what you think!! 💗

Much Love,

Madi xoxoxoxo 💗💋

TW: references to SA/threats/abuse, Gianni, dissociation, emotional upheaval, nightmares/violence/blood, period-related misogyny, health issues (fainting, constipation, vomiting, etc.), Elvis being an asshole, Elvis being a damn snack, sooties 😏

Broken Glass Chapter 9

March 24th, 1960

Miami, Florida

“Just hang on, Elvis. Come on, open your eyes for me,” you say, patting his sallow cheek, the concrete biting at your knees where you’ve fallen ungracefully to the ground with him.

Your half a cigarette lies smoking and abandoned a foot away—a bad habit you picked up after needing an excuse to get outside after long, stressful shifts at the hospital. You haven’t smoked much since you left New York, not having much need for it when your current job is almost ornamental most days, except in those private, hidden moments away from the bustle of Elvis’ strange life.

But he’d pushed you to that Lucky Strike, what with his aloof behavior since Nashville and then his ridiculous jealousy over Frank Sinatra having the audacity to speak to you and you having the gall to laugh with him.

“You are. You’re jealous. Why? I’m not your girl, so why—”

“The hell you aren’t.”

Galloping in your chest, your heart betrays your tangled feelings about the way he’d acted, the way he’d said those words as if he thought for a moment you really were his girl. And before, how he’d kissed you so passionately…

The memory is interrupted by Elvis’ low groan, his long eyelashes fluttering open to reveal glassy but stormy ocean eyes, thrusting you back into the present emergency. You don’t particularly like the way he’s clutching his midsection or how wheezy and warm he is, but you can’t do much here, especially when people are starting to gather.

He starts, as if coming back into himself, and surprisingly tries to roll up and off you. “I’m fine,” he gasps, shrugging your hand off his shoulder in an uncharacteristic act of defiance.

You might be more annoyed if you weren’t so worried, but your feelings are beside the point right now. Treat him like any other patient, a voice in your head reminds you.

“You are not fine, and we’re going back to the hotel so I can get a look at you,” you whisper firmly in his ear.

He shoots you a petulant look.

“Unless you want to go to the hospital instead?” you throw at him, with a raised brow. That does the trick. His glare softens a bit and his eyes dart away as though he’s been scolded.

It doesn’t take more than a pointed look from you for Lamar and Joe to haul Elvis carefully to his feet. You may only be Elvis’ girlfriend in their eyes, but they do know you are a nurse with some expertise in these situations. And you can’t help but see concern on their faces.

Elvis clutches his midsection again with a gasping wince. The guys lead him to a bench outside the building.

“Joe, tell someone in charge Elvis isn’t feeling well. Lamar, go get the car, please. We’re leaving.”

Your tone leaves no room for questions, but the three men look at you with surprise. In truth, you are a little surprised yourself. Perhaps it’s your lack of outward panic, the calm surety of many a night on the emergency ward.

You can’t say the same for them, seeing the panic brewing in the eyes of Elvis’ friends. Along with that, none of them are used to taking orders from women, and certainly you haven’t shown much vocal backbone in these last few weeks, yet with hardly a pause, Lamar and Joe scurry off, leaving you with Elvis.

He doesn’t speak to you or try to joke his way out of the pain, which is unusual. Instead, he stares blankly at anywhere but you. A sliver of unease winds its way through your stomach, and while you don’t push him, it’s almost involuntary the way your hand falls on top of his.

There is no reaction at first. Is he trying to ignore you? Could he possibly still be mad about the Sinatra thing? Confusion washes over you at the slight, but then his eyes squint in pain and his hand finally grips yours.

You hold back the breath of relief at the response, and before you can spiral too much more into what ifs, Lamar pulls up with the car. With his help, you get Elvis into the backseat.

The drive to the hotel is mostly silent. Joe tries to crack a joke or two from the front seat, but Elvis’ lack of response beyond painful grimaces quiets the short man with the annoying laugh. Elvis continues to shut you out, his hands clasped around his middle now instead of your hand.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

He’s just distracted by his pain, you reassure yourself.

You spend the ride pushing away questions about his behavior towards you and try to focus on diagnosis and treatment checklists, going through in your head what you have to do once you two are alone. It grounds you.

Once you all arrive, the boys help him out, but he stubbornly pushes them away once they reach the lobby.

“I can get to the elevator by my damn self!” Elvis grumbles, his eyes darting around the open space with concern. He’s nervous, you think, about being mobbed in this condition. You’ve gleaned enough in the past few weeks to understand he always attracts attention and it’s almost impossible for him to say no to his fans, even when he’s in so much pain he can barely stand upright. You are continually amazed by his generosity and selflessness in this regard. It’s one of the most endearing things about him.

Luckily, the lobby isn’t busy, and you make it to the privacy of the elevator avoiding interruption from outsiders. The humid air in the small space feels stifling and heavy with concern, but no one speaks as the elevator lurches upwards.

The relief is palpable when the doors open to the penthouse, and without ceremony you help deposit Elvis on the king-sized bed in the suite.

“Should we call a doctor?” Joe whispers to you as you try to shut him out of the room. The look in his eyes shows real worry for his friend.

“No,” you snap back, wanting to avoid any doctors not already familiar with the complexity of the situation. Joe is taken aback, so you continue more gently, “Not yet, at least. Let me see what I can do, and I’ll let you know.”

You can’t close the door fast enough, finally able to rush to Elvis’ aid in earnest, grabbing your medical bag out of the closet.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, preparing the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

Elvis doesn’t respond, looking sullen. You can’t tell if it’s stubbornness or pain that’s keeping him this way though. But the dull hurt of your near-constant headache coupled with his strange mood has your temper feeling short.

“You smoke,” he says with distaste, avoiding your question.

“What?” Distracted, you count the seconds of his pulse using your watch.

“Girls of mine don’t smoke. I don’t like it,” he adds with a petulant glare.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Okay, Elvis, I’ll stop smoking,” you placate, “but you need to tell me what’s going on with your body or I cannot help you.” The command is clear.

He looks up at you then, his eyes churning with pain and something else you don’t have time to piece through right now.

“I feel hot an’ short of breath,” he says quietly, almost clinically. “And…” He hesitates, looking down with embarrassment.

You urge him on with a nod as you squeeze the cuff. “And? What’s going on with your belly?”

He clears his throat with a grimace. “It hurts something fierce. It’s, uh, been awhile since…you know.”

You sigh. Logically, you understand how anyone—any man, especially one in his position—might feel embarrassed talking about their bodily functions with a young woman, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating that he hides these issues from you when it’s your job to know.

“How long?” you ask.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, his face going flush.

“Alright, then, lay back,” you sigh, popping a thermometer in his mouth. Thankfully, he obeys without a fuss, and you pull his shirt up. It doesn’t take much gentle prodding on his lower belly to determine the issue. In fact, you can see the distention on his normally lean frame. That coupled with his pained whimpers and wincing makes it clear that his chronic constipation is rearing its ugly head.

For a normal and otherwise heathy person, it might not cause the severity of issues you have to contend with now. But Elvis is neither normal nor healthy. His pressure and temp are too high, his asthma is acting up, either from the pain or exertion of singing, and you know he’s not going to like the solution. But if he wants to stay out of the hospital and out of the press, he’ll just have to deal with it.

Despite your headache and frustration with him for not communicating readily with you about anything he should, be it his feelings or his health, you urge him to the bathroom as gently as possible, gathering the materials needed from your bag. The caretaker in you pushes everything else away as you prepare the solution and guide him through the process of what must be done.

He goes from furious to ashamed to resigned rather quickly. You are a little surprised at how readily he becomes vulnerable to you, considering the circumstances. The treatment momentarily strips away whatever inexplicable ire he was holding onto. It feels so intimate the way you both quiet and with how carefully you tend to him, massaging his belly and rubbing his back as the treatment works its magic. And after the relief comes, you run a bath, washing him gently, watching as his handsome face finally relaxes. Never has a man looked so innocent yet so beautifully dangerous. He leans into your comfort, too, and as clinical as your brain wants to make this whole experience, you are a little frightened by the realization of your heart aching not just with him, but for him.

He falls asleep in the warmth of the tub. You don’t wake him, knowing how sleep comes for him so irregularly and infrequently, but you are loathe to leave him alone when he could easily slip under the water. Elvis Presley will not drown in a tub on your watch.

Or at least this is what you tell yourself as you take a moment to catalogue such peaceful and unencumbered beauty, knowing very few get to see him like this.

Your mind finally wanders then, back to the moment in Nashville you’ve tried desperately not to think about, when he sang directly to you in so intimate a way you thought you’d combust from the inside out with feelings and urges you barely understood. Fire and shivers cascade down your spine all at once at the memory of his eyes, heavy lidded and molten, as he sang to you about just how right it would feel to be in his arms. It was so seductive, so real, it felt like he put a spell on you. There were no secrets between you in that tiny studio—only want and need.

In those few minutes, he wanted everything from you, and you had wanted to give it to him.

That is his wonderful talent, though, isn’t it? you think. To make others believe in the words of a song. Perhaps he believed them too, in the moment. It sure felt like it.

But he became so incredibly distant after Nashville, just when you thought you’d gotten closer. It was confusing and exasperating, like he pulled the rug of logic and sense right out from under you. It hurt more than it should have to be shut out by him. He hadn’t been unkind, per say, just aloof and detached.

You purse your fingers over the bridge of your nose, wishing it would ease the dull throbbing in your head. Lack of sleep and routine has done a number on you these past few weeks, though you know it’s keeping up with the façade of a relationship challenging you the most. You’ve slowly been getting better at playing the part of the doting girlfriend, to be sure, but the switching from fake girlfriend to nursemaid and back again is altogether exhausting.

And no matter how much better you get, you aren’t an actress. You aren’t used to pretending to feel something but not actually feeling it. It’s getting harder and harder to decern if these complicated feelings you are starting to have for Elvis are just part of your new job or if they are…real.

You don’t want them to be. They can’t be. Not only would it be unethical, but it’s perilous to think—to hope—he might see you as more. You’re not the type of girl a man like Elvis Presley falls for. And even if you were, a smart, practical girl like you knows better than to get involved with a womanizer like him.

A smart, practical girl like you knows any man is dangerous.

Speaking of danger, as soon as you’d left the safety of Graceland, you’ve felt the creeping unease Gianni or your father could pop out at any moment to steal you away back to New York. They have to know by now who you are with, and you don’t hold any fantasy of them letting you get on with your life without a fight. No, they’ll come for you at some point, you just don’t know when or how, and the more you’re out in the world, the more exposed you feel. Your hypervigilance has you always on edge, and you make sure to stay by Elvis’ side as much as possible in the hope he and his entourage will protect you.

So, yes, you are exhausted. The litany of masks you’re wearing to stay functional are crushing you with their weight, and it is taking more of a toll on you than you are letting on. Perhaps that is why Elvis’ mercurial attitude towards you feels so barbed and painful because, by some strange twist of fate, he is the only one in this world who knows even a fraction of who you really are.

And with that thought, you try not to berate yourself too much for taking a stolen moment to gawk at the ethereal man, this god-like Apollo, naked and asleep in the tub. You are too tired to fight the searing memory of how he kissed you today in front of Frank, so possessive and visceral as he clutched you to him like he never wanted to let you go. The way his tongue, oh Madone, how his tongue had teased your lips to part and how you’d melted in his arms, unable and unwilling to resist his charms. He held you close and all you had wanted in that moment was to be consumed by him, embarrassingly so.

Maybe that was why you’d reacted fervently to his jealousy. It is whiplash, this pendulum of his attentions (or lack thereof), and it embarrasses you how easily you’d caved to his kiss, and in front of Frank Sinatra of all people. But then when you were alone, Elvis reminded you so clearly with his words that it was all a lie, while his body and actions screamed the opposite.

It all felt like too much, then, when he’d tried to put it on you, as if you were the one playing with his emotions. He is an infuriating, obstinate man, and it’s even more infuriating how everyone in his circle allows him to be so. It certainly isn’t fair he can also be so generous and kind and talented and handsome and vulnerable…God, it would be so much easier if he was always a spoiled brat and you could hate him for it.

But it’s not that easy.

He scares you. Not like your father or Gianni, no. Elvis scares you because he—

“You alright, Little Bird?” he croaks from the bath, eyes slits against the light.

It startles you, and you realize your head has been in your hands in lament as you spiral. You straighten, blinking away your lingering, dangerous thoughts.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine. Just…tired.” It is not a lie, and you hope his own exhaustion keeps him from questioning you further.

“Well, we best get you to bed then, darlin’,” he groans, sitting up and stretching his long arms over his head. “Hand me that towel?”

“Of course,” you breathe, handing him the fuzzy, white towel, then you quickly turn away. You don’t want to leave because he may be unsteady on his feet, and it’s certainly not as though you haven’t seen him totally bare, but you feel your cheeks heat slightly anyway at his nakedness.

I’m only human.

Towel slung low on his narrow hips, you’re glad to follow him into the bedroom and not the other way around, worried the heat of his gaze might flay you open and reveal everything you are trying to hide from him. You don’t have the energy for masks right now.

It seems neither does he. He is docile and pliant as you help him into his silken pajamas and under the covers. You’ve noticed the pattern of him doing this after his episodes, putting himself completely in your capable hands.

As you head back to the bathroom to change and do your own nightly routine, you wonder if he’s ever been this way with anyone else, or if it’s just a special part of him set aside for you.

Stop thinking like that. I am his nurse and nothing more.

You keep a healthy distance between you and him when you climb into the sheets. It doesn’t take long, however, for your exhaustion to take the reins, and you quickly drift off, trying desperately not to think about the beautiful man—no, my patient—who sleeps so close by.

“Dolo-res, oh, Dolo-res!” The slithering sound of Gianni’s voice sing-songing your name in the dark sends your heart racing and your stomach dropping. His dress shoes click ominously on the wooden floor of your father’s house, slowly, taunting you. It’s as though he knows exactly where you are and is just biding his time. Finding pleasure in your fear.

You try to be as quiet as a mouse, but your breathing grows more ragged with each laborious step. The floor is working against you, like you are trying to run through water.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Sinatra sings, the sound slow and distorted. Frank watches you struggle up the stairs, his head tilting and those famous blues giving you a knowing wink from the hallway beneath you.

“You can’t hide from me, Bella,” Gianni purrs from behind you, his footfalls heavy.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Frank continues the song as though your world isn’t collapsing in on itself, as if you weren’t running for your life. The lyrics feel all too threatening under the circumstances.

Clawing your way to the landing, a sob catches in your throat. He’s too close. You can smell his awful cologne. It makes your head pound and your stomach roll.

If you crawl your way to your room…you could lock the door. You could be safe.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Frank croons from below.

Gianni’s hands are frigid when they clamp on your legs and turn you over.

“No, no, no, no!” you whimper.

“Did you get my gift, Bella?” Gianni smirks, feeling his way up your thighs, up under your skirt.

Looking down at your hand, the engagement ring he gave you shines menacingly, weighing your hand down so much you cannot lift it to defend yourself. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

“I was made to serenade Dolores,” the song continues, but it’s no longer Frank’s voice from below. No, it’s deeper, and warm, like velvet. And oh, so familiar.

Elvis.

He’s on the landing behind you as he sings. You crane your neck and see him upside down, towering over you, only a few steps away.

“Elvis, please,” you cry. You aren’t sure if it’s a plea for help or one encouraging him to run. He looks down at you, almost absently, like he sees you but cannot be bothered. Perhaps he does not see you at all.

You aren’t sure what’s worse.

Gianni looks up and growls at Elvis, the whites of his eyes disappearing, turning all the way black. Dark, vicious claws form at the ends of his fingers. He looks like a demonic beast, ready to pounce on his prey.

“I would die to be with my Dolores,” Elvis sings, and you know then it’s over. You close your eyes, not wanting to see Gianni tear Elvis apart just for being near you. You feel the heat of Gianni leap over your prone form, feel Elvis being knocked to the ground with a thud. A roar. Screams. The sounds are sickening and the heat of blood spatters over your face.

“NO!” you sob, uncontrollably. Every breath is tainted with your agony.

It’s all your fault.

Then heavy silence.

Your chest heaves with the speed of your panicked breathing and you sense Gianni crawling back over you. You open your eyes, even though you don’t want to.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Gianni sings quietly, finishing the song, his face and hands stained crimson with Elvis’ blood. He smiles at you, a terrifying white gash amongst the red.

“Mine.”

Then he digs his claws deep into your belly.

You shudder awake, breathing hard enough to know it is another nightmare that wakes you. The sheen of sweat across your brow, the throbbing at your temples reminds you that you are alive, awake, and when you open your eyes, they meet the darkness of the hotel suite. Your cheeks are damp with tears and your hand flies to your abdomen to make sure Gianni’s claws are not deep inside you.

Much to your shock, there is a hand already there, large and splayed across your belly, but completely unthreatening. No, almost comforting. It knocks away the dream, this hand, as you try to puzzle through why it is there, who it belongs to, and why you aren’t afraid. You hold your breath.

A moment passes. You take stock of the rest of you: the queasiness of your stomach subsiding some, the solid warmth pressed against your back, your legs tucked but feet tangled amongst the sheets and another set of feet.

Elvis.

And you wonder if you are still dreaming because of the way his arms hold you tight. You wait for the panic to come as a result of the embrace, but it never does. Your heart skips then slows, beat by beat as you sink into calm, protected warmth, lulled by his slow breathing against your back.

I’m safe.

Sleep takes you with little fuss.

Your eyes flutter open. The room is dark, thanks to the heavy blackout curtains Elvis requested, but one look at the clock tells you it’s morning and past time to get up. A shiver rolls through you, which is strange despite the arctic levels he keeps any room he sleeps in because he usually a furnace next to you. But your body already knows what your eyes quickly confirm: Elvis is gone. Not in the bed, or the suite, or in the darkened bathroom.

Puzzled, you sit up and flip on the lamp. Your memory is hazy. Blinking, you vaguely remember a nightmare involving Gianni, but blissfully cannot remember specifics. There is something else you are missing, though, something important, just outside the reach of your memory. A comfort maybe? It doesn’t make any sense. Unease settles over you as you rise, your hand falling unconsciously over your abdomen.

Elvis’ absence bothers you, though you can’t put a finger on why. Perhaps it’s just the lingering dreams you can’t quite remember that have you anxious.

Or maybe it’s because in less than a month, your entire life has been upended and changed irrevocably.

Could be that.

After a glance at the time, you rise and hasten to get ready, knowing you are running late. Elvis will need to be at rehearsal soon. The rush is a good distraction from your muddled thoughts.

When you exit into the rest of the suite, ready to go, it’s much, much too quiet. Your skin prickles at the absence of Elvis and the usual boisterousness of the group of men you’ve become used to being around all the time and the relative safety they provide.

Something is wrong, and a tendril of fear of being alone and exposed winds up your spine.

Oh, Madone, something happened to Elvis.

Gianni.

It’s then that Cliff exits the kitchenette with a cup of coffee and you jump, startled, hand flying to your chest as you suck in a breath.

“Oh, hey, Lori,” he says. “You’re finally up.”

“Madre di Dio, you scared me!” you gasp, trying not to let the panic leech into your voice too much. “Where is everyone? Where’s Elvis?”

“Oh, they went ahead to the studio. I stayed back to drive you, if you still want to go.” He says it with pity, like you’re one of Elvis’ paramours that can just be dismissed on a whim, and frankly, he seems a little put out by this assignment.

“He did what?” Red lines your vision quite suddenly, anger washing away the worry you’d felt only a moment ago. Elvis is not supposed to be without you. It’s the reason you’re even here. He knows it.

And he just left you. Alone. Without a word.

Cliff backpedals instantly, sensing your indignation, looking very uncomfortable. “Oh, I…um…I think he just thought you were tired? And wanted to let you sleep?”

“Oh, I bet he did,” you mutter under your breath. Then you grab your purse and beeline for the door. “Let’s go, Cliff.”

He scrambles behind out you, following you to the elevator. At first, he nervously prattles on about the weather, trying to make small talk, but finally gives up once he realizes your piercing glare isn’t going anywhere.

You tell yourself you’re angry because Elvis has put himself in danger by not having you with him, but you are smart enough to know it’s more than that. He’s treated you like any other woman when you are not.

It’s downright disrespectful.

Furthermore, it put you at risk. Without the safety of Elvis’ protective and insular group, you are exposed. Gianni or your father would have no trouble at all disposing of Cliff and dragging you back to New York, before Elvis even knew what happened.

Because you haven’t told him, a small voice reminds you.

It makes you sick to think of. Your pounding headache is back, and you feel a bit carsick with the intense Florida sun beating down as Cliff drives you to the studio.

Your frustration and fear have you out of the car before he has barely parked. Heels click-clacking on the concrete and Cliff struggling to keep up, you show your special pass to the doorman. You hate the way the man examines your pass as though it were fake, giving you a once over. Cliff nods at the man before he finally lets you both through, and you huff at the slight.

This isn’t like you. Before Elvis, you would have meekly stepped to the side and let Cliff lead, content to fade into the woodwork. Happy, even. Maybe Elvis’ hotheadedness is rubbing off on you because the swell of rage you feel is like nothing you’ve felt before.

Fuming, you finally reach the studio and then stop short at what you see, sending Cliff almost running into you.

Elvis looks the picture of health, none of the pain or vulnerability you’d seen last night anywhere to be seen. In fact, he has a pretty girl on either side of him, both tittering and blushing as he smiles his famous quirky smile at them in turn. Flirting.

Your nails dig into your clutch and your body goes rigid. It shouldn’t, but it makes your blood boil with betrayal.

How dare he.

It’s a stupid thought, and one you try to shake off as soon as it comes. He’s not your boyfriend. God knows he’s flirted—and done much more—with other girls around you before, and it didn’t bother you then. Not really.

But maybe it’s because he laid into you so hard yesterday about Sinatra and your supposed flirtation and about keeping up appearances and his damned jealousy, and yet here he is, blatantly disregarding all of it. Because of double standards and whatever other petty reasons he has for acting so strange with you since Nashville.

Your eyes burn into him and with the little sixth sense of his, he notices. His eyes darken and hit yours intentionally, and there’s not even a hint of surprise or regret in them. Just an infuriating quirk of a brow before the girls steal his attention again.

Like he planned this.

You grind your teeth, forcing yourself to take a breath instead of doing something stupid like slapping that smile right off his pretty face. No, you’ve got to be professional about this. You seethe, trying to reel in all these senseless emotions suddenly swirling out of control in your mind.

For whatever reason, he’s trying to get under your skin. Maybe he thinks he’s teaching you a lesson about yesterday. About Frank. About the smoking. Who knows what else.

Well, two can play at that game.

You breathe in, out, in again, forcing your shoulders to relax, forcing yourself back into your clinical mode. God knows between the last few weeks, your upbringing, and your nurse’s training, you’ve learned how to deal with difficult people.

Elvis Presley has severely underestimated you if he thinks you’ll fold over this.

In another highly uncharacteristic move, you school your features into a relaxed smile as you walk towards him and the girls. You know he senses you even though he’s barely looking, but instead of confronting him or slinking into the shadows, you clip right past him and head towards the other famous men in the room.

His eyes are burning holes into your back as Frank and Sammy Davis Jr. notice your approach. You appreciate the fact that the two men smile so warmly at you, and not at all dismissively. It was a gamble, as you easily could’ve been rejected by them, too, but your gamble seems to have paid off.

“And who is this pretty young thing?” Sammy asks charmingly, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. You don’t even have to pretend to blush under the scrutiny of both titans.

“Oh, this is the delightful Miss Dolores,” Frank says, “Elvis’ girl.”

“Ah, I knew that kid had good taste,” Sammy smiles.

“We weren’t sure if you were joining us today,” Frank says, looking not so casually behind you.

Three, two, one, you count silently.

“Oh, well, I—” you start.

“There you are, darlin’! Wanted to let you sleep in after such a long day yesterday,” Elvis says, smoothly sidling in beside you and planting a kiss to your temple.

You hide your smile at your presumption coming true and at the suggestive nature of his comment. A dismissive “Mmhmm,” is all you give him back, though. You don’t even look at him.

“You know, my mother was a huge fan of you both,” you gush instead to the other men in front of you, ignoring Elvis. “She passed years ago, but any time I hear That Old Black Magic or Birth of the Blues, I can’t help but think of her.”

It’s not a lie, nor is the sudden swell of emotion you have at the thought of your mother listening and singing along to those tunes while she made supper. You sniffle and let out a little laugh.

Perhaps you imagine the gentle squeeze at your waist.

“Look at me, getting all flustered,” you say, waving away your tears.

Madone, why am I so emotional today?

“Oh, we’re just honored to be a part of your memories like that, honey,” Sammy says kindly, and you feel Elvis stiffen beside you at the endearment.

“Frank, Elvis, we’re ready for the Love Me Tender/Witchcraftrun-through,” George, the very serious production assistant, interrupts.

Elvis starts directing you away. “Okay, then, baby, why don’t you—”

“Oh, I’d love to hear more about your mother, if you want to share,” Sammy says to you. “Don’t worry, Elvis, she’ll be safe with me.” He winks, reaching for your hand.

“I’m sure she—” Elvis starts.

“Well, how could I refuse the great Sammy Davis Jr.?” you interrupt, a little coyly. Part of you wonders when you became so bold as to flirt so shamelessly with men like this.

You aren’t feeling much like your old self these days.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

Tension ripples off Elvis and you honestly couldn’t have planned it better.

You can tell Elvis doesn’t want to offend Sammy as he hems and haws a bit too long. “Sure, sure, of course. I’ll come find ya after,” he finally gets out, a tad flippantly, and you don’t miss the amusement in Frank’s sparkling blue eyes as he leads Elvis away.

If you thought that would be the end of it, you were sorely mistaken. Your pleasure at winning the battle distracts you momentarily, making you think you’ve taught the man a lesson by giving him a taste of his own medicine.

You were wrong.

Instead, Elvis has doubled down on his nonchalant dismissal of you, barely even acknowledging your presence. Suddenly, there are more girls around than before and all of them seemed more than happy to be on the arm of the all-too-handsome singer, even if only for a moment.

You realize fleetingly he’d been true to his word in keeping the girls away before now because of your perceived relationship. But not anymore.

His message seems clear, even though you still don’t understand the reason behind it: You are easily replaced.

If you were actually his girlfriend, maybe that would be true. For a second, you feel the sting of his rejection as if you were just some poor girl fawning over him.

But the reality is much more complicated. Much worse is the dread pooling in your stomach at the thought of being fired and having to fend for yourself against the wolves nipping at your heels. As much as you don’t trust the Colonel, you don’t imagine he’d cast you aside so easily considering everything you know and the pains it would take to bring another nurse into the fold. And Elvis is smart enough to know it. It is a bit of a salve to the fear churning in your belly.

No, what Elvis is doing seems like some sort of strange tantrum, like he’s hurt and sending you a message the only way he knows how. What it truly could be, you have no idea, but having a slew of younger brothers, you understand that sometimes boys just need to wear themselves out with their nonsense. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating or humiliating for you, but you’ve been through worse than an adult man being immature and unable to communicate his feelings.

You almost wish his health was struggling a bit more because it would force him to engage with you. As it stands, he is the picture of health right now and he is only listening to you out of the necessity of keeping up appearances or when you have the gall to talk to another man.

It stings more than you want it to. More than it should.

It’s easy to blame it on the ever-growing fatigue you can’t seem to shake and on the fact you have less experience dealing with these kinds of relationships than most girls your age. It’s not as if you have a lot to compare it to, or even any girlfriends or relatives you talk to in order to help you try and understand what is wrong with him.

A deep loneliness sinks down over you suddenly, threatening to drown you in the overwhelming realization that you truly have only yourself to keep you steady. The worst part is Elvis is the only one who has any understanding of you at all, and for whatever reason, he is shutting you out. You force back the tears trying to spring to your eyes, swallowing your grief and resignation.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you mope as he entertains the girls the other guys have procured for the evening, you smile and keep up pleasantries for as long as you can before retiring to the bedroom to read. Not that you are able to, as the words keep swimming in your vision and you stay on the same page for much too long. Finally, you close your eyes against the emotional tide and your persistent headache, and it’s not until Elvis comes to bed that you stir again.

You don’t open your eyes, however, though you can feel him looking at you. His gaze burns through you, making your heart race. There’s a long moment of silence before he finally undresses, gets in the bed, and turns out the light.

March 26th, 1960

The studio is vibrating with energy. Not only are the people involved in the show bustling about, but the audience, packed full of young women, is tittering so much that you can feel it in your bones.

Surprisingly, Charlie came out and grabbed you after Elvis’ appearance in the opening. Elvis looked smart in the dress uniform he’d been so glad to be rid of those first days you’d met. While he’d been nicer to you today in general, you are unsure why he wants you backstage after the way he’d shooed you out before the show started. But there are thirty more minutes before his performance, and you are suddenly concerned he’s not doing as well as he made himself out to be.

You make your way back into the dressing room, trying to offset your own nerves. You slept terribly, thinking too much about your future, mulling over every worst-case scenario again and again in your head. But the moment you enter the dressing room, it all goes out the window.

Elvis turns around when the door opens, an absolute vision in a black tuxedo that does everything to show off his long frame. Everything.There’s no helping the sharp intake of breath you try to swallow and the way your feet stick to the floor as you take him in from top to bottom. He is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

His dark hair is swooped back on the sides, but styled tall and soft in the front, adding the appearance of at least three inches to his height and highlighting his long, chiseled jaw. His artfully applied makeup is subtle and does everything to show off his deep blue bedroom eyes.

Eyes that just happen to be swallowing you whole. A wave of heat washes over your entire body. You feel suspended in time and know you are gawking, but despite having spent over three weeks solid with the man, enduring every quirk and his maddening mood swings, you hadn’t been prepared to see him at his best.

Oh, Madone.

He has you locked down with his gaze, and while every professional bone in your body screams at you to be normal, it’s impossible. Every reason you’d been furious with him for the past week is forgotten in the blink of an eye. It’s as if it is suddenly dawning on you why Elvis Presley is who he is and that you’ve been working for him all this time without really realizing it.

“A-alright, everybody out. I need to talk to my Little Bird alone,” he drawls, but the command is crystal clear, sending all the boys filing out behind you. His nickname for you has never sounded so utterly sinful coming out of his mouth before. Your heart thuds in your chest and you hope to God Elvis cannot hear it or see the flush on your cheeks.

The door clicks shut, and Elvis sighs audibly in what seems like relief, his shoulders sagging a bit, and as he deflates, it breaks whatever strange spell he had on you. He adjusts his cufflinks nervously, then shakes his hands at his sides, bouncing on his toes, like he’s trying to expel the nerves out his limbs.

“Are you okay?” you ask, finally able to speak again.

“O-oh, honey, I-I-I-I’m so damn scared, I feel like my heart’s ‘bout ready to fly right o-o-outta my chest,” he stutters, looking at you as though you can provide him some relief. “S’like I can’t breathe.”

This kicks you into gear, the need to make sure he is healthy enough to perform washing away the awe at the handsome figure he cuts.

“You’re okay, just take off your jacket and sit down,” you guide him gently. He doesn’t fight you at all, but you can see the way he trembles with anxiety. The change in him seems strange to you considering the easy ego he’s been coasting on for weeks.

Maybe he’s been such a jerk because he’s been nervous, you think suddenly. As quick as it comes, you push it back out again, wanting to focus on his care.

You don’t have all your things, but you take his pulse, which is noticeably racing, and his breathing seems fast but not wheezing.

“I-I-I’m not dying, am I? W-w-what i-if I-I go o-out there and p-pass out in front of—” He is stuttering so much, it’s hard to understand what he’s saying, but his fear is clear: he’s terrified he’s going to mess up this critical piece of his comeback in front of the world and some of the greatest performers out there.

“Elvis,” you say gently, grabbing his hands in yours and stilling them. Once his fearful, wide eyes find yours, you continue, “You’re going to be just fine. You aren’t going to die out there, I promise. Now, take a deep breath with me.” You inhale deeply, hold, and then exhale nice and long, then do it again until he’s matching you.

In, out, in, out, again and again.

The breathing has just as much effect on you as it does him. The energy in the room calms substantially, your fears and his dissipating a little more with each breath.

You’re not quite sure how long you sit there with him, his hands dwarfing yours, but when he opens his eyes and meets yours, you can all at once see every iteration of Elvis Presley coexisting in harmony: the playful boy, the charming but humble superstar, the fiery and moody young man. He is both the most human you’ve ever seen him, yet the most ethereal in the same breath. The vulnerability and complexity astound you speechless once again.

“You are magic, Little Bird,” he says softly, eyes tracking over your face. Your heart skips a beat, then two. You’re in freefall for a few seconds before you can tear your eyes away from him enough to regain your wits.

When you look back at him, his face is a handsome mask, giving little away. Perhaps it’s just him preparing to perform, locking some of himself away. But something tells you there is more to it than that.

His thumbs trace up and down, sweeping between your thumbs and pointer fingers in the same rhythm as your breath. Somehow it grounds you while still making you feel a bit dizzy. He says you are magic, but he is the one enchanting you and all at once you want to tell him everything. Every single thing weighing on your mind. All your fears. The feelings you are starting to have for him that terrify you. How you see him. How you’ve deceived him to protect him. To protect yourself. It’s not the right time, it never is, but it’s like he’s drawing it out of you with his caress. You can’t bear for him to go cold on you again, not when he’s your only glimmer of hope.

They say the truth will set you free.

The words start to tumble out of their own accord, “Elvis, I need to tell you—”

A sharp rap at the door interrupts your confession before it even starts, and your heart catches in your throat.

“Places, Mr. Presley!” George yells through the door.

“Thank you!” he yells back. His eyes shine with something hopeful behind them when he turns his attention back to you, almost expectant. “Save that thought, honey.”

It’s all you can do to nod, tamping down on the adrenaline pouring through your veins. He leaps up, releasing your hands, severing the connection you hadn’t realized until right now you needed so much. Pulling his jacket on, he adjusts, and you stop him, craving the sense of intimacy that is slipping through your fingers like a sieve. You step up to him, straightening and smoothing the velvet lapels of his jacket. Your hands linger a moment too long near the button and you look at them, unable to stop the heat on your cheeks or to look up into Elvis’ eyes.

“Wish me luck, baby?” he says playfully, but with an edge of need you force yourself to ignore. He squeezes your hands, encouraging you to raise your head. You school your features into something calmer than what you feel.

“You don’t need it. You’ll be amazing and they’ll love you. They already do,” you say. It comes out much more breathless than you’d like, and you look everywhere but in his eyes.

The air gets heavy, crushing all sensibility, and you can’t help your eyes darting up then. His full lips part the slightest bit, his body leaning forward enough to make your breath catch. Suddenly every one of your nerves is on fire, crawling under your skin, something new and forbidden winding its way into your belly.

He’s only ever kissed you in a performative way, playing to an audience, but this, this is different. The way those sapphire eyes drink you in is much too much. You’re drowning in them, wondering how different it will be if he kisses you and not pretend-girlfriend you. He is so close you can smell the now-familiar, delicious waft of his cologne and feel the heat of his breath on your face.

Oh, Madone, we can’t. The thought stabs through your head with a panic, straightening your spine like a ramrod, and Elvis is nothing if not observant. So expertly does he change course you doubt he had any other intention than to press his open mouth to your cheek. The soft feeling has you sighing, but you aren’t sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.

Not unlike the look on his face.

Stepping back breaks the tension in the air enough for you to recover what is left of your wits. You smooth the front of your dress. “Would you like me in the audience or backstage?” You hope it comes out more professional than you feel.

“Needja out front. Wanna be able to see your pretty face unable to take your eyes off me,” he jokes, oozing charm, but his twitching hands and serious eyes belie his nervousness.

“Oh, we’ll see.” You roll your eyes, playing into what he seems to need in this moment from you, though your heart is still galloping enough that you feel breathless. You barely register opening the door and walking back out to your seat in the audience, feeling the roll of anxiety in your stomach, both for his performance and for what you almost let happen in the dressing room.

Before you can spiral too far into beating yourself up, Frank is up introducing Elvis. The girls in the studio go so wild, they sound possessed, chants of “We want Elvis!” devolving into shrieking. You resist the urge to stick your fingers in your ears to protect your eardrums.

But then Elvis, in all his breathtaking beauty, is ambling downstage, managing to be cool, casual, and charming, but also bashful, like he didn’t expect this reaction. And it’s not a put on.

He didn’t think they’d still love him, you realize.

The way he bites his lip, then runs his tongue over his teeth before erupting into an almost embarrassed grin makes your heart flutter at its sweetness because you know just how scared he is. His skill, however, is that no one else does.

He turns to signal the band and the first bars of Fame and Fortune come in. The man who turns around to sing is someone much different than the bashful boy of just a second ago. The sultry look he throws the audience takes your breath away, but as he waits to come in, he can’t totally hold the pose, that lip of his curling up and his tongue trying to banish it in the name of being serious. The girls scream in response, eating it up, and you can’t say you blame them. He looks up to the sky, perhaps saying a silent prayer, to regain his composure before he opens his mouth to sing.

Now, in the last few weeks, you’ve become well acquainted with his gifted voice, but it is not until this very moment you understand the scope of his talent. The spell that he casts over the room feels nearly as intimate as the one he had with you in the dressing room just minutes ago. The nervousness you know is there is so artfully maneuvered that it opens him to the audience rather than pushing them away. Few other stars would get away with smiling and laughing at the reaction of their audience in the middle of their ballad but when he does it, you feel it down to your toes.

Or maybe it’s the how his voice is like silk in your ears, a contradiction of impressively light but warm and rich. The honeyed timbre winds its way down your spine, right into the core of you. It’s not just in your body but your soul, too. The hair on your arms stands straight up, a visceral reaction proving his effect on you isn’t in your imagination.

A woman could fall in love with that voice alone.

Despite the way you want to fight the hold of his performance and its battle in your mind with the man you’re getting to know, it is quite impossible. You get utterly sucked into the tide of Elvis Presley.

He is stunning.

You can’t help the way your mouth drops open and your palms begin to sweat. There is brilliance in every move and sound he makes, and you’re amazed at his ability to include everyone in the room, from the camera, the band and backup singers, to how those bedroom eyes scan the entirety of the audience in one breath. You feel like you’ve been struck by lightning every time they catch yours.

If you weren’t so dumbstruck, you might chastise yourself for feeling so carried away, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s sharing something important with you right now—an essential part of his soul, this thing he was obviously born to do. It brings tears to your eyes.

As the song winds down, you and the rest of the audience mourn its end. But in the split second he bows his head and bites his lip, you see the utter relief that fills him at the realization that he’s still got it. Then the upbeat lilt of Stuck on You comes in and he’s immediately reinvigorated.

He knows he has you all now, and it’s as if suddenly his body remembers everything that made him a star. Sure, it’s toned down some for his new adult image, but those unique movements are still there. He’s playful and energized in a way you’ve never seen him before. It’s not just in his long limbs (which you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from) but also in his voice. Flirtatious and silly, he wraps you all around his snapping fingers.

The girls are going crazy and rightly so: you find yourself having to bite down on your lip to keep from squealing with them. A bead of sweat runs down your spine and you cross and uncross your legs to try and stave off the total, uncontrolled insanity you are feeling trying to reconcile this Elvis with the one you sleep in the same bed with, the one you care for when he’s so ill he can barely function.

Nothing about this is remotely helping the feelings for him you know are brewing under the surface. It’s like being dragged under by a riptide—you can’t fight it, not now, and you just have to give yourself over to the current.

But one thing is for certain: there is nothing sane about any of this.

You can see even Frank is off kilter because when he comes out for the duet, this cool-as-a-cucumber, wildly talented star in his own right is stumbling over his lines. The man is struggling to maintain his dominance as the host and the elder, more refined performer. Sensing what you think is his competitive edge, you watch Frank rebound for control as best he can, but even he has got to know Elvis is in a class of his own. He’s upstaging Frank without even trying.

Part of you knows you are witnessing history in the making. You can hardly believe it. A month ago, you were living an entirely different life. You certainly didn’t care much for Elvis in the beginning, and now you want nothing more than to stay in his orbit. It’s strange to feel so starstruck around him.

The whole thing is madness.

You are still buzzing and a bit dazed when Charlie pulls you backstage. The prideful, overly logical part of your brain wants you to calm yourself before you see Elvis, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big head around you, but the giddy girl in you doesn’t care. That silly little girl eats up the grin spreading across Elvis’ face and falls straight into his open arms. He hugs you tight, like he means it. It feels real and not for the benefit of all those around you thinking you’re the adoring girlfriend congratulating him on his triumph. The way he squeezes you and presses his lips to your temple feels special and just for you.

“What didja think, Little Bird?” he whispers in your ear.

“Oh, well, the guys did great, and Nancy was lovely,” you hear yourself teasing.

The playful, possessive little growl he makes and the way his fingers press into your ribcage has you fighting unsuccessfully to suppress the shudder of excitement running through you. You curl your toes in your heels trying to absorb the heady feeling it leaves you with to get yourself right enough to speak again.

“Well, I’m a bit loathe to admit it, but you were wonderful,” you finally say, looking up at him and placing your hand on his chest. His heart thumps wildly under your palm and under any other circumstance you might be concerned, but you let it be. This is his moment.

“Better than Ricky Nelson?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“Hmm, marginally,” you tut, trying to keep a straight face.

“’Marginally’, huh? I’ll show you marginal!” he laughs. And then he buries his head in your neck, his hot breath and soft lips pebbling your skin and setting your body aflame. You don’t recognize the gasping giggles erupting from you like a schoolgirl.

It’s all for show it’s all for show it’s all for show…a voice in your head viciously reminds you.

“Okay, okay!” you laugh breathlessly, trying to still his ministrations. “I will concede that you, Elvis Presley, are a very talented man.”

“Oooh, am I now?” He wiggles his brows suggestively, sending another wash of heat over your body.

Your mouth pops open, but before you can think to respond, someone cuts in. “Hey, Presley, quit making googly eyes at your girl and get over here!”

Elvis responds by doing the silly little thing he does with his eyes that makes all the girls scream and you can’t help but laugh.

The moment he walks away, taking his warm essence with him, you find yourself deflate a little. It sobers you quickly and the letdown of the entire experience has you unexpectedly emotional. Without his warmth and light, you feel cold and unprotected and alone.

Sneaking away to the restroom, you lock yourself in with shaking hands. Oh, God, what is wrong with me? you think as the tears well and then escape in rivulets down your cheeks. You swipe at them, fighting what you fear is happening but cannot quite admit to yourself.

You refuse to be like every other woman, falling over your own feet for Elvis. Desperate for any sliver of attention, living for his small touches and knowing gazes. Blinded by his talent and fame.

You are not that girl. Breathing in and out, trying to calm yourself, you remember he is just a flesh-and-blood man, and you cannot give another man the power to hurt you again. He is your employer, your patient, and nothing more.

Liar.

Pushing those treacherous thoughts away, you switch tacks. You need to protect him from the storm you know is coming but your survival instincts are doing everything possible to keep you safe, and Elvis might be the only person who can do that. Telling him about Gianni and your background risks his rejection. Your heart aches at the idea of him letting you go, and not just because of your safety. There’s no way you can tell him the truth about you now, not when he’s flying so high, not when for the first time in weeks you finally feel connected with him again.

Maybe too connected.

No, you’ll just have to wait until the right time. You can’t spoil this for him. Talk of Gianni and your father would destroy this goodness, and you can’t let them destroy anything else.

Forcing yourself to put it on the back burner, you paste on a smile and play the devoted girlfriend for the rest of the evening. Every little touch is like tinder catching flame under your skin—his hand around your waist, thumb grazing so near your breast, his fingers interlocking with yours—and the sparkle in his eyes makes your heart dance against your ribcage. It’s easy to believe he truly cares and that he’s yours.

He's a better actor than they give him credit for.

For once, you let yourself lean into it, pretending he wants you. You are swept up into his joy and relief and affection. It’s an addictive and glorious drug. By the time you both stumble exhausted into the bedroom of the suite, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Your body hums a little from the glass of champagne you allowed yourself, mind buzzing with the excitement of the day and from your proximity to the man of the hour. Elvis seems to be much in the same boat, riding high and energized as he takes off his jacket, throwing it over the chair in the corner. The tiny tie was lost long ago when he unbuttoned his top buttons at the studio and sweat glistens in the divot between his collarbones as he begins rolling up his sleeves. You were unaware until this very moment how attractive forearms could be.

Suddenly your mouth feels very dry. You lick your lips, watching his every movement.

Elvis looks up quickly, catching your undivided attention, and his lip quirks in a slow smirk that is both sinful and self-conscious. His eyes flash with a heat that makes your toes curl into the soles your shoes and your pulse flutter wildly.

Oh, no. No. I will not get flustered by Elvis.

Cheeks heating, you look away and focus every ounce of attention you have on undoing the straps on your heels.

Elvis starts to hum a song you don’t immediately recognize, the sound vibrating and warm and sultry. Like a siren’s song, it threatens to hypnotize you. It distracts you enough that you fumble with the stubborn clasp on your heel, unable to wrench the leather free of the buckle. You let out a huff.

“Here. Lemme help, baby,” he says, more a soft command than an offer, the sound wrapping around you like velvet. He kneels before you, placing your foot on his knee, his long, nimble fingers working the strap free. If you hadn’t already been holding your breath, the way he gently massages the crease the strap left on your ankle through your stockings might have caused you to gasp.

“How’d I never notice these pretty lil’ sooties?” he coos, rubbing his thumb into the sore arch of your foot.

You bite back the moan threatening to slip free due to the sensation, but it escapes anyway, as a tiny whimper instead. Perhaps you imagine the way the apples of his cheeks go pink at the sound. Either way, you feel like you are about to come apart at the seams.

He makes slow work of massaging your foot and then placing it back down. You suck in a breath, just as he grabs the other and repeats the action of freeing then massaging it.

“Elvis,” you gasp much too breathlessly. You want to melt into the sensation, but the rest of your body feels like it’s on fire, a molten pit growing in your belly that you can’t seem to stop. You should push him away, you know you should, because this is too much, too intimate, but you can’t seem to will yourself to do so.

“Hmm?” he replies innocently, as if he truly has no idea what he has reduced you to. His hand squeezes down your foot until he reaches your toes. “Oh, honey, why ain’t these perfect lil’ piggies painted?” he asks, near scandalized.

The question throws you. “I…I’ve never seen the need,” you stutter out. “It’s not as though anyone would see them and being on my feet all day in the ward would just ruin them…”

His brows furrow. “Not even with your girlfriends? Or for a day at the beach?” he asks, genuinely confused as to why a young lady would never paint her toenails.

Your heart aches acutely all the sudden. The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them: “I didn’t have many friends like that. Or time to spend with them. I was busy raising my brothers and then I left for nursing school….”

“Oh.” He says it so softly and full of compassion you nearly want to cry. Then, his demeanor shifts. “Well, all that changes now, Little Bird.” He gives your feet one last pat and then smoothly lifts himself off his knees, going towards the door.

“What?” you ask, confused. This man has your head spinning.

He flings the door open. “Hey, Charlie! Charlie!” he yells into the penthouse.

“Yeah?” you hear Charlie call back.

“I need you to get some nail polish. Pink is best, but red’ll do.”

You hear a long pause, then a shuffle. “Ummm, where am I gonna find polish in the middle of the night, EP?”

Elvis sighs. “Use yer brain, buddy. You tellin’ me none of those girls out there has any polish on ‘em? I have faith you can figure it out.” Then he shuts the door with a grin.

Dumbfounded, you gape at him. “You can’t be serious, Elvis. It’s late and we need to get some rest…I don’t particularly want to paint my toenails right now. And truth be told, I’m not very good at it,” you say, feeling panicked by the whole idea. The idea of him watching you trying and failing to paint your toes makes you squirm.

He just grins. “Good thing I ain’t tired, then, baby! You can relax and I’ll take care of it. Go get in your jammies.”

Your brain feels broken. He can’t possibly be suggesting what you think he is. Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Close that purty mouth—you look like a big ol’ guppy over ‘dere,” he laughs, his accent seeming stronger than usual. “Now, go on—get ready for bed,” he orders, pulling you off the bed.

“Elvis—”

“Nope, don’ wanna hear it, honey! Go!”

Which is how you find yourself in the bathroom, changing into the modest but silky, white, button up pajamas Elvis bought for you on your shopping spree a few weeks ago and doing your nightly routine with a flock of very baffled butterflies in your stomach. You are also a little afraid for the state of your toes by the time this is all said and done.

And yet, Elvis manages to surprise you again, not only with the fact that Charlie was indeed able to get his hands on pearly pink nail polish at this hour, but with his ability to paint nails. It’s more than adorable the way he concentrates on getting it right, tongue caught between his teeth, even sticking cotton between your toes to keep them apart. Usually, you would hate having someone touch your feet, but he’s so gentle about it and you are so distracted by how unbelievable the situation is and how a dark lock of hair falls imperfectly over his forehead as he bends over your toes that you can’t bring yourself to tell him no.

As always, time seems to warp with him, and it’s so late it’s early. You find yourself yawning, wiggling your freshly pink toenails in a state of strangely pleased disbelief.

“You like ‘em, Little Bird?” he asks, eyes shining with an unexpected need of approval.

“Yes, they are lovely. If this singing thing doesn’t work out, you could open a salon. The girls would go crazy,” you joke.

He bows his head with a bashful smile, then looks up at you through those long lashes and you feel like the bed has dropped out from under you.

“Naw, this is only for the special lil’ nurses who hafta put up with me every day. No one else.” His eyes twinkle, lighting your body with electricity.

Why does he have to be so charming?

Part of you wants to scream at him to stop being so nice to you. If he knew what trouble you were, what you’ve brought to his doorstep, he’d never be looking at you like this or treating you with such care.

No one since your mother has treated you with such care.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes, and you push your feelings as far away as you can, as fast as you can.

“Speaking of,” you say, clearing your throat, “I should take your vitals before you sleep.”

Elvis looks confused and maybe a little hurt at your abrupt subject change but recovers quickly enough. “Aww, come on, Little Bird, not tonight. I feel fine, I swear it.”

But you need your armor, and your job gives you that. It gives you space from these stupidly complicated feelings you are having. “Grab my bag and we can prove it.”

Elvis sighs, but does what you say, quiet as you take his temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. When you finish, surprise fills you.

Elvis looks concerned. “What is it? Everythin’ okay? I’m tired, sure, but I feel—”

“No, I know,” you interrupt, “your numbers are good. Apparently a wildly successful comeback performance coupled with giving a late-night pedicure was just the right medicine.” You can’t help but smile at him.

He looks at you wide eyed, then gives you a blinding smile. “Or maybe you’re just that good for me, darlin’.”

Your heart flips in your chest, beating in your throat, but you refuse to let it show on your face. “Sure, mister. Quit your flirting and get in the bed,” you say firmly, only realizing your mistake when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“To sleep! Go to sleep, Elvis!” you say, rolling your eyes. You cover the blush on your face by turning over to flip off the lamp on your nightstand.

His hiccupping laugh makes you smile in the dark when he slides into the bed next to you. You are acutely aware of the heat of him, and though he doesn’t touch you, you can’t help but sense that he wants to as his chuckles die down to silence.

After a pregnant pause, he speaks again, quiet but direct.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me, honey? From earlier when we got interrupted?”

Your heart trips, then races with both surprise and fear. Thank God he can’t see your face because you are battling the onslaught of thoughts spiraling in your mind.

He won’t understand. He’ll kick you out on the street.

No, don’t keep lying to him. He deserves the truth.

Not now, later.

Protect him, protect him, protect him…

It’s the vision of Gianni ripping out Elvis’ throat that makes the decision for you.

“No, it was nothing,” you whisper shakily, clutching the sheets in your hands.

“Oh,” he says, almost blankly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounded upset.

But that wouldn’t make sense.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” you say quietly.

“Goodnight, Lori.”

Your stomach drops at how he uses your actual name, all the warmth from earlier gone from his voice. As tired as you are, shame and regret churn in your stomach—a stew of nausea that won’t seem to abate, even after you eventually drift off to sleep.

Three more days you spend in Florida, each one bringing even more maddening behavior from Elvis. Somehow, when you weren’t looking, a switch flipped yet again. He’s rapidly vacillating between moody and sullen to downright cold and cutting.

He keeps you close, to be sure, while going water skiing and taking long drives and cavorting with his friends, but the sweet, compassionate closeness from the night of filming the special is nowhere to be found. You feel like an accessory he strapped to his wrist, desperately trying to make sure he doesn’t run himself ragged with all the “fun” he is having. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the flirting and the inappropriate jokes and jabs not fit for mixed company. No, he does it with you at his side, like he’s trying to make a point.

Even the Colonel is distressed, confronting Elvis about spending too much and making the return trip to Memphis one by bus instead of train as some sort of power move to wrangle the star. Elvis just laughs it off, and in what seems to be true Elvis fashion, he seems to spend more rather than less just to stick it to the Colonel. All of it put together reminds you of the adolescent behavior of your younger brothers.

It’s exhausting, running after this moody man-child who acts like you hung the moon one minute and in the next ignores you. You remind him until you are blue in the face that he must rest and have some semblance of a normal routine when he can, instead of running himself into the ground by overindulging in nearly every sense of the word. The man seems to have no concept of the word “moderation” and as annoyed as you are, you are more worried this will lead to another, more serious episode.

It's easy to blame him for the near-constant headaches and exhaustion ailing you. Having to pretend to go along with his antics as his girlfriend while also having to babysit him as his nurse is continuing to run you ragged. Not to mention the emotional upheaval of trying to piece out your own feelings for him and manage your lingering fear about Gianni at the same time.

The worst, however, is the lack of playfulness Elvis had with you coupled with the brooding silence he shoves between you in your very few moments alone. Nothing reminds you more you are just his nurse. The rest, whatever it was, seems a folly concocted by your addled imagination.

You can’t shake the feeling of being punished for some unknown offense. Maybe it is just your guilt brewing under the surface, trying to make sense of this man. It’s hard to break the habit of feeling like no matter what you do and how good you are at your job, you are somehow still a burden to the men in your life.

But it isn’t just that. Every stunning smile or touch he gives another woman fees barbed and has your blood boiling, even though it shouldn’t. Every sly remark about being “tied down” he makes to the guys makes your skin crawl. Worse yet, he starts poking fun at you any chance he gets, edging more into mean spirited with each jab, and even his friends shoot you apologetic looks by the end of the trip.

And yet another full day with them all, coupled with Elvis’ ire, all the stupid jokes, and the rampant gas that all the men seem to have, this time trapped on a smelly chartered bus, has you feeling claustrophobic and ready to throw yourself out the window. It’s unusual for you to feel so bothered by such things—you grew up in a houseful of men after all. You learned early on to keep your feelings to yourself, especially to keep off your father’s radar. Patience for rowdy men has historically been one of your greatest virtues, but Elvis has you digging your nails into your knees and biting your tongue more than once as the bus slowly ambles towards Memphis.

He's just an unruly patient—don’t take it personally, you chant to yourself all the way home. You try, you do, but your stomach ties in more knots with each passing mile and with the memory of feeling cared for by him contradicting everything he’s lobbing at you.

By the time you arrive back at Graceland, you are ruing all your life decisions. Despite reminding yourself of how, logically, you are safer and more secure here than you’ve ever been in your life, you’ve reached your limit of patience with Elvis and his entourage for the day. Maybe the week. Or the month.

Oh, Madone, how am I supposed to do this for the unforeseen future if I can’t make it a month with this man?

At least here you can safely put some space between you. You fly off the bus as soon as the door opens.

“Hey! Hey, where do you think you’re goin’?” he yells from behind you.

Why do you care? is what you want to say, but you swallow the urge instead.

You keep walking down the driveway, away from the house, pretending you don’t hear him. Nothing good can come from you answering him right now, not when you are feeling so on edge. Besides that, it’s hard to think with the throbbing behind your eyes and the slight carsickness rolling in your stomach from being on the bus all day.

“Lori, stop! Goddammit, Dolores, where. Are. You. Goin’?” he shouts, punctuating each word, your name rolling off his tongue like an admonishment. You stop in your tracks. It infuriates you he deems to use your given name like you’re the one who has done something wrong, like it’s your behavior that’s been so poor.

“Away from you!” you shout back at him, unable to keep your frustration locked in any longer.

Your heart sinks, immediately knowing you’ve overstepped but annoyed enough not to quit while you’re ahead. You start walking again, hurrying away as if you can still escape this whole situation.

The chorus of men chuckling and “oooh”ing at Elvis as they amble off the bus does not help matters.

“What the hell did you just say?” he growls low, his large strides hard on the pavement as they try to catch up with your smaller ones. “Hey, don’t walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to ya!”

“Leave me alone, Elvis! It’s obvious you’ve wanted me out of your hair for weeks, so go! Do whatever it is you need to do to get whatever this is out of your system,” you snap, still stomping forward, pulling your coat tight around your middle as you try to reacclimate to the early spring chill in the air. “Go…get laid or something,” you mutter, surprised at your own crassness.

“Hey! Stop bein’ such a b-bitch and stop walkin’ away from me!” he roars, grabbing your upper arm to pull you around.

You gasp as his rough touch lances through you, sending a lightning bolt of fear down to your toes. “Get your hands off me!” you hiss, violently yanking away from his grasp. Your heart knocks unpleasantly in your chest, faster and faster as your breath heaves. Part of you wants to run away as fast as you can, but you are frozen in place.

He’s not Gianni, a soft voice whispers. He won’t hurt you.

You want to believe it, you really do, but the fact is you barely know this man. You’ve wanted to believe so badly he is warm and caring, you’ve wanted to trust him because there is no one else you can, but your hopes don’t make it true.

Seeing your distress, something besides anger flashes in Elvis’ eyes and he quickly drops his arm from you.

All your pent-up fury washes over you then and you lash out uncharacteristically. “And don’t you dare call me a bitch when you’ve been acting the way you have,” you spit back at him.

He shutters his look of shock at your outburst so quickly you barely see it before flames darken his eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You’re just crazy.” It’s cutting but it’s obvious you struck a nerve.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart pounding and your head throbbing with a hundred emotions threatening to tear you apart.

You’ve never felt so bold or off the rails before, but the words fly out of you with little thought of the consequences as you point your finger at him. “Listen to me, Elvis Presley: I’m not Anita or one of your sycophantic girlfriends you can play your silly little hot-and-cold mind games with. I’m not crazy. I’m here to do a job. And instead of letting me, you are making it hard every step of the way. For days you’ve been sulking around like a child who hasn’t gotten his way instead of communicating like an adult what is wrong!”

Elvis’ eyes go wide as he reels back like you’ve slapped him in the face. Then his brow furrows, eyes blazing before locking you out once more.

“Oh, you’d know all about mind games, wouldn’t ya, honey?” he says coldly, advancing on you. “Why communicate w-w-when y-you can just pretend it’s not happenin’ and run away? I’m sure your fee-an-cè and his mafia buddies would have a lot to say about that, now, huh?”

Your heart screeches to a stop.

Dio mio…he knows.

“Elvis…” you breathe out, and then you can’t seem to breathe in again. Your shock is eclipsed by the fact somehow Elvis knows your secret. Everything else is forgotten. All your panicked mind can think of is how Gianni or your father somehow got to Elvis and they must be here, now, to take you back to New York.

An involuntary shudder overtakes you as you whisper, “How?”

“Oh, your good friend Sinatra told me the w-w-whole damn East Coast of mobsters is pissed o-off. Called you some mafia princess Helen of Troy and told me to cut you loose, if I-I-I knew w-what w-was good for me,” Elvis barrels on, his handsome face dark and storming with anger.

“What?” It’s so breathless, you aren’t sure you said it aloud. Frank knew? Of course.

Oh, God, everyone knows.

They are coming for me.

The acid in your stomach bubbles, and if it weren’t empty, the contents would be spilled over Elvis’ expensive shoes.

“I-It w-was humiliatin’, not knowin’ what the hell he was talkin’ about! But you wanna know the worst of it, Lori? That I gave you every chance to tell me and you still didn’t. You lied. I thought…” Elvis keeps speaking, his low voice angry and hurt, but suddenly it sounds like he’s in a wind tunnel. All your focus turns inward, though you are vaguely aware that you are shaking like a leaf.

Elvis is going to send me back.

And he has every right. He’s got to protect himself. You were selfish and brought this to his doorstep and didn’t even have the courtesy to warn him. Then he had to go and hear it from Frank of all people.

It was no wonder he’s been acting so strange.

He’s been preparing to let me go.

Your chest constricts and your heart aches. It feels like betrayal, though you know it’s not. You are the one who betrayed him, not the other way around. You’d thought maybe Elvis was different, he’d shown you such compassion at your worst moments, but that was before he knew what you’d dragged him into. And you are a horrible for doing it. Maybe you deserve the hell you know Gianni will put you through.

There is no stopping the tears from pouring down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so, so sorry,” you sob, now a hiccupping, shivering mess.

Gianni’s obsidian eyes and horrific smile when he sees you again flash in your mind. “Hello, Bella…”

Oh, Madone, I can’t go back, I can’t. He’ll kill me. Or worse…

The air in your lungs seems to evaporate, leaving you gasping and dizzy. That weightless space, the one you go to when you can’t bear to feel anymore, awaits you, but you can’t seem to reach it because Elvis is grabbing your shoulders, the anger gone from his eyes and replaced with concern. But he is tethering you to reality when all you want to do is disappear. And you can’t help but feel like you’ve damned him.

Your stomach churns once more and you lose the battle, heaving bile off to the side and onto the pavement. It steals what little strength and air you have left, and the edges of your vision bleed black, like the shadow of Gianni is finally here to take you away.

I’m sorry, is the only thought left when your knees buckle and your body crumbles into Elvis’ arms.

Then there is just dark, blissful silence.

Thank you for reading and supporting my work!! As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated if you enjoyed what you read! 💗

Taglist Pt 1

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#broken glass #broken glass ch 9 #elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis smut #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x dolores #elvis presley x oc #elvis 1960 #frank sinatra #italian mafia #1960

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chellestrash · 10 months

Text

Private Matters

Chapter IV (18+)

Cam Boy! Frank Castle x Female Reader

Story summary: After stumbling upon a cam website one night you quickly discover your favorite streamer. Unable to get the thoughts and images of him out of your mind you decide to become a supporter and the two of you grow closer to each other over time. Things get complicated when your close friend, neighbor and crush decides to express his feelings for you.

Chapter summary: Its finally the day. Your date with Frank is happening and you couldn't be happier. Everything is perfect...right? Well, everything except for a very small detail you can't get out of your head, and you're not sure how to tell him.

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, swearing, alcohol, slight angst.

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: Thank you for all the support for this series i’m so so sorry it takes me so long to get the chapters out! I work, I’m busy i had a lot to do but it’s finally here! Chapter IV. I hope you’ll enjoy it, comments, reblogs and feedback are always so so appreciated, i love reading what you guys thing about it! Thank you @chelseasdagger for all the work and support!

Date with Frank.

That’s the first thing on your mind the moment you get out of bed that day and the main thing on your mind throughout the morning. It didn't really seem like one of those things you could shove to the back of your head and not think about it for the rest of the day. Whether you liked it or not, you kept coming back to the moment he asked you, and the moment you agreed. Your friend mentioned she couldn't possibly tell which one of you looked happier about it, and that little detail she was kind enough to point out, made your cheeks get warmer every time your brain reminded you about it.

“Stupid.”

You mumble out, catching yourself getting more excited about this than you'd like to admit.

“Morning.”

You send a quick text to Frank and the reply comes in almost instantly.

“Hey! Today still happening?”

You catch yourself smiling at your phone and quickly clear your throat, attempting to shake off the excitement again.

“Yeah, haven't changed my mind since yesterday.”

“Okay, good, can stop worrying now.”

“Frank castle worried? About me?”

You chuckle at his short response.

“Shut up.”

“So you have anything going on today?”

He follows up before you can type out an answer.

“Oh, just this date later on, probably around 8? You don't know the guy, you wouldn't like him. His name is Frank?”

“...”

“Smartass.”

You feel the butterflies in your stomach as you picture his slightly annoyed expression, and then roll your eyes at your own feelings. Sitting here, smiling at the texts on your phone? Really?

“So 8?”

He asks, and you send another message confirming the hour.

“See you at 8 then?”

“See you at 8.”

You smile again before grabbing your cheeks to fight back the smile.

“Stop it!”

You fight with yourself for another moment before setting your phone down on the table and deciding to take care of everything that needs to get done, just so you wouldn’t have to think about other things during the date. A little favor for your future self.

***

The day goes by relatively quickly, and before you know it, it’s time to start getting ready. You pick an outfit—nothing too fancy but not too plain either, a nice pair of flattering pants and a slightly tight-fitting shirt. You’re only grabbing a couple beers, some drinks…with Frank…your Frank. The realization makes you feel gradually more tense as the time approaches 8pm. You feel thankful when your phone goes off and quickly check the text that just came through.

“Leaving my place now.”

You read and chuckle at the thought of Frank, your next door neighbor, texting you the moment he leaves his flat to let you know he's on his way…in the hall, to pick you up.

Seconds later, Frank knocks on your door and you quickly make your way over to let him in.

“You got my text?”

He asks, pointing at his phone, and you shake your head in disbelief.

“Yeah, thanks for letting me know so I'd have time to get ready.”

Frank smiles, and something in that smile makes your knees a little weaker. His outfit is similarly casual to yours, jeans and a shirt you haven't seen him in before. Did he buy it?

“Oh, you're so welcome.”

Frank's eyes glance over you as he looks you up and down, unable to stop himself.

"Shit."

He whispers and you frown.

"That bad, huh?"

"What?"

Frank asks, confused, almost worried.

"You said ‘Shit’."

"What? Oh! Shit no! No no, no no just- I-I you-"

He sighs, dropping his head low before glancing up at you.

"Listen, I just - think you look great...it slipped out."

"Mhm."

You nod with a smile, deciding to stop teasing that poor man, at least for now.

"So do you, Frank."

"Naaah, not next to you."

Shaking your head again, you grab your phone and quickly check yourself in the mirror one last time.

“You ready?”

Frank nods and takes a step to the side, getting out of your way to let you out of your apartment.

“Yes ma’am.”

It would be a lie if you told yourself you never wondered what a date with Frank would look like. You never really thought it would actually happen, but you did wonder, you couldn't help it. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, you've thought about him in that context. You had ideas, but you'd never think it would feel this…natural? Comfortable?

Frank seemed a bit nervous at first, just like he did a couple of days ago before actually asking you out, but that didn't bother you. You were nervous for a moment at first too, but quickly relaxed as the conversation flowed, the jokes landed and the music at the bar worked for both you and your date.

Frank was, actually, probably one of the best dates you've had in a while. Not sure why you'd expect anything different, you knew how good of a friend he was. The whole evening he looked after you, making sure you were safe and comfortable. His eyes never left you as he listened to your stories, answered your questions and laughed at your jokes.

The laugh reminded you of something, something or someone you couldn't really work out at that moment, but it sounded familiar. Not familiar in a way that you've heard Frank laugh before, of course you did, but…there was something more to that familiarity. Since you couldn't work it out, you decided to ignore it for the time being, focusing back on the man on the opposite side of the small bar table.

“You come here often, then?”

Frank speaks out a bit louder than usual, trying to talk over the live music, after looking around the interior of the place.

“Why? Wanna ask me out?”

You smirk, sucking the straw from your cocktail into your mouth. You watch his head drop with a loud laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, something like that.”

“Ahhh… I don't know if you're my type.”

“Oh really? What's your type, then?”

Frank looks up, waiting for you to keep talking.

“Oh you know, big guys, scary looking, assholes…you know what? That sounds a bit like you?”

He scoffs, looking off to the side, shaking his head before looking back at you.

“Really?”

You nod, a big smile still on your face.

“Yeah, but it's fine. Like I said, that's kinda my type.”

Frank smirks, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah? And how's that working out for you?"

Your mouth falls open and he laughs loudly, you follow soon after.

"Well...I’d say pretty damn well, managed to get you out."

"Oh, you got me out?"

"Mhm."

You continue to tease him.

"Oh, that's interesting, yeah, that's good to know."

"Yeah?"

You ask innocently, and Frank laughs quietly, the crinkles by his eyes so prominent when you make him smile. He raises his hand to order another beer for himself and a drink for you.

***

“So, what's your type?”

You ask when Frank gets back from the bar with drinks for both of you.

“My type?”

You nod quickly, curious.

“Don't really have one.”

You give him the look that can only mean a slightly disappointed “really?” and he quickly continues.

“Why'd you wanna know? Wanna ask me out?”

He plays your card, and you feel your whole face lighting up.

“I don't knoooow, maybe? So, will you tell me?”

Frank takes a drink from the beer bottle and for a second you get lost in the way his lips wrap around the rim, his Adam’s apple moving with every sip, and you have to stop your thoughts from taking you somewhere else. He frowns, knowing you well enough to assume you wouldn't just give up on the question.

“Right, tell you what.”

He starts, scrunching up his nose before he bites into his lip. He spins you around, so you face the dart board on a wall on the other side of the bar.

“You win that, you get an answer “

You think about the offer and look back at him over your shoulder.

“Bit of a shitty move since I already told you mine.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a big smile, before giving you another moment to decide.

“What if I lose?”

You ask and he shrugs.

“You buy the next beer.”

You pretend to ponder on the offer for another moment before nodding slowly.

“Deal.”

***

At the end of the night, Frank offers you his jacket and you two make your way back to your building. Walking right by your side the entire time, Frank makes sure to keep your arms linked together. By doing this, he keeps you close, safe and warm the entire time. You think back to the many times you've walked this road on your own and feel thankful for having Frank by your side at this moment.

“Want me to walk you home?”

He asks when you stop by the door to his apartment out of habit.

“You mean to the other end of the hall?”

You point over your shoulder, and he tilts his head to the side with that goddamn smile. The smile that can make you so comfortable and so nervous at the same time, you feel insane sometimes.

“Yeah, okay, I could get jumped on my way there or something.”

You turn around and Frank follows, hands in his pockets, his shoulder touching yours as he walks by your side.

“Or trip.”

He points out, and you huff out a quiet laugh.

“I didn't drink THAT much.”

You lean on your door, resting your back against it and look up at the man in front of you.

“So.”

You nod towards your apartment.

“This is me.”

“Oh yeah?”

Franks inspects the door like he's seeing it for the first time.

“Mhm.”

You wait a moment, expecting him to start talking again. But Frank turns back to you, stepping forward, a bit closer now, looking down into your eyes. You feel your heart jump slightly, your pulse getting a little faster as your eyes drop to his lips before glancing back up into his gaze.

“Listen the-"

He starts, his brows furrowing as he tries to pick the right words.

“Was nice…the date, I mean I-you.”

He sighs. Looking off to the side, he shakes his head at his own words, before turning back to face you.

“You had fun?”

A simple question followed by a slight tilt of his head that makes him look probably the least intimidating you've ever seen him look. Almost like a puppy, trying to figure out the words spoken to them by their owner.

You nod, confirming your answer with a sly smirk.

“I meaaaan…could've been worse, you did good, Castle.”

“Yeah?”

Frank asks, and you catch him now glancing down at your lips.

“Mhm.”

You nod, it's gentle this time, and your lips part slightly as you decide to lean closer towards him.

“And you? Hmm?”

There's no real reason to ask now, not when you can clearly see the words fly over his head. A silent nod from him remains your only response as the distance between you two closes slowly.

“Mhm.”

He answers, and you chuckle, squinting your eyes as you lean your head to the side, now taking the lead in the conversation.

“Yeah?”

You nod, questioning him again, and Frank repeats your movements. His eyes are not leaving your lips; yours not living his, as you two move closer and closer together.

“So, do you-”

He starts, and you agree silently, your breathing speeding up as you feel your heart pounding harder in your chest now. Leaning back on the door, you hand the key over to Frank, and he unlocks it before pushing it open the moment you pull him into the kiss.

“Shit.”

Frank mumbles out your name, pulling you closer to him before kicking the door shut, his hand now resting on the side of your waist.

“You sure about this?”

“Frank, please?”

You mumble against him and feel his lips pressing against yours almost immediately. His hand rests on the side of your neck, his fingers brushing over the side of your jaw as he holds you close to him.

“Oh, shit”

He starts.

“Mmm.”

A quiet hum slips past your mouth as you feel his tongue pushing past your lips.

“Mmm, fuck-”

You whine despite your better judgment. Your hand drops between his legs and you rub over the bulge in his pants. Frank's hips push into your hand, and when you push your palm against him harder, his lips slip away from you. A loud grunt against the side of your neck.

“Shit, Sweetheart.”

The pet name almost makes you whine out loud, but you attempt to stop yourself as your thoughts conveniently send you back to one of the livestreams you've watched before.

Your eyes shoot open, and you shake yourself out of it, glancing down at Frank. His lips are still on your neck, making it easier to focus on him again.

You cup his face to tilt him up and Frank stands up, straighter in front of you now. Pulling you closer to him again, his lips find yours, and you two stumble towards the couch in the middle of your living room. Frank hooks one arm around your waist, his forearm and palm pushing against your back, before lifting you up.

You gasp, holding onto him as he sets you down on the couch. You lay on your back, your heart speeding up and your breathing shortening as you watched him unbuckle his belt. Your legs push together while your brain once again reminds you of a similar scene from one of the livestreams. You fight the urge to close your eyes and focus on the thought and, instead, reach out to gesture for Frank to come closer.

“Come here.”

You whisper under your breath, and Frank lets you pull him closer. Leaning over you, he spreads your legs open, pushing his thighs between yours before his hand holds your face again and the kisses resume.

Pushing back the guilt slowly rising inside you, you focus on the buttons of Frank's shirt, pushing your legs together slightly as you feel the weight of him grinding against you.

His hands slip under your shirt and you lift your arms up, allowing him to slip the fabric up and off of your chest. After tossing the shirt onto the floor, Frank quickly gets rid of his as well. His eyes jump around your face, and you fight the urge to avoid eye contact for a while before finally looking away.

“You okay?”

He sounds concerned, and his question makes you feel even worse. You can't explain it, not now, not here. You're not even completely sure if you'd be able to explain this properly if he wasn't kneeling between your legs with his cock hard against his pants, panting loudly as he waits for your answer.

You nod quickly, giving him a not-so-convincing smile, before scolding yourself in your own head.

“Yeah, yeah.”

You buck your hips up slightly, and Frank watches you move underneath him. The smile is gone now, so you assume he suspects something. With his hand brushing up and down the side of your body, fingers drawing on top of your ribs, he leans over you, his lips right on your neck again. You tilt your head off to the side, inviting him to deepen the kiss, and he follows. Attempting to help yourself focus on what's happening, you cup his face in your palm and tilt it up, kissing him fast and hard, hoping it'll help.

Why couldn't you just focus on this? Why did he have to somehow remind you of those moments you've seen before? Why couldn't you just stop your brain from making you think about the guy from the website? You weren't sure, but you knew you wanted this now, here, and with Frank. You did it; you've been wanting to for a while now, but somehow something didn't feel right. The guilt you felt about letting your mind slip to another guy while Frank was right here with you didn't allow you to focus on this moment, on what was happening, on what was in front of you, and on him.

You still wanted this; you felt good, you wanted Frank, but with your thoughts racing through your mind faster and faster, you felt your body gradually shutting off.

“Frank?”

You pull away quickly. His lips move down to your neck and he hums against your skin. You tilt your head back and whine quietly at the feeling before the guilt hits you again.

“Frank, stop just-”

You start again, this time pushing on his shoulder slightly to get his attention, and he pulls away immediately. Raising his hands in the air with an apologetic expression and worried glance, he stops everything he was doing.

“You okay?”

The softness of his voice makes the guilt skyrocket, and you feel the need to apologize.

“I'm sorry-”

“Hey, no, no, don't you-”

Frank sits up on the couch, moving away from you in order to give you as much space as you need in case he did something wrong, overstepped a boundary, or hurt you.

“Did I-”

You don't give him a chance to finish the question, not being able to think about him blaming himself for this.

“No! No, no, Frank, oh my god, no it-”

Hiding your face in your hands, you attempt to calm yourself down. The whole situation feels so ridiculous that you don't even know how to begin to explain it to him.

“God no, Frank, it's only my fault.”

“No, sweetheart, don't-hey, listen to me if I-”

That goddamn pet name. He swallows hard, and you watch his eyes flutter across your face.

“I-I-I hurt you.”

“No, Frank.”

“In any way.”

He continues, speaking over you.

“If I did, you just tell me, okay? Just, just tell me, so I know what I did and what-”

"No, it's me! It's me, Frank, I-"

He looks up, letting you talk this time. You speak loudly, thinking through the words you're about to say in an attempt to explain this ridiculous situation and the heavy, guilty feeling now stuck right in the middle of your chest.

“There's a guy.”

You swallow hard, knowing how dumb that sounds considering what the “guy” does.

“I talk to... sometimes I...I don't know why this is so stupid.”

“A guy?”

Frank repeats your words. He doesn't sound angry; he doesn't really sound like anything if you think about it.

"Yeah, I don't even know him like that, I mean, I do, but I…”

“From the bar?”

He attempts to guess, and it catches you slightly off guard.

“What? No, oh MY god, NO?”

You give him a disgusted look, shaking your head, and he scoffs quietly. The atmosphere seems to be loosening slightly.

“You think of me that bad, Castle?”

You joke, and he just shakes his head softly.

“So…”

You proceed with your explanation.

“A guy I talk to sometimes and we…”

You look at Frank, hoping he'd understand whatever broken-up sentences you manage to throw at him, even though it seems nearly impossible.

“Hook up?”

He guesses again, wrong.

“...No!"

"Sweetheart, you gotta give me something."

"It's just like...phone, video stuff, I guess.”

You finally get it off your chest. Feeling fucking terrible about the whole thing, you stare down at your hands, picking at your fingers as you wait for him to say something, anything.

A scoff. A scoff and a loud giggle is what you get. Turning your face in his direction immediately, you find yourself unsure of what to say or how to comment on his reaction.

“Phone stuff? Jesus… Christ, you...had me thinking."

You can't believe him.

Your jaw drops at this man's audacity, and you have to stop yourself from commenting on it.

“What? I had you thinking, what?!”

“Thought it was something serious!”

He laughs, and so do you, still unable to believe him.

“You asshole!”

You push him, and he leans to the side slightly before moving back closer to you.

“Oh my god.”

You cup your face in your hands and take a second to question all your previous life choices that somehow lead you to this very moment.

“You probably think I'm fucking crazy.”

You finally speak up, turning your face slightly to watch him.

“Nah.”

Frank shakes his head before turning to face you.

“I think it's sweet.”

You can't stop the smile. The corners of your lips rise as the overwhelming tension and anxiety leave your body, and you both sit in silence for another moment.

“Sorry I fucked this up.”

You speak quietly after a moment of silence. A deep sigh follows as you rethink what you just said, feeling the guilt take over your mind again.

Frank frowns, his eyebrows pull together as he silently disagrees with your words.

“Fucked what up?”

“The day? The evening? The date?”

“You didn't fuck up more than me. Late, spilled the beer, lost at the goddamn darts.”

You cover your mouth, but the quiet chuckle slips past your fingers at the situation from only a couple of hours ago. Frank quickly turns to face you, his finger pointing right at you in a threatening way.

“Don't.”

He whispers, and you lift your hands above your head, attempting to prove your innocence.

“We won't talk about that.”

He mumbles under his breath, frown still on his face, and you nod with a smile.

“I promise.”

The tone of your voice makes the corner of his lip lift slightly before he turns to face you again. His features are softer now, there's no sarcasm or irony, just Frank. He sighs quietly, and so do you.

“You should rest.”

He speaks quietly. It's not a whisper, but it feels like one, quiet and gentle, comforting, and you watch as he stands up, leaving you alone on your couch. You second guess your choice to tell him all of this one more time, longing for him to stay a little longer before quickly pushing yourself off the couch and following him to the door. Frank zips up his pants, buttons his shirt and steps out into the corridor. You stay hidden behind the door since you chose not to cover yourself with your pants after you two stopped making out. Everything indicated that he's leaving, he's out of your apartment now, the date is over, this didn't work out and yet…the conversation continues.

You stand in the doorway, your quiet words fill the corridor with the floor both you and Frank live on, but they're not loud enough for anyone to understand them clearly. Not loud enough for anyone to interrupt. The conversion quickly turns into short chuckles and gentle laughs and when Frank glances up at you with that one smile, you feel yourself breaking apart.

“You want to…stay over for a bit longer, actually?”

You ask, and he shakes his head with a quiet scoff.

“I don't know, you got beer?”

“Wine.”

He nods.

“What kind?”

“Rosé.”

You answer, fighting back a little smile as he pretends to be impressed.

“Oh, shit! Hardcore stuff.”

You shake your head, visibly offended, and pull the door open some more, inviting him back inside.

“At least if we get hammered, I don't have to walk far.”

He points out, and you roll your eyes jokingly, your body relaxing as you sigh deeply, relieved.

You spend the next couple of hours on your couch with Frank. It's not awkward, it's not upsetting, it's not…disappointing and somehow neither of you mention or even think about what happened in the same spot not even hours ago. With a decent amount of alcohol in your body, the tiredness slowly begins to take over. You lean into Frank, resting your head on his shoulder, and he doesn't protest. He even sits up slightly and wraps his arm around your waist in an attempt to make you more comfortable. With the heat of his body right beside you, you let your eyes fall shut, unable to fight the tiredness any longer.

“You wanna…try the date thing again some other time?”

Exhausted from the anxiety, adrenaline and alcohol, you snuggle up into him and without the energy to accidentally mess this up, you answer with exactly how you honestly feel. You whisper out a quiet- “Mhm. I’d like that.”.

“Yeah?”

Frank slowly rubs your shoulder with his palm.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Frank feels his muscles relax under the weight of your body. Leaning down, he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head before whispering -“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

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#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #the punisher #the punisher x reader #frank castle au #marvel #jon bernthal #private matters

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w0lp3rtinger · 5 months

Text

Maria, Who Smiles as She Pulls the Lever

You know how this ends. Still, Shadow and Maria. Maria and Shadow. This was meant to be, if only for one glorious, beautiful moment. (Read on A03)

This has been a labor of mine for months.

Listen I’m a bit of a masochist and I may have been obsessed with rereading the ‘unedited’ version of Ann Frank’s diary and subsequently been up late listening to the isolated vocals for ‘Cancer’ by MCR a few too many nights in a row but even then, this has been boiling over in my brain for... ages.

So here we are.

This publication would not have been possible without some tremendous characters to whom I wish to give thanks.

@biolizardboils

@shadowsfascination

@killingthecringe

@bimboamyrose

@lambpaca

@mellow-elbow

----------------------------

Maria is from Earth. Sometimes she has to remind herself of this, so that the sterile steel of the ARK doesn’t become too comfortable.

“Dziadzio Gerald will fix you and keep you safe.” “He worked so hard to get this contract.” “You need to be brave.”

This is what she remembers more than the faces.

This is what all the letters keep saying until they stop coming.

Maria works hard to stay well. When she’s well, Grandpa’s there with her, laughing with her, telling her about the work he’s doing. Grandpa is a gentle man, with big calloused hands and wily eyes magnified behind coke bottle lenses.

But the sickness grows. Illuminated x-rays and CT scans seem to almost grow against the wall like strange mold. Silent. Deadly. Grandpa gone for weeks at a time, only to appear weary and quiet as he checks her vitals before giving her new medicine.

Of course he loves her, else he wouldn’t be doing all of this, but she wishes he’d be her grandfather a little bit more and her doctor a little bit less.

Maria, being told not to leave her room.

Why did the letters stop coming?

Maria, being poked and prodded and talked over, rather than talked to or talked with.

When did she start to feel so lonely?

Maria, growing up from a toddler to a child to a teen. The sterile steel world is home now. She doesn’t even remember what flowers smell like anymore. Once, she thought her favorite was poppies. Now, she clings to the idea, even though she can only recall them in their still, cold photos from the biology book on her nightstand.

Maybe that’s why she cries tears of joy when she first spots Abraham, with his sharp pressed trousers and his two-toned eyes. And of course, this scares him. And of course, Maria chases after him as best she can.

She so badly wants a friend.

But he’s younger than she is, he doesn’t want to play the same games. He throws tantrums that leave her with deep black bruises which take ages to heal. Still, it’s frustrating when Abe asks her why she hasn’t been able to play for months, and she turns to the nurse who gives no answer.

She’s never been sure what exactly is wrong with her. Nobody will explain.

They read a lot, and when they run out of books, they make their own.

And one day, when Dziadzio is doing a checkup, with all of the wires and sensors attached to her head when she’s in that big silver tube, she just starts talking. About nothing. About everything. About how little Abe is so annoying, but fun, like a baby brother, especially when they read his kid mysteries together, or when he tells her scary stories, like that of the three-eyed monster man he swears he saw with the goblin in the jar.

When Grandfather snaps at her to be silent, she’s shocked.

Then, she seethes.

Maria, with Abe’s story running through her head.

Maria, gritting her teeth as Abe now keeps insisting, gloating even, that he knows more than she does.

Maria, sitting up in bed one night with a growl, hands bunching the scratchy hospital quilt up in her fists.

The fabric crunches in her hands, and when she beats her palms against it, it crackles. He can be such a brat! She’ll show him! She’ll find the thing he was talking about!

Over-planning is key. There’s no way she can pull off the cool sneaking tactics she’s read about. Instead, she puts on three pairs of socks, both to keep her feet warm and to dull the sound of her footsteps. A few capsules of fish oil she’s supposed to take are broken open, and she’s on the floor, gritting her teeth against the pain in her knees as she rubs its contents all over the wheels of her IV poll, willing it to keep them from squeaking.

Maria creeps through the dark. The hum of the ARK, that constant white noise of her existence, can do nothing to drown out the pounding in her ears. Her lungs are burning as she measures her breaths, knuckles white against the IV poll she’s gripping as she shuffles along. The blackness stretches forever until, from around a closed door, she sees a faint green glow.

She licks her lips as she eyes the keypad at the door, tasting iron.

No matter.

There’s only one shot at getting this code right, but she’s got a pretty good guess as to what it is. And when the lock opens with a beep after she punches in the last letter of her name, she rolls her eyes.

She pretends not to notice the shaking of her hands.

Maria, who cannot help but gasp when she sees the strange dark thing floating in a tube of radioactive green goo, like something straight out of one of Abe’s stories.

No, it is Abe’s story. There is the jar goblin.

She found it.

And it opens an eye to look at her. One dark eye, wide and wild.

Panic swells within her.

Maria, quickly shutting the door, shuffling back to her room as fast as possible. She crawls into bed, but cannot sleep. In the morning, when she is pale and sweaty, when her feet are swollen and her hands stiff, Grandfather comes in only to tell her she’s bed-bound for two weeks.

She spends the time fixated on that single eye.

When Abe slips into her room with arms full of toys and books and crawls into bed, she can’t help but smirk. She has now seen his creature. Now the two of them must keep the secret.

And she knows Abe will keep it, because despite her complaining, Maria also knows he’s probably the best baby brother anyone could ask for.

But it’s not enough.

Maria, heart pounding and fingers tingling with adventure, even if she’s still recovering from her last escapade. She starts stashing away some of her anti-inflammatory medication, keeping it tucked in the bindings of one of her books that has come loose at the spine.

That dark thing in the tube, she wants to see it again.

Abe says in the false whisper of children that he once saw it move, says that he thinks it responds to people talking.

There’s only one way to find out if he’s right.

When she snatches a nearly empty bag of morphine from the pile on the nurse’s cart, Maria almost feels guilty... almost. Just when she’s about to confess, just when she’s about to give up, the faintest flame lights up within her.

She’s angry at the time taken from her. She’s angry at this bed, at this body, at these people who keep poking and prodding and talking at her.

Maria settles down on her pillow, feeling the bag squish underneath her head. She smiles when the nurse asks if she is comfortable, and she promises that she is.

Maria, creeping through the halls, the painkillers already in place and working. She’s slower this time, she knows she has to be, but when she gets to the room, there’s an impossible excitement that builds up within her and cannot be restrained. The door barely has time to close behind her before she’s at the tube. Leaning in, she places one hand on the glass, and the eye opens once more.

Its eyes are so dark. They don’t look black, but she can’t tell what colour they’re supposed to be.

“Hello,” she whispers, smiling. “You are a strange little thing, aren’t you.”

She spends the night slowly moving around the tube, taking it in. It makes sense now why Abe called it a goblin, but Maria is pretty sure that’s just because it’s just all wrinkly skin right now, like a very ugly baby. Still, it has such a soft face. Maria can’t help but hope that whatever skin, or feathers, or- or whatever, is soft. It should be soft.

She thinks she remembers what soft is.

Maria, alone the next day as she brushes her hair, cursing the knots and the burning in her eyes, remembering how Dziadzio promised her that he’d teach her how to braid it, but that was before, and this is now.

She’s stuck in her room again.

The pain isn’t as bad as last time, but it’s still pain.

She still can’t walk.

The rage inside of Maria blooms once more as she looks at her rat's nest of a brush, and she throws it against the opposite wall with a shriek.

With tears staining her cheeks, she falls asleep and dreams.

She dreams of having thick golden hair, the kind that frames the faces of the angles on the pendants she used to get from her one aunt. But suddenly, there in her mind, she sees the dark eyes of the ugly baby. They sparkle as though they’re full of starlight. When she leans in to have a better look, suddenly, she’s falling headfirst into the open and inky void between the ARK and the planet below. Her hair, her beautiful golden hair, it grows longer and longer until it turns into wings. She tries to fly to Earth, but it just keeps getting further away no matter how hard she reaches for it.

Maria, who screams at the professor when she’s told that she can’t see Abe anymore.

“He’s too rowdy,” he keeps saying, “It’s making you sicker.”

It doesn’t matter. She can see him clutching his father’s pant leg, acting as though the camouflage of the fatigues may hide him too, as she rages against the hands trying to hold her down. Her monitor is going wild. The IV poll is overturned. Maria keeps calling his name, keeps hoping he’ll run into the room, into her arms, but instead, little Abe’s father picks him up and leaves.

She stays awake and waits for him, but Abe never arrives. She does this for three straight days.

He never arrives.

Maria, silent in her own tube, the wires and sensors all over her, staring straight ahead. The lab tech tries to make small talk, but even if Maria wanted to answer, the professor tells them to shush.

“We have work to do,” he says, “We must preserve what we have as quickly as possible.”

As if he is talking about perishable groceries. Maria can feel her nails break in her palm as she balls her hands into fists.

One of the nurses does finally bring a card from Abe. It’s a drawing of the two of them playing in a field full of flowers, a bright sun overhead wreathed in birds. Maria smashes it into a ball and throws it in the trash.

Later that evening though, she stretches as far as she can to dig through the bin and find the card. She cries as she tries to smooth its creases. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, over and over, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Maria, being fitted for an oxygen tube. She hasn’t had to wear one of these in a while, and can’t help but fight the nurse a little. Over their muttered curses, Maria can hear the professor in the hallway talking to some looming shape she cannot make out.

“I’m hoping the gizoid will keep them distracted, but I’m not sure how much time that will buy us. Especially if this one dies on us like the others.”

And everything in her clenches.

Maria, pouring her IV nutrients into a spare commode in the closet.

Maria, stashing vitamins away in bent bookbindings.

Maria, sweat on her brow as she pictures that tiny creature all alone in that room, darkness closing in.

They will not die. They will not die. They will not die.

Maria, who gags when she combines her ill-gotten goods into a foul slurry. With one hand over her mouth, she takes deep breaths before pulling the commode out of the closet.

She’s slow. She’s careful. She’s thankful this thing has wheels that can lock and unlock, because she’s going to use it as a walker. There is no other option if she wants to carry all of this.

She squares her shoulders and slips out into the hallway.

She will not think about how much this is going to hurt tomorrow. There’s a job to do.

Maria, who punches her own name again into the keypad, who grits her teeth as she wheels herself over to the little baby in the tube.

Their eyes flicker open when she lays her hand atop the glass. What light was in their eyes from before is fading fast.

She will not let it see her fear.

“Hello, you.”

They blink, a slow, lazy movement. She can’t help but laugh a little.

“My name is Maria. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself sooner. Don’t suppose you can tell me your name, can you?”

Silence. They blink again.

“I heard you were sick, so I’ve brought some stuff that might make you better.” she says as she moves around the tube, looking. “It won’t taste good, but… ah!”

There are two large drums that hook into where the little thing floats silently, and they open when Maria presses a button on top. She can see the same green liquid, viscus and thick, as it is slapped about by a rotating filter.

There’s no way she can lift the commode up to pour everything in.

Maria, who stays there for well over an hour. She’s cupping the nutrients in her hands, letting it go through her fingers and into the vortex below.

She hasn’t prayed in a long time. Truthfully she’s not even sure a god would listen.

Instead, she just hopes.

She hopes the filter won’t suck all of her hard work away, hopes she doesn’t get caught, hopes that maybe, please, maybe, the ugly baby will live.

When she has to take a break, she closes the lid of the commode and sits there, watching those large eyes watch her back, and somehow, she finds the will to keep hoping.

Maybe she’ll find out what colour their eyes become, if this all goes right.

By the time Maria gets back to bed, it’s nearly morning. Her limbs ache, and she can’t eat breakfast, but she’s grinning from ear to ear.

Maria, writing letters back and forth with Abe for weeks through the nurse whose name she now knows is Eleni. Eleni, with dark eyes, and dark skin, and the darkest, curliest hair that Maria had ever seen in her life. She can’t help but feel a bit guilty that she’s never taken the time to get to know this woman. Eleni doesn’t care though. She waves a hand, “You have been sick, too sick for anything else, and you’ve only gotten sicker since they took that little boy away. You have nothing to apologize for.”

And Eleni says she comes from Apotos, and Eleni sighs wistfully about the way the breeze smelled coming in from the ocean, and Eleni talks with both hands about the way the sun burned into dusk over the olive groves near her home.

Eleni, Eleni, Eleni.

Maria repeats it, paying attention to the way her mouth and tongue and teeth come together around her name.

She feels so bad when she steals front the medcart now, but somehow, she thinks that Eleni would understand.

Perhaps that’s just to ease her conscience.

Maria, who feels a gloom call from the hallway.

“And how does Project Shadow proceed?”

There is no voice, and yet, the words cut the air like the imagined hiss of a very real gas leak. It conjures strange visions of swirling pitch behind Maria’s eyes.

Every hair she has left is on end.

A threat. It moves, it breathes, as a threat.

But then there is her grandfather’s familiar rumble of a voice, low and tumbled on his tombstone teeth. She’s almost grateful the speaker and the professor go further down the hall, away from her doorway, taking the murk with them.

That night, she holds her pillow tight and curls inward, as if her whole body can protect the name it dropped in the hallway, the name she now keeps tucked in her own mouth. She imagines spikes growing from her, like great big sharp spines, keeping them safe by filling the room to the point where that voice and its owner would never be able to get near them again.

Still, it haunts her.

“Are you Shadow?” she asks, standing at the tank as she dries her hands off on the skirts of her shift.

The baby is now covered in dark fur, rich and deep, with little curls in the quills atop their tiny head. There’s a little scarlet, too, starting to show from under the black almost like the faint fingers of a polar aurora as they stretch toward the equator. What makes her most excited though, are their eyes. They’re a livid red now, flecked with gold, wide and wild. When they tilt their head at her words, it’s hard not to imagine an actual glint of curiosity flashing in them.

She giggles. “I wasn’t sure at first if that was a good name for you. In fact, I had started a list of alternatives.”

Maria tilts her head opposite the way the little baby tilts theirs. After a moment, it adjusts to match her.

“Darkness is just darkness. I know the books and all try to make it out to be something bigger, but it’s not.” She shakes her head. “But the more I thought about it… well, maybe it is fitting. You can always turn to a shadow to find the light, you know. That’s sort of poetic. At least, I think so.”

Maria purses her lips against the tightness in her heart. When she rests her hand against her chin, bowing her head to think, they copy her.

She laughs, and the gloominess is dispelled.

And she keeps laughing every time she thinks about that moment, even if it hurts.

Maria, who keeps visiting the baby in the tube, though now she has to admit it looks less like a baby and more like a- well, she’s not sure. Her grandfather used to show her photographs and sketches of ancient artifacts from excavations on the Earth below, things that inspired him with his research.

Perhaps this is to look like that one thing in that mural he is so fond of.

Maria sneers. She knows the professor only likes that mural because he thinks the other figure depicted there in the ancient tilework is him.

How egotistical.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that she will not let Shadow die.

There are nights where, with tears staining her cheeks, she falls asleep and dreams of Shadow, dreams of them growing the most beautiful dark curls, dreams of knowing how to braid so that she can teach them how to braid, dreams of being friends.

There are nights when she hears that murky whispering in her head though, and the dreams turn to nightmares.

Eyes, watching. Thoughts, hissing. A hunger unlike anything else, eating.

Maria, who in the morning wakes up and draws her and the tube baby dancing together on the backsides of used sticky notes. She can’t get the stars right. They always end up upside down. It doesn’t matter though. In this moment, all she thinks about is watching Shadow learn to crawl, to walk, to run, to dance. She wants to teach them how to dance. She wants to grab them and run through the halls to dance through the wide space of the observatory like she used to.

She wants them to dance for hours on end until they run out of breath and their feet are sore.

Maria hums a tune she heard Eleni singing.

She keeps humming even as she shreds the drawings to hide her dreams.

Maria, who finds one day she cannot hold the pencil. Her hands feel numb, fingers thick and fumbling. She keeps trying, but it doesn’t get any better no matter what she does, so she hides it. Everything becomes gross motor. Everything becomes careful. Her hands don’t need to be perfect in order to take what she needs, but she still needs to fit the part of perfect patient.

So she is patient.

But Maria can’t steal the used IV bags anymore, can’t cup her hands to move the slurry from the commode to the vats anymore. She has to change tactics.

Maria, who holds onto a shaky smile for her little friend as they watch her struggle to flip her sweater pocket inside out and shake the fat pills into the swirling tank water below.

“You’re getting so big,” she whispers, “I knew you could make it. I’m so proud of you, Shadow.”

Maria places a hand to the glass and watches amazed as they lift their own and try to press it against hers. They’re so close. They’re right there. Only a thin panel of glass separating their two palms.

And all the little hand-drawn, upside-down stars in her head alight.

But the empty days start to become longer, become worse.

These are the hours where she is too tired to think.

These are the moments when she can’t even cry.

The next time she sees the professor, it’s been ages. He’s smiling. She had almost forgotten what that looked like, but there he is, mustache twitching upwards as he throws his hands into the air.

“I have wonderful news,” Grandpa says as his big hands settle on her bony shoulders. “We have potentially found a cure.”

Maria can’t speak, let alone understand much of what is being said. That doesn’t matter. The professor just keeps talking about his latest medical advancements until Eleni comes in for the evening meds and tells him he has to leave.

There’s no letter from Abe this time.

She doesn’t sleep that night.

The rage boiling in her doesn’t let her rest.

Maria, watching the injection dissipate through her skin as it enters her bloodstream. There’s a golden glint to it, glittering like what she imagines fairy dust to glitter like, moving like what she imagines ambrosia to move like. Still, there’s something about it that stops her cold if she squints too hard. Maria takes measured breaths through her nose, expression blank, as the professor lectures the attending aids and scientists on what is happening.

Then, she recognizes it. That glowing pallor. Even if the red hue underneath it is vibrant and rich, and the golden glitter shines so invitingly, she would know that glow from anywhere.

All it takes is one attendant to point at her spiking heart rate and it all goes south fast.

She stares at her hands in the dark of the room when it’s all over. Her skin carries that light within it now, a soft radiance, and she swears to herself that if they hurt her friend, she will cut these hands of hers apart to return what was taken.

But the next day, she can pick up a pencil again.

She can talk again.

She hates it. Hates the professor, hates the nurses, hates the scientists and the attending aids and the way it takes the blood of her little friend to feel this alive again.

She hates herself.

It’s another month before the professor finally outfits Maria in an electric wheelchair. It’s not particularly fast, but it doesn’t need to be. He says he didn’t do it sooner because they didn’t see her as being strong enough. The professor laughs at this while he ruffles what is left of her hair. She’s been so good, he says. She’s gotten so much better.

Maria smiles to hide her gritted teeth.

She imagines the flesh of his hand between them.

She wants to see Shadow. Needs to see them. Every night in her mind she walks herself down the hallway. The pinpad appears on the ceiling of her room like a mirage, and she has found herself reaching out a hand to input her name.

How dare it be her name. How DARE he use her name in that way. Like this is even about her anymore.

But she must be on her best behavior, no matter what happens. She will do whatever they ask of her, smiling.

She’s worried they’ll take her new wheelchair away if she doesn’t, and she’s already figured out how to take the speed limiter off.

“You can say something if we’re pushing you too hard.” All the nurses say that. It’s the first thing out of everyone’s mouth when she slips up, and it loops like a broken record around the room.

But she just shakes her head and keeps on smiling.

In her dreams, she floats in space with her golden hair and golden wings and her little Shadow, where together they watch the ARK sail straight into the sun.

When did she become so angry?

It frightens her some days, but then pain sets in and she remembers.

They will not take everything from her. They might try, but they won’t succeed.

Maria, back in her wires, in her tube. She doesn’t even feel it when they push the needle into her anymore, her wrists and inner elbows pockmarked by the years spent watching a slow dripping life.

But now, she’s watching the life of her little friend, bagged and hooked up to her IV pole. Now, she’s watching that spark in their eye, distilled and packaged and scrubbed for her consummation, make its way down the tube.

She hates it. Get it out. Make it stop.

Stop.

But Maria is so, so tired.

Was this the moment to say they were pushing her too hard? Or had that moment passed? Or had it only been offered as a formality?

It had been so long since she had been here. She forgot how tight and lonely it is inside the tube, and she wonders if this is how Shadow feels all the time.

Where is her little friend? She wants to hold her little friend.

She doesn’t realize she fell asleep until she wakes with a start, back in her own room, in her bed. When she presses a hand to her eyes with a yawn, she hears something shift beside her.

There sits the professor, watching.

He’s not smiling.

“Maria, is there something you have to tell me?” He says, but the way he speaks has that coiling, hissing gloom within it.

She says no, and she says no as sweetly as she can, hiding the way her heart monitor starts to go faster by sitting up in bed and feigning dizziness. Normally, that works.

It doesn’t this time.

“Maria, I need you to tell me. What is the little creature you keep harping on about?”

She freezes at that.

What has she done? Did she say something in her sleep?

But again, she says no.

“You’re lying to me.”

How does he know?

Just an imaginary friend, nothing more.

“Maria, what have you done?”

It’s like he’s reading her thoughts.

It’s been lonely since they said she and Abe can’t play. Please, she’s tired. Please, go away.

Instead, he stands up, reaching for her with wide empty eyes.

Eleni saves the day just in time. “Doesn’t your granddaughter need rest, sir?” The words break across her teeth, as if she is shattering a glass in warning.

The professor doesn’t even react. He just stands there, still watching Maria. It takes Eleni using the call bell to get help from the aids to remove him, and even then, he turns his head to stare as he leaves.

It is the first time Maria has cried in a long time.

Eleni holds her. She puts Maria’s head to her chest and rocks softly, humming the song she loves so much in that voice she loves so much, smelling of something that makes her heart cave in around a black hole of hurt.

It’s Eleni who dries her tears and teaches her how to braid.

She takes sets of spare shoelaces from the nurse's supply room and spends hours with her, going over all sorts of different techniques. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she whispers everything like it’s a secret until all that fills Maria’s head is the soft sounds of her voice that roll over her brain like ocean waves.

Eleni lets Maria keep the shoelaces, and Maria stays up all night practicing to beat back the memory of how the professor looked at her.

Maria, weeks later, who sits up in bed when Abe walks in. It’s been- how long has it been? How much time has passed since she has seen him. He’s gotten taller, and his face has gained a sharp edge around the chin.

They stay there, watching one another. An aid tries to chip through the silence with a few surface-level pleasantries, but neither one of them give. Ultimately, the aid leaves.

Abe steps forward. “We need to get you out of here.”

How much can a voice change? And how severe can a person become? The boy standing before her now is no longer the baby brother she had loved. No, this person is a stranger, both the boy and the weight he seemed to carry about his shoulders.

Maria stays silent.

“Something bad is going to happen.” Abe walks closer, but stops short of the bed. He could reach out, he could sit down. Instead, he stands there, just a little over an arm's distance away.

Something bad has been happening. He just hasn’t been paying attention. Brat. Selfish brat. She wants to hug him and cry as much as she wants to beat him with her IV pole. Where has he been? Why did he stop writing?

Abe isn’t looking at her. His gaze is fixed on nothing over her shoulder as his hands slowly come up and twist their fingers into knots before him. “That thing the professor talks with, it’s been hanging around, and my dad’s been getting nervous. He’s been talking on the phone he’s not suppose to have. That’s bad.”

Maria grits her teeth, hands curling into fists in her sheets. Abe’s gaze finally shifts to hers, hard as stone.

“We have a plan. When we go to leave, I’ll come get you. You can’t tell anyone though, got it?”

She nods, and Abe leaves.

Jokes on him. She’ll already be gone.

Maria, braiding the laces over and over as cold fire certainty seeps into her bones. Abe might not have the patience to get many details in his stories right, but he did have a good sense of danger.

She looks at her hands. Perhaps it is just her imagination, but she swears she can still see her veins glowing faintly.

They’ll both be long gone.

It feels like every day is a day in eternity, waiting to see them again. She has nightmares of the light in her veins growing brighter as the light in their own eyes fade. Her friend shrivels before her, curling into a ball as their skin turns ashen. Eyes struggle to stay open, rolling under closing lids, breathing labored and heavy as they try to look for her and can’t.

Maria, drowning in her golden hair, screams and screams and screams.

Her hands still hurt when she wakes from visions of trying to break the glass.

But finally, she is well enough. Finally, she can be with her friend.

The braiding shoelaces in her hand shake, soaking in sweat, as she checks to make sure they are alright.

“I don’t know how well you can see,” she mutters as she knots the laces around the head support of a nearby office chair at the base of Shadow’s tube. “How’s that? Is that okay?”

When she looks up, she can’t help but smile. They’ve gotten so big. The colour along their arms and legs is a deep and healthy red, their eyes bright and alert.

Those quills, oh, those thick dark curls, just like Maria had dreamed, streaked through with that red.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I had hoped you’d be.”

Shadow bends down slowly in their tube, crouching toward the bottom to come closer to where Maria sits. It was then she noticed the faint eruption of white hairs coming in just under their collarbone, over their heart.

She smiles. “Still so full of surprises.”

It takes another two months for Shadow’s chest fur to come in. It’s a beautiful shock of white against the black, like a moon against the infinite sky.

Reflecting the light, pointing the way.

Maria imagines what it will feel like as she runs her fingers through the fresh peach fuzz on top of her head.

Shadow really is a poetic name.

Maria whispers their name over and over, placing it next to hers.

Shadow and Maria. Maria and Shadow. Say it often enough and it sounds like it’s meant to be true.

They are friends. It doesn’t matter that they’ve never held hands, or braided for each other, or danced.

Though she really wants to dance.

They are friends. She etches it into the wall behind her headboard with an errant safety pin just to see it somewhere that cannot be erased.

Maria and Shadow.

One day. One day. It’ll happen. Shadow will be strong enough to get out of the tube and they’ll do whatever they want forever.

But she’s out of time now.

There is screaming, and gunshots, and screaming, and bursting pressure valves, and screaming, and crying, and just so much screaming.

Maria, who leaves Abe in the care of Eleni, telling her of Abe and his father’s plan, telling Abe to take her and run, telling them both to be safe.

There’s so many tears. There’s so many grabbing hands.

The way Abe’s big eyes glow under the red lights, the way Eleni’s voice snaps when she screams her name.

Maria, rocketing down the hall as fast as she can. Even with the limiters removed from her wheelchair, she feels like she is moving in slow motion. The flashing lights throw strange shapes across her vision, things that make her jump away from the edges of hallways and peer around corners.

She hopes Abe and his dad will keep Eleni safe. She doesn’t want to think about what might happen if Abe’s father says no.

Maria’s wheelchair skids to a halt just outside the door. She measures her breathing as she stands to push her name into the pinpad. The thundering of boots is getting closer and closer.

They round the corner just as she slips in through the door. There’s no time to get back in the wheelchair and bring it inside.

“Shadow!” She’s gasping, stumbling towards the tank. “We’ve got to go!”

And Shadow looks at her, eyes blazing.

The inquisitive brow, the near ethereal calm they normally possess, is gone. Now, there is a panic in them, palpable and real as they spin in helpless circles. She watches them shake as she collapses atop the console.

Maria, pushing every button she can, throwing every switch. Lights start to flash. Somewhere, there is a high-pitched beeping, followed by a low-toned alarm. Nothing works. It’s all in lockdown.

They’re spinning faster.

There’s shouting from the other side of the door. More gunshots. Down a hallway, there is the sound like a bomb going off. Something roars.

She freezes at the horrid, strangled sound. What could have caused that? What has the professor really been doing?

Focus.

She strikes the glass with a snarl as she viciously tugs on the lever, but nothing budges.

She smacks the tube again. Something in her wrist cracks. It doesn’t matter. She clenches her hands and beats the glass.

Again.

She’s screaming.

Again.

She’s beating the glass with her firsts and screaming. Every atom of her being seems to burst into flame as the rage she’s worked so hard to keep in check bursts forth from her skin.

Again.

Her forehead is pressed to the cool glass, though it does nothing to dull the burning ache in her brain. Tears stream down her face, and she’s biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, when suddenly, she feels a thump.

Then there’s another thump, a rippling vibration, and Maria snaps to attention.

Shadow is hitting the glass. It’s gentle, but they’re doing it, eyes darting between two sets of fists under that perpetually knotted brow.

Maria, gasping, smiles.

“That’s it.” she says, “just like that!”

And she hits the tube with both hands, making sure Shadow can see her, making sure they can understand just how hard she’s trying.

“You can do it. I know you can. Come on, Shadow!”

There’s a pause. Something comes over Shadow’s face, an expression she doesn’t know the name for. As they rear back, she swears she sees a flash of that green glow in their eyes just before they slam the glass with clenched fists.

The tube does more than shatter, it explodes. Maria ducks just as water and glass go flying. Overhead the alarms reach a new frenzied pitch, then buzz, then break their speakers. Bulbs buzz brightly and burst.

It’s dark, save for a few errant lights on the edges of the room. As the last tinkling pieces settle on the floor, she looks up.

And there they are.

Finally.

Maria, grinning so hard it hurts. She watches them take their first breath, chest expanding as their eyes go wide, as their hands come up in front of them like they’re just now seeing them for the first time.

Finally.

Maria, laughing, sobbing, as she struggles to her feet, only to fall forward as she wraps her little Shadow in the tightest hug she can.

Finally.

He’s so gross. Slippery and soggy and damp. It doesn’t matter.

Maria and Shadow.

Shadow and Maria.

Together at last.

Maria, who wants to say so much, who wants to do so much, but there’s no time. There are soldiers outside, their guns still warm. They may think to check here. They may beat down the door to shoot her where she stands, and what is she doing?

Hanging off of her friend, her knees give out underneath her as her lungs struggle to catch the air. The room is spinning, but she feels Shadow’s arms come up and around her, she feels them hold her, hug her back.

Their quills are cold to the touch and smooth like laquer, but the fluff of their chest, damp as it is- she knew they would be soft, she knew it.

There’s another boom, closer this time. She holds Shadow tighter.

It’s getting so hard to see.

Maria, who tries to be brave, who takes a deep breath she cannot keep as she looks into her friend’s wide, innocent stare.

“There’s an escape pod room. I-I think I can figure out the way. If we get there, then we’re free.”

Her voice is a rough whisper, but swallowing just makes her throat hurt. Instead, she takes Shadow’s hand in hers and smiles as she points to the door.

Their first steps to the door are tottering, unsure ventures, and she cannot help but groan when she sees the broken remains of her wheelchair. But it’s fine. This is fine. Her knees are screaming. If only for just this moment, she wants to take it slow.

She’ll need her energy when they make a run for it.

Maria and Shadow, looking up and down the hallway. Shadow just stares, tightening and relaxing their grip on her hand. Though she would love to marvel at the feeling, her hair is standing on end as she listens with bated breath.

But no one is coming.

Maybe there is no one left.

Maria and Shadow, shuffling down the hall. It’s all small steps and furtive glances. The gunfire sounds further away now, moving toward the ARKs core. She swears she can feel the floor shake beneath her feet, and wonders if something has exploded below.

From the belly of the beast, she hears another roar and shivers.

“Left,” she says. It comes out as a croak.

Shadow just looks at her. Maria has to point, and then lead them down the hallway to the left, to get them to understand.

Maria and Shadow, wandering the halls. Neither say much. Truthfully, there’s nothing Maria can think of to say. Her whole body feels like it’s being shaken apart by her own frail bones

But her little friend’s hand feels so warm in hers.

She sees blood.

“Wait.”

Shadow looks at her again, at her hand tugging on their own. The growing pool of blood creeps closer, closer, closer to the tips of their bare toes against the steel.

They step back to her.

Maria licks her lips.

“Close your eyes.”

She tries to pantomime for Shadow to understand. It’s not working. All she accomplishes is that slow, lazy blink. Maria pulls them to her, turning them around as she rests her forearms on their shoulders and covers their eyes with her hands. She pushes lightly, and they walk forward.

Good. She can do this. She can do this.

Maria and Shadow, rounding the corner. The body is slumped against the wall closest to them. Maria’s mind played tricks, told her she surely knew them, but that grey hair and those wrinkles could have belonged to anyone. She swallows as she leads Shadow forward, wincing against the warmth as the blood soaks into her socks.

Focus

She doesn’t want to look at the body.

In the periphery of her vision, she sees the brackish red smattering their teeth.

Her eyes narrow on the center of Shadow’s quills.

She doesn’t remove her hands until they make it to the other side, down the hall, and around the corner. The bile in her throat burns, but her little friend will not see. They will not know.

Maria and Shadow, their hands slowly coming up to cover hers atop their eyes, and she pulls them away. As they look around, their gaze begins to drift towards their feet, towards the bloody footprints they have left behind them.

“Don’t!” The word snaps in her mouth like a firecracker.

Keep their eyes on her.

Maria catches their face in her hands. She turns them toward her, and maybe she is gripping too hard, and maybe they know something is wrong, but she smiles against her singed tongue anyway.

“It’s nothing. We have to keep going. Okay?”

She nods. After a moment, Shadow nods too, and Maria’s smile softens.

The hallway behind them collapses in a burst of fire.

Maria and Shadow, falling to the floor. Smoke and ash fill her lungs as her ears pop from the sudden change in pressure. She reaches for them, curls one arm about their thrashing head and the other around their body as she pulls them under her as best she can.

Not that she could shield them from much, but that will not stop her from trying.

It’s all too much. The burst of heat that throws her skirt about her knees, the sudden onrush of gunfire and popping flames. Her legs feel useless. They kick and fail and can gain no purchase against the steel, but she has to find something. If she doesn’t—

There’s that roar, louder, closer. Maria lifts her head just enough to see a soldier screaming as it pours bullets into something moving through the din.

She covers Shadow’s ears just before it gets to the soldier. The sound it makes–

She gags, looking away.

They have to run.

She can’t run.

She has to find a way.

Maria and Shadow, sliding slowly down their dangling piece of hallway. Maria reaches out to grab a piece of twisted rebar. She can feel the flesh of her hand prickle against the heat.

Her grip tightens.

They will not die here.

From seemingly nowhere, there are soldiers flooding their hallway. They’re yelling, pointing. One lifts their gun to aim.

She clutches Shadow tighter to her.

And in an instant, they’re gone.

The monster rises from the dark corner, trailing behind its arm that now lies embedded within the chest of the soldier. The man twitches like a puppet, limbs jerking as their head rolls back onto their shoulders, before being cast aside.

Pandemonium.

Gunfire and flames, explosions, sirens. It is too much. An errant bullet tears through her nightgown and on instinct she recoils, almost losing her grip.

Figure it out. She has to figure this out. She has to get them out.

“Shadow!” Maria looks at her little friend, uncovering his ears as she shifts her grip. “I need you to help me.”

They just stare, fear in every inch of their face.

“I need you to pull me up.”

Can they understand her? Do they know what she’s asking for?

She hoists her arm holding him as best as she is able, just a little, then pulls on the arm clinging to the rebar. Joints pop. Tendons strain.

She wants to cry so badly, but she will not. She will be brave. They have made it so far.

And against all odds, she sees the light of understanding come through the fear in Shadow’s eyes.

Shadow twists out of her grasp. They move in ways they shouldn’t, their body contorting as claws reach out and pierce the steel of the dangling hallway floor like it is made of cotton. Shadow doesn’t crawl. They scuttle. It’s the only word she can find to describe what she is witnessing. They scuttle like a bug up the floor and out of the hole back into the hallway.

Don’t think about it too hard.

And then their hands come down, red and black and clawed, but still such gentle palms, and with one movement, it grabs her own hand still clinging to the rebar and gives an almighty tug.

And she flies up-

(her shoulder dislocates)

- and out of the hole.

The impact against the floor forces the air from her, releases the sounds of pain she has kept locked tight for so long. She’s gasping, choking and coughing on tears.

“Damn it.” She curls in on herself, clutching her shoulder. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

Shadow and Maria, there on the floor.

Safe, but for how long?

Her little friend is crouched next to her, huddling over her, and through watering eyes, she realizes they are trying to shield her just as she did them. Their face is close, eyes etching a pattern into her skin as they rove across her.

They’re afraid.

For her, of her - doesn’t matter.

Maria takes her good arm, the one that can still move, and lifts it to pat Shadow’s face.

“Thank you,” she says softly. “You did such a good job, and you’re being so brave. I’m so proud of you.”

Their eyes soften.

But this moment cannot last.

Maria and Shadow, one dragging the other to their feet, stumbling down the hall. She swears they’re close to the escape pod room, but she can’t be sure. And then what? She not sure she’ll know how to work the controls. Nobody ever told her. Nobody ever thought Maria Robotnick, after all the attempts at saving her Grandfather has done over the years, would have to save herself, let alone her little friend.

Maria grits her teeth. Nobody ever thought she could do anything by herself, and here she is, not even able to walk alone.

Useless arm. Useless legs. Useless, useless. She was too slow. Deadweight walking. The sounds of gunfire behind them echoes through the hallway. She’s going to get them killed. She should have just told Shadow to leave. Maybe then it would have been her body slumped against the wall, her blood they would have to run through, but at least they could run.

But who saved Shadow in the first place?

She looked to her little friend, who looked back up at her with those wide, bright eyes.

Maria feels her heart beat in her chest. It vibrates in her fingertips, shakes the air in her lungs as she breathes.

She did. She saved them.

Her good hand grips Shadow’s shoulder.

“Right,” she whispers, pointing.

Shadow carefully steers them around the corner, and there stands the door she’s been looking for. The sign panel next to it is a little melted, the floor pockmarked with bullet holes from one level down, but it’s a door, and it looks like the power here is still on.

Shadow doesn’t have to worry about the raw-edged metal around the holes in the floor, but Maria does. She stands on her toes, ankles wobbling, as she opens the panel next to the door. A hand scanner, not a pin pad, stares back at her.

She breathes a sigh of relief as she places her hand atop the screen.

Shadow hisses.

Maria fumbles, turning around to see Shadow’s eyes wide, claws and teeth bared. No longer do they look like her sweet, soft friend. In this moment, they are alien. The sound coming from them – maybe it isn’t a hiss, maybe it’s something else– there’s a strange clicking in there somewhere- it echoes along the hallway, rolling like a rogue marble, only getting louder as it goes on.

Maria grabs him by the head, palm flat against his quills.

“Stop! Someone will-!”

She turns a little further, and there, turning back around down the hall, was a soldier.

Shadow’s hissing grows louder. Maria could feel their quills under her hand bristle and bite flesh. The soldier seemed frozen in place.

Then, the door opens.

Maria, grabbing Shadow and falling backwards through the opening, rolling out of the way as a shot rings out. The door closes behind them again and two deep dents break its sterile smoothness.

Shadow wriggles in her arms, teeth gnashing they try to break free. Maria clings to them tighter.

“Shh!” Maria doesn’t have a good grip. “Shh- it’s okay! We’re okay! Shadow, please!”

She pets them even though it hurts her hands. It’s the only thing she can think to do. For a moment, Shadow goes still. Their gaze flickers back to her, and Maria can see them recognize her once more.

The soldier beats his fist against it. “You need to open this door! If you don’t, I can’t guarantee your safety!”

Shadow’s hackles start to rise once more.

“Ignore him!” It comes out as a wail despite her best efforts, “Leave him alone, we’re almost out of here!”

“Open the door!”

“No!”

Maria and Shadow, one dragging the other. She’s doing her best but they’re being so stubborn, and she’s only got one working arm. Tears are rolling down her face as her knees scream in protest. She can see the last escape pod right there, in the middle of the room. And there, against the wall, that looks like the control panel. If she can figure it out, they’ll be out of here!

But Shadow is not making this easy. They want to fight, but there is no time to fight.

“Go!” Maria points to the open pod. “Go stand there! Now!”

Shadow won’t comply. It’s getting hard to touch them, let alone hold them. Their quills pierce her skin like needles.

With a snarl, Maria changes directions, moving for the escape pod with Shadow in tow. She has to push and shove to get them up and inside, but eventually, they get the message.

Behind her, there is a burst of gunfire, and then the door is forced open.

Maria’s hand hits the red button at the base of the escape pod faster than she can think. In an instant, the glass door comes down between her and Shadow. She can hear Shadow’s muffled screaming as she turns to face the gun.

“Stop!”

Maria blinks. She looks past the shaking barrel to the person holding it, watching as they seem to almost shrink as she makes eye contact with them through their visor.

They’re a boy, not much older than her. It’s obvious as soon as she sees it. They’re just a boy.

The gun jerks.

“Get away from there.” There’s a hard edge to his voice, a falsehood of control. He’s trying to be brave, just like she is.

She hears thumping behind her, the screaming getting louder. Maria is sure if she were to look, she would see Shadow pounding on the glass.

The boy cocks his gun and fires a shot just to the side of her, making her jump.

“I said get away from there!”

The lights in the room flicker

Something shifts deep within, and for a moment, Maria is outside of herself looking in, watching, knowing what is coming. The anger- that burning furious need to cry, to scream, to fight- in an instant, it is choked out by the crystalline peace that floods her soul.

She hasn’t prayed in a long time.

Maria, slowly reaching behind her and grabbing the lever labled ‘emergency’ at the base of the escape pod.

“Don’t do anything stupid!” The boy is yelling again, but that can’t hide the fact his gun is shaking in his hands.

She’s not even sure a god would listen, but it doesn’t matter.

Maria, slowly turning to Shadow to look one last time at the light in those wide, bright eyes. It’s as if the two of them are alone in the silent vacuum of space. Everything is cold. The view is clear.

Shadow and Maria. Maria and Shadow. This was meant to be, if only for one glorious, beautiful moment.

She hopes she’s been a good enough friend, hopes the escape pod does its job, hopes that maybe, please, maybe, Shadow will get to Earth, and live, and be happy.

Maria, who smiles as she pulls the lever.

75 notes · View notes

aerkame · 10 months

Note

Hi this is the person who had a lot of finfolk Howdy feelings. This turned into a wall of text so i completely understand if you decide not to post it

So this might be a bit of a ramble, and I don’t know much about finfolk lore. So I apologize if something doesn’t line up with the original lore, or I accidentally say something that conflicts with something you’ve previously mentioned.

Im imagining that Reader is a puppet from the port town on the mainland—the one that the neighbors commonly visit.

The mortal most likely meets Howdy for the first time during one of his trips to his restaurant. They had taken to going there on their lunch break and soon become a regular. Howdy is probably going by an alias and has shifted into another, smaller form (by his standards. he still towers over Reader) Still, he's outgoing by nature, and strikes up a conversation with the mortal.

They both find that they enjoy each other's company. Sometimes they can't talk for too long (the restaurant is busy. the mortal's work keeps them late. Howdy leaves for Home) but when they do meet, they find that time flies by.

Reader does take note of how he (very stylishly) keeps his arms and hands covered and how he's averse to touch. They assume it's a sensory thing.

Eventually, Reader opens up about their plans for their future. Specifically about their wanderlust. They talk about all the places they want to travel to-- major coastal cities, island nations-- places that, if they went, he could follow.

But, during another visit, Reader expands their list - backpacking through the country, hiking in the mountains, riding camels in the desert. And Howdy finds himself feeling very... possessive.

The more Howdy speaks to Reader, the more Reader opens up, and with that they begin to vent. They start to talk about an annoying thing their friend did, workplace drama, family gossip...

(this can be interpreted in two ways.

Either Howdy hears these minor annoyances and gossip, and builds them up into signs of a dangerous situation. Further justifying his possessiveness over Reader.

OR Reader really isn't in a good place on the mainland, but they just brush off any abuse like it's nbd. Meaning they're also not likely to catch onto any red flags Someone Else might be raising)

Whenever Howdy returns Home he gives updates on news from the mainland. That news can span from anything from major world events, any possible treats to them and Home, to simple gossip.

The neighbors start to notice Reader coming up often in these little updates. He mentions them more and more with each visit. And eventually the neighbors' eyes start to drift towards Wally.

Howdy was starting to sound like Eddie after he met Frank.

Maybe it was time to have a chat with Home...

Wonderlust is my new favorite word, next to sublime. Also I wanted to write only the aftermath of the neighbors asking Home for permission because I am already writing an x Howdy and I don't want to ruin that sweet sweet angst/romance. >.>

TW: Mentions plans of kidnapping and drugging, anything in Finfolk nature is a TW really.

It was no secret to everyone at this point that Howdy had eyes for you. The only problem was that you lived on the mainland and you were making plans to leave soon. Sure, it would be easy to just track you down again, but it would be better to have things done more quickly to attract less attention on things. It's hard having to keep track of witnesses and making mind-altering potions. Plus, they hate having to go through all the effort of pretending to be police or other government officials.

The rest of the neighbors seemed fine with you in all honestly. Having met you in person themselves in one form or another, they think you'd be a fine addition to their little island. All they needed was the approval of Home.

But of course, it wasn't difficult at all to get Home's approval. He already knew this entire time having watched you from his crystal baptismal font as the water kept rippling from place to place looking for your location. He's sure your adventurous nature would love what the peninsula and it's waters had to offer. They had surrounding reefs, caverns filled with crystals, and many more smaller islands nearby, all full of colorful creatures that don't exist on the mainland or anywhere else.

Now it was just a matter of getting you back home that needed to be taken care of. One of the neighbors could simply kidnap you in the dead of night, but you having a late-night job made things complicated. Either Howdy would need to invite you somewhere isolated where no one would be to do this or they would have to play things out slowly and wait for an opportunity.

No one wanted to wait however, from what things sounded like, things weren't exactly safe back at your own home and it seemed to be getting worse over time.

So, Howdy returned back onto the mainland with Sally and Frank.

Frank did his usual routine of shifting into a new person and taking on the persona of a police officer (Who would of thought he made for a pretty good cop huh?) and Sally went in with the disguise of a sweet florist that worked just down the street from where you lived. No one would even bat an eye at what took place here.

Howdy or Sally may or may not have had involvement in the death of the person that hurt you…oh well, it's not like anyone would remember that guy anyways! Literally. Not even you would remember.

Howdy was the only one to go in without a disguise, or at least staying in the form you knew him as. He had invited you to his restaurant as a treat, as a date really. You happily accepted.

It was so nice, so peaceful, and you were so easily tricked.

All it took was just a single touch to your hand and everything started to feel numb as your body gave out under you. With bare hands, Howdy carried you to the back of the restaurant to make a B-line for the back door. Not a single customer batted an eye, and not one employee or waitress gave the scene a second thought.

You awoke to bright rays of sunlight on your face. Sitting up, you found yourself in what had to be the softest and largest bed you've ever been in. Everything still felt so...tingly? Numb? What happened?

"Ah, I'm so glad you're awake minnow!"

I wanted to mention that the waitresses and employees at Howdy's seafood restaurant are cute remora dogs and shark dogs. Most of the customers tend to be sea-dwelling creatures like sirens, mermaids, etc.

#welcome home #welcome home finfolk au #welcome home howdy pillar #howdy pillar #welcome home howdy pillar x reader #howdy pillar x reader #x reader #finfolk #au

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equallyshaw · 7 months

Text

king of my heart | colton dach.

little blurb😌

•

Warnings: some angst ofc, some swearing.

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Word count: 4.7k

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Time skips/slow burning (:

——

'the first meeting'

angela pulled her shy and quiet cousin piper, from her room one evening, forcing her to participate in the group shenanigans. piper sighed, letting her cousin drag her from her room after putting up quite a fight. she argued that her midterm essay was more important than whatever was going on in the living room. which to be frank it was, but to angela she wanted piper to meet the somewhat flashy, arrogant and charismatic colton dach. best friend to her boyfriend, nolan allan. a golden retriever and black cat, match made in heaven angela and nolan believed.

nolan spotted her from the living room, as he looked to the kitchen which peaked in just a bit in his view. "ah my favorite ricci!" he said jumping up and going over to greet the girl. angela and piper were the closest of the cousins, practically sisters because of being the same age. therefore, once nolan came into the picture, he took her in as a sister. "ahh yes, one of the annoying canadian's." she huffed filling her water bottle. "hey now, you've got more in there that could fit that bill." he mused pulling her in for a bear hug. "watch the hair, dude." she gritted causing angela to laugh heartedly. "ok come on you two." she said pushing the two towards the 2008 mario kart competition that was happening between nolan, colton, bedard, reichel, vlasic, and korchinski. "she's hereee!" angela announced and piper rolled her eyes. "if it isn't the famous piper!" vlasic said causing piper to roll her eyes, "hi alex, nice to see you again." she said sitting down beside him on the couch. the other guys looked over to wave and introduce themselves. colton was the furthest from the girl, sitting on the ground, and waited his turn to say hi. as soon as the two locked eyes, he felt himself get incredibly nervous. his stomach filled with Butterflies. she gave him a small smile before snatching the controller from vlasic and taking over for him. "oh oh its on!" nolan announced, ready to or at least attempt to beat the skilled girl. "you have to realize at some point babe, that you are never going to beat her. not with her constantly playing by herself." angela said without filtering what she was going to say. "you say that if it's a bad thing, angie." alex said quickly defusing the situation and taking the blow just a bit. piper swallowed hard, focusing in on her character. she gave a small nod to alex, thanking him. colton watched from his spot on the floor, before turning back toward the screen. he was intrigued by that little comment.

•

'callin me babe'

it was a few weeks later when piper was by herself at the apartment finishing up some textbook reading when she heard a knock at her door. she looked at the time, and knew that angela was still in class so it couldn't be her. unless she forgot her keys ofcourse. piper hopped off the kitchen barstool and headed over towards the door, and she was surprised at who she found on the other side. "hey colton, right?" she asked and he nodded. a small blush appearing over his cheeks. "how can i help ya?" she asked, opening the door further for him to enter. "i left something here a few days ago, and nolan said i could come over and grab it. or well downstairs." he said chuckling just a bit. "oh, yeah for sure! you live upstairs?" she asked and he nodded, going to retrieve the item. "yeah, i just started a sublease for the time being." he said coming back into the kitchen where she was. "oh nice!" piper said from behind the counter. colton walked back in and stared at the girl for a few seconds, "i couldn't find it." he said and her eyebrows creased a bit. "nolan should be back from the store soon, do you wanna wait here until then?" she offered and he nodded. "you can watch tv or play the wii or do whatever. ill just be in here if you need anything." she said smiling softly and he nodded. "what are you working on?" he asked as she sat back down. "uhh just some light case reading." she joked, flipping the 3rd page of the 12 page case study. she unclasped her highlighter, and read the first line when colton spoke again. "angela said you're studying psychology right?" he asked and she nodded, continuing to read. "that's neat, she said you wanna do non profit work?" he questioned and she looked up from her packet and nodded at him. "yeah, how much other info has she given out about me?" she asked half serious. though, colton couldn't tell. "uhhh...." he stuttered and she giggled. "I'm kidding, i promise. its always nice keeping you hockey players on your toes." she hummed, sipping her water. "oh really?" he asked cocking an eyebrow, leaning across the counter in front of her. "ah huh. nolan is easy ofcourse, little shit. and then alex can catch it sometimes but he's still a dummy." she explained causing colton to laugh. "nolan is special, what can we say?" he played and she giggled. colton thought for a second, "you and alex?" he questioned and piper caught on. "oh god no! angela and i have known him since we were younglings. our two brothers used to play hockey with him. he's family." piper said shaking her head. colton nodded, "why do you ask?" piper questioned. colton thought for a few seconds before responding, "had to know if i had a chance with ya." he said confidently. piper looked down at her case study before looking at him, anxiety rising within her body. "is that so?" she quirked and he smiled. "ya know it babe." he mused, causing her to blush.

•

it had been a few weeks since then and spring break was now rolling around for the girl. the two still hadn't gone out with one another due to her cramming last-minute essays in and him away on the road. though they had hung out with the group a few times, over dinner after a game or a sunday brunch which was piper and angela's favorite thing to do. colton made his way down from upstairs with two cups of coffee this rainy and foggy, monday morning. he let himself in with a key nolan had given him and korchinski who was colton's roommate. "morning lovebirds." colton announced walking into the living room and angela flipped him off from under the blanket. nolan laughed softly, "long night, I'm sure piper is feeling the same." nolan explained and colton's eyebrows crinkled. "she drank?" he asked and nolan nodded. "i thought she didn't." he said and nolan shrugged, "she got a bad grade. she's upset about it." angela groaned, and colton nodded walking down the hall towards piper's room. he knocked softly, hearing the box fan on the other side and quickly slipped in. piper was awake but had her eyes shut, "hey babe." colton said softly, setting down the coffee on her bedside table. she turned over and smiled softly, "hi." she said opening one eye to look up at him. she looked lovely in his eyes, her brunette hair laid across the pillow, her green eyes lighting up in the sun that peeked through her blinds and the softness of her voice, laced it all together. "i was just thinking about this, thankyou." she hummed sitting up and pulling the cup to her chest. she looked back up at colton and padded the spot next to her. he nodded, walking over and hopping in. this was not the first time he'd ended up in her bed. the other three times were from becoming too tired or exhausted to go back upstairs to his own bed. that was it, nothing else. she sat against the headboard, shutting her eyes for a few seconds. it was instant, she felt his eyes on her. "can you not?" she teased, setting her coffee down and turning over on her side. colton set his down and turned on his side to face the girl, watching as he did so. "hi babe." she hummed, smiling. "whats your plan for the day?" she asked, and he looked up as if he had to think. but he wanted one thing, "whatever you're doing." and that made her smile. "well, if dancemoms is on your schedule than perfect, cause i have nothing else to do." she said cheekily. he laughed, "ofcourse! what else would i want to do on a rainy day." he responded filling her with butterflies. "good." she hummed. "good." he responded, "now that we have that settled, which season are we watching?" he questioned, and she smiled widely jumping up a bit. "season 2 the best one of all!" she said excitedly, turning on her tv.

•

'king of my heart'

it was now thursday of that week, and the blackhawks had pulled out a huge win against the detroit red wings, with the team having the rest of the week off; the little group of younglings - well hooligans according to piper, were on their way back to their apartment after a long dinner. piper drove her and colton through the city streets, as she felt concerned about him driving in the city. she commented on his driving one day they went to get starbucks together with korchinski and she felt as if she was going to die as they were michigan avenue. she took her right hand off the wheel and laid it down on the middle console as the two were only a few blocks away from the apartment itself. colton took that opportunity to grab ahold of it, causing her to blush. they pulled into the parking garage, with colton not wanting to let go of the girl's hand. she took her time collecting her things from the console and making sure his seat was back in it's original spot, so he took that chance to walk over and open the door for her. "why, thankyou." she beamed, taking the hand outstretched for her. "ofcourse m'lady." and she laughed at the dorkiness. the two walked through the garage, holding eachother's hand seeing nolan and angela walking on the other side of it.

piper smiled at angela who was skipping around nolan, pretty thankful and happy they beat the wings. as they got closer, piper could hear the lyrics coming out excitedly from the 5'5 girl, causing her to laugh. as soon as the chorus came up, piper joined in, screaming at the top of their lungs; doing the little 'one goal' dance from the previous era. "oh god." vlasic said walking with korchinski, bedard and reichel. the cousins took each others hand and spun around in a circle, "i fear angela may have had too much to drink tonight." nolan said laughing, as they tried to move the two along. "how rude!" angela defended, causing the group to laugh. "none of yall are allowed to come over. not even you nol baby." she said leaning on her cousin, "nol baby that's a good one!" colton said laughing, with nolan rolling his eyes.

the group made it up to the apartment, music on swiftly and drinks given out. piper took a seltzer and headed over towards her room for a brief moment, to put her hawks jersey back in the closet. she heard a knock at the door, and she knew it was colton. she turned towards alex instead, and she had a perplexed look on her face. "hey bud." she said shutting her closet door. alex sat on the bed, well sprawled out on it. "whats up? girl troubles?" she teased, laying down from the opposite side. he chuckled, "you could say that." he said coolly. she rolled onto her side, putting her head in her hand. "well as much as i would love to talk about girl drama, we've got to celebrate." she said slapping his chest softly. "i feel so loved." he huffed, standing up and began to walk out. she pushed him out and saw colton coming down the hall. she leaned on the threshold and smirked as he got closer, "what can i do for ya?" she mused, kicking the door open wider for him to walk in. she shut the door behind them, and she sat down on her bed and he followed, now sprawling out himself. she looked down at him, crossing one leg underneath her. she quirked an eyebrow, as he sat up. he did not break eye contact, as he leaned in. his mouth so close to hers, she felt his breath on hers. he leaned in a few inches more, and connected the two's lips. oh how she'd been waiting for this, she thought. she wrapped her arms around his neck as his found her lower back. slowly pushing her into her pillows, they broke the kiss after a few more seconds. he pulled back just a bit to read her face, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. she would not make eye contact. "been waiting to do that for some time." he said blushing nervously, and she met his eye. "been waiting for ya to do that for a bit too." she hummed, pulling him back in. the taste of your lips, is my idea of luxury.

he was the one she had been waiting for some time, a best friend and lover in one. somebody to be the king of her heart.

•

the season was winding down now, just as her school year was finishing as well. the two falling for each other more and more, over the course of a month and a half. trying not to think about how he would be going back to canada and she'd be staying here in chicago with her parents, and older brother. the two had kept what was theirs a secret, not wanting to bring the group in just yet. though angela had a sneaky suspicion, based on how happy piper was. her black cat personality was opening just a bit more. the two spent countless nights together, colton sneaking in and out of the apartment late and night and early in the morning before anybody could spot him missing. or she would go up to his. the bedroom becoming their sacred place to talk about life, their biggest hopes and dreams, what makes them tick, their family and so much more. but they did so much more, together. colton would pick her up after class and the two would get coffee or food, maybe hit a museum or the navy pier. sometimes a matinee. she was showing him, her chicago, and what made her fall in love with the city at a young age. she was bespoken with the city and all the opportunities it possessed. he saw a different side of her when the two were in public, he saw how much of a free spirit she was. things were quickly becoming more serious between the two, and that win over detroit night cemented it.

that night he saw a different side of her, one that he had been slowly peeling back for some time. she was quiet and shy by nature but had a rambunctious side to her. angela watched as the two did a rendition of 'wonderwall' at the apartment, and the look that colton had in his eyes; she knew that the two were smitten with one another. and she knew that piper was completely and wonderfully comfortable with him, something she had never had with a guy up until that point. she had fallen for the canadian, him fully captivating her heart.

•

angle and piper were having their morning cups of coffee on a saturday morning, piper reading a book and angela finishing up her morning tiktok. "has..has colton said anything to colton about what he plans to do now since the season is over?" piper asked shyly. angela thought for a second, thinking how she wanted to break the information she pried out of nolan a few nights back. "uhh not too sure, i know he plans to go home and stuff. he said he had some people to see." angela said trying to end the conversation, by standing up and getting some more coffee. "oh, okay." piper said putting her bookmark in the spine and shutting it. maybe i was just a little fling? or not even on at all? "I'm gonna head over to my parents." piper said standing up and walking back to her room. angela sighed, pinching the crease of her nose. nolan walked through the door, and walked over towards the kitchen. "hey love." he said kissing her and moving towards the fridge for a water bottle. "has dach said anything about piper? she's currently freaking out." angela whispered yelled and nolan connected the dots. "oh, no he hasn't. but he did mention his ex reaching back out to him. as we were clearing out our lockers." nolan said feeling bad, and angela nodded. "if you'd like to go tear him a new one, by all means you have my support babe." he said and they heard a bag drop. piper dropped her overnight bag, hearing the full conversation. "ill see yall later." she said grabbing her water bottle from before and heading towards the front door. nolan looked up, cursing dach.

colton hadn't responded to her text three days ago, and now she figured out why. she understood, and she was glad that they hadn't done anything that would have made it harder for her to get over him. she threw her bag into the trunk and slammed it, and headed towards the drivers side. she put on some music, and pulled out rather quickly. not realizing the car coming from her left to be colton's and Kevin's. the two saw her pissed-off demeanor as she drove by, not acknowledging them. "ohh you fucked up." kevin said as they parked. colton sighed getting out. piper drove 20 minutes through traffic toward her family's lincoln park townhouse and parked down the street. she unlocked the door, and threw her bag down at the door heading towards the kitchen. "oh hi hun, how are you?" her mom asked as she and her dad came into view. she looked at her mom and began to sob. "oh hun." her mom said wrapping her arms around her daughter, and rubbed her back; her and her husband's heart breaking.

•

her mom massaged her back a little while later, as the two were now in her bedroom talking. "i really liked him ma, i really did. he hasn't responded to my messages and now i find out he's talking to his girlfriend again whos probably the first person he's seeing when he gets back home." she cried. this was the first time she heard about colton, her daughter being famously closed off from the family. not for any particular reason, but she was just quiet. the brunch that was supposed to be the meeting between her parents and colton never happened. a few days with food poisoning prevented him, and therefore she never brought him up. "what if i was just a fling? or what if i wasn't even that?" she sobbed, as her older brother opened the door. she turned her to see who it was, and she put her face in her comforter embarrassed. "what has my baby sis so upset?" he asked sitting up against the bed next to her. she sniffled, "is it boy problems?" he questioned and she nodded after a few seconds. "i'm sorry pipes." he said rubbing her back. "can i stay here for a few days?" she asked and her mom nodded quickly. "ofcourse hun, perfect timing with your semester ending too. eric can retrieve some things from the apartment if you'd like." she said volunteering her son who nodded. "can you get anna the bunny?" she questioned looking at her brother. anna the bunny was a build a bear bunny, that was the very last gift her grandfather gave to her as a kid shortly before he died. she cherished that stuffed animal more than anything. "ofcourse, ill call angela to let me in." he said smiling before kissing her temple. "ill be back." he said shutting the door behind him.

he was the king of her heart, but maybe she wasn't the queen to his.

she had made up her mind, she was better off alone.

•

he drove over to the apartment, quickly pulled into the guest parking spot and headed up the elevator. "please act civilized you two, we have a guest." angela threatened towards nolan and colton who were arguing with one another, about piper. "eric hey, good to see you too." she said hugging her cousin. "ill show you where everything is." she announced, pulling him through the living room. "nol." eric said fist bumping nolan who nodded at him, "her stuff is in here." angela said opening her door. "whos that?" colton whispered to nolan who chuckled. "that's her older brother, asshole." nolan said walking over towards the two in the other room. "whatcha doing?" he asked leaning against the threshold watching as eric and angela packed a bag. "I'm grabbing some stuff for pipes. she staying at home for a bit." eric explained and nolan nodded. "why?" he asked, and eric sighed. "cuz of some asshat who played her." eric said a bit angrily. "oh." nolan responded, before walking back out. "you are dead." he said sitting down on the couch in front of colton. "does she need anything else?" angela asked as the two walked out, eric clutching the bear in his right hand tightly. "uh i don't think so. if not, ill swing back around." he said. "sorry i didn't introduce myself, I'm eric - piper's older brother." he said holding out a hand for colton to shake. "colton." he said nervously as eric put two and two together. "you little shit!" he said angrily, and colton took a step back. "you know you hurt her right?" he threw out and colton nodded. "you do, do you? then why haven't you said anything to maybe clear things up huh? or are you too busy using her to get back with your ex?" eric asked heatedly. "nobody knows about us. your sister and i. nobody knew-" angela cut him off, "we suspected." "i never told anybody, nor did she. and i don't want to get back with my ex, she reached out to me, but i never responded. and the reason i haven't responded to your sister is because i've been busy preparing to go back home. but i wasn't going to not talk to her about us, ok? i planned to today but then she drove off and i realized i blew my chance. once i got back today, i was going to come up here to talk. i swear to you!" colton defended himself. eric thought for a moment before looking at nolan and angela, "you have to believe me." colton pleaded and eric sighed. "do you know who gave piper this bunny?" eric asked, knowing that if he knew then he cared for the girl and vice versa. nobody knew who gave the bunny because it meant so much to her. colton smiled softly "your grandfather when she was 9 before he died. her most prized possession." he said and eric sighed. "clearly you mean a lot to her, because she doesn't tell anybody that." angela explained. "hell, nolan doesn't even know and we've been dating for three years already." angela added. "i promise you i wasn't leading her on or anything, i care very much for your sister. i had planned to make things official and ask her to come to canada this summer." colton said hoping it would get through to eric. eric nodded, "i hope youre right." he paused before looking at angela, "angela will give you our address. I'm sure my little sis would like to see you and clear all this up." eric said before walking out.

•

colton knocked on the front door of piper's family house, and bit the inside of his cheek, plagued with nerves. the door opened to reveal a brunette women, piper's mom. "you must be colton." she said and he nodded nervously, "come in." she smiled opening the door for him. he saw an older man on the couch, look over and do a double take. "you must be pipers dad, im-" he cut him off, "yeah i know who you are." he huffed before looking back at the news program. "she's upstairs,first door on the left." her mom said placing a hand on his upper back. "its fine, you can go." she said when he looked back at her husband. he nodded, taking the steps two at a time. piper was on the other side, watching the office, hoping that michael scott would help her laugh but it wasn't working. her mind twisting and turning with thoughts, that would not shut up. she perked up a bit when she heard a knock at her door and she got up when nobody walked in. she opened it rubbing her eye, and stopped as she took in who was at her door. "colton?" she questioned before he placed his hands on her lips, taking a step into the room. she shut the door behind him, wrapping her hands around his wrists. their lips fitting together like before, one's that were addicting. she pulled back, resting her forehead on his head. she stared at his chest, before looking up. "what was that for?" she questioned, "had to take my chance, incase it was the last time you'd allow me to." he said and she frowned at how nervous his voice was. "colton." she softly whined, pulling him in for a hug. "i did not mean to hurt you pipe, not for one second. i promise." he began and she nodded, "and i never responded to my ex. she was the one to reach out and i deleted it. because-because i am deeply and madly entranced and quite frankly, besotted with a 5'2 brunette midwest gal who could watch the office at all hours, who adores coffee runs, a good detroit beating and most importantly, the girl who has captured my heart." he confessed. she pulled back with tears in her eyes, "colton, i-i- " she paused breathing in and out deeply through her nose. "why did you not respond to my messages? why did you leave me hanging?" she asked, and he shook his head. "no important or monumental reason, i just hadn't responded which is a dumb response but its true. kevin and i have been busy with the apartment, and finishing the end of media for the season and just my parents have been on me about coming home. don't for one second, think i was gonna leave you hanging for the whole summer. i was actually coming to talk to you when you drove past me like a mad man." he chuckled and she giggled. "i was coming to ask you to become my girlfriend officially, and was seeing if you wanted to come to canada with me." he said searching her eyes. she smiled widely, "well its a good thing you've become the king of my heart dacher. you are quite literally the one I've been waiting for, for so long." she paused as he smiled. "one problem though." she started up again and he quirked an eyebrow. "i need a passport." she confessed, and that made him laugh. "give me about a month and a half, and you can book me a flight." she grinned and he chuckled. "oh so I'm buying you a ticket now?" he grinned, "wouldn't have it any other way." he smiled pulling her in for a kiss.

all at once, this was enough. he had his american queen, and her canadian king. king and queen of each others heart, all was well.

——

ahhhh!

told yall there was angst.... but i hope yall enjoyed !!! please like and reblog if you did (:

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