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mypoisonedvine · 2 years

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𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 | aemond targaryen x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | these were the only times he showed you any affection— when others were watching. when his reputation was at stake. but as eyes from around the room fell on you as you danced, you swallowed down a lump in your throat as you wondered if they could see it all: the truth, that is. separate bedrooms, sparse conversations, silent meals. {aka, an arranged marriage with aemond that’s not as loveless as it seems, once he’s forced to admit how he really feels…}

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 9.4k (WHOOPS)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (virginity loss with some pain due to aemond being… very gifted, breeding kink ft. breeding press, emotional sex, the slightest dubcon if you squint but trust me it's wanted), arranged marriage, angst, the love isn’t unrequited they’re just idiots, innocent reader, slight infidelity (reader has essentially an emotional affair with a stark!oc), touch starved reader and also touch starved aemond but at the same time cocky aemond lol, reader is insanely whipped for aemond (aka self-insert lmao jk but really tho), slight housewife kink? but really just very old school/traditional views of marriage, reader is implied to be some kind of royal but no mentions of her house or origins or appearance

You knew Aemond hated these sorts of things, but you loved them. You loved that he had to treat you like a wife for the evening— putting his hand on your shoulder or waist, smiling at you, talking about you to other guests…

Maybe that was the same reason that he hated them. You really couldn't tell; but on nights like this, you just basked in the fantasy, in the joy of putting on this show for the others so they wouldn't know how loveless and empty your marriage really was.

The banquet was, all things considered, rather uneventful. You didn't make much conversation, opting to stay firmly planted at your husband's side until he invited you to dance. He disliked dancing, too, but he was decent at it; you couldn't stop smiling when he took your hand so gently, guiding you to the centre of the room. His gracefulness and stoic nature reminded you of how you thought of him when you met him for the first time.

You remembered returning home after your first visit, knowing the courtship would be brief for a political marriage and that your next visit would probably be permanent. You spent the night telling everything to your friends, giddy with romantic glee. What's he like? they asked. They say the one-eyed prince is strange— but maybe they all are…

You clutched your hands to your chest as you answered: he's shy, you said, and reserved— mysterious! But I know he has a kind heart, if only he'll let me near to it. He took my hand and kissed it… just the way he looked at me as he did made my heart jump! He's handsome, I think, if in a strange way— he doesn't look anything like the men here. But I like that…

And they all swooned, going on about how lucky you were, fantasising with you about how romantic it would be when he showed you his true nature and fawned over you as his new wife.

For a dragon, for a man made in fire, he was so cold— frozen solid, right down to his heart.

These were the only times he showed you any affection— when others were watching. When his reputation was at stake. But as eyes fell on you as you danced, you swallowed down a lump in your throat as you wondered if they could see it all: the truth, that is. Separate bedrooms, sparse conversations, silent meals (when you ate together at all, which became rarer over time).

Nearly eight months into marriage, with no pregnancy, you knew there were rumours already about why no children were on the way. The kindest of them spoke that Aemond didn't desire children and had you on a strict regimen of preventative elixirs and teas; the harshest alleged that you couldn't satisfy him, couldn't interest him, or couldn't bear for him at all.

Worst of all, you weren't sure which of those were true yourself. He never told you if he wanted children, or if he had a lover already, or if he was like his brother— spending night after night in whorehouses.

You didn't know him at all, really, and it made your eyes sting at the dance came to an end. He let go of your hand to clap for the end of the song like the other dancers, and you knew it could be weeks before he touched you again. You bowed your head and hoped he wouldn't see your eyes getting watery.

When you looked up again, Aemond's attention was elsewhere as a Lord visiting from far away approached him to make conversation; but another set of eyes were upon you, those of the Lord Stark seated across the hall. His stare was dark, but warm, and you glanced away quickly.

"Excuse me," you offered quietly to your husband and his conversation partner, who nodded at you to dismiss you before you left. Making your way to the doors, you saw Stark standing from his chair in the corner of your eye as you passed.

Leaving the party, you walked far enough that you suspected no one else would come by— no one else that wasn't looking for you, that is. And only one man would come looking for you…

He did, as you suspected; you waited under a sconce until you heard footsteps behind you. You turned to face him, and part of you imagined, still, that it would be your husband standing there. Why did you leave, dear wife? Wouldn't you like to dance with me again?

He probably didn't even know you were gone. Instead, you stared at the man standing before you. "Lord Stark," you greeted with a polite curtsy.

"You may desist the pleasantries," he smirked, full lips surrounded by dark brown stubble on his face, approaching you with a gentle touch to your arm. "We are alone, my lady."

Sighing, you watched his fingers pet the sleeve of your dress. What would it be like if Aemond touched your arm, with his delicate touch and slender hands? "That we are," you agreed softly.

"I've waited quite some time to see you again," Philip Stark said thoughtfully, and you smiled up at him shyly, "and I'm afraid you are even more beautiful than I remembered."

"And you are even more flirtatious than I remembered," you returned, making him laugh lightly.

"Quick-witted as always, my lady," he praised, "but it is not flattery— you know I truly adore you, don't you? These nights are all I have to look forward to… though it does wound me to see you with him. Especially now that I know how cruel he really is."

Yes, when you first encountered Philip in one of these empty hallways, you confessed more of the truth to him than you'd ever told anyone. As embarrassing as it was, he never judged or shamed you; in fact, he apparently fell madly in love with you after that one conversation. And now here he was, jealous that Aemond married you first, making you feel terrible for the way you entertained the interest of another man.

"I wanted to ask you for a dance," Philip admitted. "Would you have accepted?"

"Of course," you beamed.

"Then I'll ask now," he decided, extending his hand to you as your eyes widened.

"But there's no music!" you protested.

"Can’t you hear it?” he grinned, making you knit your brows and try to listen more carefully. With the doors to the main hall shut, you couldn’t hear anything. “That’s what it’s like to be in love— you hear music when others don’t.”

As sweet as it was for Philip to imply he was in love with you, you had to laugh. “I think that’s what it’s like to be insane!” you replied.

“The two are actually quite similar,” he winked as you took your hand and pulled you closer, squaring up to dance with you.

For a few moments, it was just that— dancing in the hallway with Philip to silent music. It was fun, romantic even, and you laughed like you hadn’t in weeks. And though you couldn’t quite call it a surprise, with the way he was looking at you, you felt a strange sense of disappointment when he kissed you.

Disappointment because all you could think about as he kissed you was how different it felt from what you thought kissing Aemond would be like.

You'd put a lot of thought into it, actually, since you first met him. Aemond’s lips seemed soft, and the few times you'd seen the tip of his tongue slip out to wet them as he was immersed in thought, you thought of him tasting your lips. His touch was delicate and lithe, those thin fingers might tilt your head back so you would look up at him, or lightly tickle the small of your back. He would be so careful with you, tender and patient as he was in all things, he would savour every moment that your body was pressed to his…

Philip was exactly the opposite in every way. His stubble scratched against your face, reminding you what you were doing and who you were doing it with. His kiss was aggressive and hungry, his tongue prying into your mouth as he hummed in delight and pulled you closer by your hips.

It took all your strength, physical and metaphysical, to push him away. "I can't… my husband—" you began.

"You told me yourself that he ignores you," he sighed, tightening his grip on you to keep you close. "Didn't you say that you thought he was having an affair of his own?"

"W-well, I'm not sure— I just imagine he must be, since he's never… since we never…"

He growled slightly, leaning in to kiss your neck as you shivered. "I still can't believe it," he mumbled. "That the prince has a beautiful wife all to himself and never once bed you. What a waste that is— you deserve to be pleasured, my love…"

You wanted so much to give into it, to let him take you now and finally know what you'd been waiting so long for. You wanted it more than anything— to be loved, desired, cherished. But you still gasped and pushed him away again when he started to grab at your dress. "I saved my purity for my husband," you reminded him with a frown.

"And you still have it!" he snapped. "Isn't it time to give it to someone who wants it?"

You'd told him yourself that your husband didn't care for you, and yet it stung horribly to hear Lord Stark say it so plainly. You dropped your head and bit your shaking lip, sniffling as he awkwardly tried to recant what he'd said.

"I-I've offended you— my apologies— but it is him that should feel guilty, not you," Philip insisted. "He's mad to treat you in such a way… he should desire you, I can't imagine why he doesn't. But he doesn't, that much we can both be certain of. And I do— more than anything, I desire you. I meant all that I said in my letter— and more. I have dreamt of you every night since we first met, since you let me kiss your hand…"

The declaration of love was beautiful, and tender, but it was soured— for it all came from the wrong man. It would be easier to run away with the Lord Stark and be his wife instead, let him give you all the things he promised. But it was not duty that kept you bound to Aemond… it was devotion; real, pure devotion.

You interrupted the Lord's imploring speech by resting your hand tenderly on his cheek. He sighed, shutting his eyes and savouring your touch. "My lady," he whispered reverently.

"I am truly sorry, my Lord," you breathed. "You are handsome, and gentle— and any lady should be so lucky to have your heart, for it is truly kind and just. But—"

"But you can only love him," Stark finished with a sneer, jerking away from you dejectedly.

"I wish I didn't," you admitted with a whimper as you started to cry. "I wish I was the sort of woman who could ignore my marriage and abandon my husband and just love you, but—"

"Say no more," he interrupted firmly. "I see now that you never felt for me as you said you did. You only liked that I gave you the attention your husband does not."

Well, that was sort of true, but it still hurt.

"No wonder he hates you— he knows how wicked you are!"

You reached out for the man but he had already turned to leave you; you wanted to plead for just one more embrace from him, so it would be longer before you forgot how it felt to be held. But you, apparently, had a single shred of dignity left… or maybe it was just that you were crying too hard to speak.

Crumpling to the floor, you leaned against the stone wall, hearing the sounds of the party grow louder for a moment as the doors to the banquet hall opened again. The sounds of merriment and joy felt distant, not just because they were literally far away— you had so few joys left already, and one of them had just tossed you aside with impatience and disgust.

When the evening concluded and you were alone in your bed across the castle, you dreamt that Aemond found one of Philip's letters to you; that he read it and confronted you, admitting he was livid to imagine another man stealing you away. In your dream, Aemond's anger revealed his true lust for you, and he asserted his claim over his wife by violently taking you right there in your bed, all the while swearing to never even let anyone else look at you again.

It may have sounded like a nightmare to anyone else, but you would accept any interest from Aemond by now— you wouldn't struggle or resist him, too good of a wife to ever deny your husband. But that was hardly something you had to worry about: you'd never have to deny him, because he'd never want you. Realising this for the hundredth time hurt just as much as the first; you wept into your pillow for the rest of the night.

"What is it that you hate so much about me?" you asked, voice wavering even though you'd imagined being so tough when you finally confronted him.

You hadn't woken up that day planning to ask him that. You'd woken up that day melancholy as you knew it was your eight month wedding anniversary— and you knew that Aemond didn't care. He didn't join you for breakfast, and you thought about taking your meal to the terrace to look out at the garden while you ate, but then you thought you'd better just wait for him at the table in case he came late and gave you a kiss on the head as he passed by to his seat.

Of course, he did not. You didn't see him before lunch, either— or at lunch! That was when your heartbreak shifted into anger. If he wanted to be aloof, fine. If he wanted to be in a purely political marriage without even consummating it, that was his right. And if he didn't think children were necessary, being the second son and therefore not needing an heir, even though you longed to be less alone and have someone to care for here in this draughty old castle— you could live with all that.

But if he couldn't even think to say hello to his wife, either ignorant or uncaring that the twentieth of every month was another month gone by since the wedding, then he was worse than you realised. Up until now he’d avoided you, sure, but he wasn’t… mean, except for avoiding you, which was mean in itself. It made you think of what Philip said a few weeks ago— no wonder he hates you.

So, that was what compelled you to find Aemond in his chambers, swinging the doors open and blurting out your question.

He sighed, seeming annoyed, as he shut his book and looked at you. Even after seeing firsthand how little he cares about you, part of you imagined he'd be offended when you asked that. Hate you? Darling, of course not! You're my wife, aren't you?

But no, he only contemplated you with an unsurprised frustration as you stood there, shaking hands clenched into fists. You spoke again when he still said nothing. "I'd just like you to tell me, Aemond. Tell me why you despise me so much."

He smiled— fucking smiled— as he tilted his head down and shook it. "Haven't I done enough for you? This is the thanks I get, when I try so hard to be kind to you?"

You choked on your gasp, tears falling down your face already even though you wanted more than anything not to let him see you weep. "Is this what it looks like when you try? I'd hate to see what happens when you just give in and show me how you really feel."

He scoffed. "You would hate it," he agreed.

"You're so cruel…" you whispered, choking on a sob. "How do you do that, Aemond? How are you so horrible to me, without a second thought?"

That seemed to anger him properly, and he finally stood up as rage heated his face. "How dare you come to my chambers and question me? After all I've done for you—!"

"All you've done?" you repeated incredulously. "Ignored and belittled me? Treated me like a stranger, secluded me to another bedroom… are these your mercies?"

He seemed confused— an emotion you weren't used to seeing on him. "Yes!" he answered, irritated. "What more could you want? I can't exactly have you living on another continent, can I?"

You blinked quickly, shaking your head at him. "I— I don't understand…"

"I grant you all that, because I know this marriage was not your choice," he explained, like it was obvious. "It wasn't mine either— we can at least be civil, and keep up appearances, for your honour and my own."

"Honour? Aemond, the court believes I am barren! I haven't the heart to tell them that you're disgusted by me!"

He stepped closer to you, the short distance making your heart race. "Disgusted? You may think me a monster, but I am only a man— even I know how beautiful you are."

Your throat caught. He said it like you should know— but it was news to you, and it made your heart skip. "If… if you think me beautiful, why— why did you never lay with me? Even on our wedding night?" you asked, feeling your face warm to discuss something so crude.

"I'm not like my brother," he sneered. "I have no desire to force myself on you…"

His eye darted to the side briefly.

"W-well, no intention, at least."

"Force?" you repeated, confused as you shook your head. "Aemond, you're hardly making any sense…"

"I'm not making sense, am I? Who are you to question me? You act like a nice, obedient wife— you like to make them think of you that way, don't you? But I let you live as you did before, as much as I can. What more do you want, woman?!" he asked ragefully.

"I… want only for you to hold me," you admitted, voice breaking as you cried in earnest. You felt like a child when he looked at you like this, even more so as you admitted your foolish desires. "I want my husband to love me— I want him to touch and kiss me, and tell me that he can't live without me. I want, even just for one day, to feel worthy of your love— fuck, just your attention! Just your approval!"

He blinked at you, softening, and you almost jumped when his hand reached up to tenderly stroke the back of your arm. "My wife…" he whispered, and your lips fell slack with a sigh.

He leaned in a bit closer then, reaching up to wipe a tear from the height of your cheek with his thumb. In all the months you'd been married, in the weeks you courted, he'd never touched you so sweetly.

"I… I didn't want to hurt you," he promised, "or scare you. I thought you—"

He lowered his voice again, shutting his eye, and you leaned in closer.

"I knew you couldn't love me," he whispered. "You're so sweet and lovely— I'm scarred. And you played the part well, but… I've seen that look before, when a lady is trying to be polite but is upset by the sight of me. I understand."

You reached up to hold his face, biting your shaking lip. “Aemond… I never— you’re beautiful.”

He turned away shyly, cheeks starting to tint in a way that only added to the beauty he was about to deny. “I know you want to be a good wife, but your flattery is inconceivable.”

“I always thought you were handsome, my prince,” you promised, forcing him to look at you so he could see the earnestness in your eyes. “And I don’t just want to be a good wife— I want to be your wife.”

"You always had my attention," he informed you. "And you never lost my approval."

Overcome with joy, you threw yourself onto him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Though he seemed a bit stunned by your forwardness at first, he returned your hug; you could've sobbed when he embraced you. It was all you'd ever wanted, and it was so simple: just the touch of your husband— just the warmth and strength of him, wrapped around you.

Squeezing your shoulders gently, he sighed beside your ear. “You don’t need to be so excited,” he mumbled.

“Of course I’m excited,” you beamed, holding him even tighter. “I thought you— do you really care for me?”

“Yes,” he assured, and you pulled back to look at his face, just in case he was obviously lying or something. But he seemed genuine— actually, he seemed surprised that you didn’t believe him already.

"I won't believe you until you kiss me," you decided. Smiling, he leaned closer and took one more long look at your face before pressing his lips to yours.

It was sort of like how you'd imagined that it would be, at first. But in a moment, it was better than you could've ever thought.

It was needy. You loved it; your husband needed you. His kiss was still delicate and precise, yes, but filled with heavy sighs and hesitant attempts to pull you closer and press his body to yours. It was teeming with all that suppressed hunger, like he was fighting every instinct so he wouldn't overwhelm you. If only he knew he could do whatever he liked to you; if only you could make him let go and show his true self.

“I care for you,” he whispered into the kiss, almost so quiet you didn’t hear it… but you did, and you had to cling to his shoulders with your knees going weak. He pulled away to speak to you more clearly, as much as you hated being away from that kiss again. “I care for you too much to subject you to my presence.”

“Do you care for me too much to consummate our marriage?” you asked, catching the way his eye widened slightly while his grip at your waist tightened.

“Avoiding you was easier than resisting you,” he explained quickly. “It’s… difficult, even now, holding you like this, and not—”

“I want you to,” you admitted, nearly whining as you clutched at his shirt to pull him closer. “Since our wedding night— well, even before then, I wanted—”

"Don't," he pleaded, voice thin as he looked away. "I… I won't be able to hold myself back…"

"Take me, husband," you begged. "I— I waited for you all my life. I need to feel you, to please you—"

He snarled a bit as he shut you up with a bruising kiss, holding your back tightly.

You hummed into it, feeling heat flood your face (and between your legs) as he kissed you so… shamelessly. Your grip on him loosened, only because all of you went a little limp from the way his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and you pressed your hands flat against the leather in hopes you could feel the warmth of his chest through it. Unfortunately, you couldn’t, so instead you found your hand slipping between two of the fasteners of his tunic, fingers brushing against the bare skin underneath. He pulled away from your lips, but you couldn’t seem to find the strength to pull your hand from his chest— his warm, porcelain skin—

"Your eagerness is unladylike," Aemond noticed with a pleased smirk.

"I-I am sorry, but I can't help it," you whimpered. "I've longed for you— I've dreamt of you—"

"Shh, I know," he smiled softly, petting your hair as you leaned into the gentle touch. "I quite like this desperation on you, anyways. Be careful not to let me enjoy it too much, or I'll make you wait another eight months."

"No, please," you breathed, "you could hold me every day and I'd be just as eager, my prince."

He sighed just by your ear, even something that simple making you shiver. "I'll do more than that— I'll never let you go. I'll hold you for the rest of our lives. Then will you be satisfied?"

Crying softly, you nodded and hid your face against his shoulder, sighing at the relief being close to him brought you.

He reached up slowly to help you unfasten the clothing that covered his upper body; watching him undress was just divine, in your opinion— every nimble motion of his fingers exposed a longer sliver of his torso until he shirked the tunic away from his shoulders and revealed himself to you. Biting your lip, you graced your fingers over his chest, admiring how strong he was and how delicate his ivory skin felt; if it weren’t for how shockingly warm he was to the touch, you’d believe he really was porcelain.

“Do you wish to see me too, husband?” you asked shyly, fishing for a little eagerness from him as well. He hummed as he leaned in to kiss your neck, reaching behind your back to unlace your gown as you held onto his arms.

“I apologise for how many breakfasts I missed,” he replied, not seeming to be a related statement at all until he went on. “Seeing you in your dressing gown was becoming too much to bear… all I could do was imagine how you must look without anything to cover you.”

You smiled proudly, though you couldn’t for very long when his tongue teasing along your pulse made you gasp shakily. “U-uncover me then," you pleaded, as if he wasn't already shedding you of the layers of your dress, down to the thin linen chemise underneath. You were told from an early age that your body was meant for your husband's eyes only, and aside from the occasional lady's maid who helped you dress, you'd covered yourself in modest wear in order to preserve your own dignity and keep your promise to your future husband. Maybe some would protest to such a stricture, but it seemed sort of romantic to you. And now that you were finally here, with Aemond's fingers delicately shedding you of your last layer of clothing, it was more intimidating than you expected— but in a good way, mostly. Really you were just scared that he wouldn't like what he saw; even if he said he was affected by the sight of you in your nightgown, he knew nothing of what laid beneath.

Taking a shaky breath, you held your arms out just enough for him to slide the thin fabric down, and the garment pooled on the floor at your feet.

For a moment, you couldn't find the courage to look up at Aemond, just blinking down at the ground beneath you. But soon, when he said nothing still, you worriedly glanced up to examine the expression on his face.

Before then, you wouldn't have known how to describe what lust looked like. Well, you still couldn't describe it, but you knew it when you saw it. And this? That darkness in those icy eyes, that tightness in his jaw and the subtle smirk on his lips? That was it.

You shivered as he ran his hands over you, a pleasant sort of chill that made you clench inside. You opened your mouth, about to ask him if you were pleasing to him, but he spoke first.

"Lay on the bed, wife."

You were, obviously, already very obedient. But you may have never been as instantaneous in your obliging as that moment. You were on your back on Aemond's bed in an instant, and he was atop you just a second later, kissing you again and breathing in deeply as his bare chest pressed to yours.

His hands returned to exploring you as his kiss became more and more overpowering; he was so warm, almost hot, pressed against you and it was simply the most perfect feeling. You found your legs spreading naturally without much thought put into it, and in the same way, his hand just seemed to move down between them of its own accord, gently rubbing over your mound as you whimpered from the feeling.

"Are you truly untouched?" he whispered against your lips.

"Of course," you answered, "how could I not be? You never touched me…"

He hummed softly. "I longed to," he admitted, "I imagined it…"

He delicately parted your folds with two fingers, making you shudder as his touch carefully discovered every detail of you. "I-is it like you imagined?" you wondered.

"Even more lovely," he replied. "You're so warm here, my love— are you warmer inside?"

You gasped loudly as he slid those fingers inside you. "Shh," he soothed. "It's only to prepare you."

Only to prepare? I feel as if I'm being torn apart already! you thought.

"Soon you'll be ready to take me inside you," he whispered. That was plenty of motivation to get through the pain, and he hummed contentedly as you pulsed inside, more of your arousal leaking out and threatening to leave a puddle on his bed.

"Will… will you keep your trousers on?" you wondered, as you looked down at where the pale skin stopped and the black leather began.

He seemed amused. "I know you're not naïve enough to think we can consummate this marriage with my trousers on."

"N-no! I mean—" you choked. "I meant that… I'm naked, and you haven't taken them off yet."

He raised an eyebrow, curling his fingers inside you and watching your face twist. "Are you that curious, my darling?" he mocked, leaning down to speak closely beside your ear. "Would you like to see my cock, is that it?"

Well, it seemed that the time for shame was well past… so, you bit your lip and nodded slightly, feeling his kiss the side of your face quickly.

"Soon," he promised. "It's easier to keep my patience this way."

Patience? After this long, his concern is patience?

Of course, you couldn't quite understand yet what Aemond was truly concerned with— but you would soon enough.

As much as it had stung to be entered by something for the first time, you were whining in disappointment when he pulled those fingers out of you— until he brought them to his lips and stared forward at you darkly while he sucked your flavour from them.

When he had licked every drop from his skin, he smiled at you and put those wet fingers by your hole again— wiggling and twisting them to fit three inside as your back arched.

"It's too much," you warned, grabbing his wrist. "Three is too many!"

"You'll need to take much more than three fingers, my darling," he chuckled. His free hand grabbed yours and guided it to his erection, firm and hot even though the leather, helping you rub him as he sighed. Your eyes went wide as you felt it, and he smirked at you. "Do you see now? You'll need to be prepared."

"Oh— my husband, you— are you sure it will fit?"

"Yes."

It wasn't as convincing as you'd hoped it would be. It felt so thick, and you were afraid your sense of touch was deceiving you with the length of it! Sure, you had no true point of reference having never even seen a man naked before, but you understand the mechanics of all this to find a sense of fear bubbling up in your gut. Would it hurt you? Would it break you?

And why did that idea, as terrifying as it should be, excite you a little bit?

Pulling him down into another kiss, you found yourself weaving your fingers into his hair, and when he pushed his fingers deeper into you again you couldn’t help but tug on the silver-y strands unintentionally. You started to apologise, before the little wince he let out turned into a low groan that made your walls bear down on his fingers yet again. And that made him sigh as he leaned down to kiss your neck, even biting on you just hard enough to make a whine escape from your throat.

“I should give you more time,” he admitted, “prepare you further, but… my patience is wearing thin, dear wife.”

“You don’t need patience with me, husband,” you assured, surprised by your own voice’s wavering as he kept filling you with his long fingers. “Just… say that you love me.”

He smirked a little, and the pridefulness in his face made you feel sort of foolish— but you sort of liked it. “I don’t know you enough to say that,” he replied.

Well, that wasn’t exactly your fault, was it? And he had three fingers to the knuckles inside you, he certainly knew you better than anyone else! “You don’t have to mean it,” you mumbled, “just say it…”

His free hand, attached to the elbow that he balanced himself on beside your head, lightly pet the line of your jaw as you blinked up at him. “Say that you love me first,” he decided.

“I love you,” you replied instantly, “of course— I love you more than anything.”

Smiling wider, he closed the space between you and kissed you softly. Only when your eyes fell shut did he answer in a whisper below his breath, “and I love you as well.” It seemed like it might be too much for him to say it with his eyes open.

He took his hand away from you and reached down; excitement jumped through you like a shock when you realised he was removing the rest of his clothes. It made the kiss suddenly much more… thrilling, less precise and more desperate as you grabbed onto his shoulders and felt his bare body lay fully on top of yours.

His hands ran up the back of your legs, holding them open wide for him, and his cock pressed against your waiting cunt; it was warm, that was the only word you could think of for it, and you moaned into his mouth as he just barely rocked his hips to slide himself over your slick folds.

Right as he held himself tightly, hissing softly between his teeth, and guided his thick and leaking tip to your opening, a second wind of hesitance startled you.

"Wait!" you blurted out, pushing him away just slightly by his shoulder. You could tell by the fear in his eye that he thought you were about to renege on the whole thing, admit that he was right from the start and you were too afraid of him to go through with any consummation.

Instead, you reached up to the brown leather patch on his eye, gently caressing it.

"Let me see my husband," you pleaded. "I know you don't like to show me— but I want to see you as you are."

You'd only seen him without the covering for a brief moment, on accident; a few weeks into the marriage you entered his chambers without permission, finding him without his shirt or patch, and he covered his face quickly to scold you for your rudeness. You were much too flushed by the sight of his bare chest— that toned, pale torso with scars of the softest pink in a few places— to mind his sapphire eye much or his frustrated rant. He could yell at you all he wanted if he did so in any state of undress! You thought he had the most beautiful body— seeing more of it today only proved your suspicions correct— and as he took off his eyepatch now, you smiled as you finally saw your husband's face.

A moment later, your smile fell into a gasp and a cry as he pushed himself into you. Head falling back onto the down pillow, you whined through your teeth as his cock filled you, and you dug your nails into his shoulders with more strength than you thought you had. "I'm hurting you," he noticed. "I tried to prepare—"

But as he pulled back, you reached down and held onto his hip. "No!" you whimpered. "Don't… don't stop. The pain will fade, yes? I— I want this so much, Aemond…"

He sighed, leaning down to kiss away a stray tear from your temple. "I know— and you've waited long enough, haven't you? My poor wife… I never wanted you to be lonely. I only wanted to protect you."

"From what?"

"This."

He put his hand over your mouth and shoved the rest of his cock inside you, muffling your scream as he groaned in satisfaction. He was so deep, and it burned to be stretched for the first time; you sobbed but wrapped your legs around his waist and tried to keep him inside. Still, he started to move, and you shuddered and wept as the pain seemed to bloom from your cunt and crawl up your back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I can't— I can't stop now, and you feel so warm…"

He looked at your face, twisted in pain, and stared at the hand over your mouth with and heavy gaze.

"I don't want them to hear you. No one should hear my wife but me— in her pleasure or pain."

Even as you shivered from the way it hurt, your heart sang to hear him call you his wife, and to be possessive of you in some way.

"You feel so perfect," he grunted, starting to fuck into you faster already. "It won't always hurt like this— just a little longer, I know you can take it for me, can't you?"

You nodded against the pressure of his hand over your face, hoping he wouldn't mind the way you pierced your nails into his skin to try to cope with the pain— you’d feel terrible if you left any marks on such a beautiful form as his, but then again, wouldn’t it be sort of erotic? Little half-moons carved into his white skin as a memory in the flesh, a way to claim him in return as he claimed you?

Yes, actually, it would be wonderful— and so you held onto him tighter, and he certainly didn’t seem to mind.

Each time his hips collided with yours, your whole body rocked under him and his grip on the sheets beside your head tightened until they threatened to tear. His breaths were fast and sharp as he moved, a lovely flush on his cheeks and his eyes shut (the scarred one only as much as it could be) as he chased his own ecstasy. Even though it still stung for a few moments longer, you loved looking up through your teary eyes as watching him, feeling impossibly proud knowing you were pleasing your husband this way.

He knew something had changed when your grip on his shoulders relaxed and you exhaled a long sigh from your nose that tickled his hand over your mouth (which he took away to admire your face in this moment). "Is it beginning to feel better?" he asked.

"Yes," you whimpered. "Yes, yes, yes—"

He laughed softly. "I heard you the first time," he soothed, "but you may say it as much as you like. Say my name as well, love— it never sounded as nice as it does from your lips…"

"Aemond," you breathed.

It spurred him on even more, deeper thrusts making your back arch and moans jump from your throat quickly. "Such precious sounds you make," Aemond noticed proudly. "Have you never felt this way before?"

You shook your head, and a snarl of twisted pride ghosted over his face. "Never— it feels— oh!"

He had leaned down to capture one of your hardening nipples between his lips, gently flicking at it with the very tip of his tongue until you jolted under him. You hadn't even known of such a thing before, you didn't realise how sensitive you were there or how beautiful Aemond would look with his mouth latched onto your breast. He switched back and forth between them, smiling occasionally when your moans grew louder or you gasped out his name at the feeling. A long whine slipped out when he kissed his way up from your nipple to the curve of your neck, moving his hips harder and faster as his bent arms kept him balanced and caged you in. “Tell me again,” he demanded in a pant, “how much you like this.”

“It’s— you feel so—” you choked, really trying to answer him but losing focus each time he filled you to the brim and rubbed against that one place that made everything light up inside you. Your legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, and your toes curled, and you clung onto him as each thrust made your body— and mind— feel more and more beautifully helpless. “It’s so… deep…”

He purred a little.

“It feels so good,” you finally decided to answer, knowing it wasn’t the most descriptive but not sure how else to put it. “It feels amazing— you feel amazing… I don’t want it to ever end…”

His next sound was a hum of approval, and while it made you feel happy, you felt the urge to press for a more conclusive response.

“Does— does it feel— is it nice for you, too?” you panted out. For all those attempts to ask that question, it still came out sort of needy and pathetic, but he found that amusing and smiled against your skin as he kissed beside your ear.

“Nice isn’t the word,” he admitted. “There isn’t a word for how you feel, my darling. The closest I can think of is perfect.”

You were just hoping for a small compliment; you didn’t expect him to so flippantly say something that romantic, even poetic.

Just after you’d said you didn’t want it to end, he decided to stop and pull out of you. The emptiness was jarring and disappointing; reaching out for him as he sat up, he smiled and gave your waiting hand a squeeze. “Just a moment, my love.”

He sat up enough to lift your legs from around his hips, and hold them up as he pushed them against your upper body. Just when you wanted to warn him that you may not be as flexible as he expected, he slipped his cock inside you again— and when you’d remarked before about how deep he was, you had no idea how this would feel.

Your whole body tightened up and your face twisted in a gasp. “Is it too much for you?” he asked softly, the concern in his voice making your heart swell.

“No, please— keep going,” you insisted, though your back had to arch when he slid the rest of the way inside and you swore the head of his cock was going to go into your stomach or something. But it didn’t— it only stretched you to your absolute limits, a new sensation that wasn’t quite sharp enough to be pain but more powerful than you’d ever known pleasure to be. You whimpered, but braced yourself, ready to give him anything he needed.

"My sweet wife, so devoted," he groaned as he pushed his hips as hard as he could into you, holding you steady to force his cock just that last little bit deeper inside until your eyes rolled back. "You wanted so much to fulfil your marital duty— and look at you, taking it perfectly, even better than I imagined."

"You… you imagined this?"

Aemond laughed, heartily, at your question. "Only every night," he replied quickly, "with my hand around my cock, wanting to call for you but barely resisting each time."

You would've been ecstatic if your husband had called for you in the middle of the night to soothe his aching need; even if he sent you away right after he was finished and went back to ignoring you, it would've made you feel like less of a complete failure of a wife.

"I imagined more than this, though," he admitted. "I imagined kissing you and tasting you and hearing you say how dearly you love me…"

That explained why he’d asked you to say it before. You’d say it a thousand times if he asked— or, probably, even if he didn’t.

"I imagined you pregnant."

To say your heart skipped a beat was an understatement. Your heart skipped so many beats that you might have been technically dead for a couple seconds— except that you felt more alive than ever. There were a thousand things you’d like to say, but rendered totally speechless, all you could do was pant out his name weakly.

"We don't need to make any heirs," he reminded you. "But I could give you a child, if you want one."

Your heart had never been so filled before— finally, your husband's child, inside you: it could really happen. You'd longed to give him one (or many) since you met him and now… now you could finally bear him one. "Yes," you whimpered, "Aemond— a baby, I want one so desperately…"

But then again, you'd wanted a baby so you wouldn't be so alone— someone to keep you company. And now he was here, finally, and you didn't need to be alone anymore.

"I want us to— to be a family," you choked out, and you felt his smile against the side of your face.

"We are," he whispered. "Already, we are. Husband and wife. But, you would look divine carrying a son…"

You hummed contentedly at the praise, feeling his hand rub gently on your belly right where it would swell the most.

"Perhaps I will, then," he decided. "Bless you with a child… if you'd like that."

He was taunting you, tricking you into begging him for it— and you didn't mind at all, happy to oblige. "Yes! Please, my husband, my prince— I long for it, let me have your son, please… if you give me your seed, I promise, I'll do all I can—"

"Shh," he soothed softly, "I know you will. I know— such a good wife you are, a perfect wife…"

You felt warm tears run down your temples, all this devotion to him finally appreciated when you feared it would all go to waste. Clinging tighter onto him, you tried to hide your face in the curve of his neck. But he gently pried you away, cooing, "No, no— let me see you, let your husband gaze on you— oh, what a sweet face. Shall I kiss your tears away? All will be right, my love… you'll have our son. And what a lovely mother you'll make."

Maybe it was a strange thing to push you right up to the edge— but you’d been approaching it for a while, that was just the moment you realised how close you really were. The way he said it, you could somehow tell he’d thought for a while that you’d make a good mother for his children; maybe he thought that from the start, he must have if he agreed to marry you. And at the same time that it filled your chest with pride, it made your gut burn with a need for something you couldn’t quite define but that you knew was incredibly close.

Apparently, he was in a similar situation, though much more aware of what it really was than you were. “It won’t be much longer,” he promised. “If you ask me, I will— are you sure it’s what you want?”

"Please, my prince," you whimpered as you held on tightly to the sheets. "Please! Give me your seed, please—"

"Fuck," he groaned, "once more—"

"Fill me, Aemond, with your child— I'll do anything, I want it so much, I want to be pregnant—"

"My name," he hissed, shutting his eyes tightly as his thrusts became erratically fast. "Say my name again."

"Aemond," you whimpered, losing yourself in pleasure just as his name crossed your lips. "Aemond, my husband, my beloved— yours, m'yours, only you, Aemond—"

It was a feeling so powerful that it felt like you separated from reality for a brief moment— like you were floating in water except less wet and more… hot, more all-encompassing, more pure sensation that filled you from head to toe— and then seemed to rob you of all your remaining strength at once. As you went limp, he whined loudly and his movements faltered. It took you a moment to realise it was finally time: you were finally being filled by your husband. He groaned softly as he panted, silver hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his face.

He looked absolutely beautiful, even more than usual. And he finally blinked his eyes open and looked at you like he'd never seen anything so perfect.

His thumb gently wiped away a tear from your temple. "Lovely wife," he praised under his breath. "I can't wait to see you with child. I hate how long I waited… if I had taken you as I should have on our wedding night, our son would be almost here now…"

You pulled him down onto you for a tight hug. "None of that matters now," you whispered to him sweetly. "Just hold me, my husband— you said you'd never let me go."

He smiled as he sighed, melting into your arms and wrapping you up in his own. "Yes, my lady," he agreed as he tenderly kissed the side of your face.

He looked up at you when you entered the room, and even just the slight smile on his face made you fill with joy; for someone as stoic as Aemond, you knew it was a sign of incredible affection to be smiled at that way. “Good morn, my lady,” he greeted, standing from his seat at the breakfast table.

“I worried when I awoke without you,” you admitted, clutching shyly at your nightgown.

“I figured you would be used to it by now,” he smirked. “Have I spoiled you with affection already?”

Chewing your lip, you glanced away. “I thought— you said you’d never let me go.”

“Well, I wasn’t hungry when I said that,” he replied, chuckling. “I awoke earlier and was afraid to disturb you… you seemed in need of your rest.”

You seemed worn out from all the fucking, he really meant, but he was still trying to be polite.

“Aren’t you going to sit with me and dine, my love?” he prompted, nodding towards the chair nearest to him— not even across the table, where you used to sit. Feeling like you’d received some sort of promotion to sit so close, you happily bounced up to the table and a servant stepped forward to pull the chair out for you. “Actually—”

You and the servant both stopped, and you worried you were about to get kicked back to the end of the table; instead, he sat back in his chair and motioned for you to step closer. Normally, Aemond wouldn’t sit again until any lady in the room was seated (he was mindful of custom, always), but as you came closer, he patted his knee, and you felt your face warm up.

“You could sit with me,” he suggested, and you tried not to show how ecstatic you were as you perched yourself in his lap. He looked up at you with his uncovered eye, smiling, and draped his arm around your waist. It felt, honestly, a little bizarre to have him be this affection, even if he’d shown you love in the most literal way just last night… you were still getting used to it. And this felt very different, though it made you quite happy. “Would you like a grape?” he offered, gesturing to his plate.

“I was upset before that I felt I didn’t know my husband very well,” you recalled, totally ignoring his innocuous question, “and now I think I knew even less than I thought.”

He tilted his head. “How do you mean?”

“You’re so… romantic!” you blurted out, and he laughed.

“I don’t know about that,” he denied. “But I am rather taken with you. And I must say…”

His voice lowered, as did his gaze, while his hand traced down your back delicately through your clothes.

“...I’m still just as affected by seeing you in your dressing gown,” he finished softly.

“I-I—” you stammered, making him smile amusedly at you. “I’m still just as amazed at how forward you can be, my prince… and to think I thought of you as shy once.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “I am shy,” he assured. “I’ll even dismiss the servants before I fuck you on this table.”

You raised your hand to your mouth to cover it, hoping to suppress your shocked giggle, but he grabbed it and held it tightly as he pulled you even closer, until you thought he might kiss you. He didn’t, yet: he only looked at your face very carefully. You looked back at him, of course, and found yourself reaching up to stroke his cheek as you admired his sharp, harsh sort of beauty. “You… you really plan to take me again, husband? Now?”

He smiled wide, maybe wider than you’d ever seen. “I was going to let you have breakfast first,” he clarified. “Unless ‘now’ is your preference.”

You looked away, smiling to yourself. “I’ve heard eagerness is unladylike,” you dodged his obvious attempt to make you out to be the needy one. Which wasn’t exactly false, but not fair either: you knew he wanted you just as badly, and finally knowing that gave you a little confidence to toy with him instead.

“Maybe you aren’t the finest lady, then,” he accused, which almost hurt before he continued, “but you are the most perfect wife any man has ever had, or wished to have.”

And, in an objective sense, Aemond hadn’t been much of a husband. Last night notwithstanding, he was all but cruel to you— and though he’d finally allowed himself to give in to desire for you, it was not as if his entire personality would change, he was still… whoever he was, an enigma with white hair and an eyepatch.

But he was perfect to you, and you loved him with everything you had.

You knew Aemond hated these sorts of things, but you loved them. He hated the loud guests, the small talk, the awkward customs— but those were the things you liked the most, they seemed to bring life to the empty old castle.

It wouldn’t be as empty soon, though; that was the purpose of this banquet, to announce and celebrate your impending addition to the family. And as much as Aemond generally disliked social engagements, he was obviously glowing with pride as he showed off his pregnant lady wife to the court. Now that you saw it on him, you thought maybe that was what he meant when he said you were glowing… but you weren’t sure, because whenever he said it you just figured it was sweat from having to carry around his massively heavy child all the time.

Not that you minded! You loved it, and he doted on you more than ever, kissing your belly and coming up with all kinds of plans for his son— and he was still sure it was a son, with no proof at all, but you weren’t even going to try to convince him otherwise.

“A toast,” Aemond instructed his guests, who raised their goblets in turn with him, “to my son, Vaegon—”

The guests started to lower their cups, but he wasn’t finished.

“— and his mother, my darling lady wife.”

You beamed as he squeezed your shoulder. Yes, it was no wonder you loved banquets now that you had the most adoring husband by your side for the night.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x female reader #house of the dragon smut #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon reader insert

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saintsenara · 2 months

Note

As someone who isn't the biggest Hermione fan and keeps it quiet because greater fandom LOVES her, I'm honestly gagging for more of your Hermione takes. Especially your takes on fanon Hermione, who I can't STAND. Have a good one x

thank you very much, anon - there are dozens of us!

hermione is certainly the character i struggle to find common ground with the most - and this has been the case since i first read philosopher's stone as a child.

[which has actually been a really fascinating pop-culture experience - i think we tend to overlook, both because the media landscape and its representation of child and teen girls has changed since the 1990s and because of jkr's increasingly harmful views on gender, just how groundbreaking hermione was as a female protagonist in media which wasn't marketed primarily or exclusively towards girls. there is a reason why so many girls and women identified with her when the books were coming out - and it was very interesting for me growing up to not be one of them.]

the cause of my beef with hermione is for the incredibly petty reason that i find people who possess many of her more... striking traits quite difficult to deal with in real life, particularly if they don't acknowledge [which people in the hermione vein often don't...] that these traits are things it might benefit them to work on in their interpersonal relationships...

but this doesn't prevent me recognising that canon!hermione [and any real person like her] is interesting - and that her more annoying traits work well with her more straightforwardly admirable ones to create a fully-rounded character who, from a fanfiction perspective, is a great vehicle for all sorts of tropes, themes, and storylines.

which brings us - of course - to fanon!hermione...

fanon!hermione is, at her core, another brick in the wall of mary-sues. she's beautiful, and so clever she can solve millennia-old puzzles without batting an eyelid, and she's preternaturally emotionally intelligent, and she's morally spotless, and she's always right, and the story's preferred romantic partner worships the ground she walks on, and anyone who doesn't like her is punished.

i don't think - to be clear - that there is anything wrong, per se, with people wanting to write fanon!hermione [nor, to be frank, with other flawless fanon versions of female characters, oc mary-sues, or self-indulgent self-inserts - i'll defend the right to have fun with characters to the death]. this is a hobby, and people's way of engaging with that hobby doesn't have to appeal to me - it's fun escapism sometimes to write a character who is wonderful and perfect and beloved and has a sexy partner; and when it comes to accusations of writing someone "out-of-character", let she who is without sin cast the first stone...

but i also think - and [sigh] here comes some discourse - that fanon!hermione is part of a slight... girlbossification of female characters in the harry potter fandom [and presumably in others, i just don't follow closely enough to know] which i've always been a little uneasy about.

i understand why this happens - this fandom, like many, has an overwhelming preference for making blorbos of male characters and for imagining these characters in slash relationships. the treatment of female characters in slash subfandoms - i.e. tonks in wolfstar spaces; lily in jegulus spaces - is often straightforwardly misogynistic, and even in cases where it isn't, female characters are often shuffled quietly to the sidelines, except when they pop up - often suddenly in a queer pairing of their own - to benignly cheerlead the male couple.

and i think it's good that this is challenged - as i also think it's good that the heteronormative vibes of a lot of slash are challenged - and that we, as a fandom, are increasingly interested in female-centric works [whether focused on a romantic pairing or otherwise] and discussions. i hope these continue to take up fandom space.

but i have also noticed that the way female characters are written and talked about in these context is - as i've said - quite #girlboss in its approach. the focus is on women as clever and competent and feisty and unruffled and brave.

[including female villains, there are a lot of girlboss bellatrixes knocking around...]

and great! it should be! - but from what i've seen this also comes accompanied by a resistance to the idea that women can also be boring, unintelligent, self-infantilising, vain, arrogant, ignorant, talentless, meek, domestic, rude, dislikable, conservative, incurious, complicit in their own victimisation, plain wrong, and so on, and not only still be worthy of exploration, but be worthy of these characteristics not being automatically considered bad things for someone to possess and it not being seen as letting down the sisterhood to explore a woman who possesses them.

and, sure, hermione cannot be described as many of these things - but she is...

self-righteous; cruel; petty; from a privileged class background in the muggle world which blinkers her understanding of the class structure of the wizarding one; stubborn; terrible under pressure; shown by the text to be intelligent largely due to an ability to rote learn; a people-pleaser with a tendency towards a slightly hagrid-ish blind loyalty; extremely deferential to authority and willing to tolerate cruel treatment from authority figures [i.e. snape]; the most childlike of the trio [she takes her schoolbooks on the run and reads through them for comfort! she's an enormous animal lover!]; interested in one of form of stereotypical femininity [knitting! wearing pretty dresses!] even if she rejects the form of stereotypical femininity liked by e.g. parvati and lavender [and anyone who thinks she's not going to get along with her mother-in-law because molly's a housewife is dead wrong - she's having the time of her life helping put together a sunday lunch at the burrow]; possessed of a filthy sense of humour [i will never understand why emma watson said that the key to playing her was to be prim...]; someone who obviously wants to be liked and to be loved; and so on...

[and also, by the end of the pre-epilogue narrative, eighteen. she's often written in fics in a way which makes her sound like she's seen a lot of life - especially if the fic wants to claim she's "too mature" to bother with men her own age... but she hasn't - she's a teenager, and the reason she's so unpolished and abrasive is because literally all teenagers are unpolished and abrasive. it's just one of the mortifying agonies of growing up.]

we should love this. it makes her thorny and messy and mixed-up and human - and i am perfectly delighted by explorations of her character which delve into unravelling this tangle.

i just like her less as someone who is there to be right and beloved and uncriticised.

unless it's by ron. everyone should be uncomplicatedly adored by their wife guy.

#asks answered #in defence of...#hermione granger #annoying canon version only #we love unlikeable women in this house #reject the girlboss paradigm

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babygorewhore · 6 months

Text

Scream for me

Eddie Munson x fem OC

Summery: Eddie Munson, a music major at college is secretly in love with Sammy, or as he calls her, Cobain. But he’s never gotten the chance to ask her out especially with a masked murderer roaming the streets of Hawkins. But he’ll find that the killer is much closer than he thinks.

AU-Scream Universe 🔪

WC. 6k.

This is a shared universe with my girl, Dolly @xxhellfirebunnyxx Our love for these movies and Stranger things inspired us to create our own characters for these fics. Please keep in mind these OCs have self inserted inspired looks but they are still readable. If you’re a scream fan, we’re sure you’ll appreciate the quotes. Eddie refers to her as Cobain. But her name is Sammy.

Warnings! 18plus! Violence! Details of murders! Character is killed off. Slight mention of deadbeat dad, Eddie is a perv. Male masterbation, hints at female masterbation, knife play, oral male recieving, degrading, spit, Dom Oc, sub Eddie, unprotected PnV

“I can’t believe Chrissy is dead, man.” Jonathan sighed as he adjusted his camera bag. Eddie gave him a side glance as they walked on the sidewalk to get to their next classes.

“Yeah, me either. It’s fucking insane.” Eddie answered, resisting the urge to look at his phone again. The images and news report of her corpse was the hot topic of Hawkins and the college.

This was the third murder of this killer stalking the streets. None of them were even connected until Chrissy.

His father and Jonathan’s father were murdered a year ago. A few weeks apart. He wished he could say either of them were sad about it. But they were all killed with a large hunting knife. Each more violent than the last. His uncle Wayne told him about the murder and Eddie attended the funeral. Barely feeling anything except relief. Jonathan was the same way. But he worried about Will’s state of mind.

Eddie and Jonathan started to part ways in the entry way of the building. “I’ll see you after class, Eddie.”

He sped walked to his music class, he was still in theory. Eddie wanted to erase how he used to be in high school. So he made sure to always be early.

After hours of theory, many notes and contemplating if he was even learning anything, it ended and he was free to hang out with his small circle of friends.

Well.

To hang out with her.

It was embarrassing really. How much he liked her. Eddie tried to always wear his nicest jeans and band shirts. Even if he was teased for being a simp by the asshole Harrington. Eddie breathed in the fresh air and made his way to the spot his friends claimed earlier in the semester. He chewed his lips in anticipation as he rounded the corner.

His breath caught in his throat and he almost dropped his bag. Eddie always felt like he got hit by a bus when he saw her. She was walking to the spot. Two benches next to the courtyard. He tried to smile normally. But he probably looked he was in a toothpaste commercial.

Samantha and her best friend Willow walked together arm and arm. But everyone called her Sammy and Willow was Bunny. But Eddie had his own name for her. Something no one else had.

“Hey, Cobain. Hey bunny.” He waved and they both did too.

Cobain’s clothes were always dark. Loose, comfortable sweaters, patterned pants or dresses. She always wore converse or combat boots. Her hair was bright pink and curly. Her curves filled out her current dark green sweater that reached her thigh. Her eyes coated in thick eyeliner.

Bunny was the opposite. Smaller in height and figure. Her white hair was long and she always wore light colors. Like an angel. She had big doe eyes that Jonathan was obsessed with. Bunny was Jonathan’s girl. She just didn’t know it yet.

Eddie called Sammy cobain because the first time he saw her, she wore a Nirvana shirt and she stood up to Jason when he asked her to name more than three songs in the courtyard when she was trying to find a spot to read.

But then the dick decided to get aggressive and Eddie scared him off. He was obsessed already when Sammy gave him a dimpled smile. “Uh. Thanks, Eddie.”

“How-you already-“

“Come on. Everyone knows the most metal guy in Corraded Coffin. I’ve come to a couple sets.”

He immediately fell in love with her. Eddie slung an arm around her shoulders, slouching down.

“Well, my lady. I certainly can’t tease you about Nirvana, Ms. Cobain. Not when she’s a fan.” She told him quietly her real name.

Eddie allowed both girls to sit before he did and he slumped beside Cobain. Her lips were coated in gloss. And it was sticking out of her bag. Their knees touched and he was getting warm. He kept glancing at her chest. It was rising and falling softly. He wanted to squeeze them and fuck-

“How are you ladies? Did you guys stay awake during class?” He tried to focus on her eyes but it was really fucking hard by the way she kept adjusting her silver heart necklace.

Bunny and Cobain snorted. “I tried not to freak out when I checked my phone.” She tucked a pink strand behind her ear and Bunny held her arm tighter.

“It’s so scary. This guy is getting crazy with killing people. I-I don’t ever want to be alone.”

“You girls don’t need to worry. You’re always together and besides. You have m-“

“Hey guys,” Eddie wanted to scream at the sound of Robins voice but both Bunny and Cobain grinned and ushered the rest of the group over.

Robin, her girlfriend Marina, Steve and Jonathan settled around.

Robin started babbling, “Another murder? This dude is officially considered a serial killer. And did you notice-“

“Fuck, Robin. Can we at least sit down before you start talking about the gross details?” Steve cut her off and earned a small glare from Marina.

“Nice seeing you guys,” Eddie moved over as Robin and Marina wedged themselves on either side of Cobain and then himself.

Both girls smiled at the other girls but Bunny gave Jonathan a shy wave as he sat next to Steve on the other bench.

“Go ahead, Robin.” Cobain told her. Fuck she was always so nice.

“Thank you, Sammy. Did you notice how Chrissy is the only victim who’s not directly related to anyone in this group? Like the pattern that connected the killings is also separating them?”

“Yeah, I didn’t get that either. Is there a point in there?” Steve called out and crossed his arms. Eddie rolled his eyes. King Steve involved in a conversation that wasn’t about him must have been painful.

“I’m saying that it’s probably a distraction! I mean imagine how strong you have to be to slice and gut somebody!” Cobain and Bunny cringed. Eddie had the urge to cover her ears.

“God-how do you…gut someone?” Cobain asked and glanced at Eddie.

“You take a knife, and you slit them from groin to sternum.” Steve answered with a smirk.

“Hey, it’s called tact you fuck rag.” Eddie interrupted. Deciding to throw a dig at him, he added. “Didn’t you use to date Chrissy?”

“Yeah, for like two seconds. She wasn’t crazy like that at first.” Steve always shoved back.

“Didn’t she dump you for a chance at Jason?” Marina added while Robin held her leg.

“Oh, I didn’t hear about that.” Eddie challenged.

“She’s full of shit. I only decided to pop in because with all this bullshit there’s probably going to be a curfew. So in a couple days I’m throwing a party. Bring a lot of booze and whatever.”

“Are the police aware that you dated the victim?” Robin adjusted in her spot, throwing her arm around Marina and Bunny.

“What? Are you saying I killed her?” Steve scoffed and adjusted his stupid hair.

“It would make a lot of sense actually.”

“No, he couldn’t have. It would take a strong man to do something like that that.” Cobain’s response made everyone laugh.

Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off her in that moment, her dimples and her pink hair falling around her shoulders. As the laughter died down, he noticed in her open bag that she had a variety of pens. Without thinking, he was quick to snatch one. Just one so it wouldn’t be noticed.

Eddie fucking wished he could say it was the only thing he stole from her. “Eddie, do you mind giving me a ride home? Bunny has plans with Jonathan.” Cobain turned to face him head on and Eddie couldn’t help but almost choke.

“It’s okay if you can’t-“ Cobain went to say but he shook his head.

“No! No! I’d love to! My chariot waits for you mlady. And I assure to Bunny she will arrive safely later as I assume you will be having a sleepover?”

“Thank you, Eddie. I know that you’re usually at band practice but-“

He went to tell her that he would lay in traffic for her but then she laid her head on his shoulder. Granted it was only three seconds. Eddie instinctively went to wrap his arm around her but she stood up. Giving Bunny a quick squeeze.

“I’m ready when you are, Eddie.”

Eddie tried to think of rational reasons to tell her why his seat would look slightly damp or why he would have to quickly shove a pile into a corner. Which would include…pens…a pair of underwear he stole…a bra and he was almost ashamed of it but there was also a guitar pick that she touched.

“Uh, just one second, Cobain, let me do something real quick.” Eddie ripped open the backseat of his car and swept all his stolen shit to the corner and quickly stood tall.

She was glancing at the window and he circled around the car. Opening the passenger seat. “Here you go,” Eddie knew he needed to dial it back as she ducked her pink head down and climbed into the car.

“Pull it together, Munson.” He whispered to himself before getting in on his side.

Eddie automatically went to press the power button for music before he stopped. No, he wanted to talk to her. Not listen-

“Hey, uh, Eddie, it’s okay if you wanna play music. We don’t have to talk-“

“No, no, no,no, it’s not everyday I get to take home my favorite Sammy Bear.” He winced a little. Okay, calm down. It’s not the first time he had taken her home but he rarely ever had her alone.

He started cruising down the streets of Hawkins, hyper aware of every move she made in the seat and the rumble of their casual conversation. Every move she made was fucking hot. The way her legs were slightly parted and she tapped her fingers on her thighs. Eddie wanted to just ask her out. Like a normal person. But she was out of his league. By a lot.

He was just some freak who manage to finally graduate and decent enough grades to pass enough to get into college. Eddie was proud, it was more than his dad ever said he was capable of. But he was a bit older than the rest and he didn’t have as nice of a car and he had to live in a dorm. And work part time at a body shop. Eddie gritted at the thought but he wasn’t like fucking King Steve who had everything handed to him.

Cobain was an English student. An honor student who tutored, volunteered, led the book club and even helped the music classes when they had to go to the auditorium. The short girl would help them with equipment. She wasn’t from the trailer park and she would never look at him that way-

“I’m so nervous about all these killings, Eddie. I mean…I know Chrissy was like-“

“A bitch?” Eddie finished, glancing at her and his pants tightened at the new attention she was giving him.

“Eh, yeah. But I’m just worried about what’s gonna happen. Steve’s throwing that party but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to go.” Cobain twirled the end of one of her curls.

“You’re gonna sit this one out?” He asked.

“No, Bunny really wants to go and I do too. I’m just scared that’s all. God, I’m really rambling aren’t I?”

“It’s fine! P-please keep rambling!” Eddie cleared his throat. He was getting closer to her house. “I’m glad you asked me for a ride, I feel like we don’t really get to talk that much. Which, of course we’re in different classes, but you’re so cool-“

“No, I’m glad you could. I like being around you.” Eddie almost stopped steering. She said what? He was so dirty. All those times…he rushed home, holding one of those fucking pens in his hand and jerked off so hard it hurt. Spilling all over it. Which brought him to the second reality. The other time he had been at her house, he pretended he needed to go to the bathroom and snuck into her room.

He didn’t have time to admire it-he couldn’t even tell you what color her bedding was but he was digging in her drawers like a madman and he pocketed a pair of black panties and a pink bra was inside his shirt when he rushed back downstairs.

And he had to drive normally in her driveway. But he couldn’t get over what she said. Cobain…liked being around him? “

“Hey Eddie, I know this may be a weird question, but I’m dying to know. Do you have any music recs? I need something new to get me through studying. Mr. Hopper is killing me with all the essays-do you mind if you text me your Spotify?”

Eddie’s heart stopped. “Uh-absolutely! Here!” He too quickly snatched her extended phone with the skull phone case and dialed his number. He was going to pass out. His fingers were over her phone, something she touched constantly.

He handed it back, brushing against her warm digits.

“Thanks so much, Eddie. I hope I won’t annoy you with updates on my opinions.” Cobain smiled.

“You could never annoy me, Cobain. Besides, any opportunity I have to branch you out, it’s my pleasure.”

She got out the car then, waving goodbye and Eddie like a dumbass hesitated too long and returned the gesture when she turned her back.

Eddie couldn’t get home faster, he probably slammed his breaks way too hard as he raced into his dorm. He pried his jeans off, boxers not even halfway down his thighs before he crashed down on his mattress. His hand still felt tingly from touching hers as he started stroking his precum leaking cock with that hand.

His hard dick twitched as he thought about how it would have felt like to pound her into a crying mess against the seat. Cover the seats in cum and mark her as his. All he fucking want was her. His little Cobain.

Giving her his number? Asking for music recommendations? His knuckles were growing wetter, his forehead dampening as he grew closer. He couldn’t even last as he thought about pulling her pretty pink hair.

“Fuck-“ His core released a flood over his hand, sheets and his barely removed boxers. He panted heavily as he pulled his hand away from his dick.

Eddie imagined it was her not his own palm. Hers were smaller than his but they would be like heaven on his cock.

He sloppily cleaned himself with the fabric of his boxers when his cellphone pinged. Eddie nearly dropped his device as he quickly unlocked to see if Cobain was calling him already.

But it was an unknown number.

He hesitated but figured it may be a student who got his number from his professor.

“Hello?” He still sounded out of breath.

“Hellooo, Edward.” What the fuck? Eddie shot up from laying down. The voice was altered and male. Well…it was just weird.

“Uh, yeah? Who’s this?”

“Me? I’m just a passerby. Someone who’s interested in watching people. Do you like watching people, Eddie?” Oh Jesus H Christ.

“Oh my fucking god. Are you the killer? Fuck no.” He hung up. Eddie scrambled to get his pants, when his phone rang. Again. And again.

He grabbed his phone, slamming it to his ear. “WHAT?”

“Don’t you fucking hang up on me again, you fucking perv. Or I’ll gut you like a fish, got it?” He choked on his spit.

“W-who-“

“Aw, Eddie. What’s wrong? Are you surprised I know your dirty little secret? You shouldn’t be. I mean-its a little…stalker much isn’t it?”

“Me? A stalker? You’re the one going around killing people, you piece of shit.” Eddie grit out, shoving around his clothing and other things to make sure there weren’t any cameras.

“Hey, don’t tell me you’re not glad those people are gone, Eddie. If they weren’t, your little girlfriend wouldn’t have…taken a ride.” He stopped short. Gripping his phone tighter.

“If you hurt her-I swear I’m going-“

“How sweet. Willing to fight for a girl you’re too scared to ask out. Mmm, Eddie. Maybe someone else will do it for you and you can take action.”

“Like what?! Kill someone?”

“It’s just good old fashioned revenge.”

The killer hung up and Eddie shuddered. What the fuck was that? Who the fuck is this killer? And how did they know all of this?

“I can’t believe he called you.” Cobain whispered as he walked with her after class. “Are you okay? He threatened you.” She wrapped her hand around his sweatshirt covered bicep.

Eddie sucked in a breath as he recalled the way he came from just the touch of her hand. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little freaked out is all. He’s not gonna fucking do anything.”

“Do you know anyone else who’s gotten a call?” She held onto him still as they strolled outside. No doubt going to part ways.

It was on the tip of his tongue to see if she would let him take her tonight. But she always went with Bunny.

“Yeah. Jonathan did. Threatening and everything.” Eddie grit between his teeth. “He hasn’t called you or anything yet right?”

She didn’t answer and he swung around. Hands finding her shoulders. Her big eyes were glassy. Pink curls falling across her forehead. Eddie pushed them away with his fingers. “Cobain. Did he call you?”

She audibly swallowed and pulled out her phone. “He didn’t call me. But he’s been…texting me. At least I think it’s him.” He snatched her phone, panic and anger rising.

He scowled at the disgusting messages.

“I’ll slit that slutty neck of yours.”

“You stop talking to me and I’ll kill everyone you love. And then finish you off.”

“Maybe if I chop off those hands of yours you’ll-“ Eddie stopped short at reading out loud when Cobain realized the rest of that sentence. She took her phone back quickly.

Eddie knew it was such bad timing. The rest of the text talked about how she made herself cum. Yesterday. He imagined her small fingers circling her swollen clit before creamy wetness dripped out of her sweet pussy. If he wasn’t with her right now he would go to her bedroom and steal another pair of panties. But then he snapped out of it. She was scared.

“It’s so awful, Eddie. What if he hurts me?” Tears pricked her eyes and he took a risk and hugged her. Resting his head on hers. His hand rubbed her back, feeling the fabric of her black sweater.

“I’d never let anyone hurt you, Cobain. You know that? Maybe you-shouldn’t be alone? I can take you home again?” He was itching to confess.

“Oh, Eddie. You’re so sweet to me.” She pulled back, eyeliner slightly smudged. “but Bunny and I are always together. But…maybe we can hang out at the party? I mean besides. Tonight I have to tell you what I thought about music.”

Oh god he was going to pass out. Right there on the side walk. “Are you-do you want to-“

“I don’t wanna move too fast. I think I’m still a little traumatized by the high school incident.” She chuckled.

Eddie was almost bouncing off the walls with excitement. This was almost a date. Almost. But. “High school incident?”

Sammy shrugged. “It’s a crazy story.”

Eddie nudged her with his boot against her converse shoe.

“I like crazy stories.”

She sighed and shifted on her feet. He loved her green trap pants as she fidgeted with the pockets. “Chrissy and I used to be-I guess enemies? For some reason she made my life hell. She made fun of how I dressed, my grades and she wouldn’t leave me alone. Well, finally I told her off when she dumped her lunch on me. And to get me back-“ She clenched her jaw. “She told everyone that her boyfriend cheated on her. With me.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. How did he not know this? He wasn’t surprised though. Cobain hated drama and confrontation. He felt even more protective of her. “Hey. It’s okay. If you want to take time-just hang out more then I’m more than okay with that, Cobain. But I really like you. And I have for a while. I just didn’t want to make you feel-weird.”

Cobain leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. He saw stars and stopped breathing from her soft lips. He wanted to kiss her but both of their phones buzzed loudly. Like an alarm.

He pulled out his phone.

“Attention students. Classes will be suspended until further notice due to lasts nights crime. Please be aware of any updates. Stay safe and stay with others.”

Another murder? He frowned. No one heard anything. “Someone else was killed.”

Cobain shivered and apparently read the news article. She gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. “Oh god…Eddie. It’s Nancy.” She whispered. “She was-brutally killed. Stabbed so many times. Just like Chrissy. And they-they have a name for this guy.” She looked up. “They’re calling him Ghostface.”

“Of course. Giving this son of a bitch some title. Like he’s famous. Maybe the party-maybe Steve will cancel.”

“I doubt it. As if he stop one of his parties. And besides. Everyone being together in one place is a good idea. I have to go find Bunny. I know she’s probably so scared.”

“Okay, yeah. Of course. I’ll see you tonight, Cobain.” Cobain gave him a smile before she sped walked ahead.

Eddie exhaled. A whirlwind happened. Murder. A almost date. And now…what?

Steve knew how to throw parties, one of is common bragging points as Eddie pulled into an open space on the street across the house. Music blared from inside and it was some hip hop playlist that he dreaded listening to. But really he was going for Cobain. He searched for any sign of her car or bunny’s. Jonathan was here already.

Eddie closed his car door with hip as he walked up to the door holding two cases of beer and he waited for someone to open the door. The man of the hour swung it open, Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “My man. Join us. Fucking perfect, you brought more booze.” He was already slightly slurring.

Eddie forced himself to do an attempted smile as Steve snatched the cases and marched into the kitchen. “Who wants more?” Cheers sounded from the too crowded house.

He didn’t give a fuck about that, right now he needed to find her. Eddie wore a nirvana shirt and his dark jeans. He wanted to show up in something only they understood. Eddie walked into the living room, no sign of her either.

“Hey! Eddie! Come join us!” He turned to see Robin and Marina sitting on the couch. Her girlfriend sitting on her lap. “We’re having a really important discussion. Oh hey, Sammy!”

He whipped around, his boots clinging to the carpet and he almost fell like a fucking idiot.

Cobain was wearing a three quarter sleeve dark brown oversized sweater. Showing off her rose wrist tattoo, thorn thumb tattoo and her matching butterflies with Bunny. Her legs were covered with ripped tights and her converse. He walked over to her and smiled. She did too. He slightly narrowed his eyes at a small red spot on the corner of her makeup covered eye. But he quickly forgot.

“Hey, Cobain, can-I get you-I mean can I get you a beer?” He cleared his throat to try and cover up his stuttering but she was so pretty.

“Yeah, I’d love that thank you.” She winked. “I’m gonna sit over there, I’ll save you a spot.” He blinked a few times at her slightly bolder voice.

“Uh yeah. That would be good.” She raised up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Eddie’s eyes widened as she brushed past him as she made her way to the couch. He assumed Jonathan was with bunny as he sped walked to the couch. Wanting to get back to his girl.

But he saw Bunny whispering in Steve’s ear. Steve was smirking as she twirled her hair. Eddie frowned. But he minded his business as he got two bottles and came back to where the group was. Cobain was sitting on a loveseat and padded a place next to her. He probably walked too quickly and almost dropped the glass bottles and he clumsily plopped next to her. Their legs pressed close together.

He decided to try and be bold with his hand but she beat him to it. Her palm brushed against his knee. She looked at him with her doe eyes and long lashes. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah of course. I-I like it.” He was so excited as he twisted the caps off. “For you, Cobain.”

“Okay, okay enough of the lovey dovey shit!” Robin interrupted and stood up. “Except for you, Cherry.” She dipped down to kiss Marinas lips before shooting up and frantically waving around her half empty beer. “Listen. If we’re gonna survive this spree of this psycho. We need to understand the rules.”

“Rules? At a party?” Steve proudly puffed his chest as he stepped in the living room. “That’s the last thing on my mind, Robs.” She scoffed and flipped him off.

“Yes rules, Dingus. The first one, you can NEVER have sex!” Everyone booed and laughed. Cobain and Eddie glanced at each other, and she squeezed his knee tighter. He set his ring covered palm on top of hers and traced the tattoo with his thumb.

“I think you’re a little late for that,” Steve smirked.

“Number two! You can never drink or do drugs!” Then everyone laughed harder, including Eddie himself as he raised his beer and remembered the weed kept in an extremely secret stash in his car.

Cobain started chugging her drink and Eddie started flushing. Something was different about her tonight. His shy little Cobain was getting out of her shell and he wanted to fucking kiss her so badly. Her throat gulped and he wanted to suck on her skin. Leave marks of his territory. If they weren’t in front of people-

She started to rise, her hand running against a strand of his messy waves. He opened his mouth to protest but Robin continued.

“And third! Never, ever under any circumstances say I’ll be right back. Because you won’t be back.”

Cobain turned at the edge of the door leading to the garage, “I’m getting another beer, you want one?”

Robin absentmindedly nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Cobain stuck out her arms, “I’LL BE RIGHT BACK!”

Eddie burst out laughing as Robin gasped. But a part of him sunk because he felt like she kept disappearing. But he wasn’t going to pout. He was going to wait for her. Like he promised himself he would. He glanced down after feeling his phone buzz. He sighed, hoping it wasn’t his uncle needing something. But he choked when he saw an unknown number.

“Looks like you’re going to break a rule, perverted little bitch.”

It was almost too easy as Sammy silently slipped on the gown and met her best friend in the garage. She smirked as she hid in the corner of behind the door. Bunny was in her robe, after leaving a shit scared Steve locked in the bedroom. Forbidding him to scream. Jason was coming; one of the men who bullied them. Tormented Sammy. He would pay the price. Revenge was very sweet.

The door opened, and they nodded at each other. Signaling the start of their conquest.

Jason was rummaging through the fridge, getting an arm full of beers wearing his jersey he refused to part with. His sneakers squeaked as he turned around. But Bunny was standing in front of the door.

“Shit, Jesus. That’s not fucking funny, Steve.” Jason snarled. Trying to move past but she grabbed his arm. Tightly.

“Oh? You wanna be like the psycho killer out there? Some little copy cat? You’re too small to be Harrington…I bet your Robins little girlfriend.” Bunny pulled out her hunting knife, and held it up. Waving it back and forth.

“You want me to be your helpless victim? Please, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface. I really want to fuck a little Bunny.”

Then she shoved him and Sammy ran out of her hiding place and locked her arm around Jason’s neck. He flailed and he was strong. Really strong but they both practiced enough time to overpower men. “Kill this motherfucker.” Sammy growled.

They both slammed their knives on either side of his neck. He sank as they yanked out their blades, took their sleeves and wiped the knife.

“Another one down.” Bunny kicked off her costume, kicking it in the corner and Sammy decided to leave hers on. Give Eddie a little scare.

“Fuck, that one was fun. He didn’t even have a chance. But we gotta go, I’m sure those little pervs are waiting for us.”

Bunny went back up the stairs, putting back her soft act and exited the garage. Sammy opened the metal door and snuck outside. But she wasn’t alone when one of the guests started to scream. She let out an exhale before she started chasing after them.

Her past with track paid off as she lodged the knife into guys shoulder before ripping it out. She didn’t want to kill him, she wanted to cause chaos.

Sammy stopped as he started screaming inside the house, yelling that Ghostface was outside. She heard more yelling, and she quickly ducked behind a bush. She pulled off one glove and called Eddie.

“Cobain, Jesus Christ, where are you? That fucking Ghostface is here!”

“I’m so scared, Eddie! I was in the garage and I saw Jason was dead!”

“Is that where you are? I’ll find you,” Eddie voice was almost muffled by the crowd.

“I can sneak past the side door, and meet me upstairs.” She hung up and got back inside the house.

It was nearly empty as she saw Eddie holding his phone to his ear in the kitchen. His eyes widened and he took off. Sammy almost cackled as she followed him, knife raised as she chased him up the stairs, she had memorized the house enough to know a guest room was to their right as he shoved open the door.

She managed to reach him and grab his hair, fingers locking around his curls and she turned him around quickly, pushing him against the wall, blade pointed to his neck.

“Who the fuck are you?” Eddie was squirming and likely trying to think of a way to get around her.

Sammy started then laughing. “Oh, Eddie.” His face immediately paled and he went slack.

“C-Cobain?” His eyes were wide as she slowly pulled off her mask, blood still damp on her gloves as she continued smiling at him.

“Surpriseeee, Eddie.”

“No, no, this isn’t possible. This has to be some fucked up joke. You’d never hurt-“ Sammy held the knife to his neck, causing him to gasp. His pale skin flushing.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Eddie, you’re so hot when you’re scared, pretty boy.”

“You’ve killed people, this is crazy! What- why did you do it?” Eddie was trying to regain his voice but his movements stalled when she pressed a little harder, her other arm reached up to settle on the side of his head.

“You want a motive? Is that it? Who says I have one?” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Maybe it was just fun…”

“No, it can’t be that. There has to be a reason.”

“Maybe all those fucking shitty people had it coming. They all deserved it. Every. Single. One. We just got revenge. What everyone is too scared to do.” Sammy started nodding her head. “Is that motive enough for you?”

She looked down at his pants, he was hard. “Dirty boy, you like this. Being under my mercy, don’t you? Just like when you take my stuff. Cum around it.” His brown eyes widened. “Oh yeah, I know all about it. Maybe I left it out for that exact reason.”

She slid her free hand down his chest, he shivered as her blood stained glove left a trail. “You like this…you want it, don't you?”

“I can’t- it’s not right-“ She smacked his dick with the knife. Enough pressure to get his attention but it wouldn’t hurt. She pulled the glove off.

“Don’t lie to me, it’s pathetic.” She whispered and leaned in closer, hovering over his mouth. “Hmm? You gonna make me do all the work?”

Eddie lost control when he smashed his lips to hers, apparently losing all morals as they were nothing but teeth and tongues devouring each other. His hands locked around her hips as she ground them against his dick.

Sammy then grabbed his neck and turned him. She landed on top of him on the perfectly made bed as she slit the knife through the material of his shirt, exposing his fit torso. He moaned as she traced his stomach then v line with the tip of the blade. It glimmered underneath the poor lighting.

“Dirty slut, you want me to ride you? You want to make me cum? I think you’ve earned it.”

“Fuck, please. Please, fuck me. I need you,” She cut him off by kissing him with bruising force and bit his lower lip. He opened his mouth and she took the opportunity to spit inside as she started slightly bouncing. Still with their clothes on.

Sammy started sucking his neck, leaving purple marks before moving down his chest. Making her way down his hips above his jeans. She tossed the knife on the floor as she pulled off his pants and boxers.

His cock slapped against his stomach as precum leaked from the tip. “Is this all for me?” She smeared it with her thumb as he rapidly nodded.

“Yeah, I need it-“

Sammy wasted no time getting on her knees on the floor, her own pussy soaking through her panties as she wrapped her lips around the swollen tip of his dick. Eddie moaned louder, an almost animalistic sound from his chest as his hand flew to her pink hair.

Her tongue messily lapped the sides of his cock before she massaged his balls and returned to sucking. She breathed through her nose as she bobbed her head. Her mouth was growing wetter as he grew close. He was going to cum already. Sammy gagged as he thrusted into her mouth and hit the back of her throat.

He spilled into her mouth and she pulled back, wiping her chin as she crawled on top of him again. Straddling his naked hips. Eddie was panting as he grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her again.

His breathing was pornographic as Sammy shimmied out of her shorts and tights, she wasn’t wearing underwear as her cunt clenched around nothing. “You want me to fuck you?” She baited him against his lips.

“God, yes. Ride me, I’m begging you.” He was almost on the brink of tears as she guided his cock to her pussy and sank down.

She was stretched and then filled up as she groaned. Her hands on his shoulders as she started bouncing. Eddie’s palm went around her throat and she allowed him. Poor pretty boy needed something to brag about. The headboard slammed against the wall and she was growing close. The adrenaline of killing and fucking Eddie Munson was enough to make her cum. His thumb rubbed her clit, speeding up the climax.

It hit her like lighting and she shuddered, her forehead pressed against his. Sweat dampening her skin. She began to move again, knowing he didn’t cum the second time but he stilled her.

“No, I can- I can wait. That was about you.” He whispered.

She gave him a smirk and then grabbed his jaw, her post orgasm trembling making it sloppy. “Good. Because now, I’m going to make you scream for me.”

@scene-and-dandylover @reidsbtch @monstxrteeth @take-everything-you-can @emsgoodthinkin @slvt4jamesmarch @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @imyourdaninow @chrrymunson @melodymunson @slutty-thevampireslayer @rodriguez31 @elaine-in-the-membrane

Thank you for taking the time to read!

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fem!reader #Eddie Munson scream AU #ghostface reader! Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson imagine #OC #stranger things fic #stranger things AU

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tsunami-of-tears · 4 months

Text

A Court of Shadows and Sunshine — Part Nine

Azriel x Aurora (OC)

Summary: Cute mating bond fluff and chafing. Most filler chapter.

A/N: SHE’S BACK!! Sorry for the hiatus - I’ve been struggling since the holidays. It’s been hard to get back into it, I lost my uncle recently so I think there will be some self-insert to come.

Wordcount: 900

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst/pining, sexual themes

Part Eight

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧

Azriel

It’s just past dawn when Azriel slips back into bed, the dim morning sun illuminates the room in a hazy glow. Aurora stirs, reaching out for him.

“Where’d you go?” she asks sleepily.

Azriel sinks into the warmth and wraps his arms and wings around Aurora - in both protection and comfort. “I had some business to attend to, I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Aurora gently grabs Azriel’s bandaged hand. “Who did you beat up?” she questions, turning her head to look into his eyes.

“No one that didn’t deserve it,” Azriel answers, kissing Aurora tenderly on her forehead.

Aurora sighs, relaxing further into Azriel’s chest. “Are we training with the others today?”

“I planned to give you some time off, I don’t want you to push yourself.”

“I know, but it gives me something to focus on. It helps to channel everything more healthily.”

Azriel rests his chin against the top of Aurora’s head and sighs deeply. He completely understands where she’s coming from, but in the same breath - his protective instincts were firing and he didn’t want to put her at risk.

“How about we train together, just the two of us? That way, you won’t lose any progress and I won’t worry so much.”

“Okay, deal,” Aurora agrees.

————

The next few days were like a dream.

No, they were better than anything Azriel could have dreamed up. He had his mate, and she was everything and more than he’d ever hoped for.

Their days were split between exercising and lounging around together - either chatting or simply enjoying each other’s presence.

Azriel taught Aurora new fighting techniques and after, she taught him new yoga poses.

With all the training, Azriel was working one muscle harder than the rest - his self-control.

Gods…

The way she moved, how she looked up at him with those big beautiful eyes and that innocent little smile.

Azriel had never yearned for someone like this.

Still, there was one thought that played over and over in his mind. ‘It could have been worse.’

Azriel guessed what Aurora meant by that, but he wasn’t sure Prythian would still exist if his worst fears were confirmed.

Regardless of that glowing thread and the tug in his chest, Azriel would wait for Aurora to make the first move. He’d rather go without those touches forever than push her too far, away from him.

————

Aurora

Ever since the mating bond snapped into place, Azriel had barely left your side. And, he’d never pushed for more intimacy than you were ready for. You truly didn’t understand how you got so lucky, but you thanked the Cauldron every day.

Helion, your uncle, was staying in Velaris to assist in your magic training, alongside Rhys and Amren.

It was strange to spend time with Helion knowing the truth of your heritage, you wondered how you never noticed the resemblance. It seemed so obvious now. It was bittersweet - you were grateful to have him in your life again but it made you wish you’d had more time with both of your parents.

Once you understood how your powers worked and what they could do beyond creating light - it was much easier to start to harness them. It wasn’t long until you were breaking small wards created by your High Lord and his Second.

As well as spell-cleaving, you discovered your magic made a great shield - one that could protect you from even the harsh blast of a Siphon. With your budding confidence and your growing grasp of your powers - everyone agreed it was time to rejoin Valkyrie training.

————

Despite the cold wind rushing around you, you felt warm and at peace. You always did with Azriel. In his arms, you soar above Velaris, making your way to the House of Wind for training. Your first training session with the group since the bond snapped.

You hadn’t seen much of Cassian or Nesta in that time, and you were worried they’d been avoiding you since you revealed your powers.

That worry faded quickly, as you’re met with big smiles from everyone.

Cassian steps forward, moving closer to you and Azriel. “Good to see you, Rory. Let’s see if you’ve kept Az in shape.” Cassian smirks at you and playfully slaps Azriel on the chest. Azriel straightens his back and his wings flare slightly, making him appear even taller.

You glance between the males, and you scrunch your nose, slightly confused. “What do you mean?” You question. “We’ve been training every day.”

“Training eh, is that what you call it?” Cassian chuckles.

Wings flare, and glowing beams of red and blue flash in front of you. The movement stops as Azriel pins Cassian to the ground on his back. Cassian raises his hands, conceding defeat. “I’m sorry Az, chafing much?” he laughs.

Azriel glares as he offers Cassian his hand, helping him to his feet.

From beside you, Nesta rolls her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest. “Illyrian brutes,” she mutters.

Cassian turns to address the group, “Okay, let's warm up and then Rory, you can show us what you’ve learnt in your special training.” One glance at Azriel’s face has Cassian backtracking and raising his palms again, “Oh no, Az, I meant the training with Helion. I promise I won’t joke again.”

The remark makes Nesta scoff, and the pair begin bickering. You smile softly and look up at your mate. Love pours down the bond in both directions. It took a while, but you’ve finally found your family. Both of you have.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧

Tags ♡ @mis-lil-red

Part Ten

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel x oc #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acomaf #acowar #acotar #acosf #azriel fic

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kokoch4n3l · 2 months

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˗ˏˋ ve kamleya ࿐ྂ "if you want to do something, go fall in love. fulfill your stubborn wish for once"

summary: in which during a deal with overseas businessmen, bonten finds out about your shitty ex from high school

pairing(s): slight bonten x desi!oc, implied mikey x desi!oc

notes: oc is punjabi cuz I said so and this is also kind of a self-insert so... title from my fav hindi song ve kamleya, the video has eng subs btw. dividers by cafekitsune

warnings: dark content 18+, canon typical violence, drug-related business(opium), drug trafficking, slight misogyny, implied/referenced ptsd, past abusive relationship, mean!manjiro, slight insensitivity, blood and gore, implied torture, implied murder, suggestive themes

word count: 3770

The smoky haze of the dimly lit room hung heavy, casting shadows that danced across the faces of the assembled men. Sano Manjiro, the imposing leader of the Bonten gang, sat at the head of the table, his steely gaze surveying the room with a mixture of authority and calm. Around him sat his trusted lieutenants, each one a force to be reckoned with in their own right. The only woman among them, commanded the attention of the room as she rose to address their guests once again after hours of debate. After all, Sano Manjiro trusted no one else to get this deal done. “I understand the… demand, for opium up in the north of India but you should also know we aren’t lowering our price either” She says in English, tone gentle yet somehow firm at the same time

Her words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of the strength of their position in the negotiations. The guests shifted uncomfortably, keenly aware of the delicate balance of power at play. "We are prepared to meet your needs," she continued in the same language, her gaze steady. "But it must be on terms that are mutually beneficial."

One man clears his throat and speaks up finally. “You must understand Miss, we have no deficiency of suppliers, especially for opium,” The man says in English with a slight accent behind it as he casually adjusts his gold rings “The stuff from Japan is a lot higher in quality which is why we’re here doing this deal anyway. But we—”

“Because it is a lot higher in quality we cannot lower our price” She interjects with a calm smile “You know, labour costs and all”

The man's expression tightened, his gaze flickering between her and Sano Manjiro as if weighing his options. Behind him, his companions exchanged cautious glances, sensing the tension in the air. "We understand your position," the man replied finally, his tone conceding to the reality of the situation. "But surely there's room for negotiation."

Her smile remained fixed, though her eyes betrayed no hint of compromise. "Of course, negotiations are always possible," she conceded her voice like velvet over steel. "But we must be clear on one thing: our price reflects not just the quality of our product, but the risks we undertake to supply it."

Akashi Takeomi, silent until now, leaned forward slightly. "Our operations are not without their challenges," he added, his voice low back in the same language, his accent a lot thicker than hers "But for the right partners, we are willing to mitigate those risks."

The men turn to each other and start conversing in another language and at the same time, she quietly translates to Takeomi exactly what they’re saying back in Japanese. She eyes Manjiro who’s standing in front of the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the meeting room. It looked like he was zoned out, staring at the skyline of Tokyo but she and the rest of Bonten knew better than to think that. He was listening alright, even when it didn’t look like he was. The rest were just leaning back in their chairs, bored from the constant debate. “Say, Miss…” One of the men, probably the youngest, says in English with a prominent American accent “I hear you’re from India too. What state?”

She raises her brow at the question but responds anyway. “Punjab”

The other men seem to get excited at her answer. Of course, they would. After all, what language were they speaking this entire time to each other? “Really? I knew I recognized that nose from somewhere” One man switches to Punjabi when addressing her “Women from the north are known for being beautiful. I should have known you were from there”

His change of tone catches Manjiro’s attention and he finally, since the beginning of this meeting, turns to look at the businessmen. He obviously didn’t understand what they said but his instincts were something even the executives were afraid of so she won’t doubt that he had gotten the gist of what had been said. She shifts in her seat, Takeomi and the rest of Bonten looking at her curiously. “As much as I appreciate the flattery, we still aren’t lowering our price” She replies calmly in English, knowing replying back in Punjabi would no doubt make Manjiro aggravated as he liked to know what she was saying at all times

The businessmen exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Behind them, Sano Manjiro remained silent, his gaze now fixed on her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. She knew that he was listening, that every word spoken in his presence was carefully scrutinized for any hint of deception or weakness. The youngest of the group seemed unfazed by her response, pressing on with his attempts at charm. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, an American accent thick even when speaking in Punjabi, with arrogance. "Surely we can come to some sort of arrangement."

Her smile tightened, a glimmer of steel beneath her gentle facade. "I'm afraid not," she replied in English, her tone cool and final. "Our price is non-negotiable."

The tension in the room was palpable, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken threats. It’s just then the door of the meeting room opens revealing a new face. “Sorry I’m late, traffic in Tokyo is—”

Manjiro waves the newcomer off. He was obviously with the other businessmen. The other executives are annoyed as hell with the lateness, after all the meeting had been going on for hours already, but don’t mention it as they’re tired. But that’s when Manjiro notices his only female executive has gone still. She’s frozen which is extremely uncharacteristic of her and it worries him. So he does the first thing that comes to mind. “How about we take a break.” He says, voice low and everyone knows it’s not an offer but a command

Manjiro headed for the door of the meeting room and his executives followed behind, Takeomi having to literally drag her to stand at one point. They’re in the elevator. Manjiro eyes her as she removes her red-bottomed heels from her feet, sighing in relief. The elevator is going up to the top floor. “Any weaknesses so far?” Kakucho asks, his voice breaking the silence

“Punctuality apparently” Ran mutters in annoyance

They all look toward her, wondering what she had to say but instead, she’s silent, holding her heels in one hand, leaning against the elevator wall looking very out of breath. Rindo snaps his fingers in front of her face. “Dude” he says

“Hm?” she looks up at him, uncharacteristically dazed

Usually, she would have snapped at him, kicked Rindo in the shin or threatened to stab him with her heels but no, she didn’t. It was… concerning. Her uncharacteristic behaviour caught everyone’s attention. She isn’t usually like this— quiet, dazed and unconfident. No one is sure what to say, not even Kakucho who was Bonten’s collective impulse control and unlicenced and unpaid therapist. The elevator reaches the top floor and they file out of the elevator, into the private lounge. They watch in silence as she sits on the long circular-shaped couch, her heels dropped carelessly to the floor as she puts her hair up, revealing the hanafuda full moon tattoo on the back of her neck— on the same location as Manjiro has his. Manjiro takes a seat next to her and the rest sit on the couch too, staring. She looks at them, narrowing her eyes a bit. “What?”

“We should be asking you that” Mochi says as he lights himself a cigarette

Her gaze lingered on each member of Bonten in turn, her expression inscrutable, as if weighing her words carefully before speaking. The tension in the room tightened like a taut wire, anticipation thrumming through the air. "I'm fine," she finally replied, her tone clipped, though the strain in her voice was evident to those who knew her well. "Too many languages just making my head hurt"

The response did little to ease the unease that had settled over the group like a heavy fog. They had seen her weather countless storms with unyielding resolve, her strength a pillar upon which they had come to rely. But now, faced with her uncharacteristic vulnerability, they found themselves at a loss for how to proceed. Manjiro studied her carefully, his keen eyes searching for any sign of deception or weakness. He knew her better than anyone and understood the walls she erected to shield herself from the world. But beneath the facade of stoicism, he sensed a flicker of genuine concern, a vulnerability she had never shown before. “Nah uh,” Sanzu says rolling his eyes “You started being all weird when the motherfucker who doesn’t know how to be on time showed up”

She shifts uncomfortably. It seems Sanzu’s observation was a hit. Her discomfort was palpable, her usual confidence shaken by the blunt observation. She shifted in her seat, a flicker of uncertainty betraying her stoic facade. The others watched her closely, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity, unsure of how to proceed. Sanzu's words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the tension that had simmered beneath the surface since the newcomer's arrival. She felt the weight of their expectations bearing down on her, the pressure to maintain her composure in the face of mounting scrutiny. "I..." She began, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the right words.

She couldn’t find an excuse. But even as she stayed silent, she could feel the disapproving stares of her companions, their silent judgment weighing heavily upon her. Manjiro, ever the astute leader, sensed her distress and moved to intervene. "Enough," he declared, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "This conversation is over."

His authoritative tone brooked no argument, and the others fell silent, their eyes darting between her and their leader. “Go back to the meeting the rest of you”

Rest of you meaning, everyone leave and Manjiro and her stay. Without a word, the others rose from their seats, casting one last glance at her before filing out of the room. As the door closed behind them, a heavy silence descended, leaving only Manjiro and her alone in the private lounge. Manjiro looks at her, black eyes a bottomless pit of nothing. “What’s wrong?” He asks

There was no room for reflecting on his question. Manjiro was direct and needed answers as to why his best negotiator had suddenly frozen up in the midst of a deal. “You know him” It wasn’t a question this time but an observation

Manjiro understood the intricacies of their world better than anyone, and he knew the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of even the most seemingly innocuous interactions. The newcomer's presence had disrupted the delicate balance of power, setting off alarm bells in her mind that she couldn't ignore. “I um… I…” She isn’t able to get her words out

He gives her a look. “Tell me” It’s a command

She shifts uncomfortably. She fiddles with her white gold rings, they glimmer under the artificial lighting. “That’s my ex…”

Manjiro raises a brow. Her admission hung heavy in the air, the weight of her revelation settling like a leaden cloak upon them both. Manjiro's expression remained unreadable, though a flicker of concern danced in the depths of his obsidian eyes. "Your ex…" he repeated, his voice betraying no emotion.

She nodded, her throat constricting with the weight of unspoken memories and unresolved emotions. She had hoped to keep her past firmly buried in the depths of her mind, but now, confronted with Manjiro's unwavering gaze, she found herself unable to hide the truth any longer. "He... he wasn't supposed to be here," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought... I thought I could handle it, but..."

Her words trailed off, lost in the suffocating silence that enveloped them. She could feel the weight of Manjiro's scrutiny bearing down upon her, his gaze penetrating as he searched for some semblance of understanding in her haunted eyes. “And what did he do for my best negotiator to react like a psychiatric patient just at the sight of him?”

She shifts again but this time he holds her thigh to stop her from moving. There was no getting out of this conversation. Manjiro always got what he wanted and right now he wanted answers. “I… I dated him in high school”

It’s been years. She knows Manjiro is gonna belittle her for being this way over something that ended years ago but… She spills. She tries her best to tell him vaguely what happened— trying to be as vague as possible but Manjiro just keeps asking for more details. He wanted to know everything and once he was satisfied he pulled out his phone and typed something then threw it carelessly on the table. “Is that why you don’t date or sleep around like the others do?” He asks bluntly “Because of what he did?”

Manjiro looked angry. It was odd seeing an actual emotion in his eyes for once even if it was anger. She gulps. Oh man did she hate her stupid ex right now. It had been years since they broke up or well, since she forced the break up because he refused to let her leave. That stupid asshole traumatized her so badly that now even though she was an executive for Japan’s most ruthless and dangerous gang, he made her want to throw up from fear. “I’m sorry—”

“Shut up” Manjiro says lowly but she keeps going

“No, it was extremely unprofessional and I shouldn’t let my personal feelings come in the middle of work—”

He cuts her off again, grabbing her face and squeezing her cheeks together. Her lips jut out a bit from the action. The tips of Manjiro’s fingers dig into her cheeks and her skin warms under his touch, turning the most endearing shade of pink he’s ever seen. “And what exactly are you apologizing for?” Manjiro mutters looking annoyed

She thinks he might just shoot her, empty his Glock out in her head and get Sanzu or Koko to call the cleaners to get rid of her body and turn her into fishbait. “F-For fucking up the deal…” She tries saying as he squeezes her face tighter with the tips of his fingers

Manjiro chuckles and it has to be one of the scariest things she’s heard in her life. “Wrong. Apologize for dating such an ugly little bitch”

“... huh?”

She thinks she’s hearing things. “You heard me,” Manjiro says nonchalantly “apologize”

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to comprehend the meaning behind his words. Was this some twisted form of punishment? Or was there something else, something more insidious, at play here? With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, She realized that she was treading dangerous waters, her every move scrutinized by the man before her. And as she searched his eyes for some semblance of understanding, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his demand than met the eye. Sanzu and Rindo often joked that she got away with a lot of things and Manjiro was the most lenient with her. Was Manjiro finally giving her the punishment she deserved for all the other times she fucked up? Oh man, no way she was going to die because of her stupid bitch ass ex. “Hey” He says snapping her out of her thoughts

She looks at him. “The deal is off. I don’t want it to go through anyway”

Her eyes widen at his words. “Wait w-what—”

But Manjiro's expression remained impassive, his gaze unwavering as he met her eyes. There was a hardness in his stare, a determination that sent a shiver down her spine. "I said the deal is off," he repeated, his tone firm.

Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of Manjiro's decision. Was this punishment for her perceived failure? Or was there something else at play, something she couldn't quite grasp? As she searched his eyes for some clue, some hint of understanding, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Manjiro's actions than met the eye. Manjiro's gaze held a steely resolve as she struggled to comprehend his abrupt decision. The implications of the deal falling through reverberated through the room, casting a shadow over their carefully laid plans. But beneath the surface, she sensed a tension, a hidden undercurrent that hinted at something deeper. "Why?" she asked, her voice tinged with confusion and a hint of desperation. "Why cancel the deal?"

Manjiro's expression softened ever so slightly, a flicker of something akin to regret in his eyes. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, one that sent a jolt of uncertainty coursing through her veins. "Because some things are more important than business," Manjiro replied, his voice low and measured.

Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of his cryptic words. What could be more important than securing Bonten's position in the underworld? What could possibly justify throwing away the opportunity they had worked so hard to achieve? But before she can speak, he lets go of her face and his hand slides to the back of her neck, the tips of his fingers now digging into her— his— tattoo. Almost as if he could read her mind he asks, “Are you questioning my authority?”

She doesn’t dare move away from him or shake her no to answer him. Manjiro didn’t like being answered with gestures, he preferred words. “N-No…”

“Good” he says

Manjiro's hand lingered on the back of her neck, his touch was both possessive and unsettling. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. His nails slightly dig into the knobs of her spine, right on the tattoo. It doesn’t hurt but it feels hot. One thing Manjiro often reminded her of is that Bonten was his. That included the executives and that especially included her. Her life belonged to him and he clearly wasn’t taking her being afraid of someone that wasn’t him very nicely. “You’re really gonna let a guy like that stop you from ever falling in love again?”

The question almost stopped her heart because it was not what she expected him to ask. She had never expected Manjiro to broach such a sensitive topic, let alone express concern for her romantic endeavours. But beneath the surprise, a flicker of something else stirred within her—a yearning for something more, something beyond the confines of Bonten's ruthless world. "I..." she faltered, her voice barely above a whisper.

How could she explain the depths of her fear, the scars that her past had left upon her soul? How could she make him understand the tangled web of emotions that had kept her trapped in the shadow of her own memories? But before she could formulate a response, Manjiro's hand tightened on the back of her neck, his grip possessive yet strangely comforting. "You don't have to answer now," he said, his voice softer than before but it quickly went back to being harsh “I am disappointed though”

His hand holding her thigh comes up to hold her cheek now. She’s frozen, unsure of what to do. "How could my executive let a little bitch like that do that to her and not move on for years?" Manjiro's voice was low, his words cutting through the silence like a knife.

Her mind raced as she struggled to find the right words to say. How could she explain the depths of her pain, the scars that her past had left upon her soul? How could she make him understand the tangled web of emotions that had kept her trapped in the shadow of her own memories? But before she could formulate a response, Manjiro's thumb brushed against her cheekbone, his touch both intimate and unsettling. She felt a surge of vulnerability wash over her, a raw honesty that threatened to shatter the carefully constructed walls she had built around her heart. "I... I don't know," She finally whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I'm sorry..."

Manjiro's grip on her cheek tightened, his touch both gentle and commanding. He held her gaze with an intensity that made her feel as though he could see straight through to her soul. "Sorry doesn't change the past," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

She felt a knot form in her stomach at his words, a familiar sense of guilt and inadequacy washing over her. She had spent years trying to bury the pain of her past, to escape the memories that haunted her every waking moment. But now, confronted with Manjiro's unwavering gaze, she couldn't help but feel as though she had failed him in some fundamental way. "I know…" she replied softly, her voice barely audible above the sound of her own heartbeat.

Manjiro's thumb traced a slow, soothing pattern against her cheekbone, his touch a silent reassurance amidst the storm of emotions raging within her. Finally, after a long moment of silence, he speaks up “Fall in love again…”

His words are unexpected but she also makes no move to pull back from him. “Is that an order, Mr. Sano?”

Finally, Manjiro smiles. It’s genuine. Or at least it seems genuine. “Yes. Yes it is”

“Did you call the clean-up crew?” Ran asks Koko who’s cleaning the blood of his shoes

Koko nods wordlessly, a look of annoyance on his face as he had just bought these damn shoes yesterday. “Let’s go back up” Takeomi says as he lights a cigarette, stepping over a dead body of one of the businessmen

“Maybe not” Kakucho interjects as his eyes are on his phone, cheeks a little flushed

He shoves it into his pocket and shakes his head at his fellow colleagues. For a moment they’re silent until— “fuckin’ hell” Mochi grumbles as he transfers 10 thousand into Ran’s account

“See I fuckin’ told you he’d fuck her” Ran says with a shrug, eyes lighting up at the notification on his phone signalling the transfer had been made and completed

Their conversation is cut out with a loud scream as Sanzu stabs his katana through her ex’s chest. They look towards him and the pink-haired male simply shrugs.

#tokyo revengers #mikey sano #sano mikey manjiro #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers fandom #sano manjiro #bonten mikey #bonten future timeline #manjiro sano #tokyo manji gang #bonten #bonten!mikey

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frescoisnotinthemilitary · 1 month

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Hi!! I really love your works.. can I request a fic? I was maybe hoping for Soap helping reader through caffeine withdrawal? 👀 I know it's a bit specific, but I find it really endearing ☹️☹️

P.S. I love Amelia!! Such a neat OC. 🫶🫶

What’s In A Drink? Caffeine, Apparently.

A John “Soap” MacTavish x Reader fic

A/N: Thank you, Anon!

I’ve been wanting to write something for Soap for a bit, but I couldn’t really think of anything I might want to do. I’m going to make this two parts, just to give you all something to nibble on while I work on the other things. Thank you to my readers for the brainworms and all the support! I’m sorry that this part is so short :/

This one’s a little heavy on the content warnings only because addiction is a sensitive topic, and I get that it’s hard for some people. That being said, it’s entirely understandable if you don’t want to read this. Feel free to keep scrolling.

CW/TW: slight angst, discussions and symptoms of addiction/withdrawal, depressive and self-deprecating behavior, swearing, implied self-starvation

18+ only please, MDNI (I can’t control your content consumption, but if you’re underage, don’t interact). As much as I appreciate the support, I don’t want to block people.

Reader: GN Reader, You/Your PNs, use of R/N

“C’mon, ye’ve gottae eat.” It’s the same familiar brogue that you love-hate. Johnny.

“I can’t,” you say, picking your head off your arms. The all-too-familiar prickle of irritation scratches at the back of your skull. “My appetite is nonexistent.”

“At least try, please. It’s no’ good to starve yerself,” Johnny pleads.

The prickle starts to feel more like cactus spines with every passing second. “I said I’m not hungry, John.” John. You never call him John. “Just back off.”

But of course, Johnny’s persistence remains. He steels himself for the rest of the harsh words that are sure to spill from your lips. “Look, ye dinnae need to be cunty. I’m only tryin’ tae help ye. It’s better tae eat proper food than chug an energy drink. And ye ken we’re using vacation days for this.”

Your head falls back down to rest on your forearm, your other hand fidgeting with the ties of your sweatshirt’s hood. You’re staring at the ground beneath the table, between your socked feet. “I didn’t ask for your help, Johnny. You just kind of inserted yourself into my business, now you’re wasting your vacation days making sure I get out of bed and eat more than half a bowl of cereal. I didn’t ask you to.”

“Look, I ken,” Johnny sighs. “I ken ye dinnae want me around, but I want tae help ye feel better. I ken it’s hard, but it’s easier tae do it now than tae deal wit’ it on a mission when ye cannae have a Monster. Not tae mention, they’re shite for yer health; the taurine in those things, Jesus.”

“Alright, Johnny, I get it. Just back off,” you grumble, pushing your chair from the table as you stand. “I don’t need your help. Just leave me alone.”

Johnny looks at you softly, almost sadly, as you turn and walk towards your room. “Love, I didnae mean to pester ye, I only want ye better.”

“Why, you can’t deal with me like this?” You spit.

He’s shocked, taken aback, but he still tries to fix it. “No, I didnae mean it like that, I swear. I only meant-”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant. I don’t care. Might just be better if we broke up, seeing as you don’t want to put up with me anymore.”

“What? No, R/N, I didnae say that! I dinnae want tae throw us away over a little misunderstanding. I love ye, and I want tae marry ye one day. I-” He cut himself off.

“Look, I don’t care, okay? I mean- wait, what did you say? You want to marry me?”

I'm cutting this here (for the cliffhanger hehe). I'll probably have the other half out for y'all in a few days. I've been extra busy lately and haven't found much time to work on the fics, but I'm trying when I can. Thank you all for being so patient and supporting me!

P.S. I'll upload this to Ao3 later. I'm a bit short on time at the moment.

#Thank you for everything pookies #I love you all so much /p #Call of duty #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish #soap cod #john MacTavish x reader #Tw: angst #tw: depression #tw: withdrawal #Tw: addiction #part 1 #john mactavish cod #cod #cod x reader #fresco’s done coke again

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i23kazu · 4 months

Text

𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒

these are all my ocs !!! do be nice :-) i've worked hard on them hehehe and i'm glad they get to come out of the basement now, please click on the picrews for better quality ! ! !! | post best viewed in light mode

𝓵𝓾𝓬𝓲𝓮𝓷

he/him | 24 y.o. | modern au genshin !!! | ✦✦✦✦

fontainian intern at tianquan co ( a government agency dealing with policies ) !

lucien is originally from the court of fontaine but studied in liyue for law (ex-classmates with yanfei heheeee) and is now working as an intern ( because the government companies in liyue won't let him full time :") )

he hopes to create a stronger support group for foreigners in liyue to connect them with job opportunities & resource broking heh – he and yanfei work together to try and find loopholes but liyue law is TIGHTT

wishes he could do more though ngl poor bebs

hydro polearm :3 !!!!

it was his flex for a while that he got the same element as the one from his homeland mwahaha

love language : words of affirmation

𝓴𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓪𝓱

she/her | 20 y.o. | slight modern au genshin !!! | ✦✦✦✦

LIYUEAN SOCIAL WORKER !!!! <333 she's my representation /cope

masc girl ever

works in liyue's youth sector for the ministry of social affairs !! covers up her tattoo when she goes to work (everyone always asks her why she's wearing a turtleneck in office)

has a wolfcut - mullet - thingy ?? ?? ?

super boisterious like this girl is loud. she's one of beidou's friends & is close to shuying ( my self-insert oc !!! )

yongjia's twin !!! younger than him by 4 mins

does boxing in her spare time

u'll find her organising peaceful protests when she can btw #advocate

pyro claymore !!!

love language : physical touch

𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓲𝓪

he/him | 20 y.o. | slight modern au genshin | ✦✦✦✦

communications manager for a supply company that works with the restaurants of liyue!

kailah's twin !!!! older by 4 minutes

the more reserved sibling – but certain people definitely bring out certain parts of himself

dyed his hair bc he went through the phase of not wanting to look like kailah ..

ask him out with drinks after work, why don't you?

this man has really good memory ... remembers the little things about everybody + analytical ass brain

the brain of the twins, while kailah is the heart

well liked by the aunties of liyue what can i say

geo sword !!!

love language : quality time

𝓼𝓱𝓾𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰

she/ her | 18 y.o. | slight modern au genshin | ✦✦✦✦

studying social work!!! kailah is her mentor & is one of her good friends

she wants to work with little kids in the future!!

is baizhu’s daughter :3

absolutely adores the twins, they’re like the older siblings she never had

has tried to pick up crocheting. never again. her hands were shaking the entire time and she couldn’t do anything

loves giving gifts!!!

tbh shuying is my self insert soooo. if i continue any longer it’ll just be “hey isnt this just ying”

dendro polearm !!!!

love language : physical touch

𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷

he/him | 25 y.o. | modern au genshin | ✦✦✦✦

a librarian at the house of daena :3

loves making friends honestly!! he's down if you're down.. except that some over-excited students take him a bit too seriously and get their hearts crushed

local sweetheart i'm ngl. good with old ladies and good with children. very sweet

family man! will introduce his family one day

heuheuehuue i love him so much,,, this sweetheart,,,

also his name was inspired from a typo btw. just saying

anemo catalyst !!!!

love language : acts of service

picrew one | picrew two

#[📍regular broadcast!]#my ocs :D #this post is OK to reblog!

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skyartworkzzz · 3 months

Text

📢 LADIES, GENTLEMEN, THOSE IN AND OUT BETWEEN, I PRESENT YOU.............

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THAT'S RIGHT!!!!!!!

WE ARE OPEN FOR BUSINESS!!!!!!!

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📢 COME AND REALIZE YOUR CREATIVE DREAMS AT SKY'S OFFICE

HAND ME YOUR OC, FAVORITE CHARACTER, OTP, PET ANIMAL, WHATEVER YOU WANT AND WE (singular) WILL MAKE IT COME TO LIFE!!!!!!!

📢 BUT HOLDUP!!!!! WATCH OUT FOR THESE REGULATIONS 👇 👇 👇

✅ I WILL DRAW: - Furries - Ship art (self-insert and OC x canon included, dont be shy to ask!) - Blood and/or slight gore - Simple mecha (small guns, tech devices etc) - Fanarts - Suggestive content (depending on what it is, I might allow it) - Simple backgrounds

❌ I WILL NOT DRAW: - NSFW - Hateful concepts (racism, sexism, trans/homophobia etc) - Pedo- - Zoo- - Incest - Abuse of any kind - Complex mecha (big guns, detailed robots etc) - Complex backgrounds (too many buildings, too many people, too much going on is a no) - Logos or business cards

Any further questions plz ask me! <3

PAYMENT IS CURRENTLY DONE THROUGH PAYPAL ONLY!! I will be asking for it FIRST before handing u the art Ive put my blood and sweat into making 😌

HERE IS MY CARRD IN CASE YOUD LIKE A MORE COMPLETE GUIDELINE:

THANK YOU ALL EVER SO MUCH FOR YOU ATTENTION, PATIENCE AND SUPPORT 💜💜💜

Reblogs are appreciated! DM me if interested, love yall! 🦧

(Disclaimer: I will be normal when discussing ur order I promise, just thought it was funny to promo my work this way-)

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tachibubu · 2 years

Text

Never Good Enough (2/3)

∆ PAIRING ; Yandere!Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader/OC/Self-Insert x Slight!Jacaerys Velaryon

∆ SUMMARY ; Your wedding with your betrothed Jacaerys is nearing, while your secret pursuiter is growing ever more eager. Entering Kingslanding once again to prepare for your wedding and the succession of Driftmark, a supposedly family gathering became something much more than mingling.

∆ WARNINGS ; Incest obvs, spoilers of Episode 8, a bit actions of sexual sht? But did not continue, s3xu4l h4rassment, possessive sht obvs, no comfort, stalking, enemies to enemies, dont even fuckin do this in real life, just fuckin torture. Also OOC except for Jace cause I truly believe hes perfect i want to marry him. Also sorry Ewan if you're reading this.

PREVIOUS | NEXT

CAN BE READ AS ONE SHOT

It was a beautiful day. To clear your head before starting on your lesson plan and schedule for the day, you made the decision to compose an essay about the history of the current time. A letter from someone you knew too well was brought out by your sworn handmaiden after she had collected your daily mail.

To put it mildly, your daily life was comfortable, and you actually loved it that way. You spent the week studying with the maesters and (as proposed by your stepmother Rhaenyra, which you eagerly accepted) tutoring your brother-in-law Lucerys about economics, while on the weekends you became closer to your betrothed Jacaerys.

Lucerys and you had a lovely connection. Rhaenyra didn't trust the Maesters enough when he didn't enthusiastically express what he had learned, so you were his teacher for the remainder of your time as a fiancée. His ears perked up, and he nodded keenly to his mother when you said you could assist.

Rhaena joined the class while you were educating Lucerys in order to support her fiancé, but after she saw how much she loved it, she began coming back frequently to take lessons from you. Baela would visit your small class when she crossed paths between you three, and you would gladly accept her insights on the topics.

Although you were disappointed in what happened to your one-eyed first crush, Jacaerys made up for it by showing up earlier than expected on your dates with multiple gifts and going on numerous dragon-riding escapades with his dragon throughout Driftmark. You’d admit it, you had fallen quite in love with the prince.

So you’d admit your shock when someone else hadn't moved on.

You asked the maid, "Who is it from?" without batting an eye, fearing that the note's sender and contents were the same person who had been constantly sending you letters ever since you left Kingslanding.

Your handmaiden Olea was hesitant to respond to your inquiry. Before responding, "It's from Prince Aemond Targaryen, my lady," she chewed her lower lip.

You extended your hand as Olea placed the letter on it, and a sigh escaped your mouth. You scrunched your nose at the contents in disgust.

The letter stated, 'My beloved (Y/N), after several letters of my pursuing, you have yet to respond to any of my proceedings. I have received the news of the bethrotal of my dear nephew—I forgot his name, but I am sure you know it all too well. Was I divulging the news incorrectly? Was my hearing giving up on me as I was unable to comprehend the news easily? What I mean by this is that you are to be bethroted to my nephew. Is this genuine? I refuse to acknowledge it. You may be aware that rumors spread too quickly. My family, who are obviously too trusting these days, believed it immediately too. I also took note of the fact that your family will be coming within the next few weeks. I have to admit that I couldn't hold back my excitement. Earlier today, a servant told me that she had seen that I had been smiling while deep in thought. I made sure she wouldn't tell anyone the embarrassing news. I hope you experience today's enthusiasm in the same way that I do. See you soon, my dear bird. Signed, Aemond Targaryen.’

Yes, you tore that piece of paper.

Olea attempted to adhere the pieces of the letter together out of panic at your unexpected behavior, but you reprimanded her and instructed her to stop.

After a couple of nights, your family finished dining, and you made the decision to unwind by taking a stroll in the garden. The time until you leave for Kingslanding is rapidly approaching. You'll admit that you're a little nervous about going there, but tradition dictates that you should go there even if you are not specifically looking to meet someone there.

Truth be told, you were aware that Aemond would never forget you. You informed Jacaerys about the spies who had been dispatched to observe your everyday activities, and he took care of it. You were also aware of the several letters Aemond had sent to you that had gone unanswered, ranging from once a month to now every five days after the news of your betrothal. You wish to never come across his romantic delusions once again as they are both devastating and disturbing.

Perhaps it was God's gift, but Jacaerys seemed to have discovered you in the wide-open flower field. He accompanied you on your leisurely stroll as you shared your worries about the impending occasion. He made you a promise that he would always look out for you and do everything in his power to keep you safe as your husband. He then gave you a kiss on the forehead, and you two returned hand in hand back to your private quarters.

The time has come, and you and your step-sisters have arrived in a separate carriage. You didn't like the bumpy ride, so you nearly puked while Rhaena comforted you and Baela made fun of you.

You noticed that no one greeted your family and you when they announced your family's entering the castle. No green can be pin-pointed. Even though Aemond wasn't there to welcome you, you scowled at the lack of respect they displayed in public.

The elders stepped aside so that the younger ones could explore the castle. While Jacaerys and Lucerys extended their hands for you to join them, you declined and said that you'd prefer to be alone for the time being. Baela and Rhaena then took the children and introduced them to the new environment.

Your legs carry you to the library, where you run into Helaena Targaryen, your favorite from the Hightower family.

Before you and Aemond met, you were close friends with his sister. You were both interested in different types of literature; she was more interested in entomology, the study of insects, while you were more interested in botany and floriculture. It was due to her that you and Aemond were linked as playmates back then, because he was worried that somebody would harm his sister because of her unique interests and cryptic wording.

Helaena threw her arms around you and burst into sobs and giggles, "Thank the sevens, I have missed you so much, my dear friend!" You returned the embrace.

"I have missed you so much (Y/N), I was so alone, no one ever dared to talk to me normally."

"So am I, my lady."

She brought you to the tea table while beaming. The plump girl offered you some of her remaining dried apple pieces and poured you a cup of nettle tea.

You couldn't help but laugh as she clasped her hands together and said, "There are so many things I wish to tell you!" as you sipped the pleasant beverage.

"And what is it, my lady, you wish to say so eagerly?" you questioned.

She murmured softly as you cocked your head, "Blood would be on your lips, and you'd come in the light of a brute." You've been hearing that message since you were a youngling. You didn't comment because you knew Heleana's communication style was extremely peculiar.

"Oh, that is indeed great, my princess," you said rather nonchalantly, stirring the tea and adding additional sugar to it, not wanting to hurt the poor girl's heart if you told her to stop repeating the same words all over again.

"Don’t mention it," she smiled solemnly, before both of you continued your talk.

After quite some time, you two began to leave the nest at the library and continued to go towards the training grounds, where you knew the two Targaryen princes would be. Heleana wanted to meet them once again and learn more about the relationship between both of you and your betrothed, so you agreed gingerly.

You were unaware that the other prince was present alongside them too.

You smiled at your fiancé and enthusiastically called out, "Jace!" You and Helaena were linking arms, laughing girlishly as you both peered at the confused brown-haired man in the middle of the crowd.

"My dear wife!" Jacaerys unintentionally made a quip and Lucerys playfully hit his sibling for the unexpected nickname. Jacaerys smiled princely as he acknowledged Helaena's presence, "My princess."

"You flatter me with your words, my Lord," you replied with a knowing grin as both of you halted your steps in front of the two princes.

"My beautiful, dear sister and niece." An all-too familiar voice boomed.

Your breath hitched before you sharply inhaled and slowly gazed at where the voice came from. The figure from your dreams, Aemond fucking Targaryen, was standing there. The searing gaze he had centered on you made you tremble, but you swiftly collected yourself. With a slight mouth twitch, he made a note of it.

"It's been so long, my prince," you bowed, taking your gaze away from the person you were speaking to.

He left Ser Criston Cole's side and strutted in your direction while throwing the blade to the dirt, "Ah yes, you have grown wonderfully, my lady."

Jacaerys left his position next to his younger sibling and moved to your side, weaving his hands through yours before the man could even get close to you. The Targaryen prince gazed at the conjoined hand with his one remaining good eye before sneering.

Jacaerys responded to Aemond's comment instead with a mocking smile, "I thank the Gods for delivering her to me. Certainly, my beloved wife has grown up to be a stunning beauty."

"And so I have heard that beauties are easily swayed too," Rather than considering the strong brown-haired male existence, Aemond returned his gaze to you, hinting at your actions with a smirk, "I would take note of that if I were you, nephew."

When Jacaerys started to march forward, you restrained him by seizing his outstretched hand. When you did so, the male's stare softened toward you, and he steadied himself before asking, more like demanding in his case, "And what does that mean?"

Jacaerys was the target of Aemond's mocking gaze, which then turned back to the clasped hands between you two. There was a pregnant pause. The white-haired man appeared to be gathering his thoughts before speaking. After a brief pause, he jeered, "It's merely a fable, my beloved nephew."

"Don't take it as truth," he emphasized, "but rather as a counsel from your dear uncle."

You didn't see Aemond prior to the disturbance, save from the feast and what occurred to your great-uncle Vaemond. You were shocked by what transpired. Although you never developed a tight relationship with the man, he was generally polite and friendly to you when you visited Driftmark. Yes, you were worried about the Driftmark succession because it would damage your husband's and his family's reputation, but you were also aware that someone was keeping an eye on your every thought and move while the succession happened. Aemond's mere stare disturbs your brain from focusing on what is happening.

The tall man only responded with an amused raised eyebrow when he recognized that you were monitoring eyes placed on him. The corners of his lips began to rise.

You did not miss Aemond's smirk when the infamous bastard remark was made, which was spoken by your uncle Vaemond. Not only did Aemond disrespect your future spouse, but he also knew you were a bastard, which did not leave you with a positive impression.

Soon after your grandfather's passing at the hands of your father, the succession was reconfirmed, and soon after that, a feast was held. Olea, your handmaiden, led you to the dressing table in your chamber. She starts to polish up your makeup and style your hair until you are content.

"I can't help but notice, my lady, if you wish me to say it," Olea started, while you were calmly entertained by how her fingers moved so delicately and beautifully.

"Go on."

"Is the man who has been stalking you for a while, my lady, the one with the one missing eye?"

You would have immediately spit out the tea if you were drinking tea right now, but you choked on your own spit instead. Barely looking back, you scowled at your handmaiden, who gave you a guilty look, "He would chop off your tongue if he heard you say that, Olea."

She gasped, terrified at the idea, "Oh, I'm, I'm deeply sorry, my lady!"

"Do not worry," you said, gathering yourself so your maid could continue braiding your hair. There was an expectant delay before you finally murmured, "But yeah, that is him," with your eyes closed.

She suddenly returned to her bouncy self, who knew no bounds, commenting, "Now that I get to see him clearly, he is very attractive, isn't he?"

You chuckled and complimented her confidence, stressing, "You joke too much. You'd be grateful for how much I let you off the hook rather than torture you for your babbly mouth."

"But I'm not, my lady," she chuckled as she pinned your hair and then threaded it with a ribbon. She continued to babble in her fantasies, "I do admit, if I were in your position and Prince Jacaerys hadn't first shown me favor, I probably would have been persuaded by Prince Aemond, with his angular features and great stature."

You gave her arm a lighthearted slap, surprised by her candor, "Olea!"

"Was I wrong, my lady?" She inquired as she steadied your shoulders and drew close to you while you peered at one another in the mirror. "Prince Jacaerys is definitely quite masculine, but you can't pretend that Prince Aemond isn't as well."

"I would have you exiled if I were a different lady," you sighed and looked back at what had unfolded before. Jacaerys and Aegon, who used to tower above the once-young prince, are now shorter than him. You noted that his neck had acquired veins as he aged and that his calves were protruding depending on what he was wearing for the day. As soon as you imagined his attractive form beneath the bulky clothing he was wearing, you nearly smacked yourself for having such naughty ideas.

"But..." you waited before answering. "Yes, he grew up to be quite charming if it weren't for his personality."

When Olea flung open the door, Aemond appeared in front of you as if he waited for you for so long.

He said, rolling his tongue, "I must say, I am rather charmed to see you, my dearest (Y/N)." You silently berated yourself for sharing your private thoughts in the enemy's territory, but you straightened yourself and did not fall for his transparent claim of 'I have eavesdropped'.

You muttered honestly, your eyes honeyed, feigning innocence, "Aemond, I do not recall you supposedly helping me for the remainder of the day," then added something he'd be annoyed to hear. "Where is my husband?"

"Fiance," he corrected too quickly, thus it was succesful. "You are too eager, my dear. Let time pass naturally."

"And what is the difference? Referring to the title, a little early wouldn't conflict with anything," you hurriedly spoke, almost passing him when he took a step back and created some distance between you two. Before leaning in on you, he glanced across at your maid as Olea hurried off and whispered an apology.

With a deep voice that was distinct from before, he cooed, "If you want something to last, then don't go too fast. Some advice I received from my maester."

You cocked a brow at him, holding your pose, your head high, "Lovely, it seems you are quite fond of your maester's counsels, but that doesn't answer my question," you made a point of saying. How could he insult your marriage and its strength? You gave out a 'tsk' before you asked, "Why are you here?"

His face perked at your question. "I am here to assist you to dinner."

"That is what my husband is supposed to be doing. Until then, I'll wait here."

"My father, King Viserys, desired it," he concluded, his voice heavy and set to foot, the final response you could get from him. "It's in the goal of re-igniting friendship," he said, with a blank expression on his face.

You almost laughed at his face, "ah yes, how it reignited indeed."

"Do not be concerned, my dear niece," he said again in a suggestive tone, but this time his eyes were in a different expression. It almost seems as if you were both looking at the same person when you were younger and there wasn't any prejudice towards either side. "I'll treat you well," he said, holding out his arm.

After giving him a long, curious look, you reluctantly held his arm in yours as you two continued.

"Prince Aemond Targaryen, second son of King Viserys and Lady (Y/N) of House Velaryon." The knight announced it, as the door opened to the feast.

You would flee right now if you could, but as soon as you notice the joy in King Viserys' eyes, your brain immediately switches off. As your family and other members of the private audience watched you and Aemond arrive together, you could feel the uneasiness. How risqué this would have been in public.

Though you were concerned about how Jacaerys would react, you cast your gaze over him. You anticipated him being livid at your appearance with the enemy. You didn't anticipate that he would give you a sorrowful, knowing look.

If it weren't for Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent, gesturing you towards the seat next to Jacaerys, Aemond would have almost led you towards an empty seat next to him. Once seated, you whispered to your fiancé, "I am sorry."

He stroked your hand and held it while saying, "No need to, my lady," gazing lovingly into your eyes and concluded, "I trust you."

You continued, worried, "He told me the King asked it."

He smiled, and you could feel the love you carried for this guy anew, your eyes affectionately staring at him as you returned the smile. "He wasn't lying at least, though I made sure that he wouldn't touch you anywhere when his grace ordered it."

You could hear a tongue click at the other end of the table.

Even though there were a few side comments here and there, the dinner went nearly as smoothly and was actually enjoyable. After Helaena spoke about her relationship with her husband-brother, your bethroted, Jacaerys, requested your permission to dance with her. You enthusiastically agreed at his sweet idea, watching both of them dance cutely with one another. After a few minutes, King Viserys begged to be put to bed after experiencing excruciating agony, which caused you to get a little concerned. The roasted pig was shortly set on the table. You did not give it any thought until you heard your cousin Lucerys snort. He covered his mouth as he briefly giggled when you slapped his thigh in an effort to stop him.

A loud and unmistakable bang at the table halted every action that each member were performing. Aemond stood there, his gaze divided between the two brown-haired princes. "Final tribute, to the bethrotal of my two favorite nephew and niece. Both of them loving to one another; even when we were kids, they were kind to each other. "

He remarked, "They make a wonderful couple knowing they came from the same roots." However, since you knew what he was aiming at, the subtle jab didn't escape your notice. In fact, you were sober enough to see the true implications of what he was saying. Your hand held your glass of wine rather tightly.

"I'd also like to make a toast to the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey." You gripped the hand of Lucerys in an effort to calm him down without reverting your eyes away from the eye contact you and Aemond had.

"Each of them handsome, wise, strong."

"Aemond," Alicent made an effort to stop her son, but it was already too late.

He carried on instead of heeding his mother's advice, raising his cup even higher. "Come, let us drain our cups of these three strong boys."

Jacaerys gritted his teeth, "I dare you say that again!" and flounced over to the man. You called to him, "Jace!" but to no avail.

Aemond grinned and said, "Why, it was just a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?" When the man realized that something had been stirred up inside of Jacaerys, he loved the way the strong man looked. Though it did not last when he felt a force land on his face, he couldn't even utter another word before it happened. With a horrible snarl on his ordinarily serene face, Jacaerys struck Aemond violently. "I know what you are doing! You can call me whatever you may, but you may not call my wife a--"

"Jace no!" You cried out, running towards his side.

He towered over the younger man, one dagger-eyed stare locked on him, hissing, "Be careful with your words, my strong prince. You might say something you'll regret." Before Jacaerys could even punch him again, Aemond shoved him with a snicker, and his mother chastised him firmly and quietly in his ear. With concern written over your face, you hurried to assist your fiancé while he was on the ground. You repeatedly questioned him about whether he had been wounded, but he would not respond because he was too embarrassed to look at you. As you stormed at Aemond, you gazed at him with pure fury displayed on your face.

"Here comes the dear bride." He jested once he saw you coming, his body welcoming you before you slapped him very hard.

Your face was crimson, visibly shaken as you sneered at the prince, "You disgrace me."

You're positive his expression softened when you spoke.

Before the conflict intensified into a far bloodier clash, Daemon put an end to it. Your father brought himself in front of you as Aemond assessed him before conceding defeat and withdrawing. When your uncle left the room, you were still fuming with rage as the Daemon only giggled before being silenced by Rhaenyra with a scowl.

Because of your uncle Vaemond's death and the recent ruckus, your family has had enough and has requested a week's leave to recoup before proceeding with your and Jacaerys' wedding at Kingslanding. Despite the impediment, Princess Helaena asked you to tutor her after learning about your tutoring sessions with her nephew and niece from Aemond. You were puzzled on how she was aware of it given how covert it was, but it was soon mellowed into small irritation to learn the full truth that Aemond was responsible for the additional knowledge. Since it appeared like both families were hostile towards one another, Rhaenyra believed it was a wonderful idea, so you stayed, believing that it would soon end as you were to only stat for a week.

The following day, as you were speaking with Helaena in her chambers, Queen Alicent unexpectedly walked in. She was about to presume something, but she paused herself when she discovered you standing next to her daughter. Though the Queen thanked the Gods when Aemond entered, both of them shared a knowing look as the Queen proceeded towards you, "My love, I need to discuss something with Helaena. Aemond will assist you to your quarters if it's perfectly fine."

You almost scoffed, but decided against it and nodded defeatedly before saying farewell to your companion and walking along the back of your former friend toward your room.

"Are you fairing well, m'lady?" He started a conversation out of nowhere, which drew you back.

"My prince, I am fairing better than your other eye, if you ask me," you barked back.

"Do not test my waters today, (Y/N)."

"You inquired, and as a loyal friend, I responded."

You felt your back land hard and before you knew what was going to happen next, you gasped for air as the anguish overwhelmed you. You suddenly realized that Aemond had forced you up against the ice-cold wall, encasing you and leaving you with no choice but to look at his cunning grin. He turned his head innocently and remarked, "You could have said you hated me yesterday at the dinner, my lady, but you didn't."

"Did you know how happy I felt when, instead of being hateful towards me, you stated embarass? I was beyond happy, even ecstatic," the man continued before he trailed his eyes from your eyes to your parted lips.

"I'd rather you be ashamed of me than despise me." He hushed quietly before giving you a surprising, delicate kiss. His face was gentle as he pressed his lips to yours. His lower half grinded against yours eagerly while his other hand traced your back slowly.

Though the harmony was short-lived as you bit his lips harshly, causing him to grumble and leave the tenderness of your lips with blood trailing down his lips, "His Grace would not permit such deeds! Even though you are one of his children, he does not condone mistreatment of women!"

You believed you had made your point, but the man slowly emerged into fits of laughter as he threw his head back. His voice was charming if it weren't for the given circumstances.

"You're such a fucking idiot," he sniggered, his good eye piercing yours as you fixed your gaze on him; he displayed lust while you displayed hatred. He shook his head before nearing your ear to the point you could feel his hot breath, whispering, "The King's dead."

Your entire face became white with only a slight confirmation. The person who had kept the family together had passed away. "T-That's not possible."

He groaned as you attempted to wriggle free of his grip and confessed, "It's damn well possible, my love. Just as much as the potential that you're finally mine to claim." He half-laughed before kissing you more passionately and aggressively than before.

"I am bethroted!" You screamed and tried to make your voice as loud as you could, hoping someone would walk through the halls and help you.

He replied by clutching your neck so firmly that you gasped for air in your throat, "My patience is wearing thin," his annoyance grew. "I held myself for so long and I forbid you to be his as you have forbid yourself to be mine so many times."

He let go of your neck and you spat in his face, "My family will hear about this! Father will have your head severed, as he did with Vaemond, and Jacaerys will have your other eye amputated so you can glimpse our future, which is already nonexistent."

He held your chin in place with his fingers as he gazed at your eyes with a stone-like intensity.

"I'll let in you in a secret of mine, mother will set my buffoon of a brother on top of that iron throne and during his reign I will kill him and set Helaena faraway with her children," your eyes widened like saucers at the thought of the innocent princess being killed, Aemond loved the fear in your eyes before he let on the truth, "Of course I wouldn't kill her, I am not that evil. I love her as much as you do for her."

He grabbed your hand harshly and drew you towards him as he hurried across the corridor with keen resolve. "Until then, rumors would spread of their murder, and I would not allow myself be hidden if they intent to call me. I will name you queen, for a king's will would never be disregarded. Then, as we had promised when we were young, we would live happily, have a lots of babes, and have a good life."

As you realized how near you actually were to the boudoir, he dragged you a few more times before pushing you to the ground, crashing hard. He continued, "'Till then, you will do as I wish, so sit lovely as you were and do not tell anybody if you wish your Prince Jacaerys to become Vhagar's dinner."

There he left you wailing on the floor of your quarters, trembling from the adrenaline as your eyes and nose inflamed from sobbing. As they prepared to usurp the throne, you heard him close the door, the same door you keep banging hoping that help would reach soon.

Wellp, I thought my draft said 2k turns out I need new glasses as this is 5 fuckin k. Though Im thankful of the amount of people who liked the first part. This was supposed to be a one shot turned into two shots but I noticed how long it gets. I wouldve splitted this part into two but idk where to end so yeah have this. Next part would be the final one, i hope y'all psychopaths enjoyed this story.

Tags: @crazylokonugget ; @discowizard88 ; @sheetalkalkhandey ; @dangerousbluebirdpoetry ; @mysingularitybts ; @regulusblackismycomfortcharacter ; @felfei

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fruityfroggy · 2 months

Text

I don’t know what I’m doing but FUCK IT *chucks oc x canon fanfic into the distance*

Warmth Amidst the Rain

- A hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on in these dark moments of mine. I didn’t know I needed you more than ever.

Pairing: Lilya x Verdigris

Word Count: 795 (apparently)

A/N: This is my first fanfic, so it’s not the best. Read this as self insert if you want. I’m also bad at dialogue writing (and decided to write most of this at 2am), so bear with me if you can, okay? Anyways, I think this counts as light angst, since the actual angst supposedly happened in the scene before the stuff that takes place here. Sort of a more vulnerable side of their dynamic, y’know?

Rain. It just doesn’t quite sound right when it’s gradually starting to ascend from the damp ground in droplets. It was growing eerily quieter with each passing minute, with small, plopping sounds echoing wherever she went.

That was what worried Lilya, as she rushed down the rippling sidewalk. She had to find Verdigris soon, the sand of time is growing uncomfortably shallow now.

After a few moments of searching, the muttering of a familiar voice in the distance snapped her out of her thoughts, just in time for her to notice a figure by the edge of the forest nearby.

“Mantén esto a salvo por mí... por favor, Berillus…”

Lilya instantly dashed in the figure’s direction, a slight breath of relief escaping her as she skidded to a halt behind the woman she was looking for. But concern clouded her mind the second she got a closer look at her. She sensed that something was wrong. Very wrong.

Verdigris’ hair and clothes were drenched with rain water, clinging tightly to her skin as she looked down at something in her hands. Flinching momentarily with uneven breaths, it was as if she was a blighted flower in the wind. It was clear that she was indeed, out here this entire time.

Lilya wanted so badly to kick herself in that moment for not noticing her disappearance sooner, but it wasn’t the time for that. Instead, she carefully placed a hand on the brunette’s shoulder. She felt freezing cold to the touch at that point.

“Verdigris…” There was a beat of silence between the two, the sound rain filling the air around them. She didn’t know what else to say. Lilya’s never really comforted anyone that often, but she wanted to comfort her. Effectively.

“Victor…” Verdigris finally spoke up, but her words came out hoarsely. “He’s gone…they’re all gone now…leaving only pieces of them behind…inanimate pieces…” She didn’t look up from her hands, but Lilya could feel a sense of loneliness and melancholy without even seeing her face. “I’m sorry…he was a good man…” she replied gently. No, no, but that wasn’t good enough of a response, was it?

Suddenly, she remembered the rain-soaked sleeve against her fingertips. A bit hurriedly, Lilya took off her jacket and wrapped it around the arcanist in front of her, giving her shoulders a light squeeze before reluctantly letting go.

Verdigris immediately turned to look back at her, her usual “concerned expression” tainted with something more…sorrowful that she’s trying to bite back. “Lilya, don’t be like this. I’m going to get your clothes wet. You really don’t need to-“

“Shhhh…” the pilot shut down her worries for a moment. She took off her gloves and stuffed them in her pocket, before carefully shifting the hair from Verdigris’ face and wiping away her tears. “I’ll be fine, Verdie. You need this more than me. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold, alright?”

Her hands were warm on Verdigris’ face like a beam of sunlight cutting through the dark clouds. She instinctively held onto them with her own hands in hopes of holding that warmth even closer to her. “Am I not cold against your skin? Aren’t you uncomfortable holding me like this?” Verdigris asked softly. “No,” Lilya replied like it was a very obvious thing. “I’m comfortable as long as you’re alright. I…we can’t lose you, okay? It can’t be you…”

Something about those words had struck Verdigris harder than expected, and tears started to well up in her eyes again. She let go of Lilya’s hands and pulled her into a tight embrace, receiving a small surprised gasp in return.

“Вы слишком добры ко мне... как мне заслужить..... все это?”

It was too hard to hold it in anymore, it’s unclear how long it’s been there all these years. But Verdigris couldn’t help but break down in tears against the pilot’s chest in that moment. She’s said those words before, but she’s never been on the receiving end of it, and that felt very different.

Her trembling body felt so delicate in Lilya’s arms, scarily delicate. In that moment, it felt as if one wrong move could shatter the brunette completely. So she held her gently, wanting to hold her tighter, but deciding against it. She lightly caressed her the back of her head comfortingly. “Не волнуйся, я здесь... я всегда буду рядом, когда тебе это понадобится... все будет хорошо, дорогая…” she cooed.

Amidst her blurred vision, Verdigris felt herself being lifted, a firm but warm grip on the side of her knee and shoulder. Was she a child again? Being held and carried home by her father…like old times? It was hard to tell in that moment, but all she heard was “Hold onto me. We’ll be safe soon, солнышко”.

#Lilygris nonsense✌️yuh #dividers are by cafekitune #maybe went a little wild with the dividers cuz they’re pretty #I don’t read enough fanfiction to write this sort of thing #and did I read more to take inspo?#no #we’re winging it as usual #I definitely didn’t project my lack of comforting skills but still having the desire to comfort the people I love trait onto Lilya a little #it was also definitely not a tactic to avoid having to write much dialogue either #oc x canon #verdigris r1999 #I’m not tagging her cuz I’m scared #Lilygris nonsense

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maccreadysbaby · 7 months

Text

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

… did you really think i was going to end bentley’s story so soon? i couldn’t abandon my boy! head over to the table of contents above for the lovely summary, otherwise, enjoy this cute little intro chapter

part one

❝ MIRACLE WORKER ❞

MONDAY — JULY 27 — 5:56PM

“DON’T GET FRUSTRATED. Try again,”

Bentley pulled himself off the black mats in the training room of the Batcave with a small huff. He was going to be woefully sore tomorrow.

Damian was standing in front of him, and Dick was behind him, near the wall. They’d been sparring for nearly an hour. Bentley thought he was finally getting good at the self defense techniques Dick had been teaching him. (Mixed Martial Arts is what he’d called it.) After all, he’d been training with him for almost six months now. He’d even taken Dick down a couple of times (he wasn’t sure if they were real or not — Dick went pretty easy on him.), but when pitted against the now twelve-year-old assassin who had more combat experience than nearly every living adult, he felt like a kitten picking a fight with a lion.

“You’re trying so hard to catch him telegraphing that you’re not focusing on your own movements. You have to find the right balance of observation and action,” Dick explained from behind, and Bentley could hear him pacing, his voice moving from one ear to the other. “You know your opponent, and you know he adapts to his foes. He can read you like a book. You need to be able to do that, too. Try again.”

Bentley took a breath. He thought he’d been good at paying attention to people’s movements, their mannerisms before, thanks to his father. But now it seemed nearly impossible. Trying to catch the slightest of shifts in Damian’s weight, the flick of his eye, the subtlest twitch of an anticipating fingertip. His movements were so fluid and calculated that Bentley hardly had a millisecond to respond, let alone counter them.

For a moment, they stood there in their fighting positions, and then Damian struck like some kind of cobra. Bentley was just fast enough to block one, two, three, four different strikes to his head before Damian landed a kick to his chest that sent him stumbling backwards. Dick grabbed him by the arms before he could fall and nudged him back toward the assassin.

“Watch his whole body. If you’re too busy blocking his arms you’re not going to be aware of his legs.”

He was trying. He really was trying. Damian was small, he didn’t even have that much body to watch. Even though Bentley had grown in his months with the Wayne’s, (nine months and twenty-seven days, actually.) Damian was still tracking about an inch and a half taller than him, maybe even two, now, and it made Bentley feel even tinier than he already was. (He was going to be eleven in a couple months, and he was still wearing clothes made for nine-year-olds. But hey, he was in a seven-year-old’s size last year, so he’d take it.)

He felt like he was having to block at the speed of light. He blocked four strikes and two kicks in a matter of seconds.

“If you stay on the defensive too long you’re going to wear yourself out. Strike back!”

Bentley blocked another hit to the head and managed to catch Damian’s arm just in time land a kick to his chest.

“Yes! Good job,”

Damian responded by capturing Bentley’s arm, locking their legs, and flipping him over his own body onto the mat with a thwack.

Bentley just laid there for a moment, breathing heavily and reveling in the slight coolness of the mat.

“I like fighting Dick better,” He muttered, staring up at the lights on the ceiling. Both Damian and Dick drifted into his vision, standing over him. They looked oddly similar in their training clothes.

“Of course you do; I am far superior in hand-to-hand combat,” Damian stated simply, holding a hand down toward him. Bentley took it and pulled himself out of the floor.

“Hey,” Dick whined with a frown.

Damian continued, ignoring his brother’s protests: “-Which is required for proper training — if someone is trying to kidnap or maim him, they are not going to go easy on him because he’s, quote-on-quote, cute, like you do.”

“I didn’t say that!” Dick argued, crossing his arms.

“Oh, sorry. Small and cute,”

Bentley snickered at Dick when he kept on grumbling, drifting over to a long bench that was attached to the wall to grab his water bottle from on top of it.

“Whatever, whatever. You did a good job today, kiddo,” Dick continued, making his way across the room just to ruffle Bentley’s hair.

Bentley took a sip of water and shrugged, briefly ducking his head away from the contact. “I spent most of it on the mat.”

Dick shrugged. “Yeah, but so did all of us, at first.”

Bentley saw Damian roll his eyes in his peripheral. “I did not.”

“Not everybody was raised by assassins, you little gremlin. I’m sure you spent time on the mat when you were younger,” Dick said, turning back toward Damian.

The twelve-year-old eyed both him and Bentley. “No I didn’t. Going down easily only earned punishment.”

Dick didn’t say anything else, but he did reach over and ruffle Damian’s hair, much to the assassin’s distaste.

Bentley wondered if the League of Assassin’s idea of punishment had been similar to his father’s.

“Oh, Bentley, B said he wanted to see you upstairs when we were done,” Dick said suddenly, changing the subject and attempting to change the mood. He made his way to the bench and grabbed his phone off of it.

“Oh, Okay,” Bentley replied, eager to change the mood as well.

He’d been getting better. At a lot of things, like carrying conversations, and asking for stuff, and not being so awkward. He was able to (sometimes) push away the parts of his mind that still told him he was a traitor, that if he made one wrong move they’d hate him. He was falling into a routine of normalcy. Different from the last one he was in, with the assurance of pain and fear, but a new one where he was just… living.

But he still had anxiety, and there was one certain thing coming up in a week that made it buzz under his skin like no other:

School.

Actual, real school. Not just computers and books like his father had made him read, but school with other kids and teachers and classrooms.

Gotham Academy, to be exact, the same private school that both Damian and Duke attended. They’d talked about it extensively. Bruce had offered up homeschooling in many different ways, or hiring a personal teacher to have one-on-one classes with him at the Manor, but Bentley chose Gotham Academy. Which he might have been starting to regret just a little, because the only other kid his age he (sort of) knew how to communicate with was Damian. But, now that he knew they were superheroes and he was allowed to talk about it with them, he wasn’t even sure the way he communicated with Damian would cut it at a real school.

But he assumed he needed it. He couldn’t just spend the rest of his life in Wayne Manor (No matter how badly he wanted to.), and what better crowd to start with than kids his own age, right?

Well, that’s what he told himself as the days passed faster and school drew nearer.

Damian and Dick stayed in the training room as he drifted into the other parts of the Batcave. Past the life-size dinosaur and giant Joker playing card, only sending a glance toward Tim, who seemed to be hibernating in the chair at the Batcomputer. (Bentley was sure he’d been there for a couple days now, at least.) There were three empty coffee cups and a pile of papers sprawled across the massive desk, and he seemed to be neck deep in some investigation or another.

He knew better than to bother Tim while he was working. He’d probably be nice to Bentley, but he didn’t really want to chance it. He’d nearly thrown a coffee cup at Jason two days prior for playing music too loudly while working on the Batmobile. (Not to mention that Tim had been benched from patrol for a while until a nasty bullet wound healed up, which only made him more irritable.)

So Bentley pushed himself up the stairs and into the elevator that led back up to the Manor.

He had to admit, though, life living with a houseful of superheroes was pretty awesome. Some nights he got to sit in the cave with Barbara at the Batcomputer and watch all of the vigilantes’ trackers move across Gotham. He found it insanely cool to listen to them over comms. They always went by their hero names on patrol, and he loved to listen to the way they planned for attacks and talked through dealing with each individual problem. (Even if it did get a little scary sometimes — like when Red Robin (Tim) had to call for urgent backup because he’d been shot about a week ago.)

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t kind of, at least a tiny bit, maybe one day want to be a superhero, too.

He was wondering if he’d be allowed to sit in on patrol again tonight as he drifted into the Manor from the door hidden in Bruce’s office. He made his way down the hall and into the entryway. The golden sunset was shining through the windows, turning the whole room a warm shade of gold, and Bruce was kneeling on the floor next to a big box, nicely dressed and pampered as always.

“Hey, Bentley!” He announced, pulling a pocketknife from his pocket and cutting the tape on top of the box. “Your backpack just came in.”

Bentley eyed the box, and after a few moments, determined that he could probably fit in it without bending his knees. “That looks… big.”

Bruce hummed. “Well, I ordered every color.”

Bentley snickered as he approached Bruce and the box. “We looked at the colors on your computer. I picked navy.”

“I know. But then I thought I should have some backups incase you didn’t like it when it came in,” He stated, unfolding the flaps to reveal a row of nicely packaged, multicolored backpacks. Twelve of them, to be exact. Red, brown, orange, yellow, black, green, blue, white, navy blue, army green, a rusty orange, and grey. “So, here we are.”

Bentley chuckled. “Thank you. But I still like the navy one.”

“That’s good. You just… have options. If you want to switch it up. Damian and Duke probably need new ones anyways,” He trailed off, folding the box closed again.

“Dick said you needed me when I came up,”

Bruce clapped his hands together. “Oh, yes, I almost forgot. I got you something else, since you’re about to start school. C’mere.”

Bruce rose from the floor and left the box at the door, heading back toward his office. Bentley followed behind warily.

“I know you need to go take a shower, so I won’t take forever,” He explained as he made his way into the room and to his desk, pulling a drawer open. “I think it’s very important that you’re able to stay in contact with us while you’re at school. So I went ahead and got you a phone, like Damian’s.”

He pulled a small box out of the drawer and set it on the desk, pushing it over toward Bentley, who stared at it.

Phones were a lot of money. (And Bruce Wayne was a millionaire, but Bentley’s brain didn’t seem to catch up enough for that.)

“…Are you sure?” He murmured, glaring at the little box like it had insulted him.

“Positive,” Bruce replied. “I’d like for you to have a way to stay connected with us without a teacher having to play monkey in the middle. Go ahead.”

Bentley eyeballed both Bruce and the box for a solid ten or twenty seconds before he made a move to touch it. The box was smooth under his fingers, and he pulled the top off to reveal a sleek, army green phone.

“Thank you, Bruce,”

“You don’t have to thank me, bud,” He reached over and ruffled his hair just like Dick did. “But, I was going to ask you to do something for me. You might be the only one in the house that can succeed.”

He glanced up at Bruce, whose blue eyes were shining. “Ask Tim to help you set it up; to get that poor kid away from the Batcomputer.”

A smile crept onto Bentley’s face, and he huffed out a laugh, closing the box and carefully dragging it into his hands. “I can do that.”

“Maybe you can even get him to ingest something other than coffee, while you’re at it. Or, like, sleep,”

Bentley snorted. “I’m not a miracle worker.”

Bentley smiled as Bruce’s chuckle floated out of the room behind him, heading upstairs for a well-deserved shower. He’d deal with Tim later.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

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fromfiction · 14 days

Note

(excuse the slight lengthiness of this ask pls 😭)

um hello! i’ve seen you answering questions on this blog, so i hope you can answer this one! /nf

i’m entirely new to the term and idea of “fictionkin” but ever since i found out about what fickin was and what it meant, i figured it might be me but i couldn’t be 100% sure because of a smaller thing.

for a bit more context which i feel may be important: i pretty much spent all my life mentally viewing myself as literally animated, as animated medias have always been a special interest since i was little (i’m now diagnosed w/ autism which is why i used that term btw). though i never truly viewed myself as any canon character, i always viewed myself as my self insert sonas growing up, my finest examples of this through the years would be self insert sonas of mlp and eddsworld. nowadays, as my main special interest is my own work (as a writer and artist) i mentally view myself as my persona, i always have during these current years and i believe i always will, to the point where i don’t even associate myself with my body or face physically bc i’ve always viewed myself as some sort of fictional version of myself and in my mind that’s how i look to myself. to put this in terms of an example, i once told someone that my physical body is like a car because i like to decorate it and make it look nice and i use it to get around in this world, but my persona is the driver because in my mind, that’s who i am and i’m simply using this “car” to get around (remember this is an example i don’t literally think my body is a car lmao)

but yea, the reason i’m very confused is because i always see fictionkins identifying as canonical characters from a media, or ig even self inserts as i’ve heard somewhere (correct me if i’m wrong) but i never hear about people identifying as their OWN characters if this makes sense. in my mind, a fictional character is a fictional character, which would include my persona that is very much fictional in every way (atp my persona is a developed character with fictional lore, other worldly traits (like magic), and is always a part of little scenarios or short stories i make up for comfort or outta boredom, just happens to resemble me irl in most ways but is basically how i view myself mentally down from personality to clothes that i really connect with but don’t really wear irl)

but anyway yes, i’ve tried and tried to research for anything that might be similar to my case but i don’t really find much at all.

i hope this ask was okay to send, ik it might be lengthy ik you weren’t asking for my “life story” it’s just that i’ve always wondered what was wrong with me in terms of this topic and why i viewed myself as being a fictional character, and now that i feel closer to a possible answer it’s very relieving but still confusing since i don’t know if the label really fits what i go through. i can’t help but wonder if it’s also maladaptive daydreaming or multiple things/something else but i prob can’t expect much advice or help w that on this blog which is perfectly okay lmao

again, if you read this or even answer this, thank you i’ve really needed to ask this desperate question to someone who seems to know a lot about this subject for possible help so i came here bc i saw that this blog was active for the most part! i’m also sorry if i asked things that weren’t okay to ask or have said/assumed things that weren’t okay either, again i’m very new to fictionkin as a whole.

have a great day and thank you <3

Hey friend. No worry about asking!

It sounds like you're asking if you can be fictionkin of an "original character".

The answer is absolutely. There are plenty of people who are kin of their own ocs, you just don't usually see them talking about it, mostly because their posts don't end up in fandom tags.

#fictionkin #fictionkind #fictionfolk #alterhuman

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lilyblossom-art · 11 months

Text

Made a new pfp :> and a slight change to my username

She's kind of a new oc of mine?

I say kind of because this is lily, as in, the character i named my blog after lol

So, lily used to be a persona/self insert oc? But I didn't wanna use her that way anymore since, i just didn't use her at all because of it. So i redesigned her :)

#art #original art #original character #my art

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dukeoftheblackstar · 8 months

Text

"Right Here"

Summary: It’s ‘one of those days’ when the things are just too much. Sometimes all you need is an old man and their old man-foolishness. - Depression strikes and you're at the medcenter.

Pairing: Plo Koon x Duchess/Duch (oc/reader), Plo Koon x Reader

Word Count: 4.2 K

Rating/Theme: Angst, comfort, tw-suicide, gaslighting, innuendos, tw-depression, pre-established relations, flirting, slight choking, barely smutty

Notes:

“Right Here”— Second installment of Somewhere Only We Know

The song Plo sings for oc/reader are official lyrics from from @mimimirage / @eloquentmoon's "Planet Pink" [ permission to use granted via discord DM ]

1st pic = art by my very best friend and sister at heart, @amorfista [ please do not repost ]

2nd pic = commissioned art from a local artist [ personally owned / please do not repost ]

Color thingies because I'm deranged to not use them: Orange: Plo Koon Pink: You/OC/Reader Blue: Internal thoughts Purple: Self-Inserts

Perfect divider by @idontgetanysleep with itty, bitty, cutie-patootie Plo Koon face ♥

You do so much day in day out that it has become a wonder if you exist only to appease the fury and bitterness that resides in the damned. A conundrum of a cycle wherein you have no qualms in allowing anyone of your borrowed time and yet it seems to be quite burdensome to rob others of theirs, regardless of how deep you have plunged into the great seas of woe. A quandary that leaves you doubtful if you even deserve to feel such sadness and allow it to consume you when you should be keeping your heart empty to nurse and rid others of the vicissitudes of fate. An enigma that though should have enticed you to unravel and explore, leaves you abandoned not with want, need, or wanton desires, but abandoned as the word itself defined — left alone and all its synonymous narrative; forgotten, maybe.

But it’s not that bad, right? You get to live, meet people, experience things old and new — and besides, someone out there has it far worse than you. You should be grateful.

And so you become just that; "Grateful” — in every sense of the word.

You stopped ‘complaining’ because someone else has it far worse than you; stopped trying to ‘talk about it’ because you’re afraid to tell them that even after all the unprompted and unsolicited advice, you remain buried six-feet under the vicious weight of thoughts so intrusive you couldn’t bring yourself to cry it out of your system anymore —in hopes that it depletes you enough to fall asleep.

That you stopped trying to ‘deal with it’ because it has come to the point that trepidation has now been rooted so deep within the confines of your soul, it hinders you to function. To have fear of having to be seen in such a pathetic, weakened state that even the most mundane tasks remain undone. That the mere fact that you haven’t showered or bathed in days because you were so afraid that if you’re not careful enough, you’d slip and die without having to tell someone how much they mean to you.

That if you perish, as you begin to feel so deserving of such fate, you would leave them with the same conundrum. That, they, too, would have to suffer these intrusive thoughts because no one came; because they, too, were abandoned as the word itself defined — left alone and all its synonymous narrative; forgotten.

So yet again, you sit not with your knees enclosing your chest in an embrace like in the holovids — rather you’ve taken shelter under the dining table because it felt ‘safe’ there knowing that escape is but a kitchen knife away. Yet again you do not stand before the mirror contemplating on smashing it with your head or your fist, because you couldn’t bear the thought of having someone clean up the mess you’ve made. Yet again you do not frantically tap your fingers on the floor in fear that the neighbors might hear and complain and as such, you will all that you could muster to silence even the slightest of whimpers because you know someone would come and would have to sit through your ‘dramatics’.

And so yes, here you are in all the glory of one being ‘grateful’.

Here you are under the table of your lavish living room with today’s breakfast at midnight, a pile of unwashed dishes, laundry on the ground, and your commlink buzzing incessantly that seems to stab your fingertips with each attempt of a response. So you just read them, the messages — the funny ones, the sad ones, the work-related ones, the ‘are-you-okay?’ ones, and the ones from your beloved friend and confidant who had constantly dropped by and threatened to break the door down, forcing you to reply ‘I’m not home, I’ll message you the soonest’.

But you are, as we have established.

You pray to gods your people serve, even to ones you don’t and know not of; eyes closed with fingers knotted over your chest so tight that you could feel the in-between dips of your knuckles burrow further as if ready to break if not bruise. Your lips shake begging through a plethora of ‘please don’t’, ‘go away’, and ‘not today, please’, hoping that this does not turn into some heroic stride of having you swept off your feet and be given the ‘much needed’ respite and attention because today is simply not the day — as it was yesterday and the day before, and the day before the day before yesterday.

You’ve gone this far, do you honestly wish to disappoint those who believe in you? Do you feel it wise to make them feel bad because their words of comfort and support failed? Do you feel they are deserving of your failure because you could not find it within you to handle even the simplest of things?

Exactly. They deserve better than that. And after all, someone out there has it far worse than you.

Right…?

***

“Is it the gown that’s throwing you off? Cause I can’t cut it up and make it look sexy and we can rolepla—”

You couldn’t even finish because he’s stared you down with such oppressive silence all you could think of was apologize for something you don’t even know you’ve done but whatever it is, it must have been as heinous as to exist in the same timeline as him.

“What?”

“...”

You knew exactly what — he no longer wants you around. He no longer wants to deal with your obstinacy and how you constantly pry him from more pressing matters over something so trivial, so dramatic, so unnecessary.

“Ugh, don’t tell me you’re gonna be baby about this, Plo.”

“...”

It’s exactly that. He’s supposed to be somewhere; a meeting maybe? A mission? Maybe he’s tired. Tired of you.

“Look. I’m okay. I just… I just have really nosey neighbors, okay? I’m fine. Please.”

“...”

“I’m really, really, really, okay. I promise you.”

“...”

I’m okay, baby. I am. I am now.

“Well?…. Say something.”

“...”

He’s upset, no — he’s angry. He’s… He’s…

And just as you have occasionally been exposed to the oppressive nature of his silence, you turn to him as if matching your assumptious claim of him plagued with seething abhorrence over having to ‘take care of you’ again. Your brows meet in brewing animosity, glaring vehemently at Plo — ironically in contrast to the relaxed creases of your Kel Dor Jedi.

“If you have somewhere to be, just leave. I don’t know why you’re here if you’re just gonna be like that.” You couldn’t pocket an obvious sniffle and so you opted to turn your head away towards the unsuspecting bouquet of flowers of pinks, whites, and yellow chrysanthemums. It did you no better as ragged breath fell past lips that quivered and silver-hazed eyes that threatened to become even more fuddled with tears.

“I get it, okay? They shouldn’t have called even if it was an emergen—.”

They really shouldn’t have. I’m sorry if they had to call you. I promise I’ll try harder. I’ll be more grateful for what I have. I swear. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.

“But they did.” Came Plo Koon’s abrupt response, devoid of any obviously implied emotion — neither from the tone of his voice or the subtle shift in his masked visage.

You knew better than to argue. After all, you were no stranger to how ornery he can be, that even his fallen master found him stubborn and difficult — for all the good reasons, that is.

“Sorry.” Was all you could say.

For having known Plo for centuries, you would have thought that you’d get used to the power he held over you. That even mere words carry so much weight that he could say ‘love’ and wound you so deep to this very day, that him mirroring your candor with so much nectarous affection in the form of endearments ‘little love’ or ‘my darling’ disillusions you from the illusion itself.

That just by the mere sound of his voice, that unspoken timbre reserved only for your ears and your ears alone, would have you whisked into the grandeur of a fool’s paradise. A quixotic ideal where war can go fuck itself just as Plo can go fuck himself too, but through means of using every inch of your existence leaving nothing to waste. That just by the mere serendipitous touch of his talon-clad fingers paired with his poorly crafted apology for inadvertently wrapping around your neck so deliciously tight, he could easily bring to your knees to do no more than worship him as you would a god to atone for the sins of subjecting those around you in yet another depressive episode.

It gave you a sense of grounding at the very least; a laughable means of coping you’ve developed over time. One that would put his mind at ease to know that in spite of the decline of mirth within your soul, you still had some reserve to keep yourself from the point of no return — even if it meant you were doing it for others, not so much yourself.

You turn to face the still-standing Kel Dor whose hands remained tucked behind. Expressionless was better than him pacing frantically and mouthing off a full-on lecture. Though part of you expected to use this to his advantage; to go over how your last visit went and the lingering feeling of having professed indirectly required confrontation — then again, it wasn’t exactly the first time the two of you indulged in a very elusive discourse about matters of the heart. But at least you got to say it again, right? I mean not hearing it back is nothing new.

You hear him sigh, whether it was relief or frustration it hardly mattered. He was gonna chew you off you and you knew it. He’s probably at his wit’s end having to come to your rescue for what, the third time now in a month? You’ve already quit bounty hunting because Plo pulled the ‘I would rather you indulge my father in managing the hatchery in Dorin’ card. I mean who wouldn’t? You get to spend time with Dorin’s most charming Kel Dor, who has been quite-like a father to you with little knowledge that he’s about to become your father-in-law if Plo would just stop being a Jedi Master for a hot minute. That, and the fact that you get to help Dorin rebuild their population through the hatchery — not your more preferred method of helping since you’re pretty set on the fact that Plo is quite virile.

Even wishful thinking of him has deterred you from your further decline even for the fleeting moment of his visit. As for how long it’ll last, the daunting possibility of how grave the next ‘episode’ would be, looms about.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” It was more of a statement than an inquiry. You knew he was upset just from the fact that he hadn't approached you yet or had spoken much. Not many knew how chatty Plo Koon can be or how mischievous or playful he truly is behind the ever well-behaved aristocratic demeanor. You lowered your as your teeth sank to the bottom of your lip apologetically as you continued. “I understand if you are. I’d be mad at me too.”

“Good. Then we can move forward.” Plo Koon replies, true to his no-attachment Jedi teachings that infuriated you more than anything. And he knew; he knew how to drive you so far up the wall, you sometimes wish he just would — drive you up the wall and impale you on some 13-inch goodness of Kel Dor dic— “Oof!”

“Plo, what the fu—.!”

Plo Koon had very uncharacteristically whacked you with a miniature version of himself in the form of a plushie. Yes, your beloved three-hundred and eighty-four year-old Kel Dor childhood friend who makes you feel things that the Order would frown upon, has brought you the greatest gift that he could and could not give — himself.

“Oh, you are clever. Clever, clever, clever.”

And just like that, he had completely flipped your mood in ways you had not anticipated. The ever-wise, patient, kind, and doting Jedi Master had struck again. He didn’t need to say anything to convey his unwavering presence in your life and how he’d continue to be there in ways you’d need him; be it an amicable sense of support and an ear to ramble onto or the carnal sense of allowing you to peruse his entire existence in smutty stories in your head as long as they’d keep you occupied to leave no room for thoughts that he believed shouldn’t be there. He knew — knew you like the back of his own hand.

“Though I must say I did not have the heart to have that made anatomically correct.”

With a dramatic and proud pause, Plo makes his way to sit beside you, pushing you quite forcefully to give him room on the bed. Leaning to rest his back against the same pile of fluffed pillows as his arm wandered around your waist, he made himself further comfortable by crossing his boots beside yours at the edge. A subtle clear of the throat had you leaning your temple onto his shoulder, chuckling amused as he continued his seemingly required narrative.

“I’m sure you’re quite aware of how it would be highly inappropriate to make it so.”

He made a gesture to measure the length of the Plo-plushie’s leg, extending quite a leap past it as if you didn’t know how impeccably well-endowed he is that you need a visual. “Then again, I get the feeling this little one will be subjected to being defiled in the most… intimate of ways with or without… a certain appendage.”

“Plo, you prude, old man. Just say it. Say ‘cock’. Say ‘cock’ right now and I swear on all things encompassing our centuries-old friendship I will cease all attempts of killing myself.”

Plo had never seen such sternness and determination in your eyes that you actually had him caught off-guard for once. Torn between addressing your suicidal thoughts and the fact that the proposed resolution is so ludicrous that he was actually considering it knowing how you operate. You’ve had this chase of making him purposely say filth as it gives you delight beyond comprehension to have the dignified and highly revered Jedi Master General succumb to such sinful treats. Not that he was above such things, but they weren’t exactly preferred in his vocabulary.

“These… thoughts, my dear. Are they frequent?” It was enough to melt your heart among all the things Plo Koon. You’ve loved him for so long you’d let him stab you in the gut for fun — not that he’d do it, of course. Genuine concern etched over the creases of his face and the tenderness of his free hand caressing the back of yours that held the adorable toy. “Has something happe—.”

“Plo, I swear. Just say co—”

“Duche—”

“Plo.”

“Duch.”

“Just say—”

“Little love, please let’s tal—”

“Ep! Ep! Ep! We don’t say things like that in public.”

“Yes, we surely do not say things like that in public.”

The impasse called for silence. Lucky you, you had a little Plo-plushie to play with. You folded the plushie’s arms to cross over his chest, holding it down with one hand while the other pressed down over its forehead making it look disgruntled. “There we go. Now there’s two of you.”

“Indeed.” Plo Koon replies, taking the hint of your uneasiness and unwillingness to divulge the woes of your existence just yet. “Though I do not as such, little love.” He adds, reaching to adjust the split-legged plushie, into a more self-respecting fashion.

“You do not sit like that!” You replied incredulously. “Not with your —”

“But I do, my sweet. I do not, as you young ones call ‘mansplain’ in spite of being well endowed with a very large cock…—alorum behavior, which by the way is very much unlike me. I am but a humble Jedi with humble needs.”

The excitement in your eyes bloomed with laughter, shaking your head with a well-deserved slow-clap offered to the improper-elusive Kel Dor Jedi Master. He joins in the chorus of your blissful giggle with a hearty rumble of his own and a playfully pompous nod of acknowledgement of yet again another triumph.

“By the stars, I love you.” You sigh, dreamily as you feel the light creep through the darkened veins of your soul — truly a Jedi’s work at play. “I just… I love you. I love you so much I can’t.. I can’t….”

But as quick as the light bore once more into the shadowy depths of depression, you began fanning yourself in an attempt to suppress an outpour. Your eyes welled up and you began gasping for air as you tried your very best to stifle the whimper than turned to disheartened groans of pain, until you had begun to cry so profusely, your body shook in a mix of incoherent emotions.

You mumbled in between tearful pleas of asking Plo to make “it” stop, to do something because it wasn’t what you wanted right now. You threw in painful lines in jest, innuendos and petty attempt to restart the banter, self-deprecating jokes and nostalgic references etched like core memories between the two of you in your younger years— the last thing you wanted was for your time with Plo to end on a bitter note knowing he’d have to leave soon.

He held you tighter than what your knitted frames would allow, a little more and he’d have crushed you and as much you knew within yourself you wanted nothing more than to be turned to dust by a certain Kel Dor’s embrace, your tears seem to be the undisputed victor.

You felt the weight of his head over your crown, the scent of him filling your senses as you head your drenched face onto the side of his neck while your arms latched onto the toy, squeezing it in your own embrace. You wanted it so badly to be him, but you couldn’t bring it upon yourself to bestow him guilt of being limited in the gesture as to comply with the teachings of the Order. You wouldn’t dare put him in that predicament. And so you held the toy version of him imperviously close to you as if suffocating the poor little thing.

And then it happened.

“I know it baby, i’ll be a star And then you’ll be all mine And they won’t be able to take you from me”

You have been a fan of Mimi Mirage for as long as you can remember. The day you saw a poster of her at a record shop, you were so drawn that you purchased all four of her albums and had it on repeat that at some point, you were sure Plo Koon fancied a song or two from one of the most played albums when he’d come over. He’d also taken upon this interest of yours to spoil you Mimi Mirage merch, using his connections to procure signed copies. Plo had also made it a point to frame them because it’ll wear less if unexposed — all for your benefit, of course.

“I’m gonna make this planet pink I don’t care what they think I’m gonna make this planet pink”

You started to laugh in between a now fully-developed hiccup from all the crying and hyperventilating. You sniffled, whimpered, giggled, and even sorted a little at how off-key and weird it sounded being sung by your beloved Kel Dor friend. He continued, straining to get the key right and endure the missing words with hums and guesses that had you laughing as your face remained nuzzled on the side of his neck.

“You’ll be mine”

He mouthed the words slower over the specified lyric, the spurs of his clawed hand drawing idle patterns over the small of your back while the other purchased your cheek with a thumb strumming sweetly over the corner of your lip.

“I’ll take the risk”

You turned to receive a rather affectionate gaze, his thumb in a continuous stroke over the fullness of your lips from corner to corner. The weight of him heavy over your own forehead; turning, tossing, seeking that perfect angle for you to feel the contrast of the cold, stannic mask and warmth of the little exposed skin on his face. You could feel the protective lenses over his eyes push against the bone of your brow until he found that perfect spot to nest half of his face onto half of yours.

Your lips curve into a smile, then parted to utter more serene titter as you hear that luxuriously rare, short, single-syllabled chuckle of his that made you just wanna bear ninety-nine of his babies. But unfortunately, this little space-face-press shenanigans would pardon him from depriving her auditory needs to hear more of Mimi Mirage’s Planet Pink butchered by an esteemed member of the council, General of the 104th Battalion, and Jedi Master of great tenure and importance.

“Sing, old man.”

You whined with a pout — to which you then blushed from Plo Koon’s response of pushing the tip of his thumb between your parted mouth to shut you up. After all, you asked him to sing and you best listen. With a sigh of defeat and amusement in one, he dipped his thumb further enough to feel an earnest tongue brush onto the pad of his digit.

You hear an evenly rare grunt that had you bite your lip as if to savor the fleeting touch that descended excruciatingly slow down your chin and delicately along the column of your throat.

Flustered beyond recognition, you feel the heat pool between your legs as his tone takes a chasmic turn. Spurs slithered along the expanse of your neck until he had collared his hold around you with a verily gentle and mindful squeeze. The gesture merited an sultry groan of approval and encouragement, accompanied by an elevated hissing sound from your smaller frame.

“Must I say the words, little love?”

You were too intoxicated to respond that all you could was a well-surrendered hum.

“I….”

In spite of the nearly losing all inhibition with the faintest of force applied over your neck, you draw your sight back as if to peer through the decorative holes of his protective eye-wear and gaze upon the windows of his soul. Your heart quickened further, anticipation built on the very hill you’ve silently swore to die on for this make or break turn of events.

Has the day come for him to finally say it?

You whispered the very words you’ve often given him, the endless ‘I love you’s’ that were often replied with “I knows” and “thank yous”. Days when you’d want to wring his neck or stuff him inside your pocket and whisk him away from the Order — days unlike today where he knew exactly what to say to make it all better. To make all the pain go away and allow herself to redemption to start anew. Today, he said the words… to Mimi Mirage’s Pink Planet in the perfect key and timing.

“I wanna be your dream girl I’m gonna be your dream girl”

Plo distangles himself from you, his hand cupping his antiox mask with a hearty laugh before rubbing his temples and taking a seat on the couch beside the bed.

Nothing in this world would have made you feel better and would have rid you of the storm that brewed in your apartment for weeks than to hear your favorite three-hundred and eighty-four year-old Kel Dor Jedi utter the words “I wanna be your dream girl, I’m gonna be your dream girl.”

The room was soon an echo of you laughing so hard you wept a little. Then complained that your cheeks stung and that your stomach felt knotted from having to crease up. You’ve also boldly asked him to sing more of it — of which he politely declined, responding of talks of copyright and apprehension in jest.

As you simmer down and the minutes turn to hours of light conversation, you sigh and ready yourself for a nap. It had been such an exhausting week and with sleep finally blessing her with attendance, she turned to his side and momentarily watched him in his meditative state. With a yawn and a kiss to the little one (Plo-plushie), your eyes grow heavy.

Part of you wanted to wake him up and confess what it was that had gotten you down this rabbit hole of misery, paranoia, anxiety, and immense sadness, but you weren’t his burden to bear. You weren’t anyone’s burden to bear.

Your eyes finally submit, once more enveloped in darkness as your voice fades to a whisper. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. I just don’t know where home is anymore, Plo. I don’t know where you are in my life anymore either. But you don’t have to know that…”

Unbeknownst to you, Plo knew exactly what the answer was.

And just as you have drifted to the land of dreams, his hand hovers over yours, light enough to touch but never wake you.

“Right here.” He says.

“Right here.”

NPT. @saengak @amorfista @eyecandyeoz @kimiheartblade @t3mpest98 @starrrgazingbunny @exosorcery @eloquentmoon @plokoonsdisapprovingeyebrows @daddycephalopod @quiglettt @mild-disorganization @reader6898 @matookahitaki @ghostperson69 @notthestarwar @sev-on-kamino @sofir-kefir @veny-many @daimyosprincess @pickleprickle @baufraus @bobaprint @storm89 @arcsimper5 @what-i-meant-to-say @keebeees @omaano

#♝#dukeoftheblackstar #plo koon #plo koon x reader #plo koon x you #plo koon fic #plokoon #plo koon/reader #plokoon/reader #plokoonfic #plokoon/you #ρℓσ∂υ¢н #plo koon ficlet #plo koon x oc #plo koon/oc #there's a very handsome hubby-material Kel Dor Jedi Master General in there bearing gifts if you look really hard ♥

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starshine-hockey-girl · 8 months

Text

The Invisible String

Summary - Rocky is from Texas, looking to make it big as a tattoo artist in NY. What happens when Rocky meets NY Islanders forward Anthony Beauvillier and two people so unalike discover that they have more in common than they think. Will their invisible string lead to love or friendship?

This is my very late entry to the summer fic exchange. Yes, I am aware that it is the middle of October. The "No results and a story" excuse is that I got a huge case of writer's block followed by an ass-whooping of self doubt. However, I powered through it, and then the story just grew into this massively long piece. (17.2K- yikes)

This is written for @jarmorie who requested a reader insert or OC (she/her preferred). fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers pls I would die with Anthony Beauvillier. Jarmorie is also a big Taylor Swift fan so I tried to incorporate as much Swift content as I could.

Acknowledgements and thank yous-

@laurenairay, I can't thank you enough for pinch hitting for me when I missed the deadline. I am incredibly thankful for your endless encouragement. I hope you enjoy your brief, but pivotal cameo

@cellythefloshie - Thank you for the encouragement and embracing my verbose nature.

@dreamofstarlight and @fallinallincurls for sharing their Swiftie knowledge. I hope that I do that I did Queen Taylor justice.

@wyattjohnston - one for organizing these fic exchanges. It's a tiring and thankless task. Thank you for understanding my struggle and not shaming me.

@jarmorie I am sorry that the story was so delayed. I really wanted to write something that give you everything that you wanted.

@pattiemac1 and @penstxgal1968 for being the best support system ever. Seriously, they both deserve writing credit for all of their ideas.

Gorgeous

Inked On Ice Tattoo Shop - Long Island, NY

“Inked on Ice, how may I help you?” Daisy yawned as the shop’s computer fired up and she settled into her chair.

“Uh yeah,” the deep voice on the line answered, “My buddy and I want to get some ink today. Do you have anyone available?” Daisy glanced at the artist's calendars.

“Well, it’s going to depend on size, subject and budget. What do you have in mind?” she answered quickly. After a brief discussion, Daisy honed in on available artists. “Do you want to do back to back appointments or get inked at the same time?” she asked.

She could hear a discussion on the other end. The bland voice in a spirited discussion with another voice with a slight French accent. “Barzy,” the second said with authority, “I do not need you to hold my hand while I get a tattoo. We can get inked at the same time.”

Daisy’s ears perked up at the name Barzy. “Can I get your names?” she asked as casually as possible as New York Islanders Mat Barzal gave his name along with Anthony Beauvillier. The tattoo shop was owned by Cameron Davies, a former New York Islander. Daisy knew that Cameron would want the pair treated with kid gloves. She examined the schedule again and made an executive decision. She would schedule the more complicated tattoo, Anthony, with JD Porter, master tattoo artist, who just had a last minute cancellation. She would schedule the simpler design, Mat Barzal, with Rocky, JD’s apprentice. .

“So Tito is with JD and I am with Rocky? Sounds good,” the NHL upstart stated as they confirmed details, “See you at 6 PM.”

In the cozy one bedroom apartment, Rocky picked up the phone and quickly read the text from Daisy. “Yes….” Rocky whispered to no one in particular. As a tattoo apprentice, paying customers were difficult to come by. The last minute addition would give her just enough to pay her share of the rent. Given that most of her time at the shop was unpaid, Rocky’s contribution to the rent was more symbolic than practical. Kelly made enough to cover their expenses and then some, but Rocky insisted on contributing, even if it was essentially meaningless.

“Rocky!” Kelly screamed, “Are you even listening to me? We need to leave in fifteen minutes if we are going to be on time.”

“Of course, I’m listening.” Rocky replied, “Listen- don’t be mad, but I can’t go with you. I gotta to work tonight. I scored a last minute tattoo.”

“An actual tattoo?” Kelly mocked, “or will it be another night of cleaning and wiping up after the professionals?”

“Ouch,” Rocky replied, “You know that is part of apprenticeship. I have to pay my dues.”

Rocky’s tattoo apprenticeship was a source of contention in their relationship. The couple had moved to Long Island from Dallas as a stepping stone in Kelly’s financial services career. Together since high school, Kelly disapproved of Rocky’s fascination with all things tattoo. The financial analyst with the fast-rising career wanted a partner that would fit into the corporate world. Rocky decidedly did not fit that mold even if Kelly couldn't admit it. The apprenticeship highlighted their vastly different career paths and their relationship bore small fissures as a result.

“Listen,” Rocky pleaded in an attempt to head off another fight about the apprenticeship. Kelly was convinced it was going nowhere. “It’s an actual tattoo so I will get paid,” Rocky explained, “Also apparently these two guys are some sort of VIPs. The fact that Daisy and Cameron are giving one of them to me to ink is a good sign. I can’t turn it down.”

Kelly stood in disbelief and tried to summon anger at Rocky and none came. Honestly, it was a relief to put off introducing Rocky to conservative co-workers a little longer. “Fine,” Kelly said bitterly, “I’ll see you when you get home.”

Two hours later at the shop, Rocky waited patiently to the side as JD inspected the set-up of her station tucked away in the smallest room in the shop. As a mentor, JD held Rocky to a high standard. An Apprenticeship endorsed by him would carry weight within the tattoo community and JD wanted Rocky to be prepared. He gave a nod and Rocky let out a sigh of relief. Together they walked out to the lobby.

Cameron stood talking to the two athletes about his glory days with the Islanders. Rocky could tell right away that both had passed from polite attention to “oh my god, get us out here” by the tone of their voices. After the third “that’s crazy,’ uttered by Barzal, Cameron noticed JD and Rocky standing there. When he waved them over, Barzal and Beauvillier turned to look over their shoulders. Barzal blinked and gulped while Beauvillier offered a shy smile before looking down at the floor.

Rocky approached Barzal and extended her hand to him, “Hi, I’m Rocky. I think that you are with me tonight.”

“You’re…..You’re….. “ Barzal stammered, “a woman.” Rocky took a step back and dropped her hand in disappointment. JD and Rocky exchanged a glance before Rocky let out a sigh. Usually any pushback she received came from men much older than Barzal so she was honestly a little shocked. Mat looked stunned. “Wait, I am getting tattooed by a woman?” he asked out loud.

“Is there a problem?” JD asked as he looked Barzal in the eye.

“Look, I don’t want to sound sexist here, but…..” he started to say, “I just was expecting a man. I am pretty sure the girl who made the appointment said "man.”

“I did not,” Daisy interjected, “I know for a fact I said no such thing.” When Rocky began as the first female tattoo artist in the shop’s history, Cameron and crew did not anticipate the push-back from their largely male clientele. Most guys came in because of the hockey/Islanders connection and well, their views on gender roles were not exactly progressive. The shop had adopted the policy of referring to all of the artists as gender-neutral as possible. Daisy, Cameron’s wife and partner, was especially intentional about it. Other than a few clients shocked to be facing a petite, brunette pixie of an artist, there had been no issues.

Rocky looked to Cameron and back to Barzal. She knew that Cameron would want to keep Barzal as a client but also did not want to face the wrath of Daisy for caving in. She was about to speak when Tito Beauvillier spoke up. “She can do my tattoo,” he spoke softly at first to everyone’s surprise. Rocky turned to face the blonde and studied his face. He gave a gentle smile and spoke louder, “Yeah, I think I want her to do my tattoo.”

“I have to let you know that she is still in her apprenticeship. Just so that you are aware, she may not be able to give you the tattoo that you want,” JD explained. A pained look flashed in Rocky’s eyes and Tito took notice. Rocky hated the implication that just because she was still in an apprenticeship that she was less talented. She sucked in a deep breath that she hoped went unnoticed. She was mostly successful with the exception of Tito. He recognized the frustration of being underestimated.

Then JD turned to Barzy, “It also means that you are going to pay more for my time. It’s up to you.”

Barzal began to hem and haw. His mouth had gotten the better of him and he had stuck his foot so far into it that he didn’t think it would be possible to retrieve. Even if he changed his mind and selected Rocky, the damage was done. Finally Tito spoke again firmly, “No way Barzy. You had your shot at her and you blew it. I want her now.” His eyes fell onto Rocky’s face and he gave a slight nod.

Rocky laughed out loud, “Well then, let’s get to work.”

The tiny brunette led Tito to her small section of the studio. She pointed to the table and chairs in the corner. He sat down as she picked up a notebook to take notes. “I have a few questions,” Rocky began as the scent of his cologne wafted into her nostrils. She inhaled and let out a small moan before she realized it. Tito cleared his throat and Rocky blushed in response. “The notes say that this is your first tattoo. Is that correct?” she asked in earnest, “What made you decide to do it today?”

Tito blinked slowly and thought. He hadn’t anticipated the question and was stumped for an answer. Finally he spoke, “I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but never got around to it. When Barzy said he was coming, I decided that I would go ahead and do it.” Rocky nodded her head as she listened.

“So do you have a design or an idea in mind?” she questioned.

“Yeah, I found this on the internet and thought it would be cool,” he answered as he fished his phone out of his pocket. Rocky waited patiently as he scrolled this phone. Finally he found the picture and held his phone out to her. She took the phone and looked at the picture.

Rocky blinked slowly and zoomed in on the picture. Internally, her mind raced with thought “No fucking way”, but her reasoning kicked in. Technically, it would be a challenge which pleased her, but something just didn’t sit well with her.

She looked up to see him looking at her with hopeful eyes. “Do you like it?” he asked. Rocky flashed a smile similar to a mother gave a child when presented with a treasured piece of artwork.

“You don’t like it?” he questioned.

“I didn’t say that,” she replied quickly.

“You didn’t say it out loud, but it’s what you were thinking,” he countered.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she responded, “You are a paying client. If you want that design, then that’s what we will do.” Rocky bit her lip and paused before speaking again, “Let me talk to JD and get his thoughts. I want to be sure about some of the technical aspects.” She was trying to buy time to think of ways to politely talk Tito out of his design idea. Rocky walked over to JD’s station just as he was placing the stencil on Barzal’s arm.

“Hey, before you get started,” Rocky started, “Can we go over his design?” They walked away and began an animated conversation.

Tito looked down the hall at Rocky and watched intently. Her hands gestured wildly as she spoke with passion. He couldn’t make out the words, but whatever she said, it was said with conviction. Barzal nudged Tito with his arm, “So she is…… uhhhh…. different.” Tito continued to stare without answering. “Beau!” Barzal said loud enough to draw the attention of JD and Rocky.

Tito was caught staring at Rocky before he quickly turned around to face Barzal with a scowl. “Did you have to yell?” he spoke softly.

“You weren’t answering me,” his friend replied with a laugh, “I don’t like to be ignored.”

Tito looked back over his shoulder quickly before he answered, “Technically, it wasn't a question, but a statement. Yes, I agree. She is quite unique. By the way, what was up with your attitude earlier? You think she can't tattoo because she is a woman?"

"No, that’s not it,” Barzal shot back, “I had a big, burly guy named Rocky in my head so when the pixie queen of tattoos came out, I was surprised. I put my foot in my mouth.”

Tito began to respond but noticed the duo of tattoo artists were walking back to them.

Rocky gave what could be best described as her “customer service” smile and gestured to Tito to go back into her section. He gave a shrug to Barzal and followed her. Then he turned around to Barzal who watched, “You know what you need to do.” Barzal nodded and followed JD back to the table.

The sound of Barzal’s soft yelp and the buzz of JD’s tattoo needle floated into Rocky’s section as they sat down again.

“Soooooo…” Tito smiled.

“So now that I had the technical questions I had about the design answered. I can certainly do it for you,” she smiled.

“Why do I feel like there is a ‘but’ hanging in the air?” Tito smiled.

“There is no but, you want the design then I will give you the correct one,” she replied coolly.

“Rocky, tell me the truth,” Tito urged her to answer.

“How does he know I am lying?” she questioned herself. She looked into his eyes and saw his genuine concern. She paused and thought about her answer. For some people tattoos were just not that deep, but she got the sense that Tito wasn’t one of those people. She decided to flip the script. “What is it about the design that you like?” she asked.

“Well, I like the black and gray,” he began. When she nodded in understanding, he continued, “I liked the logo because I play for the Islanders” When her nose scrunched ever so slightly, he asked, ”What do you not like about the design?”

“This is a design for every wannabe hockey bro that wasn’t good enough to make it to the NHL,” she blurted out, “Why do you want to look like every other Goomba out there? This design tells me nothing about you as a person. It’s bland and generic and that’s not you. You’re not bland and generic.”

Tito laughed, “Tell me how you really feel.”

Rocky’s eyes flashed up and held his gaze, “Look, maybe I should take the easy money and give the tattoo you want, but that’s not the kind of artist I want to be,” she answered with passion, “I want my work to mean something, both to my client and to me. It’s probably not going to make me “successful”, but that’s really not my goal anyway.” She sighed dramatically, “And that’s not even the most obvious objection to it.”

“And what’s the most obvious objection to it?” Tito questioned as he studied the design again.

“When is your contract up? Do you have some sort of non-trade clause?” she asked plainly. He blinked slowly. She continued, “Seriously? When is your contract up?”

“2024,” he said softly as he began to process what she was saying, “I have another season and a half.”

“And you’re sure that they are going to re-sign you?” she prodded, “I don’t know too much about hockey so I don’t know if you are good or not. I do know that tattooing your team name on your body seems like the hockey equivalent to tattooing your girlfriend or wife’s name on your body. It’s a lovely gesture at the moment, but what do you do when things go south?”

Tito gulped and spit out, “I see your heart and soul is as black as your jet black hair.”

Rocky sat up straight, “Would you rather me not say anything?”

“No, you’re right,” he laughed, “You’re totally right. It looks like I am not getting a tattoo, at least tonight.” They sat silently and looked at each other. Both of them sizing the other up. Finally Tito spoke, “So if you think this design is trash, what design do you think I should get.”

“Something unique, something that tells a story about you,” Rocky pondered out loud.

“Unique? What’s unique about me? I am just a guy who plays hockey,” Tito challenged.

“Nah, you are so much more than that,” Rocky answered a little too quickly.

“How can you tell?” he quizzed.

“That twinkle in your eye,” Rocky smiled, “There is a whole world hidden behind the twinkles in your eyes.”

Tito leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “I could say the same about you.”

Rocky blushed momentarily before the vibration on her phone drew her attention. It was a text from Kelly letting her know that he would be home late. His department decided on dinner after drinks. Rocky shook her head and silently admonished herself. She wouldn’t exactly call her behavior flirting, but it definitely wasn’t strictly professional. Rocky looked up into Tito’s soft blue eyes again. She was right. There was a whole world hidden in there. A world that she wanted to know more about.

“I could design something for you,” she blurted out before she processed the thought.

“I would be honored,” he answered quickly, surprising himself.

“So tell me about yourself, Mr. Beauvillier,” she leaned forward and put her chin into her hand while her elbow rested on the table.

“Well, I was born in Quebec….” he began.

She held up a finger and grabbed a pen and paper to write notes and sketch ideas. She motioned for him to continue and he did. Every once in a while he would lean forward to sneak a peek at what she wrote down or doodled. She pushed him away with a playful shove and smile

An hour later Rocky jumped at the sound of JD’s loud knocks. “Hey,” he said with a frown on his face, “We’re done in here.” Tito looked up with a smile. JD. grunted and turned around.

“What’s his problem?” Tito nodded his head at the door.

Rocky shrugged her shoulders, “He’s probably pissed that he is going to miss his cut of my fee.” Tito tilted his head in question. “Since he is my mentor, he gets a cut of my fee along with the shop,” she explained, “No tattoo, no fee.”

“If it’s about the money, I am happy to pay,” Tito offered

Rocky neatly piled up her things. “He’s probably pissed too since he told me just to do the damn design.” she added. They walked out together and waited as Daisy cashed Barzal out.

“Beau,” Barzal popped off, “What? Did you wimp out?”

“Nah,” Tito answered, “I convinced her to work with me on a custom design. I am thinking of a half sleeve to start that we can add onto later down the road.” JD’s eyebrows raised and Rocky shrugged her shoulders. Barzal turned to them, “What do you think? Pretty badass, huh?”

Rocky suppressed a giggle, “Oh, totally. You’re like the Lion King. Should I call you Simba?” Tito guffawed until Barzal shot him a look.

“Hurry up so I can pay, Simba,” Tito joked. Barzal casually flipped him off and turned to pay.

“Pay for what? You didn’t get a tattoo?” Rocky said in a stunned voice.

“Yes, I do need to pay. We were in a consultation. JD, what’s the price per hour for consultations?” Tito looked over to ask Rocky’s mentor.

“One fifty,” he answered tersely. Rocky bit her lip. He quoted a rate that was double her normal rate and Tito hadn’t blinked an eye. Of course, she knew that JD’s reasons were not altruistic at all. A higher rate meant a higher cut for him and the shop. It also meant that he could now charge Barzal double his normal rate for the basic tattoo he did. Rocky admired his hustle, even if she felt guilty about Tito paying more than necessary for it.

After Barzal paid, Tito cleared his throat loudly and nodded to Rocky. Barzal shot him a look of confusion. Tito muttered under his breath, “apologize”. Rocky’s head shot up and she looked at Tito who shrugged his shoulders. Barzal nodded in understanding.

“Uhhhh, Rocky?” Barzal started, “I apologize for earlier. I really wasn’t trying to knock you as an artist. I really was just expecting a big, burly guy based on the name. No offense meant.” Rocky smiled and looked down as she contemplated how long to make the hockey phenom squirm. “Seriously, I am not really a sexist pig,” he continued, “I have much respect for women.”

“Sure you do,” Rocky laughed.

“I swear I do,” Barzal squeaked, “Tell her Beau.”

Tito paused to allow him to sit in his discomfort, “I can attest that Barzy is a great admirer of women who happened to stick his foot so far into his mouth that he is choking on it. I am not sure if it's because of the nasty toe jam or God-awful odor.” Barzal’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

Rocky giggled, “It’s okay, Simba. I am just busting your balls out of amusement. A little bit of friendly fire, I suppose.”

Barzal shot Tito a glare. “Thanks. It looks like I may need new friends these days,” he smiled as the group walked toward the exit. Rocky and Tito exchanged numbers, which did not go unnoticed by Barzal. When he questioned Tito in the car afterwards, Tito dismissed his comment. “It will be easier to set up time to go over ideas directly with her.”

“Whatever you say,” Barzal retorted, “I am sure it has nothing to do with the puppy dog eyes you make when looking at her. No, not at all.”

Inside the tattoo parlor, Cameron buzzed about the potential exposure the shop would receive if Barzal posted his new tattoo on social media. JD looked like a deer caught in headlights. While a master tattoo artist, JD was woefully behind the times on social media, considering it an unnecessary evil. Rocky shook her head, “I’ll take care of it.”

Kelly was sitting on the couch when Rocky arrived back at their apartment. She walked over and kissed the top of his head as he watched Squawk Box on CNBC. “How did the dinner go?” she asked softly. She began stripping as he watched the television.

“Huh?” he answered as he glanced over at her bare torso as she stripped off her leggings.

“I said how did the dinner go? Were you able to talk to Ross about your idea?” she asked as she walked into the bedroom to grab one of his large t-shirts to sleep.

“Oh yeah,” he answered, “We just need the go ahead from Grant and we will be good to go. Hey, I brought you dessert from the restaurant.”

Rocky walked back out and smiled, “That’s great. We both got good news tonight.” Kelly had turned his attention back to the television. She sighed and walked into the kitchen, opened the take out bag and stared at the cheesecake in the container. It was covered in strawberry syrup. She looked at Kelly in disbelief and then shook her head. Rocky’s favorite was, indeed, cheesecake, but she was allergic to strawberries. She had been since childhood. Kelly knew this, or at least had been told at least a dozen times. He probably scanned the menu, saw the cheesecake and ordered it in hurry. It was the little details that he ignored that drove her crazy. When he was in his "work zone", he lost all focus on anything else.

She placed the cheesecake into the refrigerator. She mumbled something about going to bed. She glanced at her phone and saw the text notifications.

Rocky looked at her phone and her eyes widened. She had almost 1,000 new followers including Tito, Barzal and a half a dozen other Islanders.

Thursday- Inked on Ice- Long Island

JD did a double take when Rocky passed him on her way to her station. Rocky’s de facto uniform for work days was a vintage concert or slogan t-shirt with distressed jeans. Today, however, she wore form-fitting black leather pants paired with a crisp white button down shirt. The shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hot pink spaghetti strap camisole. Her hair had also been artfully piled atop her head with a hot pink bandana in the “Rosie the Riveter” look. Most of the staff had a similar reaction.

“What?” she questioned when Daisy let out a low whistle, "I just felt like dressing up."

“I hope you are comfortable because you are now officially booked solid," Daisy smiled.

Rocky blinked and swallowed deep. She was finally coming into her own as a tattoo artist. She was still doing smaller and less intricate designs but her technique improved with each one. She took her schedule and got ready for her first appointment.

Seven hours later, Tito walked into the shop. Daisy immediately greeted him, "Rocky is wrapping up a tattoo. It should be a few minutes." Tito took notice of Rocky's neatly labeled portfolio. The contents mainly consisted of small tattoos that she had done in a variety of styles. The mix was split evenly between color and gray. In the back were larger, more intricate designs.

He was lost in thought when Rocky approached from behind. "See anything you are interested in?

"They are all great," he said after he collected himself, "I like these landscape ones. That one reminds me of my days playing on an outdoor rink."

Rocky leaned forward to confirm which drawing he meant. Her breath felt warm against his neck and he inhaled her perfume. "Oh, that one? Let's go talk in my section," she said softly, oblivious to his reaction. She turned around and walked back to her small room. Tito gulped and turned to follow. His eyes involuntarily swept over her body as she walked in front of him.

She was already sitting down when he entered. He stopped at the door and observed her as she pulled out her sketch pad and pencils. "Either come inside or go get me coffee," she joked.

"Coffee?" he asked, "What's your order?"

"Unsweet iced coffee with an extra shot and skim milk, 2 pumps of sugar free vanilla syrup, 2 Splenda and light caramel drizzle," she answered without looking up.

"You know I have zero shot of getting that right," he smiled.

"Beauregard, if you can remember the draft line-up of your draft in order, then you can remember this," she looked up and flashed a smile. He laughed softly. "Or you could just tell them Rocky's usual," she smiled wider, "Whatever is easier."

"You’re a regular over there?" he asked as he began to leave.

"Yes, and I tip very well. Don't ruin my rep, Beauregard," she warned, "Go and let me work. I am inspired."

"Beauregard?" He stopped, "You can't call me Tito or Beau like everyone else?"

"Do I look like a woman who does what everyone else does?' she retorted.

"Silly me," he sighed, "and to think I am paying to go be your coffee bitch." He waited for a response but she had focused on her paper again.

When he returned with her iced coffee, music was playing. She expertly added shading to the drawing while she sang. https://open.spotify.com/track/1ZY1PqizIl78geGM4xWlEA?si=eebcaf1014c24c38

But if you're single that's honestly worse

'Cause you're so gorgeous it actually hurts

(Honey, it hurts)

Ocean blue eyes looking in mine

I feel like I might sink and drown and die

You're so gorgeous

I can't say anything to your face (to your face)

'Cause look at your face (look at your face)

And I'm so furious

At you for making me feel this way (this way)

But what can I say?

You're gorgeous

He watched her for a moment before he involuntarily started singing as well.

You make me so happy, it turns back to sad, yeah

There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have

You are so gorgeous it makes me so mad (mmh)

You make me so happy, it turns back to sad, yeah

There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have and

Guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats (yeugh)

Alone, unless you wanna come along (oh)

Rocky looked up when she heard his voice and smiled. Tito gallantly presented her with her complex coffee order. He glanced over at the picture before teasing, “So you’re a Swiftie? That’s surprising.”

“Why?” she asked.

He made a hand gesture up and down. “The hair, the tattoos, piercings all scream metal goth girl, but here you are jamming away to basic white girl music while drinking basic white girl coffee. Color me confused.”

“That’s what you get when you judge a book by its cover. You miss the complexity of most humans,” she said philosophically. “By the way, I did notice you jamming along. Are there a lot of Swifties in the NHL?”

“Nah, my ex, Tiffany, was one," he answered, "I became one by osmosis."

"Really?" She replied, "My boyfriend just mocks me."

“Ahhhhh,” Tito, “He doesn’t know what he is missing. Taylor Swift is a musical genius.”

"Well, well, well," Rocky whistled, "Look who is the basic white girl now.”

“Shut up and show me the sketch that you have been so focused on,” he answered as he rolled his eyes.

She slid the sketch pad over to him and looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “I tried to incorporate everything that we talked about last time,” she said quietly. Rocky wasn’t sure as she was filled with apprehension suddenly. Her art was one of the few areas of her life that she was sure about these days.

Tito gingerly touched the sketch pad and took in each detail of the illustration. He was surprised by the lack of color, but it was so effective that he couldn’t imagine the piece in anything but simple black and gray. It was the embodiment of everything that they had discussed.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Tito swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the tears filling his eyes. “I think,” he started before pausing to steady his voice, “I think it’s perfect.”

“Really?” she smiled tentatively, “You really like it?”

He looked up at her and stared for a moment. Underneath the heavy make-up and tough exterior, he saw her sweet spirit. She was more complex and multi-dimensioned than anyone he had ever met despite practically being a stranger. She had put her heart and soul into this drawing and the magnitude of that action was not lost on him.

“Yes,” he smiled, “I wouldn’t change a thing about it.”

MIDNIGHT RAIN

The next few weeks were a blur to Rocky. Her days were filled with appointments and consultations. Word of mouth began to spread as client after client posted their ink on social media. Glowing reviews accompanied each post, and Rocky’s reputation began to grow in the tattoo community. Pretty soon, some pretty big name artists began following her, including Catarina Vandewahl, who was a pioneer female tattoo artist.

With her growing popularity came sacrifices and hardships. Rocky worked hard to capitalize on the buzz around her work and kept herself booked solid. It meant less and less time at home with Kelly. They became like ships passing in the night. He was going to bed as she got home from a long day at the shop and left before she woke up for the day. On the rare occasion they were together, they both struggled to find the connection that had bonded them in their youth. Kelly worked feverishly on his work project while Rocky sat on the couch and watched hockey.

The texts between Tito and Rocky began as strictly business. Short and brief texts to schedule time to work on his tattoo. It was a task that was becoming more and more difficult to complete due to their hectic schedules. However, somewhere along the line, the tone changed from professional to borderline flirtation.

They scheduled his six hour session two days after Taylor Swift’s Midnights album release. It was a rare day off for Tito and Mondays were usually light for Rocky so she was able to make adjustments to her calendar. The plan was for the duo to experience the album together so they swore to each other to remain as “spoiler free” as possible.

In the meantime, Rocky began to follow the Islanders closely. Growing up in Dallas, she was a casual fan of the Stars. She knew the basics of hockey, but not the finer details. She grew frustrated trying to watch Tito play. Eventually, they developed a routine of Tito picking a game on his “off” nights, and they would text back and forth throughout the game. Of course, it was all in the name of teaching Rocky about hockey. However, the subject quickly opened up to broader discussions that almost touched on the philosophical.

Tito kept her updated about life on the road and humorous stories of adventures with teammates. Rocky threw in stories from the tattoo shop. From there, the subject of relationships bubbled up. Tito was shocked to find himself revealing his frustrations in finding a woman that was willing to put up with his unusual schedule while maintaining her own identity. Most women seemed more than ready to give up their own “careers” to make themselves available to NHL players. Tito found it tedious and boring.

Eventually Rocky found herself venting to Tito about how Kelly and her were on almost completely opposite schedules and how isolated she felt from him. Almost immediately, she regretted it and walked back her statements. Internally she scolded herself for crossing some imaginary line. For his part, Tito avoided the subject and redirected back to the game they were supposed to be watching. He couldn’t even think of a reason why he felt the need to change the subject. They were both venting about essentially the same subject. Still he felt a sting as he listened to her vent and he pictured her domestic life with her boyfriend. The sting was especially strong as he looked around his nondescript hotel room and remembered that there would be no one waiting for him when he returned home at the end of the road trip.

The cracks in Rocky and Kelly’s relationship began to deepen the weekend before Tito’s appointment. With his big work project complete, Kelly looked to reconnect with his long-time love. He made a reservation at a romantic restaurant and booked a suite at the Plaza. It was the sort of restaurant that demanded a level of elegance and style that was out of Rocky’s comfort zone.

“Quit fidgeting,” Kelly smiled as they followed the hostess to their table at the back of the restaurant. His hand was on the small of her back as she smoothed her hair down. She had just dyed her hair a vibrant red that morning and spent an inordinate amount of time curling it to achieve the perfect vintage fifties vibe she was going for.

“People are staring at me,” she said quietly.

“Please,” he joked, “You don’t dye your hair that color while wearing that dress if you don’t want attention.” Rocky flinched internally at his words. After they sat down, she quickly picked up the menu to study it. The fact it also shielded the tears that welled up in her eyes was an added bonus.

“Hey,” Kelly said softly, “Let me see your face.”

“I’m deciding what to eat,” she said as she willed her voice to remain steady.

“Rox,” he whispered, “Let me see your face.” She bit her lip. He only called her Rox when he was being sweet and kind to her. While she couldn’t say that he had been unkind recently, there had been a dearth of sweetness over the past couple of months. Slowly, she lowered the menu to let him see her face. “Rox,” he sighed.

“Do you think I dress the way I do for attention?” she murmured, “Do you think I am that kind of person?”

Kelly reached for her hand and grabbed it before she withdrew it. “I think that you can’t dye your hair fire engine red and cover yourself in tattoos and then be shocked when you get attention from normal people.”

“Normal people?” she questioned as she raised her menu again, “I am not a normal person? Since when?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said flatly, “I don’t want to argue. I like the hair and the dress. You look beautiful and unique. You should rock the hell out of it while you can.”

“While I can?” she asked after the server took their order, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Rox,” he said, “Don’t overthink it. I just want to have a romantic night with my girl.”

Something inside of her bristled at the comment “his girl”. She tried to focus on his intent or at least what she believed to be his intent. Kelly wasn’t a malicious person. He was actually quite thoughtful and caring. In fact, it was one of her favorite qualities about him. She looked at him and smiled. "So do you want to hear about my week?" He nodded in affirmation and she began telling a funny story about a misspelled tattoo.

Back in their hotel suite later, they had exhausted all subjects of conversation. Rocky pulled out her phone as a distraction and saw the notification from Tito.

Rocky quickly typed out a reply.

Rocky- Hey…. Quit cheating

Tito- Who? Me?

Rocky- Yes, you - Beauregard

Tito- #sorrynotsorry. I am bored in the hotel room. Staying spoiler free is hard.

Rocky- Quit being a spoiler whore and go to sleep. You will need your energy for Monday.

Tito- That's right- you're going to pop my cherry. Be gentle with me.

Rocky stared at the screen. She knew full well that he was referring to his first tattoo experience. However, suddenly, a very graphic image of her sliding down onto him filled her mind. She could almost hear him whisper in his light accent, "Be gentle with me." Rocky dropped her phone which drew Kelly's attention. He gave a funny face and she scrambled to grab the phone to prevent Kelly from seeing the content. Then she remembered that it had only been a figment of her imagination and not anything that could be read

Tito- Rocky?

Rocky- Sorry, dropped phone. Yes, I will be gentle with you. I gotta go. We’re headed to bed. TTYL.

Tito stared at the screen. "Headed to bed?" he thought. A vision of Rocky riding him while throwing her head back filled his mind. He tried to imagine just how much of her upper body was decorated with ink. He stared at the screen, then put the phone down. He turned on the TV and willed himself to not look at the phone. “Fuck it,” he groaned as he picked up his phone again. Without thinking, he found himself on her Instagram page scrolling through pictures. “Don’t hit like, don’t fucking hit the like button,” he reminded himself as he stalked. It was mainly tattoo photos with an occasional selfie. He scrolled back up and stopped. “Damn,” he whispered to himself, “Damn.”

Before he could stop himself, he responded with a flirty reply. He saw Kelly’s response and exhaled in disgust before clicking on his profile. His posts consisted of mainly “bro” activities - hanging out with friends, tailgating at Jets games, trips to the shore, etc. Tito noticed that they were only rare pictures of Rocky, at least recently.

Pretty soon, he had spent an hour down the rabbit hole of Kelly’s profile. He had pieced together a rough timeline of Rocky’s relationship with Kelly. It started off strong in high school with nearly constant photos. Things definitely cooled in college as Kelly morphed from slightly emo/goth boy to total finance bro . There was a direct correlation between their individual transformations and their relationship-at least based on what you could see on social media. Tito would bet that Rocky's tattoos and fashion style were an issue. The more she got, the less he posted her picture. A couple of years after graduation, other than holiday and anniversary posts, she was non-existent on his timeline. It wasn't as if Kelly was necessarily hiding his relationship with Rocky on social media, but he wasn't exactly shouting it from the rooftops either. He did a similar deep dive onto Rocky’s page and reached the same conclusion.

He scrolled back to her post from that night. How could the things that he found so fascinating about Rocky be an issue for this Kelly dude? He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand it all. Tito gently touched the screen with his thumb. Her smile made him feel things. Her eyes, he thought to himself, her eyes were bright on the surface, but underneath there was a world that he wanted to know. He wanted to know what made her happy and what made her sad. He wanted to know what she thought about the new Taylor Swift album. He wanted to know her thoughts about everything.

Back at the Plaza, Rocky sighed heavily as she tried to get comfortable in the oversized hotel bed. As much as she appreciated the thought and effort that Kelly had put into making the night special, something had fallen flat. Even their lovemaking had been lackluster with them both going through the motions without any true passion between them. Muscle memory elicited perfunctory orgasms for each of them before both they rolled in opposite directions to sleep. Rocky tried "fluffing" her pillow before grabbing her phone.

She glanced at Instagram and smiled at Tito's comment. "Can't sleep?" Kelly said sleepily.

"No, maybe it was the espresso martini at dinner?" She replied.

"Rox, you mainline coffee all day long. How can an espresso martini affect you like this?" he challenged. She shrugged her shoulders. "Come here," he held out his arm to her, "I'll try the head thing." Rocky rolled over and snuggled into his chest. They laid in silence for a minute. Kelly's fingertips ran up and down arm gently in slow, methodical fashion. He could feel the tension oozing out of her pores. "Rox, talk to me," he finally asked, "I know that something set you off tonight."

"Well, first you said I wasn't normal," she started meekly.

"Normal wasn't the right word," he interjected, "Average is more accurate. It wasn't meant as an insult, Rox. You should know that you stand out in a crowd. You are special and unique….."

"Why do I sense that there is a but hanging in the air?" She questioned.

"There is no but hanging in the air…." He snapped back.

"What did you mean when you said I should rock the hell out of my look while I can?" she lifted her head and stared into his eyes.

"There it is. That is what you have been stewing over since dinner," he sighed, "What I meant was that eventually you will need to dress more appropriately. Wait, appropriate is not the right word. Hmmmm, maybe I should say….ummmm, subdued."

"Subdued? Why do I need to be subdued?" She shot back.

He sighed, "because eventually I will need you to be a partner. I can't become a CEO without a good partner."

"CEO?" she balked, "Since when do you want to become a CEO? What happened to the 'work as hard as we can fo the next ten years so we can retire and travel the world" plan? When did that change?"

Kelly blinked, "When I started and discovered that I actually liked it. I am good at my job and I can go further than I thought I could. I know it doesn't mean shit to you but I love it. If you gave it a chance, you might like it too."

Rocky searched into his eyes to gauge his seriousness. Her gaze was met with an expression of such earnestness that she felt actual pain in her heart. "Tell me more about this plan," she said softly before she laid her head on his chest and he wrapped his arm around her to pull her close. She listened as he explained his fifteen year long route to CEO. It included getting married within two years and having their first child two years after that. Everything was mapped out in such detail that Rocky was beginning to wonder when exactly the original plan changed and when he was planning on telling her.

"You're being awfully quiet, Rox," he said at the end as he wrapped up.

"It's a lot to take in," she whispered, "It's a lot to take in."

"You'll at least consider it? Will you at least consider it for me?" He asked hopefully.

"Yes, I will think about it," she sighed.

Kelly kissed the top of her head, "You're the best. I love you."

"Love you too," she yawned, "let's get some sleep."

TWO DAYS LATER- INKED ON ICE Tattoo Shop

Tito winced and gritted his teeth as Rocky worked on the outline of the complex tattoo design they had settled on. “How are you doing there, Beauregard?” Rocky asked cheerfully. Tito had been sitting stoically for almost three hours. The session started out strong. They started with listening to Taylor Swift’s Midnights, but after two times they grew restless. When Rocky suggested switching to Speak Now, he readily agreed.

He groaned, “Why on earth would you willingly do this multiple times?”

Rocky smiled, “I don’t know. The art is worth the pain, I suppose. Of course, it could also be that I am tougher than you and can take the pain. I would have thought a hockey player would be tougher but then again Barzal cried like a little bitch too.”

“Hey,” he whined, “Would you like me to tell you all of the injuries that I have played with?”

“Will it make you quit whining?” she countered, “If so, then by all means, tell me how tough you are.” Rocky knew that it would draw his focus away from the tattoo and therefore the pain. Sure enough, the conversation bought Rocky about forty five minutes of productive work time. When he began to lose focus again, Rocky tapped his leg. “Hey, we are at a good stopping point for a break. You rest and I will go grab us some lunch from next door. The lasagna is top notch.” Tito breathed a sigh of relief. Within minutes, Rocky had prepared his arm enough to move freely. “Stretch, move around and relax,” she instructed, “We have about another four hours to finish it. Think you can handle it?” She looked at him with concern. It was his first tattoo and she wanted to be sure that he didn’t tap out before she finished. Also, she wouldn’t admit to anyone, but part of her wondered if she could take another four hours on trying to focus on tattooing while she ignored the intrusive thoughts in her head.

When she returned with the food, he was casually scrolling through his phone. He graciously accepted the lasagna and bottle water. “What do I owe you?” he asked.

“You don’t need to pay me back,” she insisted.

“I am not used to women buying me food,” he blushed.

Rocky blinked, “Beauregard….. What kind of women are you dating? They don’t even do the courtesy to reach for their wallet? Where are you finding them? Puckbunnies.com?”

“Hey,” Tito cautioned, “Tap the brakes there.”

Rocky immediately hung her head, “I am sorry, Beau. Truly, I am. I am just dealing with a personal thing and it’s got me extra “fight the patriarchy” right now.

Tito’s face immediately softened, “Something personal? With your boyfriend? What’s his name again- Kelly?”

Rocky sighed, “Yeah, something with him. Hey, how did you know his name?”

Tito blinked. He didn’t want to admit to the stalking of Instagram. “Ummm, didn’t he comment on the picture the other day?” he answered casually.

“Oh yeah,” Rocky smiled, “I forgot about that.”

They sat in silence for a moment. The unanswered question hung in the air. Finally Tito asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Rocky fought the impulse to open to him. “He’s a client,” she told herself before she took another bit of lasagna. She looked out of the corner of her eye to find Tito staring, waiting on an answer. “Beauregard, I appreciate the offer. It’s nothing earth shattering or dramatic," she offered as an answer. When his eyes didn't move from her face, "Stop staring at me. You're being weird,"

Tito looked down and thought, "Was he being weird?" Then he shook his head and looked at her. Her eyes held a silent plea to drop the subject. He waffled between pushing for an answer, absolutely hoping for any news that the relationship had cracks that could be exploited and letting her tell him without pressure. He grimaced at his mind that jumped at the opportunity to "exploit" any weaknesses in her relationship. No, if they had a future together in their destinies, it would happen without manipulation or pressure. He smiled and deflected, "So, ummmm, where did Rocky come from? Did your dad just really want a boy?"

She was thankful for the deflection. She wasn't ready to put her emotions into words yet. Rocky grinned widely, "It's short for Raquelle. My younger brother, Gabriel, could only say Raq and not Raquelle. Alexander turned it into Rocky after I beat him up." Tito's eyes widened. "Well, he deserved it. He stole my Nintendo DS," she explained.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side, Raquelle," Tito smiled.

There was something about the way that he said her name made her heart leap with joy. She felt blush overcome her cheeks and she looked away. Tito thought she never looked more beautiful. "Yep, I am going to call you Raquelle from now on," he teased casually.

"Whatever you say, Anthony " she countered. Both of them scrunched their noses immediately. "Nope, Beauregard is better," she declared. She glanced at the clock. "Now eat up, Beauregard," she ordered, "We are going to start in ten minutes and keep going until we are done."

"Yes, Raqueĺle," he cooed, exaggerating each syllable in his slight French accent. Rocky bit her lip and took a bite of lasagna. "I will let you torture me again in ten minutes." he laughed.

Rocky's plan to carb load Tito worked. When they began again, he got into the zone. He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. His body entered into a trance like state and they powered through together. They were reaching the finish line when "Midnight Rain" started. https://youtu.be/Odh9ddPUkEY?si=IRMd5VC86a0xnQ77. Taylor's voice filled the room

Rain, he wanted it comfortable

I wanted that pain

He wanted a bride

I was making my own name

Chasing that fame

He stayed the same

All of me changed like midnight

Rocky's head popped and listened to the song that seemed to encapsulate the current state of her relationship. When the words "Cause he was sunshine, I was midnight rain,.He wanted it comfortable,I wanted that pain" floated across the room, her eyes filled with tears. Unable to see, she lifted the needle from Tito's skin. The lack of sensation reached into his brain but did not penetrate. It was the tear that splashed down on his forearm that got his attention. He looked at the wet mark and then lifted his eyes to look at her face

Tears streamed down as she stared into space. "Rocky? Are you okay?" He sat straight up in the chair. She glanced at him and cried harder. "Rocky, what happened?" He questioned. "Mon ami, what happened? Did you make a mistake?" She shook her head vigorously.

"He is sunshine and I am midnight rain. He wants comfortable and I want pain," she said out loud to no one in particular.

"Who?" His hand went to her cheek, "Kelly?" She nodded her head. "What happened, Mon Ami? You were fine," he soothed.

"The song," she choked out.

He listened as the song ended. "Which song?" He asked.

"Midnight Rains," she whispered.

"The breakup song?" He asked in the tenderest voice.

Rocky wiped her tears, "He has a fifteen year plan now. He wants to be a CEO and he wants me to be the good little corporate wife." Tito's mind raced. "Can you imagine?" She whined, "Can you imagine me at the country club."

"No, no I can't." He answered honestly. "How do you feel about that?"

"Terrified," she blurted out, "What if I can't do it? What if I lose myself in the process?

"Do you even want to do it? He asked sincerely, "Is that the life you want?"

She stared at him like he had three heads. Of course, it was Kelly. He was her future. He had been her future since she can remember. She hadn't considered what she wanted.

He wiped her tears that still flowed." It is just a song," he whispered, "It doesn't have to mean a break up." Internally he screamed at himself to shut up, but he couldn't stop himself. No, if she was going to end things, she would do it without his interference. It was clear that she wasn't ready to let go. "Rocky…." He continued as she stared into space, "Raquelle…." Her head snapped in direction. "It's just a song," he explained, "You get to decide your future. You can have any future you want."

Rocky inhaled deeply, "You think?"

"I know," he smiled back.

"Thank you Beauregard," she smiled, "You're a good friend to me." Her breath hitched as the word came out of her mouth.

"It is my pleasure," he smiled, "It's.honor and a pleasure to be your friend. However, if you don't finish this ink soon, I am going to come to my senses soon and I will never let you near me with a needle again."

Rocky glared, "No way you are tapping out now. Buckle up Beauregard.".He sat back and closed his eyes. "Alexa, play Shake It Off."

Thirty minutes later, Tito stood and admired the design. "It's perfect," he praised, "I can't wait to post it."

Two weeks later - USB Arena

Kelly held the ticket stub in his hand as they walked around the concourse of the USB arena. “Rox,” he said suddenly, “These are lower bowl seats. I think these seats are pretty close to the glass. Where did you get them again?”

“I told you,” she said sweetly, “A client gave them to me as a thank you.” Kelly led them down the stairs to the seats which were right next to the Islanders penalty box. Rocky took the seat nearest the box. Kelly had a thing about having an easy exit out of crowded places and would have felt boxed in. The music in the arena was loud and pulsating. Rocky looked around and absorbed the vibe. She was lost in thought when a loud horn sounded. She looked up to see the Islander team taking the ice. She hadn’t even noticed that she held her breath until she saw Tito step out onto the ice following Barzal. She smiled and exhaled as her eyes stayed glued to him.

She couldn’t help but notice the difference in him. His face was devoid of expression and his eyes focused on the ice in front of him as the group began to make laps around their end of the ice. Gone was the friendly, but somewhat introverted Beauregard that she knew. In place was a determined and focused warrior. Rocky was tempted to bang on the glass when Barzal took a position in front of her seats to begin his stretches. She decided against creating a potential awkward moment. Instead she searched for Tito, she found him on the opposite side of the ice, stretching as well.

A high pitched squeal of "Barzy" penetrated the air and he leisurely looked over his shoulder to find the source. A gaggle of college girls stood behind Rocky holding a sign that said "Barzy- You can go 5 hole on us." He smirked and shook his head before noticing Rocky, who very obviously focused on something that had her complete attention. He had a hunch on the object of her focus. It was confirmed when he followed her sight line that went straight to Tito.

He almost shouted across the ice, but thought better of it. Instead he waited, they stood next to each other for a drill. "Hey Tito, why didn't you say anything about Rocky being here tonight," Barzal remarked casually, "Those are better seats than we normally get to give away. Did you ask for extra nice ones for her?"

Tito's head spun around in surprise, "What? Where?"

Barzal pointed to Rocky's location. Tito looked and saw her staring in his direction. He felt his stomach flip while a smile spread across his face. He waved shyly and Rocky felt her face flush.

"Did that player just wave at you?" Kelly asked. He turned to Rocky who waved back to Tito before she turned to face him.

“Yeah, I know him from the shop,” she answered evasively. Immediately she felt a pang of guilt hit. Between her earlier fascination and not completely honest answer, she walked the boundary of both her relationship with Kelly AND Tito. She added, “I actually did a tattoo for him a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh,” Kelly turned to assess the hockey player, “So that’s why your schedule has blown up recently. You are tattooing ‘celebrities’ these days. Good for you.”

Rocky turned to Kelly with her arms folded. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Did I say that it was a bad thing?” Kelly questioned incredulously.

The couple stood and stared at each other.. The stare down lasted long enough to attract Tito’s attention. His eyes widened slightly when Rocky’s angry expression registered. He started skating before his brain engaged. A guttural instinct took over. Someone had upset his Raquelle and that- it was just unacceptable. He hit the boards immediately in front of Kelly with enough force to knock Kelly’s beer off the ledge he had left it sitting on. The beer splashed Kelly’s jeans while the sound of the hit reverberated through the area. Kelly looked down at his pants, then to Tito who stared him down on the other side of the glass. “Hey!” Kelly yelled as Tito looked at Rocky who stood with her jaw dropped.

Her mind raced to imagine a justification for Tito’s actions and she could find none. Her look of confusion felt like a stab in the heart to Tito. Rocky turned to Kelly who burst out laughing. The reaction of the crowd in the section was the rousing cheer of approval and amusement. Tito winked at Rocky before he skated off to the bench. “Hey Jake,” Tito called the equipment manager, “You have any money?”

“Why?” the assistant equipment yelled back.

“I knocked that guy’s beer over. I need to buy him another one,” Tito explained.. “Come on, you know I am good for it,” Tito cajoled. Jack turned to delegate the task to one of the team interns when Tito yelled again.

As he made his request, Jake looked on incredulously. “You owe me, Beau- you owe me,” he laughed as he walked away.

In the brief time between end of warm-up and puck drop, a hapless team intern came bounding down the steps toward Kelly and Rocky. He stood at the end of the row and yelled down to them. “Hey, Tito bought you a beer to replace the one he knocked over,” the intern said cheerfully as he passed the cup of beer down the row. Then he passed down the large coffee cup and added, “This is for Rocky?” Kelly eyed her suspiciously as Rocky waited for the cup. When she received it, she glanced to get confirmation. It was her ridiculously complicated drink. Tito made someone go to Starbucks and return with a coffee specifically made for her.

“Can you tell him thank you?” she smiled at the intern.

“You can tell him yourself,” the intern responded, “He wants me to bring you down to the locker room after the game. Wait here and I will come get you after the third period.”

“Wow,” Kelly quipped, “That must have been one hell of a tattoo you did for him. You’re getting VIP treatment.”

Later, toward the end of the second period, Rocky leaned forward and intently watched the faceoff taking place in front of her. Kelly had made an early exit to beat the line at the concession stand. The Islanders were in a tight, chippy game against the Dallas Stars- the score tied up at one. Tito lined up against Jamie Benn who acknowledged him with a head nod. Tito looked back over his shoulder and glanced at Rocky but then returned his focus to the task at hand. Benn laughed, “Is that your girl? She looks like fun.”

Tito responded with a shove to Benn’s chest, “Shut up.” Benn retaliated with a stick poke and a smile- content with the knowledge that he had found a way to get under Tito’s skin. Both resumed position again but began jostling sticks back and forth. When the puck dropped, he used his stick to upend Tito.

The move drew the ire of the Islander crowd and Rocky stood up and yelled, “Hey, you can’t do that.” Benn smiled even bigger as Tito got up and launched a shove into his opponent’s chest. The captain grabbed a hold of the stick and they jostled for a few moments before Tito dropped his gloves and reached to pull Benn down into a headlock before he started swinging. He landed several punches before the bigger man was able to pull him down to the ground. Refs separated them. Tito ripped off his helmet as he got back to his feet and shook his head. .

Benn smiled, sure that he had instigated Tito into a penalty. During a tie game, drawing a penalty was crucial. His smile soon disappeared when he realized that it was he that was getting the extra penalty for his trip. Tito gave him a smile, “Thanks for the power play. It will come in handy.”

He entered the penalty box casually, sitting down on the bench and placing his helmet beside him. He wiped his face with the towel as Benn yelled from his box. Tito looked over lazily as he caught his breath. “Lucky you,” the captain yelled and pointed. Tito turned around to see Rocky staring intently at him, her brow furrowed slightly. She quickly smiled as he turned around.

Tito scooted on the bench so that he was closer to her. Suddenly, he forgot where he was and focused on her smile. “Fancy meeting you here, Mon Ami,” he greeted her.

“Beauregard…..” she spoke in an exaggerated drawl, “I’m not a hockey expert, but I do believe that you are supposed to stay OUT of the penalty box.”

“Raquelle…..” he began with a little more accent than necessary. Rocky felt her cheeks begin to flush. Tito stared at her face, “If I stayed OUT of the box, then we wouldn’t have this chance to chat. You know that chatting with you is my favorite thing in the world.” Rocky leaned forward and grinned.

Somewhere in the TV control room, a producer proclaimed, “Are you guys seeing this?” The director looked up as the producer shared the camera view into the Islander penalty box onto the large screen. There, in the picture, were Tito and Rocky shamelessly flirting. Within seconds, the shot was on live TV with the Islanders TV announcers commenting on it.

“Butch,” Brendan Burke chuckled, “It seems like we have a bit of an off-ice situation happening here.”

Back in their bubble, Rocky joked, “I knew you were trouble when you walked in…”

Tito retorted, “It’s me. Hi, I’m the problem it’s me.”

“At tea time, everybody agrees,” she finished.

Back in the control room, one of the female interns shouted out, “Holy shit, they are quoting Taylor Swift to each other.”

The director yelled, “No fucking way!” He suddenly had visions of a viral moment. The information was relayed to the announcers.

Tito moved on to another song, “Best believe I’m still bejeweled, When I walk in the room I can still make the whole place shimmer.”

Rocky picked up, “And when I meet the band, They ask “Do you have a man?” I can still say, ‘I don’t remember’”

Inside the control room, the announcer's booth and the entire Islanders liveblog tag on Tumblr, people watching were losing their collective minds. Comments flew back and forth- “Do you think he even knows that there is a game still going on? The moment was interrupted by the penalty box attendant who tapped Tito on the shoulder, “Fifteen seconds, dude.”

Tito’s head spun around and he remembered where he was. He quickly gathered his equipment and stood by the door. He turned to Rocky and smiled. She started “I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you.”

The door opened and Tito skated onto the ice. He glanced back and saw Kelly returning to his seat. He handed Rocky a bottle of water and she looked like she wanted to melt into the floor. The voice inside Tito's head finished the lyric, “Please don’t be in love with someone else. Please don’t have somebody waiting on you.” He felt the sharp pain in his abdomen like a punch to a gut. It pulled him out of dream-like state and back into the reality of the game. “Use this,” he said to himself, “Use the pain as motivation.”

His eyes returned to the play and he saw his opening as he gained speed. He knocked Miro Heiskanen off the puck and took it onto his stick. He weaved his way through the two defensemen and circled the net. He passed the puck to Barzal who shot it at the net. Jake Oettinger coughed up a juicy rebound that landed on Tito’s stick. He lifted the puck up and over Oettinger’s shoulder into the net. It took a second for Tito to realize what had just happened. He was swarmed by his teammates as the arena erupted in cheers.

He looked over to see Kelly pick Rocky into his arms and swing her around. He quickly turned to accept congratulatory pats on the head from his teammates. Rocky’s head spun while in Kelly’s arm to find Tito. When she found him on the bench, she swallowed hard. The focused expression on his face had returned and he stared directly in front of him. It was Rocky’s turn to feel the gnawing ache in her stomach. The period ended and she watched him walk to the tunnel without looking back.

The Islander locker room buzzed with excitement of the new lead. Round of "Thatta boy, Beau, spread around the room. Tito didn't respond. Instead he replayed his time in the penalty box -the ease of talking to Rocky, the way she pulled him out of the game, the butterflies he felt when he looked into her eyes. He could have stayed lost in that moment for the rest of his life.

His thoughts were interrupted by Anders Lee's voice. "Sooooo who is the girl and can we buy her a beer?" he joked.

"Please don’t be in love with someone else. Please don’t have somebody waiting on you," ran through his head. The memory of her hug with Kelly flashed in his brain. Tito gritted his teeth and shook his head. "She's nobody- just the woman who did my tat," he spit out, 'She's nobody." With that, he got up to find the intern from earlier. Barzal watched in silence before getting up and following him. The rest of the team looked at each other in confusion.

Barzal caught up as Tito finished his conversation. "Are you sure" the intern asked. Tito nodded his head.

"Sure about what?" Barzal questioned.

"Sure that I don't want her to come down after the game," Tito answered emphatically.

"Why?" Barzal questioned as they walked back to the room.

"Because I said so dumbass," Tito muttered as he put on his gear.

Upstairs,the intern made his way to Rocky's seats. Kelly looked confused when the intern gently explained, "Tito is not going to be able to see you after the game after all. There is a mandatory team meeting that he can't miss."

Rocky blinked. She knew it was a lie but didn't want to argue or appear too eager to see Tito.. "Oh okay- well, tell him that I will see him around I guess.” She tried to hide the disappointment on her face, but Kelly knew her well enough to spot the fake smile. They rode in uncomfortable silence back to their apartment.

Later in bed, they faced opposite walls with their backs to each other. “So that’s who you've been texting recently?” Kelly asked quietly.

“Yeah,” she said softly, “He has been teaching me about hockey.”

"Clearly it worked. You were really focused on the game. I am glad you had a good time. You deserved it." Kelly yawned "Good night Rox. Love you."

"Ditto, Kels," she replied softly. Rocky's phone began to buzz. She picked it up.

Daisy: Girl…

Rocky: What?

Daisy: You're viral.

Rocky: What? How?

Daisy sent her the link to SportCenter and the segment about Tito's time in the penalty box. Rocky watched in a combination of sweet memory and horror. She thought back to what she felt in the moment. The feeling had been so pure and she struggled to name it. It finally dawned on her- joy.

"What's the problem with joy?" She asked herself as the dread and horror spread around her body. It had been so long since she had experienced true joy. She couldn't remember when the last time was. One thing she knew that it wasn't with Kelly- the person who she should share joy with.

She looked back at Kelly with a wistful look. "I have to be better," she said to herself, "He deserves better." She rolled over and watched the clip again. The feeling of joy returned as she watched Tito's face and a thought popped into her head, "Don't you deserve better?" She pursed her lips and turned off her phone.

Barzal/Beauvillier condo- Long Island

"Fuck you, I would have made that shot,," Tito yelled out to no one in particular as the NHL22 game played. Barzal gave him a side eye and continued playing the video game.

After Tito added "motherfucker," Barzal paused the game. Tito protested meekly before Barzal cut him off, “What in the hell is your problem dude?”

“I don’t have a problem,” Tito countered.

“Don’t lie to me Beau. It insults my intelligence,” Barzal challenged. Tito began a pithy response, but stopped when he saw his roommate’s expression. The concern was apparent and completely out of character for Barzal. “Does it have something to do with Rocky?” Barzal asked quietly. Tito leaned back and let out an exaggerated sigh. “I am going to take that as a yes,” Barzal continued, “Want to talk about it?”

“There is nothing to talk about. I misread her signals,” Tito spit out, “I thought there might be something there, but clearly I am wrong.”

“I am not so sure about that dude,” Barzal sighed. The brunette turned and studied his roommate's face. He pondered his next words carefully. "Look, I was going to wait and let you find out tomorrow, but there is something that you need to see." He pulled out his phone and started the video of Tito and Rocky from the penalty box.

Tito smiled involuntarily at Rocky as his finger went caress her face on the phone screen. He wanted to push the feeling down but it swept over him like a tidal wave. Barzal chuckled, "Dude, you have it bad. You are so into her."

"Too bad she isn't into me," Tito whined.

"Look, she may have a boyfriend, but she is into you," Barzal countered. Tito began to shake his head but Barzal interjected, "Look at her face when she looks at you. She desn't look at her boyfriend that way. I watched her during the game. Trust me there is something there, Beau. It wasn’t just during your penalty. Her eyes were on you the entire game.."

"So what should I do? She has a boyfriend," Tito asked.

"Be patient until she figures it out," Barzal suggested, “I don’t know much but I know that she doesn’t look at him the way she looks at you.”

"So business as usual?" Tito asked. Barzal nodded his head. "One Sec," Tito held up his hand. He reached for his phone and typed a quick text to Rocky,

Tito: Hey sorry we couldn't connect after the game, but it was great to see you.

Rocky: I thought you were mad at me.

Tito: Never mon ami

Rocky: You sure?

Tito: 100% sure

Rocky: You wouldn't lie to me, would you Beaugard?

Tito: Raquelle, you wound me

Rocky: Sweet dreams. Great game by the way

Tito: Thanks- good night

Three days later-INKED ON ICE Tattoo Shop

Rocky tidied her work station and eyed the door. She had received a terse text from Kelly during her last appointment that simply said "We need to talk. I am working at Starbucks. Let me know when you can chat.” She responded with an equally terse "It will be fifteen minutes as I finish up. It can't wait until tonight?"

"No- I don't want to have this conversation after midnight," was the response.

Precisely fifteen minutes later, Rocky looked up when she sensed his presence and their eyes locked. Her soft smile was met with pursed lips. "Hey," she said as she kissed his cheek before he settled into his seat. His hands held a to-go coffee cup that she was certain contained her order to perfection. "What's up?" she asked casually.

Kelly studied her next design before he sat down. His eyes looked at her askance. His mouth opened and shut several times. With each time, Rocky felt a knot in her stomach develop. "Rocky….." he began, "...... you know I love you. I have loved you since kindergarten when you walked up to me, the new kid, and announced that we were going to be best friends." Rocky smiled at the memory. He continued, "You were the girl, Rocky. You were the girl I was going to love forever. You were my past, you were my present, and you were going to be my future."

Rocky gulped, "Were?"

Kelly swallowed hard, "Yes, were. You have to know that we haven't been working for a while. We lead completely different lives with completely different goals. I don't think it's fixable, Rox. I don't think we can make it work now.

"Kelly, I love you. You know that. There is no one I love more than you," Rocky gasped.

"I know, Rox. I love you too. You are my favorite person but somewhere along the way, we fell out of love with each other. It doesn't make you the bad guy and it doesn't make me the bad guy. We are just two best friends whose lives are on separate tracks," he spoke in a hushed tone. "I tried to ignore it but I can't anymore. I deserve to be in love and you deserve to be in love.” Rocky stared at the ground as his words sunk into her soul. Her head popped up when he said, “Honestly, I think you are in love."

Rocky stood up, "What are you talking about? There isn't anyone but you. You think I am cheating on you?"

"Tito," he stared into her eyes, "I saw it when I saw the video."

"We were just goofing off and being silly," she exclaimed.

“During a game? A game that he is passionate about?” Kelly countered, "And when was the last time we goofed off like that?" Kelly sighed, “I can’t ignore the evidence. I mean it went viral.”

"I didn’t mean for it to go viral," she countered weakly, “We’re friends I swear. Nothing else. He just gets me. Kelly- he and I are just friends.”

"I believe that you think that," he stood up to walk to her, "I believe that you are doing everything in your power to honor your commitment to me. You are denying what your heart is telling you."

"And what do you think it's telling me?” she whispered.

"That you are not in love with me anymore and if I were out of the picture, you would fall in love with him," he reached for her hand. "Look, I could tell at the game. It's there and I would be a fool to try to deny it."

"I don't want to hurt you," she cried, "I don't want to break your heart."

Kelly intertwined his fingers into hers. "It would break my heart to settle for less than we deserve. You deserve to be in love. You deserve someone who wants the crazy lives you two lead." He stopped and inhaled, "And I deserve someone who wants the white picket fence, the PTA and the ordinary life I crave. I deserve someone in love with me."

Tears streamed down Rocky's face, "I'm sorry."

Kelly wiped her tears with his thumbs, "Don't be. Don't be sorry for being you. I love you. I love you enough to set us free."

"I love you, Kelly," she leaned her forehead into his chest, "I'll always love you."

"I know, but now it's time to love each other from a distance," he kissed the top of her head, "One day we can be best friends again."

"I would like that," she looked up at him, "So we're over? We're really over?"

"Yeah," he smiled, "at least as lovers."

Out in the lobby, Tito held his finger up to his lips as he entered the shop to keep Daisy from announcing his arrival. In his hand, he held a large coffee and protein box. He turned the corner and stopped in his tracks. Kelly stood with his arms wrapped around Rocky’s back. Her face was nuzzled into his neck. Tito’s body lurched like he had been punched in the stomach. “I love you Rox,” Kelly smiled as he set her down and kissed the top of her head. He then turned around to walk past Tito. He glanced at Tito, who stood frozen, and smiled. Rocky watched the exchange in numb silence. Tito watched Kelly leave the shop and then turned his head to look at Rocky. She gave him a soft smile. Internally, Tito’s mind raced. He didn’t have an agenda when he decided to drop by and see Rocky, but he certainly didn’t expect to witness such a tender moment. “Snap out of it, Beauvillier,” he told himself, “You got the wrong idea. She has a boyfriend- one that she loves even if you can't make it make sense to your brain.”

“Hey Beauregard,” she stepped toward, “To what do I owe this surprise?” She fought to keep the tears out of her eyes and her voice smooth and steady. They exchanged a look and Rocky watched as Tito’s expression hardened before her.

“I, uhhhhh, was in the neighborhood, “ he began. He couldn’t think of a singular good reason why he would be here that didn’t involve a fervent desire to kiss her. So like all good men when forced to face an uncomfortable emotion, he lied. “I wanted to be sure that you were still eating,” he stammered, “You need to eat so you can keep doing good tattoos. I vouched for you and uhhhhhh, I don’t want anyone who listened to me to be disappointed by a sucky tattoo because your blood sugar level dropped.”

He thrust the coffee and food into her hands. Before she could protest, he was half-way to an escape. “Thanks for the coffee, Beauregard,” she called out to him. She could see his body flinch but he kept moving. Rocky watched in despair as he made his retreat.

What had happened? After their post-game chat, Tito had been reserved but still friendly. Now he was running away because of why she did not know. Rocky replayed Kelly’s words in her brain. “If I were out of the picture, you would fall in love with him,” he had said. She sighed bitterly and added, “Yeah, but Kels, clearly he will not fall in love with me.”

She turned to walk back into her section and looked around. She had two consultations and three appointments scheduled. She went to her table and sat down. She started the music but quickly turned it off when the starting notes of “Lover” began. Impulsively, she picked up her sketchbook and threw it across the room. Loose papers and notes tucked into it scattered on the floor. “Whoa,” JD whistled as he entered her section, “What happened here?”

Rocky got down on her hands and knees to gather the papers to her chest. She placed her hand on a blank piece of paper and flipped it over. It was Tito’s tattoo design. Tears filled her eyes and she sat back on her heels. JD looked at the paper and then back at Rocky. Her face dissolved into tears. “Rocky?” he questioned, “What happened?”

"Kelly broke up with me," she cried.

"What? Why?" JD resigned himself to getting down on the floor and sat next to her.

Rocky wiped her nose with her arm. "He wants sunshine and I am midnight rain," she explained to JD as if he would understand. The words brought Tito to her mind and she started sobbing again. "Beauregard would understand," she thought to herself.

JD sat patiently and waited for a break in the sobs. He had not been sure when Rocky had shown up at the shop, boldly asking for an apprenticeship. He found himself unable to say no despite the fact that had never mentored anyone before her, something he had taken great pride in. However in the almost year later, they had formed a unique friendship despite their age difference.

"I am going to assume that was some sort of Taylor Swift reference," he said drolly, "Care to explain it to the non-Swiftie?"

"He was this whole corporate life with the house in the suburbs and PTA wife," she sighed. "I was going to try to make it work," she continued, "but things changed and he didn't want to try anymore."

"You mean he didn't want to try to force a relationship with a woman clearly in love with another man?" he asked gently. Her jaw dropped and she started to protest. "I saw Beauvillier leave," he added.

"Yeah, you saw him leave. He couldn't get out of here fast enough," she cried, "Clearly he isn't interested."

"I think the evidence points to the contrary," JD countered, "but his loss if that's true." They sat in silence for a few minutes. "You know, I think you are ready to end the apprenticeship."

Her head shot up, "Getting dumped twice in one day. That has to be a record."

"I am not DUMPING you. I am telling you that you have freedom to choose your next path," he explained. "You are ready, Rocky," he nudged her shoulder.

"You think I am ready to go solo, really?" Rocky asked in earnest, "What if I fail?"

"I have a feeling that you are going to fly," he leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

"What should I do about Tito?" She asked.

"I think that you shouldn't go from one man to another. If you are going to go solo, then go solo," JD spoke, "but potentially? Yeah, I saw you on Sportscenter and ship it. That's the right word, right?"

"You're learning, old man," Rocky joked.

Daisy poked her head in the room, "Ummmm, I didn't mean to eavesdrop but I overheard about Kelly." Rocky looked up at her. "I canceled the rest of your day and tomorrow," Daisy added, "Pack up your stuff. I am taking you home and we're having a meeting of the 'Boys are stupid and they suck' committee. No arguments, Rocky. We are going to laugh and we are going to cry until you don't need to anymore." Rocky's eyes filled with tears. "See, you've already started."

Hours later, Rocky stood in the guest bathroom of Cameron and Daisy's large home. She looked at her face. Her eyes were puffy from tears but she felt a wave of peace wash over her body. Daisy and she had discussed her future and what she wanted. As much as she felt a pull toward Tito, she could not shake the feeling that she needed time. JD was right. She couldn't jump from one man to another man. Rocky had spent her entire adult life committed to Kelly. It was time to spread her wings and fly. She felt confident that even if she crashed and burned that she was strong enough to make it on her own.

She took a deep breath and picked up her phone. She noticed two things- no communication from Tito and a text from Kelly. She opened the text and smiled, "Rox, I miss you already but know that our destiny lies as best friends. I will be here waiting to see where your destiny takes you. You are capable of greatness. I'll love you forever."

She typed out her response to Kelly. Then she hit the dial button.

"Hey Rocky,” the voice on the other end answered.

"Is that job offer still good?" Rocky asked.

"Yes, are you considering it?" The voice asked.

"If you still want me," Rocky responded.

"Pack your bags. I have a guest house you can use until you get settled. Can you be here in a week?" Cat smiled.

"See you then," Rocky smiled.

STATE OF GRACE

A WEEK LATER- ISLANDERS PRACTICE FACILITY

"Hey Tito," Kelly called to him as he exited the ice after practice.

Tito stopped and stared, "What the fuck does he want?" He thought to himself.

Kelly held out a cardboard tube and Tito, "It's from Rocky."

"A delivery? From Rocky?" He called back, "Why didn't she deliver it herself?"

"I think you know why," Kelly replied dryly. Tito thought about the multiple texts and calls from her that he had ignored. "Just read the card," Kelly added before he turned to walk away.

Tito ripped the card open and read it quickly.

Beauregard-

I hope this note finds you well. This is not the way I wanted to tell you but I am moving.

Tito's eyes snapped up, "You two are moving?"

"No, just her," Kelly explained. Tito tilted his head in question. "We broke up last week. In fact, the day I saw you at the shop, " Kelly added.

Tito thought back to the day. He had been so quick to jump to the wrong conclusion. "You idiot," he told himself, "You fucking idiot." He continued to read.

I tried texting and calling several times, but those have not been returned. I have decided to make a fresh start in a new city. All of my adult life has been bending myself and sacrificing my dream to allow Kelly to pursue his dream. I am going to some place brand new and testing my wings to see if I can fly on my own.

Tito smiled to himself, "Oh mon ami, Raquelle, you can fly. Oh how high you will fly."

I am sad to leave you and our friendship. I didn't want to leave without saying two things. First, I am thankful that fate brought us together as friends. Your friendship reminded me who I am, the part of me that I had hidden away to fit into the mold of what Kelly wanted and needed. I am Midnight Rain and that's okay. Thank you for accepting me and all my quirks. Not only did you accept them- you embraced them which helped me embrace them too.

Second- I am thankful for the joy that you brought back to me. It had been so long since I felt the joy that I felt with you. I love you, Beauregard. I don't believe that our journey is over. In fact I think that you are just at the beginning of a wonderful life full of adventure and more importantly, love. You will bring so much joy to the life of the woman who you love and she will be so lucky. So long for now. In the words of our Queen Taylor- "And when you find everything you looked for, I hope your life leads you back to my door. Goodbye, Mon Ami."

He pulled out the sketch of his tattoo out of the cardboard tube. She had written- "Never forget the joy of hockey. Keep it in your heart forever just like I will keep the joy of you in my heart forever."

"Goodbye Mon Amour," Tito whispered as he placed the drawing back into the cardboard tube, "No, not goodbye-see ya later."

THREE MONTHS LATER- BEAN AROUND THE WORLD COFFEE SHOP-VANCOUVER

The coffee shop was crowded with the morning rush. The barista greeted Rocky with a smile. In the three months since she had moved to Vancouver, she had become a regular so there was no need to give her order.

"So what's your day look like?" Lauren, the barista from England, asked cheerfully.

"I have an easy day today. Only two appointments and a consultation," Rocky answered with a grin.

"Ahhhh," Lauren winked as she rolled her sleeve so her new tattoo was prominently on display, "I'll advertise for walk-ins." Since getting inked by Rocky, Lauren had fed a steady stream or referrals over to the tattoo shop. The large black and gray realistic wolf was a showstopper and customers complimented her on it daily.

"Keep that up and I'll have to give you a discount on that sleeve we discussed," Rocky quipped.

"Don't tempt me," the Brit joked. Rocky moved down to the pick up counter to wait for her drink. She faced away from the crowd and studied her phone.

Further down the line, Elias Pettersson stood with his new linemate. They had just completed a practice and workout. "So you are set in your airBNB?" The Swedish superstar asked, “No issues?”

Tito looked up as they moved up to the counter, "Yeah, I'm all set." Tito had been traded to Vancouver earlier in the week in a trade that the hockey media dubbed "The Bo for Beau exchange". His first game was the next night, "I really like the area. It's got a cool vibe." Canucks players segregated themselves - the married players sought the comforts of the suburbs while the single guys stayed close to the active nightlife by the arena.

"What can I get you, Petey?" Lauren asked the Swede. After he gave his simple order, she turned to Tito, "and you?"

Tito rattled off his order, "Unsweet iced coffee with an extra shot with skim milk, 2 pumps of sugar free vanilla syrup, 2 Splenda and light caramel drizzle."

Lauren looked up in disbelief. What were the odds that TWO people would have that same, very specific coffee order? "Can you repeat that?" she asked. Just then the other barista that made the coffees called, "Order for Rocky."

Tito shook his head in disbelief. Surely he had misheard. They hadn't said Rocky and if they did, it couldn't be HIS Rocky. He turned to see the petite pixie walking toward the door. Her hair was now a pastel pink but there was no mistaking that it was indeed HIS Rocky. He immediately chastised himself, "You have no claim on her, especially with the way she had left." Undeterred, he started weaving his way through the crowded shop while his mind raced. She was here in Vancouver. He was here in Vancouver. His path was blocked at every step. He stopped and yelled "Raquelle!"

She stopped and turned. It sounded like Tito but it made no sense. Why would he be in Vancouver? "No," she told herself as searched the sea of faces unsuccessfully, "You're imagining things." She turned back around and headed down the crowded street.

Tito felt the air leave his lungs when she turned at the sound of his voice. She was here. It felt like a dream so he gave chase. Petersson called after him, "Beau!!" The call landed on deaf ears as Tito made it out to the street.

Fifteen minutes later, a dejected Tito entered the coffee shop. He found Petey sitting at a small table with a bemused smile on his face. "Where did you take off to?" The platinum blonde asked as he handed Tito his coffee.

"A girl," Tito spoke breathlessly, "A girl I knew from Long Island."

"Let me guess. Her name is Rocky?" The Swede said although he had pieced together some info.

Tito took the coffee and sat down, “Yeah. I can’t believe she is here. What are the odds that we would be here at the same time?”

“So this girl- is she an ex or something?” Petersson.

Tito paused before answering, “It’s complicated.”

Petersson raised a single eyebrow, “Men and women are not that complicated unless you make it complicated.”

“She’s the one that got away,” Tito sighed.

“So go after her,” the Swede replied.

“You saw me try. She vanished. I searched, but if I didn’t know better, I would think she was a figment of my imagination.

Now that the rush had subsided, Lauren walked through the shop- straightening tables and greeting customers. “Who is a figment of your imagination?” the beautiful brunette asked with a smile.

Petersson answered, “The elusive Rocky who apparently is the owner of Beau’s heart.”

“You know Rocky?” she replied in her delightful accent, “it makes sense now.”

“Wait, what makes sense?” Tito questioned.

“It makes sense you know each other. You have the same coffee order,” Lauren pondered, “You are the only two people with that order.”

“You KNOW Rocky?” Tito practically jumped out of his seat, “So she is a regular here? She LIVES here in Vancouver?”

“She moved here a few months back. She’s been a regular since starting at the tattoo shop- Pink Ink,” she answered, “She did my wolf.” She held out her arm for Tito to examine.

Tito looked down and studied the tattoo. It was Rocky’s work all right. There was no mistaking her technique. He could tell immediately it was her design and work. He head spun with this newfound information. Electricity ran through his body. Rocky- his Raquelle- was here. She was so close he could feel her pull him to her like a magnet pulling a piece of metal.

Lauren studied him quietly but the realization hit her. “Wait a minute! You’re the guy from that video. The hockey one with the penalty box. Bloody hell, that’s you?….. And she’s the gal, right?” she exclaimed. Tito smiled and nodded his head yes.

“But that doesn’t mean anything now,” Tito said, suddenly filled with apprehension. They hadn’t ended on good terms. Well, more specifically he had acted like an idiot. What if she had moved on already? What if she had sworn off men altogether? Did he still have a chance?

When Tito looked up, she saw the questions in his eyes. “She said she had unfinished business in Long Island with a guy. I didn’t recognize her with the new hair. By the looks of it, her unfinished business must be you.” Tito’s jaw dropped when she continued, “Don’t just stand there. This is True Love. You think this happens every day?”

“Princess Bride!” Petersson exclaimed- proud that he caught the pop culture reference. Tito glared at him. “What? I am a man of many layers,” the Swede continued.

“Where is that shop?” Tito interrupted as he stood up and started walking towards the door. “What’s the name of it?” He heard her answer, Pink Ink, and Googled as he walked. He smiled when he realized how close the shop was and hit the call button on his phone.

Rocky puttered around her station, getting ready for the day. She overheard Emily, the receptionist, answer the phone. “Pink Ink where we specialize in sarcasm, good tattoos and fighting the patriarchy. How can I help you?”

“Hi….uhhhh,” Tito stammered, “I’d like to get a tattoo. I have heard good things about a Rocky?”

“Oh yeah, Rocky? She’s one of the best,” Emily answered, “When did you want to come in??” Rocky stopped in her tracks to listen to the conversation.

“Now?” Tito hesitated.

“Sure, I’ll let her know that she has someone coming in,” the receptionist responded. “Can I get a name? Okay, great- see you soon.” Emily got up and walked to Rocky’s room. “Hey you have basically a last minute tattoo.” Rocky nodded her head in understanding as she finished lighting her candles and started her playlist. “Yeah, some guy named Beauregard,” Emily called as she headed back to the front.

Rocky spun around and walked out to the hallway, “I’m sorry. What did you say the name was….” Her head turned as the front door chimed and the door opened. “Did you say Beauregard?” Rocky questioned. Tito walked in and Rocky’s jaw dropped.

“Raquelle!” he exclaimed as he walked in, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Rocky stood frozen in disbelief. She willed her mouth to say something. She willed her body to move. “Do something!” her mind screamed, “Do something.” She watched him walk towards in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly the message hit the message center of the neurons that controlled her body and her body launched into motion. She sprinted to him and threw herself into his waiting arms.

“Beauregard,” she cried out, “What are you doing here?”’ Her brain raced for answers. “Do you have a game here? How did you find me?” she quizzed, “I don’t care. I don’t care. You’re here.”

“Well, you did say you hope my life leads me back to your door. So here I am,” he laughed as he swung her around. When he stopped to keep from getting dizzy, they stared at each other. Breathless, they stayed glued to each other- their lips nearly touching.

Rocky’s eyes scanned his face. His bright blue eyes sparkled as she searched for any clue as to his thoughts or feelings. Internally, she questioned “What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if he is just glad to see his friend?” The doubtful thought was immediately met with the equally loud thought, “Take the chance, Rocky- take the chance.” She brought lips to his lips in a tentative kiss. The electricity jolted through their bodies and together, they deepened the kiss.

“Mon Amour,” he moaned, “Raquelle, mon amour.” They kissed in the hallway, oblivious to their surroundings.

Finally, Rocky broke the kiss and he set her down gently. She took his hand to guide him to her room. When they stepped inside, she turned to him and asked, “Wait, did you say Mon Amour?”

“Yes, I did,” he pulled her to him, “Rocky, I love you. I have loved you from the moment you shot me down and told me that you saw a whole world hidden behind my eyes.”

“But I live here now, Beauregard,” she protested.

“So do I,” he kissed her, “So do I.”

“Wait, what?” she questioned, “You live here? In Vancouver?”

“Oui, I was traded earlier this week. Life literally brought me to your door, or coffee shop, to be exact.” he answered. When she looked confused, he told her the story about their almost meeting at the coffee shop.

It was Rocky’s turn to kiss him, “Remind me that I owe Lauren that sleeve.”

“I owe her everything,” he smiled.

“Did you really want a tattoo or was that a ploy?” she smiled as she studied his face.

“I definitely want a tattoo,” he laughed.

“Oh?” she took a step back.

He pulled up his shirt and pointed to his chest. “I am thinking of getting Raquelle right above my heart in a fancy script. Think you can do that?”

“I mean it’s the kiss of death for relationships. How long have you been with this Raquelle?” she mocked.

“For about sixty seconds, but I have a good feeling about her,” he teased.

“Maybe you should at least wait until after your first date,” she poked his chest before inhaling sharply as she caught sight of his abs.

“That’s a good idea. I have an idea for the perfect first date,” he quipped as they fell into the easy rhythm of their banter.

“What’s that?” she quipped back.

“Have you ever heard of Taylor Swift?” he laughed, “She has a concert this summer near here. You might like her.”

Rocky laughed, “You are going to make me wait until July for our first date? So rude.”

“Fine,” he kissed her before he continued, “How about hockey? I know a guy who can get you into the Canucks game tonight.”

“Perfect first date,” she returned his kiss. Suddenly the words of JD rang in her head- Don’t jump from one man to another. Rocky pushed off of his chest and took several steps back.

“Raquelle?” he questioned, “Did something happen?”

Rocky studied him for a moment, trying to verbalize her thoughts. "Beauregard, I like my life. I have a good job. I have good friends. I worked hard to create a life that makes me happy, and I am absolutely not changing it to fit into yours no matter how much I adore you."

"Raquelle, I don't want you to change anything for me. You're perfect exactly the way you are. Don't change a thing."

"I mean it Beau. I am not giving up my passion for you," she says as he inched toward her.

"I would be disappointed if you did," he said and took another step.

"You're really here in Vancouver?" she said, “Like for real?”

"Yes, I am," he said.

“And you want to be with me?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, I do. I want it more than anything I have ever wanted before,” he continued. He placed his hand on her cheek as she smiled, "It looks like all along there was some invisible string tying you to me."

"You think quoting her majesty Queen Taylor will help your case?" she whispered as he stood inches from her mouth.

"I would call on the hockey gods if I thought it would help me," he smiled.

"Shut up and kiss me," she started to quip back.

"Yes, Raquelle, yes Mon Amour" he cooed before he kissed her.

#tito beauvillier fic #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #the summer fic exchange 2k23 #anthony beauvillier fic #ny islander imagine

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