#and the rest of their music got me through the aftermath | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 2: Choose Love Or Sympathy]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra's wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook's Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother's life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting...

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, extreme babygirl energy, violence, serious injury, Larys Strong, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), Crab Family lore.

Series title is a lyric from: "7 Minutes in Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "XO" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! 🥰💜

A moment of clarity, something he’s having more of lately: eyes glassy but open, voice husky, words slow. His vast bedchamber in the Red Keep always smells like honey and rose oil and the brackish golden air that blows in off the ocean. Sounds float weightlessly through the open windows like feathers on waves, music and shouts and creaking wagon wheels, gull cries and sails cracking in the wind. Late-morning daylight is an aisle across the stone floor, a river, a channel. Aegon’s bed has been moved away from the windows; when his wounds are uncovered, direct sunlight can ravage him in minutes, fresh blisters, thickening scars.

Aegon winces as you sit behind him and knead warm rose oil into his back and shoulders. His flesh is a grisly mosaic: pink and crimson and white, knots of burgeoning scar tissue, spots that are still raw and weeping. “It itches like hell, does that mean it’s infected?”

“That means it’s healing. Do you want more?” You mean the goblet of pearlescent milk of the poppy on his bedside table. It’s always there, and refilled frequently.

Aegon shakes his head, groggy, slumped, white-blond hair loose and disheveled. “I should probably be sentient on occasion. You haven’t been helping me piss into chamber pots or anything, have you?”

You smile. “No. You’ve got servants for that.” Although they report their findings to you; Maester Arthur of Claw Isle once taught you that organ failure is a common cause of death for burn victims, even if they survive the risks of shock and festering. All appears well enough on the outside, and then they start pissing blood or their skin goes yellow as their innards lose their secretive divine cadence, that vital rhythm, and then the poor soul is gone within days.

“Thank the gods,” Aegon says. “A speck of dignity remains. It’s tragic enough that I now closely resemble an overcooked meat pie.”

You chuckle as you massage rose oil into his wounds, keeping the scars moist and supple so they do not split open when he moves, so his joints are not locked in place. He will need them when he is out of bed again. He will need them if he truly is the king. “I don’t think you look that bad.”

��Because you’re used to sifting through guts and corpses all day. I’m an improvement. I’m only half dead.” And just weeks ago, he was pleading to be all the way dead. He glances back at you, brow knitted into thoughtful furrows; you can see it between the messy locks of hair that shag over his face. “What made you want to study something like this? It’s gruesome. It’s miserable, thankless work.”

“I was never good at anything,” you tell him. “My sisters were, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t dance, couldn’t sing, couldn’t embroider patterns unless they were humiliatingly simple, and even then I loathed it. My father grew so desperate he encouraged me to try archery with my brothers. I accidentally put an arrow in the foot of a squire and that was the end of my bowwoman career.”

Aegon laughs, then groans at the pain it causes him. He turns around so he can look at you, clumsily repositioning himself on the feather mattress, propping himself up on his palms. He squints down at his left hand where his ring should be: gold wings, jade eyes. You will have to remind Aemond to give it back to him. “I was never good at anything either.”

You can’t imagine that to be true, and yet it’s what you’ve always been told, that he was gifted at drinking and whoring and nothing else. You cannot reconcile those stories with the man in front of you. You keep trying, keep failing. You slather your palms in rose oil again the then begin massaging it into his chest. Aegon watches you with muzzy, drugged interest, eyes like cold ocean currents. “Then, five years ago, my brother…” You hesitate. A real name, an imagined one? You decide there is no harm in this small truth. Aegon will not remember the name of a younger son of a Crownlands house; he barely recalls the men of his own Kingsguard, who now spend their days trotting around the castle after Aemond. “My brother Everett was burned very badly, just like you were, although his wounds were mostly to his legs. And we all thought he would die. People advised us to show mercy by giving him enough milk of the poppy to kill him. They said it would be a sin to let him suffer so terribly. Yet our maester believed he could save him. My father and eldest brother had other responsibilities to attend to, and my mother and sisters could not bear the sight of Everett’s injuries. But I watched the way the maester worked on him, and I just…I thought it was the most captivating, beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The way a body can be taken apart or put back together like stones in a wall. Place one here, remove one there, and then like magic you’ve changed the course of someone’s life. Our maester taught me how to clean burns and change bandages, and when Everett was well again, he taught me about broken bones, fevers, childbirth, wolf bites, dry drowning. I read every book on the subject of healing in my father’s library. He kept having to order me more from the Citadel. I think I would have liked to be a maester myself, but…”

Aegon grins. “You have to go marry your mystery nobleman.”

“And women can’t be maesters.”

“They made me king of the Seven Kingdoms but you can’t be a maester? Fucking ridiculous.” He studies you as your fingers—tenderly, carefully—press rose oil into the red scar that creeps up over his right cheek. “Why won’t you tell me who he is?”

He means your betrothed. Aegon keeps asking about him in his moments of lucidity. You quip: “I don’t want you to have him murdered.”

“That would solve your problem.”

“I preserve life, I don’t take it.”

“I’ve noticed,” Aegon says with a soft, tired smile. Very slowly, he reaches up with one hand to pat at his silvery hair. “Can you give me my braid back? It seems to have been washed out again.”

“Of course.”

“Why did you start doing that?”

What is the truth? Something you can’t tell Aegon. No matter how often I touch him, I want more. “It’s a war braid. You’re a warrior. You’ve earned it.”

“So I am good at something after all,” he murmurs. You rebandage Aegon’s wounds and help him lie back down again. You give him a sip of milk of the poppy, which by now is badly needed; Aegon’s face is sweated and pale and agonized. Then you clean the rose oil from your hands and begin weaving a small braid into his hair. He gazes vacantly towards the open window, bright warm light he cannot walk into. “I assume Aemond is…handling things.”

“Yes, he’s…” How will Aegon take this? Is it a relief, or a slight? There was a great ceremony. You did not attend; you were here tending to the Greens’ broken king. It’s where you spend most of your time. “He’s been made Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm.”

Aegon nods, his expression unreadable. “How’s Sunfyre?”

“Still at Rook’s Rest and gaining strength. He was climbing the cliffs as of a few days ago. But I’ll ask Aemond when I see him today.”

Now Aegon smiles again. “Sunfyre is fierce. He is extraordinary.”

“You both are,” you say as you fashion his silver braid; and Aegon stares as if he couldn’t have heard you correctly.

Her steps are so light that at first you aren’t aware she’s entered the room. You see her out of the corner of your eye and immediately stand, moving away from the bed, from Aegon. You feel strange touching him this way—unnecessarily, self-indulgently, greedily—in her presence. She is his wife, after all.

“Your Grace,” you greet Helaena, bowing. She does not look at you. She looks vaguely in Aegon’s direction instead. She is wearing a turquoise blue dress and her long hair pulled back from her face. The servants have dressed her, or Alicent; she cannot do it herself anymore. In her hands she holds a large glass jar of sticks and leaves.

“Hello, Helaena,” Aegon says, more like a sigh than a welcome.

She scurries towards him and sets the jar down on his bedside table with a clunk, right next to the goblet of milk of the poppy and a number of other drinks, things you ply Aegon with to keep him hydrated. Then Helaena speaks, her eyes on the contents of the jar. There is something else in there, you see now: a fat wriggling green creature, a caterpillar inching along the length of an upright stick. "For you."

“It’s very nice,” Aegon tells her, in a tone like a parent losing patience with their child.

“It takes nourishment and then rests,” Helaena says. “It is wrapped in a cocoon and stays there for a long while. But when it emerges, it is not just well again. It is greater than it was before. And it can fly.”

“Oh, I understand now.” Aegon makes no attempt to touch her—not even her hand, not even for a moment—but his words are kinder. “I am the worm. Thank you, Helaena. This comforts me.”

She is satisfied. She turns to leave.

“Your Grace,” you begin, and hold out your hands to her. She does not take them. She does not meet your eyes; she stares instead into the golden luminescence of the open window behind you. You can hear crashing waves and the screeches of swooping gulls. “I wanted to express…I cannot even begin to tell you…I am so, so sorry for your suffering—”

She spins away from you and sweeps out of the bedchamber. You are left looking at the empty place where she stood, heartsick and sorry. What did I do wrong? What should I have said?

Aegon offers you an apologetic smirk, but his eyes are sad. “It’s not personal. She doesn’t really like touching anybody.” This is an irony, and one that must read on your face. A king and queen—by definition, by necessity—do an inordinate amount of touching. He invades, she endures, they knit heirs together out of threads of blood and sweat. “What we have between us, it’s not…romantic. It never was.”

This is not something he should be telling you. It is not a jest but a spilling of deep, sacred truths. “I didn’t ask.”

“No. But you were wondering.”

You were. You return to the bed and sit down beside Aegon, finishing his braid. You choose your words precisely before you speak. “I don’t believe I have a right to know certain things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about what you’re thinking.”

“Then let me unburden myself so there is no confusion,” Aegon insists, drowsy but fighting sleep. “There was no joy in it for me or Helaena. I tried to make it as quick and painless as I could, but still, her disdain for the task was obvious. It happened just often enough to conceive the children. And we haven’t even tried in months, not since…” He doesn’t need to say it. Everyone knows, Greens and Blacks alike. A son for a son. The murder of Jaehaerys, six years old and utterly powerless, in exchange for Aemond slaying Luke.

Do you think such a thing was just? No, of course not, how could anyone? Very few things that happen in this world are just. They come with passionate defenses but no mercy, no vision for a less violent future. The wheel goes around and around, and everyone takes their turn being crushed. “Aegon, I’m so sorry,” you tell him softly.

He shakes his head. He will not discuss it. Aegon’s remaining children, Jaehaera and Maelor, do not ask about him; on the rare occasion that Alicent brings them to his bedchamber, they do not seem to know who he is. In fairness, Aegon does not seem to know them either; he regards them with a dull sort of bewilderment, like one might peer down at a page written in a foreign language. In the hallways of the Red Keep, the children clutch at Alicent and Otto, and sometimes Aemond will take a few minutes to play with them, stacking wooden blocks or arranging cloth dolls in a miniature castle. But if ‘mother’ and ‘father’ are words the children know, you’ve never heard them spoken aloud. “Can I have some wine, please?”

“Did you finish your goat milk?”

“Resentfully.”

“Then yes. I’ll get it for you.” You pour Aegon a cup of red wine and then tilt it against his lips. He slurps the cup dry before his eyes dip closed. You set the empty cup on the bedside table, feel his forehead for fever—longer than you need to—and then rise to leave him. You are almost to the door when you hear him say: “Thank you for changing my mind.”

You turn back to Aegon, puzzled. “About what?”

“About wanting to be dead.” He grins and waves, a weak miniscule motion of his left hand. “Come back soon, angel.”

“I will,” you promise.

And only then does he surrender to blessedly numb unconsciousness, the only place in the world that doesn’t hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~

You find Aemond in his own rooms. He is sitting in front of the large circular mirror on his vanity. His hair is long and straight and painstakingly neat, his tunic made of black leather. He is wearing the crown of Aegon the Conqueror. Rubies fracture the sunlight and scatter it against the walls; Valyrian steel glints.

Aemond marvels, knowing that you’re here: “It looks better on me than it ever did on him.”

“I need more rose oil.”

In the mirror’s reflection, his lone blue eye darts to you. “You always ask so politely.”

“I didn’t want to waste your valuable time. I can be more loquacious, if you prefer.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He stands, taking off the crown and placing it—gingerly, with both hands—on his vanity. “I’ll see that you have everything you require.”

“I am eternally appreciative.”

Then he does something that he thinks is amusing, a little joke you share. He grabs for your arm and you yank it away just before his fingers can close around your wrist. This makes him smile; it’s one of the only things that does. “Now follow me,” he orders, striding past you and through the doorway.

You hurry after Aemond, dashing through corridors and archways. You know where he is going; this has happened before. As you ascend a staircase, Alicent is leading Jaehaera and Maelor down to the gardens. She has one tiny hand gripped in each of hers; the hem of her emerald green dress drags on the stone steps. She keeps losing weight. You stop to scoop Maelor up and hug him—he giggles, squeezing at your cheeks as you smack kisses onto his face—and then turn your attention to Jaehaera. She has just learned the rules of curtsying and loves to practice. You bow to her, and then she does the same to you, and while her head is bent low you ruffle her silvery hair until it is in hopeless disarray and Jaehaera is laughing hysterically. Then you kneel down so she can sabotage your hair however she sees fit. She pulls strands out of your sensible low bun until you give up and shake it all loose. Alicent—large dark eyes, demurely veiled auburn hair, somber and suffering—gives you a grave, grateful smile. Aemond has waited at the apex of the stairs for you. When you rejoin him he continues onward to the council chamber.

Inside men are taking their seats and already beginning to quarrel: Criston Cole, Otto Hightower, Grand Maester Orwyle, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, Larys Strong, the knights of the Kingsguard. Sir Rickard Thorne pays no attention to you. Aemond once mentioned off-handedly: ‘Sir Rickard, I believe our healer is a distant relation of yours.’ The knight had glanced at you and produced some noncommittal reply, oh, indeed, sure, is that so. You had met before, you realized when you saw his face, years ago, at some event that brought together the houses of the Crownlands, a wedding or a funeral or a feast. He has a hazy recollection of you, but he cannot pin it down; he spent the evening with boisterous young men like your eldest brother Clement, while you had spent it with other noblewomen. Sir Rickard’s mother or sisters could probably identify you as a Celtigar. To Rickard himself, you can masquerade as some unimportant cousin he is ashamed to have forgotten. You assume your usual place in the council chamber: standing in a corner, trying not to be noticed, only there in case specific questions involving Aegon’s medical treatment arise.

“Is he dying?” Otto asks Aemond. “He must be. He has no interest in whores.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow at you. “Actually, I’ve been informed he is improving.”

Maester Orwyle beams at you. Upon your arrival in King’s Landing, he had confirmed to Aemond and Criston what you already knew: that while the Citadel’s guidance several decades ago was indeed pork lard or cow dung to treat burns, now there is a growing consensus that vinegar, honey, and oil for scar tissue are the best available remedies. You nod back. You are natural allies; the Greens’ king is under your joint care. You both have much to lose if he dies.

Now Otto Hightower addresses you. He is a stern, weathered, shrewd man. He reminds you of your father, though far more humorless. “When will he be able to fight again?”

“Fight?” you echo, stunned. “In battle? Months at least, my lord. Perhaps a year.”

“A year!” Otto bellows, then turns his wrath on Criston and Aemond. “I told you, I told you! I urged him to exercise caution, over and over again I warned him of the danger, and while I was penning letters to every possible ally you were pouring poison into his ears, convincing him that I wasn’t doing enough. Now look at him! Look at this goddamn fucking mess!”

“How fares the dragon?” Tyland Lannister says.

“I received a raven from Rook’s Rest today,” Aemond replies. “Sunfyre is eating well and ambulatory.”

“Useless,” Otto hisses. “Can’t fly. Can’t be moved. A waste of the livestock he’s being fed.”

“We may yet find a purpose for him,” Aemond says.

“Two dragons!” Otto explodes. “Can you count them?! We have two dragons capable of combat, and one of them is ridden by a fifteen-year-old. The Blacks still have Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, Tyraxes, and Moondancer. And gods help us if they find someone to ride any of the other unclaimed beasts on Dragonstone. Seasmoke, Vermithor, Silverwing, Grey Ghost, the Cannibal…”

“I hope they try to tame the Cannibal,” Criston mutters. “If we’re lucky, he’ll eat them all.”

“My lord,” Larys Strong says to Otto, clutching his cane; he has a habit of lacing his fingers overtop the handle and resting his chin on them. Larys is a watchful, quiet man who speaks rarely yet with great consequence. He is the Master of Whisperers, he is the Lord of Harrenhal, and aside from that he is an enigma to you. “I hate to be the bearer of unfortunate tidings, however I must speak plainly. I have just obtained reports that the Blacks are pursuing precisely the course of action that you fear. Jacaerys Velaryon is offering land and knighthood to any man who can mount a dragon and join their cause. The realm is littered with Targaryen bastards, I’m certain it is only a matter of time until they find at least a few candidates suited to the task.”

Otto slams his fist down on the table. You startle at the noise; Aemond glances over at you. “No king. No Sunfyre. Dreamfyre in the Dragonpit, who Helaena cannot fly into battle. A fucking disaster.”

“We have Vhagar,” Aemond says confidently.

“She is worth two full-grown dragons,” Otto pitches back. “Not four or five.”

“Daemon is the real threat. If I can eliminate him, the war is over.”

“Daeron should be prepared for combat,” Jasper Wylde says. “He is travelling with Lord Ormund Hightower’s army in the Reach, but he can easily be called back to King’s Landing. He could assist Prince Aemond in his pursuit of Daemon and Caraxes.”

“I don’t need his help,” Aemond replies darkly.

“Then perhaps he could safeguard the city once you’ve gone.”

“We cannot sacrifice military strategy on the altar of personal vendettas,” Criston says. “Dragons are best used on the battlefield against soldiers and castles, not on meandering quests to find one lone enemy, that’s a needle in a haystack, it’s a misallocation of precious resources.”

Aemond counters: “But if I can kill Daemon, nothing else matters—”

“It does matter, Aemond!” Criston roars. “I matter, the armies matter, winning the confidence of the houses you hope to rule matters!”

“How is Corlys Velaryon handling all of this?” Otto asks Larys. “The defeat at Rook’s Rest, the death of his wife?”

Larys answers: “He blames Rhaenyra for the losses. He has taken it badly. It is my understanding that he intended to withdraw his support from the Blacks, and was brought back only by Jacaerys giving him the title of Hand of the Queen. I am under the impression that Corlys may be willing to reconsider his allegiance if the circumstances were right—”

There is a knock at the council chamber door, not a knock but a pounding, not a pounding but a frantic drumming like the marching of soldiers’ boots. Sir Criston Cole unlocks and opens the door. Alicent stands there with her face flushed and shiny with tears. Instantly, Criston is at her side asking what is wrong, one hand resting protectively her shoulder, the other on the hilt of the sword he wears everywhere he goes.

“Come quickly,” Alicent begs you, only you. “Please. It’s Aegon.”

You race with her to Aegon’s bedchamber, hearing the screams long before you reach him. This doesn’t make sense; he shouldn’t be in pain this severe, not yet, not for hours. You are aware that there are footsteps thundering behind you, Aemond and Criston rushing to see if the king really is dying this time. In his bed, Aegon thrashes and moans. He needs to stop moving so violently; he will split his scar tissue like burst seams. Already you can see blooms of crimson appearing on his bandages where the wounds beneath have reopened: his neck, his waist, his ribcage. He is out of his mind. He is destroying himself.

He is shouting for Sunfyre, for Aemond, for Criston. He is back at Rook’s Rest being roasted alive in his own armor. Not dying, then; just having a nightmare. You kneel at his bedside and smooth his hair back, his braid threading through your fingers, and whisper to him that it’s alright, that he’s safe, that he needs to wake up now. Alicent is weeping, both hands covering her mouth. Aemond and Criston are watching you, mesmerized, transfixed.

Aegon’s oceanic eyes fly open, wide and panicked. “Where am I?”

And you smile down at him, your palm cradling his unburned left cheek. “The end of the world.”

He blinks. He remembers. His lips stretch into a grin. “There you are,” he tells you, voice gravelly and low. “I dreamed everyone was gone and you were too.”

“I’m here.”

“You aren’t in a hurry to abandon me for your burly betrothed?”

Cregan Stark must think I’m dead. “No, Aegon.”

“You can’t leave without telling me.”

Everett, Clement, my father, my mother, Piper, Petra, Penelope, they must all think I was burned to ash on the battlefield or murdered and tossed into the sea. “I know. I won’t.”

“You can’t leave,” he says again, a half-awake whimper as he sinks back into unconsciousness. You give him more milk of the poppy, enough to make his sleep deep and black and dreamless.

You reclean and rebandage Aegon’s wounds. It takes hours. Aemond fetches Maester Orwyle to assist you. Criston comforts Alicent, wanting to do and say far more than he can. When it is done, only Alicent remains in the bedchamber with you. She visits Aegon frequently, but she does not know how to speak to him; she always stands there clasping her own hands together, praying and stalling, desperate to show him love and yet incapable of it.

“Thank you for what you’ve done for him,” Alicent says, tears glistening in her umber eyes. “Not just the hours, not just the medicine. For everything that you’ve done.” And she embraces you, and when she does you hold her like she wishes her own daughter could.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the night you see it repeating like a chorus of a song in the shadows that crawl across the ceiling: one year ago, stray snowflakes in your hair, stars in a black sky and air like metal.

The Celtigar fortune is older than the Targaryens’ conquering of Westeros, older than the Doom of Valyria. Where did the money come from? Friends of the Celtigars would say distinctively cunning maritime trade; their enemies would say piracy. Perhaps the two are not always so different. Is there any mechanism of accumulating great wealth that does not involve stealing in one form or another, of wringing out some other soul like a wet cloth until every drop of them disappears down your throat? Your ancestors did not tame dragons, but they had a different sort of gift: for every coin, they could find a way to make two or six or ten. Repeat that process for centuries and there are vaults filled to the ceiling with gold coins like pieces of the midday sun.

When Daenys the Dreamer had a vision of the Doom over a decade before it left Valyria a smoldering, fragmented wasteland haunted by demons and plague, only three Valyrian houses heeded the warning. Her own family, the Targaryens, relocated to Dragonstone. The Velaryons, having already long occupied Driftmark, resolved to stay there. And the Celtigars—merchants to some, pirates to others—crossed the Narrow Sea to settled on Claw Isle.

Crispian Celtigar served as Master of Coin to Aegon the Conqueror. Alton Celtigar was his Hand of the King. Edwell Celtigar was chosen to be Hand of the King to Maegor I, and later Master of Coin to Jaehaerys I during his minority. The Celtigars have never been far from the Iron Throne…though perhaps none were ever as close as you are now.

One year ago, your father embarked upon a trade mission to White Harbor. Never a man to squander an opportunity for new business, he added stops in Oldcastle, Cerwyn, and Winterfell, and brought along his four maiden daughters to stoke the desires of Northerner lords. Piper fancied a son of Lord Manderly, Petra caught the attention of a Cerwyn boy. But no offer was advantageous enough for Bartimos Celtigar’s liking; no deal could be struck.

In Winterfell, Lord Cregan Stark was already married. His wife, a childhood friend before she was a bedmate, trudged around the castle heavily pregnant and dragging layer upon layer of furs to guard her against the cold, often biting even in summer. Lord Cregan took little notice of your giggling, gossiping sisters, and even less of you…until his sparring partner broke his arm in the castle courtyard. As the other women fled with nauseated faces back to their needlework, you asked Winterfell’s maester if you could watch how he set the fracture and managed the man’s pain. The maester was delighted—Northerners, as a rule, lack intellectual curiosity—and even allowed you to help bandage the wound once the split bone had been popped back into place. And it was only then, as you knelt there with your forehead creased with determination and blood coating your hands to the knuckles, that Lord Cregan Stark began to see you.

You have a fear of marriage, not a general aversion but a specific and powerful dread. When you were fourteen, you asked your mother if she enjoyed lying with her husband, and you had known as soon as she spoke with a careful sort of reticence—‘I enjoy feeling close to him, I suppose’—that the answer was no. When you were sixteen and your cousin Theodora married into House Bar Emmon, you went with the other noblewomen to inspect her bedsheets the next morning, and were horrified by how they chuckled at the large rust-like stain and recalled their own initiations into sex, this unavoidable rite of passage, this ultimate surrender. At breakfast, the men toasted wine and hooted and sang, while Theodora stared down with glazed eyes at her untouched bacon and duck eggs and said when Piper asked how the night went: ‘He wanted me three times. Is there anything I can do to make him stop?’ And you had thought: Aren’t unions like this supposed to be holy? What the hell do the gods have to do with it? Are they in the sweat, in the bleak resignation, in the linen of the sheets? Do they fill the man with blind lust like an animal’s, do they help hold the woman down?

Your eyes close as you lie in bed in the Red Keep, your room adjoining Aegon’s, and suddenly you are back in Winterfell again. You are making notes as the maester shows you the herbs growing in the Glass Gardens when Cregan finds you. He is tall and broad, made more so by the furs that engulf him like mist drapes the stony cliffs of Claw Isle. His voice is booming, thunderous, cataclysmically formidable. He is used to being listened to. He has never been expected to sit quietly as other men charted out his life like the route of a trade ship: here you will go, here you will be emptied of every scrap of value. He says he will give you a tour of the Library Tower. It is not an invitation; an invitation can be declined.

You walk together through the Godswood—dark water, blackberry bushes, crows squawking, gods you do not believe in—and Cregan tells you fond memories of his childhood. He likes hunting and archery. He spars in the courtyard for hours each day. He never stays still, he never goes quiet. He wants to know where you learned to marvel at the ghastly art of piecing broken bodies back together again. He wants to know why you are so different from other women. And he inquires with great fascination about the legendary treasures of your house, not just gold but rubies, jeweled cups, Myrish carpets and Volantene glass, a horn said to summon krakens from the sea, an axe made of Valyrian steel.

Winterfell’s library is sparse and dusty, cobwebs in shadowy alcoves. Cregan Stark thinks you will not notice. As he slips books about anatomy and herbology off the shelves to show you, you cannot help studying his hands, large and calloused and always stained with black patches of ink or soil or soot. They make yours look tiny and defenseless, skin of silk and bones like glass. You picture him claiming you, owning you, climbing into the marital bed knowing that you cannot refuse anything he asks for. You envision him forcing your thighs apart with those huge filthy hands, leaving smudges like ash. You imagine him tearing his way into a part of you that feels so small, so vulnerable; you imagine the suffocating burden of his interminable weight.

A moment of clarity, in the library beathing dust and Cregan’s scent, a woodsmoke musk, a wolflike wildness: I don’t know this man. I don’t trust this man. I’m glad he’s not free to marry me.

This was before the war began, before Cregan’s wife Arra Norrey died birthing their son Rickon, before Jace Velaryon arrived in Winterfell to forge the Pact of Ice and Fire. And when Cregan agreed to support Rhaenyra’s claim to the Iron Throne, and Jace pledged to marry his firstborn daughter to Rickon, the Warden of the North decided there was one last thing he wanted inked into the covenant. He wanted an ally in the South, bottomless wealth, his future children to have Valyrian ancestry. He wanted a woman with vigilant, unflinching eyes and blood on her hands.

He wanted you.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #hotd fanfic

440 notes · View notes

louloulemons-posts · 5 months

Text

New Beginnings

eddie munson x fem!reader

requested by @jonaslover2006

summary : at the bottom

word count : 1k

warnings : not proofread, aftermath of vecna, eddies recovery, it’s basically just fluff, pet names.

a/n : heyyyy, so sorry this took so long to write and put out. i hope it was okay 🫶🏻

- lou

1k celebration found here

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

The beeping sound of the machines became a background noise, easy to ignore. After 3 days the stiff chair almost began to feel comfortable.

3 days. 72 hours. 4320 minutes.

Eddie was still unconscious. The surgery had gone well, he’d lost a lot of blood. He’d gone through a lot, so his body had to rest for a while.

You wanted nothing more than to see his beautiful brown eyes open again. They still didn’t know if he would wake up, the bats had done a lot of damage.

You and Wayne had been here the whole time, the man couldn’t convince you to leave. Your friends had been bouncing between Eddie and Maxs rooms.

Although you loved the redhead girl, you couldn’t stomach leaving him. You’d never leave him.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

At some point you’d fallen asleep, head resting on the bed next to Eddies thigh, hand holding his. It wasn’t comfortable at all, but it was the closest you could be.

Waking up you felt a hand softly running across your hair, slowly you woke up. Lifting your head from the bed, rubbing your eyes, you saw a faint smile from the boy covered in bruises.

“Hi Sweetheart,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Eddie,” you breathed out, tears immediately flooding your eyes. “It’s okay, I’m okay. Come here,” he pulled you up onto the bed.

You were careful where you touched, knowing his torso must be sore.

“I thought-“ you began.

“I know baby, I know. But I’m here.”

“I’ve gotta tell Wayne.”

“He already knows, he’s gone to tell the kids. Get a doc.”

“Why’d you let me sleep?”

“He told me it’s the first time you had in days.”

“Edward.”

“Sweetheart.”

“You’re an idiot! Why would you do that!” you immediately felt angry. He’d left you and Dustin, running back to stop the bats.

“I had to keep you safe.”

“You could have died!”

“But I didn’t.”

“Eddie-“

“I’m okay. Please, can we not fight. Please, I don’t want to fight with you.”

You sighed into his neck, kissing his pulse point. “I love you.”

“I love you too Eds.”

“I’m gonna do better, for you. For us.

Pushing up, you looked at his face, brushing his curls from his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m gonna graduate, I’m gonna stop the drugs. Get a job. Get us a place of our own. I’m gonna do better.”

“Oh sweet boy, you’ve already done so much. You don’t need to do better, you’re doing fantastic. Just do one thing for me.”

“Hm?”

“Get better.” You kissed his cheek.

In that moment, Eddie knew he wanted to do all of this. Not just for you, but for him. He wanted to be the best he could. He wanted that life with you.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Hello!” you called out as you walked into the trailer, sliding your shoes off. Soon followed by your coat. “Sweetheart!” Eddie smiled, walking over to you.

“You look very cheery, what’s up?” you asked. “Can’t I just be happy to see you?” he acted as if he was offended, but he couldn’t remove the grin from his face.

You cocked a brow, “You gonna tell me or not?”

“I got a letter today.”

“And, what did it say?”

“It was from the school.”

Your eyes widened, you’d been waiting on this letter for weeks. Wanting to know if Eddie could graduate or not.

Pulling it out of his back pocket, you took it from his hand, re-opening the envelope. “Oh my god!”

“Oh my god,” he repeated.

“O’Donnell gave you a C+”

“She gave me a C+”

“You’re graduating!” Your arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him tightly. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Couldn’t have done it without you.” You smiled at him, pressing your mouth to his.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Eddie had done what he’d planned too, got himself a job at the local mechanic shop. Along with his music on the side, he was doing good. You had a job too, along with going to college.

You and Eddie had both saved up enough to get a little place of your own. The moving process wasn’t awful, neither of you had loads of stuff. “That’s the last box,” he said.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you spoke, wrapping your arms around his waist. “We’ve done it now. Wanna back out?”

“Never,” you smiled, kissing his chin.

“Now … unpacking.”

“I bet I can unload the whole kitchen before you’ve even finished your D&D stuff.”

“Oh you’re one.” You went to grab one of the boxed, but Eddies arms wrapped around you, dropping you onto the soft couch. Lips meeting your own.

“What was that for?” you asked.

“I just love you.” Your face flushed at that.

“I love you too.”

“I know.”

“Okay Han Solo, let’s get this place sorted!”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Head rested on top of yours, you and Eddie sat in bed. He was reading The Lord of The Rings to you - again. “I love this,” you said against his chest, kissing one of his scars.

“Hm?”

“Our simple little life. I love it. Being with you is my favourite thing.”

“It’s mine too. I want it to be us all the time.”

“It will be Eds.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So uhm, you’d go with me to the fires of Mordor?” he asked, cheeky grin on his face.

“I’d follow you anywhere.”

“And I’d follow you. I’d also marry you, but uh will you marry me?”

You lifted your head from his chest, now seeing he’d put the book down, a ring in his hand instead. The ring was beautiful, it looked like winding vines, holding a stunning green agate stone in the centre.

“Oh Eds-“

“I love you. I want to spend my life with you, I want to be with you through the ups and downs. We’ve been through so much together, I never want that to change. So my sweet, beautiful girl. Will you marry me?”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading!

Please leave any requests 🤍

211 notes · View notes

rafestar · 1 year

Text

HIGH FOR THIS | Rafe Cameron

WARNINGS: DUB-CON, dark!rafe, +18 smut, drugging, extreme domination, gagging, choking, spitting, cum play, etc.

SUMMARY: rafe craves the reader and he thinks this is the only way in which he can make her his.

A/N: english isn’t my first language so be polite. if there’s any mistakes, i will gladly welcome any advice or help, enjoy♡

The heat and burning she felt was impossible to explain. Sweat and chills ran down her neck and back. It felt like the bed was on fire.

The knot in her stomach and the pulsations in her privacy were intense. An inexplicable pain, of which she did not know it’s precedence.

Y/N was currently in Tanneyhill. When the Cameron parents and the youngest of the family go to dinner, the older siblings throw one of their parties, where the only thing that is inhaled is rich atmosphere and cocaine.

It is not the first time that she has stayed in one of the guest rooms or at the Cameron house. Being best friends with Sarah means being here most of the time.

The party ended a few quarters of an hour after the arrival of the Cameron’s parents, who killed the entire party.

Today, for the first time, she had tried cocaine. Could that be what caused her burning skin?

Hours tossing and turning as her skin felt weaker. Her ears were ringing from the aftermath the music left behind.

Being immobile made her have symptoms on the surface. The brush of her thighs was all that helped but even that wasn't enough.

It seemed as if the room had risen at least five degrees as the air grew thick and almost stifling.

Y/N couldn't take it anymore. She closed her eyes tight. She brought one of her hands up to her forehead, brushing aside the little beads of sweat that trickled down her.

She would definitely never in her life inhale that dust again. She didn't even know where it came from, how was she to know…

A weight settled on the side of her bed and her heart wanted to escape from her chest. She was going to scream but her mouth was covered by the pressure of one hand, drowning her in her own words.

"Shut up," he snapped in a whisper, Rafe now, trailing her fingers to her lower lip. "Be a good girl and be quiet."

Y/N's hands tightened against her comforter, and Rafe smiled at the effect on her body. His hand slid over her neck, trailing in fine strokes down the center of her body, marking a line until it reached her hips.

She didn't even realize how the fuck he got in here without making a sound.

He rested his knee on the bed and with a strong grip, pulled her from her waist, causing Y/N to gasp at the warmth of his hands.

"What did I tell you?" he whispered back to him, taking her heel to pull one of her legs up over her shoulder, "I don't think you want to wake up my whole family, do you?"

His grip on one of her thighs made her tremble, and when she looked back at him, Rafe pulled her from her hips, making her fit right between his crotch.

The burning at her core grew even stronger. She felt the need to move her hips against him, letting herself be carried away by the bulge behind his pants.

“Rafe, please…”

He chuckled. "Look what a whore you can be Y/N, begging already"

Hatred for him flowed through her blood again. The way he carried himself arrogantly killed her. But now she felt completely strange.

"Get away from me," she growled, trying to keep her voice down. "Get out of here"

“Shh…” he whispered, placing a hand under her chin again. "I know you don't want me to go."

And in a way he was right. Y/N needed to feel him but she didn't understand why.

Her body was acting in an uncontrolled way that almost didn’t allow her to think.

He stood still for a moment, his hands being the only ones making movements. His fingertips danced across the fabric of her pajamas until they reached the fold of hers, pulling it gently to now make contact with her skin.

As soon as his fingers dug into the sides of her clavicles, Y/N gasped, squeezing her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to see Rafe's face.

Her leg descended from his shoulder and he moved closer to her. She felt his breath hit her neck.

“Lust is in your blood,” he growled into the crook of her neck, making her suppress a groan. "Lust is very easy to achieve... So easy, that you can bring a little of it under a liquid"

Y/N's eyes snapped open but her vision was clouded with pleasure as Rafe rolled her hip against her, pulling her shorts up to reveal the beginning of her panties.

“Yes…” he whispered, hooking his fingers into the fabric. "So easy…"

Y/N inhaled, reopening her eyes to look at the blond in front of her. “Y-you put…”

"Ecstasy?" he asked. “Yeah… that's exactly what I did. I guess you should be careful with your drinks."

He brought his lips to her ear and caught her lobe, drawing a silent gasp from her.

"Why…" Y/N blurted out quickly. "Why did you…”

She felt Rafe’s bare chest brush against her belly, and his lips parted from her skin, now resting on her jaw. A line of touches for her sensitive skin of hers.

"Why?" he exclaimed with a smile, "Because this is the only way to have you... to have everything of you.”

In a fleeting movement, he tossed at her clothes, causing the pants along with the panties to slide down her legs until they reached her toes, then throw them in a puddle on the side of the bed, leaving her exposed.

Not once did his eyes leave her legs, noting that her trembling only worsened as her own touch added to the equation, made him smile.

He could smell her arousal, causing a change in his own boxers. She was suffering for him. He leaned forward, his lips now tickling her ear.

“You didn't know how fucked up I felt seeing you with others,” he growled, his hand working it’s way up the inside of her thigh. "The way everyone craves you, damn it, drives me crazy."

"Why Rafe…" she gasped, feeling the anticipation of her rip through her belly. "Why it drives you crazy…”

And that could be the question that unleashed him.

His lips collided with hers and the room seemed to disappear in that moment. His hands seemed to be everywhere until she felt one of them tangle in her hair, making her faces even closer than they already were.

He outlined her back gently, tracing the line of her spine until he reached her lower back, pressing to lift her body and bring her hips together, suppressing each other's gasps against their lips.

That was the answer she need.

The throb between her thighs never left. Instead, it intensified.

Rafe's smile was even more hesitant, he was getting what he had been wanting for years.

Suddenly, Rafe got up to sit on the edge of the bed. "Come here.”

Y/N, as she could, crawled across the bed, feeling every muscle burn. Her legs trembled and her thighs throbbed from her core.

This was a level of torture that she had never experienced. Suffering so vile yet so addictive. She hated how her senses were shackled, but the emotion was overwhelming.

Rafe palmed his thigh, "sit here."

She hesitated, her mind not wanting to, but her arousal controlling her over her thoughts or actions, it was frustrating.

She pushed her thighs up as best she could, the pain from them not letting her do much. Rafe understood her difficulty, and placed his hands on her hips to help her up onto his thigh. Y/N placed her hands on Rafe's shoulders for balance.

Once sitting, her clit touched Rafe’s bare thigh, the hiss she let out was overpowering. She threw her head back as her eyes rolled blank.

"Come on love, ride my thigh"

Y/N was lost in thought, until the coldness of Rafe's palms on her hip brought her back to the moment.

She began to roll her hips over him in small circles, seeking the pleasure that would lead her to the ecstasy she craved so much.

Y/N moaned against his mouth and her lips met his again. His tongue slid past hers in a slow, twisting motion.

As torturous as the smooth movement of her hips was to him. Rafe's hands had clung to them, forbidding her to move more than she should. It was distressing her and she began to feel a slight despair when her burning began again.

The drug was still in her blood and the torment would not end until she could free herself.

“Rafe…” she whimpered, digging her nails into her skin, “I need to…”

"No." he snapped, looking into her eyes. "I waited for this shit too long, I won't let you do it."

Her legs wrapped around his hips as Rafe rose to his feet, cradling her in his arms before throwing her against the bed, causing the oak wood to creak.

He positioned himself above her. His hand trailed from her thighs to her throat, gripping her hard to press her against the mattress.

Her eyes widened as he watched the cloud of eroticism vibrate around her. Her chest heaved, her nipples hardened, and her pussy whimpered.

Hovering above her, Rafe curved his tongue into her cheek and hummed in content. Seeing her so vulnerable was a feeling he could get used to.

"I need you to not make any sound, understand?"

Rafe got up as she gave him a slight nod. Her vision blurred every time her core sent shivers through her veins, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Suddenly, she felt Rafe's big hands encircle her thighs and her tongue dunk flat on it with a flick, making her eyes begin to water.

Gathering as much as he could, he devoured her sweet nectar and licked the center of her nerves with his tongue.

Kissing the center of her, his jeweled hands clasping her thighs, squeezing them to give him deeper access, something that made her head fall back.

She exhaled slowly, he was eating her like it was the last meal of the week. His tongue swiped at her, curving into her to hit all of her ups and downs.

The pulsing hums of her against his mouth brought her closer to release and the immense feeling of euphoria made the tears swell.

Surprisingly, he allowed her to move her hips an inch, indicating that she was ready for her release.

Moaning in frustration, she wanted more. She wanted to beg for more.

She nearly squealed when she realized that Rafe had moved away from the center of her. "I told you to not make any fucking sound"

She started to whimper and her legs were in a knot of nerves. She couldn't control herself anymore.

"Rafe..." She begged, "Please Rafe, I need more."

Rafe laughed at her pleas, but after that, he leaned in and pressed her lips firmly against his, rocking his hips against hers.

She gasped for air and Rafe started to take off his underwear.

Then, he kissed her again, skin against skin made feel even better. Rafe's smooth skin contrasted with her burning skin.

His hands immediately assaulted her breasts, earning another moan from her that fractured her throat.

Rafe's hand moved down his length and thick, and he began to rub the tip against the center of her.

"I swear if you make any noise I'll stick my fingers down your throat"

And with that, he slid inside her, her walls snatching around him with force, and they both moaned at the first blow.

Locking his lips against hers once more, he began to move in a mundane rhythm. Rocking back and forth, his speed began to build and he followed her moans.

As if his pace wasn't fast enough, it was the first time she had experienced something so euphoric. His touch was aggravating, but she couldn't help but want more.

Like cocaine, he was addictive. Dangerous but attractive.

He made her feel things that no one else has made her felt.

Their skin smacked against each other, her wetness sliding around him. Perhaps the most stimulating sounds he has ever heard.

"You feel so fucking good." His pace quickened more, slamming against her hard, his grip on her breasts crushing her.

The sound of deep breaths and the rapid creak of the bed echoed off the high walls.

The humidity rose to a tropical level and her presence still so cool, she couldn't help but moan.

"God, Rafe..."

He tensed as he thrust hard and fast, depending on the way her thighs tightened around him. "What did I tell you?"

She sighed, her mouth parted trying to form words, but nothing could come out of it.

Rafe seemed to get even more annoyed. His blows took on a sound that filled the room.

"I asked you, what the fuck did I tell you?"

She swallowed, wetting her throat, "To… fucking hell… to not make any sound.

The smile on his face was one she had rarely seen, but it made her want to pounce on him and keep kissing him. "And what did you just do?" he whispered, not stopping rocking while his hands exerted the necessary pressure to cup her breasts.

Y/N babbled, “I’ve talked”

And then the thrust stopped. He stood still for a moment but it wasn't to rest.

His fingers entered her mouth, so deeply, that Y/N felt them reach the back of her throat, suppressing her breath.

The hold that was pressed firmly against her breast now sealed her breath in her throat.

Solidifying his hold, she felt her face heat up. “What a good fucking whore. Taking me whole." he groaned.

Like an alarm, she felt the growing sensation against her cunt and somehow she could feel the growing unsteadiness of her.

Although he had his fingers on her mouth, his blows never seemed to miss. And at that, Y/N tightened around him as she choked on his long fingers.

Rafe's grin tipped up, "that's my girl, choke on my fucking fingers."

Saying that, his careless thrusts hit her place perfectly. Tickling at the pinnacle of orgasm, she arched her back once more, taking notice of him.

"Look me in the eye when you cum."

She could feel her cheeks glowing wine-red, and the moan tore through his throat was wasted by his fingers on her throat.

She nodded quickly, leaning on his elbows to look down at the point where he charged into her. Her cock darting in and out of her as small strokes bounced up her body. He tugged on her thigh, bringing her almost to her lap. A position that made her feel him even more deeply as he brought her leg up to rest on his shoulder.

Saliva dripped from his fingers as he took them out of her mouth. His hand took her other leg, bringing her to the same spot, allowing her body to bend to the side.

The blows seemed to be stronger from that place and when he took her cheeks to squeeze, she moaned again.

"You're fucking squeezing me" he complained, and those simple words made her break.

Her walls clenched around him and her orgasm made her clench her teeth. Her hands could barely cover the moan she wanted to release and her tears made her eyes burn. She could feel Rafe keep pushing and it seemed like her blows hurt more than they had when the lust evaporated.

"Fuck no..." he gasped in a whisper, taking the last few thrusts before pulling himself out of her and throwing himself onto the bed.

Y/N was still in her relaxed cloud. The toxins were leaving her body thanks to all that her release had let go, but a new hurricane erupted in her body as she turned her gaze to Rafe.

He had sat on the edge of the bed. One of his hands lay resting on the bed, leaning back slightly as he pumped hard and desperately down the length of his. His hand moving over his cock as it twitched. Liquid trying to escape from him.

Y/N had never seen Rafe like that.

A way in which she felt a fatal attraction.

A fated attraction perhaps.

"Shit..." he groaned thickly, and liquid shot over him. White flecks running down his stomach, covering his skin and slithering down every mound of his muscle.

Y/N squeezed her thighs. She couldn't feel more aroused than she already was. Much less when she'd already released the tension from her once.

Her eyes did not stop looking at the liquid that fell through Rafe's fingers, who continued with his cock tight in his hand. His veins bulging tantalizingly.

"Come here." he commanded, running his tongue along the inside of her cheek.

Y/N came closer, crawling across the bed to his side, sitting up as she admired his ruddy cheeks and tousled hair.

"Take it all out." he told her, gesturing to her torso.

Her lips went dry but she didn't say a word. Taking her hair into a low ponytail, she leaned in, running her tongue slowly over the warm liquid on his skin.

She heard him curse, saying her name in a way that made her melt completely.

Her tongue made a pattern over his skin, taking in all that she resided there before rising, looking into her eyes as she wiped the skin from her lips.

She was about to swallow when he stopped her, "Open your mouth."

Y/N did, and her lips parted, letting her tongue slide out of her as the thick liquid ran down her.

Rafe bit his lip, and his hand moved up to her neck, squeezing as she brought her face closer to his, spitting into her mouth, then burying her fingers in the sensitive skin. from her throat.

"Swallow"

Feeling her heart pound, she swallowed, and the pressure on her throat became painful as everything slid down her, Rafe's hand causing a grim moan at her heat.

"That’s it..." he murmured, "what a good girl."

♡

736 notes · View notes

venusin-aries · 8 months

Text

SJM made Gwyn so likable and so damn hard to hate that it has people reaching to astronomical lengths to make her villainous or -insignificant to the rest of the series- and I think that is. Fucking. Hilarious.

Like she KNEW people were going to hate Gwyn so she decided to make it as difficult as possible and I think that is Iconic Behavior.

I am going to laugh when Gwyn is revealed to be everything she’s projected herself to be. Which is, so far,

Kind and sweet.

Feisty.

Brave.

Smart as all fucking hell.

Charmingly irreverent.

As beautiful as Mor and Merrill.

A talented singer.

Strategic and observant.

Loyal. She’s such a good fucking friend, we should ALL be more like Gwyn.

Resilient.

Adaptable.

I could go on and on.

When Gwyn is revealed to be a good person, no matter if she’s a lightsinger or some other miscellaneous creature, and she doesn’t have to ~lure~ anyone or force someone to do something against their will (which is a really weird thing to accuse an SA victim of, call me sensitive or whatever, I don’t care she’s not real, I find it weird and gross and oddly telling of the people who came up with that theory) and her friends still adore her, I am going to laugh. my. fucking. ass off.

Full offense, I think just having a glimpse into Gwyn’s recovery, her being willing to sacrifice herself to protect the kids, BECAUSE SHE VERY MUCH WAS READY TO DIE FOR THEM, what was going through her mind when she refused to tell the general where they went, how she feels about losing her sister in such a brutal way BECAUSE she refused to tell him, the attack that followed, her nightmares, the guilt she carries, and the aftermath of the blood rite from her point of view would be so much more interesting than anything Elriel as a whole has got going on right now. I would read an entire book about just HER.

I find her so admirable and I find it so odd people dislike her because there’s a chance her and Azriel will end up together.

I genuinely laugh when I see how odd some takes are and how angry people get about her.

Go listen to some synth music. Go on what I call a Final Girl walk and breathe some fresh air. You’ll be okay if or when your ship does not end up together.

#gwynriel #gwyn berdara #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #acotar #gwyn acosf #acosf #pro gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #my love letter and proposal to Gwyn Berdara #I have more Gwynriel thoughts to post #but that is for another day #tonight we simp for Gwyn

255 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 5 months

Text

Royal Pain Part 26

Hello, and we have got to the end of the massive arc that culminated the last four chapters.

I also wrote this part before 24 and 25 because I couldn't figure out how to write Eddie having a hard time on tour, but the aftermath flowed from my fingers.

Also as a reminder this story is finished, I'm just posting on a regular schedule. This story is the longest fanfic I've ever written. Topping out at 58165 it's definitely longer than 50K fic I wrote for NaNoWriMo last year (Sandman, never finished or published.)

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17 Pt 18 Pt 19 Pt 20 Pt 21 Meta Pt 22 Pt 23 Pt 24 Pt 25

****

“You’ve been sitting on that sofa for an entire week,” Wayne growled. “Steve has called three times, your bandmates at least a dozen times each. Hell, boy Miranda has been calling concerned. So want to tell me what’s fucking got you so twisted?”

“I was given a choice out there on the road,” Eddie said, twisting his rings around his fingers. “Stay in Indy and play small time gigs for the rest of my adult life or go to LA and get an album and the chance at super stardom.”

Wayne sat down next him. “Sounds like a big decision to make.”

Eddie leapt to his feet. “That’s the problem. That’s what makes me so angry how fucking easy the choice is.”

Wayne cocked his head to the side. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate again, boy. Start talking.”

Eddie started pacing back and forth. “As much as I loved playing for so many people, I didn’t like that I could only connect with a handful of them and not even the good kind.” He rubbed his chin angrily. “I didn’t like how tired we all were. It was set up, sound check, play, break down and move on to the next fucking town. And that wasn’t including all the parties, interviews, and all that other shit.”

“That does sound exhausting, Ed.”

“I didn’t like how easy it was for them to tell me to drop Gareth as drummer just because he had trouble adjusting to the increased volume. The price of fame they said. Like it was so simple to throw away almost two decades of friendship for the sake of adoring crowds and hearing our music on the radio.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Wayne said softly. “They didn’t...”

“Oh they absolutely did,” Eddie raged. “I didn’t like how they thought that because me and Steve’s relationship was new that I would be able to find someone better. Someone who liked metal, someone who would be down for the ride.”

Wayne furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t sound like good advice.”

Eddie grabbed his hair pulled at it frustration. “The last straw was when they offered to let their tattooist to finish my back tattoo, because while my artist was good, theirs was better.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to face Wayne. “I picked Steve to do my tattoo on my back because he was the only one I trusted to make it meaningful. To understand the symbolism of making something of yourself when everyone is rooting against you. I made the decision before I fell in love with him and now that we’re a couple– and for them to just dismiss him like that? It made me so angry.”

“So what’s the problem? What’s got you so twisted around the bend?”

Eddie took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I’m fucking furious because I always thought that when fame and fortune came knocking I would throw open that door and march right through it. But now? Given the choice? I’m slamming the door in its face and walking away.”

Hot tears ran down his face. “And I don’t know why.”

He dropped to his knees and began to sob.

Wayne stood up and put his arms around his nephew’s shoulders, gently pulling him to his chest.

“Did that band you were traveling with say that?” he whispered into Eddie’s curls. “Because if they did, I swear to god I will burn every record and CD you have of theirs. Don’t think I won’t. I’ll delete them off your phone too.”

Eddie chuckled weakly. “No, no. They were kind. It was everyone else we met. Agents, managers, roadies, groupies, the people around Metallica every day.”

Wayne nodded.

“I was just constantly bombarded with hateful messages and the constant running at one hundred percent...” he whimpered. “I don’t want to do it.”

“Have you told your band that?” Wayne asked.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t dare to. I was the one that was gung ho about the touring and everything. How do I tell them I don’t want to leave the comfort of Indianapolis and home?”

“Kinda like that,” Jeff said from the doorway. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against the frame. Peaking around him was Miranda with a concerned look on her face.

Eddie scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I’ve been a brat.”

Jeff took three giant steps forward and hugged him fiercely. “You’re not being a brat. You’re scared and trying to figure it all out on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? We’ve all been worried sick about you. But Steve especially. I’ll call all the boys down for a chat and you call Steve, okay?”

Eddie nodded.

He dialed the number he knew by heart.

“Baby?” he asked, unsure of the reaction he was going to get. He deserved to be yelled at. Cursed at. Broken up with. He’d hurt Steve the most with this little temper tantrum he’d been having.

“Eds?” Steve breathed. “Sunshine, are you okay? Wayne said you hadn’t been eating well or sleeping much. Say the word and I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

Eddie’s lip began to quiver and tears spilled out of his eyes. “I need you. More than anything.”

“I’m on my way,” Steve said fiercely.

Eddie looked over at Jeff.

“Tell Steve Brian will swing by and pick him up.”

Eddie nodded and relayed the message back to Steve.

“I’ll be at my apartment,” Steve said. “I’ll have Robin arrange my schedule, don’t you worry about thing, baby.”

“Mm’k.”

“I love you, Eds.”

Eddie closed his eyes and breathed in the warmth of that simple phrase. “Love you, too, pretty boy. Come quick.”

“I promise.”

Steve piled into Brian’s car. It was the newest, having bought it right before they got picked up by Metallica. He had finally saved up enough money to replace his beater.

Gareth and Gethin in the backseat. Gethin had come up to Indy to watch his twin’s apartment while he was gone and just ended up staying. He was currently looking for a job so that he could move in with Gareth full time.

At least that what they said on the trip down. The twins and Brian were intent on filling the air with talk and Steve let them. He let them fill him in on the tour and everything that had been going on since they’d left.

Steve couldn’t be for certain, but it sounded like that touring hadn’t been fun for anyone. Even after a week of rest, he could still make out the circles under their eyes and how hunched over they were with just sheer exhaustion.

A feeling Steve felt all too well.

Gethin was pressed against his twin’s side and was rubbing his neck soothingly.

Steve looked at Brian.

His face was set, hard and unflinching. He was going to make the drive to Hawkins as fast as he could and still avoid the cops.

Steve was grateful Brian was driving because he didn’t think he would have made the distinction to avoid breaking the law. He would have gunned it and flipped off any cop that tried to catch him.

After awhile, Steve was getting the oddest feeling that Brian was used to speeding down this stretch of highway because there were points where he would slow down for a few miles and then speed right back up.

Soon enough they were pulling up to Wayne’s trailer and piling out the car.

Eddie sat on the sofa with Jeff and Miranda on either side of him, just hugging him.

Wayne was busying himself in the kitchen, getting ready to feed the hoard that was about to descend on his home.

The door opened up and Brian, Gareth, and Gethin all stumbled through the entryway. Eddie was on his feet in an instant, Jeff and Miranda not far behind.

And then the trio at the door parted and there stood Steve. Looking just as tired and worn as Eddie felt.

“Stevie?” Eddie asked, taking a step toward him uncertainly.

Steve threw open his arms and Eddie ran straight into them. They wrapped their arms around each other and just sobbed.

“I’m here, Eds,” Steve murmured into Eddie’s neck. “I’m here. I love you so much.”

Eddie lifted his head and kissed him hard. “I love you, too. I regret leaving you behind, sweetheart. It nearly killed me. Every song I wrote was about you. About missing you. I don’t even want to leave you ever again, I can’t.”

The silence that followed that statement was deafening.

Steve led Eddie back over to couch and sat them both down. “Tell us everything, babe.”

And so Eddie did. He told them everything. Everything he had told Wayne, everything that had been weighing on his mind since they started touring. It all just came out in a flood.

They all listened patiently.

“Why didn’t you tell us you felt like that while we were on the road?” Gareth asked. “I knew what they were saying about me, but I also knew you guys wouldn’t drop me. If you had me about that I would have been able to reassure you that I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Eddie flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t know how to bring it up, it was so vile, man.”

Jeff gave his hand a squeeze. “Well, I think that you did a bang up job telling us now and that’s what really matters.”

“Someone offered to ship me out to LA and record an album,” Eddie finally admitted. “Not the band, just me. I told him that I wouldn’t go without you guys and he laughed in my face. Told me to cut the dead weight and be a star.” He dragged his hands over his face.

“But there were other offers. Good ones. Ones that included the band, well most of it, anyway. Always under the proviso that Gareth be replaced either on tour or all together. They didn’t want to make any accommodations for him even though there is a drummer with one god damn arm!”

“So the options are,” Brian said, “stay in Indy doing what we’ve been doing, only better because of the money we got for doing this tour. Go to LA without Gareth. Go to LA with Gareth but only as a studio musician and take some person we don’t know on tour with us. Does that sound about right?”

Just then Gareth’s phone went off. He looked at it with a frown. It wasn’t a number recognized so he let it go to voicemail. He pulled it up after the notification popped up.

He listened to message with wide eyes. “Hey guys, I think we have another option.” And he played the message so everyone could hear.

“Hey, Mr Hughes,” the tinny voice said through the speaker. “This is Murray Bauman, I’m music producer, we spoke in Las Vegas. I think I have the perfect deal for you boys. You were telling me that touring was really hard on you and that if there was an option you wouldn’t do that. I know you weren’t speaking for all your band, but I could tell that they would do anything for you, all four of you being such good friends.

“So the reason for this call is that I own a small music company in Bloomington and boy do I have a deal for you all. You would make a record through us, we would sell and distribute the record, keeping a portion of the sales, of course. But you wouldn’t have to tour. You have a steady gig as I understand it. If your fans want to see you play, they’ll know where to find you.

“But give me a call, we’ll hash out the details. My phone number is 555-555-2080...” and then message beeped, signaling the end of the voicemail.

Eddie looked down at the phone and then back up at Gareth. “Oh.”

Gareth grinned. “We don’t even have to take his offer, but I vote we listen to it. Brian can bring Cecil.”

Brian nodded. “He’s only got a semester left of law school, but I’ll have him brush up on his contract law to be on the safe side.”

Jeff raised his hand. “All in favor of hearing Mr Bauman out raise your hand?”

Eddie, Brian, and Gareth’s hands shot up.

“Sounds good,” Jeff said. “You call him back and set it up and if it doesn’t work out we can vote again.”

Brian shook his head. “Nah. I think if it doesn’t work, we stick to Nightmare Holes. We took a swing at it and if it’s a miss then we tried. I thought I wanted the touring and everything that came with stardom, but like Eddie I learned I wanted the romanticized version of it. I’ll be happy playing in front of our friends for the rest of our lives.”

The rest of the band nodded.

Soon everyone getting up to go back to Indy, but Steve stayed behind, he would go back up with Eddie in the morning. They had things to discuss that went deeper then the band.

****

Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

I told you I would fix it.

Also a little BTS, the reason in my head for why things went wrong on tour but immediately righted itself when Eddie and Steve met up again? Steve still has Eddie's lucky pick. ;)

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @bookworm0690 @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @aizawa-emma @yikes-a-bee @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @archermightbegay @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95 @novelnovella @jonesn4coffee @slowandsteddie @awkwardgravity1 @steaddie-on

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #tattoo artist steve

123 notes · View notes

lulublack90 · 3 months

Text

Prompt 8 - Headphones

@jegulus-microfic February 8 Word count 940

Previous part First part

CW- Blood, cuts, the aftermath of torture.

Time slowed as they descended the stairs. Each step took an age. By the time he reached the bottom and stood at the door to the cellar, he was certain that an hour had gone by. In reality, it had been less than a minute.

Sirius reached around him and opened the door.

“Come on, James. He needs us.” Sirius urged him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. James nodded and walked through the door.

He was immediately hit by a strong, metallic smell—Iron—Blood! It was too dark to see clearly, but he could make out a figure slouched on a chair in the middle of the room.

Sirius muttered a charm. A floating orb appeared, illuminating the small room.

James gasped at the sight before him. Regulus’s head was lolling back, his face swollen and bruised. His body was covered in thin slashes, slowly oozing blood. James looked down at the pool of red collecting on the floor around the chair and grimaced.

This was his fault. Regulus suffered because of him.

He rushed forward, determined to help him. He yanked at the ropes, binding Regulus to the chair. Regulus groaned weakly at the movement.

“It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.” He murmured into Regulus’s ear. Sirius had pulled open the slim cupboard in the corner and started rummaging through the collection of glass vials.

“What do we need?” He shot over his shoulder at James.

James looked Regulus over again.

“Blood replenisher, pain potion and dittany if they have it.” James heard the clatter of vials being moved aside, and then Sirius was beside him, ripping the stoppers out with his teeth.

“Reg, sweetheart, I need you to open your mouth so we can give you the potions.” He carefully lifted Regulus’s head upright and tried to pry his jaws apart. But Regulus chomped down, refusing to cooperate.

“Regulus you absolute prat. Open your damn mouth, and let us help you!” Sirius butted in, taking a different approach to James.

James stared in wonder as the younger man shot daggers at his brother but opened his mouth just wide enough for the potions to be poured in.

“That’s the blood replenisher. The next one’s a pain killer, okay, Reggie. You’ll start feeling better in a minute.” Sirius assured his brother as he tipped the second vial into his mouth.

James started using the basic healing charms that he knew. At least nothing seemed to be broken. He could heal cuts and bruises alright, but bones were another matter.

Soon, Regulus’s face looked almost back to normal. The bruises would fade completely in the next day or two.

James decided it would be easier for Regulus and themselves if he laid down, so he transfigured the chair into a cot and helped Sirius to lie him down flat.

Sirius pulled out his headphones and carefully placed them over his brother’s head.

“What the fuck have you just put on me.” Regulus’s hoarse voice croaked. He seemed more alert, so the potions must be helping.

“Headphones,” He said as he pressed play on his walkman. “Brand new muggle technology. Thought it might help you relax while we fix the rest of you.” James had already started healing the cuts along one of his arms.

“Ugh, fine. Who’s singing?” Regulus didn’t have the energy to fight his brother, and the music blocked the sound of his healing skin.

“Bowie,” Sirius answered simply.

“Bowies shit,” Regulus complained through gritted teeth.

“Only because you’re a heathen. Bowie is magical. Do not dis, Bowie!” It took James a few frustrated moments to realise that Sirius was deliberately bickering with Regulus to keep his mind off what they were doing to him.

He healed the last cut on Regulus’s left arm. His fingers brushed against the ugly black brand on his forearm. How different their lives could have been if Regulus hadn’t joined Voldemort. He drew his eyes away from the mark and started healing the next section.

They healed every cut, and Sirius had the bright idea to add the essence of dittany into his body cream to make it easier to get it on all of Regulus’s sore body.

When they were finished, Regulus cracked open an eye.

“Can I go to sleep now?” He asked quietly. James and Sirius looked at each other, knowing they needed to get something from him, or Moody would come straight back down here, and they wouldn’t be allowed back down again.

Not yet, love. We need some information. Something important that we can give to Moody.” He stroked his cheek delicately with the backs of his fingers.

“Was this the plan all along? Bad Auror Moody, and then you two come in all, ‘let us save you, Reggie.’” He looked hurt like they were playing with him.

“What? No, of course not. We had to plead with Mad-Eye just to be allowed to come down here.—”

“We’re trying to help you, you git. Do you really think James would try and trick you like that?” Sirius butted in, trying his more direct tactic again.

Regulus looked up at James sadly and nodded.

“Okay. I’ve got something. But I get to keep these things.” He pointed at the headphones. Sirius looked outraged.

“I’ve only just got them. Plus, you don’t even like Bowie.” Regulus gave him a small smirk.

“He’s growing on me.”

“Gah. Fine. Keep them. Now tell us the information you have.” Sirius gave in quickly. This was more important than a walkman. Regulus swallowed hard and stared into James’s eyes as he told them.

“He’s going to attack the Ministry.”

Next part

102 notes · View notes

keisha-knell · 3 months

Text

The Aftermath

Info: so guys I wrote this scene for a hook fanfic I'm working on and I was thinking maybe I would post the scene on here and get opinions. I obviously won't have a end well maybe but I'm hoping to put it in the fanfic (Wattpad: Cheeselove123, BOOK: JUST PRETEND- HOOK FANFIC) - Please don't copy.

I walked into the back holding a cardboard tray with the coffee Tony ordered, I tapped Tony on the shoulder getting his attention. He turned around greeting me and taking his coffee but he didn’t have his usual smile, “Tony what’s going on?” I asked but he seemed so focused on the monitor. “Y/n” I turned seeing Adam and he looked at me with a worrying expression, “Adam what’s happening?” I asked feeling the panic arise within me.

“Y/n you know Tyler has a match right?” Adam asked and I looked at him so confused, “Yes I know he’s got a match” I said and Adam looked back at Tony. “Well um he’s doing well” Adam said hiding his worry, “Adam everything is not okay so what is going on?” I asked and his music hit. I moved in the gap getting a peak at the monitors, When I saw the monitors I gasped seeing Tyler struggling to get to his feet. I saw Adam page supporting Tyler helping him stand but Tyler just wasn’t having it, he rolled out of the ring and I could see Adam eyeing down Strickland before signalling Tyler back in the ring once Strickland left.

I watched Tyler get back in the ring looking like he was in so much pain, he was on his knees holding on to the bottom rope. The referee and Adam were checking on him before he got back up to his feet, he stood up walking around the ring looking around at he crowd before taking his belt and leaving the ring walking up the ramp. I ran to the side stage door waiting for Tyler only to see Tyler groaning in pain as he walked through the door almost limping. “Tyler” I said grabbing his attention seeing him lift his head with a defeated expression. I opened my arms letting Tyler walk into my arms as I wrapped them around him. He stood there for a second not moving before wrapping his arms around me.

I gently rubbed his back being mindful of the swelling on his back, “You did amazing” I said and he looked down at me forcing a smile. “Hey Kid” I looked behind Tyler seeing Joe walking towards us, Tyler turned around feeling dejected, “Kid your time will come one day I see a lot of potential in you” Joe said and I saw Tyler cheer up a little. Dr Sampson walked past us checking on Tyler following behind Pater who seemed extremely concerned for his son. “Son you alright?” Peter asked placing a hand on his son’s shoulder, “Dad I’m fine” Tyler mumbled as he hugged me from behind. “I’m going to head home” Tyler said as he rested the side of his head on my shoulder, “I’ll ask Tony if I can head back home with you” I said and I felt his nod against my shoulder.

“Ah Y/n” I heard Tony say as he came rushing towards us, “Tyler great match but are you okay?” Tony asked. Tyler nodded and I looked back at Tony, “Y/n you can take the rest of the night off shows technically over” I looked back at Tyler who forced another smile. “Thanks TK” I said wrapping my arm around Tyler’s midsection walking back to the dressing rooms, back in the dressing room Tyler grabbed his clothes and went to the showers. I heard the water turn on and the sound of the shower door open. I walked into the bathroom seeing Tyler with his hand against the wall letting the water run over him. The grimaces on his face and the expression of pain as he breathed heavily, I walked closer taking my clothes off to join Tyler in the shower.

Lathering some soap in my hands and running them down Tyler’s back, he turned around facing me. He leaned back against the shower wall, running my fingers through his hair and he’s arms wrapping themselves around me. The tips of his hair just barely touching my shoulder as I gently lathered his hair in shampoo. Tilting his head back to rinse I let him finish the rest before washing myself and getting out of the shower wrapping a towel around myself. A few minutes later I finished getting dressed and I was just laying on the bed watching TV when Tyler walked in and plopped down on the bed beside me turning on his side. “Ty you did good today” I whispered and he just stayed in his spot hugging my waist, “But I could’ve won” he said in a meek whisper. “You’ll win it one day just right now isn’t the right time” I reassured him running my hand through his hair.

#tyler senerchia #hook #send hook #730 hook #hook aew

59 notes · View notes

onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 11 months

Text

Delicate (Superstar Chapter 4)

Sometimes when I look into your eyes

I pretend you're mine, all the damn time

'Cause I like you

Is it cool that I said all that?

Is it chill that you're in my head?

'Cause I know that it's delicate

Roy and the Reader deal with the aftermath of petty jealousy.

Roy Kent x Reader

5.9k words

Warnings: Language, some tension and innuendo, angst that made my heart hurt

“She’s my assistant.”

“Poor thing.”

The words kept floating in my head as I leaned against the exterior of the building, thankful that the photographers had left hours ago, not that they’d pay any mind to me. It wasn’t like I was a gorgeous model, or the ex-girlfriend of a famous footballer. Not like Brittany fucking Brett. Brittany Brett, who probably had her tongue shoved down Roy’s throat as he forgot all about nights cuddled in our booth as Rose brought us our usual drinks at the pub. Or texting each other dinner plans while Ted went off on one of his incoherent rambles in his office. Or humming “Something Good” in my ear as he passed me on the pitch. Or the dozens of little moments of kisses and touches and glances filled with fondness, all seeming to hint towards the something real that Roy had told Jamie he wanted.

Honestly, I should have known better. He was Roy "Here There Every-fucking-where" Kent. I was no one special. Girls all over England probably grew up with his posters on their walls and screamed his name at games. I just happened to be the one to share an office with the man. I probably just provided him with a fun, flirty distraction while he waited for Brittany Brett, who the tabloids more than once referred to as Roy's "one who got away". In twenty years, I'd chuckle fondly as I recounted my brief fling with Roy freaking Kent with friends at a party, maybe make a viral post about his love for The Sound of Music, and be little less than a memory to him.

I’d have to be mature. Agree that what we had was fun and assure him that I could stay professional. I was sure I could at least get through the rest of the season before sheepishly thanking Ted and Rebecca for the opportunity to be a Greyhound and asking for a good recommendation.

“Shit! There you are!”

Keeley looked wild and panicky as she approached me. I groaned, not needing her commentary on Brittany Brett, who was probably a good friend of hers from Keeley’s modeling days, sharing that Gorgeous Girl™ bond that surely trumped any burgeoning workplace friendship.

“Are you alright?” she continued. “What’d he do to you?”

I rolled my eyes at Keeley’s dramatics. “Fuck’s sake, Roy didn’t do shit,” I muttered. “He has every right-”

Keeley shook her head frantically, hair flying. “What? No, Richard. Roy’s in there ready to pummel him. I’ve got Jamie trying to calm him down, which was probably not the best idea.”

“Fuck.”

I turned and rushed back into the venue, mentally cursing Keeley for helping me find shoes that, while gorgeous with my dress, were not made for running.

The party was still in full swing, no signs of drama. I turned back to Keeley, who grabbed my hand and led me out a side door, to a smaller party room that was clearly not prepared for any guests, judging by its bright lights and lack of decorations. Sure enough, Roy, Jamie, and Richard all stood there, Roy’s face uncharacteristically expressive. Of course, that expression was pure rage.

“The fuck did you do?!” he was bellowing as Jamie did his best to hold Roy back, sputtering something about calming the fuck down, Grandpa, which was clearly not helping matters.

Richard, showing no signs of panic on his face, held his hands up defensively. “Nothing! She just said she wasn’t feeling well and ran off! She is probably just in the bathroom.”

“Bullshit!” Roy nearly broke free of Jamie’s grasp.

“Roy!” I hissed, stepping forward to grab his arm as Keeley made sure the door was closed. “What the fuck?”

He turned his firey gaze to me, his eyes full of rage. “The fuck did he do to you?” he demanded. “I saw you run out of there like your fucking hair was on fire.”

“He didn’t do shit,” I said in a rush. “I wasn’t fucking feeling good. I had about a million drinks, in case you forgot. Needed some fucking air.” I huffed, crossing my arms across my chest. “You can’t kill one of your players. If nothing else, it’s bad for recruiting.” I stared at him, trying to ignore the warmth that I felt seeing the protectiveness in his face. “Just fucking stop,” I added quietly. “Just leave Richard alone and go out there and act like you didn’t just make an absolute arse of yourself.” I turned to Keeley. “I’m sorry about this,” I grumbled. “Clearly, I’m not the only one who drank too much. If this causes any issues in the press, let me know. I’ll help you clean up Roy’s mess.” I glared at Roy, who was still behind Jamie’s arm, though no longer trying to fight his way through the player. “I’m his fucking assistant, after all. Part of my job.”

Keeley shook her head and sighed, confusion in her eyes. “No, it’s all fine. Jamie and I were able to get them in here before anyone noticed anything was amiss.” She nodded to Montlaur. “But in case anyone’s being nosy, Richard, you should head on out. Jamie and I’ll come along in a moment. That way it’s not just a big group of us coming out all at once.” She offered up a small smirk in my direction. “Though we’d probably look like we just had the hottest orgy in the history of football.”

Her attempt to break the tension with humor only worked on Jamie and Richard, who let out soft chuckles.

I approached Richard, not giving a flying fuck that Roy was watching me intensely. “I’m really sorry for Roy,” I mumbled. “He clearly misinterpreted what he saw and got protective.” I shot daggers at Roy again before turning back to Richard. “I hope this doesn’t make work… weird.”

Richard shook his head, completely affable despite the drama. “Oh please. This is nothing compared to the husbands and boyfriends I have had to deal with. Especially the ones that found me still in their beds!” He laughed amiably before glancing warily at Roy. “But perhaps I will not ask you again to dance. And, sadly, I will not give you a kiss goodbye.” With an awkward smile, he turned and walked out, the noise of the party bursting through the door before it closed again, leaving the four of us in silence.

Keeley popped her lips. “Well, that was fun.” She glanced at Roy, who was red in the face and pacing, then back to me. “You gonna be alright?” Her eyes told me that Jamie could wait with Roy if I wanted to leave with her. That I didn’t need to deal with whatever this was, and that whatever this was, she wouldn’t ask. At least, not tonight.

“I’m fine,” I assured Keeley with a weak smile. “I’ll be out there in a bit, yeah?”

Keeley nodded then grabbed Jamie by the arm. Jamie shot me an apologetic smile and landed a friendly punch on my arm before following Keeley back to the party. Once again, the room was filled with the sounds of music, dancing, and fun, before giving way to the tense silence.

Roy stopped pacing, his face now more of a pink than red, and stared at me. “What the fuck?” he asked. It was a hoarse whisper, barely leaving his lips, and his eyes were filled with question marks.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I countered, perching myself up on one of the empty tables that dotted the room. “Why the hell were you trying to kill Montlaur? I know you think he’s prickish and all-”

“Because he’s a fucking prick!” Roy practically shouted. “And-and I told you I thought he was a prick to ask you out because we all know exactly what he’s interested in and then I turn and see you fucking clinging to him and suddenly you’re running out of the room looking like you’re about to fucking cry, what the fuck am I supposed to think?”

A hollow laugh escaped my lungs. “No. Back the fuck up, Roy. What happened between the dancing with Montlaur and the running out of the room?”

Roy stared at me in silence for a moment, his shoulders slumped as the gears in his head turned. “The fuck are you on about?”

“Okay.” I slammed my hands on my thighs and stood back up, making my way past Roy and towards the doors. “That’s how it’s going to be then. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. Lookin’ forward to seeing photos of you and Brittany Brett’s reunion in The Sun tomorrow. See you Monday.”

Roy reached out and grabbed my arm, his grip firm but tender. “Is that what this is all about?” His voice was as soft as his face, thick eyebrows raised. “Brittany fucking Brett?”

Apparently, I hit my boiling point. “Of course it’s about Brittany fucking Brett, Roy! Fuck! You spend weeks all over me, taking me out, singing along to the fucking Sound of Music at my place, you practically tell me you want me to be your date to this shit next year, you make me feel special, like I matter to you, and then you turn around and kiss your ex-girlfriend.” I pulled out of Roy’s grasp and crossed my arms. “Which, I mean, that’s your own damn business, I guess. You’re single, after all. She’s single. So, go. Be hot and rich and famous together.”

A deep frown twisted Roy’s face, his eyebrows more furrowed than I’d ever seen. “Single?” he repeated, practically spitting out the word. “You think I’m single? I’m not fucking single.” He shook his head earnestly. “I… I haven’t considered myself single since….” He glanced up at the ceiling and shrugged. “Well, fuck, since we kissed at your parents’ house surrounded by all those fucking posters of me.” He looked back down at me.

My breath caught in my throat as I gazed into those brown eyes that stared at me with that familiar anxiety swimming around. “Then… then why’d you kiss her?” My mouth felt dry as I prayed that the next words out of Roy’s mouth would magically fix things.

He shook his head earnestly. “No, no. I didn’t fucking kiss her.” He sighed and placed a tentative hand on my arm. “She kissed me. And I immediately pushed her off me, which you fucking missed apparently. Told her I’m seeing someone that I really like. And that even if I wasn’t- which I am,” he clarified tugging me closer when he realized I wasn’t fighting him, “-I wouldn’t want fuck all to do with her.” He looked down at me. “Don’t you remember what I told you on our first date?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re the only person that has ever made me feel like you want me.” He scoffed and nodded towards the door, towards the party. “How d’you think Brittney Brett made me feel? Like I was some fucking accessory, this thing that would get her photo in the press more if I was next to her. You would never make me feel that way. It’s one of the many, many things I adore about you.”

“Oh.” I looked down at our shoes, blinking as I turned Roy’s words over in my head, my stomach and heart doing flips that Olympic gymnasts could only dream of.

“Oh?” Roy dipped his head. “That’s all you’ve got? Oh?” A hint of a smile graced his lips. “Come on. Put me out of my fucking misery here.” His arm wrapped around my waist. “Tell me… tell me we’re okay,” he whispered.

His eyes were still full of that anxiety, but now it was mixed with hope as he bit on his bottom lip, waiting for me to answer. I gulped, my head spinning from the alcohol and the events of the evening and whatever woodsy cologne Roy had on that I knew he was wearing just for me.

Roy sighed, his hand tracing gentle circles on my back. “Or we could go out there and enjoy the rest of our evening, and we can come back to this tomorrow?” He leaned his head against mine. “Come on, I’ve got some dopey surprise for you. Been looking forward to it all night. Real fucking romantic.”

I lifted my head. “You’ve got a surprise for me?” The corners of my mouth turned upwards in spite of myself. “A romantic one?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, tapping his nose against mine. “So why don’t we get back out there before Keeley tells everyone we’re shagging in here?” He squinted at me. “Unless…”

Now completely smiling, I smacked Roy’s arm. “Come on. I want to see this surprise.” I slipped out of Roy’s grasp and took his hand, leading him towards the door. Just before I reached for the doorknob, Roy pulled me back to himself. “What?” I laughed, the weight on my chest dissipating.

“Just gotta do this first.” His hand cupped my face and he leaned close, pressing his lips to mine for the first time that evening. His grip on me tightened as his lips parted slightly, allowing me to taste the beer he’d been drinking all night. In the back of my head, I thanked Keeley for her high-end, smudge-free lipstick that would hopefully not create an obvious mess on Roy’s face.

When we parted, Roy smiled at me. As if he could read my mind, he hummed, “Am I wearing your lipstick now?” In response, I simply wiped away the small spot of red that I had left on the edge of his mouth, then shook my head to confirm that he was good. He studied my lips carefully. “Alright. If we don’t go out there now, we might never leave.”

He opened the door and gestured for me to lead the way like a gentleman, keeping a friendly distance as we rejoined the festivities.

“Alright, Kent,” I started over the music. “What’s this surprise?”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. “Should be happening in about three minutes,” he mumbled. “Why don’t we grab a drink?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Only if I can come to the bar with you,” I teased dryly, hoping it wasn’t too soon to joke.

His dramatic eyeroll assured me it wasn’t. “Come on then.”

As we walked to the bar, we passed Jamie and Keeley, who both eyed us curiously. Roy gave them a curt nod and I shot Keeley a small thumbs up, assuring her that all was good. I knew she’d either corner me later in the night with cheeky accusations or call me the next day demanding details of what had happened in that room after they left, but for now, all I wanted to do was be with Roy.

Once we were settled at the bar, drinks in hand, I turned to Roy. “Alright, what’s the surprise?”

He shook his head. “Nope. You’ll know it when you hear it.”

“Hmmf.” My gaze turned to the dance floor, where our friends and coworkers were moving to the admittedly great band, having a blast. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched them and enjoyed my drink. “D’you ever dance at this thing?”

“Not if I can fucking help it.” His eyes wandered to the stage, where the band was wrapping up their song. “But I might have to make an exception tonight.”

I took another sip of my drink. “What do-”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the band’s singer, a woman with dark, wild hair and a flowing dress, called out, “we had an anonymous request earlier this evening that we are thrilled to fulfill. We hope there’s some Julie Andrews fans out there.” She plucked at her guitar, creating a familiar dreamy tune.

“Perhaps I had a wicked childhood,” she sang. “Perhaps I had a miserable youth.”

I turned to Roy, my mouth slightly ajar. “The Sound of Music. Was this you?”

He shrugged, placing his half-finished beer on the bar and taking my glass from me. “Do you see any other Captain von Trapp-ish grumps around here?” He took my hand and nodded towards the dance floor. “Let’s go.”

My heart hammered as Roy led the way. I wondered if everyone could see the flush covering my face, even in the dim lighting. On the dance floor, Roy kept my hand in his, placing his free hand on the small of my back while mine rested on his shoulder. He kept a respectable distance, not exactly a professional one for two coworkers, but nothing anyone would bat an eye at. Not that it mattered; I could not care less about anyone else around us. Not Keeley and all her teasing, not Richard and his flirtatious ways, not even Brittany Brett. All I wanted was to be close to Roy and feel his warm breath on my cheek as he quietly sang the words to Something Good in my ear.

The rest of the night was miraculous and wonderful. Roy assured me that I could dance with other people without him throwing another fit- so I did. I danced all night as Roy watched. He laughed with Keeley as Jamie and I attempted to do the robot together and smiled as Dani Rojas twirled me around and clapped as Sam Obisanya dipped me dramatically and rolled his eyes good-naturedly while Ted held my hand in an attempt to teach everyone some square-dancing moves. After a particularly fun salsa with Isaac McAdoo, I approached Roy back at our table, who held out a glass of water to me.

“Having fun out there?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer.

I nodded. “An absolute blast. My feet are killing me though.”

“Guess I’ll have to fucking carry you home,” Roy joked, the fondness in his eyes telling me that he wouldn’t mind one bit.

“Looks like it,” I agreed with a smirk.

The band’s singer called for everyone’s attention. “We hope you’ve had a fabulous time tonight,” she began. “But unfortunately, it’s time for us say goodnight. On behalf of Rebecca Welton and everyone at A.F.C. Richmond, thank you so much for joining us and for all your support and generosity. Here’s one more song before we go.”

I turned to Roy. “Are you ready to head out then?” A small part of me was hoping for some alone time before calling it a night.

To my surprise, Roy shook his head. “Did you really forget? You promised me the last dance.”

I laughed and downed the rest of my water. “Were you serious about that?”

“Dead fucking serious.”

He grabbed my hand and stood, pulling me up with him. He kept my hand in his as he led me to the dance floor, giving it a small squeeze as he pulled me towards him. He placed his free hand on my waist, just as he had earlier. But now he pressed me close to his chest, definitely closer than two platonic, casual coworkers should be.

“But don’t forget who’s taking you home and in whose arms you’re gonna be, so darlin’ save the last dance for me,” the band sang.

“Are you alright?” Roy asked, leaning down towards me. “Tonight…. Didn’t exactly go the way either of us had hoped.”

“No, it did not,” I agreed, wincing slightly. “But I think we did a good job of salvaging things, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Believe it or not, even with almost killing Montlaur, this is the best fucking time I’ve ever had at this thing. Mostly because I didn’t get auctioned off like a fucking basket of fruit.” The corners of his mouth tugged upwards. “And because I got to spend time with you.” He somehow managed to pull me even closer, close enough so I could feel his heart beating. “Not nearly enough time though,” he added. “And I’m sorry about that.”

I shook my head. “We’re okay,” I assured him. “At least, I hope we are.”

“How about we talk tomorrow?” he offered. “We’ll have a good night’s rest and be sober, and we can talk about whatever shit we need to talk about.” He squeezed my hand. “How’s that sound?”

“I… think it’s a good idea.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you, by the way.”

I tilted my head in confusion. “For what?”

“Saving the last dance for me.”

Roy walked me up to my apartment, his suit jacket having been wrapped around my shoulders since we left the venue. We paused at my door, the way we had for weeks now. He smiled down at me in that same way, softness in his eyes, lifting his hand to touch my hair.

“Well, I’m just glad the night didn’t end fucked,” he chuckled.

I rolled my eyes. “You sure know how to end a date.”

“This was a date then?” he asked, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Eh.” I shrugged. “Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight?”

His mouth was on mine in less than an instant. He pulled me tight against himself, one arm completely wrapped around my waist as I pulled him down to me by his tie. His tongue grazed my mouth, asking permission. I obliged, tasting beer and a hint of the chocolate cupcake he’d shared with me towards the end of the night. His hand that was still tangled in my hair tugged a little, trying to pull me closer to himself. We were a tangle of lips and tongues and hot breath and soft moans, neither of us caring about the possibility of someone seeing us.

I pulled back mere centimeters, just enough to whisper, “You want to come in?”

Roy gave a little groan, pressing his forehead against mine. “I want to. I definitely fucking want to. But I think we should say goodnight til we talk tomorrow, yeah?” He stroked my cheek, a deep sigh escaping his lips. “Want to make sure we’re on the same page about things.” He paused, his thumb ghosting over my bottom lip. “Come over tomorrow. I’ll make you dinner.

The disappointment I had felt a moment ago melted and gave way to delight. “Roy Kent can cook?” I teased, fiddling with his tie.

He smirked with pride as his hand rubbed my hip. “Fuck yeah, Roy Kent can cook.” He kissed my lips, pulling away as my mouth chased his. “Tomorrow then?”

I groaned and buried my head in his chest, drunk off the drinks and Roy’s kisses. “Fine. Tomorrow.” I looked up at him. “One more for the road?” I purred, giving my best pout.

“You needy thing,” he chuckled, planting one more kiss on my lips before pulling away with finality. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised.

My mobile went off as I was lounging in bed late the next morning, smiling at Roy’s jacket draped over my bedroom door. I picked up the phone, my mind still back in front of my door, where Roy’s kiss had made my knees weak.

“Hello?” I answered, my voice dreamy.

“Alright, what the fuck happened?” Keeley’s squeals brought me back to reality.

I scrambled to sit up. “Morning Keeley!” I choked out, hoping I sounded breezy and casual. “How’re you? You have fun last night? Does Jamie remember doing the robot with me or was he too sloshed?”

I could practically feel her roll her eyes through the phone. “Oh no, we’re not playing this game. You owe me all the details about what happened with Roy last night. Spill.”

“Nothing!” I blurted, probably a bit too quickly. “We talked. He told me he thought Montlaur did something to hurt me and got protective. I mean, we share an office, we see each other every day, I kind of get why he’d be protective of me. Plus, you saw how much he drank, he probably doesn’t even remember what happened.” I cleared my throat. “So, we’re good. I’ll probably talk to him on Monday about apologizing to Montlaur, but other than that, I think we can all just forget what happened.”

“What about all the dancing?” Keeley challenged. “Roy never dances at the gala. Even when he’s brought a date, he’s good for maybe one dance. He danced with you what, like four or five times?”

I scoffed, flopping back onto my bed. “We danced twice,” I corrected Keeley. “As friends.”

Keeley hummed. “Oh, so you counted?”

“Shove off, Keeley,” I groaned, eyeing Roy’s jacket again. “Can’t you just accept that Roy and I are friends? I mean, shit, that’s headline enough.”

“Friends huh?”

“Yes!”

Keeley cleared her throat. “Then did your friend Roy Kent say anything about Brittany Brett? I’m desperate to know what happened there.”

My cheeks burned; I was hoping to forget that Brittany Brett had been at the party. “Nope. Didn’t say a word,” I said shortly. “Don’t know a thing.”

“Aw, babe,” Keeley clucked. “No need to be jealous. That’s long over from what I’ve heard.”

“’m not jealous,” I grumbled. But damn, I couldn’t resist the bait. “What have you heard?”

Keeley gave a small giggle. “Why don’t you come over tonight for a good old-fashioned sleepover? I can give you all the gossip like we’re little schoolgirls. We’ll throw on our pyjamas, get tipsy, sing some Spice Girl songs, crank call Jamie. Fuck, we can even go play knock-and-run at Roy’s place. Maybe we’ll catch a glimpse of him shirtless.”

Damn, this woman was a great friend. “Aww, Keeley, I’d love to hang out,” I started. “But I’ve got plans tonight.”

“Next time!” she gushed, unbothered. “What’s up tonight?”

“Oh, just some family stuff. Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid.”

Keeley gave a small hum. “Maybe brunch tomorrow?”

I nodded into the phone. “Sounds great.”

We stayed on the line for a few more minutes, making plans to meet for brunch at one of Keeley’s favorite places and agreeing that she should invite Rebecca to join us. After a couple more attempts on Keeley’s end to find out any dirty details about what happened between me and Roy, we hung up. Sometime during the call, I’d received a text message from Roy:

Can’t wait to see you

Of course Roy Kent’s house was huge. Of course it was. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the man was a retired football star. But standing in front of his house- mansion, practically- I was reminded all over again that this was the man on all those posters in my parents’ house. Roy “Here-There-Everywhere” Kent.

I stood tentatively in front of his door, debating if I should ring the bell or just send him a text to let him know I’d arrived. As I debated my choices and played with the hem of the dress that suddenly felt too short and too dressy, the door opened. Roy stood in the doorway, wearing the black slacks and shirt he’d been wearing on our first date. His eyes took their time eagerly traveling up my figure and to my face, where they settled tenderly.

“Fuck,” he whispered, cracking a full smile. “How’d you manage to look more gorgeous than you did last night?”

My face burned at the compliment. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” I answered, trying to sound casual as he ushered me in. “How’d you know I was here?”

“Got some sensor shit on the door,” he explained matter-of-factly as he closed the door behind me. “I dunno, Beard set it up for me. Man’s fucking paranoid.”

“Hmm.”

That was all I could manage as I took in Roy’s house. It was spacious, airier and lighter than I expected. I smiled as I recognized photos of his niece and sister everywhere, as well as an older man I assumed was his grandad.

“Sorry I don’t have posters of you all over the place,” he teased, taking my hand to lead me to the kitchen. “Could you believe they were sold out of you at the administrative-assistant-poster store?”

“Oh yeah, I’m really popular,” I played along as Roy pulled out a stool at the kitchen island for me to sit on. “Let me know if you want my autograph.”

He turned to the stove, stirring something in a pot. “How much d’you think I could get for it on eBay?”

“Enough to buy a nicer house. Sorry to break it to you, Roy, but this place is a regular shithole.”

Roy practically choked on his laughter. “Oi, now you’re getting personal.” He turned and faced me. “I’m really fucking glad you’re here,” he said softly.

My blush returned. “Me too.” I sat up to take a good look at the stove, trying to see what smelled so delicious. “Need any help?” I offered.

“Fuck no. You just relax.” He nodded towards a fully stocked bar in the adjoining dining room. “Drink? Or have you sworn off alcohol after last night?”

I shook my head. “I’ll take a drink,” I assured him.

Roy crossed over to the bar, pressing a kiss to my bare shoulder as he passed me. When he returned, he placed two drinks on the island, the same one I ordered every time we went to the pub. He then served dinner and laid one of the bowls in front of me.

“Beef tzimmes,” he announced, sitting across from me. “My grandad used to make this for me when I was a kid. First thing he ever taught me how to make.”

I could feel my eyes light up as I took my first bite. “Shit, this is good!”

“Glad to know Phoebe’s not lying to me then,” Roy muttered as he began to eat his own bowl.

We ate comfortably, drinking and laughing and sharing jokes, as if nothing had transpired the night before. It felt like every other time we’d hung out; comfortable, relaxed, but charged with the attraction we shared. God, it was good to know that we could still be like this.

Roy cleared the bowls and left them in the sink before helping me out of my seat. “Wanna go sit outside? We can have our chat.”

My breath caught for a moment as I remembered why I was there in the first place; a serious talk awaited us. Roy placed a reassuring kiss on my forehead and grabbed our drinks, leading me out to his patio. I settled in a loveseat while he turned on a set of string lights.

“My sister made me get these,” he grumbled as he joined me, handing me my drink.

“She has good taste,” I remarked as I leaned back.

Roy snorted. “In fucking lights, maybe. In men…” He bobbled his head, making a face. He caught my unsure expression. “Sorry. You didn’t come here to listen to me rant about Phoebe’s shit dad.”

“Not this time,” I joked, trying to break the tension.

He leaned back, laying his arm around my shoulders. “So,” he started, his face suddenly serious.

“So,” I repeated.

Roy took a deep breath. “I’m sorry again. Really fucking sorry.” He turned his body to face me properly. “I’m sorry for trying to kill Montlaur. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions and not talking to you. And I’m really fucking sorry you had to see Brittany Brett kiss me.” He shook his head and looked at me with those anxious eyes. “D’you forgive me?”

My heart tugged gently in my chest. “Of course.” I laid my hand on Roy’s thigh. “I’m sorry for screaming at you. And for trying to make you jealous. And for making you apologize to Richard.”

He frowned, confused. “You didn’t make me apologize.”

“No, I was saving that for Monday.”

“Fair enough.” He rested his free hand on top of mine. “Why’d you get so jealous?”

I shifted in my seat. “I mean… have you seen that woman? She’s literally a model.”

Roy shrugged. “So’s Keeley. You didn’t seem to care when she danced with me while you and Jamie did what I can only assume was an attempt at the robot.”

“Keeley’s not your ex,” I pointed out. “Brittany Brett is. And she was hanging all over you, and oh yeah, she kissed you.” I paused, letting my words sink in. “And I just don’t get why you were talking to her,” I admitted. “You say you want nothing to do with her, and that she made you feel like shit, so I don’t know why you would hang out with her at the bar.”

“No, that’s fair,” Roy agreed. “See…” He tilted his head back, thinking. “We went out during this really fucked time in my life. I was already starting to realize that I was passing my prime. And I was starting to get fucking scared that I’d never be a superstar again. And being with this internationally known model allowed me to pretend that I would be a hotshot forever.” He paused. “And then she dumped me for someone who was actually in the prime of their career. Which, obviously, felt fucking great.” He wrinkled his nose. “And I guess seeing her for the first time since then brought back some of those feelings of not being good enough anymore. And I guess I wanted to show her that I’m doing great.” He squeezed my hand. “Really great since I started seeing you.” He let out a growling sigh. “And once she started flirting, I think some part of me wanted to reject her this time,” he admitted. “But it absolutely wasn’t worth it seeing how things turned out.” He cleared his throat, looking down. “That’s some stupid shit, eh?”

I quickly shook my head. “I mean, it still hurt, but I get it now.” I paused, giving the ground a small kick. “I didn’t really appreciate the whole ‘she’s just my assistant’ shit though.”

Roy let out a dry chuckle. “Also fair,” he conceded. “Sorry about th-” He stopped, thick brows creased. “Wait, how’d you know that?”

“I may have been eavesdropping,” I muttered. “That’s about the point where I felt really shitty and dragged Richard out on the dance floor to make you jealous.”

“Hmmf.” Roy stared at me thoughtfully. “Can I ask you something?” I nodded. “D’you consider yourself single?”

I blushed, remembering the way I had yelled at Roy the night before. “Not really,” I admitted. “I haven’t even thought about another guy since the first time you bought me kebabs for lunch.”

“And I told you last night, I haven’t thought of myself as a single guy since that night at your parents’,” he reminded me. His fingers drummed on my shoulder. “I think the problem is, we didn’t think of each other as not being single.”

“What d’you mean?” I asked; Roy was talking in circles.

He shrugged. “I mean, I don’t think either of us would have been so fucking jealous if… if we both knew we’re both not single.” He glanced up at the string lights, face twisted in uncertainty. “Is that right?”

Something in my brain clicked. “Roy, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

“Don’t talk like we’re fucking thirteen behind a Tesco,” he snarled. “But yeah, sure, however you want to fucking call it.” He leaned close, eyes searching mine. “I just want you to know I’m yours. That’s all. And I’d like to know that you’re mine. Because if we know that, then all the other shit- ex-girlfriends and stupid French pricks- none of it’ll matter. Because we’ll know how we feel.” He shrugged. “What d’you say?”

I closed the distance between us, pressing my lips against his harshly, desperate to show him how heartily I agreed with him. “I think it’s a damn good idea,” I mumbled against his mouth.

#he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #Roy Kent Superstar #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fluff #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #ted lasso #ted lasso fluff #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic

364 notes · View notes

petrichor-idyllic · 11 months

Text

OPEN WOUNDS

Alright, alright, I just know people are gonna get mad at me but I'm having Maze Runner burn out, and the requests I have are throwing me through a loop right now lmao. (Requests are still closed.) So, I thought I'd write something different to get me out of my hole- my own idea. Yeah, I know, Petri writing their own original plot? Mad.

Hope I've got at least one OBX fan in my audience.

MASTERLIST | JJ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Fem! Reader x JJ Maybank. Enemies to lovers.

You and JJ have a tense relationship - you always have. But, both of you coming from rough home lives, you've both resorted to the Chateau and John B as your saviour. Neither of you talk about it, but you know more about JJ than you let on. Though, tonight is the night. With John B out with Sarah and JJ's dad out of town, you finally have the Chateau to yourself - until things don't go quite as planned.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, themes of physical abuse, generally depressing subject matter, no depiction of actual violence just the aftermath but still trigger warning for abuse. Also some friends references.

Ah.

The sweet relief of silence.

Between yours and JJ's bickering, the constant string of girls flooding through the Chateau, the parties, the drinking and John B's terrible music taste - the Chateau is normally a chaotic bundle of angsty teenagers. But not tonight.

Tonight, John B is on a date, Pope and Kie are at their respective homes, and JJ's father is out of town, resulting in him going home for his own peace. Probably, because he doesn't actually want to be stuck in the house with just you.

But that's fine by you.

You're not really sure why you and JJ hate each other so much. You swear blind that he started it, but he says otherwise. You were childhood friends with Pope, and JJ with John B - so when John B befriended Pope, you both just ended up tagging along. Now, you're a certified Pogue, and you're close with everyone, even Sarah.

Apart from JJ.

John B says you're just too similar to get along, Pope thinks it's because you're both too stubborn, Kie reckons it's because there's some underlying tension you both refuse to admit. But it doesn't really matter why, in your opinion.

And Kie is clearly wrong.

Though, when shit hit the fan at your place and you decided to seek refuge at the Chateau, you kinda sorta forgot that JJ was there for the same reasons.

You've tried, okay? You have tried to get along with him. To make things less awkward, if just for the sake of the other Pogues more than anything else.

But it just doesn't work.

JJ knows how to push your buttons, and no matter how calm and collected you try to be, most of your interactions end in an argument.

But not tonight.

Because he isn't here.

You lay, spawled on the couch, wearing a long worn band tee as a dress as you scroll through your phone, an episode of friends playing on the TV in the background. You think it's the one where Chandler gets handcuffed to a filing cabinet - but you're really not paying attention, nor do you remember the actual name of the episode. You mindlessly dive your hand into the bag of potato chips resting on your stomach, laughing at some TikTok Pope had sent you.

Between work, school, and arguing with a pretty surfer boy, you very rarely get time to actually just chill out and relax. You've not even bothered to get up and turn the lights on, the thin shine of the moonlight and the electronic flicker from the TV being the only things stopping you from walking into something when you eventually stand up.

Not that you intend on standing up anytime soon.

Things are going well. You might even be able to have a shower without JJ thinking he's hilarious and stealing your clothes. Or maybe even listen to music without him blasting his own music even louder.

Life is good, sometimes.

Just as you're smiling to yourself about how good your evening is, the door is violently yanked open and then slammed again, scaring the shit out of you.

"Jesus!" You jump, looking over the back of the sofa, it's too dark to make him out properly, but his trademark red cap and locks of blond escaping his choice of head wear give you a pretty good hint. "Maybank? The hell? Aren't you meant to be at home for once?"

You're too angry that he's interrupted your pleasant evening to realise that he's in clear distress.

"Fuck off, (Y/N)." He spits, leaving you in a state of shock. That's blunt and forward, even for him.

"What-?"

"Leave me alone." He says sharply, going into the spare room where he sleeps and slamming the door.

You sit there in a bubble of confusion for a couple of seconds before huffing and returning to your original position on the couch. "Whatever."

Your peace only lasts a few seconds as you hear a loud crash from inside the room. You sit up, silently, grabbing the remote and turning the TV off to see if you heard that correctly.

There's more crashing and banging as undoubtedly JJ has some kind of rage induced meltdown. That's when your phone buzzes. You open it, reading the message:

Pope

I thought Luke was out of town???

You

Huh???? He is??

Pope

I just saw him???

Went to the corner store and he was smoking outside

You

????

I thought JJ said he was gone for the week??

Pope

Is JJ at the Chateau??

I can't get ahold of him

You

Yeh

Burst in about five minutes ago

Pope

Can you check on him for me

You

Are you fr rn?

Pope:

Pls

You groan, tossing your phone to the side as you stand up. You stop in your tracks when you realise that the noises have stopped. The house is now completely and utterly silent.

Which is somehow more concerning.

"Oi, Maybank, you good?" You half-shout, earning no response as you pick up your phone from the sofa - just in case you have to call John B or Pope in a panic.

You get no respond, slowly walking towards the room. "JJ? Hey - you okay?" You knock on the door.

"Leave me alone." JJ's voice breaks as you hear his voice through the door, and you feel your stomach sink.

You don't particularly like JJ, sure, he's like, the hottest man you've ever seen, and he is genuinely kind of funny sometimes. That doesn't matter; you don't like him.

But you can empathise with him. And he's Pope's friend.

And it doesn't take a genuis to put the dots together about what's happened.

"JJ." You sigh. "I'm coming in."

To your surprise, he doesn't respond, so you slowly push the door open.

The room is a mess, clothes are scattered everywhere, a lamp's broken, the bed sheets are a mess and the pillow is across the room, slumped against a wall. It looks like he's thrown anything he managed to get his hands on. JJ sits on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, he stares at the floor, one hand in his messy blond locks, the other resting on his knee, red cap in his hand.

He doesn't look up as you walk in, his hair hiding his face along with the dimly lit room. Silently, you move, walking to sit next to him. You leave enough distance between you to make neither of you uncomfortable.

"I told you to leave me alone." He mumbles, not even looking at you.

You hesitate for a second, sighing.

"...my step dad was an asshole. When things got bad, I'd lose my shit and scream at anyone who got too close, screaming about how I wanted to be on my own. ...But, all I ever really wanted was for someone to push past all that and act like they cared about me."

JJ doesn't move, or even look up, so you keep talking.

"You can hate me, and tease me, and throw shit, and say you hate everyone and this whole shitty island and whatever you want to say to get it out your system - I get it. But I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you, Maybank - so suck it up."

JJ is still silent, but his hand falls from his hair, loosely resting on his knee as he finally looks at you. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, and try not to visibly react.

JJ already has a black eye forming, a cut on his cheek and blood smeared under her nose. There's also blood staining the back of his hand, probably from wiping his nose.

"... you gonna put our petty differences aside for five minutes and let me fix that?" You ask; reacting dramatically or with pity is just going to piss him off even more.

JJ hesitates, but eventually nods, sighing. "Alright... but I don't wanna talk about it."

"I wasn't gonna ask." You stand up, offering him a hand, that he doesn't take, before he brushes past you and out the room.

That's about right.

He sits on the sofa as you get the appropriate means from the first aid box. You walk back to him, looking at him for a second before you step forward and touch his face for him to look up. He immediately flinches, pulling himself away, making you huff.

"Dude, I've gotta touch you if I'm gonna help you." JJ mumbles something you don't quite catch, but he lets you lift his face. You lightly dab under his nose, wiping the blood away before moving to the cut on his cheek.

He hisses as you press an alcohol wipe to his cheek.

"Sorry," you mumble.

"Could've warned me."

"Figured you wouldn't be such a pussy."

JJ simply rolls his eyes at this as you continue to nurse to him. Then you grab some glue strips, pressing down on one side of the cut and pulling the skin up to reach the other, tightly holding the cut together so it leaves less of a scar.

"Why are you helping me?" The question catches you off-guard, making you look him in the eye.

And you suddenly become very aware of how close you are. JJ isn't the goofy kid who always had a tooth missing and dirt on his clothes that you grew up with anymore. He's objectively gorgeous - there's a reason there's a seemingly endless amount of girls in the Chateau when he's around.

His bright ocean blue eyes lock with yours, and for a second, you understand. You understand all of those girls you judged and made fun of for falling for the blond's charm.

I mean look at him. How could they not?

And now is the worst moment to realise that.

You stand between his legs, bodies close, you're only wearing a thin lounge shirt and JJ's hands rest on his open legs, almost like he's fighting the instinct to put them on your waist.

You clear your throat, ripping your eyes away from his hypnotic gaze. He notices the shift, raising his eyebrow as you finally answer his question.

"I think I've already explained that."

He shrugs. "Yeah, I guess, but, like, you don't have to do this. Ain't you meant to hate me?"

"I only hate you because you hated me first."

"I didn't."

"Did too."

"Whatever." He pauses, eyes following your every move as you brush hair out of your face, grabbing his jaw.

"Stop moving."

"It hurts."

"Cope."

You place another gluestrip on his cheek. He opens his mouth to speak, but quickly shuts it again, making you curious. "What?"

"What, what?"

"You were gonna say something." You hook a finger under his chin, angling his face so you can see what you're doing better.

"No, I wasn't."

"Alright, fine - you weren't then."

The silence around you becomes more tense, and then JJ sighs. "I don't- I don't actually hate you."

You pause, looking at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"I mean, you're annoying as shit," he continues, "but... you're the only person that seems to be able to put up with my shit. So... yeah, yanno."

"So... you don't hate me?" You pull your hands away from his face, and he shakes his head, shrugging before running his fingers through his hair.

"No... you help around here - I mean, the Chateau would be trashed if you weren't around, and you help Pope out. And, I mean, he cares about you, for some reason, so you can't be all bad."

You scoff at this. "Yeah, yeah - you'll need some ice for that eye." He rolls his eyes in response as you return to the kitchen, bringing back a bag of frozen peas, which he presses to his eye as you finally sit down.

"It's cold."

"Is it really?"

"Ha ha." He fake laughs. "What were you even doing, anyway?"

"I watching TV and enjoying a peaceful evening."

"Sorry to ruin your evening." He says sarcastically.

"It ain't your fault." You respond, not quite sure where to go from here but you can't quite meet his eye either. It falls quiet again.

"...thank you."

He says it in such a whisper you think you're actually losing your mind at first. "What?"

"I, uh," he rubs his face. "I said thank you. You... you didn't have to do this. The others... When I- when..." He sighs. "Normally, they just leave me to it. They don't get it, they don't understand."

"They don't, not in the way you want them to, but they understand that you're going through something horrible. And they don't wanna make things worse. And you tell them to leave you alone and avoid talking about it - people can't help you if you don't let them, JJ." You say, your voice becoming softer as you finally look at him.

"You managed." He responds, watching you carefully. You don't really want to have this conversation either.

"Yeah, well, I'm stubborn." You joke, earning a snort and him dropping and shaking his head, his hands falling to his lap with the bag of peas.

"Yeah, you can say that again." He pauses. "Mind if I join you with your little marathon? I've got nothing better to do."

"What?" You scoff. "You want to willingly spend time together?"

"Yeah - fuck it, why not? It's been a shitty day, I'm not sure even your annoying-ass could make it worse."

"Ah, well, I'm sure I can find a way." JJ grins at your sarcastic comment, picking up the remote and flicking the TV back on. "Friends? Seriously?"

"What? It's good."

"Ehh, is it, though?"

"Just 'cause you have no taste."

"Rude. Well, what would you rather watch?"

"Uh, Two Guys and A Girl?" You blankly look at him. "You don't know what that is, do you?"

"No-"

"'Course you don't."

"Just 'cause you're a film freak." You sneer.

"Just 'cause you're uncultured." He retorts, then sighs. "It's another nineties sit-com. Only has two seasons."

"That probably means it's bad."

"Shut up. Ryan Reynolds is in it."

"That doesn't mean it's good."

"Uhh, yeah, it does."

You continue your dumb bickering, even though you do ultimately continue watching friends - JJ even laughs at some of the bad jokes. It's... weirdly nice.

You're not sure if it's just because you've become painfully aware that you're attracted to him, or if you guys are just trauma bonding, but it's almost fun.

"Ross is such a dick. Rachel deserves better." You chuckle at his comment, rolling your eyes. Then, after a moment, you speak.

"Oh, Maybank?"

"Yeah?" He responds between mouthfuls of potatoe chips.

"You don't need to thank me."

He pauses, glancing at you. "Yeah, I know - but I still will."

You nod, a small smile on your lips. "Well, you're welcome then."

○□○□○□○□○

"Guys! Guys!" John B rushes out the Chateau the next day as Kie and Pope carry booze and cups for plans of a kegger that evening. "You gotta see this."

"Huh? See what?" Kie blinks at the boy as she climbs out of her car, adjusting the bag she's holding full of paper cups. She'd lectured Pope for trying to buy plastic ones, which had condemned her to having to carry them.

"What are you talking about?" Pope raises an eyebrow.

"Shhh! Keep your voices down!" John B whisper-yells, making them exchange puzzled looks. "Come on. Come on!" He summons them to follow him, in which they shrug at each other as they follow him inside.

"Dude, what's going on?" Pope hisses, his tone low as John B leads them into the living room area.

John B puts a finger to his lips, then points at the couch. Kie and Pope exchange another glance before walking around the sofa.

"Holy-" Kie starts before John B dramatically shushes her again.

On the couch, you and JJ remain. You're not sure when you fell asleep, but you did.

You're both still sat up, your head resting on JJ's shoulder, his arm loosely around yours as his head rests on top of yours. You're almost snuggled into the crook of his neck, your knees pulled up and slighting resting on the edge of his lap.

"Should we wake them up?" Pope asks. "Psst! Guys-"

Kie slaps his arm. "Don't you dare. They're gonna get along even less when they wake up - let's just enjoy the peace whilst it lasts."

John B smirks and nods. "Yeah, come on, let's head to the Boneyard and start setting things up. They'll catch up later."

The trio walk out as quietly as they can, leaving you two to your slumber.

Kie's right; when you both wake up, you're going to be embarrassed and probably angry at the other. But right now, you're blissfully unaware.

The bag of frozen peas defrosts on the table, and even though JJ is clearly hurt, he's been taken care of, and seems content.

Yeah, so, I'm providing content no one asked for. This is my blog, let me live.

Lmao, in all seriousness, I figured writing the start of a potential crush could be cute for a change and it's nice writing for another one of my favourite boys, who isn't Minho.

I know this isn't my demography, but I'm tryna make my masterlist look less empty.

Anyway, I hope at least one of you enjoyed this :))

#🌿 petri obx jj maybank #🌿 petri writes #🌿 petri writes obx #🍃 petri obx #obx imagine #obx x reader #obx netflix #obx #obx fic #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank obx #jj maybank #jj mayback x reader #jj x reader

265 notes · View notes

pedrostylez · 7 months

Text

Something Else- pt. 6

pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!reader

chapter summary: Benny's fight and the aftermath

rating: 18+ (no minors please) Explicit

word count: 4.7k

warnings etc: Frankie w/o a daughter, triple frontier movie plot has happened, ptsd hinted at, protected p in v sex, drinking and eating, fighting eludes to violence but nothing graphic, oral f receiving, mention of drugs

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday! Tuesday will bring another drabble about Anna and Santiago, so be on the lookout for that as well. Thank you for you continued interest, and I hope you enjoy! Please support by commenting, sending me thoughts, and reblogging. I appreciate every single one of you who reads this!

Taglist: @meveispunk, @jitterbugs927, @sullyosully @3sriracha @alltheseperfectimperfections @nandan11 @jake-g-lockley, @theanothersherlockian, @anoverwhelmingdin, @guelyury, @harriedandharassed, @wintersquirrel @scarletthefierce @paleidiot @brittmb115 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @bluetattoos

The car ride to the gym is awkward, to say the least. Instead of the original plan, you and Anna sitting in the back and Santiago and Frankie in the front, Anna is quick to sit in the passenger seat and says she’s feeling sick, not wanting to make it worse by sitting in the back.

Frankie is quick to agree, sliding in next to you and grabbing your hand and squeezing. The dark backseat of the truck pulls you closer to him, tilting toward him and his warm shoulder. “All good?” He whispers in your ear once Santiago has pulled away from the curb, trying to have his own whispered conversation with Anna.

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Yeah.” You squeeze his hand back, bumping his shoulder. “You?”

He sighs, giving you a nod with a smile before turning his attention to the front to observe Anna and Santiago. Frankie is tense, his shoulders tight and arms rigid. He keeps holding your hand, smoothing his thumb over your palm, but there is an unspoken annoyance that he is keeping under the surface, choosing instead to focus on what is directly in front of him.

You move your hand to his knee, giving him a small shake. He’s delayed in bringing it eyes back to you, but softening upon seeing you looking at him with a questioning gaze. He leans in to kiss your cheek, moving to your ear. “I’ll tell you later?”

You give him a small smile, accepting his answer and leaning against his shoulder for the rest of the drive.

Frankie does not want to tell you anything. It’s too soon.

He’s convinced he’s going to sabotage his relationship with you before it has even really begun, all because Santiago wants to do this shit again.

“We can get that remaining money, Fish.” Pope explained, driving over to your place with the music low. “Will took note of the coordinates, and with you having your license back, we can–”

“No, Pope.” Frankie states, shaking his head. “I can’t be doing that shit again. I can’t kill people again–”

“It won’t be like that!” Pope exclaims, hitting the steering wheel with his right hand. “Shit, Frankie. We don’t have to do any of that stuff like before. It’s simple- fly the helicopter, load up, and leave. We can even leave some of it behind, wait another year and get the rest.”

The conversation had ended after that, Frankie shaking his head in anger at the thought of it. What the hell was Pope thinking? They had all risked their lives, lost Redfly, and they had barely made it back to where they were now. The more he thought about it, the more that Frankie itched for a line of coke on the dashboard right now.

Pope tried to continue to convince Frankie, all the way up to your door. Frankie wouldn’t knock until Pope stopped, but then he started right back up again. In a hushed tone, Frankie turned to him, “You don’t fucking say a word of this to her. Got it?”

Pope’s eyes widened, confused. “What?”

“I haven’t told her. And I don’t even want to go. Keep your fucking mouth shut.” Frankie muttered, listening to you and Anna speaking through the door, swinging open to reveal you both. Frankie turned to look at you, and noticed Anna’s discomfort. He could sense the tension, but wasn’t sure if it was from you and Anna, or from him and Pope.

And now, stepping into the gym with you under his arm, he still doesn’t think he can relax. To be honest with himself, Pope suggesting that shit again is having him reeling. It was fine before–he was single most times, he didn’t care what happened to him, and money was money. He was there for his friends who needed it. Money could fuel his habits, and he could go about his life.

But looking down at you when you notice Will and give him a wave, seeing the smile on your face, he’s not convinced he needs to be doing that shit anymore. “Hey Fish!” Will calls, wrapping one of his arms around you in a side hug after Frankie released you. “You brought our girl!”

Frankie gives a quiet nod, smirking at how you push Will’s shoulder and turn to Frankie. You always turn to him. “Why do they call you Fish?”

“He can down a pitcher of water like it isn’t anyone’s business, and swim between islands like he’s lived in the water his whole life. Catfish it is.” Will answered for him, patting his back before moving beyond you to greet Pope.

Frankie appreciates that Will didn’t divulge that a pitcher of water was really a pitcher of beer when they were off base the first time– “You sure you’re okay?” You ask quietly, a crease between your brows forming. “I know you said to talk later but if you’re not feeling it anymore we could just leave?”

He sighs, bringing his thumb up to the crease between your eyes and smoothing it out. “I’m alright, just…observing. Are you alright? Anna seemed…concerned when we got to your place.”

Your eyes dart over his shoulder to where Anna is standing and back to him. “She asked me how we were and I said we were good…and then…” You trail off, thinking. “I maybe broke the bubble that she lives in.”

Frankie hums, looking over to Pope and Anna and seeing that Pope is already staring at him, nodding in his direction for Frankie to come talk. Anna has her eyes down, looking at her phone and blindly sitting in one of the reserved chairs on the other end from where you’re standing. He turns to you and takes a deep breath. “I’ll be right back. Do you want a drink?”

You shake your head, taking a seat in one of the chairs in the middle and waving him off.

You cross your legs as you watch Frankie walk toward Pope, following him over to the food and drink stand. When your eyes flick over to Anna, her nose is in her phone, ignoring the rest of the world around her. “Hey,” You say, clearing your throat in the hopes to get her attention.

She lifts her head, eyes darting between yours. “Yeah?”

“I shouldn’t have…we should talk about Brad.” You wince, sliding over to the seat next to her. She seems to shrink away, but you’re convinced you’re imagining things.

She stares at you for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Brad? What about him?” She says quietly, putting on this smile that feels fake.

You glance over at the food stand where Frankie and Pope are heading back, each with a cup in both hands. “Well…I didn’t mean to catch you off guard-”

“You didn’t.” Anna jumps in, shaking her head and looking over to Santiago. “We can talk about it tomorrow, okay?” She asks, turning back to her phone and shutting you out.

You briefly nod, sliding back into the seat you started in and looking over to Frankie. You offer a smile as he hands you a cup. “I told you not to get me anything.”

“It’s rum and coke, couldn’t resist.” He winks, taking a sip of his own cup. “I got Sprite if you want to cleanse your palette in between.”

You hum, taking a sip and leaning into him for a moment before the fight starts. He wraps his arm around you, planting a kiss on your temple before leaning back. “I should have picked you up solo.” He mumbles, squeezing you tighter as you begin to laugh.

“Yeah, you should’ve.”

The fight felt surreal. Benny was the last fighter, nervously pacing in the locker room enough times that Will did not sit with you guys until he got in the ring. Will looked nervous for his brother, but happily cheered him on once the fight started.

Benny was a natural; quick, powerful, and knew how to take a punch. The first time that his opponent punched him in the face, you gasped, grabbing Frankie’s arm in worry. But Frankie told you he was okay, and Benny whipped around and rocked his opponents head back with two quick punches.

When his opponent was defeated, Benny looked over to where you all were sitting and raised his arms in excitement. You couldn’t help but also lift your arms, cheering him on with the rest of the crowd. When you turn to Frankie, smile still on your face in excitement, he’s smiling and reaching for you.

You jump up and down in front of him, his smile growing wider. “That was awesome!”

“You liked that?” Frankie asked, hands resting on your arms. You nod your head enthusiastically, wrapping one arm around his waist.

“Benny was crazy up there.” You breathe out, glancing over his shoulder to see Anna and Pope in a similar position you’re in. Benny steps out of the ring and down the half flight of stairs, being congratulated by the surrounding people before making his way to your group. The gym is quickly clearing out, people filtering through the chairs to get a last drink and head out for the night.

“Congrats man!” Pope exclaims, patting him on the back with one hand wrapped up in Anna’s. Her eyes are flicking between you and Frankie, looking up at Pope and frowning.

“Thank you, thanks.” Benny says, breathing a sigh of relief. “Another quick check for the bank.”

“Won’t be the only one, man. Soon there’ll be more.” Pope nods, smiling at him briefly. Benny’s eyebrows furrow and Frankie tenses up beside you, stiff and uncomfortable against you. You look up at him, squeezing your arm around his torso to try and get his attention but he stays focused ahead, jaw clenched.

Will glances your way briefly with a small smile on his face as if he is in the know, taking a double take at Frankie’s demeanor. He frowns, looking to you again with an apologetic nod before asking “All good, Fish?”

Frankie takes a deep breath, nodding. He tries to clear his throat, struggling to find the words. “Yeah…yeah, uh. We’re gonna–”

“We’re going to walk back. I’m kinda hungry so Frankie is going to get me some food and then we will just keep going.” You butt in, giving Will a look with widened eyes. He watches you for a moment, nodding before you turn your attention to Pope and Anna.

Anna looks like she wants to argue, but Pope gives a small smile. “Be careful, walking home.”

You pull on Frankie, letting him take the first step toward the door with his arm still slung around your shoulder. He’s less tense as you step out with him, the fresh air giving you both a breath of life, his eyes finding yours as he slides his hand down your shoulder to your fingers. “Are you sure you want to walk?”

You nod, putting on a smile for him as you squeeze his hand. “Yeah, I think it will be better to walk, don’t you?”

He agrees, taking slow steps next to you in the direction of your apartment. His fingers drift from yours, reaching up to the back of his head to scratch under his hat. “I don’t want to keep you waiting, sweetheart.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I just…I’m not really proud of who I used to be, and what we all did the last time we were in South America and…Pope wants to do a new round of it.”

You listen intently, shoving your hands in your pockets and looking over at him. He’s fidgeting, anxious and clearly upset. “Why does he want to ‘do a new round’?” You question quietly. The silence is loud in your ears, aware of every other thing happening around you. The bang of club doors, cars driving by, lightings flickering-it all is horribly obnoxious with Frankie staring at the sidewalk.

As you take more steps further with Frankie beside you, you wonder if he will ever respond. It isn’t a far walk, but with you both taking your time, you’re pretty sure he has been silent for more than five minutes, thinking to himself and figuring out what he wants to say.

You look forward and see your front door just ahead, wanting to rush inside. Maybe Frankie needs to be behind the door, quiet and safe–

“Because we left a lot of money behind.” Frankie finally spits out, looking over at you and back to the sidewalk. “And he wants to load up on as much of it as he can before bringing it back, putting it into safe accounts and doing it again in a year.”

You’ve reached your door, standing outside it together with your key clenched in your hand. The idea of so much money that it is worth going back to South America doesn’t make sense to you. “Is that what Anna was talking about?” You voice your inner thoughts out loud, watching Frankie’s eyes widen. “She said Santiago was going to be in South America for a month. Is that what he told her?”

As you unlock the door, Frankie stands at the threshold, not taking a step in. “I’m sure he didn’t tell her the whole truth.” He mumbles, shuffling from foot to foot.

You look back at him from setting down your bag, wondering why he hasn’t stepped inside. “Frankie, come in and shut the door?” You ask quietly, watching his shoulders sag as he strides in, carefully turning the knob as he shuts the door behind him. “Now just, sit down okay? Do you want water or something?”

He nods, taking off his hat and leaning forward into his hands. He’s still so jittery, and what’s worse is you don’t know how to help. You set a glass of water on the coffee table in front of him, sitting down with your leg pressed against his and resting your hand on his back. “Tell me what you’re comfortable with, Frankie.”

“God I don’t deserve you.” He breathes out, shaking his head and leaning toward you to grab your hand. “I know it’s only been a couple weeks–”

“Frankie,” You stop him, rubbing his back and giving him a smile. “Just tell me.”

Frankie did tell you. He couldn’t remember much from the mission because he had blacked out most of it, pushed into this headspace that he gets into when flying, mixed with the anxiety of the safety of his squad that made his mind fall blank until he was trying to control the crash of the helicopter.

He tells you this, and goes on about how they had to travel through the Andes Mountains, how his donkey was killed by a fall and how everyone reacted poorly-unfazed. How they had to burn money to stay warm, and how the kid from the village shot and killed one of their own. How no one dares talk about him now, even though all the money they brought back with them is in a trust for his kids.

You sit quietly throughout, stroking your thumb over his and squeezing his hand to let him know that you’re listening when he pauses. He tells you about his drug problem before going to South America, and how coming home after the disaster of a trip only made his itch for it worse. How he pretends to drink a beer when he is in public with his friends, because he wants to keep them safe without drawing attention to himself.

“I’ve been clean for two years.” He says quietly, looking up into your eyes again and shaking his head. “I think Pope was trying to wait and make sure I was sober before suggesting we try again.”

“Why ‘Pope’?” You ask just as quietly back, eyes wide and expectant. “You’re Catfish, and he’s Pope?”

“He’s always been…the savior. He always has a plan, brings us together.” Frankie mumbles, shaking his head. “But I don’t think he’s thought this through. I…I want to leave it behind, that whole ordeal.”

You shake your head in confusion. “Why not? Why can’t you? Can’t you just…tell him no?”

Frankie sighs, feeling tears burn at the back of his eyes, threatening to spill over. He’s trying to convince himself that he shouldn’t cry in front of you yet, no matter how comforting you can be. “If…If I don’t go then, they all will go through with it anyways. And they won’t have a pilot and…god they might hold it against me.”

“No.” You affirm, scooting closer to him. “No, Frankie, they wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“Not outwardly.” He mumbles, tilting his head down and looking at your coffee table. Anything to not look you in the eye right now. “But…it’s a lot of money to leave there.”

Your silence is enough to tell him that you are thinking that it is a lot of money. Your fingers squeeze around his, asking him silently to look up at you. When he gets the courage and does so, your eyes are shining with your own tears ready to flow over your lashes. He thinks you look pretty, sad and upset for him, and he feels his heart break. “It’s not worth that type of money to lose yourself.”

He stares at you, trying to process your words as you tilt your head, moving your hands to stroke the back of his head and the hair there. He closes his eyes, pulling his lips into his mouth and breathing as slowly as he can through his nose. It’s not worth that type of money to lose yourself. You were right. He could feel it, pooling in his stomach and soothing his nerves at the thought that he might not have to go through with this.

When he opened his eyes again, seeing your own cheeks flushed and eyes sad, the anxiety came back. The feeling of your fingers in the back of his hair, twisting and untwisting his curls was the only thing keeping him from fully spiraling, leaving your apartment and finding his dealer he knew would be in some dark alley across town. He reached up to your wrist, pressing himself closer to you and making sure to keep your hand on him, sighing out when you opened up to him and presented your lips sweetly.

He could get lost in you right now. He wants to get lost in you right now. Your mouth against his is the only comfort he thinks he needs. Your tongue slipping against his, sighing out as your other hand comes up to his cheek, stroking that bald spot on his jaw that he’s always hated, and your knees that you somehow got onto pressing against his thigh. He pulls away from you, chest heaving and swallowing thickly. “I don’t think I can leave them to do it themselves. I wouldn’t forgive myself.” He says gruffly, opening his eyes to yours.

You’re searching-for something he doesn’t think he can give you. You finally whisper out, “I understand.”

He feels his chest collapse in on itself, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes as he leans forward to press his forehead against your shoulder. You tighten your grip around the nape of his neck, shuffling around until you are in his lap, holding him steady as he tries to push down the overwhelming feeling to give up. You’re shushing him, stroking his hair and saying things that he can’t hear as his ears ring.

He grips around your hips, pulling you closer to him and gasping at the feeling of your warm center against his. He can get lost in this. He doesn’t have to think, if he gets lost in you. “Please.” His own voice sounds different to his ears, the sound of desperate want leaking from his mouth is not something he’s ever heard.

Your eyes darken, mouth parting as you dart your look from his eyes to his mouth, down to his hands that are squeezing you tighter. “Frankie, I don’t know that you’re-”

“Querida,” He interrupts, pushing his chest against yours. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” You whisper, massaging your fingers into his scalp again.

His eyes flutter closed, taking a deep breath. “I want you, if you want me.”

From then on it’s silent. No words spoken between you, only the sound of you breathing and moaning, Frankie groaning and flicks of eyes to each other to check in on the other person. You’re quick to pull his shirt off, his lips attaching to your exposed collarbone and adjusting to lay you flat on the couch. Your head propped on the arm rest and tilted back at the feeling of his lips trailing down your sternum, tongue peeking out to swirl against the button of your jeans. He watches you intently as his fingers fumble with the zipper, pulling them down with a grunt.

He’s quick to bring his mouth to your center, relaxing at the sound of your sigh and your fingers in his hair. He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking lightly as he trails his fingers down and fills your center. Two fingers push in, your hips jutting down to meet him at the feeling. He curls his fingers to feel you pull on his hair, drooling over your hole with a groan. He needs to feel you, needs to get lost in you. He swears that this will distract him, unaware of your orgasm until his fingers slide more easily through your folds. He pulls off of you enough to look down at his fingers again, continuing his movements as you try to squirm away from him.

He knows the feeling is overwhelming, slowing his fingers until he can pull them away from you and up to your clit for a soft circling. You whine, pulling at his hair again how he craves and dragging him up your body to seal your lips with his.

When your hands leave his hair he almost stops you to put them back, but then feels your shaking fingers at his pants. He helps, pulling them down as you lower the zipper while sealing a mark into your neck. You groan, shoving him away with a small smile and blown wide pupils and slapping a hand to your neck. “Frankie–”

He gives you a smirk, biting his lip at the look of deep red blooming through your fingers. “Spread your legs.” He says gruffly, pulling your thighs apart and sliding his eyes to yours again.

You comply easily, one leg resting on the cushion on your couch and the other landing down on the rug. He watches how your hand slowly slides down from your neck, exposing the hickey he just gave you, and down your shirt that you still have on to reach for his cock that is now actively dripping onto your stomach.

His breath stutters as your fingers wrap around him gently, giving him a few tugs before he starts to meet your hand eagerly. Half lidded, he reaches into his back pocket that is low on his thighs, still tangled around his legs, to his wallet where he is almost positive he is keeping a condom. “How old is that?” You breathe, giving a small smile at how he shakes trying to concentrate on the wrapper.

He gives a small laugh. “It’s not old.” He swallows, feeling the pause before you continue moving your hand over him. “I–fuck, I put in there recently.”

You furrow your brow, tilting your head in question. “Why?”

Frankie feels a blush creep up his chest as he grabs your wrist. “Wanted to be prepared around you.”

Your laughter isn’t something he expected-maybe a slap to his shoulder and a scoff, but you’re in a full fit of giggles. He joins you in laughing, watching as your eyes light up, trying to suppress your smile and failing miserably.

“Why would you need to be prepared for me?” You giggle, trying to control yourself but a smile is still apparent on your face. Your hands come up to his stomach, skating your fingers down his belly button.

It tickles slightly, making him tighten his abdomen a little as he rolls on the condom. He shakes his head at you, smiling again. “Well, look where we are right now?” He leans down to press his lips to your jaw, your chest rising and falling with laughter.

It’s silent again as he notches the head of his cock at your entrance, the pause in breathing you both take as he slides in slowly. He sighs, humid against your cheek as he pushes until he is seated flush against you. It’s overwhelming, the feeling of you wrapped around him, and he glances down your body to see how you’ve stuck to him. Your chest, rising and falling and brushing against the hair smatter across his, his stomach, softer than he wished rubbing against yours. He tensed his stomach enough to see between you, his hips pressed to yours, dark hair leading to his center shining with precome and your arousal.

He pulls back just as slow, watching his own retreat before pressing back in and looking up to your face. This is exactly how he wanted to be distracted.

You pull him back forward, shoving your fingers in his hair and tugging. He grunts at the feeling, beginning a rhythm that has you whining for him. “More, Frankie-fuck, you feel so good.” You throw your head back against the arm rest, a dull thud that would typically go unnoticed catching Frankie’s attention when you wince.

He stops, pulling away from you even though you paw at him to come back, flipping you over with your top half hanging over the armrest. His hands sink into your hips, propping your ass up for him as he groans again. “So fucking perfect like this.”

He slides into you again, adjusting his hands for one to hold your hip from pressing into the couch, the other landing on your ass cheek and holding you steady. You sigh happily, flicking your gaze over your shoulder at him briefly before closing your eyes.

Frankie’s pace speeds up, driving into you with an inability to think about anything other than you that he’s sure he is going to finish too soon. Somehow you know, a hand blindly reaching behind you to rest on his chest, enticing him to lean forward. When he does, you’re quick to wrap your hand behind his neck, “I w-want you to-holy shit-t-to make a mess. Frankie, on me.” You whisper hoarsely, opening your eyes enough for him to catch the glint of satisfaction.

He moans, shaking his head and breathlessly laughing. “You’re–fuck–you’re something else, baby.” He pulls you off him, suddenly frantic and ears ringing. He flips you back over, your legs falling slightly off the couch as he tugs the condom off to feel his hand.

You’re quick to replace it with your own.

You’re smirking at him, hair a mess and cheeks flushed. He can’t help it when he starts to come, white ropes painting your stomach and almost catching your shirt. He reaches to the back cushions of your couch, holding on for dear life as you continue to move your hand over him, eventually reaching for your wrist to stop you with how dizzy he feels. He feels delirious, watching you slide a finger through his come and bring it up to your mouth, peeking your tongue out with big round eyes up at him.

You hum around your finger, popping it out of your mouth and sighing. “Come shower with me?” You ask quietly, tilting your head toward the hallway.

He nods, standing up and holding his hand out to help you. Frankie trails behind, keeping his eyes on you and helping you into the shower, touching you gently as hot water cascades down his back, his fingers working you to another orgasm that has you floating and sleepy. He willingly slides into your sheets, wrapping you up in his arms and listening to your breathing slow until you’ve completely slumped against him.

Frankie doesn’t think he will be able to fall asleep, but will happily lay in your bed with you wrapped around him, hoping that you can distract him again.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #frankie morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #something else

96 notes · View notes

yourmomazfav · 10 months

Note

Can I request an Enid Sinclair x fem!reader where the reader is afraid of thunder storms and goes to Enid for comfort? And the reader feels super embarrassed because she knows it’s a dumb and irrational fear but can’t help but feel anxious. She cringes every time thunder rumbles and feels the need to hide. Sorry if this is confusing 😭

It makes perfect sense don't worry Anon :)

Stupid Storms

Enid Sinclair x Fem reader

Summary- Read the request up top :)

Warnings- Some cursing but other than that nothing.

Word Count- 858

You never liked storms, they were the bane of your current existence and you didn't even have a tragic backstory with them, you just hated them, you didn't like the noise and you hated how it looked. It was unsettling to you.

There was the lightning warning you through your window. And then...

CRASH

There was the aftermath, the sound caused a shudder to rip through your body. Curled up in your blankets and laying in a foetal position. You wished your girlfriend was here, Enid knew you hated storms but after a while you told her they didn't bother you anymore.

CRASH

That was a lie.

You didn't know why it was so embarrassing to you, for your girlfriend to know how they made you feel. Perhaps it's because being scared of storms is typically a childish thing and obviously you weren't a child anymore. So it seemed silly.

Snapping out of your train of thought you noticed there had been no lightning. Maybe the storm was gone. You sighed, now you knew you would be able to get some decent sle-

CRASH 1

''Oh come the fuck on.'' You huffed as another shudder left your head ducking and accidentally hitting yourself in the face.

That hurt.

You should just get up, Wednesday was out on one of her odd late night walks so you wouldn't be waking her up if you went to Enid and hers dorm. And the chances of Enid being asleep yet were unlikely, she was probably laying in bed listening to music or playing a game on her phone.

'Get up Y/N' You thought to yourself, but you couldn't. It was so stupid and it annoyed you that you couldn't just get up and go to your girlfriend's dorm.

''Nope, not getting up and no one is making me.'' You hummed in satisfaction as there was no disruption to your stateme-

CRASH

''Okay, okay fuck I'll go.'' You huffed tossing your blankets onto the bed as you got up. You put your shoes on and trudged out of your dorm in distress. Setting a little challenge with yourself to get to Enid's dorm before there was another clap of thunder. Her dorm wasn't even that far away from yours, just upstairs and down the hall, simple right.

Not in the dark it wasn't.

The only light was the light the moon provided, and it was just a shred. Feeling around in the dark terrified you, what if someone was there and you were just left patting to find things to lead you around and bumped into them. You would be screaming your head off.

Thankfully you found the stairs and practically ran up them bolting down the hallway to Enid's dorm. You walked in, and looked at Enid's side of the room she wasn't facing the door and she had headphones on.

You could sneak up on her, she wouldn't even hear you.

You slipped your shoes off and put them near the door and stepped over to your girlfriends bed, this would be funny scaring he-

CRASH

''Oh fuck!'' You jumped.

Enid rolled over to face you, looking at your horrified face before giggling.

''I was waiting for you.'' She said shuffling over to make room for you even though you would wake up with her on top on you.

''Really?'' You ask sliding in beside her, her hand immediately moving to the back of your head to rest it on her chest.

''Yep.'' She hummed running her fingers through your hair. ''I know you're still scared of them.''

''It's so stupid.'' You grumble into her t-shirt.

''It's not babe, it's not your fault. Plus I find it endearing.'' She giggles again kissing the top of your head and wrapping an arm around you.

''You find me being scared shitless of thunder storms endearing?'' You snort and she laughs you can feel her nodding.

''It's cute when you burrow yourself into me, makes me feel special y'know.'' She says gently.

''You are special, always are and always will be no matter what.'' You mumble, your fingers drawing shapes on her waist. Moving your head up to kiss her jaw.

''You missed my mouth.'' She teased, fake pouting.

You shook your head, leaning up and kissing her on the lips and pulling away.

''Happy?'' You ask moving back down and laying your head on her chest and her hand instantly going back to playing with your hand.

''Very.'' She said ''Try and get some sleep cutie.''

You nod and close your eyes.

CRASH

''Shit.'' You shuddered.

''It's okay, I won't let anything happen to you.'' Enid whispered one of her hands moving underneath the back of your shirt to rub circles on your back.

You nodded and kisses her collarbone, shutting your eyes again, soon falling asleep, Enid right after.

Sure enough when you woke up it was exactly how you had expected. Enid was sprawled out on top of you, legs all tangled together, arms wrapped around each other and her head laying in the crook of your neck as she snored quietly and her canines grinding.

#wednesday (series)#x reader #x Fem reader #Enid Sinclair #Enid Sinclair x Fem reader #Enid Sinclair x reader

81 notes · View notes

soupbtch · 4 months

Text

I’ve been having a really tough time parsing through my feelings about this because they keep changing. It’s kind of silly, too, when you put it under a microscope. All love is, I guess. That’s what this is. And I’ve had a lifelong track record of loving things too hard. Not to say that it isn’t always worth it, though it’s hard to feel that way in the immediate aftermath of things coming to an end before you’re ready.

(Putting the rest of this under the cut because it is entirely too long and personal and self-indulgent. Yes, this is about the OFMD cancellation.)

I’m not a superstitious person, with the exception of talking about things I’m excited about. If I’m waiting for an offer letter from a new job, or to hear from someone, something to happen, I have the constant feeling that if I open my mouth and express my excitement out loud, put my intentions out into the world with my own breath and teeth, push it out with my tongue, it means the thing won’t happen. My words will shift the air and it will bite back. There is shaky, empirical evidence for this. I know that, logically. In my heart, though, the fear of vulnerability lives on. Of being known and seen and disappointed.

The last several years, I got better at guarding my heart. I built strong walls. I’ve kept myself from touching things I know will draw me in too deeply, avoided looking at things I knew would break me in half. Preemptive measures to avoid potential heartbreak. (A large reason for this, I’m sure now, was the long-term (bad) relationship I was in until 7 months ago, which demanded all of my attention and emotions to maintain to the point that anything more pressing to my heart would cause the whole house of cards to collapse around me.) I kept my distance from OFMD until I was sure it wasn’t queerbaiting, after season 1 finished airing. And even as I watched it and immediately after, I kept my mouth shut about wanting a season 2. I wasn’t back on tumblr at the time (another instance of me keeping myself from touching things that will pull me in with crushing force). I only had one real life friend to talk to about the show, and even then, I held back. Only let the words whisper out of the corner of my mouth, eyes shifting. I didn’t want to let myself slip. I didn’t want to show my heart for fear of it getting ripped out. I kept the walls up.

When the season 2 trailer dropped, I felt it creeping in, despite my best efforts. I craved it. With an affable hand, it was tapping on the gate to my heart that had been shut since I left the depths of fandoms in 2013. My bad relationship had ended just a few months prior to this. I was free-falling. Vulnerable.

Season 2 reached for my heart. Tentatively, I opened the gate. I invited it in. I dove towards it. I rejoined tumblr. The brainrot set in not shortly after, a familiar friend. The truth is, it could have been anything. It could have been Good Omens, had I opened the gate a few months earlier. It could have been fucking Doctor Who again. But it wasn’t. It was the gay pirates, the middle-aged men, the nonbinary actor playing a nonbinary character, the people of color, the music, the writing, the story, the actors.

Stede and Ed were experiencing identity crises and so was I. One of the reasons my ex cited for dumping me was that he wasn’t attracted to me anymore after the years of me slowly discovering I was queer and nonbinary while we were together. After I had top surgery, he didn’t love me anymore. He broke up with me during pride month. My identity was coming into focus gradually as the foothold slipped out from under me. Simultaneously, on my TV screen, I see Stede realize he’s in love with Ed. I see Ed lose his grip when his foothold slips out from under him, too; his shaky, fresh identity and bravery free-falling around him under the words “I should have let the English kill you,” spat at him for being soft and vulnerable. I see him lose himself in suicidal patterns, familiar. I feel unlovable, and I hear Ed echo my thoughts. I see him come back from the ledge, healing slowly. I see budding happiness. I see love and self-acceptance. I see the crew experiencing so much queer joy it makes my heart ache. I see the fandom experiencing queer joy around me, too. I experience unbridled queer joy for the first time in my life.

I start reading fanfiction again (a door I kept firmly shut and locked for a decade). I want more, to chase the high of queer joy as I read Ed and Stede finding each other and falling in love again and again, in a million different universes. I deepen my connections. I’m finding my foothold again. I form tentative friendships with other people in the fandom. We excitedly post about the season 3 renewal announcement we’re certain is coming. We laugh. We count down the hours together every day for the first week and a half of 2024. A shared delusion, maybe, but all signs were pointing north, and we were traveling there together. I stand up a little straighter. I feel less afraid of being vulnerable. I feel a little bit more lovable.

I let myself hope. I get excited, confident. I talk about the show and the impending renewal announcement with my own mouth and teeth and breath to anyone who will listen. I push the words out with my tongue as the walls around my heart are reduced to rubble against my ribcage. My heart beats defiantly for the whole world to hear.

We know what happens next. I’m free-falling again. It’s silly, right? I wrote all this out to help myself process my emotions, why the cancellation hit me like a wrecking ball, and I feel sillier for it. I feel silly for my heart being so large, for feeling things too much. I feel silly for letting my guard down and letting myself get hurt. For loving things too hard with no plan of how to let go. After a lifetime of this, I should know better.

This show doesn’t define who I am; I already had a pretty firm grasp on that before I ever hit play on the pilot. It’s not life or death. But it helped me find my tender heart again, the me from 10 years ago, the fearless one. It made me fearless again. It made me love again. And at the end of the day, season 3 or no, that means the most to me, and I am endlessly thankful for this heartbreak.

If we’ve never talked before, hi, I’m Danny. Thanks for reading this. I love y’all, crazy little gay people in my phone. I will keep talking about OFMD until the day I die. Hold my hand, let’s be fearless together.

#ofmd #our flag means death #enby things #danny.xls

37 notes · View notes

witchwyfe · 2 years

Text

keep driving | sh

| pairing: steve harrington x female reader

| précis: little driving date w steve, fluff, mentions of food

| word count: 1,018

You're just lacing up your Converse when you hear a car door slam outside. You smile to yourself. You've told Steve a thousand times to just beep the horn when he's here, yet he insists on coming up to the door, every single time he's picking you up.

You spritz your perfume one more time before shutting your door and bounding down the stairs. You open the front door just before he rings the bell, practically falling into him.

"Hi gorgeous," He smiles, rivaling the sun shining behind him.

"Hey cutie." You smile, leaning up to kiss him.

"Cutie?" He wonders, murmuring into your mouth.

"Yeah," You pull away, grinning. "You're cute. A cutie." You shrug simply. "That's all there is to it."

"Well if I'm a cutie then you're the cutest." He counters, pinning you to his front with an arm around your waist.

You roll your eyes playfully, reaching for the strap of your purse before it slides down your arm.

Steve catches it for you, taking the bag and slinging it over his own shoulder. "You ready to go?" He wonders warmly.

At your nod, he takes your hand, leading you to his car, where he opens the door and gets you settled, before running over to his side.

"Where we goin' pretty girl?" He wonders, one hand on the wheel, the other propped behind your seat.

"Hm, milkshakes or slurpees?" You ask, flipping through the case of tapes he had on the floor. "It's your turn to pick." You smile while you look down, knowing what he's about to ask.

"Well, what are you in the mood for?" He wonders sweetly, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your knuckles.

"Whatever you want," You smirk, cutting him off when he opens his mouth again. "No, Steve, it is your turn, you are choosing not me."

"Okay fine."

"You brought the box out here," You comment, pulling out a Tear for Fears tape.

"I did." He nods, kissing your hand again. "Last time you got tired of the radio, so I dug those out of my closet."

"Love you. A lot." You say.

"Love you even more."

"Impossible. What are we getting?"

"Milkshakes. That okay?"

"It's what you want?"

"Yeah."

"Then it's perfect."

"And we'll have to go see it then," He comments, looking at the sign out front of the movie theater as he drives past.

"Yeah," You agree, too focused on his big hand in yours. You trace the lines on his palm, smooth your thumb over the callouses before realizing you've made your boyfriend blush.

He drives one-handed for a while, the other one firmly tucked in yours. You love watching him drive, love his profile and the way his eyes sparkle in the sun.

Although it's dark now, but you don't enjoy your view any less. Steve navigates the quiet streets of Hawkins, squeezing your hand every now and then.

A grease-stained, crumpled paper bag crunches underneath your feet, the aftermath of your dinner. Driving dates are your favorite, just talking and listening to music with your boyfriend while he drives—and he always insists on driving—“you’re too pretty to drive me around sweetheart.”—while you ride passenger.

“Steve?” You speak up, voice scratchy after almost an hour of silent driving. You don’t feel like you need to constantly feel the space with words, just being in Steve’s presence is enough for you.

“Yeah baby?” He wonders, thumb stroking against your knuckles.

“You want the rest of my shake?” You wonder, gesturing to the strawberry milkshake you’d only had half of. “I’m kind of regretting getting strawberry.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” He pouts. “We could’ve switched or gone back and gotten another one.”

“It’s fine,” You promise. “It’s good, just not my favorite.” You pick up the cup, leading the straw to his lips, his eyes trained on the road ahead. “Try some.”

He takes a sip, smiling when you gently pull the cup away, eyebrows furrowed as you wait for his reaction.

“It’s not bad.” He hums. “I can finish it for you baby.”

You shrug, sliding your hand onto his jean-clad thigh, before settling back into your seat. “Whatever you want Stevie.”

He won’t admit it, but his cheeks flare at your nickname, and he’s grateful it’s dark out so you can’t see the cherry hue rising on his face.

One of the other tapes you’d put in comes to an end, the last song fizzling out. When you reach for the box to swap it, Steve flicks his wrist up under his nose, glancing at the arms on the small clock.

“It’s almost ten,” He tells you, holding his right hand out for you to hold. “You wanna keep driving or head back?”

“I don’t care.” You murmur noncommittally.

“Family Video is open for another hour,” He says. “We could stop in, say hi to Robs, then pick a movie, and go back to mine?” He offers, knowing you’ll be more than happy with it.

You’re nodding quickly, squeezing his hand before he can even finish his sentence. “Yes please.”

He hums softly, smiling once again, the thought of cuddling up with you in front of the tv even more enticing than riding around the car with you. He can already picture it now.

The warm and fuzzy feeling that fills his chest anytime you cuddle up to him, nuzzling into his side, or knocking his arm aside so there’s room for you. Butter from the microwave popcorn shiny on your lips when you go to kiss him, tasting of the snack and your strawberry lip balm.

Even when you inevitably pass out before the movie ends, head on his shoulder or in his lap, a blanket twisted on your body. Steve loves every second of it, revels in. He’s wrapped around your finger and he knows it.

“Steve?” You wonder softly, pulling him out of his reverie.

“What baby?” He asks. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.”

“I asked what movie you want to watch.”

“Doesn’t matter. S’long as I’m with you.”

“Dork.”

#mine #my work #my writing #witchwyfe #witchwyfe writing #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things oneshot #fic: keep driving

583 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year

Note

Hello🤗! It's the anon who has a geeky mom!

Made it through chapter 5 and here's my Mama's thoughts. Warning: she cried A LOT.

She's kind off curious about Mickey and wondered if he could be important in the future. She got upset when no one knew who he was lol. "Mickey Mouse was my childhood! How could they?!" She cried. She also got really worried for Yuu and the Overblots. She's surprisingly quick to guess that Vil was about to overblot because of the epilogue from last chapter.

She was excited that the school held festivals because her school did that.

My mom screamed when she saw Riddle and Kalim again. She wanted to know if Riddle was able to get through with his mom. I should mention she wants to adopt the overblot victims.

She kept on roasting Vil throughout the chapter, especially whenever he acted mean towards Epel. "I'll show you who's a potato you Bratz doll rip-off!". She legit said that.

She thinks Rook's creepy 🤣. She also wanted Leona to sing.

She instantly fell in love with Ortho.

My mom, ever the music lover, started jumping excitedly during the audition. She even clapped and cheered for all of them.

She thought the songs were bops.

Neige and the Dwarves are adorable to her.

During Vil's overblot and flashback, her disgust towards Vil turned to empathy. She especially felt bad when Vil was being bullied. On a lighthearted note, she wished my dad was like Vil's dad.

She's so proud of Deuce she literally cried tears of joy.

She thought that Malleus and Yuu's friendship was cute. She wished there was an option where we could call Malleus MalMal instead of Tsunotaro.

She was kinda down when NRC didn't win but was happy for RSA nonetheless. She called it karma that Vil was forced to sing with Neige. She felt bad for Jamil though.

My mom legit bursted into happy tears when she saw Mickey in the flesh but that joy turned to fear and worry when Grim attacked us. "What happened?! Is Yuu alright?!"

And now she thinks Idia is sketchy. She refuses to believe Ortho is in on this. "Nooooo, not the cute robot boy!"

As a sidenote, she said that if I ever went to NRC, she's pulling me out immediately 😂.

[Here’s the other installments for the Mom Anon: Ep 2 / Ep 3 / Ep 4]

Don’t ask where Ep 1 is; I don’t actually recall having received an ask specifically about that—

Good, feed TWST your tears 😊

Your mom can join the rest of the TWST theorists on the true nature and meaning of Michard Mouse who has lost all of his fame and extensive media empire in this world 😩 I think at this point the pattern for OBs has been well established (though the festival setting is certainly new and provides an added element of public exposure to the threat). djsvwjxnkss Imagine being some happy-go-lucky festival goer and you witness a celebrity causing chaos 😅 I think you’d just drop your cotton candy and run for the nearest authority figure at that point… Good thing the NRC boys were able to keep the OB contained though!

Yeah, it’s always exciting to see old characters return in later episodes your mom’s in for a treat with episode 6. We can see how they’ve changed since we last saw them. Unfortunately, we don’t get to hear of the aftermath of the conversation Riddle had with his mother, but it’s nice to just catch up with the dorm leader that started it all. (And, of course, Kalim is also present being a good boi 😌)

Mmm, I don’t think Vil acted the nicest (especially not this episode) but 🤔 I do think it’s interesting to observe how much harsher the criticisms made at his expense can be. I get the sense that people think it’s okay to call Vil out for his cruelty, but hesitate to do the same for others (such as Riddle), even when those characters have all done/said abhorrent things. I wonder if that justification comes down to Vil being the type of person who doesn’t like to show when he is hurting or being affected by negative comments (versus other characters, who are more overtly emotional or reactive). It comes with the territory of being a celebrity: you need thick skin to survive in the entertainment industry, where everyone will be judging you at all times of the day. It must bring him a lot of distress, and it also leaves him in a tough situation where he often cannot outwardly express his frustrations.

I don’t know, it makes me feel slightly uncomfortable seeing Vil in particular receives certain kinds of vitriol from the fandom, because I’m sure he’s also getting that in-universe from his “haters”. No matter where he exists, he must be facing intense public scrutiny (sometimes on very superficial things too), and I don’t know how he manages to deal with it. Like, even in the comment quoted, it’s not Vil’s character being insulted but his appearance (even if his appearance is totally unrelated to the situation). I guess it’s easy to roast celebrities when you only really get to see slivers of them in various media or maybe they’re seen as living “perfect” lives, but I don’t agree with being mean to them (or to anyone, really 💦). Confident people can still be hurt, and those in seemingly glamorous positions have valid issues. That isn’t to defend their missteps, but rather just me being sad about a general lack of empathy 😔

Let Rook beeee 😭 I won’t stand for this huntsman slander— Funnily enough, the game has teased Leona singing a few times before (most recently in Endless Halloween Night), but we’ve never actually heard him do it.

The VDC auditions were so cuuute 🥰 I really enjoyed the variation in their performances, as well as the characterization of Rook and Vil that we got through it. Rook is the positive judge that can see the charm points in each individual, but Vil is the more critical judge that can really “read” what is at the core of each person’s performance. For example, he mentions that Cater’s performance doesn’t seem to have heart behind it and that Lilia’s performance makes him seem older than a high school student. MY FAVORITE ONE WAS ORTHO THOUGH, his was so cool!! They patched his scene so that he sounds like a Vocaloid while singing, which was an excellent touch 🎵 (Great job with that one, Idia!)

Mmm, I personally don’t care for the songs in episode 5 (with the exception of Piece of My World, if that counts), but I’m glad that others enjoyed them so much! I feel similarly towards Neige and the Dwarves; there’s nothing offensive about them, they’re just a little… bland for my tastes. Cute, yes, but ultimately bland.

Vil and Azul have similar backstories in that they involve being bullied and then using that experience to fuel their efforts to better themselves and to prove their worth to their peers. I think this is why those two are able to garner sympathy (but not always empathy) from the fandom. Oddly enough though, I usually see people not forgiving Vil for his actions while also exonerating Azul for his. This… has always been weird to me, because I see Azul as someone who has done much more damage over the years than Vil has—and what’s more, Vil is one of THE most apologetic OB boys of the cast and clearly owns up to his wrongdoings. I think this difference comes from the perception of each boy; again, Vil is often viewed as harsh and overly critical, and not a lot of the general public can relate to his being a child star, so he earns less empathy overall 💦 Some of this perception also comes down to a misunderstanding of his reasons for Overblotting; I've seen many label it as shallow or driven by vanity when... well, that's not entirely true. He's ultimately looking for approval and validation of his identity and the work that he does, and that's something I think everyone wants. I just wish more people were open-minded when looking over Vil's backstory. Just because he had a successful career and a supportive father doesn't mean Vil didn't struggle to get to where he is today. Even then, he's not entirely happy with himself. That's not Vil being spoiled or entitled, that's Vil thinking he can be even better. It's that ambition and drive that defines him.

aiudbaidbabsd Vil's dad though 😫 the real OG... It must be hard for a big star like him to make time for his child, and yet he still manages to do it. It's also just nice to see a supportive parent for once in these flashbacks instead of people like the Viper parents and Mama Rosehearts (or not really involved in or aware of the formative trauma like the Kingscholar parents and the Ashengrotto parents).

When I first played through episode 5, I wasn't expecting Deuce to get his unique magic at all. Now that it's said and done, I think we can all share in his pride and excitement. We've followed him on this journey for so long, and he finally gets this big payoff and he gets to rub it in Ace's smug face.

Episode 5 is a big turning point in terms of Malleus and Yuu’s relationship; this is when his true identity is revealed to them and everyone else becomes aware that they know each other. As I’ve said before, I don’t find myself convinced by their friendship due to how little they interacted during the main story, but I guess that’s just a consequence of the writers trying to keep Malleus “mysterious”. I’m sure plenty of people find him and Yuu endearing in spite of that.

I believe the significance of Malleus being called “Tsunotaro” even after his true name and title are revealed is that it calls attention to Yuu just treating him like a normal person. There’s no option to call him some variant of his actual name because “Malleus” is inherently associated with big titles: the dorm leader of Diasomnia, crown prince to the Briar Valley, one of the strongest mages in all of Twisted Wonderland. These isolate him from others, and it’s of great importance that Yuu is an exception to this and treats him like an equal.

Haha, there’s always that initial hit of disappointment when the results come out. It’s good that your mom didn’t linger on the sadness and the defeat for too long and was happy that the nice RSA boys cinched the victory. Everyone singing and suffering together at the end was the perfect way to conclude the Pomefiore arc~ (Jamil’s deadpan tone and face were 👌)

cbssksnsn That’s a first 😂 I don’t think I’ve seen many people get excited at the idea of meeting Mickey; I feel like most TWST fans (myself included) are quick to meme on him or theorize, or they’re just put off by his presence at all. It certainly feels a little “out of place” with the aesthetics and the world (at least until it gets further explanation).

I was worried about Grim attacking Yuu too but 😔 it ultimately just amounts to nothing more than a cat scratch, which I found disappointing (as it’s really low stakes despite how serious the situation is framed). That’s probably a relief to others though, I can’t imagine that most would be eager to see Yuu and Grim in pain.

… Since when has every end of episode preview for the next ever made the next OB boy NOT look sketchy?? 👁 👄 👁 It’s okay, no matter how sketchy Idia may be, Ortho’s there to balance it out with his innocence.

Isekai’d into Twisted Wonderland with your mom?? 😂 I don’t think the main story would be able to happen if any sane, responsible adult was actually present long enough to keep the kids out of trouble looking at you, Crowley.

129 notes · View notes