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headfullofpresley · 1 year

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𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 7K

Summary: Even though you worked as a music journalist, you weren't familiar with America's newest heartthrob in the same way his fangirls were but Elvis makes sure to give you an interview (and night) you won't forget.

Warnings: 50s!Elvis, slight age difference (only 4 years, reader is older), alcohol consumption if you squint, smut; oral (f. receiving), vag penetration, unprotected sex, one night stand, creampie, no use of dom/sub dynamics.

A/N: after dying over elvis flirting with a reporter with @woundmetender, i just knew i had to write something about it (this one's for you, my baby belle ♡). also this means that yes, some of this dialogue actually came out of this mf's mouth and no, i'm still not over it. also, kinda thinking about turning this into a mini series? decisions, decisions...

masterlist

Never in your life had you been this nervous to interview anyone.

Being fairly new to the Modern Teen team, the list wasn’t extremely long yet but you’d often boast to your friends about how The Everly Brothers let you play on their guitar a little in their dressing room even though you barely knew how to hold a guitar and how what was supposed to be a fifteen minute interview with Pat Boone turned into a full day because you two shared mutual interests.

The fact that he slipped you his phone number was something you kept to yourself, though. You were not planning on losing your job; being a journalist was your dream job and although you were sure you weren’t going to be working for Modern Teen your entire life, you did enjoy it.

Your co-workers were nice and you got to meet the famous people that were surprisingly more human than one might expect. That part of them also showed in your interviews, as you did not ask them questions that had nothing to do with them, such as politics and whatnot. The magazine you worked for catered to mostly teenagers and all they wanted was a fun story and some nice photos to go along with it.

The person you were assigned to get a story from today wasn’t as easy to sit down as The Everly Brothers or Pat Boone. You truly believed you could’ve gotten an interview with Marlon Brando quicker than you could with Elvis Presley, but you and your co-worker managed to get into the Shrine Auditorium in LA where the superstar would be performing tonight – you had to convince the men at the door, who simply could not believe you were who you said you were or were not interested in having two girls from the press come inside, but as a ginger haired man around your age busted through the entrance doors and saw you in a discussion with one of the guys, he told them it was fine and he’d handle it.

It being you and your co-worker.

Before you even realised it, you were being led into the building by the guy who introduced himself as Red and handed you and Lori, your co-worker, two backstage passes.

“Wait here, ladies. I’ll be right back,” Red said, shooting a quick wink Lori’s way before disappearing into a dressing room and leaving you two behind in the hallway, among other reporters which were mostly male.

Your nerves were growing and growing. You partly blamed it on the exciting rumble of people entering the auditorium, and maybe also the fact that you knew absolutely nothing about Elvis Presley.

You had heard his music on the radio and you knew that a lot of people weren’t happy with the effects he seemed to have on young people, but you never took the time to sit down and give your undevoted attention to the newfound rockstar that was sweeping not only the nation, but the world.

“I should’ve prepared better,” you mumbled in frustration as you leaned against the wall and flipped through your little notebook. Suddenly all the questions you and Lori had come up with sounded stupid and you wouldn’t be surprised if Elvis would kick you out of his dressing room after asking the first question. Lori held onto her camera and recorder and placed her free hand on your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Y/N, you’ve been asked to do this interview because you’re good at it. People love your presence and your charisma.. I mean, c’mon, what other journalist gets a personal invite from Pat Boone?” she kept her voice low, not wanting any of the other reporters to hear the conversation. “If you weren’t good at what you did, Mr. Kimzey would’ve fired you already,”

You widened your eyes at the grinning blonde next to you, making her laugh as she patted your shoulder and leaned against the wall next to you. You knew she was right though; your boss was a business man through and through and he had no problems firing people if they wouldn’t do their job well. He had only ever been nice to you, feeding your ego with compliments, so you figured you were doing something right.

“I bet he’s arrogant,” you whispered with a soft laugh, shifting the topic back to Elvis, nudging your shoulder against Lori’s. She giggled along, leaning in a little closer to you before she spoke.

“If he’s anything like that guy from before, I bet he is,” she whispered, hiding her mouth behind her hand as the both of you laughed together, getting some annoyed glances from older reporters that were waiting out in the hall, hoping they’d be let in the dressing room before the two of you.

It felt like hours before Red came out of the room and as he did, you and Lori were immediately disappointed when he announced Elvis wouldn’t be doing any more interviews seeing he had to go on stage in thirty minutes. Honestly, you wouldn’t mind to interview him after the show, but you had no idea what Elvis’ after show routine was and if he’d stick around or not.

If you wanted a good story, and hopefully a promotion from Mr. Kimzey, you had to do this interview now.

Red watched as most reporters wandered down the hallway with annoyed grumbles and disappointed sighs, and before you and Lori could walk away too, he grabbed Lori’s arm.

“He wants to speak to you two. Modern Teen, right?”

You immediately nodded, standing up straight as you showed him the pass of your company that hung on a lanyard around your neck. He nodded and let go of Lori’s arm as he gestured for you to follow him.

“We don’t have much time, though. I’m sure you can do your thing in ten minutes,” he said, making you raise your eyebrows at the back of his head as a comment was already burning on your tongue but Lori made you swallow it as she nudged her elbow in your side, quickly tugging you along into the dressing room.

There were more guys in the dressing room but other than looking up to see who entered the room, they didn’t give you and Lori any further attention and went back to doing their own thing. The person you came here to see was standing by the vanity table that was perched up against the wall, fixing his tie in the mirror.

Clothed in an all black suit, the red tie was the only thing that popped some color in the whole get up. His dark blonde locks seemed almost a shade of darker brown or even black with the amount of product he had slicked it back with and as his eyes found yours through the mirror, you didn’t miss how blue they were. You suddenly felt as if your flats were glued to the floor, standing there and staring at him like one of his lovesick teenage fans.

You were a twenty five year old woman; you were not a crazed fan, especially not of someone a few years younger than you.

You barely knew the man.

But as his plumb lips raised in a smirk and he turned around to look at you in the flesh, your breath hitched in your throat.

Elvis Presley was a gorgeous being of a man.

“Get these girls somethin’ to drink, Red,” Elvis said, looking back down to his tie to fumble some more with it. He wasn’t doing too well and your fingers were itching to do it for him; as if he was some kind of mind reader, he looked up, his eyes finding yours again.

“Do one of you ladies know how to do this? Can’t get the damn thing right,” he chuckled softly, not waiting for an answer as he already made his way over to you and stopped right in front of you. Red handed Lori a bottle of Pepsi, putting yours on the small coffee table by the lounging area of the room because he knew Elvis well enough to sense what kind of situation this was.

Fixing an artist’s tie wasn’t exactly in your job description, but neither was spending an entire day with Pat freaking Boone. “I’m no expert, Mr. Presley, so please don’t blame me if it falls off in the middle of your show,”

He laughed softly, raising his chin a little to give you enough space to fix his tie. “Call me Elvis, honey. And you ain’t got to worry, it’ll probably be ripped apart by the end of the show,”

You couldn’t imagine yourself in his shoes, screaming girls touching you and pulling at you every place you went, but from what you had seen outside the auditorium you realised those girls wouldn’t let anyone or anything get in the way of them and Elvis. Laughing softly at his words, you made sure his tie wasn’t too tight and took a step back when you were done, clearing your throat a little.

“Do a lot of your clothes get ripped?” you asked, shamelessly clicking out your pen and opening your notebook. It wasn’t even a question you wrote down, but you were curious. Lori quickly followed your lead as she turned the recorder on.

Elvis sat down on the couch and you and Lori followed, only you sat down on the edge of the coffee table.

Nobody in the room cared about you doing so, so you stayed seated.

“I lost my entire pants one day,” he stated casually with a soft chuckle, leaning back on the couch. With the way you were right opposite him, he could see your hands shaking a little as you scribbled down something in your little notebook. He had no idea why you even had a notebook since Lori was recording the conversation and his curiosity got the best of him.

You seemed interesting, different; while he was sure the entire auditorium was filled with girls wearing dresses and skirts and tops that would most definitely show off things they weren’t supposed to show off, you were dressed in a pair of black pants and a black blouse that was similar to his, only you had the first few buttons opened and the sleeves rolled up. Equally as black leather flats with a little bow on top adorned your feet and he found himself wondering what color pedicure you could have.

You were beautiful, but not in a typical way most girls that he met were. You intrigued him.

“Why do you write everything down?” he questioned you and your writing came to a halt, exchanging a quick look with Lori who sat on the couch next to Elvis before turning to look at the man in front of you. You let out a small laugh, crossing your legs.

“I believe I’m the person who’s supposed to be asking the questions, Elvis,” you said playfully, not wanting to offend him in any way or whatsoever.

Mr. Kimzey would have your head.

Instead of being offended, which you had feared for a quick second, Elvis threw his head back with a laugh and nodded. His laugh was contagious and you couldn’t help but laugh along a little, gently taking the recorder out of Lori’s hand and putting your notebook down on the table. “But I don’t have to write if you don’t want me to, we can do it like this,”

You leaned your arm on your knee, holding the recorder in between you and Elvis. He looked at you and grinned, shamelessly keeping eye contact. You’d be lying if you’d say it didn’t have any effect on you, because it did; up to the point of your heart skipping a beat and a faint blush coloring your cheeks. Still, you acted as professional and perhaps a little casual as you could, not wanting him to see how he was making you feel. But this man had the eyes of a hawk, ofcourse he noticed, and he wasn’t going to give up the opportunity to tease you a little.

“Let’s do it like this. You got pretty eyes, I wanna look into ‘em when we talk,”

He smirked at the way you blinked a few times, letting out a nervous laugh before clearing your throat. You were glad for Lori when she quickly asked if she could take pictures of him during the interview and he agreed; you tried to compose yourself as much as you could, slowly but surely falling back into your reporter role and asking him questions about his music and shows.

Your questions weren’t bad and Elvis liked them, because he liked talking about his music, and even though the ten minutes Red had given you had almost passed, Elvis did not seem to be in any rush. Even though you were very aware that Elvis Presley was a bit of a flirt, he was also good at keeping up a conversation. He was quick with his answers, polite but playful, and the Southern drawl that laced his tongue definitely added to his charm.

Despite your nerves not being completely gone, you did feel a bit more comfortable than a few minutes ago and Lori seemed to feel the same. Figuring she had taken enough pictures for now, her attention shifted to Red and you didn’t mind it all too much.

“When will you be on tv next?” you asked him, taking a quick sip from your untouched bottle of Pepsi.

“September the 9th, for the Ed Sullivan show,”

“How do you see your future in rock and roll music?”

He smiled softly at your questions. Rather than feeling like he had to think of something smart to say or be extremely polite, he let the conversation flow on its own. He provided you with honest answers, not really caring if the entire story would make it into the article or not because he liked you. He liked that talking to you seemed somewhat of a normal conversation between two young people, between friends.

“I wish I knew,” he told you, shrugging his shoulders a little as he leaned forward. He made sure to keep enough distance from the recorder so you’d still have a good tape to listen back to but he also made sure his knees were nearly touching yours. Your legs were still crossed and your foot was currently pressed against the side of his calf. Neither of you moved away, nor broke eye contact. “I do hope I can continue makin’ music for a long time to entertain people and give the kids an outlet for their energy they can’t let out anywhere else,”

“How does it feel to be up there on that stage?” another question you had not written down, but with the way he was speaking, you were craving for more.

“It’s.. somethin’ out of this world. I met people who get nervous before going on stage and I get nervous too, but once I’m up there, it’s like.. like.. like I’m being transported to another planet or somethin’, you know? I get chills- no, can’t even call ‘em chills… it’s like electricity rushing down my spine. It’s a rush, honey, it’s better than making love,”

All you could do was stare at him. You had no idea what he meant because you had never been on a stage to perform in front of so many people. But he seemed passionate when he was talking about it and even though you could never call yourself a proper fan of Elvis Presley before, you realised that might change after today.

You were already starting to become a fan of his personality, and you couldn’t wait to see him doing his thing on that stage.

“That’s beautiful, Elvis,” you told him honestly, your smile widening a little as you couldn’t even look away from him even if you wanted to. You were drawn to those eyes, drawn to him. “I wish you the best of luck with your music and everything you’ll achieve with it. You touch a lot of people’s hearts, Elvis, so on behalf of your loyal fans; thank you,”

You didn’t want to end the interview, but you knew the minutes on the clock were ticking by and your time here was almost up. Elvis felt the same, but unlike you, he did not seemed to care much about the time.

“Thank you, honey, that’s real nice of you. And don’t be so nervous,” he told you, a grin tugging at his lips as he felt your foot swaying back and forth against his leg. You were still nervous, he got that right, but not because you were in the presence of someone famous or afraid about not doing a good job. You had become nervous because of him; because of the scent of his cologne being so prominent in your aura and those blue orbs looking so deeply into yours. “I’m not gonna bite you,”

You should’ve known that he was going to make a comment like that, but it caught you off guard just a little. Enough to make your cheeks flush and for you to let out a little giggle, making you sound as if you were one of those girls in the auditorium. Still, you weren’t exactly a shy person – you couldn’t afford to be in your line of work – and you didn’t want him to think you’d throw yourself at his feet the way he was used to.

But, you liked the shift in the conversation. It wasn’t the first time a celebrity flirted with you during your work, but it was the first time you actually flirted back.

“Well, I ran all over the city of Los Angeles, looking for good rockin’ tonight,” you grinned at him, feeding him a little lie since you were from Los Angeles and the only place you ran was from the office to the auditorium. Well… you ran for the bus that took you here.

He didn’t care about the details, your comment making excitement tingle in his chest as he leaned his arm on the arm rest of the couch, his head leaning in the palm of his hand. He stretched his right leg out a little, nearly trapping you in your spot with his long limbs while he just casually sat there, smirking.

“Is that right?”

He was giving you the opportunity to take back your words, but with Lori still being occupied with getting her own flirt on, you threw all caution to the wind. Just because you were working, didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun.

“I sure did,” you hummed, nodding your head as you gave him a flirty smile.

“Well, why don’t you come down to my house and I’ll give it to ya?”

You had expected yourself to be taken back by his words more. Never in your short career had you met a male that was so upfront, so unfiltered. Not even Dean Martin. But God, did you like it and you couldn’t help but be pulled into the moment by him. Thinking about the amount of girls that would kill to be in your spot right now, you laughed softly, tugging a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I would love to,” you told him confidently, the little flirty smile never fading off your face. “Where are you from?”

“Memphis, Tennessee,”

“Memphis,” you repeated with a slight nod. “And how old are you?”

“Twenty one,” he grinned, shooting his answers back at you as quick as you asked them while his leg was pressing firmer against yours. You had to fight the urge to look down at your legs nearly tangled together, or to touch him.

He on the other hand didn’t hold back as your next question flew off your tongue, leaning forward to let his fingertips draw small circles on your knee. “Still out looking for a girl?”

“I think I found her,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow at you as he tapped his finger on your knee. “You,”

You raised your eyebrows, letting out an amused laugh. “Is that so?”

“Definitely,”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Elvis,” you promised, noticing Red signing for you to wrap up from the corner of your eye. Looking at Elvis, you chuckled softly and he went as far as to engulf your knee with his large palm, slipping it a little further up your leg to squeeze your thigh.

“Thank you so much, honey, and don’t be so nervous. Honestly, there’s nothing to it,”

Another squeeze, his teeth tugging at his lower lip a little though he hadn’t stopped grinning and looking at you with those bedroom eyes the entire time.

“Nothing to it? I think I could’ve gotten an interview with the president quicker than I could with you,” you winked at him, laughing softly. He chuckled, answering you as if you and him were having nothing but an interview, as if his hand wasn’t creeping higher and higher up your thigh.

“I’ve enjoyed talking to you, honey, and I’ll see you again and we’ll talk some more,”

You knew you couldn’t put this in your article and you didn’t want to. Ofcourse, you were not the first girl he flirted with like this, but it was a moment you did not want to share with his fans. You didn’t want to share it with anyone other than Elvis and the people in the room right now, although you doubted anyone was paying attention to the both of you.

You cut off the recorder and smiled at him, neither of you moving an inch until Red suddely stood next to you, telling Elvis he had five minutes until show time. He immediately removed his hand from your thigh and you shot up from the table, gathering your things in your arms.

“You’re stayin’ for the show, right?”

You looked at Elvis as you stood up straight, Lori immediately agreeing as she appeared next to you. The two of you weren’t planning on staying, but right now it felt like the right thing to do. You didn’t want to leave Elvis, wanted to spend more time with him, and you were curious about seeing him perform.

Seeing how Lori and Red were looking at each other, you grinned. You weren’t about to cock block your co-worker and friend.

“We’ll stay and watch the show,” you told Elvis with a smile, which he returned. He also pulled you into a hug, acting as if he had known you for years already as he squeezed you firmly in his embrace before getting ready to go on stage.

You and Lori had the best spot in the entire auditorium, standing on the side of the stage, hidden away from the audience. Red and some of the other guys that were in the dressing room earlier were standing alongside you, but Red was too busy with Lori and the other guys didn’t pay you much attention.

You didn’t mind it, your eyes glued on Elvis with every move he made. You had heard the stories about his shows, but experiencing it live and from this up close yourself, you were slowly starting to understand what he was talking about earlier and why people were so crazy about him.

He never lost one second of attention from the screaming crowd, giving them the attention right back as he dragged the microphone stand across the floor, lowering himself to the floor. The screams were getting louder and louder as he let people touch him and tug on him and his clothes. It was crazy, exciting and even a little scary at some times.

It was a rush; it was electrifying.

The red tie had survived until the end of the show and as Elvis ran toward you and the others, he took off his jacket and threw it in Red’s arms. He pulled his tie off, hanging it around your neck with a laugh before wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You didn’t even have time to say anything or ask where you were going as you and Lori didn’t have a choice but to follow the guys when they pulled you along.

You found yourself waiting outside of the men bathrooms for a few minutes with the others, where Elvis splashed some water in his face and ran his wet hands through his hair until it was completely soaked. Instead of going back to the dressing room, you and Lori were ushered into a car by the guys, Red rushing to get behind the wheel.

“Are you kidnapping me, Elvis Presley?”

He laughed, his arm still resting around your shoulder as he breathed heavily, still high on adrenaline. “I’m not- wait, I don’t even know your name, honey,”

That was right. You had never given him your name, because you were pretty much starstruck the second you walked into his dressing room and he made you fix his tie.

“It’s Y/N, and that’s Lori,” you giggled, pointing at your friend that was in between Red and another guy at the front of the Cadillac you found yourself in. Elvis quickly introduced himself to her before he turned back to you, his breath warm on your face because you were pressed up against each other in the tight space of a full backseat.

“Sorry for rushin’ you outta there so soon, Y/N. I wanted to spend some more time with you but we usually go right back to the motel after a show. Hope you don’t mind?”

At least now you knew where you were going. It made your heart leap pathetically in your chest, but you managed to keep yourself cool, looking casual; just because he was taking you back to his motel didn’t mean something had to happen. You were sure other girls had been in your spot before and you really weren’t interested to be used for pleasure and then be tossed aside like garbage.

But looking at him now, smiling down at you so confidently and looking so disheveled but delicious, you didn’t know if you could keep the promise you made to yourself of not becoming one of those girls.

“I don’t mind, as long as you give us a ride back home,” you grinned and he immediately nodded as he promised you he would.

Everyone gathered in Elvis’ room to enjoy room service and good conversations. You learned that aside from a few beers, Elvis and his friends didn’t indulge in a lot of alcoholic beverages, but rather a lot of food. While Lori didn’t turn down a beer as she sat at Red’s side, you were perfectly fine sipping on a Pepsi and you were glad Elvis didn’t pressure you to have something stronger either. You figured it’d be best to stay sober if you wanted to survive this night.

Adrenaline was still rushing through Elvis’ veins as he was talking to everyone in the room, talking about the show and the people in the crowd. He was happy with how the show went and his smile widened even more as you complimented him on his performance.

“I’ve never seen anything like it, you were just amazing, Elvis!” you gushed happily, the others going back to their own conversations and the food as you and Elvis sat closely together on the edge of his bed. “That electricity you were talking about… I didn’t understand it at first, but seeing you up there, it felt like I was experiencing what you were experiencing. It’s.. it’s crazy!”

He was laughing at your enthusiasm and the way you were talking got his energy even higher, happy that you were so excited. “Was that enough rockin’ for you, honey?”

Not missing the playful tone in his voice, you grinned at him and gave him a soft shove by bumping your shoulder against his. “Well, maybe, unless those hips need to release a little more tension,”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and although he laughed at your words, it made blood rush down to his cock. He wasn’t the type to sleep around with girls without getting to know them first; he wasn’t a one night stand kind of guy. But he was going to the next city tomorrow and he had no idea when, or even if, he was going to see you again. It was no lie that he was attracted to you, both physically and mentally.

He liked you and although he would not mind to spend the night just talking, he was craving to taste you.

Craving to be balls deep inside of you, to be completely fair.

“Maybe they do,” he whispered, sitting so close to you that your shoulders were pressed up against each other, his eyes wandering over your face to drink in every detail. You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered at your lips a little longer than necessary and you had to fight the urge to kiss him, because you were still surrounded by his friends and Lori.

“At least your tie survived,” you said, laughing sheepishly as you broke the tension between you two, lifting the tie that was still around your neck. He looked down at the fabric, chuckling softly as he bumped his shoulder against yours, taking a sip of his beer.

Lori seemed to be starstruck as well, only not by Elvis, but by his friend Red. You were surprised when she pulled you aside and asked if you’d mind if she stayed the night in Red’s room – pleasantly surprised. You were too weak to tell Elvis no and when he asked you to stay the night earlier, you were a little nervous about talking about it to Lori, though now that she had the same plans as you and was the one bringing up the subject herself, you were thankful you didn’t have to do so.

Elvis swiftly but nonchalantly announced that he was tired, getting everyone out the room. You hugged Lori, wishing her a good night and telling her you’d see her tomorrow – she told you to be careful, giving you a wiggle of her eyebrows before she ran after Red with a giggle.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Elvis told you, before he disappeared into the bathroom once you gave him a nod. Not long after the shower turned on, there was a knock on the door and as you peeped through the little hole, you opened it to greet Red once more. He gave you a little bag of toiletries Elvis asked him to get from the vending machine in the lobby and you waved him off again, though not after telling him to treat Lori well. He gave you a knowing smile as he agreed.

Elvis came out of the bathroom a few minutes later with a pair or fresh boxershorts on and a simple white shirt. He put the clothes he wore earlier tonight in what you assumed was one of the laundry suitcases, before he opened another one and grabbed a button up out of it.

“It’s clean,” he assured with a soft laugh as he handed you the piece of clothing, to which you nodded and walked into the bathroom.

Locking the door behind you, you moved around the small bathroom in a hurry. You were excited to spend the night with Elvis Presley, but also nervous. No one could ever know about this other than the people involved, because you could definitely lose your job over this. But you had come too far to back out now; you were standing in your underwear in Elvis’ bathroom, freshening yourself up a little and brushing your teeth as quick as you could. You’d always like to think you were hard to get, wanting to make men really work for your attention, but the truth was.. when it came to Elvis, it seemed as if your body was on automatic pilot.

You’d act before you’d think.

After applying some lipbalm to your lips and slipping into the shirt Elvis gave you, you fixed your hair a little and folded your clothes, walking out of the bathroom with your flats dangling from your fingertips. Putting your clothes on the couch, along with the red tie, and placing your shoes on the floor, you turned to Elvis and smiled.

He patted the empty spot in bed next to him and you bit your lip to stop your smile from aching your cheeks, walking over to him and slipping into his bed. It felt a little awkward to lay there next to a man you did not even know, but as the both of you rolled onto your sides to face each other and look into each others’ eyes, he didn’t feel as the electrifying superstar anymore. Sure, he still had that flirty aura around him, but that cocky smirk had turned into a small, genuine smile.

He felt like a normal person.

He felt human.

“I don’t usually do this,” he whispered, reaching out his hand to play with a lock of your hair.

“Sleeping with reporters, or girls in general?”

“Both,” he admitted and you laughed, obviously not believing him. He propped his elbow into his pillow, leaning his head in his hand.

“I’m bein’ serious, Y/N. I don’t sleep around, don’t have a new girl in my bed in every next town,”

He sounded serious and as you rolled onto your stomach and looked at him, you believed him. Though perhaps it were your own insecurities hiding under the surface that still made you a little doubtful, and Elvis was quick to caught onto this.

“You’re a real pretty lady, honey, and I’d like to make love to you but we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he assured you, smiling as his fingers were still running through your hair, playing with it.

“Well, I don’t usually do this either so please don’t think I’m some kind of… floozy. I think you’re sweet, Elvis,” you told him, leaning into his touch a little as his hand moved down to cup your cheek. “Why don’t you kiss me first before we get to the love making?”

You didn’t have to ask him twice; the both of you laughed softly as he leaned down and carefully closed the gap between you. The kiss was slow and gentle at first, but the longer you were taking each others’ breath away, the deeper and more lustful the kiss became. In the heat of the moment, you found yourself laying on your back with him on top of you, his hands exploring your body the same way yours explored his.

With his cock so tight in the confinements of his underwear, he didn’t have enough control to stop anymore either. As he realised you wanted this just as much as he did, he didn’t hold back. Taking off his own shirt and unbottoning yours, he was quick to plant sloppy open mouthed kisses all over your chest, moans leaving you as he sucked, licked and nipped at your hardened nipples. Your hands tangled in his hair, legs wrapped around him to keep him close against you; you felt as if you could come undone from his attention to your chest alone, that’s how turned on you were. Releasing the tension of your legs around him, he kissed his way lower as his hands caressed down your thighs before one of his hands made its way into your panties, his fingertips slipping through the slick of your arousal.

He assured you he’d stop whenever you wanted him, but it was like you had lost all self control. Feeling him so up close to you, his soft lips kissing your face and neck and his hands fondling your breasts underneath the shirt you were wearing, your entire body was practically tingling with arousal. For someone who said he didn’t sleep around often, he sure knew what to do.

“You’re so wet,” he hummed, that small smirk tugging at his lips again. It had you moaning softly, biting your lip as your hips moved along to the rhythm of his fingers that found your clit. “You wanna stop, honey?”

“N-No, Elvis,” you whispered, shaking your head as your eyes met his. “Please don’t stop,”

He smiled, moving his fingers lower to slip one of them into you. He pushed it knuckle deep inside of you, curling his finger a little to hear you moan louder than before. The sound made a chill run down his spine and he didn’t waste any more time, getting comfortable in between your legs after he had taken your panties off and threw them over his shoulder.

If anyone would’ve told you this morning that Elvis Presley would have his face in between your legs by the end of the day, eating you out as if you were one of the best meals he had ever had, you would’ve told the person to get their head checked. But here you were, a moaning mess as Elvis grunted into your folds, his tongue slurping up your arousal while he was looking up at you through half lidded bedroom eyes.

You were happy that he was confident enough to eat you out above the blankets, because this was a sight you wouldn’t want to have missed out on.

The twenty one year old gave you a delicious orgasm that had your thighs shaking like leaves and your walls contrasting harshly. You were more than willing to return the favor, but the only thing he allowed you to do was give him a quick handjob.

“I wanna be inside of you.. Can’t wait any longer,” he croaked out as he was kissing you again, situating himself in between your legs with his boxershorts loosely hanging around his ankles. You cupped his face, nodding as you planted kisses along his jawline and in his neck as he aligned himself at your entrance.

He wasn’t going to tell you a blowjob would have him cum in only a matter of a few minutes, like a pathetical school boy.

Perhaps naive, but you weren’t worried about the lack of a condom; you believed Elvis when he said he didn’t do this often, and you were on the pill. Bringing up the subject of a condom right now would bring the mood down and that was the last thing you wanted.

You hid your face in his neck as he pushed himself inside of you, the both of you moaning in unison when he bottomed out, his lips finding yours again to kiss you. It took a few seconds for the both of you to get used to the feeling of your bodies connecting together so closely, but once you told him to move, he immediately started thrusting into you.

His pace picked up every few seconds and when he was literally fucking you into the mattress with his hands pressed firmly on the pillow on either side of your head, you couldn’t keep yourself quiet. Neither could he, moans and deep grunts rolling off his tongue as he couldn’t look away from your bouncing breasts underneath him. The both of you were so lost in the moment and so high on sex that neither of you heard the moans and creaks of the bed coming from the room next door where Red stayed.

Seemed like you and Elvis hadn’t been the only ones that gave in to the temptations.

With your legs wrapped firmly around him and your hands grabbing onto his arms, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of the man above you. His hair looked even more messy than it did after his performance tonight and this time, you knew it was because of your hands that had been running through it. He allowed you to touch him anywhere you wanted and when he announced he was close to climaxing, you moved your hands down to his ass to keep him in place instead of pulling out which he was planning to do.

“R-Really?” he questioned, making sure you were okay with this. You frantically nodded your head as you moaned, biting his shoulder softly which got his eyes rolling into the back of his head and thrusting into you even harder, chasing his orgasm. It came within a few seconds after you gave him permission, and he painted your walls white with a long, deep moan followed by a grunt right into your ear as he hid his face in your neck.

“I think all tension’s outta my hips,” he laughed after the both of you cleaned yourselves up again and you laid in his arms in the bed. Giggling, you raised your head to look at him and he leaned down to quickly peck your lips.

“I’m glad,” you smiled, tracing his jawline with your nails. “I’ll make sure to write up a real good article,” you teased him, wiggling your eyebrows and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, as well as his legs as he wiggled you from left to right in his grip.

“Interview me again when we wake up. I’d like this one to stay private,”

You looked at him as he stopped messing around with you and you stopped laughing, nodding your head. “I’d like that too, Elvis,”

He smiled at you, pushing your hair out of your face before he took your face in his hands and kissed your lips a few times.

“How can you come to Memphis for some real good rockin’ if you get fired?” he teased with a smile on his face, nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours.

“I think we did a pretty good job at that tonight,”

He looked down at you as you giggled, squeezing your face in his hands a little as he let out a mysterious laugh, pressing a harsh long kiss on your squished lips before he wrapped his arms around your shoulders again.

“Oh honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,”

You had no idea if you’d ever see him again after this little rendezvous, but his words still got you excited. If Elvis Presley ever wanted you in his bed again, you sure as hell weren’t going to decline.

#elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis x you #elvis presley x you #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x y/n #elvis smut #elvis presley smut #elvis imagine #elvis presley imagine #elvis #elvis presley #elvis aaron presley #tamwrites

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awakenthemusic · 7 months

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Photo Shoot (Part 1)

“A photo shoot, Sammy, really?” Dean scoffed. Bunch of spoiled-rotten, plucked and primped assholes running around making ridiculous amounts of money to stand around and smile into a camera like an idiot. No, thank you.

“C’mon, Dean, it makes sense. If you were a shapeshifter, wouldn’t you want to be the best-looking person in the room?” Before Dean could answer the question, Sam shot him an innocent look and said, “Oh, and did I mention they’re looking for a PA?”

Tags: Short fic, ~1,700 words, Destiel, Case Fic, UST

For Suptober 2023 Day 5 - Portrait

Part 2 here

Under the cut or on Ao3

*****

Dean’s headset hummed with chatter as he leaned against the wall and sucked down a bottle of water. The shoot wasn’t as much fun as a film set (no Craft Services for one thing, stupid model diets) but something still buzzed happily under Dean’s skin as he worked with the rest of the crew to bring the photographer’s vision to life.

Every two minutes, someone needed something new. Dean bounced from job to job, solving problem after problem, no time to worry, no time to think, just focused on the here and now and letting everything flow. He hadn’t felt so alive while doing anything other than slicing and dicing a monster in years.

Speaking of, Dean thought. I wonder how Sammy’s getting on with the case. He had stopped by to ask Dean something a couple of hours ago, but that had been right when Monica had had her tantrum and all hell had broken loose. Afterward, Dean had been too busy cleaning up the diva’s strawberry-açaí-whatever smoothie to pay much attention to what Sam had been saying.

Seriously, you’d think with how little these people were allowed to eat, they’d want to hang on to their food and not go throwing it around the studio...

A new voice in his ear caught Dean’s attention. “Where the hell are Ross and Penn? We can’t start the formal wear shoot without them.”

Looks like break time’s over. Dean was off again, radioing in as he walked toward the dressing rooms.

*****

The two models were nowhere to be found. The crew and assistants had canvased the entire studio and, if the two men had been here earlier, they sure as hell weren’t here now.

The photographer was livid.

“What do you mean they’re not here?” He fumed, his bushy mustache quivering with rage as his assistant cowered. “What am I paying you idiots for if you can’t even keep track of two lousy models?”

Suddenly, Cas stepped up next to Dean and asked quietly, “What’s going on?”

Dean turned, his scowl disappearing as he said, “Hey, Cas.”

Cas smiled softly. “Hello, Dean.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Sam left me a message this morning.” Cas stepped a little closer, lowering his voice to murmur below the photographer’s continued yelling. “You’re here hunting a shapeshifter?”

“Yep.” Dean swallowed, fighting through the tingly rush that always seemed to wash over him when Cas stood this close. “Sam thinks it’s one of the models.”

“Ah. I’ll get as close as I can,” Cas said, scanning the faces in the small crowd gathered around. “I should be able to spot the shifter easily.”

Cas’ gaze swung back around to Dean and, for a moment, all Dean could do was nod.

They stared at each other, oblivious to the world as the photographer ranted, “… anyone! Get me… Hey, you two!”

Sudden silence pulled Dean out of their impromptu staring contest. He turned to find the photographer and his assistant looking right at him and Cas.

Just in case there was any confusion who the photographer was talking about, he shouted, “PA dude and Trench Coat guy! Congratulations, you’ve just been promoted!”

*****

Twenty minutes of hair, makeup, clothes fittings, and light checks, later, Dean felt vaguely like he'd been put through a car wash without a car. The sheer number of people who had been involved with primping, pressing, and pinning him into the nicest suit he'd ever worn was impressive, if also mildly terrifying.

Now, he stood under the hot lights, ants crawling around under his skin as everyone in the room stared at him. Shit, where the fuck is Cas?

"Finally," the photographer, whose name was apparently Morris, said, glancing behind Dean.

The costume assistant shot past Dean grumbling something under their breath that sounded a lot like, "Goddamn shoulders."

Dean turned around, relieved that Cas was finally joining him, but his greeting died on his tongue. As soon as he caught sight of Cas, Dean's brain screeched to a sudden halt with an audible crash.

Goddamn shoulders was right. Cas was dressed in a black suit that clung to his body in all the right places. His shoulders looked wide enough to park the Impala on, his biceps bulged under the fine fabric of the suit's sleeves, and his thighs... oh, fuck, if his thighs were anything to go by, Dean might just die on the spot if he caught sight of Cas' ass.

Dean finally met Cas' eyes and shivered at the fire he found there. Apparently, the nice clothes were doing Dean some favors too. He swallowed, straightening up and telling himself that his mouth was only dry because of all the hot lights blazing from every angle.

Someone whistled low and Dean heard Morris say, "Yeah, I can work with that."

*****

Dean took back every bad thing he'd ever said or thought about models in his motherfucking life. Turns out 'standing around looking good and smiling for a camera' was a hell of a lot of work. Dean learned more about lighting and angles and makeup and hair products over the next couple of hours than he'd have thought possible, all while straining to contort and hold his body in unnatural positions, smiling until his face ached, and sweating more than he did digging up graves under the studio's bright lights.

At least Cas was right there with him. He even had the decency to at least look like he was just as miserable and sweaty as Dean was, though that might have had more to do with his ongoing attempt to blend in with humanity rather than an effort to keep Dean's morale up.

Among other things... Dean thought as he caught himself staring at Cas' ass in the latest pair of sinfully-tight suit pants. He chugged yet another bottle of water and stepped strategically sideways to help rearrange things in his own, tightening, pants.

"Alright, last set-up, people!"

Dean sagged in relief as he stepped up onto the slightly-raised stage the crew had been redressing and relighting. There was now some kind of sturdy long chair (what were those called? a chaise or something?) in the middle of the space along with several rugs and throw blankets, all in the same neutral color that all the sets had been in today, apparently 'to let the clothes pop!'

"Dan," Morris growled at Dean, still getting his name wrong. (Dean had given up correcting him after the first hour) "You lie back on the chair. Chase," He continued, (at least indiscriminate with his memory problems) turning to Cas. "You get on top of him like we talked about."

Dean froze, perched awkwardly on the edge of the chair as Morris' words registered. Say what now?

A very tired, very cranky, very red-faced Cas stomped up onto the stage, looking like heavenly fury personified, his patience ready to snap and smite every human who had dared to put him in this position in the first place. He marched over to Dean, manhandled him flat on his back on the chair without so much as asking permission, planted one of his knees in between Dean's, and leaned all the way into Dean's personal space, his hands on either side of Dean's head on the back of the chair.

Dean stared up at Cas' face from way too close for his own sanity, swallowed heavily, and desperately tried to convince his downstairs brain that this wasn't the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. Time seemed suspended for a long moment as Cas just hovered above him, ignoring Dean like they did this every day, as he stared at the people moving around them, waiting for them to finish the final light check.

Dean took a few unsteady breaths (through his mouth, Cas smelled way too good) and tried his best to relax and go with the flow. None of this mattered, not really. It was just some photo shoot, just another undercover job for a case, nothing to get excited about.

The crew finished the light check and Cas' eyes slammed into Dean's. Just another case, just another case. I'm sweating because the lights are too damn hot and this is just another case.

The photographer took shot after shot, calling out minute changes to their position several times as the shutter clicked. "Looking great, guys. Cash," Morris called out to Cas again (at least he was closer this time.) "Ready for you to make your move."

Dean had a split second to wonder what the hell that was supposed to mean before Cas reached down, grabbed hold of the tie that was knotted loosely around Dean's neck, and pulled, yanking his head up off the back of the chair. Dean's entire torso lifted off the seat until he and Cas were suspended over the chair, only an inch or two separating them. Dean gasped, his hand flying up to grip Cas' shoulder, as his face stopped within inches of Cas', their eyes locking together.

All thought of this being just another case flew out of Dean's mind. From this close, he could see the moment that Cas' pupils dilated, the sparks that had been flying back and forth between them all afternoon suddenly igniting in a crackle of electricity in the air between them.

"Gorgeous, guys! Hold it right there," Morris sang out happily as Dean's brain melted out of his ears, every thought in his head turning to static as Cas held him close. Close enough that all either one of them would have to do is tilt their head...

"Perfect!" Morris shouted, shaking Dean out of his stupor. "That's all for today, folks. Good work, everyone!"

#suptober23 #destiel #fanfic #fanfiction #spn #supernatural #myfics

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deadendsave · 1 year

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Mitchell Nguyen’s Journal (1)

1: Mom and I went our usual route to hunt rabbits. It got dark a lot faster than we anticipated. We had cleared the area just a few days ago, so we decided we’d just hunt quickly. How stupid of us. The gunshots alerted the sick, it was like they came out of nowhere. I shot as many as I could, mom blasted through them too. We thought we had gotten rid of them all, so we started to head back home. That’s when a stray come up behind her. I took it out, but I wasn’t quick enough.

2: It bit her on the neck. Not enough for her to bleed out, but it didn’t matter. We both knew that was her death sentence. The look on her face, man. Fuck. All those years of us surviving together, being so cautious, just for one wrong decision to end it all. I told her we needed to go home. She tried to stay in the woods but I wouldn’t let her. More of them would just smell her blood and kill her before she could even turn.

3: We got back to the cabin and sat down on the couch. Neither one of us knew what to say. We didn’t know how long we had left together. It could be an hour, it could be a day. The sounds of her hysterically crying broke the n silence. All I could do was hold and try to comfort her. “Shhh, Mom. I love you. It’s okay. I love you.”

4: Eventually, I managed to get her to calm down by handing her a photo album she had somehow kept all those years. She wiped her tears and smiled as she looked through it. “So many good memories. This was me when I was your age, I was in Vietnam. Your grandfather always taught me how important it was to learn about our culture and keep our traditions. I wanted to go, so he took me to visit family. It was beautiful. You would have loved it.”

5: “Look Mitch! That’s us the day I brought you home from the hospital. I was so young. I worried so much about if I’d be a good enough mother. I didn’t sleep that entire night, I stayed up to make sure you were breathing. You were such a beautiful baby.”

6: I reassured her that she was the best mom in the world. She reminisced about life before the outbreak and told me about how difficult it was to raise me as a single mother while running a bakery with my grandfather full-time. She said all the customers loved me. She also spoke about how hard it had been for her when LHV was first announced, being alone with 4-year-old me. She always kept me safe and fought so hard to protect me.

7: As much as I tried to appreciate the final moments I had with my mom, the feeling of dread still lingered. She could turn at any moment. Her symptoms would show up soon, i tried to prepare myself. We were both exhausted; it had to have been at least midnight by now.

8: She hummed a song she used to sing to me as a kid and brushed my hair with her fingers. “Son, you can’t let me turn into one of them. I know it’s a lot to ask, but you have to do it. You have to shoot me before I turn. I don’t want to become one of them, and I don’t want to end up hurting you.” She got up and walked into her bedroom.

9: I sat in shock for a minute, how was I supposed to kill my own mom? I understood why she asked me to, but I didn’t know if I could actually do it. I had only killed one other person before, a man who snuck into our cabin and tried to attack her. He was a fucking pervert and he deserved it. My mom was a good person, and I didn’t know if I could take her life. I just sat there, contemplating what I would do when she turned. None of my options felt right.

10: She came back into the living room and I could tell she felt like shit. She tried to act like she was fine, but I could tell she was in pain. She looked pale, the arm where she was bitten was twitching. When I felt her forehead she was burning up. I told her to lay down on the couch. I got a rag, dipped it in some of the river water we had collected that morning, and laid it on her forehead. She thanked me in the most gentle, broken voice.

11: She started twitching more and sweating so bad her clothes were drenched. The virus was taking over. She coughed up a lot of blood, I got her a bucket and placed it beside her. She started groaning in pain. I just had to sit there, watching her suffer. I was still weighing my options. It was hard to see her like that. I didn’t want her to be in pain. But I also didn’t want her to die. “It’s time, son.” She could barely get the words out.

12: “Please Mitch. Please.” / “Mom I can’t do it. I can-, I can’t do-.” / “You have to. I can’t control it any longer.” / I picked up the pistol off the side table. My hands were shaking so bad I dropped it. I knew I had to do it, her pleas were so desperate. I kissed her on the forehead and thanked her for everything she had done for us. She tried to say something, but all her throat could let out was a quiet rattle. I picked the pistol back up, told her I loved her, and ended her pain.

13: After that, I went numb. I couldn’t cry, no matter how hard I tried. Numbness was how I handled things now. I walked into her bedroom and took the sheets off her bed. She had left me a note, but I wasn’t ready to read it yet, so I put it in my pocket. I walked back to the living room and covered her body with the sheets before heading to my own bedroom so I could try to sleep, even though I didn’t really want to. I knew I had to rest though, because I was alone now. Surviving would be a lot harder.

14: The next morning I woke up and paced around the cabin. I knew I couldn’t stay there anymore, not with everything that had just happened. I gathered all the supplies we had. Before leaving, I placed my mom’s photo album on top of her and said my final goodbye. After one last look around the place, I headed out, not knowing where to go from there.

15: Week 2: I’ve been keeping track of the days by counting the sunrise each morning. The first week was tough; I ran into a lot of the sick. The anger and adrenaline helped me survive the encounters. I figured out that if I set up camp near the river, the sick will be less likely to attack me in my sleep because they don’t like water. I still have the note from my mom; I’m not ready to read it yet.

16: Week 5: I’m losing my grip. The isolation is making me crazy. I’m surrounded by nothingness, just trees and the constant threat of the sick or looters sneaking up on me. I’m starting to wonder if any of this is worth living for. Mom’s gone, I’m completely alone. I might never find anyone, anyone that’s still a decent person at least. It would be so easy for me to let go. There’s nobody left to miss me.

17: Even if somehow, somewhere, there’s a person capable of creating a cure, it’s a hopeless cause. There are more sick than survivors. A vaccine wouldn’t work on the sick; they’re too far gone. If the vaccine prevented us humans from getting infected, there’s still the fact that we could get mauled by them at any moment. It all seems so pointless now.

18: This wasteland of an earth is just a playground for the sick to feed and for the evil people that have no ounce of humanity left in them to do whatever they want to the innocent people that are just trying to survive. Kidnapping, torturing, murdering, just because those sick fucks enjoy it. They know they don’t have to face any consequences. The government and military are nearly gone; they were just as bad. This isn’t a world where good people get to win.

note from mom: Mitchell, being your mother has been my greatest achievement. I’m proud of the man you’re becoming. You’re strong, but you’ve got a gentle heart. Don’t let what happened to me change that. It was not your fault. Keep fighting, do it for me. Find other survivors, find happiness, find love. That’s what I want for you. A good life. I wish we had more time together, but we were lucky for the moments we got. I cherished them all. I love you son. Remember you are not alone, because I am with you always. - Ma

19: I finally read my mom’s note. She wants me to not blame myself for what happened, but I could’ve saved her if I had just shot one second quicker. She wants me to be happy, find other survivors. I don’t even know if that’s possible now. I’m gonna keep going, for her. But I don’t think I’ll get to be happy again. I’m gonna keep following the river until I find other survivors; that might get me killed though. I don’t care; it’s not like I have anything to lose.

20: Week 8: I found a town. All I’ve seen so far are a bunch of empty, rundown homes. I kept following the river like I had planned. I’m gonna stay in one of these houses for a few days, then I’ll keep going.

21: Week 9: I found other survivors. Well, they found me, and they tried to kill me. Two looters, both looked about 30. One had a rifle. He shot me by the eye. I managed to take both of them out. I don’t know how I survived that or how I’m not blind in my left eye. I guess I’m just lucky. I ran off in case they had friends nearby. I ended up in the middle of town and noticed some buildings that still had power.

22: I decided to test my luck even more by approaching the building. That’s when I was greeted by a shotgun pointed towards me. I thought that was it for me, but the man asked me who I was and why I was there. I told him I was alone and that I needed help. He didn’t trust me, I don’t blame him because I didn’t trust him either. But my face was pouring blood, and I was desperate.

#mitch #millhaven journals #suicide tw

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hannahsmusings · 2 years

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Lou

*Louis’ face breaks out into a giant grin as you agree, smiling down at you, looking at you as if you hung the stars in the sky yourself, these little reminders that you liked him were slowly becoming his favorite thing, not quite sure how he got so lucky to have someone like you like him back, never believing himself to be that lucky of a guy* *he chuckles at your words about a cuddle, wiggling his brows at you playfully* Not gonna lie, I give the world’s best cuddles. *he smirks playfully before leading you over to the love seat, not noticing Jay’s eyes on the pair of you* *he plops himself down onto the loveseat before motioning for you to do the same, his arm immediately snaking around your shoulders and bringing you into him, letting your head rest on his shoulder* Do you want a blanket or anything, love? *he whispers to you, not wanting to interrupt the movie but also wanting you to be comfortable*

*Jay could barely focus on the movie when her eldest baby was cuddling with someone just a few feet away from her, never experiencing Louis being so comfortable in front of his family with a girl before, usually never bringing a girl around unless the family was out and if they were home, they’d just spend their time up in Louis’ room and Jay wouldn’t even get a chance to say anything more than hi to her* *she steals a glance as she hears Louis whisper to you, her heart fit to burst in her chest at the sight, wanting to take a picture but knowing she couldn’t be that mom, at least not yet* *she takes a mental photo, wanting to remember this, knowing this moment, this entire day really, was important and she wanted to be able to look back at it down the road* You two came in right at the good part. It’s about to get very sappy. You might see Lou get a little teary eyed, love. *she chuckles as Louis shoots her a glare, Jay being the only person that Lou ever showed that sort of emotion in front of during these stupid sappy Christmas films*

_______________________________________

*smiles fondly at you as you pull me down next to you on the loveseat, shaking my head at your question before glancing nervously at Jay to see whether she was watching but seeing she was distracted as I sit against your side and rest my head on your shoulder, not realising she'd turned to look just at that moment* *looks up at you with hooded eyes as you look down at me, offering you a smile before looking up as Jay speaks, blushing a little but seeing she paid no mind to our position and appreciating how comfortable I was here* *laughs a little as she mentions you getting teary eyed* Aw, the big bad boxer is a softie. *pokes your cheek fondly in teasing, already knowing it and that being a huge part of why I liked you, you had strength and could easily protect me which was already attractive but then to have you soft and vulnerable too was the perfect mix* *turns to the TV and grins* I love this movie. *murmurs, it being a Christmas classic and smiling as I seek out your hand that wasn't wrapped around my shoulders and lace our fingers over our lap*

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oneoftheprettynerds · 3 years

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Welcome To The Darkside: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 1 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series

A/N: I just posted a story I know but I’m in love with this idea right now and this is my favourite fic right now. It’s going to be a three or four part fic I think and your support in any form: like, comment or reblog is appreciated greatly. Here is a piece of my heart right here.

Warning: Eventual Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, sort of Blood Kink I think, Cheap Tricks later.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can't ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can't get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Chapter 1 : Welcome to The Darkside

The gunshots around you frightened you more than anything in your life ever had. The merry, joyful ambience of the carnival was ruined in an instant. Screams around you provoked your panic-stricken form to gather your wits and run or hide. It wasn’t just you caught up in this dreadful situation, there was also someone you’d protect at any cost.

Picking your daughter up and setting her on your hip, you looked around for the way out. Who would have thought that open grounds were hard to get out of? Another wave of terror ran through you when the gunshots audibly neared and the crowd ran in random directions.

You decided to go along the way you recognised the games and shops at. You ran as fast as you could, checking on Grace in between to find her looking curiously all around but still more intent on eating her cotton candy than inspecting. You couldn’t be more thankful for kids' oblivion than at that moment in time.

A bomb explosion up ahead in your path made you halt in your tracks because you knew some of the attackers were scouting there. Turning back wasn’t an option, neither was crying and you were sure you closer to the exit this way. Another blast behind you took away the option of you retracing your path. You weren’t considering it but it gave you little comfort to have your options open.

As the shrieks and screeches grew tenfold, your best bet was to hide, the assaulters had already surrounded the field, the chaos around you informed you. Jumping through innumerable dead bodies, of kids and adults that ached your heart, and dodging bullets while laying low, you went inside a photo booth to hide.

This will not be in vain; you’d protect Grace no matter what.

The curtain to the photo booth provided cover from predatory eyes while the rest of the metal booth was quite safe against bullets you concluded hopefully.

You were just looking for a weapon to prepare for any adversity that might come your way, when the sound of crunching of pebbles made their way to your ears.

Failing to find a weapon in few seconds you opted to attack the intruder yourself when a voice reached your ears, “Mama?”

You puzzled your eyebrows and lowered your defences by just a bit when a toddler stumbled inside the booth, blonde haired and blue eyed. You were definitely not this girl’s mama but you grabbed the kid’s forearm and pulled her inside, shushing her gently and seating her beside Grace on the sitting bench inside. You were thankful Grace entertained her by offering her the pink cloud of sweetness.

You peeked outside but failed to find anyone else in 20 metre radii of you, nobody resembling the wandering kid nor looking for one. You did not know what you would do with another kid in your hands in this dire situation nor was it a wise decision to bring her inside and take her under your wing but you did not have it in you to leave an unsuspecting child, a mere four or three-year-old at that, during a calamity so extreme.

Your maternal instincts governed your thought process, imagining Grace to be in her shoes, all alone and discarded while a possible terrorist attack was happening. The kids’ corpses lying outside gave you no doubt that these children’s fate would be the same if found by the attackers.

A small tug in your dress made you look back and you found the azure eyed kid at your feet, offering you the street food you bought earlier while hugging your leg and observing you. Grace munched in the back silently, still happily eating and unaware.

You kneeled and whispered, “What’s your name, honey?” Maybe the girl understood the urgency, maybe she was just mimicking you but even she murmured in a low voice, “Sarah.”

You nodded, “Sweetie, I need you to sit there quietly and make no sounds, okay? We are playing a staying quiet game.” That was a stupid thing to ask of a kid but you hoped, you really, really hoped she would comply.

Her eyes widened in recognition of something as she eagerly asked, still in a hushed mumble, “Like I does for Dada in meekings?”

“Yes, you smart kiddo. Exactly that.” You replied with what you hoped was a convincing smile and ruffled her hair while nudging her towards her former seat. With kids, you knew a little encouragement went a long way to get them to do things. She whispered an ‘okay Mama’ and went about and sat.

You didn’t get to enjoy her obedience as the thud of pebbles crunching met your ears again. Your breath hitched; your intuition told you that this was not another kid confusing you for its parent.

Your eyes found a discarded piece of metal rod from the booth’s wrecked framework. You grabbed and hoped for the best, to save both the kids at your ability’s mercy.

Steve only saw red. The moment the first shot sounded in the air, he knew whom the assailants were, whom they were coming for. Going out tonight was a bad idea, a really reckless one indeed but when his daughter started bawling seeing the carnival’s lights from the car and wanted to get up and close, he couldn’t say no. He really tried to though, he really did.

It hadn’t been even a year since his wife died, but the father-daughter duo was getting by. He knew his wife took his daughter to the carnival and bought her things, toys and teddies, on every birthday of her own. It was a ritual his wife started, spending her birthday with her little offspring during the daylight and going out for a romantic dinner at the end of the day with her dear spouse. If only things could still be that way, could still stay the same.

When his wife turned out to be an elaborate spy all along, he was baffled. His professional side was, dare he say, impressed by the commitment to character but his personal side was beyond disappointed, disheartened in the worst way because his daughter was his most precious asset in this cruel world and that gift was given by such a treacherous person.

She begged and pled for mercy, to let Sarah have her mother and swore on her life that she quit her espionage journey when she actually fell in love but Steve didn’t trust a single syllable out of her filthy, deceiving mouth, not anymore.

He didn’t kill her though, because Sarah was his first priority no matter what. Her assassination was the work of his rival mob, ‘The Vice Kings’ led by the bastard Rumlow. It was an open invitation for war in the city, for them money came first and useless people had to die. They killed two birds with a single stone, git rid of a useless former member and successfully made a statement.

Then began the still happening rivalry between those Vices and his mob, ‘The Avenging Cartel’. The wound from his wife’s assassination was still fresh, he didn’t miss her as much as he had taken the hit to his pride. There had been a peaceful agreement until the brutal maiming of his spouse and now he was working more than ever, barely able to make time for his princess and that was his only regret, missing her childhood.

And now he felt more futile, his palette of emotions ranging from hues of ire to shades of dread. He couldn’t believe his entourage of trained professionals failed to monitor a two-year-old. He had just stepped aside to take a call, leaving her with his latest driver and three bodyguards. How could he be that clueless to not realise the imposters infiltrating his ranks, standing right there and selling away his location?

As soon as the sound of the first firearm shooting reached his ears, he leapt towards his daughter only to find her missing. His little minx thankfully escaped for one of her little adventures and successfully evaded these cheats, whom he shot right in the middle of the eyes when he glanced at the grenades packing in the coats’ undersides.

His moment of gratitude evaporated in mere seconds as he realised that the Vices now surrounded the entire area, their mission being his daughter’s abduction. If they wanted to kill both of them, they would have already, considering Steve’s distraction gave them quite too many openings. They wanted him to surrender, because mobs worked that way; only when one leader signed off his territories did it become the other party’s possession. If they just cut one head, another would grow in its place, a new leader would succeed the predecessor.

He sent emergency signals to both Barnes and Wilson, the only ones he could trust right now, summoning them with back-ups. The screams of the crowd did not ease him at all, piling on his burden and stress as he prayed for the first time ever, that by some miracle he would reach his daughter first in this field and she would safely be in his arms by the end of the night, not become a victim to what his enemies were planning.

He did have a tracker in her pendant but this realisation hit him later than he’d like to admit, the frustration clawing away his wits. The ground was now quite empty, piles of bodies scattered across the field abruptly where people became victims to the grenades, any person who failed to protect themselves, died. As he was pulling his phone out again, his eyes caught sight a flower bead. The same bead he and his daughter used to make a bracelet a month ago. She wore that everywhere, to day-care, while bathing, to birthdays.

The bracelet was obviously broken now but it was almost like a trail that led to his treasure, like in the Hansel and Gretel’s fairy-tale that Sarah loved. He followed with quiet steps, the beads far apart and some resting under the debris but they sure did lead him somewhere, and when he found the even the pendant in his path, he knew he had only the few beads to rely on.

Some thumps and crashes made him alert, his pistol ready, and when he neared carefully to a distorted metal framework of sorts, his eyes widened.

A young woman had a body in front of her lying on the ground. In a pool of scarlet it rested, still and unmoving while her breathing quickened, her eyes shining with tears that she tried too damn hard to confine to her eyes. He knew how hard the first kill always was, but one grows numb with increase in body count.

Brave women were his type and he would have been turned on by her courage, her hands stained red with whatever weapon she attacked with. Her soft facial features and her curves in the dress she wore were a show stopper for sure, and he would’ve been flirting with her if it was not for the brutal severity of the situation, his daughter missing and in possible danger.

His vigilant senses, courtesy of the epinephrin, picked up two things; the butterfly bead that rested in the door of the booth the woman stood at and the creep shadowing her from behind, ready to attack with a baseball bat he might have found in one of the other game shops.

Steve used his position behind the neighbouring booth to make a bull’s eye shot, the bullet going just an inch above the female’s shoulder and going across the creep’s head. The logo on the corpse’s leather jacket showed Steve he picked the right side to defend.

The sheer suddenness of the move caught the woman off guard as she dropped her weapon and twisted back to find the soulless eyes of her possible attacker staring at her. She quickly armed herself with her attacking rod once again and tried to trace the bullet back from its shooter, her eyes wide and calculating.

Steve decided it was time to interrogate, to find Sarah.

The graze of the bullet above your shoulder alarmed you and you stood dumbfounded only for an instant though. You were sure the bullet was meant for you but the thud of a body behind you, seemingly preparing to attack you proved you wrong.

Calming yourself, you still stood on the ball, because someone killing your attacker didn’t necessarily mean you were safe. With just a pull of the trigger, your fate could very easily be the same. You had to play this smart.

“Lower your weapon. I won’t repeat myself.” A husky voice called out, laced with seriousness which left no room for argument.

You did as he said, knowing that shabby rod was no match against the gun. He stepped out from his hiding position and gave away his location, steps slightly treading towards you. Your hands trembled, heart thumping a bit too loud while blood and sweat coated your frame.

When moonlight lightened his face, you saw his blonde luscious locks, slightly overgrown, a neatly trimmed beard darker than his hair and the cerulean blue eyes that were clear as crystal but shadowed with proficiency.

“Good, now did you see a kid around here? Blonde and blue eyes?”

His question didn’t surprise you, the gun barrel trained on you did. The previous man you had killed, that laid dead ahead of you had asked the same question. You did not know why they were after the toddler nor did you have the time to dwell on it. Time was of the essence now and he was expecting an answer.

The fact that he saved an unsuspecting lady was a plus point, but you also had to consider that he was threatening you all the same. But if that was his kid, it was understood, the resemblance between them was uncanny but that wasn’t enough proof. However, as your flickered to the man you killed, you noticed the logo on his jacket was the same as the one on your possible murderer’s jacket. It still wasn’t enough evidence but you had no choice, the man had a gun and you had two kids relying on you. At least he wasn’t on the bombing side.

“Yes, what is she to you?” You tried to be brave but you were sure he saw right through you.

“You don’t ask the questions here but this one I’ll answer. She is my daughter. Now, where is she?”

“How do I know you’re not lying? I can’t just and her over to you!”

“Her name is Sarah; she is my carbon copy. She is wearing a pink dress with white flowers; pink crocs and her hair is in a ponytail with a white scrunchy. She had two white clips in her hair beside the ponytail. Enough proof?”

No, you could be a creepy paedophile for all I know.

You were still contemplating when he spoke again, “She’s my daughter and I know she’s in that booth beside you. I appreciate you trying to protect her I think but she’ll respond to me calling her. Sarah?”

The little toddler poked her head out, her eyes brightening in recognition and you heaved a sigh of relief involuntarily. Your maternal instinct made you anxious for kids you barely even knew. She ran towards her father shouting ‘Dada’ and jumped into his arms while he hid his gun. You almost snorted at that, tons of dead bodies surrounding you and he was worried about the gun?

He propped her up, hugging her tightly, and with what you knew now, he was scared to death and rightfully so.

Grace poked her head out and ran towards you now, hugging you from behind your legs and silently peeking at the mysterious human. You held Grace’s hand now, intertwining your fingers and felt relief after long. Even though there was no knowing that the man would help you two but you gave yourself comfort you weren’t alone here, not anymore.

Sarah turned and met your eyes again and whispered lowly, “Oops Mama, I think the games over! Sowwy!”

Steve’s eyes widened at that and you laughed at her innocence, feeling light. You played along with the kid, “It’s alright.” You didn’t want to play ‘Mommy’ anymore after that thinking it would offend her father but even, he chuckled, his laugh beautiful and boisterous.

Suddenly men dressed in black and armed with weapons ran about, skidding and crossing you to survey the area out. You shielded Grace once again but the father ahead of you didn’t even flinch. Noticing your unease, he came closer and put a hand on you arm, “I’m Steve and don’t worry, these are my men, the good guys.”

You nodded, not agreeing with his idea of good and bad but since you hoped he did acknowledge that he owed you one, you hoped none of these men would attack you. You introduced yourself and he nodded.

With Sarah on his hip, he started following one of his men and you followed along hoping to get to the exit. He even asked to drop you home but you refused, just wanting to get to the parking and put all these guns out of your kid’s sight. He tsked over his shoulder and you knew he would insist again later but for now he listened intently to the man he addressed as Buck.

This Buck eyed you several times, not so discreetly, while Steve renounced the whole incident of some spies and whatnot. You closed your eyes, not wanting to eavesdrop and just wanting to relax but you could do neither right now. They were after Sarah; you had presumed right.

Sarah made grabby hands from over Steve’s shoulder while Grace slept soundly in your arms, maybe jealous of her. She pouted and then slowly began her lower lip began to tremble. A whine escaped her mouth as she started bawling. Steve stopped to shush her but she continued screeching, “I miss Mama!” and tried to get away from Steve and jump into your arms. Buck looked surprised while Steve’s eyes pleaded yours and you nodded and gave Grace to her and took Sarah in your arms, gently shushing her and patting her back. She drooled in the crook of your neck but that was nothing new and quietened down. You didn’t want to give Grace away but you couldn’t see another child so miserable, not when you had one of your own.

Steve and ‘Buck’ observed you, not saying anything so you broke the silence. “I’m sorry she confuses me with her mother, I hope she doesn’t get offended by this.”

“She’s no more.” Steve looked down and you cursed yourself for breaking the silence, make the situation more awkward and unbearable.

“I’m sorry.” Well that was better than joking about how Grace didn’t have a father either.

“Don’t be, she deserved what she got.” Steve mumbled and continued walking with ‘Buck’, lightly patting Grace and kissing her forehead.

The peck should have bothered you but you were too engrossed by his words to eavesdrop further or check on Grace. What did he mean she deserved it? You didn’t even want to think of the probability of him killing her. With all the soldiers that surrounded you, you suddenly realised he was capable of more than you thought and you felt stupid for feeling safe with him when you did. He was a leader of sorts, a person with unimaginable power and you had dived headfirst in the kind of things you should avoid at all costs. Even though you hadn't crossed him or weren't on his bad side, getting involved was a mistake.

You learnt this lesson the hard way soon enough.

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foreverfallingforthestars · 3 years

Text

Met Him Last Night

I literally speed wrote this in an hour so I'm sorry if this is a mess lmaooo but hopefully this will be continued, we'll see :D If anyone wants to be tagged in upcoming updates to this, please let me know! Just be warned, this first chapter does have (not very specific) details of a panic attack!

Title is from Demi Lovato's Met Him Last Night

Word Count: 2181 Read on AO3 Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Day 17 of Rowaelin Month Prompt: Bodyguard AU

~~~~~

Aelin was just about ready to murder someone, and that someone would most definitely be her cousin.

“Aelin, I’m serious, you need protection.”

She growled as she slammed her palms down on the dining table, loudly, as she stood up. “And I’m serious when I say that I need sleep. This stupid bodyguard business can wait two days for me to hibernate.”

Aedion also stood up, mirroring her stance as he leaned in closer to her. “Your life is in literal danger, Aelin. I hope you understand what that means.”

“It was one instance!” she insisted, pushing herself away from the table and moving to the kitchen to put her empty dinner plate into the sink. She was so exhausted from all the travel she’d done in the last few days that all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep — dishes be damned.

“One instance of the guy mailing you pictures of you from the hotel and on the sidewalk,” he responded, moving beside her. He was following her on purpose to make sure she couldn’t escape him, and Aelin was pissed off that he knew her so well to do that. “He’s been sending you those weird as hell letters for years.”

“It’s not exactly a trade secret which hotels I stay in when I’m going on book tours, Aedion. You know that.”

“If you stopped posting Instagram pictures with the hotel in the background, then it would be more of a secret considering that you are a public figure now. Besides, it’s only going to get worse now that Crescent City season 1 press shoots start soon. Your face will be more famous than just in the book world, Aelin. People will see articles of the author behind the next biggest fantasy show on television. Things are already bad, and we shouldn’t let it get past that.”

“Okay, fine, but why can’t we talk about this later? My body clock thinks it’s the middle of the freaking night, and I haven’t slept in fifteen hours. Please get out of my face so I can sleep.”

“Aelin, if you don’t take this seriously, I’m going to do it for you.”

“Oh dear cousin, owner of a security company, please do. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with it, especially now that I’m going to be much busier.”

“You’re so annoying,” he grumbled as he stalked towards the door.

“Love you too!” she called after him, finally, finally, heading towards her bedroom. Fleetfoot trotted after her happily, and Aelin snorted as her dog’s wet snout kept bumping into her bare calves. The dog was way too excited to see her after two long months away from home with Aelin travelling all over the world for the release of her latest book. It wasn’t like she could deny the fact that she had missed her dear, sweet dog so much as well, so when Aelin flopped down onto her soft bed for the first time in months, she let Fleetfoot join her.

Fleetfoot circled the same spot three times before curling up against Aelin, her tail slowly thumping against the mattress as Aelin got comfortable as well. The feeling of warmth from her dog and the happiness from being in her own bed after so long had Aelin falling asleep faster than she normally did, and she was just about entirely asleep when she barely heard the click of her front door opening.

Figuring it was Aedion, she just tried to drown out the sound, not having the willpower nor the strength to move. He could let himself out after taking whatever he had probably forgotten at her place, and Aelin would be happily dozing for the next several hours.

Until a crash broke the haze Aelin was in, and her eyes shot open. Heart pounding in her chest, she looked at Fleetfoot who was staring at the closed door with alarm as well.

Aelin was confused. Aedion was careful to not drop ceramic or glass objects within the house, knowing how much her mother would always be on the two of them growing up to be careful with such things, and it didn’t help that she was still half asleep. Nothing made sense to her.

Slowly getting out of bed, she winced as she stood up entirely, her feet aching after days of standing in heels. Aelin walked over to the bedroom door and creaked it open, and she scanned the immediate vicinity for Aedion, trying to see if he was anywhere near the living room or corridor. When she didn’t see him, she creeped out of her room, trying to be quiet but the sluggishness had already taken over body as she stumbled into the wall a few times. Fleetfoot was at her tail, but Aelin forced her to stay before turning the corner into the living room. If there was glass on the ground, she didn’t want it getting in her dog’s paws.

Once Aelin turned the corner, she immediately stopped, finding the scene in front of her unwelcome and incredibly jarring.

There was a man standing in her room, one that didn’t have the same blond hair she did, and the broken object was a picture frame, the shards of glass littered about on the ground as he gripped a photo of her and Fleetfoot.

Aelin swallowed slowly, the saliva getting stuck in her throat as her mouth went dry, as she realized that a man had broken into her home.

As quietly as she could, she placed a hand over her mouth, trying not to breathe too loudly as she quickly made her way back into her bedroom, herding Fleetfoot with her, and she locked the door to the bedroom. Wildly glancing around, she took the chair from her vanity and jammed it under the door knob so the door wouldn’t open.

“What do I do,” she whispered, scared of her mind as she sat down on her bed. She was shaking, that much was sure as Fleetfoot tried to lick her hands and face in an attempt to calm her down. How was Aelin supposed to calm down when there was someone in her house?

Realizing that Aedion must’ve not gotten far, she lunged for her phone on the bed and dialed Aedion’s number.

“Weren’t you supposed to be asleep?” was his greeting, but all she could get out at first was a shuddering gasp.

“Aedion,” she whispered.

“Aelin? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice immediately alert.

“There’s someone in my apartment.”

“What?!”

“Hurry, please,” she cried, trying to muffle her voice to make it seem that she wasn’t at home. She didn’t know if the man had known that she was in the apartment, but she didn’t want him to find out.

“Aelin, listen to me, you’ll be fine. I’m almost there. Are you still in your room?”

“I, uh, I’m in my bedroom with Fleetfoot. I went out when there was a crash, and then ran back to my room,” she managed to get out. “I locked the door and jammed a chair underneath.”

“Go into the bathroom and lock that door too,” he urged, and she got up to move to the bathroom. “If he manages to get your room door unlocked, then at least you have some more time. I’m almost there, but you need to call 911, too.”

“Aedion, I can’t—” Aelin gasped out, leaning against the bathroom counter after locking the door behind her and her dog. Her breaths were coming in faster, and there wasn’t anything she could do to control the way her eyesight was beginning to blur. “I can’t let him know I’m in here.”

“He won’t find out,” he urged.

“But Aedion,” she cried, “the plates in the sink. He’ll see them, and he’ll know I was home. He’ll know I’m here.” The pounding in her chest had gotten louder than what Aedion was saying, and all she could do was sob into her hands. She wasn’t safe anymore outside, but now she wasn’t safe in her own room.

“Aelin! Aelin, it’s okay, I’m here.”

The next thing Aelin heard were shouts and yells before it got all quiet. She clambered up to her feet, throwing the door to the bathroom open before trying to get the chair back out, but it wouldn’t budge. It was stuck, and her limbs weren’t cooperating. There wasn’t anything she could do, and she tugged at the chair with a cry.

“Come on,” she cried, tugging at it more before it finally came free, clattering to the ground. Unlocking the door, she took a few unsteady steps before Aedion came into view, the man lying on the ground unconscious. Aelin lost all control of her body, and she fell into Aedion’s arm as he ran for her, and that was the last thing she saw before blackness encompassed her.

~~~

When Aelin awoke several hours later, it was to the commotion coming from downstairs. At first, she blinked a few times, trying to readjust to where she was because it wasn’t the drab hotel room view she’d gotten accustomed to, and once her brain was awake enough to process that she was in Aedion and Lysandra’s spare bedroom, she got out of bed and padded over to the bathroom to brush her teeth and her hair. If she was going to show her face after a major panic attack that caused her to faint for a few minutes, she should at least look decent.

Fleetfoot was, thankfully, also with her in the room, and Aelin sat on the ground for a few minutes just to hug her dog before getting up and going to the living room.

As soon as she made her entrance, everyone went silent, the only sound was Fleetfoot’s paws as she went straight for Lysandra to nose at her for treats.

“Okay,” Aelin swallowed. “I get it. I need a bodyguard, but at least that guy was arrested,” she continued, hopefully. Aedion beckoned her to sit next to him, and it was then that she realized that besides her cousin and his wife, Elide was also there and a man that she’d never met before. He was striking, to say the least. Silver hair with a sharp jawline and beautifully green eyes. His short-sleeved shirt also showed off swirls of tattoo creeping up his bicep, and Aelin had to say that she was intrigued by who this man was.

“Look,” her cousin started, directing her attention back to him. His face showed concern, and she was suddenly worried that this entire ordeal might not be over. “That man wasn’t the same one who stalked you. He was just a burglar trying to score after noticing that no one had been going in or out of the apartment for a while. It just helped that the security guard downstairs is of no use, so he broke in.”

Aelin was having a hard time processing all this information being thrown at her. “So you’re telling me that it was just...unlucky?”

“I have been telling you to move,” he unhelpfully added, and she let him know exactly that.

“Anyway, we’ve come up with a solution,” Elide butt in. “Aelin, meet Rowan Whitethorn. He works in Aedion’s company. He was working for a different client for a few years, but they switched companies, so he’s now free to protect you.”

“Hey,” she greeted without any of her previous enthusiasm.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Galanthynius,” Rowan responded, and she noticed the slight accent to his words.

“Doranelle?” she asked, and he nodded.

“I will be protecting you from now on, uh, in a close manner.”

Aelin slightly jerked in her spot at his shy demeanor over his words, and the way he said it caught her attention.

“What do you mean?” No one answered her at first, peaking her anxiety again. “Aedion?” she asked, looking to him for an explanation.

“Since it’s also not safe for you to be at home alone, we’re going to have Rowan pretend to be your boyfriend.”

~~~

Aelin stepped out of the car, hand placed in Rowan’s as he led her into the paparazzi filled lot that led to the building where the final press shoots and poster shoots would be taking place for her show. It was still absolutely insane that someone she had written was actually going to be a TV show for the whole world to see, but another absolutely insane thing was the fact that she was pressed up against Rowan’s hard body, trying to pretend to be absolutely in love with him.

“Who is this man?” she heard one of the journalists ask, and she wanted to say that she didn’t exactly know either considering she had just met him last night, but this was the perfect opportunity for the world to know that she had a boyfriend.

Technically.

Smiling, she pulled Rowan to a stop as she turned to the vague direction from where she heard the voice. “This is my boyfriend.”

#bodyguard au #rowaelin #throne of glass #aelin galythinius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelinmonth #day 17

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unrequitedloveletter · 3 years

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Yellow- Pin Hawthorne

OKAY, YES-- I’ve wanted to write for Pin Hawthorne since having finished the show, and I’ve decided to do it, because I simply can’t resist and Pin is my favorite moody horseboi, plus, this blurb (imagine? I don’t know how long it’s gonna go yet!) is entirely inspired by the songs Yellow and Sparks by Coldplay, because the show is modern and the songs were released W A Y before the years that show is set in, so yay!

Pins aged up in this, as well. In the show he’s around 16-17? In this, he and the reader are both 20!

I might have Pins characterization a little off because I’ve only watched the show once (I’m gonna rewatch it before I do a shadow and bone rewatch,, moody pin is just a bit too endearing) but other than that, lets do it!

The reader is American for this, and I did mostly keep it gender neutral, aside from an outfit description! Even then, though, I did try to keep it androgynous

Fic type- fluff

Warnings-none

It took a ton of convincing on Pins part to get his dad to let him use the castle for something that, to anyone else, might’ve seemed small. He’d known it might’ve, and started the process a good month before the event was even to happen. A decision that he’d made that wound up working in his favor.

“You really love them, don’t you?” His father asked, pressing the keys into his palm as Pin gave a nod. “Even with all the stupid nicknames?” Pin grimaced, but nodded again.

“Even the stupid nicknames, Dad,” he assured. “All of them.” His father broke out into a smile, pulling Pin in for a hug as he tucked the key away into his jacket pocket.

“Well then, happy anniversary,” his father mumbled. “Five years? Gotta admit, I had faith, but I didn’t think you’d make it this far. Not with someone like them.”

“I know,” Pin retorted. “I’m pretty lucky.” Pin knew that ‘pretty lucky’ might as well have been understatement of the year, but went along with it anyway, pulling away from his father and slowly approaching Elvis, patting his side a few times before climbing onto the saddle and riding down to the castle that he, as the duke, could technically call home.

The castle was big and at times, tough to get around, but he made his way just fine, letting Elvis move at a slow gallop rather than a run, figuring that he had the time, considering you’d agreed to meet at 8 and it was barely 7:15.

When he arrived, he put Elvis away safely, and made his way through the entrance and up to the outdoor balcony, which had a view outlooking the expansive land on which the castle was built, and the trees that went around the outerrim of the space.

He grabbed his bag off the chair on which he’d had his butler leave it the day previous, almost grinning to himself as he sat at the glass table, rummaging through the bag for everything that he’d put in it.

A bottle of wine, because why not, several sweets, a ton of the polaroids you’d taken in the seven years you’d known each other, some fairy lights that he’d hang up so that you weren’t totally and completely in the dark, and a bluetooth speaker that Becky had gotten him that Christmas; one that he’d still not bothered to use, despite the fact that it was almost June.

“Can I get you anything sir?” Arthur poked his head through the balcony door way, and Pin found himself startled.

“Uh, yes please. Wine glasses,” Arthur gave a single, solitary nod.

“The dinner that you requested will be here by the time you requested for it,” he responded. “Though, are you really sure fast food is what you want? It doesn’t seem right to celebrate an anniversary with fast food.” Pin forced his gaze to his lap so that Arthur wouldn’t glimpse his smile.

You’d come from America, just like Zoe had, but you’d moved with your family to the island when you were eleven. You’d met Pin when you were thirteen.

One summer, Pins father was insistent that he get away from the stables, spend some time somewhere he’d not gone before, travel a little, and your family had agreed to let him spend the eight weeks of summer with you in the united states.

You’d had your first date in a McDonalds that same summer, when you and Pin were fifteen. He’d felt weirded out, at first. The fact that he’d never eaten from a McDonalds, despite there having been a couple on the island, almost made him confused. You’d gotten chicken nuggets to split and a couple of the pastries to count as a desert of sorts, and thus sparked the relationship.

“No reason,” Pin murmured. “It’s quick. It’s easy, and the last meal that they ate was lunch.” Arthur gave another nod, and Pin began fiddling with the speaker as he heard Arthurs footsteps grow farther and farther away.

It was a speaker that was almost the size of his hand and designed to look like a vintage radio. Forest green was the color, and the dial on the right side would control volume. The three buttons below the dial were the power button, the on/off button, and the skip button. Pin turned it on, checking the sound quality by playing two MCR songs, silently bopping his head as Arthur returned, the supplies that Pin had asked Arthur to gather in a bag perched neatly on his arm.

Arthur placed the bag on the table wordlessly, leaving Pin to do his thing as he stopped using the speaker, deciding that the sounds of nature; the river, the rustling of trees and the beautiful view of the sky as the sun grew closer and closer to setting was much better company than Gerard Way scream-singing his lungs out.

He’d spent the remainder of the time he had working on your gift. At the end of it, he felt proud of himself, even despite how dumb he’d thought the idea was at first.

It was all of his favorite photos of you--polaroids he’d taken via polaroid camera and polaroids that became polaroids when he’d used a polaroid printer alike-- neatly put into a big picture frame, plus a couple of his sweaters that you liked to steal, some of your favorite sweets, and a journal he knew you’d been eyeing at one of the shops.

Arthur put the McDonalds onto the table in the last ten minutes before eight, putting the wine glasses beside the bag. “I’ll send them here when they’ve arrived,” he murmured, shooting Pin a smile as he turned and walked away.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Pin had the dinner mostly set up, the chicken nuggets at the center of the table, fries on either side, wine glasses filled the appropriate amount.

“You’re lucky I love you, Hawthorne,” Pin was almost breathless as he glanced over to you, putting the bag that he’d put your gift in on the ground to his right. “If you were anyone else, I’d not have waited so long to eat dinner.” You’d worn a simple pair of black jeans, with a black turtleneck and a dark gray blazer overtop. You styled your hair like you always did, and your smile was bright, eyes warm as you looked at him.

“McDonalds and wine,” you sat, putting the gift you’d gotten Pin on the ground to your left, reaching across the table and taking his hand in yours. “The perfect way to a persons heart.”

“Do you like it?” He asked, gesturing to the fairy lights Arthur must’ve put up while he was busy in the world of gift making. They weren’t lit yet, as the sun had barely begun to dip over the horizon, but he’d light them once it grew darker. You nodded.

“It’s absolutely lovely,” you responded. “I didn’t think you’d put this much effort in, to be totally honest.” You were poking at him, pricking gently at his work ethic in the hopes of getting a kiss across the table.

“I’d have been fine just cuddling the day away,” you admitted. “And I know you would’ve, but thank you. For everything.” He smiled, feeling grateful for Zoe’s suggestion that he use the castles balcony to his advantage when he’d brought his plans up to her and Marcus.

“You’re welcome,” he responded.

After that, you lapsed into a comfortable silence, making occasional conversation as you ate and drank. You let Pin ramble about the sick horses at Bright Fields and made a mental note to visit the hospital part of the stables, see how they were doing and make sure they knew that they were loved. As you cleaned up, putting your garbage back into the McDonalds bag, you gave Pin updates on some of the horses around the stables and the wild horses that you and Jade had been tracking.

“There’s a foal, too!” Pin loved seeing you get so excited, and that was no exception. “I know that we shouldn’t name the wild horses, but I couldn’t help myself, so I named the horse November.”

“Why November?”

“The foals coat is white. Snow is white, and snow happens in November. It just seemed fitting!” You grabbed the bag, going inside only briefly to put it into the nearest trash bin before walking back out and sitting back down.

Pin grabbed the bag with your gift in it at the same time you grabbed the bag with his. He slid yours to you with a bright smile, and you slid his to him with the same.

You opened yours first. “Your hoodies!” You yelled out, smile turning into a full on beam, “Pin, you know that we’re moving in together in the fall, right? You’re just gonna get these back!” Pin shrugged.

“You get them until the fall, I’ll wash them, wear them a couple of times, and then they’re yours again. I get to see you in my clothes and you get to be warm and comfortable constantly! I call it a win-win situation!”

“Can’t disagree with that!” You put the sweaters back in the bag, grabbing the photo frame next.

You sighed, feeling your legs turn to jello as your heart melted. You looked up at him, feeling tears well up in your eyes as you did. “Five years of polaroids,” you whispered. “And you’re giving them back to me?” Pin just shrugged, feeling tempted to round the table, crouch next to you and kiss you senseless, but he resisted.

“I took photos of them,” he responded, pulling his phone out of his pants pocket and waving it around. “I can always get more copies from the polaroid printer.” You laughed lightly.

“Thank you, Pin, so much.” You’d never stop saying it. You had so much to thank him for. Every smile, every laugh, every dinner date, every ride out into the countryside and every kiss.

“You don’t need to thank me, love,” he responded. “Theres one more thing in there for you.” He gestured to the bag as you put the photo frame back into it, pulling out the journal you’d been eying a moment later.

“No fucking way!” You cursed, turning it over in your hands. Pin leaned back into his chair, shrugging while he nodded.

It was a simple journal: a brown leather bound thing that was the same color as Elvis’s fur, but it had pages that were suitable for practically anything.

“I know you’ve wanted it for a while, and, well, I figured you could use it for just about anything. Sketches, diary entries, even putting bank statements in the thing would make a good use for it,” You slightly stood, planting a kiss to his nose across the table.

You put the journal back into the bag and gestured to the bag he’d put in his lap. “It’s your turn, duke.”

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered. He narrowed his eyes at you, but the smirk that followed after told you he’d not been serious.

The first thing he’d pulled out was a scrapbook of the years that you’d spent together. From photos like the victory one that Ted had taken after you’d completed riding lessons, Pin doing a thumbs up on the right side of your horse while you sat on it still, throwing a peace sign and smiling, to random photos you’d taken together.

Blurry ones that’d been taken with the timer feature. You flipping off the camera while Pin flopped back onto his bed. One from when you were both sixteen, in the middle of turning around, his arms snaked around your waist and yours resting on his shoulders as you kissed, the screen blurred but not so blurred that you couldn’t tell what was happening.

A couple that Zoe, Jade, Becky and Marcus had taken. You, exhausted, with your head in Pins lap as he fiddled with a camera, curled up and almost hidden from sight in the haybales. You and Pin at the pony prom, slow dancing, looking at each other with nothing but love in your eyes. A shot taken as you and Pin left the stables, backs to the camera, hands interlocked. A photo of you and Pin in the haybales again, you with your head on his chest, his arm around your shoulders, hay in your hair. A laptop sat discarded beside Pins sleeping body, playing old episodes of Criminal Minds. Both of you had sleepy smiles on your faces.

Pin laughed as he saw more than one picture of you two asleep in the haybales, some taken by Jade, most taken by Zoe, though there were a few shots that’d been taken by his father.

“I love this,” he glanced up at you, then to the speaker that sat on the edge of the table. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, horse-boy!” He snorted, putting the scrapbook on the table and grabbing the next thing in the bag.

It was a sweater; one that he’d not seen since before his eighteenth birthday. “Thief,” he murmured, folding the sweater and putting it atop the scrapbook.

“You’re my favorite person,” was your lovestruck retort. He blushed as he grabbed the last thing in the bag.

It was a camera; a polaroid to replace the one that’d been broken in the months before, and it was vintage.

“You didn’t,” he looks up at you, face showing disbelief as clearly as his voice did. In response, you just shrugged.

“We’ve taken a lot of photos, and you loved the polaroid camera. I used a connection or two that I have and I grabbed it for you.”

“How much was it?” He asked. “We had a limit! No more than fifty pounds!”

“It was forty nine pounds, and the taming of a wild horse found just outside the coast of Maine. She comes in a couple of days, by the way.” Pin put the things back in the bag and stood, grabbing the speaker and turning it on, connecting his phone to it a minute later.

“You love chaos,” he teased. “But I love you, so I love it by association.” He held his hand out to you, and you took it, giggling as he pulled you in close, bringing you into a passionate kiss that lingered on your lips even after it’d ended.

He paused only to have Yellow by Coldplay stream through the speaker, putting his phone on the table next to it.

“May I have this dance?” He asked, emphasizing more on his accent in a silly way to get you to laugh. It worked, to his delight, as you nodded, cheeks flushing bright red.

“You may have every dance, if you so wish it,” he felt his cheeks heat up as he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead and gently swaying with you as your arms moved to rest at his shoulders and his moved to your waist, wrapping around it, his hands meeting and folding at the small of your back. ‘

He’d found a way to loop the song so that it played a couple of times back to back, but you didn’t mind. You had Pin. You had Pin and his sarcasm, his smiles, his voice, still drenched with sleep in the mornings and his peaceful face while he slept. You had tea in the mornings, quiet afternoons spent riding or in helping horses, and evenings laughing with your friends, Pin at your side.

You’d known Pin for seven years, and you’d been dating him for five. He was like the lgiht at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel, and he embraced you tightly as you finally escaped it.

“What makes you happy?” he asked you absentmindedly, just to get to hear the melodic sound of your voice again. You laughed, meeting his gaze with a smile.

“You, Pin,” you responded. “You make me happy.” He stared at you for a long moment, wishing that he had what he’d kept in his sock drawer since Christmas.

“What makes you happy?” You repeated.

“You, Y/N. Always you,” you leaned up, pressing your lips to his without so much as thinking twice.

The kiss was messy, and you stumbled backward a little, but you giggled as you did. When you pulled away, you were delighted to find that Pins cheeks were burning as bright as yours, the same red that coated some parts the sky as the sun dipped down the horizon.

“You’re the love of my life,” Pin was almost in awe at how easily you said it, like you’d been reading off a grocery list or ingredients for a recipe. Pin had wanted to say it since he’d bought the thing that sat in that pathetic little sock drawer, but he’d still not figured out how to say it and make it worthwhile.

“Do you want forever?” The closest he’d get, but he was fine with that, and relieved as you’d nodded. “I promise you forever then, Y/N.”

#pin hawthorne #pin hawthorne x reader #free rein #netflix #netflix series #freddy carter #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

Idk if you are still doing this. But 18 and 40?

i think you're my last one !!!

(all you need to know for this is that on monday i went to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum and today i went to the Smithsonian museum of natural history)

18. Someone’s birthday + 40. “It’s just hard for me to forgive you after everything that’s happened.”

"You said you'd be polite," Padmé murmurs just loud enough for Anakin to hear. "Civil. I think your actual words were, 'Yeah of course, Padmé, I won't even look in his direction!'"

"This me being polite," her friend mumbles from next to her, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the lineloium of the floor.

"You glared at him so hard the second he came in that he didn't even approach me," Padmé points out, exasperated. "I'm the birthday girl! He came to see me!"

"You see each other all the time," Anakin defends gruffly, crossing his arms. "You work in the same building. Look even your exhibits are next to each other."

He gestures with a hand to the doors on the other side of the lobby. One reads Hall of Fossils--Deep Time. The other, straight ahead, reads Ocean Hall.

"First of all, you do know we don't actually work in those exhibits, right?" Padmé checks. "And second of all, with the new funding the Deep Ocean Exploration team has just gotten--"

Anakin cuts her off with an angry huff of derision. She hides her smile behind her glass of champagne as she takes a sip.

"Don't even get me started on that, Padmé. I don't understand at all how they chose deep ocean exploration over my team's proposal! I don't think I'll ever forgive him after everything that's happened now! You know we needed that funding! Our satellite designs are flawless! NASA approved, even! We could be out there now, exploring the galaxies! But Obi-Wan Kenobi says a few words about the fucking ocean and suddenly half the nation is putting on flippers and oxygen tanks?"

Padmé has to bite her lip to control her urge to burst out laughing at the angry, petulant expression on Anakin's face.

"I bet he slept with someone," Anakin mutters mutinously as Padme watches him watch Obi-Wan Kenobi move across the room, talking with party-guests and waitstaff interchangeably. The man, in an appropriately tailored and casual suit, throws his head back when he laughs at something someone says to him, and he pats her on the arm. Anakin's jaw flexes.

"I think it's quite telling that you think he's attractive enough to sleep his way into millions of dollars," she says, taking a sip of her champagne. "I can't think of a single fuck in my entire life worth that much money."

Anakin splutters and his face turns red. "That's not what I--" he gets out.

But Padmé has had enough of both of them pretending that they don't think the sun revolves around the other. As much as Anakin hasn't taken his eyes off of Obi-Wan since the man walked in, Obi-Wan has been shooting just as many surreptitious glances at Anakin when he thinks the blond-haired man is looking somewhere else.

It's been years of this. Two years exactly, actually, of Padmé in the middle of two men who are at each other's teeth professionally but can't seem to stay away from each other in their private lives. She's lost track of the amount of times the two of them have broken into deafening arguments over lunch or dinner or drinks because "We should be spending more resources on exploring space!" "Only 5% of the ocean has been explored!" "I can tell you what's down there! Fish!" "And I can tell you what's in space! Rocks!"

Padmé is, quite frankly, sick of it now. She'd like her life much more if her two friends could decide what exactly they wanted from each other. But no, they argue and hate each other when they're together, but she'll post a photo to her Instagram of her and Obi-Wan and a new intern, and Anakin will be texting her not even five minutes later, asking who that guy is and why he's holding Obi-Wan's waist in the photo. Or Anakin will publicly and loudly declare his intention to get back into the dating scene, and Padmé will spend the next two or so weeks fielding questions from Obi-Wan about if Anakin's found any space nerds to date, how those days may be going, if anyone's come back for seconds....

"You didn't let me finish," Padmé says quickly, when she catches Obi-Wan's eye and smiles at him, certain that this will get him to come over. "I was saying that with the new funding, Obi-Wan might not be working at the museum anymore."

Anakin freezes beside her. "What?" he breathes out.

"There's an open position in a research facility in Hawai'i. He's been tapped for it. I don't know really if he plans to accept yet..." she says leadingly, but it's pretty clear pretty quickly that Anakin isn't listening anymore.

"He never told me that," he says in a very small voice.

He sounds so unsure, hurt, that Padmé almost regrets what she's about to say. "Why would he?" she asks anyway. "You were just saying how you would never forgive him for winning the funding. This just be perfect for you. He leaves, you never have to see him again."

Anakin's eyebrows furrow and he looks confused. Hurt. Angry. The perfect expression for Obi-Wan's arrival in front of the pair of them.

"Padmé!" Obi-Wan smiles as he leans in and kisses her cheek. "Happy birthday! Amazing celebration, I cannot believe they allowed you to host it in the museum itself."

"Well, you only turn 35 once," she smiles at him.

Obi-Wan nods seriously with a teasing grin on his face. "Now you're old enough to run for president and everything."

She laughs. "Me? A head for politics? I'm not sure. But," she says slyly when it's very clear Anakin isn't going to say anything himself, too busy staring at the side of Obi-Wan's face with an intense, creepy sort of glare. "If anyone I know does, I think it'd be you. Ani and I were just talking about how they granted funding to your proposal the other day. Congratulations!"

"Thank you, thank you," Obi-Wan says graciously, but his smile has become fixed and his eyes dart over to Anakin.

Anakin, who decides to take this moment to figure out how to speak again. "When do you leave?" he asks in an angry, harsh tone. Padmé sighs to herself. She should have known a surprised and hurt Anakin turns to fury before he turns to acceptance, especially where Obi-Wan Kenobi is concerned.

"Pardon?" Obi-Wan asks politely, turning his body to face only Anakin. Padmé tries not to sigh again. She should be used to this, the way their eyesight narrows to only each other.

But on her birthday, really?

Anakin's jaw flexes as he gnashes his teeth together. There's nothing Ani hates more in the world than someone acting as if his question is a silly question.

That's not what Obi-Wan's doing of course, but Obi-Wan's done it enough in the past to rile Anakin up that Padmé can understand the confusion the astrophysicist is going through.

"To Hawai'i. Padmé said all your water money is gonna get you a fancy new position on the West Coast. Just wanted to know when you're going to go."

Padmé has half a mind to tell Obi-Wan that that is not, actually what she said, but Obi-Wan looks as if he wouldn't even realize she's spoken if she tried.

"Would you miss me?" the oceanologist murmurs, stepping closer to Anakin. "Were I to leave, would you miss me, Anakin?"

Anakin looks like a deer in the headlights for a second, before his face shuts down. "I wanna write it on my calendar, celebrate the day."

Obi-Wan's face flashes with something that leaves his eyes colder than before, and he steps back. Away. Padmé winces and tries to take a sip from her champagne glass before realizing it's empty.

"Well, that certainly makes things easier," he tells Anakin shortly before turning his full attention back to Padmé. "I meant to come over and say goodbye. It's a bit of walk home, and I have an early day tomorrow."

"But you just got here," Anakin sounds confused, as if he'd expected to keep Obi-Wan's attention for much longer.

Obi-Wan summarily ignores him and leans into kiss Padmé's cheek again. "Happy birthday again, Padmé," he tells her gripping her hand in both of his for a second before dropping it and turning back into the crowd.

"What was that?" Anakin says gruffly, crossing his arms. "Why'd he kiss you? He's leaving so early! And ignoring me! What?"

Padmé shakes her head and puts her hand on his arm. It looks like she's going to have to spell a few things out to her silly astrophysicist. "That was you fucking up," she says slowly.

Anakin scoffs. "What? No. We say that shit all the time to each other."

"Anakin, listen to me," she waits until his eyes are on hers and not trying to catch Obi-Wan's receding figure. "Today at lunch, he told me he hadn't decided if he was going to take the position yet. But I think he just did."

Anakin blinks at her. Men are stupid. These men especially.

"If you want him to stay, you have to tell him."

"Tell him--I...why do I--don't be ridiculous--"

"Anakin, I've known Obi-Wan for four years. The only thing he talked about the first two was the ocean. For the last two, it's been the ocean and you."

Anakin stares at her and then stares at the people around them. Padmé knows he's trying to find Obi-Wan in the crowd. "But...he's leaving."

"But he came here wearing a coat," she points out, giving him a little push towards the unmanned coat room.

"I--right," Anakin mumbles to himself.

Feeling like the best friend in the whole world, Padmé takes his champagne flute from him and pushes him harder forward. "Go get him, Ani," she encourages, but she gets the feeling Anakin isn't even listening to her anymore as he moves across the lobby to the coat room.

She watches just long enough to see Obi-Wan emerge from the room wearing his tan coat and Anakin pushing him furiously back inside. The door closes behind them, and Padmé hopes it comes with a lock.

But if it doesn't, that's their problem. She's done enough for one night.

#asks #prompt fill #this got sooooo long #but i love it!!!#jury's out on whether or not they've been sleeping together for a while now or if their first kiss takes place in that coat room #obikin #astrophysicist anakin #oceanologist obi-wan #oh look theres even alliteration #smithsonian au

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ectoentity · 3 years

Text

Warped Mirror

Decided to write something based vaguely on the “Spork AU” idea. Instead of Episode 1 Danny meeting Episode 50+ Danny, though, I was curious about a Danny who never became Phantom meeting one who had. This first part is just establishing Human!Danny’s world.

I’ll post it to AO3 when I have the rest of it finished.

---

Three kids stood before a giant machine in the shape of a door. It should have been humming along and glowing green, with a great hole to another world in the middle. Instead, it was cold and silent.

“They spent years working on it,” Danny explained, “and then nothing. Mom and Dad have been moping in their room all day.”

Tucker looked around at the portal and the hodgepodge of computer parts attached to it. “It’s probably a loose wire somewhere. I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

“In the meantime, this would make for an awesome picture,” Sam said with a smile. She held up her polaroid camera.

“Oh no, you’re not getting me anywhere near that,” Tucker immediately walked away from the portal.

“Come on! When they get this thing working we’ll never be allowed near it. Besides, it’s not like it’s going to do anything right now.”

“Then why don’t you get over there and let one of us take the picture?” Tucker asked.

“Because neither of you know anything about lighting or framing a shot. Please?” When she saw that Tucker was not going to budge, she looked over at Danny with wide, pleading eyes.

He looked anxiously at the portal. So far none of his parents’ inventions had really worked, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t dangerous. Still, Sam was right. It was pretty cool, and getting a picture with the thing could be a good way to keep a memory.

“Yeah, okay, let me put on a jumpsuit in case there’s a live wire or something.”

Ten minutes later he was suited up in the white-and-black safety jumpsuit his parents had made for him. It wasn’t really a hazardous materials outfit - there was no full hood or respirator, or even goggles. It was made of something that was supposed to repel ectoplasm and certain chemicals that his parents used and was insulated against minor shocks, so it would have to do.

“Oh, no no. I’m not taking your picture while you’re wearing that,” Sam announced. Danny was about to argue, but she reached over and pulled the sticker of his dad’s face off of the suit. “Now you’re good.”

Danny laughed. “Good thinking, Sam. Wouldn’t want to be immortalized in your photos with that on me.” He walked up to the portal. It was a massive piece of machinery, nearly six feet in diameter and deep enough to fit a car. He paused at the entrance. It was hard to imagine it as anything other than a creepy machine in the basement. If it had worked, it would have opened into a whole other world.

Tucker, meanwhile, was watching while anxiously tapping a foot. He had expected Danny to give in to Sam’s pleas. He was so predictable and utterly clueless. One of these days they would both realize that they were both desperately crushing on each other and they’d-

There was something plugged into the wall. Tucker wasn’t sure what it was, but he had a bad feeling about it.

“Hold up!” he shouted. Tucker went over and unplugged the cord from the wall outlet, and checked around for more outlets just in case. When he didn’t find anything else, he called back, “Okay, I think it’s alright now.”

“Good thinking, Tuck,” Danny’s voice echoed in the portal. “Hey, Sam, is this good?”

Sam set up her shot. “Looks great! Just hold there a second.” She counted down before the flash went off. The camera whirred and produced a polaroid. “Lemme take a couple more,” she said before swiftly doing so from slightly different angles. “That should be good!”

Danny started to walk out of the portal. Something caught his foot. He tripped and fell backwards, flailing his arms wildly in hopes that he would catch something. His right hand hit the side of the portal. It stabilized him for a second, but then the wall clicked. Danny stared down at his hand, a chill lancing up his spine. He hadn’t hit the wall. His hand was resting on a button marked “ON.”

“Oh my god,” he blurted.

“Danny? Are you okay?” Sam called. He could hear them both scrambling toward the portal.

“I’m good! I just tripped!” Danny got out of the portal as fast as he could. “My parents put the on/off buttons on the inside! If Tucker hadn’t unplugged it…” All three teens stared at the portal. Danny could have died, just for tripping over a stupid wire.

Finally Tucker gulped and broke the silence. “Want to see if your parents can get it to work now?”

Danny shook himself out of it. “Yeah! I’ll go ask if they forgot about that.”

They all but ran out of the lab.

---

The Fenton RV sped down the street, ghost alarms blaring. In the back, Danny got his weapons together as quickly as he could with all the jostling and swerving. They’d let Dad drive; time was of the essence.

“A level six!” Jack crowed from the driver’s seat. “Maybe even a seven! How long’s it been since we saw one like that?”

“About four months,” Danny grumbled. He still vividly remembered when the town had been drawn into the Ghost Zone and besieged with an army of skeleton constructs. He was not looking forward to a repeat of that hell. The Fenton Blaster in his hands whined as he attached the power source.

“We’ll have to be careful, Jack,” Mom cautioned as she always did. “We don’t have the Ecto-Skeleton this time.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t call in the Guys in White?” Danny asked. They might not be the best ghost hunters, but they did have a lot more firepower.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Danny! I’m sure we can take care of this before they even notice something’s happening. Besides, your mom and I are still dealing with the paperwork from the last time they showed up.”

Danny shuddered. He was extremely glad that he didn’t have to deal with that aspect of ghost hunting.

His dad pulled up to the mall with a loud honk of the horn and squealing tires. Danny and his mom ran out, blasters held at the ready. Dad backed them up with one of the Fenton Bazookas.

The mall was already evacuated. Some people milled around outside, anxiously talking amongst themselves. In the year and a half since the ghosts had started attacking the town, people had gotten frustratingly complacent about them. The invasion a few months back had shown most people just how dangerous they could be, but a stubborn few always were more concerned with getting good pictures than their own safety.

“Make way!” Mom shouted. “We’re here to take care of the ghost!” The crowd at least did part for them. A few people shouted at them. Some of it was words of support. A few tried to describe what they had seen - it was green, it was wearing all white, it was terrifying. Only a few made jokes or jeered at the Fentons as they passed. That was annoying, but it was a hell of a lot better than it had been a year ago.

The deserted mall was an eerie sight. Everyone had left in a hurry, leaving lights on and store music still echoing through empty halls. The Fentons’ footsteps seemed far too loud. The weirdest part was that everything seemed intact. When the technology ghost raided the mall he usually left trails of rubble and discarded packaging everywhere. The box ghost would leave piles of everything that he dumped out of his beloved boxes. Various other ghosts had attacked the mall in the past, and they almost always left signs of their passing. Why was this one different?

“Come out, ghost!” Dad shouted, his voice easily carrying through the empty mall. “Let’s make this quick!”

“Curious.” The voice was quiet, but had the same unnatural echo of all ghosts. Danny held up his blaster, but he couldn’t tell where the voice had come from. Beside him, his mom turned on her miniature Fenton Finder. It beeped alarmingly quickly.

“Two o’clock!” Mom shouted as she fired. Danny was only a moment slower, trying to fire a little ahead. The blasts didn’t connect with anything.

“I mean no harm,” the ghost said. Its voice was way too close for comfort. Danny turned to his right and shot where he thought it was, but he still missed.

“What do you want?” Danny asked. He didn’t really care. No matter what their obsessions were, ghosts only ever wanted to spread chaos and pain. Still, sometimes he could distract them by talking back.

The ghost appeared in front of them. It was tall, with dark, green-tinged skin and a lighter beard. Its eyes glowed a soft yellow. A white robe and hood covered most of its body, rippling in a nonexistent breeze.

A green beam from the Fenton Bazooka blasted towards the ghost. Its torso split apart to allow the beam to go through it. Danny grimaced. It was so gross when they did that. He followed his dad’s lead and started shooting the ghost. The ghost blocked all of his and Mom’s shots with a series of small green shields.

“This is entirely unnecessary,” the ghost huffed. It had the audacity to look bored.

“Then why not just go back to the Ghost Zone and leave us alone?” Danny shouted, annoyed. He ran off to the side, flanking the ghost. It finally started dodging the ectoblasts. If anything, though, the ghost just looked amused.

“Oh, I shall. First, though…” The ghost flung its hand out towards Danny. He winced, anticipating the burn of ectoblasts. He took a step back and his foot sank. With a shout, he fell into the glowing green portal that had opened right behind him.

#Warped Mirror #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfic #my writing

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canary3d-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 16 part one

(Masterpost of All the Recaps) (Canary’s Pinboard)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes

All righty, this one is going to be a laff riot...not. Let's do it.

The first half of this episode is like a beautifully executed standalone tragedy, while also threading together all sorts of themes and paying off all sorts of relationship building that's happened in the previous episodes. My hat is off to the writers, while I also shake a fist at them for making me cry an unreasonable amount.

We’re Sailing on a Strange Boat

The episode starts right off absolutely DESTROYING me with the Yunmeng brothers holding hands, fingers interlaced, in the first of many hand-touching moments that punctuate the episode.

Jiang Cheng has to be pretty far gone to accept this degree of comfort and tenderness. I think, from their positions, he is also holding Yanli's hand out of the camera's view.

Zidian finally lets the trio go, and they immediately turn the boat around and head back to Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian gets the clever idea to turn the benches into makeshift oars but nobody gets the clever idea to use magic to push the boat like they do literally every other time they are in a boat.

Their emotional need to go back to Lotus Pier is understandable, but they are being disobedient and irresponsible by doing it. Jiang Cheng is the future of the clan, and should not risk his life, particularly after his mother chose to sacrifice herself to protect him and after both of his parents told him to go hide with his sister and personal bodyguard brother.

On the other hand, Jiang Fengmian, as clan leader, probably had a duty to go into hiding himself rather than go home to die romantically, so his authority is questionable at this point. Anyway, this is the Jiang Clan, they get to kind of do what they want, except when that pisses Jiang Cheng off.

Lotus Pier Massacre

Back at Lotus Pier, the Wens are kicking Jiang ass. The fight choreography is pretty good, taking full advantage of walkways, railings, pools, and other features of the environment.

Using the set this way always makes fights feel more kinetic and real, as opposed to simply sparring in an open area.

(more after the cut)

Yu Ziyuan is fighting adequately with a sword, having given her preferred weapon to her son. She's clearly been at it for a while, and is tiring; the Wen soldiers are starting to land more and more sword blows but no critical hits yet.

Wen Zhuliu is kicking ass and possibly melting cores, although we don't see him do it to anybody yet. Later we'll hear from Jiang Cheng that he crushed the cores of his parents, but it's not clear when that happens.

Sixth young master replays Jiang Fengmian's entire archery lesson in his head while he waits, and waits, for Wen Zhuliu to finish strangling a dude the right moment to shoot an arrow at Wen Zhuliu.

Homicidal tart Wang Lingjiao notices him lining up a shot, strolls over, and stabs him in the back while he's still thinking about what Jiang Fengmian said. One could wish that JFM's archery lessons weren't quite so wordy.

Wang Linjao normally doesn't carry a sword because of her low spiritual power, but apparently can use one just fine when she's killing kids.

If you start feeling like this episode is unreasonably painful, just think of it as building up calluses so you can handle Yi City when the time comes.

Jiang Fengmian to the Rescue

Jiang Fengmian shows up very far past the nick of time, although he is not actually useful, so it's questionable whether arriving earlier would have helped. But his wife is glad to see him.

Netflix subtitles say that Jiang Fengmian calls Yu Ziyuan "My Lady!" which sounds courtly and romantic in English. His actual words are "San Niangzi" which hunxi-gullai breaks out here. I might render this as "lady wife!" rather than "my lady" but I don't think English really has a perfect equivalent.

Jiang Fengmian sails across the courtyard, knocking down a few Wen soldiers and becoming a young, slender man in the process.

I mean, come on, that stunt double does not look like a boxy middle-aged man from any angle.

The Dying Bit

The episode splits up the big death scene for dramatic effect but I'm recapping it all together to keep things simple.

Within moments of arriving, Jiang Fengmian gets shanked by Wen Zhuliu like Scatman Crothers in The Shining (or Groundskeeper Willie in The Shinning).

Wen Zhuliu stops a Wen soldier from finishing JFM off, just so that a different Wen soldier can deliver the killing blow from the back, which is kinda harsh. With all this spin-fighting there is probably not an implication of cowardice when someone dies from a stab in the back, but still. Too rude, Wen Zhuliu.

Yu Ziyuan sees Jiang Fengmian fall, and after having a moment of sorrow and despair, she stabs herself in the heart, falls down, crawls to him and interlaces her hand with his. He revives just enough to give her hand a squeeze and say "San Niangzi" one last time before dying.

She dies next, with a smile on her face at the end. The soundtrack plays that amazing "horribly emotional death scene" music that isn't one of the tracks available on the OST, argh. This same music appears at the end of Xue Yang's story.

Of the many things I love about the Untamed, the complexity of all the minor characters is possibly my favorite. These two people suck at parenting, and suck at being married, and ultimately suck at protecting and leading their clan, making stupid, selfish choices at every step of the building conflict.

And then they have this incredibly romantic death scene, in which they both face the inevitability of failure, and find comfort in failing together. Yet their death scene is totally in keeping with who we know them to be, and who they are to each other; the drama doesn't cheat by making them ideal lovers or great people at the end. But they have a great, great moment.

Jiang Yanli, waiting in the woods while her brothers are presumably running toward Lotus Pier, drops her lotus pendant, which is made of the loudest jade ever discovered, and it breaks with a crash.

Yanli, who is a well educated young lady, knows a moment of doomy symbolism when she sees it.

Jiang Yanli: Who put a giant rock out here in the woods? What are the odds I’d drop my pendant directly on it?

It’s all Over Except for the Crying, Running and Choking

The brothers climb up on the roof and are shocked to see nothing but Wen soldiers and piled up Jiang corpses...

...including one child who is either about to become a zombie or who is being played by a young actor who can't control their curiosity, judging by the way this eye is sneakily opened while the camera is running.

There's a moment where Jiang Cheng is saying they must have spared his parents, they must be okay, where Wei Wuxian's face is just...wow. You can see right here the gulf in life experience between these two.

Wen Zhuliu roams around looking troubled while searching for more people to kill. He’s an interesting villain; someone who believes his loyalty to his boss makes him a good guy, but knows his boss is a bad guy.

Then we are treated to a hell of a camera move, where it tracks over Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian together on the floor, heroic in death and still holding hands, and then sweeps up to show their killers sitting on the lotus throne.

The dead couple were at odds for their whole lives together, while the evil people who killed them are acting like devoted lovebirds. It's a stunning shot and a terrific thematic contrast. When Wei Wuxian eventually comes to take his vengeance, he will spend some time turning Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao against each other, before ending them.

The camera shows us JC's reaction, then shows his mother, then WWX’s reaction, then JF; each reacting to the death of the person who loved them. Some folks may feel that Jiang Fengmian actually did love Jiang Cheng but was just bad at showing it. But Jiang Cheng doesn't think so, and I don't think it's a given that parents love their children.

Side note: Macroexpression king Wang Zhuocheng is able to open his eyes so far that a giant strip of white shows above his irises, and keep them like that, which is quite a trick. Try it yourself.

Meanwhile Wang Lingjiao and Wen Chao gossip about YZY and JFM's bad marriage. Wen Chao admires YZY's beauty, and Wang Lingjiao insults her character, and announces that she's going to stab YZY's body a few extra times. Jiang Cheng briefly faints at this, taking a page from Wei Wuxian's book, and rolls off the roof.

Run Run Away

Both young men run, and run, and run away from Lotus Pier while Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao mistreat the bodies of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan

The stabbing happens off camera, because it's ok to stab a live child on camera, but not a dead adult. (As always, there are cultural reasons for "what's ok" in any country, and I'm not saying anybody's wrong about these choices).

Wen Chao follows this up with pouring a cup of wine across their faces. He does this in the style of a libation for the dead, but as a desecration, combining mistreatment of bodies with profaning a ceremonial rite. In a world where ghosts are real and have sharp fingernails, this is deeply, deeply stupid.

Yu Ziyuan’s actress Zhang Jingtong is able to have liquid poured INTO HER EAR without flinching. Mad props.

The brothers eventually finish running and arrive in a field with an extreme purple photo filter on it. Which I've done my best to remove for these gifs, with variable results.

Jiang Cheng wants to turn around and go back to Lotus Pier. He says he wants to retrieve his parents’ bodies and to take revenge, but he's devastated and it seems likely he just wants to die with everyone else.

Wei Wuxian pleads with Jiang Cheng to calm down and stay safe, while Jiang Cheng gives himself over to anger and shock as the brothers shout at each other.

Punching and running ensues, and Wei Wuxian tries to hold his brother back, grabbing him around the shoulders him in a gesture that painfully echoes the many hugs he's given over the years.

This time Jiang Cheng doesn't just push him off. He turns around and chokes his brother for nearly a full minute, while screaming at him and blaming him.

Just as when Madame Yu beat him, Wei Wuxian doesn't fight back; he pulls on Jiang Cheng's wrists but doesn't hit him or try to break his hold.

Finally Jiang Cheng lets him go, and cries out for everyone he's lost, while Wei Wuxian weeps silently next to him. Eventually they fall asleep in the grass together, their bodies curled up in the form of a heart.

Damn, this episode really brings it.

Side Note: during their argument, Wei Wuxian says, among other things, that "revenge is a dish best served cold," according to subtitles. It's a French saying from the 1800s so it's probably not precisely what Wei Wuxian is saying. More importantly, as a longtime Star Trek fan I can't help but hear James Kirk yelling "KHAN!!!!!" whenever I encounter that phrase.

There’s Got To Be A Morning After

When they wake up in the morning, Jiang Cheng is still in his feelings, but now his feelings have moved along to despair, from anger.

I feel bad for noticing how handsome they both look in this scene. Let's all feel bad about this together.

Jiang Cheng is free to have this level of emotional breakdown because Wei Wuxian is there keeping his own shit together and focusing on what matters.

When Jiang Cheng refuses to get up, Wei Wuxian reminds him, very, very gently, that they have a sister, who has waited all night to know what happened.

At this, Jiang Cheng gets up, but won't look at Wei Wuxian, continuing to blame him for everybody else's actions, as he walks onward to find Yanli.

Wei Wuxian follows, hurt and bereft, as he gets to work internalizing everything that he's being accused of. This is good practice for his future as a widely reviled bogeyman.

Part two will be slightly less awful! Coming soon!

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #yu ziyuan #wen zhuliu #jiang fengmian

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 3 years

Text

Sweet Pea and Fangs//Mission Accomplished

Request: If you're busy you can ignore this. I really like your poly! Fangs and Sweet Pea and I was wondering if you could do another one. Maybe about what being a family with them would be like. (You know like what kind of fathers would they be.) Thanks!

hey!! this was super cute to write! i hope you like it!

- Okay, so lets just say right now

- They would be the best dads in the world

- And you can bet that they both have mugs with ‘best dad in the world’ written on them

- Which they of course use literally every day

- So much so, that you have to replace them every couple of months

- Usually because Sweet Pea puts his down on a table to aggressively

- Or because Fangs doesn’t stir coffee, he bashes the spoon from side to side until he breaks the mug, the spoon, and occasionally himself.

- Anyway

- So lets say you got pregnant at like 24/25ish

- All three of you had moved out of Riverdale

- Because I mean lets be real, its not the safest place to start a family

- With the murderers and the cults and the gangs and literally everything else

- Plus, it had been Sweet Pea and Fangs’ dream to get out of the southside and riverdale and to have a better life than their parents did

- So all three of you have stable jobs that you love

- And a cute little apartment

- Filled with photos of the three of you

- And so many memories of your life together

- Including some random dog statue that Fangs found in the skip behind the apartment complex

- To this day you and Sweet Pea have no idea why he was there in the first place

- But you think the scratches on his hands, face and neck had something to do with it

- And so many plants

- So basically you’re parents already...right?

- Anywayyyyyy

- So, you guys were doing pretty good

- Vey, very happy together

- And you’d just come back from visiting Toni and Cheryl and their new baby girl

- Who is adorable by the way

- So you’d be chilling at home

- You and Sweet Pea watching something on Netflix

- While Fangs cooks dinner (its his turn and he’s the best cook)

- And you’d notice Sweet Pea and Fangs exchanging looks

- So you’d be suspicious

- And eventually, after the two of them giving each other very odd looks all throughout dinner, you’ve had enough.

- ‘okay. what’s going on?’

- ‘we wanna have a baby’ Fangs would blurt out and you and Sweet Pea’s eyes would both go wide.

- ‘what?’ you’d look between the two of them

- Fangs is pushing the last bit of food around the plate

- Sweet Pea is refusing to make eye contact with either of you, finding the ceiling fascinating

- While you’re tapping your foot against the floor

- ‘hello? anyone care to expand?’

- And Sweet Pea would sigh, and tear his gaze from the ceiling, settling on you.

- ‘fine. we’ve both been thinking about it for a whil-’

- ‘and then we went to see toni and cheryl and their kid is so cute and they look so happy and we want to start a family with you’ Fangs would interrupt.

- Of course you’d also thought about having kids.

- Sweet Pea and Fangs are the love of your life

- They’re who you want to spend the rest of your life with

- Plus you’ve been dating since you were like 16, so it makes sense

- But it was difficult enough for Toni and Cheryl to have a baby

- This is going to be complicated

- Both of them will obviously be this kids dad...

- But what if when its born the other gets jealous?

- What if they feel like they’re not properly apart of it?

- Would you even find out who the biological dad was?

- Or would you just leave it?

- What about when the kid is older?

- There’s already enough stigma about kids having two moms or two dads

- What about one with two dads and one mom?

- So, you’d all sit down after dinner and talk about everything

- The possible problems

- How you would raise it

- If you’re all ready

- And you’d finally figure it out

- Well, the best that you could anyway

- But in the end you’d figured that you’d all be alright because you had each other

- So then the fun bit ;)

- You’d be trying for a few months

- Much to the happiness of Fangs and Sweet Pea

- They weren’t complaining

- And then when you do get pregnant

- Holy fuck are they happy

- Like literally jumping around, hugging each other, hugging you

- They’re literally the happiest people ever

- The first thing they do is call Toni

- Because well, they have to tell their best friend that she’s going to be an aunt.

- And a few minutes later, Cheryl texts you a video of Toni on the phone, jumping up and down as they tell her.

- Anyway, so once they’ve calmed down they instantly go into protective mode.

- Like

- ‘oh, sit down. standing up is not good for the baby.’

- ‘what?’

- ‘do you need a drink? food? a nap? a hug?’

- ‘i’m good’

- And you think this is just going to last for a few days

- But no

- This continues all through the pregnancy

- And afterwards tbh

- They are so protective

- You always sleep in the middle so they can both keep you two safe

- Even if it is a nightmare when you need to pee

- Fangs did suggest a bucket by the bed but you and Sweet Pea both agreed that was too far

- They go to all the scans

- And cry

- Every. Single. Time

- Sweet Pea’s suggests going to the baby classes

- Even though you’re kind of unsure of what people will say

- But you go

- And its surprisingly, okay

- You get a few strange looks

- But who the hell cares

- And Sweet Pea and Fangs both have their own little notebooks that they’re furiously scribbling notes in

- And they always take turns to practice on the fake babies

- Plus, before you all go to bed the three of you will read baby books, occasionally swapping them every so often.

- ‘did you know that new-borns are short sighted’

- ‘ha, four eyed loser’

- ‘i’m sorry. how old are you sweet pea?’

- So they’re just the sweetest

- And every time they come back from work they aways have something for the baby

- Literally. Every. Time

- No matter what.

- ‘how many shoes do you think this baby is going to need?’

- ‘i don’t even think babies need shoes, at least not for the first few months’

- ‘no baby needs this many leather jackets.’

- ‘yeah, but its got a snake on the back! how could i just leave it there?’

- ‘where did you find a leather jacket for a baby with a snake on the back?’

- ‘...the serpents made it for us.’

- And they buy the most weird stuff

- Like you’re getting amazon packages every other day

- The neighbors think you guys are doing something illegal

- Sweet Pea buys a baby grow that has labels for where the arms and legs go

- And when you ask him why

- ‘its for fangs. i’m just helping him out’

- So in retaliation, Fangs buys one with instructions of where to feed the baby and where to change it

- Also this doesn’t stop when your baby is born, they’re still buying stupid t-shirts with stupid slogans on well into its 20s

- Your favourite thing they’ve bought is definitely the fake tattoo sleeve

- So, you’re keeping the gender a surprise

- Because who cares

- So you’re going for like a yellow or gray nursery

- And Sweet Pea and Fangs are insisting on doing it all them selves

- The painting

- The furniture

- The little accessories

- Everything

- Needless to say you hear a huge crash within five minutes of them starting

- So you do it together instead

- You start painting while they put the crib together

- There’s some left over screws at the end but they decide against telling you that

- It looks stable enough

- And just to make sure, Fangs tested it out...and got stuck

- They make sure to take tons of pictures throughout the entire pregnancy

- Much to your annoyance

- ‘I’ve just thrown up for the third time in five minutes...stop taking my damn picture.’

- ‘i want to capture every moment’

- ‘why!?!?’

- But you love the majority of them

- There’s some of you by yourself

- Some of them with you and one of them

- Others with the three of you together

- Both of them looking at you like you’re their entire world

- (which you are)

- And there’s a few pictures of just the two of them with fake pregnancy bellies on, in the style of a professional photo shoot

- Another late night Amazon purchase

- Which when you opened you were...confused to say the least.

- When you’re nearing your due date they make sure at least one person is with you at all times, just in case you go into labour

- And that works, until the day you actually go into labour and you’re alone

- Fangs is at work and Sweet Pea had to run to the store to get ice cream and snacks

- And then it happens

- You’re panicking but trying not to, but its not working

- Sweet Pea comes back and then he sees your panicked face and he drops the food and almost himself to be honest

- He’s running around trying to find your bag and his bag and Fangs’ bag

- And you’re trying to ring Fangs but he’s not answering

- Sweet Pea eventually gets through to him when you guys get the hospital and you can hear Fangs screaming down the phone

- He makes it there in five minutes, even though he works at least fifteen minutes away

- They’re on either side of you

- Both panting and telling you to breathe

- Basically they are being ridiculous

- And very unhelpful

- Especially when the breathing is mainly to calm themselves down

- And then Sweet Pea gets distracted, blows a rubber glove up and it pop’s

- And to be honest the fright it gave you, you thought you’d given birth

- But when its time for you to start pushing they’re right next to

- Holding your hands

- Saying so many nice things

- Being so sweet and supportive

- And they also take a moment to hug each other while they watch

- Like they’re crying

- At one point Fangs just screams

- ‘i told you not to look down there’ Sweet pea scolds

- ‘does it go back to normal?’ Fangs would ask

- ‘god, i hope so’ You’d groan in pain

- But then your daughter is born and they’re smitten

- This tiny little life is theirs

- And it relies on them for everything

- And they’re so proud of you

- Literally they’re heart is going to burst with love and pride for you

- They love her so much

- And instantly take their roles very seriously

- The first night they let you sleep because well you’ve just given birth, you need a rest

- And it gives them a chance to bond

- They take turns holding her

- And feeding her

- And just talking to her

- ‘we’re you’re dads’ Fangs would whisper

- ‘i’m sweet pea. nice to meet you.’

- ‘what are you doing?’

- ‘introducing myself. i have to make a good impression, and we need to teach her manners’

- ‘shit, you’re right. hello, i’m fangs, your other dad...do i like, shake her hand?’

- ‘hmmm, yeah. i think she’s too young for a high-five’

- ‘thats your mom over there. she’s asleep at the minute so we have to be really quiet, but she loves you so much...and so do we. you’re our entire world’

- They’re so gentle with her

- And with you

- When you get home, the three of you show her around her new home

- And show her all the pictures on the walls, explaining the memories behind each of them

- You also make sure to introduce her to her siblings (the houseplants)

- When she’s a little older Sweet Pea starts teaching her how to defend herself

- ‘she’s three sweet pea, she doesn’t need to know how to karate chop someone’

- ‘yes she does. i’m always going to be around to keep her safe...but just in case. which reminds me, do you know how to karate chop someone?’

- Fangs teaches her how to cook

- Like she knows everything by the times she’s 10

- Both of them teach her stupid (and sometimes inappropriate) jokes

- Out of the two of them, Fangs is usually the one to tell her off

- Actually, its you...you’re the one to tell her off if she’s done something wrong because they both can’t bring themselves to shout at her

- Its difficult for you too (so its a blessing that she’s actually pretty well behaved, unlike all three of her parents)

- Fangs is definitely the most over protective

- He follows her around when she starts to crawl, literally if she moves a centimeter, he’s up and following her around.

- Sweet Pea is always the one to cheer her up when she’s sad

- And you’re the one she always goes to when she’s hurt herself or if she just needs a hug

- She loves all of you so much

- And you love her

- They still insist of taking pictures of literally every moment

- It actually increases after she’s born

- You really don’t know how thats possible

- Even she gets annoyed at it

- ‘really dad? another one??’

- ‘hey! when all three of us are dead and buried you’re going to look back at these and wish we’d taken more’

- They make it their life mission to teach her every single thing they know about the world

- And all three of you make it your life mission to make sure she knows how loved she is

- Which you definitely accomplished

#sweet pea #fangs #fangs fogarty #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #fangs imagine #fangs x reader #fangs x you #fangs fogarty imagine #fangs fogarty x reader #fangs fogarty x you #riverdale #riverdale imagine #sweet pea x fangs #sweet pea x fangs x reader #fangs x reader x sweet pea

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hauntedbythefanficsofmypast · 4 years

Text

Goodbye Paris: Lila Rossi

I don't know what it was about Marinette Dupain-Cheng that made me hate her so much but I did.

Maybe it was her goody two shoes nature.

Maybe it was the fact that the whole class loved her.

Maybe because she was one of the only people to actually know I was lying.

Or Maybe it was her clear attraction to Adrien.

Who cares about why though, she decided to challenge me, and in the end that's why I took her down. It was easy to turn the class against her. It was funny, when I first arrived they sang praises about Marinette. All it took was a few lies and one by one the class left Marinette by herself. I started with Alya, the girl's so called best friend, luring the girl in with secrets about my 'best friend' Ladybug. Slowly painting Marinette in a bad light and wiggling embarrassing secrets about Marinette out of her. Tricking Alya had landed Nino in my grip as well. With a few well placed name drops the wannabe DJ was eating from my hand. The rest of the class just fell in line well except for that Chloe Bourgeois girl. Though all it took was one measly akuma to scare her away. With Chloe out of the way I had every idiot under my thumb.

All it took was some faked texts, injuries, and destroyed items and the class believed Marinette was a big bully.

It was amazing, but it wasn't enough!

I wanted to ruin her, completely and utterly.

My first try was a failure, turns out the girl removed her pathetic attempt at a fashion website. So instead I went after her parents. Nice people, nice easily manipulated people. They were so thankful when I told them their beloved daughter was heading down such a bad path. Oh I loved seeing her come to school more and more resigned! She didn't talk unless Madame Bustier called on her! I loved it!

But she wasn't broken yet, I could still see the fire in her eyes.

That good for nothing brat!

I started lying to her parents even more. And they fell for every single lie!

They were convinced that Marinette was sneaking out at night to hang out with gang members. That she was failing all her classes, and had someone faking the reports of good grades. They even believed me when I told them that Marinette didn't even plan on going to college!!

Then I won!

Marinette was gone!

Gone!!

It was perfect, the class was mine and her parents were too! On top of that I could blame the lack of funds for our school trip on Marinette as well! The only thing that marred my win was Gabriel being exposed as Hawkmoth! Costing me my job, but it was easy to find work as a model. I was just no longer a company's star female model. I still couldn't believe Adrien was Chat Noir, and the lies I had to come up with when stupid Ladybug said she was leaving!

Unbelievable!

Luckily all these sheep fell for it. At the end of the year we managed a trip to Disney Paris and it was the perfect opportunity to put Marinette down even more. A few tears and the entire class was heading for that stupid bakery. I wasn’t prepared for a limo to be parked outside, or for Jagged Stone to get out and hug that annoyance.

Then!!!

Then she got into the limo with him and they left before she even noticed us! When we were finally over the shock I was able to ask Tom and Sabine what happened. I held back a snort when they told me she was going to college and they still didn’t believe her. I made a quick comment about her being unable to since she dropped out and they all ate it up.

It's a shame, I was hoping to rub my win in a little more.

Over the next couple years I kept them all under my thumb using them to force Adrien into dating me. Laughing silently every time one of my promises fell through.

Oh, but they never blamed poor little Lila-no.

They blamed the people I claimed I knew! Alya was so excited when I told her of the interview I got her with Lois Lane.

But when the time came, she never showed up!

Oops.

All I had to do was let a few tears drop as I was ‘calling’ dear Lois, and Alya was cursing her name!

It was the same with every single one of them! God it was so easy and fun to manipulate them, and dear Adrien. Oh he begged me to stop, but all it took was telling him that all I needed was one lie.

Just one.

And no one from the group of sheep would talk to him again. He shut up letting me do anything I wanted. Then the Gotham earthquake happened and I was quick to jump on it. Telling them all how worried I was for the Wayne family, of course they believed me! So I decided to go a step further, I pulled myself from the public eye for six months hiding out in my apartment with Adrien. Sweet little Adrien knew better than to say anything about me not actually being gone. When I finally appeared it was so easy to convince them that I was in Gotham, helping the Wayne family rebuild.

I wasn’t prepared for the class to slowly start drifting away from Adrien and I, but I used it to my advantage. It was easy to convince Adrien to ask me to marry him, a few sweet words. That's all it took and we were married, I am now Mrs. Agreste.

And I once again won, taking the name that stupid Marinette Dupain-Cheng dreamed about.

Life is good, I’m rich, beautiful, and famous. I have my own trophy husband and I travel the world just for photo shoots! The only downside is I can’t get any modeling gigs under designer MDC! It's ridiculous but I’m going to change that at this Wayne Gala. Some of the models employed by MDC told me she’d be there. I’ll charm her just like a charmed everyone else.

BUT THEN SHE SHOWED UP! WITH TWO IDIOT KIDS AND DAMIAN WAYNE HIMSELF! MARINETTE DUPAIN-CHENG!!!!

She didn’t just show up with him, she is married to him. She is married to Damian Wayne! While I’m married to Adrien Agreste. And to top it off!!

TO TOP IT OFF! SHE IS MDC!!! THE SAME DAMN WOMAN THAT I”VE BEEN TRYING TO WORK UNDER!!!!

That's it, I’m going to ruin her tonight! I don’t know who but I am!

I’m going to destroy her image, I’ll show everyone thAT I’M THE ONE THEY SHOULD LOOK AT NOT HER!!!!

Everyone is out to get me!! No matter what I do I can’t get to her people keep getting in my way!! This is perfect, the stupid-STUPID Wayne Patriarch is giving a speech! I just need to slowly get closer and closer to her.

No, no, no, NO, NO!!!!!

WHY IS SHE WALKING UP THERE WITH DAMIAN!!! Pregnant!? She is pregnant and she thought that was some big news!

AND EVERYONE IS CHEERING FOR HER WHEN I’M RIGHT HERE!!!!

Look at her smiling looking so HAPPY! She shouldn’t be happy, she should be miserable! I spent the rest of the night attempting to get closer to her, I’ll frame her for something! ANYTHING!!

I’ll-I’ll claim she pushed me down!!

Or that she threatened me!!!

I’LL DESTROY HER TONIGHT!!

Wait, wait-what is Adrien doing!! What are they talking about?!?!

WHY IS HE LOOKING AT HER LIKE HE JUST FOUND A LONG LOST LOVE!!

How dare he make a move towards her!!!

I’ll destroy him too!

YES

ITS PERFECT!!!!

I’ll tell everyone that he has been cheating on me with Marinette!! They’ll fall for it and it’ll tear Marinette’s marriage apart! Then I’ll make my move on Damian!

I’LL TAKE MY RIGHTFUL PLACE ABOVE MARINETTE!!

ALL EYES WILL BE ON ME!!

All eyes are on me!

Perfect-wait, why are all eyes on me?

Kicked out!?! Adrien got us kicked out and banned from all Wayne Gala and functions!?!

No. NO. NO. NO!!!!!

HOW DARE HE DO THIS TO ME!! HOW DARE HE GET IN THE WAY!! I’M GOING TO DESTROY HIM!! I’LL DESTROY ALL OF THEM!!!!

@chocolateherringtacofan

@blackmagicforever

@mythogaychic

#marinette dupen chang #miraculous marinette #maribat #ml ladybug #mlb x dc #ml x dc #ml salt fic #lila salt #lila bashing #batman #batfamily #damian al ghul #damian wayne #damimari #daminette #miraculous ladybug #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous fandom #miraculous au

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blahkugo · 4 years

Text

Biggest Fan

DABI x HAWKS x READER

Music! AU inspired by THIS photo set...or, the one in which Dabi, Hawks, & Endeavor are a famous rap group, and the reader gets VIP treatment.

NSFW begins after the ~~~ for those of you who don’t care for plot!

Warnings: 18+!, SMUT, cursing, threesome, rough sex (? not sure what your definitions of the word are but they do be slapping you around…), just pure filth basically

You’ve been squealing into the phone for the past ten minutes. Honestly, you can’t believe the words coming from your best friend’s mouth, even after asking her to repeat them a fourth time.

“Babe, even if you weren’t my agent, I would have found a way to get you in,” Rumi scoffs into the speaker, unphased by your relentless questioning. Though she’s always been a bit impatient when it comes to your antics, she knows how big of a deal this is to you. “How could I not? You talk my ear off about them.”

“I owe you for the next thirty years!” Your screech turns the heads of a few other customers, and you can feel the irritation radiating off the glare of one particularly peeved woman seated near you. But who cares? You’re too excited for a few middle-aged drags to dampen your mood.

“Remember what you just said the next time I try to skip out on an interview,” her laugh echoes loudly; she must be at the studio.

“Yes! Whatever you want, Twinkle Toes. It’s yours!” She begins to grumble at the use of the old nickname,

“How many times have I told you not to-” You catch the scowling woman turning towards you.

“Got-to-go-text-me-the-details, love you!” The parting phrase comes out a hurried ramble. Unbothered as you are by a few stares, direct confrontation definitely isn’t worth the trouble. You’re out of the bistro and in your car before anyone can open their mouth.

The cup of iced coffee you press to your flushed face does nothing to curb the elation threatening to bubble over from inside you. Rumi really has outdone herself this time. Being that she’s both a long-time best friend and client of yours, you know just how hard she’s been working to book a job of this caliber. Images of the two of you icing sore feet after hours of grueling practices spring to mind, making your bad ankle throb. If you could tell your younger selves who they are now— an internationally acclaimed dancer and a talent manager with a novel’s worth of influential clients— they wouldn’t believe it. And the work was paying off in more ways than one. Soon, Rumi will be making her music video debut...and you’ll actually be in the presence of your favorite artists, Suns of Icarus.

The rap trio’s been all you can talk about forever. No, like really, forever. Even back at arts school, Rumi had to talk you out of choreographing dances to their music practically once a week. You can still hear her promising you that your 70 year-old ballet instructor did not, in fact, want to see you pirouette to a song that's chorus consists of Hawks saying the word “pussy” over and over again. Usually the memory would drown you in embarrassment (especially considering the story is Rumi’s favorite icebreaker), but now even that can’t hamper your mood. You sigh cheerily, pulling into your reserved parking space. Tomorrow, you’ll be surrounded by your idols.

“Are you sure I look okay?” You ask for the third time in an hour, tugging at the hem of your silk tank. Though you’re wearing your favorite suit, you can’t help but feel out of place in the large dressing trailer. After all, it’s not every day that you accompany your clients on their gigs. Your job is getting them the gigs, and usually you prefer it that way.

“(Y/N), quit stressing! If you looked any hotter the guys would have a heart attack,” your best friend bellows loudly. “Doesn’t she look smokin’?” She questions the hairdresser who, apart from a nod and reassuring smile, you can’t quite understand over the sound of the blow dryer. “Who’s the bad bitch that got me this job in the first place? Oh right, that was you,” she pumps a manicured finger towards you to echo the claim, “so woman up!”

She doesn’t put her finger down until she sees your face soften. It’s not like she’s wrong. “Professional smooth-talker” is basically your job description. In Hollywood people are afraid of you, the woman who can make or break a career. Who are you to let a couple of talents get you riled up? You allow your body to relax in your seat. Even if those talents are the group of boys that you’ve been crushing on since you were 16. Recalling that fact has you scrambling out of the trailer, face beet-red yet again.

“I’m going to grab something from the coffee cart. Be right back!” The door shuts behind you with a loud thud. Rumi should be spending this time going over the routine, not talking you down from the ledge you’re attempting to throw yourself off of over a few stupid guys. Besides, you’ll probably receive a polite greeting at best. The world’s favorite musicians have more important things to do than indulge your fantasies.

Having iced coffee and a bagel in your hands is all you need to feel the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your smile return; truly a working woman’s comfort meal. The spring in your step is restored as you walk back to the trailer, too entranced by the savory goodness to properly hear the voice that hollers from your right. You do, however, hear the scolding that follows the catcall,

“How many times have I told you not to hit on people that work for us, birdbrain.” Your entire body swings towards the familiar nickname and a piece of bagel nearly falls from your mouth. Not even a few feet away, Dabi holds your favorite vocalist in a one-handed headlock, attempting to ruffle the blonde’s hair while keeping a cigarette balanced between his own fingertips.

“Not the hair, man! The stylist’s already had to touch it up twice today!” Hawks’ shrieks are muffled beneath the bicep of his counterpart.

“Go apologize,” The lanky man shoves Hawks towards the spot your feet are now cemented to. Though he’s reprimanding him, you swear you detect a hint of amusement in his tattooed face. “I’m sorry about him, sweetheart,” he calls, lips contorting into a smirk that should be illegal. You feel your thighs press together on their own; the situation isn’t made any better by the pretty boy walking towards you, hands threading through his golden locks in an effort to fix the havoc Dabi wrought.

“My bad,” he flashes you an award-winning set of teeth you’ve previously only had the pleasure of viewing through your laptop screen; somehow they’re even pearlier in person. The glimmer of a tiny gem catches your eye and you notice one is sealed to his canine, only dazzling you further. “I meant what I said though, you’re gorgeous,” his hand moves from his own hair to twist a piece of yours between his fingertips. The lack of boundaries leaves you feeling stupefied, but he doesn’t let up, going as far as wrapping the lock around his polished index finger. God, even his hands are pretty...What if they were trailing the inside of your thigh and— Your mind shouts at you to behave, a fruitless undertaking when the object of your adolescent desires is touching you ever-so softly.

“Um- I- Thank you?” The stuttered phrase comes out confused. Where the hell is the professional smooth-talker side of you when you need her? “I’m Rumi’s agent and uh- I-I’m a big fan!” Heat blazes through your face and chest; you’d slap yourself for the outburst if they weren’t here.

“Oh, really? She told us all about you!” He waves a hand towards Dabi. “Oi! Matches! She’s not an assistant, she’s Rumi’s manager!” The gloomier man extinguishes his cigarette before making his way towards the two of you, smug expression wavering only when he glances at Hawks. A short wheeze leaves the blonde when his chest is smacked lightly by his partner.

“I told you not to call me that.” Dabi turns his attention towards you. “(Y/N), right?” He sticks a hand out to shake and you quite literally drop the remains of the bagel to reciprocate the motion, a move that makes you redden and him snicker. “Rumi told us you’re our biggest fan,” his sly grin tells you your loud-mouthed best friend had probably spilled too much information their way. Oh, she’s definitely going to get an earful later.

He doesn’t drop eye contact the entire time he’s speaking to you, and you find yourself enchanted by the deep sea-blue of his irises. You would literally swim in those pools if given the chance. Only when Hawks clears his throat do you realize you’re still shaking his friend’s inked hand. After dropping it rapidly, you urge yourself into composure out of pure distress.

“Sorry, I’m honestly a bit starstruck. I’m sure Rumi told you how much I love your music,” you finally sound a bit like your usual self.

“She didn’t really mention our music, did she Matches?” Hawks chirps, dodging Dabi’s fist this time.

“No, I don’t think she did, dipshit,” he spits the insult through gritted teeth as a final warning. “But I do remember her telling us something about being your first two crushes...or was it your ‘sexual awakening’? I can’t really remember the term she used…” Your knees almost buckle at the obvious teasing, and you silently swear to murder Rumi when she’s done shooting this video. It’s evident that the mockery is highly amusing to them— the glints in their eyes border on ravenous.

Because you’re not typically someone whose presence is taken lightly, the thought of being toyed with by a few arrogant men has your blood boiling. You’ve already dealt with too many pretentious assholes who don’t believe women, especially younger ones, belong in management; you didn’t claw your way to the top of the industry for all of that hardship to go to waste. Ever the more perceptive of the duo, Dabi seems to realize the shift in your mood.

“Relax,” he reaches a hand towards you before thinking better of it, choosing instead to tug at the thin, silver piercing adorning his bottom lip. “We’re only teasing. She didn’t say anything like that, obviously.” You stare at him incredulously, arms crossing your chest. “Why don’t we give you a tour?” Though he’s the one who makes the offer, it sounds as though he’d rather be doing anything else.

“We’re not really assholes, promise,” Hawks jumps in, crossing his fingers over his heart in a show of good faith. “This one just gets too big headed around beautiful women,” he points at the heavily-inked man, who simply rolls his eyes at the accusation. You’d thought the blonde was…well, nothing more than the stereotype his hair color implied, but he’s sharper than he seems. It appears that unlike Dabi, who comes off curt and ungenuine, Hawks’ wit stems from his charm.

You can’t help but think of how the two of them compliment each other beautifully. That’s probably why their entire fanbase thinks they should be dating. With that ludicrous thought, your exuberance returns. After Hawks assures you they don’t have to be on set any time soon, you find yourself taking them up on their offer. They seem to be a handful, sure, but how long have you dreamt of spending uninterrupted time with your favorite members of the group? Besides, it’s only a tour. What could go wrong?

It’s apparent only five minutes into your time together that Hawks (despite his insistence you call him Kiego, it’s difficult after years of referring to him by the stage name) does not know the meaning of personal space. He spends the better part of the tour hooking an arm through yours, touching your hair, or pestering Dabi. While some may take this over-familiarity as a sign of disrespect, it feels more to you as though he’s simply comfortable in his skin.

Rude or not, his bold actions do nothing but spur your heart to beat out of your chest. Every time he guides you towards an attraction with a cheerful comment, you swear his fingers purposefully dash under your layers of clothing, brushing faintly at the skin of your waist in a way that makes your heart (among other parts) flutter.

“And as I’m sure you know, we’re filming this music video mid-tour,” his hand flits away as swiftly as it skimmed you, prolonging the torture of wondering whether his movements are purposeful or a figment of your twisted imagination. After showing you most of the fabricated scenery— and even the gorgeous, cherry-red convertible that was rented— for the video, you’ve arrived at the group’s infamous tour bus. You once read that most of their concerts end with the vehicle being mobbed by ruthless fans, one of the sole reasons you’ve never attended a show. Someone as busy as you doesn’t have time for all the horrid traffic the mobs cause. “Wanna see inside? It’s actually pretty roomy.”

You nod, eyes trailing towards Dabi, who’s busy stomping out the most recent cig he’d been puffing on. Aside from the occasional chuckle at your flustered blunders or annoyed curse thrown towards Hawks, the taller man had kept mostly to himself. His indifference confuses you, makes you wish you hadn’t reacted so bitterly to the loose smile and banter he offered you upon first meeting. At the same time, part of you is irritated by his standoffish personality. From what you’ve seen so far, his remarks serve the single purpose of humiliating others for his own amusement— a stark contrast to the misjudged softy he’s portrayed as on camera.

You’re guided onto the bus and Dabi follows, cursing under his breath at something or other. Sociable as he is, Hawks begins to chatter again, seeing no issue in being the center of your attention. You realize the space is much roomier than it seems. State of the art technology allows the bunk beds to fold back with a press of the button, leaving room for a decently sized couch. It’s also much cleaner than you would expect three young men living on the road to allow.

“And the lowest one was my bunk, just in case you’d like to see it again later,” he whispers the sentence as though it’s his best kept secret, wagging his thick brows exaggeratedly to key you in on his joke. “Hey, why are you laughing? I’m totally seriou–” The doors swivel open and your giggles are cut off by heavy footsteps and a booming voice,

“Oi! Keigo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You have to crane your neck to see the pillar of a man’s scrunched, stoic face. Endeavor, the pyrotechnic-obsessed “hype man” and third part of Suns of Icarus’s trio, stands a few feet from you, clearly exasperated by something his bandmate has done. Hawks must know precisely the reason for the bottle-redhead’s tone, because his face pales.

“Enji, we made a new friend!” He pulls you into his chest in an obvious attempt to shield himself from the giant, but your face heats at the close contact regardless.

“You were supposed to be on set for your solo scenes ten minutes ago,” he crosses his sculpted arms, “so let’s go.” The lively man is being whisked away by the larger one before he can utter a word of rebuttal. “Nice to meet you,” he calls casually to you over his shoulder.

“Dabi, keep (Y/N) company! I’ll be back!” Hawks shrieks with a dramatic flare. The man was truly born to be an entertainer.

An unbearable awkwardness envelops the two of you once you’re alone. Without his best friend around, Dabi drops any semblance of amiability, but it’s not as if he was trying very hard before. He plops down on the couch and pulls out his phone. You sit as far away from him as possible, but realize you don’t have your own device to keep you busy. After a few nervous minutes of twiddling your thumbs, you attempt to break the silence.

“So, Haw– Keigo and Endeavor use stage names, why don’t you?” You spout the first question that comes to mind, hoping it’ll spark an interesting conversation.

“Dabi is my stage name,” he answers curtly, without looking up from his cell.

“Oh...but– even your bandmates call you by it?”

“Yep. Don’t care for my real name,” his eye roll sends ice through your veins.

“Excuse me,” you snap, “have I done something to offend you?” The frustration in your tone wins you eye contact, at least.

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable….I’m going to need your publicist’s information.”

“Huh?”

“Well, anyone who can make you seem like the world’s most ‘misunderstood heartthrob’ on camera certainly deserves a pay raise, dontcha’ think?” His eyes drop to send a steely glare your way, but you’re too fed up to feel intimidated. You smirk at him, a single eyebrow raised in twisted satisfaction. There’s the bitchy self you know and love.

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” he sits up, “but I know everything I need to know about you.”

“Oh? Enlighten me then, sir.”

~~~

“You may think Keigo likes you, but he likes everyone. You’re, what, thinking you’re special because he’s throwing some attention your way?” Dabi inches closer. “Hoping he’ll get in your panties?”

“It’s not like that at all–”

“Don’t lie. The idea of being with someone you’ve idolized for years is thrilling, isn’t it?” The heat that rises on your cheeks is enough to confirm his suspicions. “He doesn’t like to see people for who they really are, but I know your type...just another tramp that’ll use him and move onto the next,” his smug expression returns after that little rant. Paired with the tattoos covering most of his face, he appears every bit as wicked as the skeleton his ink emulates— devilish, even.

“You’re wrong.” You can’t think of a proper argument when he’s so close to you, basically breathing down your neck.

“Am I?” His hand trails up your clothed thigh, and an unwelcome shiver crawls up your spine. “So you’re going to stop me when I do this, right?” Then, he kisses you.

It’s not at all soft, or compassionate, or anything resembling your naive teenage fantasies of the artist in the slightest. Rough, slender fingers wrap around your jaw and yank your lips to his. He doesn’t stop at a peck either, choosing instead to assail your mouth with all of his pent-up rage. The cool, hard metal of his lip ring strains against you, a pleasant contrast to the quick heat traveling the rest of your body. You want nothing more than to prove him wrong— to throw him off you, tell him to go straight to hell— but he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and- God, it just feels so good. Your mouth parts in a breathless moan and Dabi takes the reaction as an invitation to swipe his tongue against your teeth. With your bodies melding together violently, the make out feels simply a continuation of the intense argument you were having moments before.

Pulling you between his lap, he shifts you so that your back is flush across his chest. Nimble fingers make quick work of your clothes. You just barely raise your hips so that he’s able to take your pants off with ease, but you’re sure he notices the eager movement. When you’re left in nothing but your panties, you feel the rumbling of his solid body behind you as he laughs, the sound bitter and pleased all at once.

“Oh you really are a whore,” he chides. “Who’d you wear these for, hm?” He runs his fingers across the band of your red lace thong.

“Not you,” you bite back, feigning disinterest towards the dangerous position he has you in. The asshole’s not going to get to actually hear you admit defeat so easily. One of his hands kneads your chest and the other grabs your cheeks harshly, pushing them together so that you’re unable to speak.

“Not me? Take a good look at yourself, sweetheart.” He lifts your head upwards and your breath hitches; the entire ceiling of the bus is covered in a dark, reflective surface. “Who has you naked in their lap right now?” he whispers onto your neck, licking a long stripe upwards until his teeth graze your ear. You watch fervently as he strokes his digits across one of your perked nipples, tweaking the bud roughly. “Who are you being such a slut for?” He’s aware he won’t get a response because his left hand still grips your face, demanding you watch his every move.

Dabi then snakes his fingers down your midriff tortuously slowly, brushing lightly in a way he hasn’t touched you yet; as if the skin there is delicate, worthy of his valuable adoration. The ink traveling his arms makes him appear so ethereal, so sinister and compelling, that you can’t help but let out a muffled mewl. Once he reaches your panties, his fingers dart beneath the material and the tender moment is lost. An onslaught of pleasure wracks your body when he begins to draw quick circles on your clit. He lets go of your cheeks, now sore and reddened from both pressure and bliss.

“I’m going to ask one more fucking time,” his fingers glide against your soaked slit, “who are you being such a dirty slut for?” You contemplate not giving him the answer he’s looking for, and part of you is sinfully curious about what may happen if you enrage him further; however, that idea is put to rest immediately when he snaps his head up to look at you through the mirror, blue eyes pooling with lust and a hint of something animalistic. That stare, paired with the relentless strokes across your clit, provokes your moaned answer,

“F-for you, Dabi.” He uses his free hand to insert two, thick digits inside you.

“Say it again.”

“I’m- fuck– a s-slut for you,” you practically sob out. You press the back of your head into his shoulder harder, squeezing your eyes closed and biting your lip.

“Not going to keep your eyes open? Fine.” The fingers are removed from your clit and you’re about to let out an unsatisfied whine, only for him to grab the back of your head and mash your swollen lips to his once again. Then, after another brief caress of your abdomen, he’s back to touching your sensitive bud. All of your moans are silenced by his mouth, and you feel the vibrations of a low groan from his own throat when your ass grinds against his clothed member. When your stomach pulls taut you know you’re seconds away from feeling that all-encompassing pleasure, the tidings of an orgasm so close to washing over you.

“Oi, Matches! You didn’t throw her out did you?” Hearing Hawks’ voice call out from the front of the bus has you reeling your lips away from Dabi, and though he slows his movements, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your core. Rather than push you away, he takes the other hand off your clit to hold you tightly against him. “(Y/N)? Dab–”

For a few seconds, the only sound you can hear is your own heart beating out of your chest. Takami takes in the scene in front of him— your bare body splayed across his best friend in the lewdest of positions. You know your face is blooming in embarrassment as you wait for a reaction, for his face to drop in disappointment, anger, anything. Instead, he smirks.

“Starting without me? That’s no fair,” the golden-haired boy actually pouts, but there’s something deeper swimming in his eyes, something almost bloodthirsty. Though this is happening right in front of you, you can’t truly believe it. Dabi relieves the pressure of his arm from your chest.

“Look Kiego, the whore’s fucking drenched for us,” he lifts his fingers towards the beautiful man in front of you proudly, as if showing off a trophy or a new toy. Then he pops the damp fingers in his own mouth, humming at the taste of you. Hawks’ tongue dips out of his mouth, darting across his bottom lip.

“I want a taste,” he leers at your bright panties, now soaked through. You think you must have died and gone to heaven, what with the two Adonises staring at you as if you’re their last meal. Hawks kneels at the foot of the couch, brings his face right up to your navel, and licks a long, cold swipe. His digits toy at your waist like they were earlier, except this time the movements are decisive and fierce. Just as he’s about to tug your panties down and place his mouth where you want it most, Dabi seizes his jaw and pulls his partner into a long, sloppy kiss. You let out a sigh at the view and— teases that they are— the sound doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Is watching us turning you on?” Dabi taunts cruelly.

“Looks like she’s a bit of a pervert, hm?” Hawks retorts, sliding a finger across your clothed slit. The movement causes your entire body to quiver, your senses on high alert. Without another word, he leans down again, shifts your panties to the side, and takes your clit between his lips. The way he laps at you hungrily makes you believe your initial judgment of him was completely inaccurate, and when he inserts two lengthy digits inside you, the thought is confirmed. Hot, white pleasure consumes your body as your core clenches around his digits. He simply cocks an eyebrow at you and chuckles darkly, holding you tightly against him by your waist so that you’re unable to wriggle away. Gone is the lovable persona you were introduced to, replaced now by someone entirely foreign, deviously lewd.

“Fuck, Hawks,” you whimper, greedy for more.

“Thought I told you to call me Keigo,” he scolds beneath you, biting the inside of your thigh so that a sharp gasp leaves you.

“I-I’m sorry, K-Kei–” You’re cut off mid-moan when Dabi kisses you, wrapping one slender hand around your throat and squeezing. His other one threads through your hair and tugs harshly. A painful hiss leaves you but the sound only makes him pull harder, smirking against your lips.

It’s as though they’re competing for your attention. If one of the men evokes a sob or whimper, the other attempts to outdo him— and they have no regard for your body, becoming instead the battleground for their lascivious rivalry. You lose yourself in the intense sensations, unaware of time or its passing, instead focusing solely on the coil tightening in your abdomen. Every gasp, every moan, only pushes them further, and soon your legs are shaking as you feel yourself nearing the delicious edge.

Just as you’re about to let go, allow yourself the mind-numbing relief of an orgasm, Kiego withdraws his fingers. Rubbing your bruised thighs together is a desperate attempt at friction, but the momentum is completely lost. Your core clenches around nothing, and you cry out, hopelessly bitter at the emptiness between your legs.

“Sorry, princess,” his hair is sticking up, golden locks tousled from the harsh grip of your fingers. And yet he still looks perfect. He wipes your juices off his chin with a thumb, “but that’s for starting without me.” Despite the apology, he sounds absolutely delighted at your loss. You whine again, hoping it’ll change his mind. “What do you think, Dabi? Should we let her cum?”

Hearing his name, the tattooed man takes his attention away from your chest and the onslaught of purple marks his lips’ were just peppering on your throat.

“I don’t think so,” he tweaks at one of your nipples, eliciting a soft groan from you. “I want the bitch begging for it.” Dabi pushes you away from him and stands to unbuckle his belt. “Besides, don’t think she’s done enough to earn it.” You should be outraged at the way they decide your fate as if you’re not even present, but in reality it only thrills you, your clit throbbing at the lack of control.

“You’re right,” your idol sneers, canines bared and gleaming as he unzips his own pants, “and I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

They switch places, shifting you so that your breasts are pinned against the couch between Kiego’s legs. Dabi grinds his hips against your clothed center, and you mewl at the long-awaited friction, hard member straining against his briefs.

“Get to work, princess,” Kiego calls to you, boxers down to his knees. You can only balk at the sight in front of you. His cock is thick and long, essentially everything you could’ve ever hoped for, but that’s not it.

Rather, it’s the shiny, silver ball pierced through the shaft and poking out from the top of his head that stops you dead in your tracks. He notices your eyes widen at it, but only snorts, wrapping your hair around his hand and yanking you roughly towards him.

“Oh, that little thing?” Now he’s shoving you against his length, using your face as nothing more than a means for friction. “Just a drunken dare from Matches.” The nickname provokes the other man into leaving a stinging slap against your behind. And just like that, the angered man drives himself into your cunt.

“I told you,” slap, “not to,” slap, “call me that.” With each thrust into you, Dabi releases an onslaught of pent-up anger onto your rear, the biting pain causing you to cry out around Kiego’s member.

“Yeah sweetheart, just like that,” he leans his head back against the couch with a deep groan. “Such a pretty little whore, choking on my cock.” One of his free fingers shoots out to wipe at your tears, hand moving ever-so-lightly to cradle your jaw. The gesture might have been sweet if his other hand wasn’t forcing you down further to swallow him whole.

“Mmmph–” you scrape carelessly at Kiego’s thighs in an attempt to secure yourself, moans coming out garbled with his cock down your throat.

“Not done with you yet, slut” Dabi still pounds into you relentlessly. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling of being stuffed from both ends, knees on the verge of giving out until he fastens his hands around your thighs, pulling you into him with even harder plunges. “Fucking take it.” Something hard and cold grinds inside you, and you’re acutely aware of the ridged piercings now pressing against that perfect, spongy spot in your heat.

When he reaches an arm around to rub furiously at your clit, you’re sobbing. Kiego’s deep, golden eyes watching you, Dabi’s unrelenting fingers and thrusts, it’s all too much.

And then you’re finally letting go. Legs shaking, mind wracked with white as you clench your eyes shut. Your mouth moves away from Kiego’s shaft, only concerned with riding out your high. The tattooed man behind you doesn’t stop his movements either, still pressed deep inside you until your tongue lolls out of your mouth and you’re tapping furiously at his waist. Kiego smiles, taking himself in his hand and slapping his cock against your cheek while he strokes himself.

“That’s it, baby,” he smooths your hair back, grunting. “You look so pretty when you cum.” He pumps himself a few more times before he finishes, sticky liquid spurting across your lips and into your hair. You reach around to grab at Dabi’s waist again, willing him to stop. He removes himself from inside of you only to flip you around and your cunt clenches at the feeling of emptiness.

Pulling you into a long, winded kiss, he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip to taste Kiego’s release. Then he’s pushing you to your knees once more, hands threading through your hair roughly.

“Suck,” he scowls down at you. Though you’re breathless, still reeling from your orgasm, the simple command spewed at you has your lips wrapped around him in a second.

He isn’t as girthy as Kiego, but just as long. A trail of piercings go down his length, and your tongue brushes against the cool metal while you wrap your fingers around the area you can’t reach. You stare up at him through thick lashes, piercing blue eyes ogling you as you take him further in. His hand is still perched on your head, but he makes no movement to push you down— instead, basking in your slow seduction.

You’re sure you look a mess, dried mascara down your cheeks and still covered in Kiego’s cum, but Dabi only revels in the power he has over you, positively thrilled at the way you no longer fight for dominance. He breaks eye contact only when the blonder man tugs him into a kiss, deep and passionate, and the sight only urges you to swallow him deeper.

“I like her with her mouth so full,” Kiego whispers against Dabi’s lips.

“Just as long as the bitch isn’t speaking,” the other man groans, rutting into your mouth so that you know he’s close.

Soon he’s pulling out of you to pump his shaft, your mouth wide open so that the head of his cock brushes against your tongue. Kiego reaches down to move Dabi’s hand, grabbing at his partner’s length so he can stroke it himself. It doesn’t take long after that for the brooding man to cum, head thrown back in a loud grunt while the tantalizing male next to him coaxes him through the orgasm. Kiego angles him so that his hot, white liquid gushes onto both your face and tongue; you suck at Dabi’s head until he forcibly pushes you off him.

“Fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his sweaty locks. “Knew you were good for something.” With that final statement, he turns away from you, pulling his pants back on and returning to his spot on the couch as though he wants nothing more to do with you.

Kiego walks away as well, and you’re sure you’re about to be kicked out now that they’ve had their way with you. A part of you is angered, but a larger part is still processing what just happened, savoring the earth-shattering orgasm the pair blessed you with.

You look for your discarded clothing, trying to compose yourself so you’re able to get out of their way as quickly as possible. Kiego walks back into the common area, wet rag in hand. He doesn’t speak until he pushes you into the couch, rubbing the clean towel over your face softly.

“So, you’re coming to our concert next week, right?”

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

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rhysismydaddy · 3 years

Text

An Artful Revenge Pt. 1

First part of The Archeron Damnation series.

~Rhysand~

Have you ever had everything you’ve ever wanted dropped in your lap like a present?

It makes it so easy you almost don’t even want it anymore.

Before today, this had never happened to me. For over thirty years, I’ve worked and fought and killed for everything I’ve wanted. Nothing about my life has been easy.

Until today.

Until a young, beautiful woman paused to look at a piece of art, oblivious to the monster who stood behind her.

As soon as I looked up and saw her, I felt like an anvil fell on my chest and robbed me of air. I couldn’t fucking breathe.

For the first time in my long, miserable life, I was utterly speechless as Feyre Archeron tilted her head contemplatively, as if the slab of paint was something that required great concentration.

Her focus was so singular it gave me more than enough time to figure out what I wanted to do.

But I couldn’t concentrate enough to even do that. Not yet. For now, I just took her in. Photos didn’t do her justice, honestly. Sandy blonde hair, a slight frame more than pleasing to look at from the back, defined cheekbones, full lips. Beautiful.

It was almost unfair for someone like her to be so beautiful.

She had a hand on her chest and was completely still as she looked at the work in front of her, like she almost couldn’t stand the rush of emotions it gave her.

I understood the feeling.

My friends often tell me I should go on the road as a mind reader or fortune teller or some other bullshit. The point is, I’m pretty decent at reading people.

And just from the way the woman in front of me is looking at an overpriced, ugly piece of art, I know she’s innocent.

She has no idea who she used to share a bed with, no idea what kind of evil she invited into her life with a smile.

I also know I can’t let it change things in the slightest. Innocent or not, beautiful or not, I’ve been trying to find the perfect moment to worm my way into her life and turn it fucking upside down.

And she’s just handed it to me on a silver platter.

I’ve been looking for her, and I’ve finally found her.

She’s mine.

~Feyre~

“You like it?”

Gasping and pressing my hand harder against my chest to calm my racing heart, I spin around to face whoever just asked such an obvious question.

And the first thing I can think is, He’s more beautiful than the painting.

The stranger’s casually leaning against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets, confidence and wealth and class draped over him like a very impressive, very handsome mask.

He’s concealed in a jet black suit, but somehow I can tell he’s impressively built; it’s like strength and power are radiating off of him. His face probably took the gods years to craft, the sharp angles of his jaw and slash of his brows perfectly creating the most alluring thing I’ve ever seen.

Dark hair, piercing violet eyes that scan me head to toe, and smirking, sensual lips complete his features.

He’s the most attractive male I’ve ever seen. And I’m an art major who frequently finds herself painting models, so that’s saying something.

“You like it,” he states, whatever he finds on my face taking away the need for a question mark.

“I do,” I confirm, forcing myself to turn back to the painting and stop gawking like an idiot.

He surprises me by asking openly, “Why?”

The painting in question is one of the most revered paintings in the world: Dancers in Blue by Degas. But he’s asking in a way that makes it clear he genuinely doesn’t know why people pay to look at it.

Running my hand through my hair, I try and put it into words. “There’s just so much... energy in it. The background’s nothing but a bunch of paint splatters, and yet you can feel it almost. The dancer’s excitement, the energy of the crowd. It’s breathtaking.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I cringe inwardly, thinking of how weird that probably sounded.

Then, “Would you like it?”

Only four words and they almost knock me on my ass. I spin back around so fast he chuckles, eyes wide, and sputter, “Would I what?”

I mean, it’s clear he’s rich, but there’s rich, and then there’s buying a Degas rich.

“I was planning on buying it anyway. It should belong to someone who loves it as much as you obviously do.”

“What?” I repeat, still not understanding why he would offer something like that to a total stranger.

“I presumed you to be intelligent, but if you keep asking that question, I might have to amend that.”

I narrow my eyes, somehow intelligent enough to pick up on the insult. “I’m just confused. I mean, you look rich and all, but that painting’s worth $45 million dollars. And you just asked...”

“If you want it.”

Putting my hands on my hips, I regard him speculatively. “Which psych ward did you break out of, exactly?”

He smiles, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “The way I see it, you have two options. You can accept the painting and stare at it from home, or I can buy it and hang it with the other one and never give it a second thought.”

My mind can’t stop running, and I think if I wasn’t determined to not completely embarrass myself, I’d collapse to the ground and sob at the impobability of this situation. “What do you mean the other one? You already have a Degas?”

“The pink one,” he confirms casually, flicking a nonexistent fleck of dust off his jacket.

“You have Dancers in Pink?” He nods, lips twitching at the look on my face. “And why, exactly, are you buying priceless pieces of art if you don’t like them?”

“It’s not priceless. You just told me it’s worth $45 million.” I scowl at the non-answer, and he shrugs. “Someone I don’t care for likes them.”

I connect the dots slowly. “So you buy them so he can’t.”

He nods.

My mouth falls open, making him smile again. It’s dangerously attractive and distracting, but I still demand, “Who the fuck are you?”

The stranger laughs outright at that, strolling forward and offering me a tan, tattooed hand with practiced ease. I notice there’s a platinum, engraved ring on his pointer finger, and I stare at it for a moment because it looks strangely familiar.

He seems to pause as I look at it, holding his breath. I’m probably acting like a total weirdo, so I snap out of it and take his hand.

Because he’s rich and confident and beautiful, he feels entitled to drag his calloused thumb across the back of my hand.

And because I’m poor and stupid and at the end of the day, just a woman, I blush. Which only gets worse as he notices and smirks.

“My name is Rhysand.”

“Rhysand what, exactly? Rockefeller? Vanderbilt? Carnegie?” I run out of rich families and fall silent, and he gives me a look like I’m the most amusing thing he’s ever come across.

“Rhysand Azara. When you google me, you won’t find anything of consequence, I’m afraid.”

The way he says when instead of if makes me blush again, because I’d been waiting for him to leave so I could pull out my cracked, struggling little phone and do exactly that.

He looks at me expectantly, and I realize I haven’t said a word, just held onto his hand like a toddler being led across the street. “Oh, I’m Feyre.”

Rhysand just raises an eyebrow.

“Feyre Archeron.”

“And what would I find if I were going to google your name?”

I notice his statement has an if, but I answer anyway, stating facts nervously like an army cadet reporting for duty. “I’m an art major at UChicago. From Missouri.”

“What else?”

“There’s really not much else.”

He tsks, telling me this answer is unacceptable, but doesn’t press it. Instead he shocks the hell out of me once again. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

It isn’t a question, but it isn’t quite a demand, either. It’s a statement, and it’s said like he already knows what my response is going to be.

But like I just told him, I’m a college student.

Which means for the past three years, I’ve been dealing with college boys.

I’ve been asked to “hang,” “smash,” and even to go to coffee on a few rare, wonderful instances. But never, in my entire life, have I been asked---or told--to go to dinner by someone like him.

I realize it’s because I’ve never met anyone like him.

Even my ex-boyfriend, who’d been well off and older, was nothing like him. Compared to the man in front of me, everyone else seemed... juvenile.

They were boys, toddlers even, compared to the man still gripping my hand.

It prompts me to ask, “How old are you?”

He smiles. “Too old for you, I’m sure. Have dinner with me anyway. For the sake of the painting.”

I’m halfway sure I’m in the middle of a fever dream, about to wake up covered in sweat and wondering what the hell just happened, because this cannot be real.

“You’re... are you actually... you’re offering to give me a $45 million painting if I have dinner with you?” I sound incredulous and wheezy to my own ears, but I don’t even care.

Who the hell is this guy?

“You’ll be my second most expensive date.”

“You’re insane.” I look down to where he still holds my hand, entire focus narrowing on the strength in his grip. How would it feel to have him grip me somewhere else? Rhysand gives me a look like he knows what I’m thinking, so I look at the ceiling. Then declare, “I can’t have dinner with you.”

It almost hurt to say it, honestly, because I really love that painting.

He waits until I look back down at his face before asking, “Why not?”

Blushing to high hell, I murmur, “It feels a little like... prostitution.”

Rhysand throws his head back and laughs, a full, wonderful sound I hadn’t been expecting. It’s easy and contagious, and I find myself grinning, even though what I said was true.

“Dinner, gorgeous, was the deal.” He leans in close and whispers, “You coming home with me won’t have anything to do with it.”

I push him away, mind set on giving myself a few feet away from him to compose myself, but I’m so dizzy and confused and strangely turned on I almost fall. His hands shoot out, landing on the bare skin of my shoulders, and I pause.

And really, really contemplate my life.

Yesterday I was sitting on the floor of my dusty apartment in my underwear, eating Ramen and struggling to figure out what the fuck to put in the background of my painting. Today I’m being asked to dinner by a probable-billionaire. On the condition I accept a very expensive form of bribery.

“I’m not going home with you, but I’ll have dinner with you.” He starts to smile, so I cut him off, “Only if you promise to not buy the painting.”

His brows narrow, a silent demand for information.

“I come here almost every day to see it anyway,” I explain. “Besides, there’s no way I can accept it. It’ll get stolen or damaged or... I just can’t accept it. And the thought of you putting it in some forgotten hallway depresses me.”

He sighs dramatically and re-puts his hand out. “No painting. Just dinner.”

“And no sex.”

A very male look crosses his features. “We’ll discuss that later, I think.”

I roll my eyes but shake hands with him, a strange sense of finality settling over me. I shake it off, telling myself the bare mention of having sex with him is why I’m so nervous.

Four hours later, I stand at the door, purse clutched in one hand, keys in the other. I’m staring at the door, practically foaming at the mouth, waiting for a knock on the other side to hopefully shock me out of my crazed state.

I’ve been like this for ten minutes already, for some reason not wanting him to wait for a second after he got here. Or maybe I just don’t think he’s actually coming.

Maybe I’ve been on some horrible practical jokes show, and Rhysand Azara isn’t even a real person. I’ll probably end up on television, blushing and beyond naïve, having been convinced a man who looked like a male model wanted to buy me a Degas.

I snort, shaking my head at myself. And then almost fall down when a soft yet somehow insistent knock sounds through my small apartment.

“Holy fuck, he’s here.”

I have no idea why I state it aloud, to myself no less, but I feel like it should be said. Hell, it should be written down in history books. If I kept a diary, I’d write in bold, underlined letters: I HAVE A DATE WITH A VERY STRANGE, VERY HANDSOME MAN.

After fluffing my hair and checking my makeup in a mirror, I stop stalling and open the door.

He, of course, looks like sex on a goddamn spoon. And for a split second--just a moment, I swear--I debate grabbing him by his expensive lapels, dragging him backward into my apartment, and finding out what his mouth feels like against mine.

“Feyre,” he greets, snapping me out of my perverted daydream. “You look beautiful.”

I know it’s dumb to be flattered, because it’s fairly standard to tell a girl she looks nice when you pick her up for a date, but it does my ego no harm because how I look right now took some fucking work.

I shaved from the eyebrows down, exfoliated, scrubbed, cleansed, plucked, and spent thirty minutes deciding what to wear.

I’d taken a gamble he’d wear a suit and dressed to match in a black dress, unremarkable save for the very low back, and simple heels.

I step outside with him, grateful for the warm weather, and turn to lock the door.

Rhysand makes a humming sound, and I freeze as I feel a finger drag down my spine, stopping right at the edge of the fabric. Which happens to be very, very close to something indecent.

“Beautiful,” he states again, and hell if I don’t feel like it.

I finally manage to get the lock closed, then spin around to face him. Up close, there’s silver flecks in his eyes, like starlight. Oh, and he smells amazing. Something manly and wintery and not sold in a bottle.

I. Am in. So much. Trouble.

I have no idea why this man has taken an interest in me, but I know it can only end in one way: me in love, him long gone.

But even though I know it, I’m ready. Five minutes with him makes me feel more alive than I ever have, and even though it’s a disaster in the making, I can’t bring myself to care.

He offers his hand and pulls me towards a--surprise--black car, one that looks expensive. After depositing me in the passenger seat, he goes around and climbs in beside me.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m making a guess about something.”

I glance over at him. “Have you ever realized you don’t give actual answers?”

"Yes,” he responds with a grin, turning the stereo on.

Twenty minutes later, I’m practically bursting at the seems to know where he’s taking me.

What kind of guess is he making? Also, what does that even mean?

He pulls up in front of a nice looking place I’ve never been to--again, surprise--and comes around to open my door. Despite the crowd, as soon as the hostess sees the man leading me through the restaurant, we’re ushered into the back.

Turns out the place has private rooms. It’s quiet and cozy, and I’m pretty sure only the president gets this kind of treatment.

Once I’m seated across from him, menu in hand, I have to ask, “Was your guess correct?”

“I don’t know, do you like French food?”

I smile because j’adore French food, and he grins back because he somehow knew that already.

The waiter comes to ask for our drink order, and I gesture at Rhysand for him to order mine. I know nothing about wine, and he obviously does, because he orders something fancy and expensive sounding.

There’s soft music playing in the background, candles in the corner, and a handsome man sitting across from me. It’s the most romantic situation I’ve ever been in, hands down.

He braces an arm on the table, watching as I take a small sip of the wine. Trying to maintain some sort of maturity, I say, “You have good taste.”

“I do,” he replies, but his eyes are on me, not the wine. “Are you almost done with school?”

“One more year,” I answer, trying not to cheer as I say it. Four years of education for an art major is kind of ridiculous to me, but it would’ve been stupid to turn down a full scholarship.

Rhysand hums, nodding. Even though he asked, I somehow feel like he already knew that. Weird.

“Did you go to college?”

He gives me a strange look. “My formal education stopped around seventh grade.”

It’s an effort to keep my jaw off the table, and I’m proud of myself when I say mildly, “Impressive.”

“Being uneducated impresses you?”

I scowl. “No, but having everything you do despite not being handed anything is.”

His face stays impassive, but there’s a twinkle of respect in his eyes. The waiter comes back and asks what we want to eat, and because the menu I’ve barely even looked at is in French, I get the same thing as Rhysand.

When we’re alone again, I ask, “Okay, spill. How’d you know I love French food?”

Rhysand shrugs. “I’m good at reading people.”

I wave a hand, because that wasn’t answer enough, and he continues on a sigh. “You’re kind of... easy to read. No offense.”

“Interesting you say ‘No offense’ after calling a woman easy,” I note.

He laughs, but points out, “You’re not easy. I offer to buy you a Degas and you won’t even come home with me.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Once again, you haven’t answered my question.”

There’s a long beat of silence. “You like French food because you like Impressionist art, and both Degas and Monet were French. Your dream vacation also happens to be Paris, and eating French food makes you feel closer to that goal.”

My mouth drops open, and he laughs soundly at the blatant display of shock, but before I can ask how the hell he knew that, the waiter comes with our food. Identical displays of delicious-smelling pasta are set in front of us.

I reach for my fork, but he grabs our plates and switches them.

When I raise a brow, he shrugs and says, “In case you were thinking about poisoning me.”

I snort in a very ladylike manner, tucking into my food. A soft moan escapes me, and he looks up at me, bite halfway between his plate and mouth.

“Uh, sorry,” I murmur, blushing down the neckline of my dress.

Rhysand just smiles, making me feel young once again. “Don’t be. I quite enjoy the sound of a pleasured woman.”

Rolling my eyes, I take another bite, managing to refrain from sounding too pleasured. “So, Paris. How’d you know?”

He doesn’t really give me an answer, just says, “I bet you have a little Eifel Tower trinket on your desk and everything.”

An embarrassed laugh bubbles out of me, because I do. I totally do. I’ve had it for three years and look at it every time I’m tempted to drop out.

“What do you do for a living?” I ask, trying to get us back on even ground. I feel like he somehow knows everything about me, and even though I’ll have to ask questions, I’m finding out at least one thing about him.

“I’m in real estate.”

I nod, ready to just accept that answer. Then I look around us, remembering how crowded the restaurant was, and start giggling. “You own this restaurant, don’t you?”

A sigh. Busted. “Yes, I do.”

I tsk and give him a judgmental look. “You can’t take me somewhere you own for a date. That’s cheating.”

He takes a sip of his wine. “How so?”

“It just is.” I sigh, just to tease him. “Shame. I was feeling so romanticized, maybe enough so to go home with you. Not anymore, though.”

He rolls his eyes, the gesture making him younger. “Eat your food.”

I do, and by the end, I’m so full I probably look pregnant. “Holy fuck, that was good.”

Rhysand smiles, like it’s adorable that I cursed, and pushes back his empty plate. “Dessert?” I shake my head. “Coffee?”

“I’m so full I might die.”

Rising with fluid grace, he extends a hand. “Then come with me.”

Not bothering to ask questions at this point, I just take his hand and follow him out, noticing the city has a slight chill now that the sun’s gone down.

“Why is it women can never plan for the sun going down?” he ponders, wrapping me in his suit jacket.

“It’s a test to see if you’ll let us freeze to death.”

Rhysand chuckles and slides his hand into mine, so casually and simply it seems like a mundane thing we do every day.

I know I’ve known him for a total of five hours, but everything about today has been... easy. Natural. It’s like we just click, and I’m not stupid enough to question it right now.

“You’re quite the gentleman,” I remark, bringing up our intertwined fingers to look at the tattoos on his skin. He’s silent for a minute, and when I glance over, he’s looking at the ground as we walk, a strange look on his face. “What?”

“You’re probably the only person in this entire world who believes that.”

I scoff, because the idea that the man next to me, holding my hand and running his thumb across my fingers, is anything but a gentleman is absurd.

“What other paintings do you have?”

It’s a question I’ve been dying to ask since he mention his other Degas.

“It’s a shame you’re determined to not go home with me. You could see them yourself.”

I drop his hand and shove his shoulder, my lips twitching as he laughs. “You asshole. You’re leveraging access to a private collection for sex? Men are horrible.”

Rhysand chuckles, throwing an arm around me and pulling me close. “I have a Monet,” he whispers in my ear, placing a featherlight kiss to my temple. “And a Rembrandt.”

“I hate you.”

He releases me and grabs my hand again, then pulls me toward a dark alley I hadn’t noticed he’d been guiding me toward. “Um... where are you taking me?”

He, of course, doesn’t tell me. No, he shushes me.

“I will not be quiet while you drag me down some seedy alley!” I’m beginning to panic a bit, because besides spending way too much time alone, I like to watch Law and Order, and this is turning into the beginning of a familiar episode.

“Is this because I said I won’t have sex with you tonight?” Before he can respond, I blurt, “Because I probably will at some point, I’m just kind of nervous-”

“I’m not going to murder you, Feyre darling.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Now shut up.”

Pouting like a sullen child, I shut my mouth and accept my fate. He tugs me further down the black alley, and eventually I can’t even see. Can he? Is he some sort of vampire? Am I really asking myself that?

The glow of his phone illuminates the dark for a second, and I catch the time 11:59. “One more minute.”

“Until...?”

He’s silent for thirty-eight seconds, then he says, “Until this.”

Suddenly, the space above us lights up, colors shooting all around us in a kaleidoscope of reds and blues and greens.

Gasping, I look up to see the air above us full of glass lanterns, the surfaces painted with swirling black paint. The alley is covered wall to wall, and the end result gives the walls around us beautiful designs and dimension.

I laugh in surprise, twirling around to take in the entire place. “What is this?”

“We’re in the artist’s quadrant of the city. I don’t know why, but they do this every night, exactly at midnight.”

I spin around in a circle, arms out, smiling from ear to ear. He watches with a grin, leaning against one of the walls casually. I walk down the alley, eyes up, taking in everything.

It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.

The lanterns are each unique, like they were done by different people. Some are solid colors, others are mixtures.

I look back over at Rhysand, beams of red and blue and pink bouncing off his face, a smile playing at his full lips. It’s obvious he took me here because he knew I’d love it, and it makes me feel insanely special.

Still giddy with happiness, I bound over to him, put my hands on either side of his face, and press my lips to his.

For a second, we probably look like idiots, just standing there pressing our smiles together.

Then, like we’re in synch, the smiles fall away and we start to actually kiss.

His hands slip inside the jacket, linking at the small of my back and pulling me closer to him. He’s still leaning against the wall, back against the brick, and I put my hands on his chest, fingers digging into the corded muscle I find there.

Rhysand pulls back for a minute, traces his fingers over my face lightly. He looks so surprised and confused, I’m tempted to ask what’s wrong. But then his mouth is back on mine, moving more fervently, and I forget all about it.

His hands cup my jaw, tilting my face to where he wants it, then slide in my hair.

He tastes like honey and citrus, and I slide my tongue in his mouth, desperate for more. I moan at the taste of him, and he suddenly moves, like the sound unleashed something in him.

One hand grabs the back of my thigh, the other wrapping around my waist, and then I’m the one against the wall. The brick digs into my shoulder blades, but I hardly even notice, because he wraps my leg around his hips and presses us together.

His mouth is sliding down my jaw, sucking on the spot between my neck and shoulder softly. I make a low sound, slip my hands in his hair, and prepare to eat him alive.

And then the world goes dark.

The lanterns above us turn off, casting us in darkness, but we don’t stop for a few minutes. When we’re both breathless, he pulls away with a low chuckle and releases my leg.

I slide down him slowly, leaning against the wall for support.

What the hell was that?

Did I really just make out with a complete stranger in an alley?

The answer to that question--and the one of if I’d do it again--is hell yes.

He runs a hand over his lips, almost in disbelief, then takes a healthy step back and holds out a hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

I take another look at the disheveled hair, swollen lips, rumpled shirt. And I know without a doubt that if he were on my doorstep, looking at me with those bedroom eyes, I’d pull him inside without a thought.

“I think I should take a cab.”

Rhysand smiles, knowing exactly why. “I’m flattered.”

“Shut up,” I laugh, pushing him away and starting back toward the busier street.

Even though the street’s deserted, he manages to hail a cab easily, the bright yellow car slowing to a stop next to us. I open the back door, kiss his cheek, and slip inside. “Thank you for dinner. Even though you cheated.”

He rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind me. “I’ll call you.”

I nod, feeling a little ridiculous for how happy that statement makes me. Tonight was... like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It was just dinner, I remind myself, but it doesn’t do any good.

It feels like the beginning of something.

The cab driver glances at me in the rearview mirror and laughs. “That good, huh?”

I don’t even respond because yeah. That good.

I’m halfway home before I realize I never even gave him my number. And I honestly wonder if I’ll ever see Rhysand Azara again.

_________________________________________________

Part 2

@elorcan-trash @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @bamchickawowow @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#feysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #rhysand

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years

Text

marriage story

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5,641

summary: Fake marrying Bucky was only supposed to be a means to an end.

prompt: college au, fake marriage au, and enemies to lovers

warnings: swearing, talk of past sexual abuse

a/n: This was written for @broadwayandnetflix for @bucky-smiles‘s Secret Santa! SURPRISE!!!! I’m so sorry I’m a day late, I just wanted to make sure it was as good as I could make it!! I really hope you enjoy!!!

You weren’t sure how you ended up staring at divorce papers.

Hell, you’d just graduated college three weeks ago and had miraculously landed your first job that was conducive to your career.

And now, you were a divorcée at the age of twenty-one.

Granted, your marriage had lasted much longer than a lot of those that happened when the two people were teenagers.

It had also been fake, but that’s beside the point.

You read over the divorce papers for the eightieth time since they’d arrived. Both of you took your individual things, no need for lawyers…

It had all seemed so simple when it first began. A means to an end.

You were eighteen and stupid. Desperate. You had no idea what the consequences would be.

You had no idea that you’d actually fall in love with your husband.

He’d needed to live off campus since he couldn’t afford the on campus housing. At a minimum of seven thousand dollars a school year, it was ridiculous. You couldn’t really afford it either, but the school had a rule that you couldn’t live off campus until your junior year, and the two of you were still second semester freshmen.

Then there was the issue with your FAFSA. You weren’t exactly on good terms with your parents. And by not on good terms, you meant that you didn’t speak to them. At all. Getting their tax information wasn’t going to happen, and it wasn’t like they were helping you pay for college.

But FAFSA wouldn’t let you fill it out as an independent student until you were twenty-one. Apparently, being cut off from your parents wasn’t enough of a ‘special circumstance’ to allow it.

But, there was one little thing that could fix all that.

Matrimony.

If you were married, you’d have to file independently. No questions asked about parents.

And the university would allow you to live off campus, too.

It was a perfect solution. A quick little trip to the courthouse.

Living together had seemed logical. A little two bedroom apartment was much cheaper than seven thousand dollars for nine months in a dorm room you had to share.

Plus, you had to keep up the illusion to the school and the government that you were married.

Outside of living together though, there wasn’t much needed. Each of you wore a fake ring when you went to your meetings with your advisor and your classes. It kept the rabid frat boys away from you, at least.

And then there were the scholarships. Turns out, there are scholarships specifically for married college kids, and your advisor thought you were just perfect for it because she’d never met such a wonderful couple.

It was all perfect. Until it wasn’t.

First off, you and Bucky didn’t even really like each other when all of this started. You only knew each other because you were best friends with Natasha, who was his best friend’s girlfriend. It had actually been the two of them that had gotten the idea in the first place.

“So, I’m sure you’re wondering why we gathered you here today,” Steve said, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Steve, this is my room.”

This was not how you wanted to spend your Saturday night. You’d worked a double that day, from eight in the morning to ten that night.

The perks of working at a bar that did Mimosa Mornings on the weekends. The worst part was that you weren’t even allowed to take a shot or two to help you get through it since you were eighteen.

Stupid fucking law. If you could work in a bar, you should be able to drink to deal with the customers. Because fuck, they’re horrible.

But you made more than you’d be making at Buffalo Wild Wings, that’s for sure.

“Can we just get whatever this is over with?” Bucky asked from across the room. He definitely wasn’t keen to be stuck in a room with you for any longer than necessary. “I have work in the morning.”

“Same here,” you added, narrowing your eyes at the two who sat in front of you.

Natasha was your best friend and your roommate, but fuck were you ready to put out a ‘New Friends Wanted’ sign. You could take applications.

Requirement number one: Must not be dating the best friend of the most annoying prick in the world AKA Bucky Barnes.

Requirement number two: Must not be waiting to ambush you in your own dorm room with said prick.

“So, both of you are having issues with the university,” Nat said as she took out a bunch of papers. “The dorms are crazy expensive and you’re not allowed to live off campus. Also, FAFSA is ridiculous.”

“And we have a solution,” Steve said, a grin on his face. He was such a giver. He loved his friends more than anything in the world and would literally give anything for them. Seriously. You’d once watched him actually give the shirt off his back to Bucky when the latter had gotten drunk at a party and puked all over his.

He’d also gotten it on your shoes, and Bucky had just burped and said, “They look better now.”

The disgusting asshole.

“Well, spit it out,” you said, rubbing your temples. You were still in your uniform, a pair of cut off jean shorts and a tank top. Your hair smelled like cigarette smoke and someone’s beer that they spilled on you. “I’d like to go to sleep before sunrise, please.”

“You two could get married.”

Both you and Bucky stared at them like they’d grown two heads.

“I’m sorry… What the fuck did you just say?” You asked, standing up.

Natasha rushed to continue, still grinning. “If you two get married, the university will let you live off campus, and FAFSA will let you file as independent!”

“And it’s cheap! A marriage license only costs like… fifty bucks? Something like that!” Steve said.

Well… It wasn’t… a horrible idea, even if you and Bucky might end up killing each other before then.

“I don’t know...,” you said, the whole idea making you nervous. Marriage? Come on.

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “I really don’t want to be married to her. We’d kill each other before we hit our six month anniversary,” he mocked, shooting a glare your way.

“It would only be until you graduate!” Natasha said. “And then, you two get divorced and it becomes a funny story to tell at parties!”

You shared a look across the room with the brunette. It would solve your problems…

“Fine.”

Turns out, getting married was a lot easier than you thought it would be. All four of you went to the courthouse that next Tuesday when all of you had a break in between classes.

You wore a sweatshirt and leggings, your ratty sneakers that were covered in mud along the bottom. Bucky wore jeans and a university hoodie.

Not exactly usual wedding attire.

Natasha, ever the optimist ever since she met Steve, had shoved a daisy she’d picked in your hair.

And an hour later, you’d walked out as Mrs. Barnes.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you stood up from the couch and walked around the little place you’d called home since you were eighteen.

It had been quiet the first few months. You signed a lease on an apartment a few blocks from campus and had moved in right at the end of the school year, but he went home with Steve to Brooklyn, New York.

You were alone the entire summer except for the few weekends that Natasha managed to come visit. The only time you and Bucky spoke was when he texted you to let you know when he was moving in.

And that’s when the fighting had started.

As you stared at a picture of the two of you on the wall, you couldn’t help but laugh. In the photo, you two were sitting on the couch, holding a cake that Natasha and Steve had gotten you as a joke. HAPPY 2ND ANNIVERSARY! was written across it in bright blue icing.

It was a far cry from when you two had first moved in. Everything was an issue. You didn’t do this, he did that, the both of you wanted to watch different movies and he had brought the television but you’d brought the DVD player. Everything. Hell, you’d sleep on the bean bag in Natasha’s dorm some nights because even being in the same apartment as him was too much.

Eventually, there was compromise. An understanding grew between you and with that, a truce. You couldn’t keep living like you were.

You were pretty sure the war had finally, silently ended one late night in October. It was the weekend before Halloween, and you’d had the worst shift of your life.

Your keys clanged as you unlocked the front door, trying to open it as quietly as possible. Even from where you stood, you could see the clock above the stove that read 1:42 AM. You were supposed to be off at ten, but that clearly hadn’t happened. One of the other girls working had gotten sick and you were forced to cover the few hours she was supposed to work alone until close.

And to add onto that, you made less the entire weekend than you had last Friday night. You’d been hit on, groped, yelled at. Fuck. You just wanted to collapse in your bed.

“You’re home late.”

“Fuck!” You jumped in shock, your heart pounding in your chest. God. Your anxiety had just spiked and the exhaustion you’d been feeling was replaced with your fight or flight instinct.

Bucky was standing in the hallway entrance, brows furrowed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He had on those gray sweats that he looked so good in…

No! Down girl! Bad!

It didn’t matter that he was hot. He was a total dick.

Though, lately he’d be rather kind. Nice. There’d been less fights in the past few weeks.

You cleared your throat, looking away from him. “Yeah, Wanda got sick, so I had to close.”

“There’s dinner in the microwave,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He nodded, before disappearing down the hall. It surprised you when you heard the bath start, but whatever. Whether or not he took baths was none of your business.

You were surprised to find a huge bowl of vegetable soup in the microwave. Huh. You’d just been talking to Natasha about how much you missed your mom’s homemade version.

Whatever. It wasn’t like you’d ever be having that again.

You let your head rest on the counter as you waited for the soup to heat up. Fuck. Your entire body ached.

“Hey, do you want epsom salt?” Bucky called out from the bathroom.

“Uh, what?” You said as you raised your head. Even just moving that little made your head pound.

He poked his head out of the doorway, his long hair pulled back in a bun. “For your bath? Do you want epsom salt?”

“My bath? What the hell are you talking about?” You asked as the microwave beeped.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe. “The bath that I’m currently running you. Do. You. Want. Epsom. Salts?”

There was a long pause as the two of you stared at each other. “Yeah,” you said finally, your voice coming out a lot smaller than you expected. “That would be nice.”

Once he’d disappeared back into the bathroom, you pulled out your phone and texted Nat.

To: Tasha

Why is Barnes acting weird?

From: Tasha

Which one of you?

Get it?

Cause you’re married?

To: Tasha

Yeah

I got it.

But he’s being fucking weird.

From: Tasha

How so?

To: Tasha

He made me dinner? At least, he poured vegetable soup from a can into a bowl and left it in the microwave.

And he’s running me a bath???

V V strange.

If I don’t text you tomorrow

It’s probably because he killed me

From: Tasha

Oh that

To: Tasha

What do you mean

“Oh that”????

NATASHA

ANSWER YOUR PHONE

From: Tasha

Sorry, was talking to Steve

He mentioned you’d been working a lot and how tired you were so I told him he should do something nice.

And I may have told him that you missed your mom’s vegetable soup.

So that probably explains that.

“Hey, it’s ready,” Bucky said as he came into the kitchen. “I’ve got some towels in the dryer going, so they’ll be all warm when you’re ready to get out.” He seemed so… laissez-faire about it. Like you two didn’t fight on a daily basis usually. He watched as you took a bite of the soup, his blue eyes zeroed in on you. “Do you like it?” He asked. “I tried following my ma’s recipe. Don’t know how well it went.”

You couldn’t help but moan around the spoon as the warm soup went down. Even reheated, it was amazing. “This is your mom’s recipe? It’s amazing.”

His cheeks flushed as he tried to hide a grin. “Thanks. I’ve missed her cooking.”

It was silent as you finished up the soup, the only sound being the spoon clanging against the bowl. It wasn’t until you set your dishes in the sink to wash the next day that he spoke again.

“Oh, I got you this,” he said as he pulled out a box. “I saw my advisor and he knows that we’re married and he mentioned that we still don’t have rings, so I just went and grabbed a ring from a thrift store.”

It was then that you noticed the simple silver band on his left ring finger, glinting in the low light.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as you took the box. But your breath was stolen from your lungs as you opened it, revealing a gorgeous diamond engagement ring with a matching diamond wedding band. “It’s… It’s beautiful… Thank you…”

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, you go ahead and get in the bath. I’ll bring you the towels when they’re done.”

As you sat in the bath, you couldn’t help but stare at the rings that now resided on your left hand. They glinted in the low light of the candles that had been placed in various places around the bathroom, most likely lit with Bucky’s lighter from the local smoke shop.

They were absolutely stunning.

Maybe… just maybe… this marriage wouldn’t be as bad as you first thought it would be.

You glanced over at the table as your phone buzzed, running to it. Maybe it’s Bucky…

But your hope was dashed as you realized it was Natasha calling you.

You hadn’t realized you’d been crying until a drop of water fell on the screen. Wiping your eyes, you brought it up to your ear. “Hey, Tasha! What’s up?” You couldn’t help but wince. You sounded like a fucking real estate agent. Perfect and peppy and… not you.

“Hey, I just wanted to call and see how you’re doing,” she whispered, as though she was trying to keep someone else from hearing. “Bucky got the divorce papers today and I figured that meant you did, too.”

Ah, another thing. He’d been staying at Steve and Natasha’s place since all of you had graduated, and the time had come for the divorce. He’d gotten all of his things out within two days, except for the hoodie you were currently cocooned in and your wedding rings.

“I know how much you love this place,” he’d said with a wry smile. “So you can have it in the divorce settlement.”

It had been a joke. The divorce settlement. Like you two had actually been in love and things just hadn’t worked out.

“You aren’t gonna change the Netflix password on me, right?” You asked as you stood in the doorway of Bucky’s room, arms crossed over your chest. “Because I’m still paying for half of it.”

Buck grinned at you as he taped the last box shut. “I don’t know… Might change it up on you. Have it all to myself. Then my suggested movies and shows won’t be so fucked up,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, glaring at him. But there was no heat behind it. “We have separate profiles on there, you dumbass. So if Gossip Girl is on your suggested, that’s your fault.”

The laugh that erupted from his mouth made him throw his head back, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Seeing Bucky Barnes laugh was one of the Seven Wonders of the World. It was better than the Great Pyramids of Giza, the Taj Mahal, and the Great Wall of China all rolled into one.

“We’re still gonna have Thursday night movies, right?” You asked, trying to ignore the way your voice cracked.

In the three years since you’d gotten married, Thursday night had become your sort of fake Date Night. You two would order takeout and watch movies until the both of you passed out of the couch. You both changed your availability at your jobs to let them know that you couldn’t work Thursdays. Not even Natasha and Steve were allowed to intrude. It was just your special night to hang out.

“I’ll bring the food. Do you want Thai or Mexican?” He asked, his features a little softer.

“I’ll text you what I want,” you said. Biting your lip, you toyed with the rings on your left hand. “I guess I should give you these back, huh?” You started to slip them off, but he stopped you.

“They’re yours,” he said, his hand closing over yours. His blue eyes shimmered in the light as you swallowed. “Keep them… as a reminder of your former husband.” The corner of his mouth twitched, but you couldn’t tell if he was going to smile or frown.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you said, suddenly surging forward to hug him. “Even though you’re super annoying.”

Bucky laughed as he wrapped his arms around you just as tight. “I’m gonna miss you, too.”

“How’s he doing?” You asked as you moved to what had formerly been Bucky’s room. It was now completely bare, except for a single gum wrapper on the floor. You sank down against the wall as you stared at it. Extra wintermint gum. Because he absolutely hated spearmint.

“About as well as you, I imagine,” she said slowly, choosing her words ever so carefully. “I don’t know. He went out for a walk a few minutes ago. But he locked himself in the guest room for hours after getting the papers.”

You let your head fall back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as you tried to stop another onslaught of tears. “This is what we wanted,” you said, your voice cracking.

A pause. You could feel the tension even through the phone, a can of worms Natasha was about to open. “Is it? Is this what you wanted?”

“This was always the plan!” You retorted, the tears coming in a wave now. “We’d stay married until after we graduated and then we’d divorce. No drama, no court, no lawyers. Just a means to an end.”

You could hear her whispering to someone that you knew was Steve on the other end for a few seconds, the sound muffled. She’d probably covered the speaker. “Do you want me to come over?” She finally asked.

“No,” you said with a sigh, rubbing the hell of your palm against your eyes. “I just wanna… curl up in bed and watch cheesy movies and never come out.”

You didn’t understand. Why did this hurt so bad? He was just a friend. You two had never even kissed, for crying out loud. This wasn’t some fanfiction where you two fell into bed one drunken night and then woke up with feelings. This wasn’t an ‘Oh no, there’s only one bed’ type of deal with 100K+ words on AO3. You two were just friends. Really. There was no happy ending for the two of you waiting.

“Are you still gonna go to the Barnes’s Fourth of July party?” Natasha asked, her voice softer.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on your knee caps. “There’s no point. We’re not married anymore.”

“Sweetheart,” she chided. “You know he’d want you there. So would his family. You’re still a Barnes, even if you change your last name back.”

“I don’t know,” you said, chewing on your bottom lip. “I like the last name Barnes better. It’s not like I have any connection to my old last name. Maybe…” You swallowed. “Maybe I should keep it. It costs money to change it back, after all. It’s on my license now.”

Ah, yes. Because your license had expired while you were married and you’d had to get a new one.

“You’re a Barnes now and forever, hon,” she teased. You could hear her smile through the phone. “And you know Winifred would be pissed as hell if you didn’t go. You’re her daughter now just as much as Bucky is her son.”

God, the tears came on like a tsunami when you remembered the Barneses. George, Winifred, Becca, all of them. Especially Winifred. Sweet, sweet Winnie that had become your mom in the years since you’d met her.

“Bucky, I don’t know about this,” you said as you walked up the steps to his place. Or, rather, his parents’ place. “I should just go home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed as he searched for the right key. “I’m not letting you drive the way back just to spend Christmas alone.”

Truthfully, it was stupid to even suggest. Your apartment that you shared with him now was over eight hours away, and it was two days before Christmas Eve.

God, how the hell did you end up here? You’d been planning on spending it alone, just like you had Thanksgiving.

But when Bucky had come back from the break and realized that you hadn’t gone anywhere, it’d prompted him to ask why, which had then resulted in him insisting on you accompanying him to New York City for Christmas with his family.

“What if they don’t like me?” You asked, barely audible. In truth, you were terrified. This was your first holiday season that you were away from your parents. Thanksgiving had been strange, and you had certain it wasn’t going to get any better up until a few weeks ago.

Bucky stopped suddenly, looking at you with big blue eyes. “Sweetheart, they’re going to adore you,” he said, more sincere than he’d been since the two of you had gotten married. “How could they not?”

“You didn’t!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t like me either. And then we got to know each other.”

He had a point.

You grumbled, staring down at your boots. They were still covered in snow.

“And besides, Ma hasn’t shut up about meeting you ever since she found out about you,” he muttered as he finally found the right key. “Dad said she’s been obsessively cleaning the house since she found out you were coming.”

As soon as the opened the door, you were hit with a wall of sound. A woman with the same shade of hair as Bucky rushed forward, trapping the six foot man in a hug. “YOU’RE HOME!”

“Winnie, come on, don’t suffocate the boy.” A man with Bucky’s eyes appeared, his hands shoved in his pockets. He was trying to appear nonchalant, but the second he was free of his mother’s grasp, he was dragging him into another hug. “I’ve missed you, son.”

“And you must be his wife!” Winifred Barnes said, suddenly turning on you.

“Ma, she has a name.”

“I know that!”

“Winnie–”

You were pulled into a hug, and you were suddenly overwhelmed with feelings. Maybe it was just the fact that you hadn’t hugged your own mother in so long, or maybe it was just because Winifred was that lovely of a person. Either way, you were tearing up as she hugged you tightly. You gave her your name as she pulled back, looking over your face.

“Oh, you’re even prettier than Jamie said!”

Your cheeks flushed as Bucky grumbled out a quiet “Ma…”

It was then that you were swept into the apartment, finding it bustling with people. You were then introduced to the rest of his family: his younger sister, Becca, who was going to be a senior in high school and was SO grateful to have a new sister, his aunts, his uncles, his parents. The entire apartment was bursting with people even days before the actual holiday.

It wasn’t until after dinner (which was absolutely delicious) that you were able to capture a quiet moment in the kitchen, helping Winifred wash dishes.

“Thank you for having me over,” you said, to break the silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, surprisingly, you just felt like you needed to vocalize your thanks for what was probably the third time. “It means a lot.”

“Any friend of Jamie’s is a friend of ours,” she said as she rinsed off a plate. “And we’re so grateful for what you’re doing. He mentioned that it helps you, too, but… Our family can’t afford to pay for his housing. We can barely make his tuition.” She looked at you with crystal clear eyes that seemed to bore into your soul. “We’re so happy to have you.” She then paused, glancing over at the side of the sink, where you’d set your wedding rings just to make sure they didn’t slip off in the water. “You know, I was so happy when he asked for my ring. He’s always dreamed of giving it to a girl.”

“What?” You asked, looking at her in shock.

Winifred paused, her brows furrowed in a way that really reminded you of your husband. “Did he not tell you? The engagement ring is mine. But he saved up over the summer to buy a matching band for it.”

Your heart raced in your chest as you stared at the rings. Bucky had gotten his ma’s ring for you? But… why? You two were barely friends at this point.

“I would’ve been spending Christmas alone if it wasn’t for him inviting me,” you said, breaking her stare to look down at your soapy hands. “He found out I spent Thanksgiving at home and almost shit a brick.” You rushed to cover your mouth, to apologize, but she just snorted.

An easy smile tugged at her lips. “Holidays are a big thing for our family, and I guess we passed that down to Jamie. Everyone comes to town for about a week and we spend it drinking and shooting the shit, baking. We can’t afford much, so our gifts are usually just spending time together,” she said.

“It sounds nice,” you whispered as you scrubbed absentmindedly at a pan. “My family… even when I still talked to them, we were never big on holidays.” Winifred had gone quiet beside you. “It was always just us. We’d eat dinner together and sometimes I’d get a present, but mostly it was just spent like any other day.”

She took a deep breath, setting a plate on the drying rack. “What… happened? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“I… confronted my parents about the sexual abuse I went through as a kid,” you said slowly, swallowing around the lump that had suddenly formed in your throat. “My cousin… He, uh… He’s only a year and a half older than me. From the time I was… four or five, I think, to about twelve, he would… you know.” The kitchen felt deadly silent, and you were so glad that the rest of the Barnses, including Bucky, were in the living room. Even though he knew the basics of what had happened, you never told him details. “And my parents would punish me for it when he got caught. They blamed me. They’d ground me or spank me or… whatever.” You let out a weak laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “They didn’t really take it well. It doesn’t matter though. I’m fine.”

You were shocked when you were suddenly pulled into a tight hug. Winifred’s arms formed a cocoon around you and you could feel her tears on your face. She was only an inch or two taller than you. “That was not your fault,” she gasped out, holding you to her. “That was not your fault.”

Before you realized what was happening, you were clutching onto her as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

You didn’t know how long she’d held you before she leaned back, wiping away your tears. Or at least, trying to before they were replaced with more. “You are not what he did to you, you hear me?” She asked, wiping at her own face. “You are always welcome here. We’re your family now.”

“What’s going on here?”

The both of you turned to see Bucky in the doorway, his sea blue eyes wide. He was holding a few extra plates that had been left behind.

“Nothing,” she said with a watery grin. “Just… talking.”

“Here,” he said as he walked over and put the dishes inside the sink filled with soapy water. “I’ll finish up with my wifey here, and you go clean up before dad freaks out because you’re crying.”

She barked out a laugh, nodding. “Fine. Fine. You know how he gets if I’m upset,” she said, kissing your forehead before leaving.

“So… You actually okay?” Bucky asked as he took over rinsing the dishes you washed.

The smile that found its way onto your lips was real, surprisingly, as you said, “Everything’s great, Jamie.”

And even though he let out a groan, he was smiling, too.

It was after that trip that you’d started calling him Jamie. It just… felt better rolling off your tongue than Bucky ever did. It was also when holidays in Brooklyn became a permanent thing. Anytime Bucky went home, so did you.

They were your family.

But now… Now what? Did you lose them like you lost your parents?

Granted, losing your parents wasn’t exactly the worst thing.

“Sweetheart? You there?” Natasha asked, bringing you back to the present.

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head to clear out the cloudiness of your memories. “Yeah, I’m–” You broke off as you heard a knock at the door, a frown tugging at your lips. “Hold on, Tasha, I’ll call you back…” You hung onto your phone as you walked to the front door, peeking through the peephole.

Bucky?... What the fuck was he doing here?

You opened the door wide, shocked to find him crying. His eyes were puffy and red, his nose running. “Jamie? What’s wrong?” You reached forward to touch his shoulder, shoving your phone in your back pocket.

“Don’t sign those papers.”

“Wait… What?” Now you were even more confused. Your brows furrowed as you pushed his hair back from his face. God, he needed a haircut. Maybe you could… No. Not the focus right now.

He stepped toward, half inside the apartment that had been his, too, just two weeks before. His large, calloused hand caressed your face. “I don’t want to not be your husband,” he said, his voice cracking.

Your heart thundered inside your chest and you were half sure this was some kind of trick of your mind to soothe its aching. “What do you mean?”

“I want to make this work,” he said as he cupped your face in his hands. “I… I want to actually have Thursday night Date Nights and take you out and when we go home for the holidays, I want to kiss you under the mistletoe my ma always hangs up, and I want you to wear my ma’s ring. I want to be your husband. Please.”

You didn’t realize you were crying–yet again, fucking damn it–until he wiped them away. “I don’t want to not be your wife, either,” you said, your voice shaking. “I love you, I love you so much.”

His lips met yours in a blazing kiss, holding you closer than you thought possible. “I love you more,” he whispered against your lips. “I’m never letting you go.”

You dragged him inside, shutting the door before kissing him again. “You’re staying here. None of this bullshit of you staying with Tasha and Steve.”

“Gladly,” he chuckled, holding onto your waist. “But only if I get to sleep in your bed.”

“Only if we can shred those divorce papers.”

The moment was interrupted by his phone ringing, and you couldn’t help but giggle when you saw it was Winifred. He shot you an apologetic look as he answered it. “Hey, ma.”

She was speaking so loudly you could hear her clearly. “Well?! How did it go?! Did you ask her?!”

“Yes, I asked her,” he said slowly, squeezing your side. “She said yes. I’m with her now.”

Both of you flinched away as she screamed in excitement. “GIVE HER THE PHONE! GIVE HER THE PHONE!”

You smiled as you pressed it to your ear. “Hi, mom.”

“BABY! I’M SO HAPPY! NOW WE CAN HAVE A REAL WEDDING!” She was speaking at a hundred miles an hour. “Do you want a summer or fall wedding? I think it might be too late to do summer, but I’m sure we could scrounge something together!”

You giggled as Bucky stole kisses from you while she was speaking, distracting you.

“Sweetheart? You there?”

“A late summer wedding sounds perfect,” you said, unable to wipe the grin from your face. “Absolutely perfect.”

#cmmsecretsanta #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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