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sidhewrites · 10 months

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22! Someone else write this for me i'm just throwing things at the wall and seeing what sticks. We got the end of the renfield arc and setting up for the climax of the book, but god knows if any of it makes any sense.

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"Right," I say. "Cool." We're fucked. "What's next on the list?" When Josie doesn't answer, I look over to see her wide-eyed, mouth agape. "Josie?"

"I don't know. This is..."

"We've got to convince him to trade his body for this one," Lucy butts in. She's flickering in and out of visibility. Magnus' magic ghost power shit is messing with her own tether to this world as she stares down the ghosts around us, daring them to come closer. "It's a banishing ritual, right? So we've got to drag him out of there quickly."

[They go up, and have to basically distract him while the world is being sucked into the grave, while Lucy and Josie say a spell. Rocks are floating, bits of the church are starting to crumble.]

I feel a piece of my heart break off with every brick that starts to crumble. The church hasn't been used in decades, but it's part of the graveyard. My graveyard. And I won't let some old fart with a noise complaint ruin it.

So I renew my efforts to get his attention. I jump around and wave my hands. "Hey! Mags! Over here, asshole!" He spares me a single glance, but it doesn't work for long. I throw a rock, but it misses him entirely and falls into the grave with the rest of the rubble. I try again, but my aim really is shit, so I resort to something else.

"Behold the power of..." I pull my phone out and search for the most annoying song I can think of. It blares out of the tinny speakers, pathetically quiet all things considered, but it's enough.

Magnus whirls on me, eyes glowing. "Turn that off."

"Welcome to the 21st century, Maggie! We got music everywhere!"

He lashes out, throwing a wave of ectoplasm at me. I dodge, barely managing to keep a hold on my phone as I circle him as fast as I can. "Any time now would be good!" I shout. I don't know where Josie and Lucy are anymore, but it doesn't matter. I just have to keep him distracted long enough for them to finish the invocation.

The song ends, and I press play again, ready to loop it for as long as necessary. My heart's hammering, and my lungs burn, but I don't have time to waver. Instead, I push through, drawing on as much strength as I can to keep circling Magnus, staying just out of reach and just ahead of his poorly-aimed attacks.

He scolds me and monologues as we go, telling me I'm stupid and useless and kids these days, but it doesn't matter. I can outlast him. I have to.

And, sure enough, a few minutes later, his rambling stops. I let myself slow to a walk, ready to sprint away again in a second if I have to, but there's no need. He's bent double, apparently having the world's worst stomach ache as the ghostly body around his bones starts to waver and deform. Blobs of light pull away and break off, pieces of him coming apart one by one, until there's nothing left but bones.

With the glowing power gone, there's nothing left to hold Magnus' corporeal body together. The skeleton falls apart piece by piece, nothing but a crumpled heap on the ground. What I can only describe as ghost goo remains floating above the pile, waiting a moment before flying at me.

"Run!" I shout, but we don't have a chance. It hits me in the chest, leaving me feeling sick and dizzy for a second, but it fails to do anything more. Instead, the ball of goo simply goes right through me, towards where Josie and Lucy have hidden. Josie's still got Renfield in her arms when the lights hit him and begin to melt into his fur. He wakes up with a start, yowling and hissing -- and then heaving. For a second, I'm terrified Magnus is possessing Renfield again, but it doesn't last long.

The light centers into a single point in Renfield's chest, and he hops down from my arms. Slowly, it rises up his throat, and with the familiar hacking that comes with a hairball-prone cat, he vomits up what looks like a glowing glob of goop that slithers over, slug-like, to the urn.

I feel my mouth twist into a scowl of disgust. "Is that...?"

Lucy nods. "That's Sunthorpe's soul. Or, rather...what's left of him."

"Do we banish him? Sweep it up?"

She shakes her head, and looks to Josie. "You're the expert on this sort of thing."

We watch for a second, scowling in disgust as Magnus' soul slorps into the urn. It takes all my will not to go kick the damn thing, if only because I'm afraid that touching it might fuck something up.It doesn't make me feel less angry, but I'm doing better at the whole thinking-before-I act thing.

Plus I'm exhausted, so. "Now what?" I want to go to bed, but I don't think that's going to be in my immediate future.

"We should get Renfield checked out again," Josie says. "Just in case."

"Poor thing," Lucy agrees. "He's been through a lot in so short a time."

I sigh. He didn't deserve to get mixed up in all of this. He was just a frightened old man with kitty Alzheimer's and kitty arthritis and kitty asthma and... well, now, he deserved a trip to a kitty spa, or something. But I can't just leave. One look at the mess around us makes it clear that won't be happening any time soon. I don't have solid proof that Mr. Ngo would blame me for whatever is happening here, but I don't want to risk it after my behavior the past few days.

Helplessly, I turn to Josie. "I'm sorry, but..."

"I got it." She puts a hand on my arm. "Am I still your emergency contact at the vet?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

She nods, and squeezes my arm. "You both owe me an interview later." She points first at me, then at Lucy -- who starts. "I can see you now, Mrs. Blue, and I intend to make the most of it." Before heading off into the night, Josie whispers a quick, "She's really hot," into my ear. I don't get a chance to respond before she slips away. I don't let myself dwell on it for long before getting to work. There's a lot that needs cleaning up before Mr. Ngo shows up today, and I don't want to risk being caught out here in the rubble.

My first target is Magnus's skeleton, gathering his bones and funeral suit up in a sloppy pile and dumping it into the coffin lying in pieces at the bottom of the hole. As soon as they land, a twinge of regret has me thinking I should have been a bit more ceremonious about the whole thing. But what's done is done, and I tell myself I did more than enough by not spitting on him again, especially now that my lip isn't bleeding. Fucker.

I'm nicer to the urn, at least. I don't want to risk it breaking and releasing him back into the world.

Lucy waits at the grave while I sprint to retrieve a shovel and work gloves from the shed. When I return, she says "I feel it would be appropriate to say a few words." Before I can blanch in terror, she rushes to add, "I'll take care of it. You take care of him."

I nod, and begin to fill the grave as she gives her eulogy.

"Here we lay to rest Magnus Sunthorpe -- again -- and, hopefully, this time for good. In life, he was a steadfast man who knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to get it. He was much the same in death. [She gives a two-sided pointed eulogy.]"

"Good?"

"Good."

She stays off to the side, watching as I move the dirt. I even catch her ogling a few times, gaze shamelessly trailing down my gross, sweaty bare arms and my sexy muscles.

I totally don't flex. But, if I had, it would have been extremely subtle and suave and not obvious at all.

"You okay?" Lucy says, in the minutes before dawn.

I hesitate. Then, "I will be. I think. Things will be better after this."

"Come back at sunset, all right? Let me know how the little boy is doing."

"Yeah. Okay."

"Okay." She gives me a weary smile, and wanders off into the shadows to fade into nonexistence until night. Now all that's left is to review the work. It's not exactly pretty. Even if I've done what I can, it's all too clear that the dirt's been freshly dug. My job is in enough jeopardy as it is, and I don't want Mr. Ngo thinking I was one who dug it up and destroyed the coffin and skeleton, even if the dead guy totally deserved it.

So instead, I don my thickest gloves, and wander around the overgrowth. There are hundreds of people here, names lost to time, with nobody left to mourn. I spend the day at war with the wildflowers. By noon, I'm covered in sweat, and I've scraped both my knees and tried not to think about any potential consequences that might arise from accidental blood sacrifices to the dead. But the scrapes, the blisters, and the aching back are worth it. I've made a rudimentary walking path to each grave and cut roses to lay at the head of each grave.

"I know it's not much," I say each time, "but I hope it helps you have a nice day."

Next, I retrieve Ruby's spell book and find one of the tour guides -- Aiden, a young kid who still doesn't know what he wants to do with his life. I ask him to see if he can find a list of everyone who's been buried here. I promise to pay him under the table, since anything on the books would be wildly expensive with overtime.

"It'll likely be in basement level two at the library. If the librarian's there, don't make any Star Wars puns or anything. Just ask her for what you need. Oh-- and give her this." I hand over the spell book. "Don't open it. Just tell her Kaz says thank you for the help, and that I owe her my life. Literally." I hope that mentioning my name doesn't put him on Ruby's bad side immediately. For a moment, I think she might like me after yesterday, but I don't want to push my luck with someone like her.

Aiden gives me a salute and heads off to his secret mission. I look and feel half dead, but dutifully take his place as a tour guide to a group of costumed visitors, talking them through the history of Sutton Cemetery and its purported ghosts.

I'm standing by the old tree -- by Lucy's grave, I now realize, and pause for a moment, my face growing warm. I know she can't manifest during the day, but it's hard not to almost expect her to leap out from behind the tree in an attempt to spook me.

And then something rustles.

I frown, and turn back to the group. "One second, please." Abandoning them on the walking path, I step carefully over to the tree. Footprints lead around the grave, crushed leaves and flattened grass painting a clear picture of someone's trail through the graveyard.

A low groan emanates from the other side of the trunk.

Jesus fuck, I think. If zombies are real, I'm going to sacrifice to the horde just to get it over with.

It gets louder as I approach the tree, and more frenzied. More hungry.

"Hello...?" I say.

The zombie leaps out at me with a snarl -- and comes up short as I fall back, cursing and swearing. It's silhouette looms over me, blotting out the sun, viscera dripping from its limbs.

It bends low over me, and tilts its head. "Kaz," Mr. Ngo says. "I'm very disappointed in you for stealing my costume idea."

I have no words.

Mr. Ngo helps me up, giving me a long and disapproving once over. He's clearly spent hours on his costume, with fake wounds, an eye bulging from the socket, green and grey mottled skin visible through bloody, tattered clothes.

It's a fair assessment on his end. I'm covered in dirt, sweat, and band-aids, and my clothes are only mildly less disgusting. With a heroic amount of restraint, I avoid going into detail, and answer, "I had a personal project to take care of."

He looks distinctly unimpressed.

"In the historical quarter. Wanna me to show you?" I think I'd rather melt into my shoes.

Still, he raises a brow, and nods. "Excuse me," he says over my shoulder. The crowd of tour-guests aren't quite sure what to make of the zombie currently talking to them as if he was in charge here. "I'm afraid the tour has to be cancelled for now. See the front desk for refunds."

When they disperse, I look at him helplessly. "Mr. Ngo, I--"

"I don't want to hear it, Kaz. You've been causing trouble for weeks now. Is something going on outside of work I should know about? Is something wrong?"

"No -- well. It..." I fumble. "No, not anymore."

His look doesn't waver. I know I've fucked up royally from the first time I called the Haunted Archivists begging them to come back. I guess I should be more grateful he isn't firing me on the spot, when showing up to work the way I do would count as a serious warning to anyone else.

"Let me...just show you." I gesture vaguely, and take him out towards the oldest part of the graveyard, shadowed by old growth trees and, until recently, overrun with tall grass and weeds. But now, you can see each headstone, scraped of all moss and lichen, weeds removed from the immediate area. I've got weeks worth of work left to make the whole area presentable, but it's easy to see how much work I've done in just one day.

Mr. Ngo doesn't want to look impressed, but I can see the corner of his mouth twitch under the latex and costume makeup. He has every right to be angry with me, but I know that, were the circumstances better, he'd be over the moon. In the end, however, he holds back from saying anything about it at all. "Go home, Kaz. I'll see you tomorrow."

I let out a breath. I still have my job. And, now that Magnus is dealt with, I won't be doing anything to put it in jeopardy ever again.

"Can I get you lunch or anything?" I ask. "The flesh of the living? Brains, maybe?"

"Don't forget to shower."

I don't have to be told a third time.

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meleanatargaryen · 1 year

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The prince's convict

Aemond x Fem reader Part 2

Hi this is the part 2 of the ennemies to lovers kind of "The prince's target" 👀

-This time Fem reader wakes up in the dungeons of the Greens and Aemond visits her sometimes...

Warnings: kidnapping, incarceration, sequestration, incest (uncle/niece), dacryphilia, bite, bruises, pain, degrade speech, 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con, DD:DNE, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, oral sex (f receiving), Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex, thigh riding, de spit kink, creampie.

(Before anything, I considered changing two things :

1- I will not write with y/n anymore so that more people could appreciate it + it's disturbing for some and I understand so from now it will only be written at the 3rd person.

2- Some of you told me to make the smut longer and the intro/scenario a less developed.

I tried to do so here but I can not guarantee that there will be no context at all (I'm incapable of writing smut if there is not a bit of dialogues, slow burn and tension before anything "real")

Please remember English is not my first language so the writing is not perfect, for that i apologize. Anyway enjoy ! )

When she opened her eyes, her entire body ached in soreness. Trying to lift her arms, a terrifying realization invaded her conscience, the old stoned walls and the rusty dungeons bars and the so tiny wood bed definitely did not belong to Old Town or Dragonstone, but to King’s Landing. Her breaths quickened as she closed her eyes once again, memories flooding back to her head.

The next thing she knew, she were confined in this chamber.

The door cracked open.

Long silver hair, black leather suit.

Of course.

“You kidnapped me?!” She shrieked in rage, “In Bravoos? Are you out of your mind? You destroyed the chance of peace between the Greens and the Blacks! They will come for you and your family if I don't return soon...”

Aemond rolled his one eye and responded cooly, “Dear niece, we both know you don’t give a shit about peace. You are just mad because you lost your chance of escaping from me.”

Aemond approached, his hands gripped her wrists firmly in place as she continued to try to slap him, “They will try to get you back, but I won't let them take you from me. It's not like we were afraid of the Blacks.”

The insolent girl bit his hands while Aemond winced in pain, “As if it wasn’t my cunt of an uncle who pushed you right into my claws!”

“You’re right,” she gritted her teeth as he reclaimed her wrists, pinning her on the bed this time with much more force, “All this bloodshed, betrayals, all for the insatiable greed of the few. I won’t take part in this anymore. I’ve fought for my family, hard, for a long time, but it’s time to think for myself. This isn’t my fight anymore,” he leaned closer, “And I refuse to let you be in pawn in this game. I freed you from a fight that wasn’t yours. You… You will be mine.”

Aemond’s lowered his guard as glimmers in her eyes and silence reigned in the room.

“Aemond, you’re hurting my wrists,” she whimpered softly, her innocent doe eyes blinking.

He sighed and released his grasp.

Slap.

A bright red mark imprinted on his ethereal Valyrian face.

“You fucking pervert, Aemond! I am your niece! Your niece,” she breathed in disgust and rage, “You will make me succumb to your Targaryen queer traditions over my dead body!”

Aemond covered his stinging cheek, humiliated and surprised, “Over your dead body? Hmm,” he captured her neck, his grip authoritative, commanding and frightening yet not causing true pain, “You are mine to touch, to possess, to own, to use,” his hot breath on her neck, “ I am the only man you will ever get to have. Your needy little cunt won’t last until the end of your days. When you beg me to take you, I will ruin you like I did the other night.”

He left the chamber.

Cries and sobs filled the chamber for weeks after that encounter. She cursed her insufferable uncle for forcibly taking her life away, to mock her desires and body in a such crude way. How dared he? She was the temptress, the Black Targaryen’s precious little princess, the one who hypnotized preys in her web. How dared he talk of using her as if she was a plaything?

Aemond returned to her side countless times, trying to apologize and make amends, yet every time his attempts ended in his hand slapped away. He hated to see her cry, his little viper cracking in vulnerability.

All he wanted to do was tend to her in his arms, even risking poisonous bites from her fangs.

Days turned into weeks, the little viper was not broken. If she were ever going to be, it would be of boredom.

She observed everything around her to her imagination. Whenever Aemond and the maids were gone, she wrapped her body with the opulent crimson blanket and prayed for a company, his. Eventually, her attention drifted inevitably to her uncle captor. The way he avoided her gaze as she narrowed her eyes, his desperate yet reserved request for touching her hand, the way his silver lock cascaded down his sharply beautiful features as she slaps his hand away.

He amused her.

But amidst her boredom there was another dire situation.

Dissatisfaction.

Of course, she would rather torment herself in chastity than giving Aemond the satisfaction of offering herself.

But the viper always finds a solution.

One day, she blackmailed a maester that Aemond sent by threatening to accuse him of touching her into delivering a piece of literature.

Cautionary Tales of Unchaste Ladies Across the Seven Kingdoms Since Aegon’s Conquest.

Knelt on the stone ground, Lady Aryana gazed in fear at the two knights before her. One of them muscular and broad, another tall and slim. Yet amidst her fear, strange tingling sensation erupted in her stomach. The muscular knight bent down and whispered, “My lady, your lord husband fetched us to tend to your needs. He informed us that you prefer to be taken without mercy -”

“What in the Seven Hells is this?!”

The heat in her stomach dissipated the instant the book was snitched away from her hands.

“Give it back!” She protested, hands reaching desperately the forbidden text held high by her captor, “You sadistic prick!”

Aemond hummed, his eye glazing over the next lines of the scandalous story. He swallowed subtly and raised his brows toward the annoyed girl, “Sadistic? Should I take it as a compliment? Considering it comes from masochistic.”

“This is beyond inappropriate for a lady of your station,” Aemond scolded her.

Frozen for an instant, she gracefully settled on the bed and smirked, “A girl has needs. What? My prince?” She pouted, “Want to lend a hand?”

Aemond clenched his fists and seethed, “When you indulge in such sinful acts, you won’t be rewarded.”

She whined in feigned disappointment, pretending to settle in the quilt again.

Turning away to leave the chamber, Aemond’s heart skipped a beat as he felt a feather light kiss landing on his cheeks. Before he had the time to process the delightful peck, horror and rage took over as the delicate hands snitched away his eye patch, exposing his sapphire eye in all its beauty and vulnerability.

He growled in frustration and he chased after the giggling viper.

He gripped on her waist and restrained her on the bed steadfast.

She blinked at him playfully, “I am bored. It’s been a moon since I’ve been confined in this horrid prison. I can’t find a better entertainment than tormenting my captor.”

As his boiling and intimidating presence radiated on her, she realized that she had pushed Aemond Targaryen onto his limits.

“Are you going to spank me?”

With a swift move, she was effortlessly flipped over and her white night gown pulled up, revealing her vulnerable flesh.

Aemond’s hand raised high. As it was about to land, he stopped.

The little viper was squirming and arching her back in need.

Aemond chuckled, “You say tormenting me is your form of entertainment, hmm?” He hovered her body and his lips brushing over her earlobe, “Consider that we have similar taste in entertainment, little viper. Your body is mine to pleasure, you should have known better than reading such obscenities.”

He brushed his fingers on her sensitive backside, inciting an arousing whimper from her lips, before leaving his captive in frustration.

She buried her head in the pillows for hours and shrieked in embarrassment and frustration after that encounter.

She was a viper, an untamed, wild and free creature, confined in a golden cage.

She hated the silver haired prick. Always looking so damn perfect. Always keeping his annoying ass proper facade when he literally betrayed his family, broke an alliance, kidnapped her across the Narrow Sea to own her, claim her, break her.

How fucking dared he? What kind of decent man does that?

A few days later...

When she woke up this morning, she was no longer in that cell, instead she was standing in an exotically luxurious chamber decorated in Bravoosi green silk and the bed was so comfortable she probably had slept till noon as it was bright in the room. She looked everywhere around her but nobody was in here. As soon as she realized it she ran to open the front door but it was locked.

Obviously.

Then, she returned to the bed waiting for something to happen, she knew exactly what she was waiting for... As painful and horrible this night has been, she couldn't help it but appreciated it, no, she secretly loved it and now she was in need. She wanted this to happen again.

She waited a long time, so long, it was becoming to be dark outside and the moon started to appear. She had the time to look to everything inside the room, enough to understand she was in Aemond's personal chamber. She was shocked as well as flattered. It was an honour or maybe something she should have been feared of...

The prince finally came through the back door of the chamber.

Smirking from seeing her in his apartments "Did you appreciate my gesture? You told me you hated your cell which I understand... Is that chamber better? Does it suits your royal blood princess?" He stood there so fierce.

She answered as unbothered as she tried to sound to not let him think a second she was happy to be here (even tho she really was).

"Well, this is much nicer than my cell but I hate the color green as you may know... Except that, yes, I appreciate this gesture dear uncle."

"Dear Uncle?" He replied smirking only more now. "We're making progress little princess. Aren't we? I will change the sheets to another color tomorrow. Until then sleep well and enjoy your new chamber!" He turned back to leave the room.

Surprisingly she didn't wanted him to leave so soon...

"Are you not going to sleep here? This is your own personal apartments after all!" Everything went quiet. Aemond turned to face her in surprise "What? You would like me to stay now?"

She couldn't say yes even tho she secretly wished to...

"No, of course not, this would be rather inappropriate my prince. Wouldn't it?

The prince looked at her deeply in the eyes slightly shaking his head to mean yes because he was incapable of saying it out loud, the envy was too loud for that, before turning his back and leaving smiling, frustrated but satisfied of this encounter with his little viper soften.

Later on this night, the prince couldn't sleep, maybe too occupied to think about what could occur with his precious convict... This was never enough. He wanted more. After having desperately tried to find sleep in vain, constantly counting this special night in Braavos, their last exchanges ; in a burst of frustration, anger and certainly madness the prince walked determined in the direction of his prisoner. He was up to no good.

The doors to his chambers opened so quietly and shut so softly, she didn’t even realise he had entered. He stood at the door, watching as she lit the rest of the candles, tiptoed on a stool.

It was only when Aemond began to unbuckle his doublet that the clinking of silver urged her to turn around. She scrambled to her feet, curtsied and straightened her back.

“You grace” she said softly.

They met eyes, his were still as they raked over her and hers were darting across his face, trying to figure out what he might be thinking. Usually, he would be pensive, but there would be clear anger on his face and in his body language. But this night, where she had seen him visibly distressed, he was eerily calm, movements precise as all his buckles had been undone. And she wasn’t sure which side of him she preferred. She knew what to expect before, but now, she couldn’t predict what he might do.

He let his arms fall when his doublet was unbuckled, still looking at her. He motioned with his head for her to come to him. To undress him.

She had never done that before. He had always been clothed, or at least partly so. She swallowed nervously, but let her small steps go to him, small hands smoothing under the leather doublet to shuck it from his shoulders. The only thing underneath was the cotton undershirt, and through it, she could feel his skin, how warm it was. It was as if she was discovering for the first time that, as much of royalty he was, as much a Targaryen, a dragon, he was a human. A living thing that lived and breathed. Somehow her heart beat just that bit faster.

Folding the doublet over the head of a chair, she moved with scattered breath to unlace his breeches. Aemond felt himself become aroused merely at the thought of her hands on him, but his hand came to hers to push them away.

It was clear he'd changed his mind and did not want her to undress him after all. Perhaps the motions were too intimate. Foreign.

“Wine” he instructed simply.

She was more than happy to oblige instead of undressing him completely. So she turned around and filled a goblet of wine, the only sound in the chambers was the rush of wine to the cup and the muffled sound of clothing being dropped to the floor, and then the soft thump of a mattress.

When she turned back, filled goblet in hand, Aemond had rid himself of his breeches and undershirt, now entirely bare as he sat on the end of his bed. Even his eyepatch was off. Aemond wordlessly outstretched his hand to take the goblet and finished the bitter, red liquid within in a single gulp, licking the remnants of his lips a moment after, his eye fixed on her.

Her eyes were downcast, tracing the patterns of the floor. Of course, she had seen his most intimate areas, he had done the most intimate things to her. But seeing him completely naked was something else entirely and she felt her entire body become hot, uncomfortably so. Aemond’s jaw twitched in annoyance, dropping the silver goblet to the floor which made a shrill noise that made her jump.

“Look at me”

His eye was brimmed with fury. And it terrified her. He was so calm.

“Are you frightened of me” he asks coldly.

Her hands clasp around one another tightly.

“No, your grace” she says, her voice small, “Rather, I am afraid of what you will do to me”

Her honesty shocks both of them equally and she internally scolds herself that the words came tumbling from her mouth as quickly and thoughtlessly as they did. Perhaps she should not have said it. He did say before that he 'would have her fear if he could have nothing else'.

Aemond stays eerily still. Processing her response.

"Take off your dress"

Her nerves were struck, and her eyes that were previously fixed on his were still there. Her lips parted in shock. She had never been bare before anyone before, much less before a man. Before a prince.

He could see her clasp her hands tightly, fingernails digging into her skin.

She considered saying no. For a split second.

What would happen if she did say no.

Slowly her hands came to her apron, pulling the string and letting the fabric pool at her front. Aemond's eye watched intently, as if it were a show he had to be quiet for. Her apron folded on a chair, she took a breath and began unbuttoning from her collar, each one that came showed more and more of her chest, smooth and flushed pink with embarrassment.

Pretending to be preoccupied with her undress, she doesn't want to look up, but her eyes catch the smattering of hair that leads down to his hips, where she sees his slow, languid pumps of his cock. The angry head of his cock poking through his fingers with every slow thrust of his fist, a small, breathy sigh escapes him at the contact he's granted himself.

She steels her nerves and opens the front of her dress, pulling the open collar over her shoulders. Once the fabric is over the curve, she lightly lets go and the fabric falls to the floor, at her feet, the slight chill of his chambers hitting her now naked body. Her nipples perk up hard from both the temperature and the slight friction of her dress.

Aemond stops his movements as soon as the dress wafts against the floor, his eye going from her neck to her feet and back again, settling on her face. So much time passes that she wonders if he will say anything else at all and wonders if there's something wrong with how she looks.

Embarrassed, she looks down, crossing one arm across her chest, trying to hide herself. Aemond half sits up, pulling her harshly by her arm towards him and snatching it away from her.

"Do not hide yourself from me"

She swallows nervously at the way he speaks to her, the way his voice is lower now. It was as if he could command her solely with the tone of it. He could feel her trembling slightly, but his hand remained around her tight, no doubt leaving a mark. Touching her now, her bare form right in front of him completely for the taking, he can feel himself painfully hard. She is his, completely and entirely his.

He loves that stupid, doe-eyed expression she gets on her face whenever he’s making her do something. Loves the way her lips part, as if she’s going to complain or tell him to stop, but knows she has no authority to do it. He is much larger, stronger than her. What could she possibly do to shake him up.

Nothing.

He pulls her to his lap, letting her legs straddle his broad, muscled thigh, his breath tickling her bare breasts, making the skin around her nipples erupt with gooseflesh. He can feel the warmth of her cunt against his skin, even though there is no contact. She’d be so warm around him. Tight. His mind almost doesn’t work thinking about it. What will happen once he’s inside her. Would it feel like the clearest, purest paradise? Or would it spur on the darkest parts of him, pulling him back into that deep, ancient place that men go to when they see blood for the first time?

“Bring yourself to peak”

Her chest is tight.

Say no.

He pulls her hips down, so that she sits on his thigh and he outright groans at the feeling of her warmth on him, wet and hot. His thumbs press almost painfully into her hip bones, shuffling her back and forth. Again…and again…

Tell him no.

She can’t bring herself to utter the words, even though his touch is bruising and the pain is there, the pleasure of her bundle of nerves rutting against his thigh is starting to cloud it.

This is wrong.

Her breaths became more hurried the longer he guided her against his leg and she hated the fact it gave her pleasure, shooting warm sparks inside her belly at the friction. One of his hands comes to her front, pressing against her clit to give additional pressure, drawing lazy circles with the aid of her slick, which somewhat betrayed how she felt inside.

“That’s it…” he whispered, his face close to her breasts.

Aemond leaned forward, knowing that now she would not stop and his other hand massaged her breasts in his palm, moulding the flesh harshly. They felt better than he’d imagined they would, a perfect fit for his hold. And he’d heard the way her breath hitched when he brushed over her rosy bud, still rutting her cunt against his thigh like a bitch in heat. It almost made him laugh. His sweet girl, fucking herself on his leg like a whore.

He hummed as his tongue came to massage her other nipple, giving it the attention he felt it deserved, the vibrations rumbling in her chest. He sucked and grazed his teeth against it, and she whimpered, in pain or pleasure he didn’t care much.

“Touch me, sweet girl” he ordered, bringing her hand to his erection standing proud against his taut stomach. Her small hand wrapped around him but could barely encircle it, stroking his length in tandem with the fucking of herself against his leg, in the same languid rhythm. He kissed her breasts, thinking he could live in this moment forever with them against his face. He groaned against her as her hands squeezed the tip every time she thrust her hand against his cock, focussing his pleasure on that sensitive spot.

He could feel her legs trembling and the warmth of her slick against his leg. She was close and he knew it. He wanted her to peak at least once before he laid claim to her. Dragging her nipple through his teeth as he pulled back, she kept her pace stroking his cock and almost outright moaned when he moved his leg to assist the faster rhythm.

“Give it to me” he whispered to her.

He reached up and wrapped his fingers around her neck, not applying pressure to the front as such, but rather to the sides to keep her there. Against her will, she lets out a quiet moan at the constriction, the coil in her belly tightening unbearably so. And it only takes one squeeze, one movement of his leg against her for her to completely fall apart. Her limbs briefly go numb, warmth flooding them a moment later, her lips parted in a silent scream as her climax completely obliterates her. He keeps the pace with his leg the entire time, prolonging the soft tingle of arousal.

Aemond lets his grip go ever so slightly, hearing the way she sucks in a breath, clarity engulfing her mind once again. Her breasts move softly with the force of her breathing, her heart beating quickly and he admires her like this for a moment, smirking and swatting her cheek softly, praising her.

“Good girl” he coos.

She barely has time to open her eyes to look at him, to process it, before he throws her to the mattress. The sheets are soft against her front, but there’s not a moment to appreciate it when she feels Aemond’s hand thread through her hair at her nape, dragging to her crown to grip. She gasps as he yanks her hair up, his other hand grabbing her face tightly, forcing her mouth open.

“You are mine. Understood?” he growls lowly in her ear, setting her survival instincts on edge.

She nods, unable to steel herself to say no. Not when he has her like this, his broad body looming over her back, fingers grabbing her harshly. His words right now upset her more than they should as well as they arouse her against her own will.

She was his.

“Open” he grips her jaw tighter and when she obeys, eyes softly shut, still recovering from the warmth of her peak, she feels his warm saliva land on her tongue. It sends a bolt of humiliation through her, one that settles in between her legs now that she can feel his hardness against her backside, hot and heavy. She mewls at the feeling, which makes him smirk.

“Mine”

His hand keeps hold of her hair, shoving the side of her face into the sheets as his other trails down her spine, tracing the feminine dimples at the top of her buttocks, perfect for his thumbs to rest in once he fucks her. He thinks she looks so perfect, small against him, but he would never tell her that. She whimpers in something akin to pain as he grips her buttock hard, smirking as he smacks it, leaving a pink mark behind. He’d love to mark her. Every single fucking bit of her.

But not now. It was too early

“You had been a good girl, you are free now”, he stood up suddenly, smirking at the sight of her little viper naked, helpless, frustrated and perplexed. She didn't say a word, too chocked of what happened and what didn't. He then proceeded to got dressed again quickly, forgetting his cotton undershirt and only wearing his leather jacket, before leaving only saying "good night princess".

She could not sleep either now, overthinking everything that occured this night but culpably picked up his undershirt and smelled it, wanting to remember his perfume, his touch, the feeling and eventually started touching herself just at the sight of those memories. She cumed filled with guilt just before falling asleep hoping in spite of herself to see the prince again. Hoping to see more, hoping to feel more...

#aemond #aemond targaryen #smut #house of the dragon #dark romance #fanfic #fanfiction #Spotify

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mmargots · 1 year

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5-16-2023

The end is near.

I feel it closing in, my chest is heavy and my throast is tightning

I feel like im going to choke on my own words

and I feel like my eyes are burning with guilt.

Im packing up my life for the 5th time? 6th? Can I even remember how many lives I've lived by now?

Do i eep chasing opportunities or am I just running away from something that I cannot put my finger on?

After 7 years of my life, on and off in this strange city in the mountains, in just 30 days i decided to pick it up and pout it away, writing a new chapter in my book , again?

And it doesn't matter anyhow, because I've chosen, even if im riddled with fear, even if my eyes are drowning with water and my stomach is emotionally sick... I chose, once again, myself, and myself alone.

Once again, I'm leaving people behind, I'mleaving love and I'm leaving friendship, I'm leaving my memories and I'm leaving this version of myself, bevause I've outgrown myself, and when will I ever be satisfied?

When will I wake up and not wish to be somewhere else, when am I going to stop running away from myself, when will I proclaim to myself that I like wherer I am, and that it's enough?

Is it my age? Is it my wishful thinking? Is it that I'm delusional?

I am delusional, I know that for a fact, but when willthis dilusion show itself to me as either the best chance I took of plain stupidity?

i am...terrified, jesus christ I am terrified of myself and the things I'm doing..

Is it a mistake? Am i ruining the good things that I have because I want to chase these imaginaries?

My love, that I'm leaving behind, will I remember in 10 years and regret being so selfish? Am I running out of time or am I early to the party?

My head is spinning, my shoulders are tense and my feet are aching.

God, oh god oh god oh god, I want to crawl in a hole and turn my brain off for 1 year, a year of rest and relaxation, no choicces to be made, no desires to follow and no longing.

What is a life without longing? Will I long for something I don't have or will enver hace for my entire life?

I wish somebody could make my choices for just a second, for just a second I want to be in complete discontrol of my life, tied at the hands , no otehr choice but to follow the order, no ACTUAL choice, no thinking of all the otehr options and answers i could choose, just an ACTUAL one choice, given to me by somebody else.

Just this once.

I'm terrified of my choices, more than ever, just this once, I wish I knew it was right, or that I am completely wrong, jut so I could tell myself 'I told you so' and KNOW i told myself.

jesus christ

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mrsmarlasinger · 1 year

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(CW: anorexia/disordered eating, medication abuse, depression, death ideation)

I spent last week in Texas on vacation with my parents and sister (yeah, during the record-breaking heat wave). It was nice: eating twice a day, having dessert, eating out, trying pastries. Walking tons and wearing huge T-shirts and men's gym shorts every day, so I didn't have to feel too guilty.

Then I came home and was instantly convinced I'd gained an impossible amount of weight.

On top of that, I've recently realized that the coughing fits that have been getting progressively worse and steadily ruining my stupid life for the past 6+ weeks, finally culminating in me waking myself and my family up 4–5x per night to cough during our vacation...are an asthma flare-up, and one best treated by the five days of Prednisone my doctor prescribed me when I got really sick a few months ago.

(Which I never touched, because apparently, corticosteroids can cause weight gain through appetite increase and insulin suppression. Terrifying.)

Yesterday, after days of acute consternation, I finally succumbed and started the damn Prednisone. Like magic, almost immediately after my very first dose, my cough improved tenfold. Crazy how the medicine your doctor prescribes you actually works sometimes!

So.

The vacation. The steroid. The body dysmorphia.

Well, I've never once had trouble with my asthma until I got sick earlier this year, so I only use my rescue inhaler once in a blue moon. I've got years' worth of old albuterol lying around my room. Not like that shit expires and loses effectiveness after a year or anything.

Decided to kill three birds (the asthma, the albuterol surplus, and the so-called weight gain) with one stone. Decided to eat nothing for two days and abuse stimulants all the while.

Decided that if I did this, I could enjoy my family's annual Fourth of July BBQ (the first one my partner, posing as my "bestie" for my homophobic father, could attend!). I'd have fun and dress cute and talk to people and eat barbeque and desserts, and I wouldn't feel guilty at all, because I'd have budgeted for it.

Having been too scared to consume more than an anxious grazing session in the pantry on Sunday, I skipped food on Monday. Oh, god, I think I slammed at least half an old inhaler that day. Got so comically sick, so ridiculously dizzy and jittery, I started laughing at my trembling reflection in the bathroom mirror. Jesus, I don't puff this much albuterol in an entire year.

Despite the melatonin I took, my usual killer insomnia struck again last night (I'm sure the steroid and albuterol didn't help). I was up all night and only fell asleep long after the sun had risen, nauseous with exhaustion and aching with hunger.

Slept four hours. Woke up midday. Took my damn Prednisone.

Started tossing back albuterol and Benzedrex like there was no tomorrow. Slonked nearly half a gram of caffeine via zero-calorie drink drops.

All on an empty stomach, alone in my room.

Already I'd fasted more than the 48 hours planned. My heart rate skyrocketed from its usual 60–80 bpm to 125 bpm. I was fucking wired, jittery, anxious and nauseous and sweaty, shaking like an old lady's purse dog. My joints hurt. My dizzy head was pounding. A sort of awful feverish heat radiated from my poor quivery flesh.

It occurred to me that I felt exactly like I had that time I snorted [redacted]. Never thought my shitty, slapdash little stim stack could hit me this hard. I felt so sick I thought I'd puke or pass out or both.

All I could do was chant, "I'm going to die. I'm going to die" under my breath, then suck down another musty, powdery hit of expired albuterol.

But hey. I could see the weight I'd lost in those 48+ hours of hell.

What does it matter if I never came down for the party, never had a burger hot off the grill, never talked to anyone, just got progressively wired in my bedroom until my hand shook so bad I fucked up my lipstick?

Eventually my partner arrived and held my sweating, trembling wreck of a body, making nervous note of my tachycardia and hyperventilation as I repeated, over and over, "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die."

When I felt a little better, we went to root through the leftovers, and I proceeded to low-/medium-restrict on a mini kids' Clif bar, three slices of watermelon, two spoonfuls of pasta salad, and, for some fucking reason, a glazed doughnut. Panicking all the while.

And yeah, sure, I ruined my day, but what's new? I'm ruining my pathetic excuse for an existence too. All in pursuit of, what, becoming more underweight than I already am? Destroying my body more than I already have?

For a spoiled, privileged, rich little white girl without a responsibility under the sun, my life sure feels like a goddamn living nightmare.

I'm so upset.

I'm so sad.

I'm so angry.

I'm angry at the world, because what the fuck did I do to deserve chronic anorexia? I of course believe that I'm a nasty little bitch who deserves the worst of all things, but god, even I don't deserve this. No one deserves this. Anorexia is cruel and unusual punishment for the crime of possessing a tangible form. I'm only 22, and I've dealt with this bullshit for, what, seven years now?

I'm so sad. I'm so sad. I'm so cripplingly, earth-shatteringly sad.

I fasted and slammed stimulants for more than two days so I could enjoy a once-a-year party with my family and our friends (the cringe of American nationalism notwithstanding), only to starve and panic and isolate myself anyway. Now I'm hungry and sick to my stomach, parachuting kratom like it'll fix things. Like eating toilet paper and fake opiates will nourish me. What was it all for? What the fuck is any of this for?

It's not worth it. None of this is worth it. I'm miserable, spiraling. I can't work. I can't function. I'm out of control. It's not my rock bottom by a long shot—hell, I haven't even gotten my lowest weight back—but it sure feels like it. This is hell.

I just want to eat. I want to eat. I want to eat. I want desperately to eat. Please, god, let me eat. If I can't eat, let this vile disease kill me already. I want to eat. I'm so unwell. I want to eat. I'm so, so sick. I want to eat. I want to eat.

Please.

God. God. God. God. God. God. God.

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twiceasfrustrating · 3 years

Note

I'm sorry if I already requested this of you I honestly have the memory of a walnut. But can I request headcannons of the boys + dia who find out MC has an emotionally abusive husband? Like fluff with some murder maybe?

thank you

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Characters: Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Diavolo (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)

Additional Tags: abusive relationship mentioned, some are a bit murdery, I don't know how to write fluff for such a situation but I tried

A/N: If you are in an abusive situation in the USA and need to speak to someone, please call 1-800-799-7233. If you cannot call, you can also text “START” to 88788. If it is safe for you, you can also go to the website directly. Abuse takes many forms, but it is always about control.

Feel free to add the numbers/contact for other countries if you have them.

Lucifer

He got upset at MC once and they flinched when he yelled and they started apologizing like there was no tomorrow. That was how he found out something was wrong. They wouldn’t say anything, but he could tell that something was deeply wrong. Perhaps he had never noticed before the formation of their pact how MC shuddered around him whenever he got upset, but now he did.

He is very careful not to yell again and when he does he is quick to lower his voice the second MC shows distress, reassuring them that he is not angry at them and would not harm them. It sounds almost hollow after how he acted when they originally met, but he means it.

There was one time MC dropped a dish on the floor while cooking and it broke, spilling hot food everywhere. They started picking up the pieces in a hurry, not even paying attention to how the hot shards burned and cut up their hands.

Lucifer was quick to pick them up off the ground and tend to the fresh injuries, all while they kept apologizing and saying that they would clean it up as soon as they could and saying they would make something else. Lucifer forbade them from doing either and cleaned the mess himself. He did that a lot. Took care of their ‘mistakes’ and cared for them. They would almost believe he wasn't the same terrifying man they had first met.

It takes a long time for MC to get used to their new relationship with Lucifer and once they do they are far more comfortable and less skittish.

He is not pressuring the story out of them. He can wait, as difficult as it is, for them to open up. However, he is no fool. He knows who is to blame, and that man should be very afraid should Lucifer and he ever meet.

Mammon

MC always spoke so well of their husband when they first met the brothers. Mammon was actually jealous and wished MC would talk about him that way. They would always say how kind their husband was and how he loved them and how he wanted the best for them. It sounded like some kind of cheesy romance novel.

Things started to get weird though when he and MC started to get even closer. He would invite them out, only to hear “I don’t think my husband would like that” or “I shouldn’t be alone with you”. It was weird the first time, but it quickly became a pattern. A very worrying pattern. Mammon knew abuse when he saw it. He was the family butt monkey and a witch punching bag, after all.

The difference is that he’s a fallen angel that is used to such treatment and, as a demon, the things done to him do very little in the long run. Humans are far more fragile though; their minds, bodies, and hearts. And then Mammon started to hate MC’s husband with a passion that could not be matched.

He cared less about making that bastard pay and more about taking care of MC. Such treatment can ruin a person, especially good people like MC. He would do anything to show them that they deserved better than that man, whatever that eventually meant.

Leviathan

He and MC have a little too much in common for his taste. It is actually almost disgusting how little self-worth they seem to have, but he can also see how that was trained into them.

They play down their worth a lot: “It’s nothing”, “It could be better”, “I failed again”, etc. They never say anything positive about themself. They are really good at picking out their flaws, but almost incapable of pointing out their merits.

It goes against everything Levi believes in, but he has to start praising them since they won’t praise themself. He likes hanging out with them, the stuff they make is nice, they are a really quick learner. It feels weird to praise someone, but it’s nice to see MC start to feel a little better about all the things they do.

Although, he also has the mild thought of showing MC’s husband that there are more terrifying things in the world than the horrors a human is capable of. After all, Levi has seen the monsters that dwell in the deep; he is one of those monsters and there is a reason humans fear the darkest depths.

Satan

There are some wonderful upsides to being the avatar of wrath. Normally, Satan wouldn't be so crass as to give into them, but sometimes humanity is just so vile that he can't help himself.

One of those upsides is a mind filled to the brim with the instinctual desire to rip and tear anything he can get his hands on to pieces. It's an instinct he fights off constantly with his centuries of training and self-discovery, but just this once he doesn't mind becoming the beast he was born as.

MC's husband squeals like a stuck pig throughout the entire night, only the winds, spiders, and Satan being able to hear and appreciate the sound. And appreciate it he does, until the screaming stops and his hands are drenched with blood.

He really needs to get himself cleaned off before he sees MC again, otherwise they will be terrified. He needs to look his best when they come running to him worried about their missing husband. It’s sad how much they worry about him despite everything.

Asmodeus

MC was always so calm and docile when he wanted to spend time with them. He didn’t really get it at first but it was easier to dress them up and take them out, so he didn’t question it. At least, not until someone (read: Solomon) not so subtly pointed out that it is unusual for someone to be so passive, almost to the point of being doll-like.

Asmo didn’t believe it at first. How could anyone treat someone as sweet as MC so cruelly, especially someone that is supposed to love them? But from that day onward, his eyes were opened up and he started to notice things.

The way they didn’t put forth their own opinions and let him take the lead on everything, how they stuck close to him when they both went out, the subtle way their fingers reached out then drew back when they liked something.

“Do you like it?” He would ask and their response was “do you?”

It was so difficult to get them to start putting their own wants and desires above what they thought he’d like. When they showed interest in something, he would fawn all over it. If they liked something, he liked it too. He would buy them things they even glanced casually at, told them they were worthwhile and lovely, anything that other man would never say to them.

He tore them down so completely, but Asmo would work tirelessly to build them back up.

Beelzebub

He is the softest man in the world, and sometimes MC just lets things slip out. He’s very easy to open up to and they don’t think about what they say. He was the first person that they opened up to about what was happening to them.

Suffice it to say, Beel was shocked when they mentioned how terrified they were for the exchange program to end. Despite everything that they had been through over the past year, they didn’t want to go back.

Beel had only felt so powerless one other time in his life. He couldn’t go with them to protect them and they couldn’t stay in the Devildom forever to stay safe. It was painfully cruel just how much he couldn’t help them.

All he could do was hold them and listen to them get everything off of their chest, dreading the day that the exchange program would end.

MC has to hurry up and learn how to summon him, because he wants to keep them safe from that awful situation. He would never allow another person it the world to hurt them again.

Belphegor

Belphie likes exactly one human in the three realms and every other one is none of his concern. Or, they wouldn’t be his concern if it weren’t for the fact that the one human he cared about was the victim of this particular instance.

He’s not like some of his other brothers. He doesn’t do comfort and he isn’t the best at torture, prefering to get everything over with quickly so he doesn’t have to expend all the extra energy. But, for such a special occasion, he is more than willing to put in the effort.

Humans really do create their own worst fears. Their minds run a mile a minute and they have the strangest way of finding how their own terrors can overpower what little defenses they have.

He may not be able to touch MC’s husband, but he can certainly return every slight against his favorite human. Long, sleepless nights wracked with unending horrors that only that man can truly appreciate.

All the while, he will gladly hold MC when their own nightmares overtake them, trying to put their mind at ease for just this moment. How he wished that his powers could control the waking world as well as their dreams...

Diavolo

“Don’t go back.” It was the first time Diavolo had brought up the idea. It was one he had been considering for a long time, knowing that it was extreme given that MC was a human and had to live in the human realm. However, he couldn’t live with himself knowing the kind of life MC would return to once they left.

The shouting, the insults, discarding everything MC liked because their husband doesn’t care for it… Diavolo would never feel right knowing he sent someone dear to him back there.

He had the means to help them get literally anywhere but back to that man. Diavolo could help set them free from that life, even if they didn’t want to stay in the Devildom. He knew MC would have the support of everyone they had met.

All they had to do was say yes and he would move the Devildom itself to get them out of there.

#obey me #dark fic #mine #request #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #swd obey me #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #headcanon #obey me headcanons

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theewokingdead · 3 years

Text

Wonderful Tonight Pt. 2 - Eternal Sunshine (Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader)

Part One

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: 18+. Language. Fluff. Angst. Light teasing. A lot of cheesiness. A lot of relationship nonsense. Frankie has second thoughts. Tears. A proposal?!?! Please don't hurt me if you cry. I love you. Words: 6.8k (this got away from me holy cow) Summary: It’s the morning after Santiago’s wedding, and a certain question hangs in the air. Frankie starts to spiral, and you try to ground him. Part Two of “Wonderful Tonight,” but this can be read on its own. Inspiration drawn from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. A/N: Some spoilers from the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It’s one of Pedro’s favorite movies, and I figured it would work well with how Frankie may be feeling post-divorce as he contemplates diving into another marriage. Is a smutty third part in the works? Perhaps. I’d love to write sex with Frankie, but we’ll see how this goes. I am so, so sorry if this sucks. I'm still learning Frankie, y'all. Please forgive me if I fucked up any Spanish. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll happily fix it if you point me toward mistakes.

So, whaddya say? Will you…marry me?

Ask me again when you’re feeling better. Ask me then, and I promise I’ll give you the answer you’re hoping for.

You stand at the counter, lightly chopping vegetables for omelets. It’s a wonder you can focus enough to not chop your fingers off, the previous night playing on repeat in the back of your mind, running on a continuous loop like a catchy song that your brain can’t seem to get enough of. Nothing could ruin your mood. Not even the gray, dreary day outside the kitchen window.

Your body sways to the music flowing through your earbuds as you quietly hum along, unable to contain your happiness, but you try to keep it down, not wanting to wake Frankie. However, your efforts are all for nothing.

You’re completely unaware that you have an audience. You don’t know that Frankie woke to the sweet sound of your voice drifting through the house. You don’t see him leaning with his shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed loosely in front of him as he gazes at you from across the room, wondering what he did to deserve you. You have no idea just how deeply in love with you he is. And, somewhere deep down, how much that terrifies him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Frankie finally questions, causing you to startle and whip around, utility knife in hand.

Your body relaxes the second you realize it’s only Frankie. Despite having slept, he appears even more disheveled than the night before. His eyelids are heavy and his hair unkempt, sticking up every which way like he’d gotten caught in a windstorm. He had apparently removed his pants at some point, leaving him in boxer briefs, his white dress shirt completely unbuttoned, revealing his undershirt.

“Jesus Christ, Francisco!” you wail, removing your earbuds, pausing the music as you do so. He winces slightly at the volume of your voice, reminding you that he’s feeling the effects of the alcohol today.

“Good morning to you too,” Frankie grumbles, turning his wince into a small smile.

You lay the knife and earbuds down on the counter, your voice lower as you question, “What were you trying to do? Give me a heart attack or get yourself killed?”

“Just trying to figure out what you’re doing,” he says, pushing himself off the wall. “You know Sunday breakfast is my thing.”

“First of all, we’re heading into Sunday brunch territory,” you correct him, alerting him to the time. He had slept the entire morning away, and you were more than happy to allow it, knowing he needed the rest. “Secondly, I figured you’d be a bit”-you pause, trying to find the right word-“incapacitated this morning, so I figured you wouldn’t mind if I took over.”

“I’ve been worse,” he says lowly, though you find that hard to believe. “Not sure the other three can say the same. Have you heard from any of them?”

“Santi messaged me to check in, so he’s alive at least,” you reply, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “I’m sure he and Yovanna are off to their honeymoon by now.”

Frankie similarly rests on the counter across from you, crossing his arms in front of him, his hands lightly gripping his biceps. “And the other two?”

“Haven’t heard from them but I’m sure they’re fine,” you say with a shrug. “I called an Uber after Benny nearly killed himself trying to do the splits. Don’t you remember giving him shit about how he could’ve torn something in his legs? After you got him the ice?”

Frankie chuckles, the memory seeming to resurface in his mind. “Right. He convinced the DJ to play ‘Old Time Rock and Roll’ so he could reenact the scene from that Tom Cruise movie.”

“Risky Business?” you question with a giggle. “Yeah. And he did. Underwear and all. Beer bottle as a microphone. That’s when he tried to do the splits. Obviously didn’t go too well. He may be athletic, but he’s not gymnast.”

He covers his mouth with the palm of his hand. He raises his eyebrows, as if imagining the pain, though you know Benny was so drunk he hardly felt a thing. “He’ll be feeling that today.”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “He has a pretty hands-on girlfriend who’ll help take care of him.”

“Linda, right?” Frankie questions.

You laugh and nod your head, remembering where the name came from. Santi grabbed Benny’s hand while they were messing around and said, “Qué linda manito!” What a cute little hand. From that point of the night on, Benny drunkenly dubbed his pretend girlfriend and wedding-date - his hand, the poor lonely idiot - Linda.

Frankie shakes and lowers his head, hiding his laughter before uttering, “Pendejo.”

“I can’t believe you remember that,” you say, wondering just how much of his memory is intact.

He looks up at you, seeming to examine your face.

“Recuerdo todo,” he says, stepping toward you.

You look up at him from beneath your eyelashes, watching as he leans forward, his hands on the counter on either side of you.

“Recuerdo todo lo que ocurrió a la perfección.”

You understand just enough Spanish to make out what he said. I remember everything that happened perfectly.

His voice sends a tingle through you, though you try not to make it show. You’re excited that he remembers, that none of it was forgotten, especially the important question he seemed to ask you before drifting off you sleep…

“You do, do you?” you inquire.

“Mhm.”

“How are you feeling?” you ask, your eyes searching his face, looking for any indication of what he’s thinking. “Well enough to ask me…anything?”

Frankie smiles slyly. “Maybe.”

“No pressure,” you add, not wanting to feel as though you’re forcing him. “But I’m ready to answer any question you might have on your mind.”

“Probably would be rude to keep a lady waiting, huh?” Frankie asks rhetorically, still giving you a lopsided grin.

You shrug. “Maybe a little.”

“In that case…” He pushes himself off the counter, backing away from you.

Your heart pounds against your chest and you wonder if this is it…if this is finally it.

“Will you”-he pauses for a moment, letting the beginning of the question hang in the air before continuing-“let me help with breakfast?”

You exhale, realizing that you had been holding your breath. You should’ve known that it wouldn’t be so easy.

“Speaking of pendejos,” you jest, lightly pushing past him as you laugh. You move to the fridge and open the door, grabbing the carton of eggs you’d originally set out to get before he startled you. “And it’s brunch, remember?”

You turn back to the counter, placing the carton down before reaching up and grabbing a bowl to prepare the eggs in.

Frankie approaches you from behind. You feel him brush against you before a hand wraps around your waist. His other hand lightly brushes the fabric of your sleepshirt off your shoulder, revealing the skin beneath it. He lightly plants a kiss there.

You purse your lips, trying to hide your smile as you feign annoyance. “What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Morales?”

“What does it feel like I’m doing?” His hand slithers down your arm, his soft lips moving toward your neck, planting more kisses as he goes.

“It feels like…” You take a deep breath and close your eyes, forgetting for a moment what you’re doing. “You’re distracting me.”

“Do you want me to stop?” He presses against you as his hand runs down your body.

“Frankie, please…,” you whine, completely unsure if you want him to continue or stop. The tone in your voice isn’t any clearer. The week leading up to Santi’s wedding had been a busy one for Frankie, between the rehearsal and tux fitting and dinners and bachelor party, meaning the two of you haven’t had much alone time. You want him, you need him, but no matter how well he plays it off, you know he’s hungover and feeling it. Not to mention you’re hungry.

“Tell me what you need, cariño.” His hand finds the waistband of your pants and slips beneath them. You tremble under his touch.

“I-I need…I need you to… Frankie, please.” You bite your lip then grab his wrist, mentally cursing yourself as you force him to quit. You shudder and giggle at the ticklish feeling as you guide his hand out of your pants. You twist around, turning around to face him.

He sighs, once more gripping the counter that you’re now backed against, boxing you in with his arms like before. “You can be such a tease.”

“It takes one to know one,” you argue playfully.

“Yeah, well, you’ve been trying to kill me ever since you sent that damn picture.”

You cross your arms. “If you’re so desperate for an orgasm, why don’t you call Benny? See if Linda can come play.”

Frankie exhales through his nose. “Baby, if I had to choose between you and Benny’s hand, there’s really no competition.”

You giggle. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. I mean, have you seen the muscles on Benny? I’m sure Linda would give pretty good hand.”

“Get out,” you say sternly as he cracks a smile at his own joke. You lightly push him away before finally breaking into a fit of laughter. “Why don’t you go shower so I can cook in peace?”

“Only if you come with me.”

“No thanks. You smell like a damn distillery if it was inside a middle school locker room. Go shower.” You turn him around start ushering him out of the kitchen.

“Linda would never talk to me like that.”

“Go!” you laugh, giving him a light tap on the ass to push him along. “And don’t come back until you’re clean!”

“Yes, ma’am!” he snorts, cackling as he moves.

You cross your arms and purse your lips, watching him disappear. The corners of your mouth quirk up into a smile. That’s the man you get to spend the rest of your life with.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m all clean.”

You look back at Frankie after laying a plated omelet on the table. He’s standing behind the threshold of the room, as if waiting for your permission to enter. He is freshly showered, his hair wet and tousled, wearing gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt that hugs his body just right, especially the sleeves, which seem to accentuate his arms. God damn. Now who’s killing who?

“You better not be expecting me to get you all dirty again now,” you jokingly warn. You set a second plate down, biting your lip and telling yourself to get a grip. The table all set, you turn and look at him.

“Not when you worked hard to make me food,” he says, entering the room. He gives you a peck on the lips. “It smells delicious. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, gesturing for him to sit. But he doesn’t. Instead, he moves to a chair and pulls it out, waiting for you to sit in it.

“Siéntese por favor, querida.”

Chills run up your spine, as they almost always seem to do when he speaks Spanish. The way he rolls the ‘r’s’ is as soothing as a cat’s purr. It’s almost funny how weak in the knees you get just by the things he can do with his tongue.

Giving him a warm smile, you acquiesce to his request. He pushes your chair in as you sit; a proper gentleman.

Frankie sits across from you. He picks up the mug in front of him. “Coffee too? You know the quickest way to my heart.”

“Of course. Through your fourth and fifth ribs,” you respond nonchalantly, causing him to nearly spit into his coffee while taking a sip. “Does it taste alright?”

He swallows then nods. “Perfect, as always. I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s not hard.”

“Says you,” he retorts. “I can’t replicate it. Trust me. I’ve tried. Mine always tastes like shit. What’s your secret?”

“No secret,” you reply, sticking your fork into your omelet. “But if there is, I’ll never tell you. How else will I keep you around?” You give him a small smile, crinkling your eyes before taking a bite of your food.

“You’re more than just good coffee, babe,” he assures you.

“Am I?”

“Yeah. I mean, this omelet is pretty good too.”

You shoot him a glare. “Enjoy it. It may very well be your last meal.”

“Anything you’d like to do?” Frankie eventually asks, your plates nearly empty.

You shake your head, putting your fork down and cleaning your lips with a napkin. “No. I didn’t really have any plans today. Figured we’d be too tired to do anything. What’re you thinking?”

He shrugs. “I was hoping I could take you to the lake today, but it seems the rain isn’t going to let up any time soon.”

You sit back in your seat, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. “Any particular reason you wanted to take me to the lake, Mr. Morales?”

“Nope. Not at all.” He shoots you a lopsided smile.

The room falls silent as you look at him. You can’t believe how happy he makes you, and how hard he wants to try, despite the fact he’s probably feeling like utter crap.

“You know, we don’t have to do anything special,” you assure him. “I am perfectly fine with just being here with you. Maybe watch a movie. Listen to the rain while we cuddle. Just a boring, lazy Sunday at home.”

“I like the sound of that. Only problem is that any time spent with you is anything but boring.”

You cock your head and lightly shake it. “You are ridiculous,” you tease before rising from your seat.

“Ridiculously cute, right?”

“Mhm. Sure.” You roll your eyes before chucking. You start to clean up the table, but Frankie immediately stops you.

“Ah-ah. No. Quit,” he says, reaching out for the plate in your hand.

You don’t immediately hand it over. “What?”

“You cooked, so I clean. Give it here.”

“Frankie,” you laugh. “There’s not a lot to clean up. It’s no big deal.”

“Then I get the easy job. You won’t hear me complaining.” He motions for you to give up the plate. “I insist.”

You sigh. “Alright.”

He takes the plate in your hand then stacks it on his own. “How about you take a nice, long bath while I clean up.”

“You going to tell me I stink?”

“No. Because, unlike some people, I’m not rude.” He smiles. “Go relax. Slip back into something comfortable. Don’t come back for another hour.”

“An hour?” you question, an eyebrow raised. “What do you have up your sleeve, Francisco?”

He plants a simple kiss on your lips. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

As badly as you want to return to Frankie as soon as possible, you do as he says, taking a long soothing bath before throwing on something comfortable, which for you is an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties. If he’s going to tease you with those damn sweatpants, you’re going to tease him with this. Two can absolutely play that game.

Once you’re dressed, you lay in bed, lost in your thoughts while time ticks by. You can’t stop thinking about the night before.

I will love him for all that he is. I already do.

Enough to marry him?

He’ll have to ask and find out.

Well, how about now? I can just-

You’re a little mad at yourself for preventing him from proposing right then and there. The moment was perfect. The two of you dancing under the dim lights, you dressed so beautiful, him looking handsome. Damn wedding etiquette.

Will you…marry me?

He finally got the words out. He finally asked the question. And your reply was “Ask me again…” You groan just thinking about it, nearly wishing you’d just given him your answer. God knows it nearly killed you stopping yourself from blurting out yes. But he was drunk and practically asleep. You’re unsure how long he’s thought about the proposal, what sort of plans made, but you absolutely doubt that was his ideal situation.

Will he do it tonight? You wonder. Or will he make you wait for a better opportunity? You don’t need anything special, but you know Frankie wants it to be. Is that why he hasn’t asked yet? Or is he afraid that you’ll say no? No, of course he wouldn’t think that. Just because you basically shot him down twice in night doesn’t give him a reason to be afraid…right?

Sighing, you roll over in bed, looking at your phone to see the time. Thankfully, it seems the hour has passed. You head to the living room in search of Frankie, excited to see what he has in store for you, wondering what all the commotion was while you were hiding in the other room.

When you step into the living room, you see that Frankie has transformed it into a perfectly beautiful and whimsical date night location. All the lights are off and curtains closed, the gray day outside allowing it to be dark in the house, as if it’s nighttime. The TV is on, casting enough light for you to see the tiny tent in front of the couch that he created out of dining chairs and sheets, books sitting on the seats to keep the fabric taut. He strung white Christmas lights at the entrance, which is open to allow you to see the TV while beneath it. Beneath the tent is an air mattress, blankets, and pillows. A couple tealights flicker around it. Sitting on the mattress is a plate of mini marshmallows, graham crackers, and Hershey’s bars to make s’mores, your favorite camping trip snack.

“Is that a blanket fort?” you question in surprise, your eyes moving to Frankie, who’s standing proudly beside it. “I haven’t been in one since I was a kid.”

Frankie looks at you with a wide-faced, dimpled grin, his eyes gleaming. “Welcome to Morales Cinemas, the only theater in town where clothing is optional and highly discouraged,” he greets in a cheesy customer-service type voice, like when he speaks to customers at the auto shop. “I see you took the liberty to read our dress code policy before arriving.”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Aren’t you a bit overdressed then?” you say, pointing to the fact he’s still wearing pants.

“Yes, ma’am, you are correct. I apologize, and I’ll be sure to fix it right away.” He slips his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants, pulls them down so that they fall to his ankles, then steps out of them, leaving him in a shirt and a pair of tight boxer briefs. “Is this more to your satisfaction, ma’am?”

You bite down lightly on your tongue, preventing yourself from pouncing on him. “Yes, I believe so. Thank you.”

“If you’d like to come this way, I’ll show you to your spot on the mattress.” He gestures to under the tent.

Laughing/, you get down on your hands and knees and crawl into the blanket fort.

“Or you could just stay in this position if you like.”

“Quit it, you horndog,” you tease.

“It was worth a try,” he chuckles before joining you inside, laying down on the mattress beside you, propped up on pillows. He hands the remote to you.

“Our first showing will begin whenever you make a decision on what you want to watch,” he says, customer-service Frankie returning. “We have a wide selection of movies and TV shows to choose from, from drama to thriller to action. We have comedy, romance, porn…”

You slowly turn your head to him and cock it. “What was that last one?”

“Romance? A great choice if you ask me.”

You roll your eyes then flip through the selection of movies on the screen. Nothing immediately jumps out to you, though you don’t know why it’s difficult to decide, considering you’ll probably make it about fifteen minutes before one of you starts to get handsy. After a minute or so of scrolling, you come across the familiar poster for the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

“Oooh, have you seen this?” you ask. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Can’t say I have,” Frankie responds, straining his eyes to look at the screen. “Is that Jim Carrey?”

“Mhm. And Kate Winslet.”

“The girl from Titanic?”

You lift an eyebrow. “You’ve seen Titanic?”

“Erm, yeah,” Frankie replies, hanging his head as he chuckles. “I watched it for the uh…the plot.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Kate’s plots were pretty nice in that movie, weren’t they?”

Frankie turns red. He quickly changes the subject. “Do you want to watch this?”

“I, uh…” You consider for a moment, not knowing if he would like the movie. “I’m not sure it’s one of the best date movies.”

“Why not?” he asks curiously. “Romance. Science fiction. Jim Carrey, which means some comedy, right? Not to mention it’s one of your favorites. I’m sold.”

“It depends how you look at it,” you reply, knowing that people have dramatically different views on the movie.

“Well, let me judge for myself.”

“Fine. If you decide you don’t like it, we can turn it off and you can choose the next thing we watch.”

“Deal,” he agrees. “But I’m sure I’ll like it.”

Frankie adjusts his body, moving his head further down the pillows before extending his arm, inviting you to come closer. You snuggle into him then press play on the remote. He pulls a blanket over both of you. Once you’ve both settled, the movie begins, somber music playing with a dark, gray shot as Jim Carrey’s character gets out of bed.

“Random thoughts for Valentine’s Day, 2004,” his character says. “Today is a holiday invented by greeting card companies to make people feel like crap.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Frankie jokingly grumbles.

You poke him in the ribs. “Shhh,” you say with a giggle. “Watch the damn movie.”

The finale scene of the movie plays on the screen, the closing song flowing through the speakers.

Change your heart, look around you

Change your heart, it will astound you

I need your loving like the sunshine

And everybody's gotta learn sometime

The credits roll. You look up at Frankie, seeing his eyes soft and wet.

“Well?” you prod, turning the movie off so you can talk.

Frankie nods, his eyes still glued to the screen even though there’s nothing more to see. He takes a deep breath then breathes, “Wow. That was…that was heartbreaking. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was good. But damn. It’s a break-up movie.”

“Yeah, but they got back together in the end,” you say, pushing yourself off him.

“Just so they can restart the cycle of misery,” he says glumly. “They’re just going to repeat the past and hurt each other again.”

“You really think so?”

Frankie lowers his head and knits his eyebrows together, his forehead wrinkling. “I don’t know.”

“Frankie? What is it?”

“I-it’s…” He shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

You can tell he’s shutting down, wanting to hide his feelings from you, from himself. You shift to sit on your knees beside him, then put your hand on his.

“It’s not nothing. It’s something. Talk to me. Please.”

“I just…” He sighs. “I think I can relate to the movie a bit too much. It’s too real, you know?”

“How so?”

He frowns, shaking his head more. You know he doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s on his mind. You sit patiently, waiting for him to feel ready enough to talk.

“After Grace…,” he begins, speaking his ex-wife’s name. “After the divorce…I wished I could erase everything. Forget it all. My past. My memories of her. The things we said and did to one another. I…I fucked up. A lot. And it destroyed every bit of happiness that we had.”

“You weren’t the only one who destroyed the marriage, Francisco,” you assure him. “Grace played a large part in it too.”

“But it was mostly me,” he retorts adamantly. “You can try to convince me otherwise all you want, but it’s the truth. I know it. The missions I’d go on no matter how much she begged me to stay. The PTSD that made me want to shut down and distance myself from reality. The coke. Losing my job. It was all me.”

“Was, Frankie. Past tense. None of that is who you are anymore.”

“How can I know that I’m not doomed to repeat my past?” he questions, looking at you, his eyes watering. “That I won’t destroy this relationship too?”

You shake your head, knowing there’s only one honest answer. “You can’t know.”

“Then why are we doing this?”

You narrow your eyes, pulling your eyebrows together in a frown as you try to understand what he’s saying. “Doing what?”

“Setting ourselves up for the next big heartbreak. Why would we do that to ourselves? Why shouldn’t we call it quits before we hurt each other like every other relationship in our pasts?”

“Frankie...” You’re hurt, but you don’t let it show. You know he doesn’t mean it. It’s obvious that he’s spiraling. It’s the only explanation for why he’d go from wanting to marry you one day to suggesting you call it quits the next day. “This isn’t you talking. It’s your anxiety or insecurities or the hangover, even. But it’s not you.”

“No, it’s-” he starts to argue, but you interrupt him.

“Francisco.” You place your hands on either side of his face, forcing him to focus on you. You look deeply into his eyes and firmly say, “Take a breath and listen to me. It’s not you. Okay?”

He nods.

You release his face, nervously clasping your hands in your lap. “What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know…”

“Frankie, please.”

“Of losing you,” he responds. “I’m afraid of losing you.”

You look at him with soft, sympathetic eyes. The fact that he thinks he could ever lose you breaks your heart more than anything. “What makes you think that you’ll ever lose me?”

“Because all I ever do is mess things up,” he says. “Whenever something seems to be going right, I just fuck it all up. And you…you deserve better than that. You deserve a man who has his shit in order. And that’s not me. All I’m going to do is break your heart in the end.”

“You’re not going to break my heart, Frankie,” you assure him.

“How can you say that?” he asks. “Because you just said we can’t know that.”

“I just trust it,” you say. “I trust you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“What’s wrong with heartbreak?” you ask. “Why is it so terrifying that you want to walk away?”

“Are you serious?” he asks, almost laughing. “It fucking sucks. It hurts like hell.”

“I know it does. It can hurt so much,” you affirm. “But what would happen if we embraced heartbreak instead of fearing it? Instead of grieving it like a loss, we accept it as a part of who we are?”

“What do you mean?” he asks confusedly.

You squirm, wondering how to get him to understand what you’re saying. “Okay. Let me ask you this: Are you the same person you were before you and Grace separated?”

Frankie is quiet for a moment, considering the question. He shakes his head. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Would you say or are a better or worse person now?”

He scoffs. “I would hope better.”

“You are,” you assure him, nodding your head. “Do you know why? Because you made mistakes. And learned from those mistakes. You grew from them.”

“I…I guess so.”

“That’s the beauty of life, Frankie,” you say, smiling. “We get to make mistakes. We get to learn from them. History is only doomed to repeat itself by those who have forgotten it. Because we have the memories, we can break the cycle. Don’t you see that’s the entire point of the movie?”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “It’s saying that memories…memories shouldn’t be treated like files which can be deleted at will. Because memories are important. They shape who we are at our very core. If you get rid of them, you’re just destined to repeat yourself over and over, like the girl who went right back to having an affair with the same guy after deleting her memory of the last affair. People need both the good and the bad to learn and grow. Which is why I see the ending as hopeful.”

“Hopeful? Seriously? How?”

“Did we watch the same movie, Francisco?” you joke, trying to lighten the mood. “By the end, the characters have regained the knowledge of their past relationship, and they can use that knowledge to make it work this time around. They don’t have to be trapped in an endless cycle of pain and misery.” You reach out and grab his hand. “You don’t have to be trapped in the cycle either, Frankie.”

He looks from your hand to you, seeming to take your words to heart.

“Can’t you see how far you’ve come?” you ask. “You’re clean. You’re managing your trauma better. You’ve got a home. A stable job. Yeah, you have a shitty past. But do you think you would be the person you are today if you didn’t have a past to learn from? No. You wouldn’t be where you are. You wouldn’t be who you are, and that is a man who I love with my entire being.”

“You can run from things because you’re afraid,” you add. “You have to take risks sometimes. And isn’t love always worth the risk, Frankie? I mean, just look at what the love you once had for Grace created. If you hadn’t taken the risk, if you had never loved her, you wouldn’t have Sophia.”

He looks up to you, knowing that if anything made the past heart break worth it, it was his daughter. His daughter and the fact that the break led him to you.

“Please don’t let the past destroy you. A lot of bad shit happened, yeah, but a lot of good came from it too.”

He nods, seeming to understand.

You raise your hand to his face, gently cupping his cheek with the palm of your hand. You feel his facial hair under the palm of your skin, and you lightly rub the little bald patch you love so much.

“I am not going anywhere, Frankie,” you assure him. You move a hand down to his chest. “I am not afraid. I don’t care if there’s any chance for a million heartbreaks. I accept the risk…because you are worth it. So incredibly worth it.”

He looks at you, his eyes wet with tears that he won’t let fall. You can see the shift in his features. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Nothing. But you are absolutely deserving.”

Frankie places a hand on the side of your face and pulls you into him, his lips crashing into yours, claiming your mouth with his. He cradles your face with his hands, warm and rough against your skin, kissing you with an intense urgency. Your heart thrashes against your chest, and you feel his pound equally as hard beneath your hand. His hands slide into your hair while his tongue slips into your mouth.

He grips you tighter, pulling you into him as if he wishes for the two of you to meld into one. You ball up the fabric of his shirt in your fist, holding onto him like he would float away if you let go. Time seems to come to a standstill, and suddenly nothing matters. You’ve forgotten the world, focusing only on how soft he feels against your mouth, how perfectly his lips seemed to mold to the shape of yours, as if they had been made for you. As if he had been made for you.

You’re the first to break, pulling away from his lips. But he doesn’t let you go far. He rests his forehead against yours, his nose brushing against yours, his thumb stroking your jaw. You close your eyes once more, sucking your lips inward and biting down, trying to control your emotions.

“You are amazing,” Frankie whispers. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did everything,” he says. “You accepted my past. You accepted my daughter. You – for whatever reason – accepted my friends and their bullshit.”

Air expels from your nose, your lips turning into a smile.

Frankie pulls back, his hand slipping away from your face. You keep your hands on his chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breathe.

“You accepted me for who I am instead of trying to make me into something you want me to be. But you also make me want to be a better man. With you, I have faith I can do it. You are my strength, my rock, my safe space to land.” He reaches up and lays his hand on yours, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. “Eres mi amor. Eres mi vida. Eres mi todo.” You are my love. You are my life. You are my everything.

His words make your stomach flutter. You grant him a smile, thankful that your Frankie seems to have returned to you.

“Do you remember our first date?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say quietly, smiling. “How could I forget? We had an early dinner at the diner then saw a double feature at the drive-in.”

Frankie nods, then bashfully lowers his head. “I can’t even tell you what was playing.”

“I see it was memorable for you,” you say with a smirk. “It was the last two Spider-Man movies. They played the first one before the sequel. Don’t you remember? We were running late after dinner, got caught in traffic, and you kept apologizing. I kept assuring you that I didn’t mind if we missed anything. All I cared about was spending time with you.”

“I was memorable,” he assures you. “I just don’t remember the movie because I was too wrapped up in you. I couldn’t stop staring at you. The way you smiled. The way you laughed. How you looked when you were concentrating on what was happening on the screen. I was so afraid I’d screw up. I’d say or do something stupid.”

“Well, obviously you didn’t, or we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“I fell in love with you that night,” Frankie admits. “I couldn’t stop thinking about a future with you. I went out with the boys the next night, and you were all I could talk about. Benny threatened to punch me if I didn’t stop, and Santi had to talk me out of buying a ring that night.”

You laugh. “Oh, so Santi is the reason I’m not engaged?” you joke. “I’ll have to deal with him later.”

Frankie smiles. “No. I’m to blame. I’ve had a ring for…” He runs his tongue along his cheek. “Well, for longer than I’d like to admit. I kept telling myself that I was just waiting for the right time, but the truth is, I was always afraid. Afraid of, well…you know…and I’d let every perfect moment slip by.”

“Oh, Frankie,” you coo.

“The boys came up with what they had hoped would be one final perfect moment.”

“And what, dare I ask, was that?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Nothing special. Just the two of us dancing together under the spotlight to one of our favorite songs. You looking like the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen…”

You wonder if he’s saying what you think he’s saying…

“Santi and Yovanna gave me their blessing to propose, but…”

A laugh escapes your lips when you understand what he’s saying: the wedding. He was ready to propose then and there before you stopped him, and he had permission from the bride and groom to do it. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shakes his head, a lopsided grin on his face. “Nope.”

“Then why’d you let me talk you out of it? Why didn’t you correct me when I said it’s rude to propose?”

He shrugs. “Maybe there was a reason you said that. Maybe it wasn’t the right time. I mean, that wasn’t us. All dolled up like that, drinking fancy beer and popping champagne like we just won the lottery.”

You smile and nod, knowing he has a point. Why do proposals have to be big and elaborate and fancy?

“I always imagined something simpler,” he continues. “Maybe take you to the lake. Pop the question as we laid in the bed of my truck under the stars after talking the day away. Just like the night of our first date.”

You smile. “I would like that.”

“I would too,” Frankie says, returning your smile, but only for a moment. He sighs. “But it’s fucking raining, and I’ll be damned if I let one more moment slip away.”

You blink, watching as Frankie reaches under a pillow laying on the air mattress. When he pulls his hand from under the pillow, you see he’s holding a small box.

Your eyes grow wide. “Frankie… What are you…?” You trail off, trying to wrap your head around what’s happening.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so scared to do this, but I’ve never been more certain than now. I know I’m not perfect, mi amor, but they say the perfect marriage is just two imperfect people who refuse to give up on each other. You will never give up on me. I know that. And I promise you that no one will work harder to make you happy or cherish you more than me. I want to grow old with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Loving you, fighting with you, irritating you, getting irritated by you.”

A tearful laugh escapes your lips.

“However my life is, I want it to be with you.” He says you full name while opening the box, but you pay no mind to it. “Will you marry me?”

You don’t break your gaze from him, not even long enough to look down at the ring he’s offering you. You’re in absolute awe of this man. You want to answer immediately, but you let out a sob before you can.

“Yes,” you finally cry, flinging your arms around him. “Yes! Yes! Absolutely, yes!”

He wraps his arms around you, holding onto you tightly while still clutching the box.

“Thank fucking Christ,” he breaths quietly. He chuckles. “I’m not even sure who I have to thank for this. Spider-Man or Jim Carrey.”

You laugh tearfully, burying your face into his shoulder as you hold onto him tightly. You guess it’s true that movies can bring people together.

Slowly, you unwrap yourselves from each other. You look at each other awkwardly for a moment before Frankie fumbles with the box, removing the ring.

You hold out your left hand for him to take, watching as he slips the ring on your finger.

“Benny will be heartbroken he can’t steal me away.”

“He’ll be fine. That’s what Linda is for.”

You bite your lip, examining the ring now fully on your finger. “It’s beautiful, Francisco.”

“Just like every part of you.”

Your eyes move from the jewelry to him. He smiles at you gently, his love and admiration shining in his eyes when he gazes back at you. His features are soft, the skin on his forehead smooth, looking like a man who’d finally had the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders and left without a single care in the world.

“How do you think we should celebrate, Mr. Morales?” you question.

“I have just the thing,” Frankie informs you, lifting the sheet and grabbing an expensive bottle of champagne that’s sitting beneath one of the chairs holding up the blanket fort you’re under.

You laugh. “Did you take that from the wedding?”

“Maybe. It’ll be our little secret.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you watch as he tries to ease the bottle open. Without warning, the cork shoots out of the bottle with a pop! followed by some bubbly liquid.

“Shit!” you exclaim, watching the bottle shoot its load.

“I swear that’s never happened to me before,” Frankie jokes, causing you to bust out laughing.

You reach for the two glasses sitting under the chair and hold them out for him. He pours the golden liquid into both glasses then sets the bottle aside.

“Drink up, young man,” you say, quoting the female character in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind as you hand him a glass. “It’ll make the whole seduction part less repugnant.”

tags: @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage, @dobbyjen

#francisco morales x original female character #frankie morales angst #francisco morales fanfiction #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #fluff #pedrostories

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hazbbyhaz · 3 years

Text

sleepless || harry styles

twenty six

pairing: harry styles x OC

synopsis: an emotional night

disclaimer: nightmares, child abuse, blood, descriptions of child abuse, kissing

The mind returns in dream

-Amy Bonner

"Did you know that Queen Victoria had a 14 year old stalker who broke into Buckingham Palace at least four times?"

"I didn't know that." Harry mumbles, turning himself on his side to look at Avery. She is lying on her back, eyes trained on the ceiling, saying anything that comes across her mind.

"Apparently he even stole her underwear once!"

"Avery, we’re supposed to sleep." There was a small bat of silence after Harry’s statement. In truth, Avery had been doing everything she could to avoid sleeping, despite agreeing to rest.

"Oh right" She murmurs, closing her eyes before opening them again. "I’m sorry. What time is it? Is it morning yet?"

"It must be around 1am."

"That's not close to morning at all," Her lips start to quiver at the realization. He watches as she takes two deep breaths, shuts her eyes, and turns to face him; the quivering coming to a stop.

"can't we drink a cup of tea? I always sleep better with tea."

Harry can hear the desperation in her voice. He can see her clinging to any possible scenario that will keep her awake. Every possibility that will prolong the inevitable. She needs sleep. At this point, more than anything.

“You’ve had more than enough tea for the night. We can make more in the morning. But first, we have to sleep." Right outside the window streetlights cast ambient light upon Avery's bedroom. The golden rays dance across her face so elegantly; so gently.

Her eyes are trained on something Harry can’t see, but he is acutely aware of her. He can see the three freckles that have made themselves home on her nose, the heart shape of her lips, the cerulean blue hue of her eyes. He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

If only he could take a photograph. Try to capture this moment in its entirety, in all of its beauty. Show them how amazing these small, intimate moments are. Or maybe he didn't want that. Maybe he just wanted to keep her close. Keep this for him, and only him.

"What about my Valerian pills? They help me fall asleep."

"Love, don’t they make it worse?"

"Sometimes, but at least I'll be asleep." Her eyes finally trail up to his own. While his are calm and reassuring, hers are filled with fear. Fear that runs deeper than he could ever imagine.

"What do you dream about, Ave?" His fingers caress her cheek, he can feel her breath hitch as he gently brushes her hair behind her ear.

"I’ve never told anyone," She mutters, her eyes never leaving his own. Not for a second. "not anyone I cared about."

"Then let me be the first" With his hands on her cheeks, his eyes fall to her rosy lips. The familiar urge to kiss her resurfaces, flowing from his head to his toes. But he can’t, he knows he can’t. What they have is too delicate to risk.

From the moment that he had met her, he knew that she was alone. He has never seen her with anyone else, never seen her receive a text message or a phone call. To his knowledge, she doesn’t step foot out of her flat unless something important warrants her to do so.

Deep down, he knows that he is all that she’s got. The only person who is there for her in any true sense. The last thing he wants to do is ruin what they’ve created by giving in to his own urges.

Regardless of Harry's string of thoughts, their eyes meet. Sky blue on forest green. As Avery's eyes trail down to his lips, he slowly leans forward, pressing his lips to her own. The kiss is delicate and soft. With his calloused hands gently cupping her cheeks, Avery feels like that of porcelain. Like a fragile piece of glass someone is terrified to drop.

His hands drop from her face to her hip, pulling her impossibly closer. She grabs at his shirt, heavy breaths escaping as their lips briefly part. They are so close to one another, entangled with each other in every way they could, but it isn’t close enough.

His lips taste like earl grey tea and peppermint gum, a blend Avery didn’t know could be so addictive. Her lips taste of bitter coffee, but he doesn’t mind. They’re hers, that’s all that matters.

A few moments later Harry pulls back. He rests his forehead atop her own, leaving a gentle kiss to her nose as they both regain their breaths. Harry's thoughts diminish as he focuses on what’s happening now. The present. It’s only now that he can really see just how Avery is reacting. Her hands are latched tightly to his shirt, desperately trying to pull him closer. Harry's gentle call of her name does nothing to aid in her growing frustration.

He lets her pull him in once again, their lips reconnecting in a more heated kiss. She bites down on his lower lip, letting him know that he can continue. Harry slowly turns them over, leaning up with his elbows on either side of Avery's head, Avery laying on her back. And they kiss. Averys lips continue locking with his own because this feeling is so different from how numb she has felt. How she has been feeling for far too long.

For the first time that Avery can remember, she feels alive. Feeling Harry's lips on hers, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath her touch, it feels like home. Like comfort and safety, like last minute trips to the beach and drinking tea at house parties. It feels like everything finally coming together.

If only she could stay here for the rest of her life - stay right here, in this moment. Forever. Then everything would be alright. No worries, no mean girls, no nightmares, no sleepless nights. None of it. She would be okay. She could handle every thought spiral, every mean word, every single doubt, if she knew that she could come home to this. Know that she could feel Harry's lips on hers at the end of the day.

The small sounds Avery is emitting make Harry slow his movements down "Ave..." he mumbles in between kisses. “Hey hey hey, it’s okay… slow down, love. It’s okay.”

She can’t look into his eyes, he sees the tears welling up in them. Her whimpers only grow louder once she knows that he is aware of them, worrying him even more. In an effort to calm her, Harry starts trailing kisses down her face.

“I’m not going to hurt you… I am never going to hurt you… I don't ever want to do that.” She hasn’t said a word to him in an alarming amount of time, not letting him know what is going on in her head. His kisses trail down her jaw before pressing softly into her neck, right above her pulse point. “Talk to me, love. Please say something…”

“You will leave…” She says it so quietly that he almost misses it. But when those three words hit his ears his own eyes begin to water. He immediately stops his actions, softly cupping her cheeks in his hands. Her lips quivers once again before she whispers “I don’t want you to leave, Harry.”

"I won’t, Avery. I’m not going to leave." He reassures her, pushing another strand of hair out of her face as a few tears roll down her cheeks. "Look at me, please... I know you’re scared, I know. This is something new for the both of us, and new things are always scary."

"God I'm pathetic," Harry wipes the tears away from her cheeks, looking down at the girl below him with empathetic eyes. "I'm sorry"

“It’s okay. You’re not pathetic. If anyone here is pathetic, it’s me because I am just so smitten by you!”

Avery giggles as Harry presses one final kiss to her lips, both of them smiling into it like lovesick idiots. His arms wrap around her before turning them over, settling into a comfortable silence.

“Are you going to be able to sleep?” Avery nods her head, looking up at Harry.

"Do you promise you’ll wake me?" Her head is lying on his chest, right above his heart, and his arm is tightly wrapped around her petite frame.

"I'll wake you, I promise."

“Mommy!” I cry, hitting the cellar door with my fists. I can see a little bit of light from under the door, it shines on the staircase all the way down to the floor. I’ve been trying to get her to come here for a while, I don’t know if she can hear me.

“Mommy! it’s really cold…” I still don’t hear her. Hitting the door that many times makes both of my hands hurt. I sit up against the wall next to the door, shivering. The wall is just as cold as everything else. The stones in it hurt my back as I sit.

I got to talk to Daddy on the phone a couple days ago, and he said we would go to the park today. I really want to go, but I don’t know where he is. I don’t want to be here anymore, not with Mommy. I just want to go upstairs to my room. Sleep in my bed with all my stuffed animals and my blankie. Maybe I could stay with Daddy after the park.

“Can I please have my blankie?… Please, Mommy. It’s really really cold!” Sheepy is sitting against the wall opposite me. I grab him and hold him close to my chest. “Are you cold, Sheepy?” I pet his fur, but it’s not as soft as it used to be, and he is missing one of his button eyes. It fell off earlier today.

“Don’t worry, Daddy is gonna take us to the park soon. He promised, remember?”

There is a very loud noise and I scream as the door slams open. Before I can move out of the way, I am falling down the stairs. My head hits the wall and all it’s stones many times before I hit the bottom. I open my eyes and see the bottom of the staircase, my eyes all blurry as I cry out to Mommy. She is standing all the way at the door.

“Mommy!” I try to walk towards her, but my head is so dizzy I can barely move. As soon as I stand I fall back down again. “Please let me out… I know i’ve been bad, but Daddy wants to take me to-“

“Your Father isn’t coming today, so be quiet! For god's sake, how many times do I have to tell you to stop screaming!” She starts walking down the stairs.

“But he promised he would…” All of a sudden I can hear a loud slap, Mommy’s hand hitting my cheek really hard. My ears start to ring as my head hits the hard concrete floor. She stands over me as I keep crying. I can see Sheepy laying on his side not far from me.

"Listen! I don't care what your father said, I need you to be quiet. Understood?"

"Yes, mommy. But can you fix Sheepys eye? Please? It fell off earlier and I can’t put it back on." I grab Sheepy and hold him out to her, she takes him out of my hand. I pull his button eye out of my pocket, keeping it in my hand. "Here's his eye."

Mommy huffs, looking at Sheepy but then she turns around and starts walking up the stairs, his eye still in my hand.

"No! NO! Mommy, the button, you have to take his eye to fix him! He can’t see without his eye! Please don't take Sheepy away from me, please!" I stand up super fast, still very dizzy, and try to walk to the stairs. But Mommy is too far away to hear me and I can’t reach her anymore. I can hear the door close; leaving me down here all by myself.

I lay back down on the floor, it feels even colder down here now. My whole body hurts. I am cold and all alone.

Avery wakes up without a sound. Everything is silent; impossibly still. The silhouette of a tree looms over the room, encasing the space in it’s dark, sinister shadow.

Hot, heavy tears stream down her face, her breath beginning to quicken. Every inch of her body hurts, every movement awakening an ache she didn’t know was there. But of course it hurts, the fall just happened yesterday. How couldn’t it hurt? No body could heal after only a few hours time from something like that. She can feel bruises beginning to bloom beneath her skin, no doubt covering most of her body.

Her anxious eyes roam over her surroundings. She is not locked in the cellar, but sitting atop a bed. It is still cold, so very cold, but comfortable and familiar. She can’t quite place it. Only now is the body laying peacefully by her side of notice to her. Harry is still asleep, his head resting mere inches from her thigh. Harry… where did he come from? Has he just arrived? Did he see the bruises?

The sound of a car backfiring rang through the silence, making Avery jump and her head shoot to the window overlooking the London street. her motion startled Harry awake, he began to stir beside her.

His eyes opened slowly, his gaze falling upon her figure. She was visibly shaking, tears streaming down her face. She looked terrified. At this sight, he was wide awake, quickly sitting upwards.

"Oh Avery, I'm sorry I-I didn't hear you-"

"My arm hurts really bad, Harry." She whimpers, cradling her left arm to her chest. "It hurts so much."

"Where does it hurt?" He carefully reaches out to her, his fingers softly brushing over her skin. To the touch, she was ice cold. No wonder she was shivering.

"Everything hurts…" Harry slowly pulls her towards him, encasing her shivering figure in two blankets before settling her body between his outstretched legs, wrapping both of his arms around her. His hands are rubbing up and down the expanse of her back, the motion attempting to soothe all the distress. Her head rests between his neck and shoulder.

"Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs," Her cries grew to hiccuping sobs, her breath irregular and too fast for her lungs to process. Harry freezes at her words.