#but I have so many dresses and they just collect dust and it’s sad :(

[rosicheeks]

Morning Rosi!

What’s your favourite outfit to wear when you’re feeling especially extra cute? ☺️ x

Morning lovely ☺️

I haven’t dressed up in AGES! 😭 I have so many cute dresses and clothes but I don’t go anywhere special so I don’t get to wear them 😔

[builtbybrokenbells]

Gold Dust Woman | xiii

Gold Dust Woman finally learns how to pick up the pieces and go home.

Read part twelve here

Listen while reading: unknown/nth - Hozier (listened to this and cried the entire time I wrote this 🤭)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader, Sam Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 13.5k

Warnings: ANGST, sadness, crying, breakups, feelings of regret/heartbreak, sad jake, swearing, smoking, some fluff! Sorry if I miss any!

only one more left after this one 😁 buckle up for the last bit of the ride (I was going to wait till the poll ended but I could NOT wait any longer. I’m so excited to finish up this piece as it’s been my main focus for so long. also lightly edited. my apologies 🫶🏻) as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

Another city, another show. You were so caught up in the whirlwind of your life that you seemed to have forgotten what home truly was. Hotels were more familiar than you thought they ever could be, and you craved for a moment alone in your own house despite previously hating the emptiness that screamed from the walls. The show the night before went by without a hitch, and the weight of your decision was sitting heavy on your shoulders. You knew what you had to do, you just hadn’t yet gotten the chance to do it. After the concert came to a close, you were all too tired to even think about managing a night at the bar. You drove to the city over which you would be playing for tonight, and checked into the hotel rooms with no intent on leaving until the next morning. Dylan had fallen asleep in your bed with you, mid conversation about the high points of the night.

When you woke, she was still deep in slumber in her jeans and hoodie, neglecting blankets and pillows completely. You crawled from the mattress, a headache lingering but making a promise to leave as long as you had a sip of coffee. You showered, did your makeup, and dressed all before she even made a shift in her position. You opted to leave her there to catch up on her sleep, knowing that out of anyone, she deserved it most. You thought maybe the early morning would be the best time to execute your plan; not many were awake, and you might be able to reach Sam’s room without interception from anyone else. You knew that if you had to see any sad eyes or wistful faces, you would crack and crumble to the ground before you could even get to your destination. You slipped onto the patio attached to your room before making the leap to end the race, needing a moment to collect your thoughts before the inevitable end.

You sat on a flimsy deck chair, a cigarette smouldering between your fingers as you gazed out at the city. Despite your own drowsiness still existing, the world was awake and begging you to join it. Cars passed, honking angrily at pedestrians and other drivers in hopes it would make them hurry. The sun was bright, casting a glow over the ground that made even the busiest of streets seem inviting. Sidewalks bustled, and shops were decorated with neon signs inviting potential customers inside. You wondered if when the pain passed, you could resume some semblance of normalcy that you had been craving for so long. Then, you wondered if normal would be better than your previous sense of the word with Sam by your side, taking on the world with you. As excited as you were to find out, your hands still shook with anxiety for the future.

You were not doubting your certainty of loving Sam; you knew that to be true in every sense of the phrase, and you had known it long before your revelation in the bathroom the night before. Loving Sam was one of the easiest things you had ever done, and you knew that regret for picking him was implausible. Sam had an iron grip on your heart from the minute you met him, and he showed no signs of letting go. What you were doubting was your ability to choose the right path, and your willingness to let go of Jake. As much as you loved Sam, you knew you felt it for him, too, and you were not prepared to accept that you would never have Jake again. As much as love terrified you, letting go was also high on your list of fears. But, as they say, when one door closes another one opens, and this was not a grievous end as much as it was the next chapter of your life.

You loved Jake completely, and so much so that when you thought about it for too long it made your chest ache and your head spin. He did not lack anything in the slightest, but your driving force was justified by the fact he was just too similar to you. You shared the fear of intimacy as well as commitment, and you both struggled with vulnerability and communication. Because of that, the emotions housed between you were often volatile and difficult to navigate. You were a self-assured hot headed person who needed someone to ground you, and you feared that Jake would feed into that side of you because he housed so many of the same traits. So, it was not a lack of love causing you to walk away; it was simply because you knew you had the same ability to hurt him as you did love him, just as he did for you. Loving someone means taking risks, but a risk that large could be fatal, and you were not willing to sacrifice him or yourself at the hands of pleasure.

You thought for so long that your cigarette burnt to an end before you had the chance to enjoy it, and the sun had slightly shifted positions in the sky. Now, it was shining directly on you, illuminating the extent of your sins and showcasing it to anyone who cared to watch. No matter what the right decision was, hurt was inevitable, and you all but paved the way for it to be. It was only right for you to play the game in which you thought it should be, because dragging it out any further would only be torture for everyone involved. You tossed the cigarette to the ground, not even a cherry falling out to reminisce on the fire it used to have. You felt the same, discarded and out of place as your flame slowly flickered away. Your only hope was that after the day was through, you would begin to shine brighter than ever before.

When you went back inside, Dylan was still snoring peacefully with no sign of stirring anytime soon. You chuckled at the sight, grabbing a blanket that had been pushed to the foot of the bed and gently throwing it on top of her. You stepped towards the door, letting your hand rest on the knob as you gave yourself a pep talk. You knew what needed to be done, but had doubts about your strength to do so. Underneath your hard and confident exterior, you were nothing but a mess of cowardly second-guesses and insecure assumptions. You feared that once you stepped outside, any sense you had talked into yourself would flee and never return. With a deep breath, you swung the door open and stepped outside. The silence was astounding, and it seemed to be loud enough to deafen you. The sheer emptiness of the hallway was overwhelming, and it felt like it was slowly paralyzing you as it encouraged you to run circles.

With an unsteady nature, you stepped forward in the direction of Sam’s room. You made it halfway, then had to stop and reconvene your thoughts. “Why is this so fucking hard?” You whispered to yourself, running a hand through your hair. You leaned back against the wall, inhaling deeply in hopes that it would aid you in your search for confidence. You ran your palms across the fabric of your jeans, the scratchy material sending a shiver down your spine and regulating your body. “Okay, y/n. You can do this. It’s not that hard. Just knock on his door, and take it from there.” You whispered, knowing that if anyone were to see the state you were in they might have genuine concerns about your mental well being.

Just as you were about to continue on your journey, a door swung open just ahead of you. You snapped your head up, looking in the direction of the noise as a genuine fear flooded you. It looked like Sam’s door, which only prompted you to want to run. After a few seconds, a body stepped into view, and almost all of your nerves calmed. “Oh, hey, Aaron.” You sighed, laughing at your own foolishness.

“Y/n!” His eyes lit up as if he’d won a grand prize by finding you in the hallway. “I was just coming to get you. Makes my job easy.”

“Oh, me? No, actually, I-I have something I have to-“

“I think you’re going to want to come with me.” He chuckled as he walked towards you. He held out his arm, beckoning you away from the wall.

“No, Aaron, I have something really important to do, and-“

“This is more important, I promise you.” He said, waiting for you to join him. You watched him, hesitation clear in your face as you looked between him and Sam’s door. When he raised an expecting eyebrow at you, you let out a sigh that trailed off with a groan, slumping your shoulders as you walked to join him. “I will make up for whatever I’m taking you away from, but I really think you’ll be happy to come with me.”

“Whatever you say,” you sing-songed, letting him guide you towards the elevator. You both disappeared behind the doors, leaving Sam’s room as nothing but a memory as you were transported down to the first floor. “So, what’s this about?”

“It’s a surprise.” He chuckled. “I’m just thankful you were awake so I didn’t have to fight with you.”

“Come on, Aaron. You can’t drag me away from my very important things and not even tell me what it’s about.” You complained, tapping your foot against the ground as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Okay, how about this: I’ll tell you what we’re doing if you tell me what you were doing that was so important.” Your movements paused as you racked your brain for an answer. There was no way you were willing to tell him the true intent of your journey, and the elevator dinged before you could come up with an excuse. “That’s what I thought.” He laughed, walking out without another word. You let out a huff of annoyance as you followed behind him, but you could not argue with his clear advantage over the conversation. He led you into the lobby of the hotel, making sure you were close behind him in case you had any inkling to turn away. The room was oddly quiet for a morning; nobody seemed to be waiting impatiently to check out, nor did the staff seem hassled with work.

When you made it to the front doors, Aaron greeted the bodies that were waiting for you. You could not see past him, so who was there would come as a surprise once he stepped out of the way. When the doors swung open and your manager stepped forward to exit, your heart sunk and your stomach churned. Jake was looking down at his phone, sunglasses on and wearing what looked to be the clothes he slept in the night before. When you woke that morning, Jake was not the first brother you had hoped to have an interaction with, nor was he the one you had the courage to face. You barely had enough nerve to walk towards Sam’s room, and you knew you would not have the strength to maintain any kind of normalcy with Jake.

“Didn’t know you were coming along.” Jake smiled, joining you by the side, but his excitement did not seem to match his words. He knew you were coming, and he had been shaking with anticipation since finding out about it. This was not your idea of a worthwhile trip, not because you did not want to see Jake, but because you wanted to see him so badly that it made your chest ache. You did not know if you would make it through the day without cracking under his pressure, and you knew if you did let him back in, you would only be breaking his heart even further.

“Guess everyone’s full of surprises this morning.” You tried to smile, but it came out with more similarity to a grimace rather than anything welcoming. “Not even sure why I’m here.”

“He didn’t tell you?” You shook your head, avoiding looking over at him for as long as you could. When you felt his hand grace your lower back, you nearly jumped out of your skin. “Trust me, you’ll be happy you came.” He said, tightening his grip ever so slightly. You had to fight every molecule in your body to not give in to the touch, to lean into him and forget every single thing you had sworn to that morning, but you persevered. Even if it was with great difficulty, you still considered it as an accomplishment.

“I’ll take your word for it.” You breathed, climbing into the backseat of the vehicle they had waiting for you. He slid in beside you, closing the door gently and locking you into seclusion with him once more.

“Have I ever lied to you, Gold Dust Woman?” He asked, looking over at you. You caught his eye for the first time that morning, feeling the breath catch in your throat.

“Not yet, Jacob.” Out of all the times you wished you could be alone with him, you never once thought you would wish you could get away from him. You looked out of the tinted window, mindlessly drumming your fingers against your leg in a clear show of anxiety.

“You seem tense.” He noted, inching closer without even realizing it.

“Oh, just tired.” You lied, hoping it would ease his worry enough to give you some more time to collect yourself.

“You know you can’t lie to me, Gold Dust Woman.” He said, sneaking his hand towards you and settling it on top of your own. You closed your eyes, revealing in the intimacy that would not last long. You hated knowing that you would have to put the moment to an end even if you were enjoying it so much. No matter if you still wanted Jake, you knew that all the conclusions you had drawn were correct and of grave importance. The longer you let the dance continue, the worse the situation would end. You had hurt him enough to know that you no longer had any right to be selfish, even if you so badly wanted to.

But, delaying the inevitable had always been your area of expertise, and for simplicity’s sake, you thought it alright to do it one last time.

“Can we just… can we just be friends, today? Co-workers?” You asked, avoiding looking at his face. You knew the pain that stemmed from your words was evident and quick to surface. “Yesterday was just… it was a lot for me, and I think I just need to sort my thoughts out before jumping right back into it.”

“Friends…” he deliberated, slowly releasing his hold on your hand. “Did you just friend-zone me?” He asked, almost laughing at the incredulity of the question.

“Just for today, Jacob.” You assured him. Even if it was a lie, you knew it was for the best. Your intent was to get both of you through whatever Aaron had planned for you, and then deal with your personal matters afterwards. If you were to break the news to him so bluntly and so soon, recovery would not be possible in the near future.

“Just for today,” he pondered, looking out the window. “Don’t think we’ve ever been good at being friends, sweetheart, but for you, I’ll try my best.” And he was right. Jake had been much less of a friend than any of the other boys. For a long time, he was an active participant of the party lifestyle that was so accessible in your home, and he grew into an acquaintance. Neither of you were fond of the bonding process, and fell into routine of knowing each other while remaining strangers. Within the months leading up to his confessional session in your bedroom, you had managed to bridge the gap between stranger and friend. You were caught alone more often, sharing secret hangouts away from the others to avoid jealousy or confusion, usually filled with shared music and drunken fun. It was never anything serious, or so you thought. Now, thinking back to the few days you spent with him as a ‘friend’, it was clear to you that Jake was trying to tell you he loved you without actually needing to say the words.

You felt even worse recalling his silent show of adoration, because you realized you had always been doing the same thing to him as Sam had done to you, yet he never seemed broken or bent out of shape because of it. Jake had grown familiar with the idea of loss, but he had not let it get in his way. Friends was never in his itinerary, but when it came to making you happy, he would sacrifice everything including his own life. “So let’s try for a day,” you said, more intrigued by the idea. “Even if we suck at it, it’s worth a shot, right?” He looked back at you, thrilled that you had finally found the strength to look in his direction. He gave you a small smile, not pleased about the idea, but curious as to what it would be like. “Can you spend an entire day not trying to get me into bed?” He chuckled, holding your gaze as he thought of a response.

“That would be the ultimate test of willpower, but I suppose I could try. Do you think you can spend the whole day rejecting me if I can’t?” It was your turn to laugh, finding the nature of the conversation easygoing and comforting. You missed laughing with Jake, and you hoped that after the day was through, you would still be able to laugh with him again.

“I think I can manage.” You nodded.

“Alright, Gold Dust Woman. Friends for a day.” He said, extending his hand towards you. You grabbed it, shaking it with a little bit of force. You felt guilty knowing that he was ultimately agreeing to the loss of you, but you were enjoying the happiness too much to break his heart.

“Friends for a day, Jacob.” You reiterated, dropping your hand back to his side. The rest of the car ride was silent, both of you wondering how you would be able to separate love from your relationship. It was a daunting task, but you were both too stubborn to admit you would not be able to do it. When the car rolled to a stop in front of the venue you were supposed to play at later in the evening, you were confused as to why you needed to be here so soon.

You broke out into the day, squinting at the stinging sunlight in your eyes. You waited for Aaron to join you so you knew where you were headed. He guided you into the back entrance of the building where you immediately noticed a crowd of people much to large for so early in the day. You bit your tongue instead of inquiring about your curiosity, knowing that you would find out why you were there in only a few moments. Jake immediately found himself busy with a crowd of people who were stationed outside of his dressing room, and Aaron guided you towards your own. He had a smile stuck on his face, clearly excited to see your reaction to the news of what you would be doing. When you peered inside your room, Rachel, your stylist, was sitting inside and on her phone to pass the time. “About time you got here,” she said, looking up with a smile. “I was beginning to think that you would never show up.”

“I’m here,” you laughed, giving a small wave to serve as a greeting.

“Sit,” she ordered, directing you towards the wardrobe chair. You did as you were told, taking post in the seat as she grabbed some items from her suitcase of supplies. “We’re going to spend a lot of time together today.” She said as she ran her fingers through your hair.

“Don’t we spend lots of time together already?” You asked with a small smirk on your face.

“Today’s a special day,” she informed you, turning your chair so she could see your face. “Did nobody tell you why you’re here?”

“No, and I’m assuming by now that nobody will.” You didn’t mean to sound so annoyed, but after being pulled away from Sam so early in the morning with no good reason as to why, you couldn’t help but feel slightly put off. She laughed at your comment as your personality showed through and as usual, it didn’t bother her in the slightest.

“You look better today. Brighter, more relaxed. You sleep good last night.” Her comments hit you like a truck. You knew the last two weeks your appearance had been lacking, so run down by the exhausting back and forth you had found yourself in. Running without a destination was tiresome and pointless, but now that the finish line was in sight, you could not lie and say that you did not feel better just by seeing it. You had your energy back, and your mind was finally calmed down just by knowing that you had a real chance at happiness. Until it was in your grasp, though, you refused to accept that this was the end. Your hesitancy to accept finality was not because of doubt in your decision, but because you knew the brothers too well to think they would let this go without a last word.

“Yeah, we did sleep really good last night.” You said, closing your eyes as she began applying makeup to your face. “Think the tour life is just catching up to me.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, dusting eyeshadow over your eyes. “Or the Kiszka life, maybe?” You peeked at her through the eye she wasn’t focused on, surprised that she made such a bold comment.

“Well, they do say that you shouldn’t fall in love with your coworkers.” You said, closing your eye again. With how public your ordeal had been made, you couldn’t even find it within yourself to be upset that she was commenting on it.

“Especially not two of them.” You both shared a laugh, finding it easier to joke about it than make it into a conversation. “Don’t let them steal your shine, Gold Dust Woman. They may be special, but not as special as you.”

“I’m trying,” you assured her. Within a few moments, she was finished with your makeup and pointed you towards an outfit she had picked out for you. She allowed you to change before pinning everything in place, and only took a few moments to do your hair. “Casual today?” You asked, looking the mirror as she worked on the waves in your hair.

“Simple, but beautiful.” She said, spraying on hairspray as she continued. She styled your bangs, making sure they would stay in place before stepping away to take a look at the finished product. “What do you think?” She asked, waiting for an answer. You looked to the mirror, dawning over the detail of your makeup. It was so well done that you could barely tell you were wearing any. Your hair was perfectly in place, and your clothes matched the look effortlessly.

“Very 70’s,” you noted, looking down at the bellbottom jeans. The tank top you were wearing was very low cut, one half a burnt orange and the other a rustic brown. The fabric was connected just under your breastbone with a large gem, and the shirt settled just around your rib cage. She threw a leather jacket your way with a smile and shrug of her shoulders.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s a great thing.” You corrected, throwing the tan coloured jacket over your shoulders.

“Then it’s showtime.” She smiled, ushering you to stand. She guided you into the hallway where groups of people were standing with cameras and sound equipment. You looked back over your shoulder at her, nervous about what was to come next. Between a cluster of bodies, you caught sight of a familiar head of hair. You felt relief flood through you, knowing that whatever Aaron was putting you up to, Jake would be there to do it with you.

He looked around, noticing you almost as soon as you emerged from your dressing room. He broke off the conversation he was stuck in, and pushed through the crowd to join you. When he was fully in your line of sight, you felt like you had been punched in the stomach from his beauty alone. He was dressed in an all white suit, a flash of his chest showing and the lower button of his shirt loose. He had a ring on his finger, a chain around his neck, and a smile on his face that matched the ethereal aura he possessed. You managed a smile to match his despite your anxiety, comforted by his familiarity and always happy to be in his company.

He joined you by your side, clearly itching to wrap an arm around you, but stuck his hand in his pocket instead. He was always open for a challenge, and if being a friend was the subject at hand, he would try his absolute best to achieve the desired outcome. “You know what we’re doing, yet?” He asked, looking down at you. Even if he was adamant on complying with (in his opinion) your ridiculous request, he could not hide the pure adoration he held for you in his eyes. It was hard to ignore, even when you weren’t looking for it, and the strength in which he felt for you nearly sent you to your knees. On top of trying to force yourself out of love with him, you had to try not to punish yourself for the choices you made. Breaking his heart was never something you intended, but it was something you both knew was a possibility.

“Dressing up and taking pictures? That’s usually all you guys do.”

“Ha,” he rolled his eyes, mocking your weak insult. “You’re so clever, you know.”

“I try.” You grinned. He was trying to ease your mind with humour, and it was working. The longer you laughed with him, the less you thought about anything else.

“Pictures will definitely be involved, but not necessarily the focus of the day.” He said, giving you a hint in hopes you would figure it out on your own. You looked around, thinking hard as your eyes gazed at the bodies in view.

“An interview?”

“There you go, sweetheart.” He nodded.

“Like, a real interview?” You asked again, the reality setting in. “For like, a magazine?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, chuckling at your excitement.

“They actually want to interview me, too?”

“Of course they do,” he said, finally reaching out and placing a friendly hand on your upper back. It did not strike you as romantic, rather just a friend sharing your elation. “I meant it when I said that you were meant for this, y/n.” Your heart warmed at his soft smile, and you couldn’t help but reach out and wrap your arm around him, too. It was not laced with any implication, much less like any other touch you shared with him previously. Instead, it was just a physical show of your appreciation for each other. Even if you were not going to end up with Jake, you knew that you had a wicked respect for him as a person and never wanted to see a lifetime without him in it. Even if you were in love with him now, you knew he had the ability to be the best friend you had ever had, and you were holding on to that knowledge to get you through the rest of the battle.

Aaron stepped towards you two, happy to see the comfortable dynamic the two of you were engaged in. He had a small fear of you two not wanting to try and get along for the occasion, especially since the last few weeks he had seen nothing but the two of you ignoring each other. “Alright, are you guys ready?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Jake nodded.

“They’re going to take some pictures first, then the two of you are going to sit and answer some questions. That sound good?”

“Together?” You asked. Aaron nodded. “Okay, sounds good.” The manager gave you both a smile, then nodded his head down the hallway as if to tell you to follow him. When he took off in a fast walk, you both followed suit without any further questions. He lead you down to a nearby room that had been cleared and set up with loads of photography equipment. There was couches off to the side, and beside the white screen for the photography background, both of your guitars were set in stands, clearly polished and shined for the occasion. “They look awfully pretty together, don’t they?” You asked, looking over at Jake. He gave a small chuckle, slowly nodding his head at your words.

“Yeah, they do.” He replied, looking off at the distance but not necessarily at the guitars in question. A sad smile crossed your lips, but you didn’t let it linger. Before you had a chance to move on from the minor hurt, a photographer was quick to join you in the room.

“Alright,” she said, looking between you both. “Let’s get some individual shots, then some together. Mr. Kiszka, we’ll do yours first, if that’s okay.”

“After you, Mr. Kiszka,” you noted, a laugh stuck in your throat. You stepped to the side, allowing him to take the centre of attention. It wasn’t long before she was positioning him and snapping pictures. Some of them on his lonesome, but mostly of him with his SG. You were thankful for Jake’s growing collection; after the tragic loss of his SG due to the altercation between him and Sam, he at least had a backup to play for the meantime. You couldn’t hide your smile as he posed, finding yourself lost in the small details of his face. Even if you knew that a relationship with Jake was not in your future, you couldn’t deny his blinding beauty. His presence took up all of the space in the room, and you couldn’t find it within yourself to complain. You didn’t mind living in Jake’s shadow for the day, as a guitarist and as a person, because he deserved the attention. His talent and his personality was well deserving of recognition, and you were happy to witness it first hand.

“You’re up,” Jake said, placing his guitar back on the stand.

“Okay.” You nodded, making a move to stand in his previous position. You tried to relax yourself as much as you could, lowering your shoulders and putting on a blinding smile. The flash from the camera was overwhelming every time it went off, but you tried your best to not let it bother you. She took a few pictures of you in different positions, getting your best angles before asking you to grab your guitar. You did so, carefully holding it in your hands and positioning it as she asked you to. Eventually, she asked Jake to join you. He grabbed his SG, waiting for her to direct him further. She stepped forward, guiding him towards you and placing you back to back. She helped you position your arms to show off the instruments before taking a step back to see if she needed to change anything.

You were standing, leaning against each other as you held your guitars upright, slightly turned to face the camera. She took a few with no smiles, and a few with. You couldn’t lie and say that you weren’t thrilled about the outcome; she showed you both the product of her work, and you had fallen in love with the last picture. You were both standing in the same position, guitars shining brightly under the studio lighting, and you had smiles on your faces so large that you would never be able to guess there was any turmoil beneath the surface. Your eyes were glistening with the joy of being with each other. Despite the impending heartache, you had to stop and appreciate the moment of warmth. It was a memory you would long remember, likely until the end of your time, and the fondness would be solely accredited to Jake.

“Can we get a copy of that one?” Jake asked, feeling the exact same as you did about the picture.

“I can edit it before I send it, if you’d rather me do that.” She offered, but he was already shaking his head before she finished speaking.

“No, that’s okay.” He said, looking to you in hopes you agreed.

“Yeah, just like that is fine.” You nodded.

“Alright, sounds good to me. I’ll get started, and the interviewer will be here in a few minutes.” She said, smiling at the two of you. “Thanks, guys.”

“Thank you,” you said, head still spinning at the idea of being plastered on a magazine. Jake placed a gentle hand on your back once more and guided you towards the couches as the photographer left the room.

“See, that wasn’t bad.” He offered, taking a seat first. You sat down behind him, shaking your head.

“It was so cool.” You tried to hide your own gushing about the situation, but it was evident in your features. He laughed at your face, unable to hide his feelings for you as he did so. He settled back on the couch, fighting every urge to touch you in hopes that you might give in first. You settled back, too, also finding it difficult to keep your hands off him. You hoped that once the truth was spoken and the storm had passed, the desire to be with him would somehow disappear.

A few moments later, a young woman stepped in, different from the one who took your pictures. Behind her, there was a crew of people with audio equipment who would take care of the filming. She moved to greet you, shaking both of your hands and introducing herself. She settled on the chair beside the couch, pulling out a clipboard from her bag. “Alright, I won’t take up too much of your time. We just wanted to ask a few questions for the next issue of Guitar World. This tour is the talk of the town, and Gold Dust Woman is one of the biggest up and coming bands around.” She smiled at you as she finished her statement. You thought you were going to choke on your own shock, your heart racing and your eyes widening as you tried to process what she was saying. You had no idea the interview was for ‘Guitar World’, and you had no idea that you had gained enough popularity for such a prestigious magazine to know you by name. “They’re going to film, just so I have the interview on record to write the article later, so don’t mind them.”

“Sounds good to me.” Jake smiled, eyes lingering on the interviewer for a second too long. You noticed, shamed at the rush of jealousy you felt flood your body. You had no right to feel such things about him anymore, and you needed to get yourself out of that headspace as soon as possible.

“So, if you guys are ready, we can get started.” She offered. You both gave a nod, not finding any argument for the statement. “Perfect.” She said, settling back in her chair and giving a thumbs up to the staff running the filming. One they gave her the go-ahead, she started slow, getting you both to state your names and your band’s names. After that, she jumped right into the bulk of the questions. She started with Jake, asking a few simple things about their new album and their plans for the future. She noted the Grammy nomination they had received very recently, and inquired about his excitement on the topic. Eventually, she turned to you and began her deep dive into your musical career. “So, y/n, you and your band seemed to come out of nowhere; have you been a band for long, or is this something new for you?”

“Well, we’ve been a band for quite some time now, but we mostly played at local bars and restaurants around home. We’ve always been fond of the idea of doing something more, but never really had the chance to do it until now.”

“That’s fantastic,” she noted, making sure you knew she was listening. “Now, ‘Gold Dust Woman’, is that a play on the infamous Fleetwood Mac song, or does it mean something more to you?”

“I suppose both,” you chuckled. “I’ve always been a huge fan of their music, and Stevie Nicks in particular, but I was actually given the nickname a while back by a very important person to me. When we agreed to tour with Greta, we hadn’t really talked about an official name. I brought up the idea and they all seemed to love it. From there it was history, I guess.”

“So it’s almost like you get to carry a part of that person with you wherever you go?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, unable to hide the smile that was forming. “I owe a lot to that person, even outside of music, too. They helped me get to where I am today, and I couldn’t think of a better way to thank them for it.” You tried not to look over at Jake, wanting to avoid any sneaking suspicions from the public that it was him you were talking about.

“How has touring been so far for you? You said this was your first time?”

“Yeah, it is. It’s been fantastic so far. Seeing the world, spending time with my best friends and doing the things we love most… I couldn’t have asked for better.”

“Do you have any plans for an album for yourself?” She inquired.

“We definitely talk about it, but we don’t really have a label or anything of the sorts. I’m actually a recording artist when I’m not on stage, so if we do something, I can see it just being a private event for us.”

“I think now you’ll have labels fighting for you; the energy you have on stage is electric, and I don’t need to mention the talent, because that’s just a given.” You laughed, feeling your cheeks heat with a blush at her statement.

“Thank you,” you replied, trying to ease your nerves as you spoke. “That’s the dream, really. Music has always been a passion, and to think we have a shot at doing it full time is absolutely mind blowing.”

“I think we’re all wondering about your relationship with Greta. Have you been friends for long, or only in the recent months?”

“Oh, yeah. We’ve been friends for years, now. It’s been really cool touring with friends, because even when we’re exhausted, the work still doesn’t feel like work. Just like a little family living life together.” She smiled at the statement, nodding along with your words. Then, she turned her attention to Jake.

“What are your thoughts on the matter?”

“Oh, me?” Jake asked. “I agree wholeheartedly. Given the opportunity to work so closely with such fantastic people has been nothing short of remarkable. They’re all very passionate about their work, and they have proven to us beyond anything we ever expected that they were meant for that stage. It’s been an honour to work so closely with them, and if I could have it my way, I’d tour with them for the rest of our careers.” You looked over at him, a small blush dusting your cheeks at his kind words.

“You guys really seem to fit together in terms of visuals; has there been any hardships along the way? I know that sometimes everything might not be as perfect as it seems.” After a moment, he gave a slow shake of his head.

“No, not that I can think of. The benefit of working with people who you connect with on a higher level is that even when we struggle and all of our ideas seem to clash, we always come out stronger.” He said, confident in his answer. “I can’t speak for the future, but so far, it’s been delightful and almost cathartic in a way to connect with people who live and feel the same way about life as we do.”

“Awesome,” she grinned. “And of course, this might be a loaded question, but from one musician’s perspective on another, what is your opinion on Gold Dust Woman?” He drew in a long breath, leaning his head back for a moment as he thought about his answer. Eventually, he looked over at you while he collected his thoughts, then looked back at the interviewer.

“I think that they embody the spirit of what music used to be, and in todays age, that’s incredibly hard to find. As a musician, I have so much respect for their work and the energy they put into it and as a guitarist, I feel like there is so much that I learn from her all of the time. It’s wonderful to share a love for something so beautiful, especially when it’s something we can teach each other more about every day. I’m grateful for her talent and all of the ideas that she brings to the table, because watching her work her magic on that fretboard has inspired me to work harder with mine.”

“You seem quite fond of her,” she noted. Jake let out a small laugh, nodding his head.

“Yeah, you could say that. She’s more than my colleague; she’s my best friend. Family, even. I mean look at her up on that stage when she performs. It’s like she’s the modern day Stevie Nicks. I hear it in her voice, in the passion and the love for music, but it see it in her eyes and her heart. She’s got this aura that follows her around wherever she goes. It screams rock and roll, and power, and all of the other wonderful things that come with it. No matter who you are, I think it’s hard not to admire her when she’s doing what she loves most. And aside from the talent, she’s just a great person, and I can confidently speak for all of us when I say that it’s been an incredibly inspiring experience to be able to work with her.”

You could not seem to tear your eyes away from him as he spoke, your throat constricting and your eyes threatening tears. You had never heard words from Jake that were quite like the ones he spoke, then. They were full of truth and more profound than anything you had ever heard before. You never would have believed someone could speak about you with such admiration, and the fact that he was willing to admit it to the world was overwhelming. You had to pry your eyes away from him, feeling yourself falling in love all over again despite knowing that you couldn’t have him like that, anymore. You had made your decision, and you had to stick with it. It was the only way you would make it out alive.

“How do you feel on that subject?” She asked you, pulling you out of the trance you were stuck in.

“I couldn’t agree more,” you shrugged. “I mean, Jake is a phenomenal guitarist and working so closely with someone who can create magic with an instrument has been enlightening and encouraging. Despite popular belief, it’s never been a deterrent for me to work with someone who is so skilled. If anything, it’s been a huge benefit, and I find everything he does it’s very influential. When I feel like I should give up, I can look to him and find the inspiration to keep going. He teaches me just as much about music as I have for him, and as a musician, I envy the talent he has. I hope that I continue to have the opportunity to grow and play alongside of him, and that I can continue to know him as a person. We owe our success as a band to Greta, but I owe my success as a guitarist to him.” You could feel him staring, but you did your best to fight the pressure to look back.

“My final question for you guys is quite a simple one; we couldn’t call ourselves a guitar magazine if we didn’t ask the most important question of all. What guitars do you both play?” You both laughed at the simple nature of the inquiry, looking to each other to see who wanted to go first.

“I have a 61’ Gibson SG. Although, back when they first produced the line of guitars, they sold them under the name Les Paul. It’s my go to, and my pride and joy. I have a few other ones I use, but that guitar is definitely my number one.”

“I mainly use my 57’ reissue. It’s a Les Paul Gold Top style, and it’s been my tried and true since I started writing music.”

“Alright,” she grinned. “Thank you both so much, it’s been a pleasure speaking with you. I hope to talk again sometime, and I hope that the rest of the tour brings just as much happiness as the first half has seemed to. Maybe next time we see each other, you’ll have a new record for us to fawn over.” She told you.

“Thank you so much.” You said, reaching out to shake her hand. Jake did the same, and the both of you settled back in your seat as the crew filed out of the room. You let out a long sigh, heart still pounding in your chest. When the room was empty aside from the pair of you, you finally turned to look at him. “Did you mean all of that?”

“Of course I did, Gold Dust Woman.” He whispered. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, feeling the sting of heartbreak begin to make its appearance once again. You had no idea how to let him go after he said such beautiful things about you. He checked the clock on the wall, noting the time of day before he spoke again.

“Did you want to grab some lunch before soundcheck?” He asked. “As friends, of course.” He added, making sure you were aware he was still adhering to the agreement.

“That sounds like fun.” You agreed, almost wishing that you did not agree to be friends for the day. The longer you spent with him, the more your morals seemed to disappear.

“I’ll go get changed, then we can go?” You nodded, unable to speak any more words without either ending things forever or professing undying love for him, and neither seemed like an option you wanted for yourself. Without any other conversation, he stood and left you on your lonesome.

You leaned back into the cushions of the couch, praying that they would swallow you whole and hopefully end your incessant misery. You knew that going out with Jake would only worsen your predicament, but you couldn’t seem to refuse the offer. Much like the beginning, he was irresistible in his charm and impossible to forget. You weren’t even sure if the devil or the angel was behind the decision, and you didn’t seem to care enough. Whether good or bad, you were bound to enjoy the experience anyway. If you had to leave him, you would at least have one good memory to end the experience with. You settled your shaking hands, satiating your thoughts with empty promises to yourself as you stood. You knew that in no way was entertaining any further relationship with Jake the right thing to do, but you were just too much of a coward to confess it.

You walked into the hallway, almost immediately running into Aaron. He gave you a pat on the back and a few words of gratitude for your cooperation. You made it a note to genuinely thank him later on once the turmoil in your heart had settled. You walked towards Jake’s dressing room, waiting patiently for him to finish up. You did not have to wait for long, because within a few moments, his door swung open and he was back in your company dressed in his regular clothes. He had a pair of sunglasses settled low on his nose and a lazy smile on his lips. It only took a few seconds for sandalwood to choke you and your sin to catch up in time for the kill.

Wordlessly, you walked out of the back door of the venue. You headed in the direction of the street in search of somewhere to eat. The sidewalks were barren in contrast to the cars passing by, and you only had to walk for a short while before you came across a strip of buildings. There were a few local shops, but your eyes landed on a coffee shop that peaked your interest so much that you couldn’t bother to see what else the town had to offer. Jake noticed your expression, not needing to ask if that’s where you wanted to go. When it came to caffeinated beverages, you were always the first in line. He led the way to the front door, opening it for you and allowing you to go inside.

The vibe in the air was immediately calming and the smell of coffee filled your nose. You let out an audible sigh of relief just knowing that you would have one in your hand soon enough. Jake stood beside you in line, silent but relaxed as you both looked over the menus. “What do you want to eat?” He asked, turning his head to look over at you.

“I think the ham and cheddar looks good,” you noted before looking to the next board. “Oh, they have soup!” You exclaimed, keeping your voice quiet. He had to laugh at the glee you felt for such a simple idea. Before you could say anything else, he took a step towards the cashier. You followed behind him, but clearly didn’t need to aid him in ordering. He listed off your coffee, the sandwich and your favourite soup out of the list they were offering. He ordered for himself and paid before you could even think to grab your wallet. “You didn’t have to do that, Jake.”

“I know, I wanted to.” He assured you, moving down the line to wait for the order. When everything was ready, you both carried the items to a secluded booth in the corner. When you sat down, silence became you once more as if it were your destiny to have so much to say but be unable to speak it. You were so wound up with anxiety that you found it difficult to begin eating. Instead, you sipped at your coffee and found yourself delighted at the taste. Once again, he proved to you his ability to remember the details that nobody else cared to look for. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he noted, grabbing his phone from his pocket. He was occupied with the screen only for a moment before you felt your own vibrate. You grabbed it, checking the message he had sent you. There was an attachment, and when you clicked on it you felt a whole new wave of shame wash over you. It was the picture the two of you had gotten together during the photoshoot. “She emailed it to me during the interview. Figured you might want it too.”

“I do, thank you.” You muttered, never letting your eyes move from the photograph. It was an infinite reminder of the elation the two of you felt when around each other, and it would forever haunt you because you knew you had to let it go.

“Speak your truth, Gold Dust Woman.” He said, taking a bite of his own food.

“What do you mean?” You asked, cracking the lid of the disposable soup container.

“Something is on your mind.”

“No, I’m okay.” You shook your head, another punch of guilt thrown when you saw he had somehow also known what your favourite soup was. He seemed to know everything about you without you ever needing to speak the words, and it seemed like every higher power had intent to punish you, and they were doing their job splendidly.

“How many times do I have to tell you, you can’t lie to me, y/n.” You looked up to meet his eye, immediately crushed under the weight of his stare. You had to correct your previous thought; it was not the picture that would haunt you for a lifetime, but rather him as a whole. How strange it felt to be haunted by someone was still alive, but that was exactly how it felt to be in his presence in that moment.

“What do you want me to say, Jake?”

“Anything,” he pleaded, although not blatantly apparent in his desperation for an answer. “You didn’t ask me to be friends for a day because you can’t make a decision; you asked me to be friends today because you already have, and it’s not me.”

“No, Jake.” You shook your head hoping he would see reason. You hated that he could decode every lie and half-truth that came out of your mouth before you even spoke it. “It’s not like that,” it was like that, but you were nowhere near ready to profess it.

“Then what is it, sweetheart?” His voice was not condescending, nor angry. It was inquisitive, like he just needed to know what the truth was.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, closing your eyes to block out the tears that were begging to be shed. “I know that it hurts, but I don’t know where it hurts. It doesn’t stop, and I don’t think it ever will. And I know that we suck at being friends, because I’ve spent the entire day falling more in love with you than I ever was before. You get on camera, and you say those sweet things that nobody else has ever thought about me, and you look at me like I’m the best thing to walk this earth, but I’m not, Jake. I’m far from it, and you need to realize that, too.”

“So that’s your plan? You want me to stop loving you so you don’t have to pull away, first?” He knew, and he knew from the minute he saw you. You couldn’t back down and you couldn’t run away. He had you cornered, and you felt like you were going to snap under the pressure. “If so, that’s never going to happen, angel. I’ve loved you quietly for years, and I can keep loving you quietly while I hope you come back. Falling out of love with you has never been an option, so I’ll learn to live with it, even if it hurts.”

“And I’ll love you forever, even if it hurts.” You said, a grimace taking hold on your lips. “I can’t figure out how to stop loving you.”

“Then why are you trying if you haven’t made up your mind?” You looked up, tears blurring your vision as they landed on his face. He had locked you into stalemate yet again. You wished that you didn’t have to feel it anymore, but you felt everything. The pain sprinkled with regret, the shame mixed with sadness, and the love coated with desire. You felt everything for him, but you knew you shouldn’t. It was a terrible game to play, the one in which you tried to differentiate between right and wrong, especially when it came to him. From the very beginning, the rights felt wrong with Jake and the wrongs felt right. When in his company, you had no idea how to draw the line between needs and wants, and you had no idea how to implement any sort of morality when he was more powerful than any sin or holy force. “You can say the words, y/n. I can take it.”

“I don’t want to.” You shook your head.

“You have to.” He said, defeat clear in his face. He had lost, and he needed to hear you say it in order to begin to heal from the wounds.

“Jake,” you sighed, hands shaking as you reached for your coffee cup “don’t do this, now. That’s not why I came here with you.”

“Maybe it’s why I came, y/n.” He offered the idea, knowing that you hadn’t yet thought of that possibility. “I love you, and you know that, but if I’m not what you want anymore, I need to learn how to be your friend. It’s going to suck, but it’s something I have to do, and I have to start now if I’m ever going to be able to do it.”

“I love you,” you whispered, biting the inside of your lip to stop the tears from falling.

“But you love him more.” He said, watching your face to try and understand if he was reading the situation right. “It’s okay, angel.”

“It’s never been about that,” you shook your head. “It’s not about loving someone more, or even wanting someone more. It’s just been about what feels right, and what you and I have been doing is fantastic, but it’s just as hard as it is good. I don’t know if I can do that for the rest of my life.” Your heart ached for him, and the pain that was clear in his eyes. He had no fight left in him, and neither did you. It was a horrible thing to say, but it was the truth. You and Jake had been no stranger to struggle, and perhaps the complications lied within the lust that so often overshadowed your emotional need. You had forgone the emotional connection in hopes that sex would solve it for you, but the truth of the matter was that you both had no idea how to love one another despite feeling it so strongly. The good days were great, but the bad days were horrible. Days of ignoring each other, the name calling and yelling all pointed straight to failure.

You knew you could love Jake forever, but the work that you would need to do was extensive, and the idea alone sounded exhausting. He was worth the work, but the knowledge that heartbreak was still such a huge possibility if you chose him was a major deterrent. It was not a lack of love that was driving you away, rather just your fear getting in the way once more. If it were any normal type of pain, you would be able to see past it, but heartbreak over Jake was entirely new type of pain that was worse than any other.

“That’s okay, Gold Dust Woman.” He assured you, but you saw a glisten of tears in his eye. It was gutting, and you had to look away to stop yourself from crying, too. “We tried our best, and that’s what matters.” He cleared his throat, trying to cover the quiver in his voice, but you noticed it more than you heard the words he was saying. “No matter if you’re with me or not, you are the fire that burns in my heart, y/n. It has been a privilege to love you, and I really hope that maybe I’ll get the chance to love you again someday.”

“Jake,” you pleaded for him to stop. Your heart could not take the weight of his grief, and you were certain if he continued, you would succumb to the temptation of loving him.

“I get to speak my mind, too.” He defended himself. “I love you so much, y/n. More than I ever thought I could, and I’m happy if you’re happy. Loving you has never been a selfish thing for me; I do it even knowing that it could hurt me, because your happiness is above everything else. I’m just grateful to have spent time with you at all.”

“I love you, Jake.” You said, reaching out for his hand that was resting on the table. “I keep thinking that things would be easier if we did this the right way, but there is no right way, and it hurts no matter what I do. I’m trying to convince myself that it’s okay that this wasn’t for us, but it kills me. I wanted it for us so badly, but sometimes things just don’t work out.”

“I know, angel.” He said, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

“Can we… just wait until we’re back at the venue? One last date, in love and happy.” You asked, but it was more like begging. You could bear the weight of the separation yet, and you would do anything to delay the inevitable.

“You don’t look very happy, baby.” He said, reaching across the table and swiping a tear away with his free hand. You closed your eyes, fighting back a sob as he held your face in his hand.

“I’m with you, so of course I am.” You breathed, but more tears fell just from speaking the lie of happiness.

“Come on, beautiful. Look at me.” He said, voice so quiet that it barely broke through the air of misery. You did as he wanted, eyes opening only to be met with his own saddened face. “Dates are supposed to be fun, there’s no need for tears.” His comfort served little purpose, because there was one falling down his own cheek as he tried to calm you. You lifted your hand, settling it atop of the one he had on your cheek. You managed a small smile through the mess of tears, uncaring for the public display of emotion.

“You’re right,” you sniffled, nodding your head. You wiped your face clean, taking a breath to calm yourself down. “Dates are meant to be fun.”

“So much for friends,” he chuckled, wiping his own cheek free of tears.

“I told you, we sucked at it anyway.”

“We did.” He agreed. “Destined to be lovers, stuck being friends.” He attempted to make the joke, but the reality of his words was harsh. You took another drink of coffee, hoping the beverage would warm your soul and give you the energy to make it through the day.

You both got lost in small chatter, ignoring the outside world and choosing to remain in the little comfortable bubble you had created in the cafe. Inside, nothing could hurt. At that table, you were free to love each other forever and never have to worry about stopping. Outside, the cold world would put an end to the relationship you had worked so hard to save. You wished you could stay in the cafe until the end of time, with Jake and away from any other worldly trouble, but it was just not plausible. Eventually, when both of your phones began to ring, you knew you had to move on and let go. Letting go was the hardest part of living, but you knew you had to face it sooner or later. You could only hope that when the storm cleared you could both move on and better yourselves from the mistakes you had made with each other, but the thought of learning from your mistakes with Jake only to use the lessons with another was sickening. As much as you knew that you needed to, letting him walk away was terrifying, and the thought of him loving another was gut wrenching.

When it came time to leave, you both were dragging your feet walking out the door. With his hand in yours, you began the slowest walk of your life, using a snails pace to avoid the inevitable end that came with your arrival. The building came into view like a grim foreshadowing of the future. Before your reached the door, you had to stop him in hopes of savouring one more moment of peace. You turned to face him, hand still resting in his own as you tried to catch his eye. His gaze seemed glued to the ground, fearful of looking up at you in case you caught sight of his weakness. “I love you, Jake.” You whispered, snaking your arm around his neck. He pulled you into him by your hip, so close to your face that your noses were brushing together.

“You could take any type of love, multiply by a million, and you still would only have a glimpse of how I feel about you.” Your heart was shattered, all of the pieces lying sharp in your chest and stabbing into you with every breath you took. You leaned forward, kissing him softly as a show of affection, but also as an apology for the pain you caused. For a few beautiful seconds the world seemed right, but as always, it had to come to and end. He placed another soft kiss to your lips, just like rubbing salt in a wound. “I’ll always be here, Gold Dust Woman. If you ever change your mind… I’m here.”

“You’ve always been too good for this world, Jake. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be more for you.” He shook his head, face still unbearably close to your own.

“You are everything, angel.” He corrected, not willing to accept any slander towards you. “In another world, you and I are happy together. Just because it’s not this one doesn’t mean that you aren’t enough for me. Maybe you’re just too much, and I don’t know how to appreciate all of it yet.” He leaned up and pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment too long. He had to force himself away from you, knowing that it was doing nothing but hurting you both more. “Thank you for everything, y/n. These last few months have been so amazing, and it’s all because of you.”

“Thank you, Jake. You have no idea how much you’ve done for me.” He gave a tight lipped smile and a curt nod, knowing he shouldn’t continue feeding into the conversation, but wanting it more than anything.

“Here’s to being friends, Gold Dust Woman.”

“To being friends,” you let out a shaky breath, feeling the tears begging to make a return. You both let your stare linger for a moment longer before you eventually took a step towards the building. He watched you walk away, desperate for you to stay but unable to muster the courage to say it. He knew the most amicable thing was to let you go, but it was horrendous for him knowing that once you walked through that door, you would never be his again.

You nearly broke down the door with the strength you used to open it, tears flooding your cheeks once again as you walked towards your dressing room. As you stepped inside, you managed to stop your sobs just enough to catch your breath. Unfortunately for you, it was not enough to evade the questions of the person who took post in your room, waiting for your return.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” You looked up, shock and sadness written all over you with no way to hide it. As if the universe was playing a trick, another violent lesson after your months of nothing but learning, Sam was sat on your couch, looking up at you with major concern.

“Fuck, Sam.” You swore, wiping your face free of the mascara stains. “You scared me.” That was not what you truly wanted to say; in fact, you wanted to send him away and cry in solitude, to tend to your wounds without an audience, but you thought that maybe his comfort was exactly what you needed. The rainbow shining after the storm, sitting on your couch waiting for you just to prove that life could still be beautiful despite the pain.

“Sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” you shook your head, taking a step towards him. “It’s okay, I’m okay, everything is okay.” You promised, but you were trying to convince yourself of the fact more than anything else. “I’m glad you’re here, I’ve been trying to find the time to talk to you all day.” You chuckled, shaking your head at the days events.

“Well, I’m here now.” He assured you, standing to meet you. He reached out, drawing you in to him with an open arm and an invitation. You gravitated towards him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. He responded with the same energy, holding you tightly and revelling in the warmth of your touch. You settled your head on his chest, taking a deep breath to relax your mind. In his arms, it felt like the war was over; you had won, and it was time to go home and rest. “Oh, I got you a coffee. I heard you were here early this morning, so I figured you didn’t have time to stop and grab one for yourself.” He said, pulling back from you only slightly. Your heart warmed at his words, comforted by the idea of him thinking of you.

“Thank you, Sammy.” You smiled, already feeling the pain begin to melt away.

“Oh, and congratulations on the interview.” He grinned, reaching behind him to grab the cup sitting on the table. “I know we’re supposed to be keeping our distance, but I just had to come and see you. Being on the cover of Guitar World is a huge deal, and I’m so happy for you.”

“It’s okay, I’m happy you’re here.” You assured him, feeling your heart speed as you prepared to confess all of the things you had been waiting to tell him.

“Me, too.” He smiled, handing you the coffee that was still hot. “I’m always happy to see you.” You closed your eyes, letting the cup warm your hands as you mustered the courage to speak. Before you said a word, you brought the lid to your lips and took a long sip of the beverage. As you swallowed it down, you almost grimaced at the taste, immediately looking down at the lid. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I couldn’t remember how you liked it, so I got some cream and sugar on the side.” He said, suddenly recalling the bag of items that was also laying on the table.

You felt frozen, your eyes stuck on the lid marked with nothing but a big, bold red flag. The blood drained from your face, leaving you pale while dread seeped in to take its place. The interaction, although small, spoke louder than anything had before. A flash of memories took over you, recalling all of the coffee cups presented to you from Jake in the past, all marked with hearts and smiles, and the exact order that you would have had if you bought it yourself. You thought you might be sick, your stomach churning with unease and anxiety as you continued to stare down at the cup in your hands. The interaction was earth-shattering, making it obvious to you of one horrific thing; Sam knew you, and that was true, but just not enough. After months of dates at cafe’s and restaurants, he couldn’t seem to remember the simplest of things, and for some reason, the fact was abhorrent for you to choke down.

Sam knew you, but he did not know you as well as Jake did, and after all of this time, he was still not the one for you.

You had spent so much of your life wishing that Sam would notice you, that he would suddenly become the person you had always hoped he could be, but it was all too much to ask of him. All of those months ago, the euphoria of finally hearing that he cared about you the same as you felt about him seemed to overshadow the reality of the situation. Your love for Sam had clouded your judgement in the worst way possible, so much so that you had put him in a pedestal and opted to ignore every flaw and red flag, just so you could continue viewing him as this perfect person you had created in your mind. If Sam wanted you so badly, he would have cared enough to notice how bad you wanted him. He would have taken the step, crushed the fear of rejection and loss so he could have his chance to be with you, but he did not. He waited until the very last second to speak, until you were emotionally vulnerable and unable to see the difference. Sam loved you, and you loved him, but it was never enough to make the difference. If Sam was meant to be with you, the universe would have allowed it long before now, and it never would have sacrificed Jake in the process.

As much as you hoped Sam was the one, he was not, and your former self wept for the person you wished he could be. You were such a fool for Sam that you disregarded every warning the higher powers had been trying to show you. Jake making his move on you that night was not a cruel trick, nor a joke made by the universe to laugh at your struggle. It was a sign and even more so, a reminder that if Sam was meant to be yours, he would be. It was the universe begging for you to move on, to actually see the world you had been missing out on due to your blind loyalty to someone who refused to notice you. Jake approached you that night because he loved you wholly and selflessly, the same way you had been loving his brother. He took the chance despite knowing you were foolishly in love with someone else, and he did it with strength and courage, even if he knew he was bound to lose sooner or later.

Choosing Sam was not a way to avoid heartbreak; it was only the beginning of a lifelong struggle with what-if’s. Sam had the opportunity to love you for years, but never managed to take the leap. Jake loved you so much and so quietly that it killed him, and when he finally understood he couldn’t just stop loving you, he found the courage to confess despite his own fear of vulnerability. By choosing Sam, you would only be admitting to your inability to grow and change, and you wouldn’t be facing up to any fears that you had been trying so hard to conquer. Loving Jake had risk, but real love always did, and he was more than worth the risk. If you truly grew as much as you believed you did, you would have recognized that your fear was for good reason, but nothing close to what you previously thought it was; you weren’t scared of Jake breaking your heart, you were afraid of losing the only person in the world you had ever genuinely loved with every single part of you. It was not a fear of hurt, rather a fear of failure, but in that moment, you knew you loved Jake enough to make anything work. Failure wasn’t an option, because you would die before losing him.

As you sat, staring at the coffee in your hands, you challenged every single thing you had ever believed in. When you looked up at Sam, you knew that you had made a mistake. Sam was not your person, and he never would be, but you had already broken the heart that had sacrificed everything for you. With little hope and little faith, you knew you had to right your wrongs one last time, to atone for the sins you had been recklessly committing for weeks. You had already broken two hearts, and now you had to break a third before ever having a chance at peace. You knew you had to, but the struggle lied within finding the strength to do so. Your only solace was in the idea that you may still be able to salvage the relationship with Jake, and that after so much heartbreak, you might actually be able to mend two back together.

It was time to pick up the pieces and go home, and home was a person, this time, and not the one you previously thought it to be. Jake had always been home to you even if you failed to realize it, and your only hope was that home still had his heart open to you. If not, you wondered if you had the right words to get Jake to find room in his life again for a Gold Dust Woman, because his Gold Dust Woman was more than ready to love him for the rest of her life.

pale shadow of a woman, black widow, pale shadow of a dragon, dust woman

haven’t i always said that it’s not over until it’s over? ;)

TAGLIST: @itsdannysworld @gretavansara @jaketlove @laneygvf @freefallthoughts @psychedelicsprinkles @idontwannabeherenow @joshysgirl @sanguinebats @objectsinspvce @klarxtr @sinarainbows @jakesmustache @gvfpal @hellowgoodbye @profitofthedune

[wigwurq]

WIG REVIEW: WICKED PART 1

It's been a beat since I've blogged but I've obviously just been HOLDING SPACE FOR "FINDING GRAVITY" and now the world is *FINALLY* on my level. The world is also sort of a post apocalyptic shambles but THERE'S ALSO A PAUL TAZEWELL COLLECTION AT TARGET because the only economy is the Wicked economy so why not go down this three hour yellow brick road of nonsense together (before we have to wait a whole other lifetime for the goddamned second act, y'all). There are just so many wigs to discuss in this one. Note: spoilers if you somehow have avoided this 20 year old musical but also care enough to read a wig review of the first act cinema adaptation? I'm not here to judge your life choices; just wigs.

We begin in the vast technicolor poppy fields of Muchkinland where the diminutive inhabitants live in a small circle of huts, presumably in constant opium-hazed slumbers so that they might forget that 90% of them are wearing the same crinkled off-brand Annie Warbucks wig. Actual question: did someone decide for budgetary purposes to save money on this multi-million dollar film ONLY by purchasing every community theater production of Annie's wigs for the munchkins?!?! THIS IS THE ONLY VIABLE EXPLANATION.

Anyway, the munchkins are all celebrating - not because they have been released from the shackles of their sad, ginger-headed, drug-fueled lives - but because the THE WICKED WITCH IS DEAD!! CUE THE WICKED WITCH WICKER MAN BURNING PARTY!!! You might be feeling like Mariah Carey about the Wicked Witch right now because "I don't know her!" and all we've seen so far in this movie are 10000000 orphan Annie wigs but don't worry: you have at least 8 more hours of this movie to get so closely ensconced in wicked witchery that you might have your own Target line by the end of it.

But no time for questions now: ONLY BUBBLES! Hey, this one has Ariana Grande in it! Dressed in what can only be described as the Coming to America wedding dress if it were on a very white Barbie, Ariana's Glinda greets the munchkins, who react as if they have been, well, on a ton of opium. Her wig is another matter entirely: a dusty affair thankfully rolled up under a Ms. Universe crown. In comparison to the munchkins' sad wigs, it is adequately "fine" but there's so much more time to explore Glinda's wig horrors. One bold munchkin asks Glinda if she was friends with the evil, dead, witch and the rest his history (and also the other 9 hours of this movie).

We flashback to Shiz University, a place that exists not in time, space, reality, but rather....on the Greek-adjacent leftover sets of Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again? The rules of Shiz are as non-existent as Mamma Mia math: students of LITERALLY ANY AGE can attend, everyone has to wear blue and grey (EXCEPT THOSE WITH SINGING ROLES), and (most of?) the munchkins have to wear orange-swirly sweater vests (to match their orange wigs?!?!) oh, and also NO GREEN PEOPLE ALLOWED, EVER.

Glinda glides in on a gondola of pink luggage, wearing her own pink Shiz uniform (ONLY GLINDAS OR GUUUULINDAS ALLOWED), and a wig that was clearly hexed by the same wigmaster that has been cursing Nicole Kidman for centuries. As with AMC's favorite specter, this wig is a color that does not exist in the living world. It is the ghost of platinum, coated in dust. The texture is brittle and dry, the part at the scalp looks like a magazine flipped open to an ad for Chico's (every day at Shiz IS A CHICO'S KIND OF DAY). The Ms. Haversham of wigs, this is what Halloween cobweb decorations would look like as a wig. THIS WIG IS VERY VERY BAD. Which is a shame because Ariana, like Glinda herself, is very very good.

And then there's Elphaba. This movie gives Cynthia Erivo the reveal she deserves - you may not have known her before but now you and you and you - you're gonna love her. Her wig does not reach the level of divadom that its star requires, but in comparison with Ariana's haunted leftover Rachel McAdams as Regina George wig, it is almost a thing of beauty. The mini braids serve the character well, as does the larger braid; this is definitely the best Elphaba's look gets despite Guuuulinda's later attempts at a makeover.

In this version of Wicked, Elphaba is only at Shiz to assist her younger sister, NessaRose, whose name is the most insufferable part of her character. This wig, like the character is squeaky clean and without fault. This is honestly the most realistic looking wig in the film. Meanwhile: who is this dude playing their dad and why is he (rudely!) not played by Norbert Leo Butz?!?! Anyway, Elphaba uses her ragemagic to combat Shiz's abelism which somehow gets her registered as a student herself?? Y'all the rules of Shiz are as confounding as a Pinot Grigio soaked caftan in Mamma Mia.

Anyway, Elphaba ends up having to share a room with Guuuuulinda and there are many (many!) scenes about them hating each other, only leading to me hating Guuuuuulinda's wig more. Even an ensemble of not so great wigs couldn't breathe life into it. This wig is truly night of the living dead. Side note: I don't know when we're getting another season of Wednesday but this whole section of the movie is another season of Wednesday.

ANYWAY! Jonathan Bailey! GIRL. No longer held back by the constrains of heteronormative Bridgerton storylines, girlfriend is just living her best life and dancing DICK FIRST through this movie. Also: basically all choreography in this movie is dick first?!?! The whole of Oz leads with their pelvis. I'M NOT MAD ABOUT IT. I'm also just not mad about Olivier Award Winning Jonathan Bailey and how much damn fun he is having in this movie. HIS WIG IS EVEN FUN!! He clearly made a deal with the wigmaster to dusty up Ariana's cobwig and give all the extra volumnizer and bounce to his own. GET IT GURL. Male wigs, as we know, suffer from rear taper but there is none of that here because, as I said, Jonathan is not concerned with the rear but DICKFIRSTDICKFIRSTDICKFIRST.

Bowen Yang's face says it all: ARIANA'S THIRSTY WIG IS ONLY BRINGING JOHNNY DOWN! THANKUNEXT. (Also Bowen's wig is fine, who cares, his glasses do all the talking). Also I assume that both Bowen and Cynthia's glasses will be arriving at a Moscot near you imminently.

NessaRose's wig somehow gets curlier (whenever a character's hair gets curlier and/or blonder we know she is about to crack but we'll have to wait for the second movie for that). Also: SPONGEBOB'S wig is ok!!!

AND THEN! Ariana's haunted wig attempts to makeover Cynthia's and the results are as horrifying as you would assume. THIS WIG WAS NOT MEANT TO BE UNBRAIDED. Also: Ariana's constant hair flips only showcase how awful her wig is. NO!

Anyway, Ariana eats allll the scenery in Popular (girl understood the assignment, she is good!) and then gives Cynthia one fossilized flower - makeover complete! HUH. Please get Cynthia to the Wonder Woman island of fishtail braidology stat - this wig was not meant to be unbraided!

I just realized that I neglected to discuss Michelle Yeoh's wig. I may be in the minority here but I kind of think she is miscast - she can't sing!!! AND I LOVE MICHELLE YEOH!! They didn't even give her any cool fight choreography to balance out her lack of musical ability - missed (Shizzed?) opportunity!! Anyway, her wig is probably the most whimsical of anyone's in the film and I LIKE THAT!! Also Jeff Goldblum's is essentially the same wig, but tapered not stirred. I'm also not sure Jeff Goldblum was made aware that he was even filming a movie. I assume this is how he just leads his life?

In the end (of part 1), I definitely cried at the 4 hour rendition of DEFYING GRAVITY but I also weeped endlessly over this haunted ass wig!!! I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT ARIANA DID TO A WIGMASTER TO BE GIVEN THIS!!! ABSOLUTELY NOT!

VERDICT: DOESN'T WURQ

[allthewriteplaces]

My Paradise

Author's Note: This isn't my best work, and it's been three years since I wrote it, but it would be a shame if I were to continue to let this little story sit in my USB drive collecting dust, only to never see the light of day when I was so proud of it when I finished it. Plus it's nice to look back and see how much I've improved over the years.

Story Summary: The day has come for Arkov Sosha to marry the man of her dreams, the Captain of the Hercules, himself, Yargwynn Salta and while it's been a long time coming, and their adventure hasn't all been smooth sailing, everything is finally falling into place.

Warning(s): None, only fluff

Word Count: 2478

From the moment we are born, it seems as though our fates are sealed and our destinies are written somewhere in the stars. Each step we take and each choice we make, alters our path, opens new doors, and leads to infinite possibilities, infinite realities exist within our universe, each one a branch in the ever growing tree of life.

Had I not made the choices I made, I wouldn’t have went on such incredible adventures and meet so many wonderful people who would ultimately become my family or be standing in my chambers on the Hercules, a place that was once foreign but had now become my home dressed in a gown woven from the dark cloths of the night sky and sparkled like a thousand stars.

Everyone dreams about their fairytale wedding, and I am no exception, it was the sort of thing that most girls, including most of my childhood friends, always seemed to like to talk about at sleepovers and even at school. To tell you the truth, however, I never thought much about it, in fact, it was the last thing on my mind. There were so many other things I wanted to do with my life first, like exploring far off places and making a life for myself, just like my mother did.

She is gone now. I wish that she could see how happy I am; I wish that she would be there to see me trying on my wedding dress - one that I am in the process of adding the finishing touches to - and I wish she could see me walking down the aisle on my wedding day.

Loss is not anything new to me, I’ve lost many friends and family over the years, and the pain and the sadness that come along with it, are like waves, trying to knock me down over and over again, and toss me onto the sand, never to drown, but no matter how many times I fall, I somehow manage to get back up and live another day.

Well, I suppose in a way, she is here in spirit, watching from somewhere far, far away from this place.

She always said that I had a gift for creating things, making something amazing out of what appeared to be nothing and that is exactly what I’m doing right now. I suppose it’s my way of having her with me, and for a split second, a smile makes its way onto my face.

Rubbing my tired eyes, I realize that it’s getting late. I hold up the dress and examine the stitching. It still needs a bit of touching up, but I have at least twenty-four hours before I get married. Goodness, even now, saying those two words, I still can’t believe it’s happening, it still doesn’t seem real yet.

Let me tell you, when I first met Captain Yargwynn Salta, it wasn’t exactly love at first sight, though I couldn’t deny that there was something about him that drew me to him. Sure, he flirted with me here and there, and maybe I responded with a few witty remarks of my own, but it was only in playful banter, until it wasn’t, until our feelings for one another started to grow.

When I first realized that I was indeed falling in love, I was terrified; no, I wasn’t afraid of falling in love specifically, but I was afraid of the feelings that came with it and the pain that would ultimately come when they would not be returned. The whole sensation where I could barely get a word out when I was around him, or when his hand would accidentally brush against mine was similar to standing on the edge of a cliff and not knowing what waited for you at the bottom besides the possibility of imminent death.

But instead, when the both of us were at our very worst, and I had been teleported to the glistening clear waters and sandy shores of Cantahc when things seemed to be bleaker than they ever had been, he told me that he had grown to have said feelings for me as well, but after all that had happened, it was almost impossible for me to get my head around what was going on. I had been waiting to hear those words for so long.

And that was where we shared our first kiss, right there on that beach, I was being held tightly in Yargwynn’s strong arms, my own personal safety net that I could always depend on catching me when I fell, and comforted by his soft, almost rumbling voice, his heartbeat hammering against his chest, and his gentle hands resting on either side of my face.

Apparently, according to him, I am a terrible kisser; okay, I’ll admit, I’m not as good as he is, but I think I have a strong grasp of what to do and what not to do, and I will have tomorrow evening to prove him wrong.

There is something romantic about a beach wedding that makes it the perfect spot for our special day; we will be getting married by the ocean, in the company of our closest friends and family.

Making my way to the comfortable bed we both share, I climb in and glance over at my soon-to-be husband, whose purple locks are sprawled out on the pillow, and the top three buttons of his loose-fitting pirate shirt are undone. There is also a small grin on his face, which tells me that he’s not quite asleep yet.

“Finally, I was starting to think that I’d be spending the whole night alone,”

“You know that I would never deprive you of my company,” I reply, undoing my braid and letting my hair fall down my back in cascading waves. “It’s all done for now, I just have to add a bit more stitching along the bottom of it, but you’re not allowed to see what it looks like until I’m done.”

“Why not?” He pouts, but his tone remains lighthearted and playful, so I know he’s just teasing me.

“Well, don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, especially in her dress? You wouldn’t want to disappoint Lady Luck now, would we?” I repeat the same words he said to me when he caught me sneaking aboard The Hercules.

“I suppose not.” He sighed and then rolled over onto his side so that he was facing me, brushing a piece of my hair behind my ear and then placing a kiss on the side of my neck. “I can’t believe I’m marrying you tomorrow.”

“Well, there’s no backing down now, is there?” I whispered, smiling at the gesture.

“Nope.” Even in the darkness, I can see his grin growing and he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer toward him. “Not even if you beg me to let you go, I won’t. I nearly lost you and there’s no way I’m going to let that happen ever again.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere, even if you beg me to leave, I’m staying right here.” To prove that, I take his hand in mine, placing a kiss on each of his knuckles. He smiles and kisses the tip of my nose.

I can’t believe that tomorrow, I , Arkov Sosha, will become Mrs Arkov Salta. It has a nice ring to it.

Hours and hours pass by, the sun is setting and the air is warm, just like I imagined it would be; I cannot picture a more perfect day to get married. My husband-to-be is waiting for me outside and I can hear him laughing, no doubt trying to regale the guests with his epic tales, that’s the pirate in him, I’m sure.

I slip on the dress, careful not to damage anything by pulling or moving too quickly. It’s impossible for me to not be anxious right now; so many things could go wrong, and anything can happen, but I cannot let that distract me, I can’t let those superstitious and insecure feelings get in the way of what is going to be the best day of my entire life.

I let my hair down, then stand in the mirror. The girl staring back at me isn’t at all like the young girl who would have been there. Her hair was a lot messier, her clothes a bit more tattered, and her eyes a bit tired, and she was a lot thinner, less muscular. I almost don’t recognize her.

With a sigh, I step barefoot onto the sand, feeling it trying to get between my toes; it’s a strange feeling, I’ll admit, but I’m slowly becoming more and more used to it the longer I find myself living here. The closer I walk, the better I can hear the musicians playing softly in the background.

I am not paying attention to anything, other than the proud, adoring smile on Yargwynn’s face; he, too, has changed since I met him, his hair is a bit longer, he never, ever lets me cut it, unless it’s hanging in his face, then he will let me trim a little bit off. He does have it tied back, though, just enough for me to see those hypnotic blue eyes staring back at me.

“You look beautiful,” he says in a whisper as we stand together under a makeshift altar, his thumb gently strokes the back of my hand and already, I feel my nervousness slipping away. Loyal, a guardian angel from Queria, is the one to marry us. Their friends, a vampire, a fearless mouse, and a wizard are part of the small group of friends we’ve invited to join in the celebration.

The second the speech is finished, and we are finally allowed to kiss, as the music picks up to a more upbeat tune, it finally feels real, this whole thing. We’re now husband and wife. Everything we have faced together, every high and every low is worth this one moment, this small fraction of time.

Soon, as the sun has set completely and the stars unveil themselves, it’s as though it’s just the two of us, dancing on the water as the music continues to play. The moonlight reflects off the water, making it shimmer and shine.

“How does it feel to finally be married to me and be Mrs. Yargwynn Salta?” Yargwynn asks as we lay side by side on the sand, and the waves rush against our feet.

“It feels pretty good,” I reply, closing my eyes as a warm breeze blows by, and finding his hand, putting it into my own. “I just wish there was a way they could have been there and seen us, you know?”

He gently pulls his hand free, then shifts a little so that he’s sitting up on one elbow and his chin rests on my hand. “They were here. They did see us and they were happy. And they wouldn’t want to see you crying on your wedding day.”

I sniffed, then nodded my head slowly, standing up and then moving towards the water. It’s nice and cool, perfect for swimming in. I lie back, letting it hold me up. I glance up at the infinite number of stars peering down at me, once again reminding me that I am only a speck, just a dot on a gigantic canvas.

My eyes pop open when I feel two hands gripping my waist and pulling me up, grinning down at me.

“Leaving me already?” he frowns and clicks his tongue, “Arkov, my darling, how could you? And on our wedding day, too.”

“Leave you? I would never!” I struggle to catch enough breath to stop laughing and reply. “I am not as tricky as you think I am.”

He sighs dramatically and then puts me down, sulking. I roll my eyes and then with both of my hands, I splash him with as much energy as I have.

“Did you…just splash me?” He sputters; I nod and he grins, more madly now, and then splashes me back. “Yeah, you’re in trouble now!”

I manage to dodge out of the way and soon, we’re both laughing and splashing each other like the children we once were.

Later, as soon as we are both calm and dried off, we lay down on top of the soft sheets, lulled by the sound of the waves crashing outside.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Yargwynn whispers in my ear, his deep voice husky and his accent a lot thicker.

“Not enough,” I tease and he pulls me on top of him, keeping his hands on my hips.

“Alright then, I will tell you every day until the day I die how much I love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“And you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.” I kiss his nose, “and I love you more, to the four corners of the universe and back again.”

He rolls over so that I am the one beneath him. He nuzzles my neck, making me laugh and the love in his eyes makes me melt completely. “And I love you, my beautiful wife, to infinity beyond infinity”

I lay my head down on his chest, allowing my hand to rest right above his heart as he makes his way further into mine.

The End!

Please consider checking out the inspiration behind the story created by @goodboyaudios

[nessieart]

tooth&claw chapter 1.

Read TEETH first

t&c Masterlist.

Summary: you and Sam Wilson have been following up on intel about old HYDRA bases around North and South America for the last several months, with no sign of Bucky Barnes. Wrapping up your last lead, you and Sam attempt to head back to New York, but are stopped on your way by a few mysterious people. They have more information for you than you bargained for.

WC: 5.7k

Pairings: Tony Stark x Shifter!Reader

Age of Ultron

Warnings: Canon typical violence, language!, blood, mentions of death, alcohol use, fluff, angst. No Y/N used. Use of nicknames(Poppy, Flowers)

You were sitting on Tony’s lab desk, waiting for him to finish maintenance on one of his Iron Man thrusters, so you both could go out to dinner. He said he made reservations at some fancy new restaurant downtown because, of course he did. The black dress you wore was simple, halter tied behind your neck, with an open back, and the tulle skirt flowed just below your knees. Your wedge heels dangled from your toes as you hummed to the music that JARVIS had playing softly in the background.

Just as Tony finished with his last gauntlet, former SHIELD agent Maria Hill, now assistant to one Tony Stark, strolled in. Her heels clicking in a confident stride - you’re sure you’ll never master- towards her boss. Tony raised an eyebrow at her as he set his tools down, safety glasses coming off to be replaced with his normal glasses.

“What's the ‘sitch? Got something new for me?” Tony rolled his chair out from the desk and stood next to your legs, a hand resting on your thigh as he spoke to Maria.

“Just received some intel about a new active HYDRA base, boss,” Maria supplied, she tapped a few things on her StarkPad and a big hologram of what looked like a castle floated in the area around the three of you.

Since the fall of SHIELD, The Avengers have been scoping out old HYDRA bases all across the world. Their main goal was to find Loki's missing scepter - the mind controlling one. Four barren bases down, and 7 months later, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

Tony lets out a low whistle, squeezing your thigh before he circles the hologram projected in the lab. His eyes are calculating, scanning the image with practiced ease as he peers over the top of his glasses. His hands come up, and he manipulates the image, making it smaller and taking layers away. “What am I looking at, exactly? New vacation home, Hill?” He teases.

“A little too cold for my liking,” she says without missing a beat. Her fingers move quickly, and another few images appear in the air. “Intel says this is actually a HYDRA base hidden in the mountains outside of Novi Grad.”

When you make a face, Tony speaks up, “Sokovia, honey,” and you nod. Geography was never your strong suit. “Show me something, JARVIS.”

Suffice it to say, dinner would have to wait.

***

“Another dead end,” Sam sighs, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets. He leans back against the railing next to you and adjusts his sunglasses. You scrub a hand down your face, resting your forearms on the railing, and heave a sigh, too.

"This is the fourth city in however many months, Sammy,” your tone is defeated and sad. You can feel him looking at you, but you don’t turn your head. “He's a highly trained ex-assassin. If he doesn’t want to be found, we won’t find any trace of him. Ever.” You chance a glance, and you see his shoulders fall. You know he’s not the biggest fan of Bucky, but he promised Steve he would follow up on the leads they had. No matter where they took you.

And right now, you and Sam were in Cuba, another cold trail of old HYDRA safe houses and small operation locations left to collect dust. Your intel said it was an abandoned barbershop, but nothing stood in front of you but an empty building. The skeletal remains of a barbershop long since packed in.

There aren't many people on this side of town, and even fewer cars. The 1950s-style cars stood out like sore thumbs when you first arrived a few days ago, but now a welcome sight whenever you would pass one by. The red corvette a block away was brighter than the others. A man in a black suit casually leaned against the driver side door, his arms crossed at his chest. You could swear he was looking at you both, but it was hard to tell with the sunglasses clouding his eyes. You shook your head and turned back towards Sam.

The evening sun setting did little to lessen the heat, and you ran the back of your hand across your forehead, “We should get back to the jet. They should be back from Sokovia by now.”

Sam could tell you were itching to get home. He put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed, “c’mon, let’s get a late dinner, and then we can head home in the morning.” You agreed and went to follow Sam down the sidewalk, glancing one more time behind you toward the corvette, only for it to not be there.

At dinner, the conversation is minimal. You and Sam could sit in companionable silence for a while, getting lost in your own heads.

You haven't given up looking for your brother, Leon, but his trail was as cold as Bucky's. Everything ends in a dead-end no matter where you searched.

The streets of Havana were alive and thriving as music flowed from bars up and down the street. It brought a smile to your face as you glanced up and down the road.

“I've noticed him, too,” Sam says abruptly, pulling you from your thoughts. When you look up at him, he's staring down the street, and you follow his gaze. You see the same man from earlier. His hands in his slack pockets and leaning against the cherry red corvette.

“Since when?” You ask without taking your eyes off the stranger.

“When we arrived,” and your head whips around to Sam, eyes wide and brows furrowed. How haven't you noticed? Some guy has been tailing you both for 3 days, and you were completely oblivious.

Sam places a few hundred pesos on the table and gets up, and you follow his lead. As you both make your way down the street opposite of your mystery man, you can't help but glance over your shoulder to check if he's still there. It isn't until you round the corner that you stop, you feel it, then; the eyes on you like you're under a microscope. It makes the hair on your arms and the back of your neck stand on end.

Sam notices you stopped, and before he can question it, a woman steps out from behind a car. Her stance says nonchalance, but you've been around for a long time to not judge a book by its cover. Peggy Carter taught you that.

You step in front of Sam, sticking your arm out to stop him from advancing. The woman rounds her shoulders when you take the step forward, and a rumble fills your chest.

“What do you want?” You shout over to her, her lips curl up into a smirk, and she tilts her head. She steps into the streetlight, and you get a better look at her. She's Asian and maybe in her late 30s, her hands are balled into fists, and you think she seems ready to enjoy fighting you.

Out of the shadows behind the woman, the man from earlier steps into the light, “We just want to talk,” you didn't even know he was there. What is it with this guy? He gives you a reassuring smile, hands still stuffed in his finely pressed suit pants.

Of course. You scoff, “SHIELD died in the ashes along with HYDRA, I don't think we can help you, man.”

“SHIELD?” Sam asks, so only you hear, his hand goes to your shoulder, “Maybe we should hear them out.”

“If you believed that,” he continued, “The Avengers wouldn't be out there clearing out active bases or getting Loki's Scepter from Sokovia.” He brings his hand to his chest and rubs at a spot absent-mindedly. The woman next to him gives him a concerned sideways glance before he nods and returns his hands to his pockets.

“How do you know about all that?” Sam asks, and when he goes to step around you, you grab his wrist to stop him.

“Who do you think Maria Hill was getting her information from?” The man gives a simpering smile, like you should know better.

“We don't have anything to give you. Like I said, we can't help you,” you go to push Sam behind you so you both could leave. A heavy sigh stops you. The woman takes another step closer to you and looks over her shoulder.

“Sir?” She asks, and when he hums in affirmation, the woman lunges to get to you.

“Sam, go!” You push him, and in the next movement, you're blocking a punch to your face with your forearm. You push the woman back by her chest and send her flying back to the man's feet.

His eyebrows raise, “you good, May?”

The woman, May, grunts in frustration and climbs to her feet, offensive stance ready to lunge at you again.

“Get to the jet,” you tell Sam. He goes to protest, but you cut him off, “I'll be fine, i'll meet you at the rendezvous point.” You look over your shoulder at him when he doesn't move, “Sammy go!”

Sam stumbles back to get ready to run, “you better show up, or Stark will have my head,” and he turns on his heel and runs, leaving you with May and the mystery man in the alley.

As soon as Sam is out of sight and earshot, the man in the suit steps towards you. You growl, it fills your chest, and the man puts up both hands in surrender.

“Whatever you have to say, say it from over there,” you tell him, but he takes another few steps to put himself between you and his friend.

He gives you an easy-going smile, eyebrows creased in worry, “it's not that simple, Agent Jones.” You scoff a laugh and pace away from him. “It's about your brother,” he says hesitantly when you don't stop.

You go rigid, skin rippling, and claws threatening to come out, “what did you say?” When he doesn't answer, you turn to face him, eyes shining blue as you growl at him and his companion.

They don't seem at all surprised by your appearance, “Please, come with us. We have a good idea of where he is. It's more complicated than you think it is,” he tries to placate you again. He gives you a reassuring smile, and when you look at his companion, she crosses her arms in front of her chest and raises an unamused eyebrow at you.

You heave a heavy sigh and drop your head, “Fine,” you mumble out, “I'll go with you.”

***

One phone call to Sam, and an hour later, you stood in an empty field with Agents May and Coulson. After the earful you got from Sammy when you told him to head home without you, the two former Agents of SHIELD told you about what they've been doing behind the scenes -give or take a few details.

Sam was adamant about you not going, but he also didn't want you to miss out on an opportunity to find your brother. Even if the chances were low, there was still a chance.

Agent Coulson, or Phil as he introduced himself, had told you him and his team had been chasing down a group called Centipede for the last few years. He had said he thinks it's finally come to an end with the fall of HYDRA and a man named John Garrett. Who apparently was an evil Mastermind who had his fingers in a lot of pies, so to speak.

They led you to an empty lot, seemingly nothing in the vicinity until Phil pulled a small fob out of his pocket and a quinjet shimmered into existence.

“Should I be concerned about a missing jet, Phil?” You asked. He gave you a sidelong glance and a smirk to match. He shrugged and led the way on board. May insisted you go before her before she closed the hatch after you all entered.

It was a short few minute flight to a larger aircraft that shimmered into existence as the quintet approached and landed on top. A hatch opened on the floor leading down into the aircraft below. As your feet touched the soft carpet at the bottom of the stairs, your gaze landed on a multitude of people around the lounge-like area.

“Welcome to the Bus,” Phil informed you, coming to your side and laying a hand on your lower back. “Skye,” he called out, and a young woman - maybe in her 20s - stood up from the couch with a laptop in hand and followed. Phil ushered you away from curious gazes to another room filled with monitors and computers.

Doors slid shut behind you as the three of you occupied the space. The glass walls did little to stop the prying eyes of those on board from sharing glances and hushed words with each other.

Coulson introduced you to Skye, giving her your name and the reason you were here. He praised Skye at being a veritable genius when it came to computers and her hacking abilities, a proud glint in his eye. She ducked her head a little with a small smile.

Her fingers worked fast over her keyboard, only glancing up at you once or twice while you waited.

Who do you think she is?

Obviously, the agent Coulson told us about.

Yeah, but who is she?

Not sure, why don't you go in an’ ask, Trip?

Oh, don't tease him, Fitz. She's obviously here for the information Skye was asked to gather.

But, do you think she's really an agent?

You smirked, “you told them I was an agent?” Gesturing out at the group of people huddled in low conversation.

And when Coulson looked over at the group, they dispersed with hurried chatter. Phil smirked.

“Aren't you?” The girl, Skye asked as she arched an eyebrow at you, then looked to Coulson. He smiled in return. “Isn't she?”

“I haven't been part of SHIELD for a very long time,” you leaned a hip against the desk and crossed your arms over your chest. You took a whiff around the small space, not coming up with anything. Your brows furrowed as you looked between Phil and Skye.

You thought you were imagining it, Phil not smelling like anything. Thinking maybe the wind carried it away. But now, with him standing so close, you were positive there wasn't anything there. You stepped closer to him, picking up his hand and scenting the inside of his wrist. There was something faint, like a long forgotten book or newspaper, leather bound and dusty, ink fading with time, and the hint of vanilla. Soft and subtle. And you wouldn't have smelled it if you didn't lean into his wrist more.

“Uh,” he eyed you, a frown pulling at his lips when you let him go. “What was that for?”

“I can barely smell you,” you stared at him, head tilting to the side, “either of you. What happened?” concern filling your voice as you stared at him.

He cleared his throat, hand smoothing down the tie around his neck, “I died; is what happened,” Your eyes must have been the size of saucers because he gave you a sympathetic smile. “I'm fine, really.”

“And you? Did you die, too?” You asked Skye. She avoided your gaze and made a noncommittal noise. “Must be something in the water..” You tried to lighten the mood a little.

Skye finished her tapping and turned towards the big monitor in the room, “This is what I've found so far,” she cleared her throat a little, looking back at you as you scanned the screen.

There was an older man, relatively handsome, his shoulder leaning against the side of a building. His hands stuffed in his slacks, the trench coat he wore billowing in the wind, frozen in time. The picture was taken from a cell phone, most likely accidently catching the image of the mystery man. His eyes seemed to glow as the shadows cast the upper portion of his body in darkness.

His hair was dirty blond, gray at the temples, and slicked back in a nice coif. His beard was littered with gray hair, but it didn't take away from his attractiveness.

Another image popped up next. The mystery man had his back to the camera now, glancing back over his shoulder as his eyes glowed more. Next to him now was none other than Leon, eyes shining in adoration as he leaned into the touch of the man with his hand on his face.

You felt your hackles raise, a low growl escaping your lips when another photo appeared. Another photo popped up next to that one. They kissed, which isn't new for you, but the very visible bite mark on Leons neck was enough for you to snap.

“His name is Deacon Frost,” Skye began, “current residence is some plantation his family owned - in Louisiana. It goes back at least 100 years. According to the records I found, he has a whole load of people living there. Whether it's staff or otherwi-”

“Vampires,” you cut her off. Another growl sounds deep in your chest.

Skye looked back at you, eyes wide, “No way. Seriously, vampires? They don't exist,” she scoffed. When she looked at Coulson, he was already looking at you.

“You knew,” you told him.

He pursed his lips, “I had my suspensions. Theories,” and when you raised your eyebrow at him, he sighed. “OK, ok. I wasn't one hundred percent sure until you confirmed it.”

“Wait, you're serious?”

“I'm always serious.”

“Coulson!”

You pursed your lips, “I normally don't do this to new people but,” the skin on your arm rippled from your shoulder to your fingertips, claws coming out as the fur made its way down your arm like a wave.

You wiggled your fingers, knuckles cracking with a roll of your wrist. It was always harder to Shift during a new moon. It definitely hurt more.

You looked from Coulson to Skye. The former's expression filled with delight and a small smile. But Skye.

“What the hell? What the hell are you?” She all but shrieked and stepped away to the far corner as fast as she could.

“Welcome to the world of the Supernatural,” you shrugged, shaking Your arm out as the fur along it reseeded and flesh took over once more. “There's more than just vampires out there.”

***

With Coulson's instructions, Skye put everything she had onto a flash drive for you. You'd figure out more when you got home, and JARVIS could give it another once over. When she was finished, she slid it across the table top, not wanting to step closer to you. You sighed and pocketed the USB stick, gave a curt nod in thanks.

“Thanks for this,” you said, “but you could have called. You do know where I live,” you smirked at Coulson.

Coulson guided you out of the room, leading you through the lounge and up a spiral staircase, and into another room. It was a spacious office, Coulson's name plate gleamed on the desk.

He sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms over his chest, “it's hard to come calling when the majority of your housemates think I'm still dead.”

You gaped at him, mouth opening and closing several times. “What do you mean they think you're dead?”

“Fury thought it best to never tell anyone,” he shrugged. “That included all of SHIELD and the Avengers.”

“What about the people that cared about you?”

Phil shrugged again, “Anyone that used to be in my life, outside of SHIELD or otherwise, knows I died. And will always know it.”

He gave you a leveling stare. It made your hair stand on end.

“You can't expect me to keep this from Tony,” you shook your head. “If you know what I am, and I think you do, you know what he means to me. I can't - you can't ask me to keep this from him.”

“You're right, I can't. Just don't go out of your way to bring me up,” Phil gives you a sad smile and paces toward you to put a hand on your shoulder. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your brother. I know you'll find him,” he gave your shoulder a squeeze.

You returned his sad smile and gave a shirt nod. After a moment, you cleared your throat, “ok, well, how am I supposed to get home? Don't suppose you're going to drop me off at the front door.”

Coulson laughed, and nodded his head towards the door, “C'mon.”

“Sir, we're ready,” May's voice came through the intercom as you went to leave the office. Coulson led you back down to the lounge and then another spiral staircase to the loading bay.

You pass between a van and the same red corvette from earlier in the day, running a finger down the body and coming to a stop next to Coulson. He hits a button, and the bay doors open, wind whips through the garage violently, and when the door fully opens, you see a quinjet hover a few dozen feet away.

Sam stands at the opening of the quinjets ramp, his hand gripping a handle so he doesn't fly out. He gives a nod, and Coulson returns it.

“It was nice to meet you, Phil, but I think my rides here,” you shout over the roaring wind. You go to take a step back to get a running start, but he calls your name, and you stop.

“You'll find him, I know you will,” he gives you a smile, and you place your hand on his arm and give a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you,” when you look back, you can see his team standing behind some glass and on top of the mezzanine, and you look to Phil again, “it was nice to meet you.”

You take a few steps back to get a running start, you sprint, leaping from the edge of the Bus. weightlessness filling you as the harsh winds carry your body from one place to another. And just when you think you start to free fall, your hand grips Sam's arm, and he catches you in his grip, bringing you in for a one-armed hug.

“You're crazy, you know that?” He huffs a big laugh into your hair as you hug him back.

Your forehead rests on his chest, “I'm just keeping you on your toes, Fly Guy,” you chuckle. He gives you another squeeze, and when you both look back out into the sky, the Bus shimmers from existence and disappears.

“C'mon, Baby Girl, let's go home.”

***

"’Boom! Are you looking…’ why do I even talk to you guys?” Rhodey is met with silence, and he sighs, “Everywhere else that story kills.”

“That's the whole story?” Point Break smirks over his beer.

Poor Rhodey, he tries. “Yeah, it's a War Machine story.”

“Well, it's very good then,” Thor laughs, “It's impressive.”

“Quality save. So, no Pepper? She's not coming?”

Pepper? Why on earth would he bring her up? Rhodey has met you multiple times. He seemed to love you. At least that's the impression Tony got. He hasn't talked to Pepper in a while. He knows you two talk all the time.

It's not weird. Don't make it weird.

“No,” simple. Smooth Tony.

“Hey, what about Jane? Poppy? Where are the ladies, gentlemen?” Maria cuts in. Now Tony knows for a fact you and Hill get along.

“Well, Miss Potts has a company to run,” smoothing his tie down a bit, “And Poppy is chasing ghosts in…um..” Where did you and Wilson go off to this time?

Thor shifts from foot to foot, “Yes, I'm not even sure what country Jane's in, either. Her work on the Convergence has made her the world's foremost astronomer.”

Tony hums.

“There's even talk of Jane getting a... um, uh... Nobel prize.”

“Yeah, they...they must be busy because they'd hate missing you guys get together.” She fakes a sneeze, what is this, the early 2000s? “Oh, excuse me.”

“Want a lozenge?” Rhodey fake comforts her as she nods. They both share a quiet chuckle, “Let's go.”

“But Jane's better,” Thor says into his mug.

Tony's eye twitches, Thor hasn't even met you yet. What does he know?

Nothing.

He looks around the party, avoiding eye contact to not further this conversation with Thor at all costs. He notices Sam Wilson ascending the stairs and meeting up with Steve.

Where the hell were you? Fashionably late was his thing. Surely you were around here somewhere.

***

“You go on up, Sammy. I need to change out of this, and I'll see you up there,” you wave him off as you step off the elevator to your and Tony's floor. Sam waved a ‘see you later’ as the doors closed.

He was smart and packed extra clothes, just in case.

You needed a moment for yourself anyway. The last few days are taking a toll on you mentally. Not finding any sign of Bucky after months of searching, and now new information about your brother, Leon, have surfaced. You just needed a quiet few minutes to yourself.

You dug the flash drive from your pocket as you passed the Smart Table in the room.

“Hey, JARVIS, I've got something I'd like you to take a look at when you have the time,” you said as you plugged it into the top USB port. The holographic keyboard and display came to life as you did. “It's got info about my brother on it. I can check back in later with you about it, ok?”

You retreated to the bedroom as you talked to JARVIS, shedding your boots and tactical outfit as you went.

The shower was heavenly. Rinsing the day off yourself always felt nice. But you had a party to attend, at least that's what the message from Tony had said a few days ago when they got back from Sokovia.

On the bed were two outfits, one you're sure Nat had picked for you, and the other Tony. Smirking, you put on your go-to.

A pair of dark, high waisted slacks and an oversized burgundy turtleneck. Your combat boots would have to do. No way were you wearing heels just to go upstairs and see your friends.

Once ready, you made your way back towards the elevators. Checking one last time at the progress JARVIS was making. You noticed a bunch of files open, more information being downloaded than before.

“Thanks, J! I'll go through all that with you later,” you call out as you enter the lift. You hit the button for the right floor and wait. The soft chime of the lift stopping, has you straightening.

The music wasn't as loud as you'd thought it would. Only a few people noticed you stepping off the elevator. No one you knew, however.

As you scanned the large lounge, you noticed Sam and Steve on the loft. They lifted their hands in greeting, and you gave a small wave.

“There she is!” Called a voice to your right, Maria and Rhodes met you halfway, and you gave them a hug.

“Maria, James. Good to see you,” you looked around a little, trying to find the man you came home to see.

“He's at the bar,” Maria nudged your arm. You gave her a grateful smile and excused yourself.

Tony wasn't paying attention when you found yourself standing behind him, his hands fidgeting with the glass in front of him.

“This seat taken, handsome?”

He straightened, glancing over his shoulder slightly, “Actually, I was just waiting for my girlfriend,” he turned fully to face you, eyes lighting up as he looked at you. “She's very possessive, y’know. Gets pretty bite-y when she doesn't get her way.”

You hummed as you stepped closer to him, fingers lightly running up his tie, “Think I can handle myself,” you step closer and one of Tony's hands finds your waist, pulling you in more. You pout up at him, peaking through your lashes, “And I don't get bite-y when I don't get my way.”

He chuckles, and you feel it vibrate through you, his free hand coming up to your face, and his thumb rubs across your cheek.

“I missed you, Pretty Girl,” Tony's hand cups your face and you lean into the touch. He leans in and runs his nose along yours, and a sigh leaves your chest.

“Missed you too, Tones.”

“Ahem,” a voice loudly calls from behind the bar. “OK, love birds, you're making everyone else jealous.”

Natasha smirks at you when you look over Tony's shoulder at her. He pulls you into his side as he turns to face her and reaches into his suit jacket pocket, placing a one hundred dollar bill on the countertop.

Nat's perfectly manicured fingers land on the bill, and she slides it over and places it inside of her blouse.

“Bet him you'd wear my outfit tonight,” She's still smirking. “I'll make you a drink.”

Tony, you and Natasha talked for a while, losing time while catching up and sharing drinks. They told you about what went down in Sokovia, from the advanced HYDRA weapons to Strucker's experimenting on humans with Loki's Scepter. Down in Strucker's lab, there was advanced robotics work, scraps, and heaps of salvaged material from the Battle of New York.

And a few more small details as well.

“Wait, wait,” you gasped between laughs, hand clutching Tony's arm to keep yourself upright. “He really said that? Language! Like you're 5?” You giggled again when Nat and Tony both nodded.

Tony pursed his lips, trying to hide the smile that spread across his face, hand resting on the back of your chair.

Bruce came over shortly after, his eyes only seeing Natasha, so you and Tony excused yourselves and made the rounds.

You met a few new people, including Dr. Helen Cho, who was in town for a conference, from South Korea.

***

Hours later, you were sitting in the loveseat between Tony and Rhodey. A casual and easy conversation flowed as everyone wound down from the evening's festivities.

You placed your finished Chinese food container on the coffee table in front of you. A sigh of contentment left you as you settled back in the seat.

“But, it's a trick!” Clint yells out, pulling you and Rhodey from conversation.

Thor chuckles from his spot next to Steve on the couch, “Oh, no. It's much more than that.”

“Uh, ‘Whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power!’ Whatever, man! It's a trick,” Clint snarks.

“Well please, be my guest.”

Tony places his arm behind you on the chair, “Come on.”

Clint raises his eyebrows, “Really?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh this is gonna be beautiful,” Rhodey says from beside you.

“Clint, you've had a tough week, we won't hold it against you if you can't get it up,” Tony's comment makes everyone around chuckle.

Clint struggles for a moment as he tries to lift Thor's hammer, “I still don't know how you do it.”

“Smell the silent judgment?”

“Please, Stark, by all means,” Clint places his hands on his hips as he challenges Tony.

You roll your eyes as Tony makes a show of getting up and peeling off his suit jacket. You willingly take it and drape it over your shoulders, letting his scent fill your nose.

Tony tries and fails to lift Mjolnir. Even with the help of Rhodes and their gauntlets.

Next was Bruce, and he fails, pretending to Hulk out in the process. You give him a sympathetic smile at his attempt.

Steve was next, and you swore you thought it budged, but he relents and sits back down next to Thor.

Thor sighs in relief, and he looks to you, and all eyes land on you after.

“No way, I have enough things to worry about, thank you,” your hands come up in defense.

“Widow?” Bruce asks, and she leans back, taking a sip of her beer.

“Oh, no, no. That's not a question I need answered.”

Tony picks you up bridal style and places you on his lap as he takes your seat, “All deference to the man who wouldn't be king, but it's rigged.”

Clint nods, “You bet your ass.”

“Steve, he said a bad language word,” Maria mocks and points to Clint. Everyone chuckles.

Steve gives Tony an exasperated glare, “Did you tell everyone about that?” You giggle from your spot on Tony's lap, and Steve shakes his head.

Thor gets up and easily flips the hammer around in his grip, grinning as he scans around the group, “You're all not worthy.”

There's a chorus of boos and disagreement as Thor just chuckles at everyone.

Then there's a loud screeching noise, like microphone feedback, but ten times worse, and everyone covers their ears. You let out a whine as it stops, and Tony runs his hands up and down your arms.

As the screeching fades, there's a thumping coming from the hall, a metallic voice fills the air, and Steve stands on high alert.

“Worthy... No, how could you be worthy?” it's a beat-up Legion suit. An arm is missing and leaking fluid. There's parts missing from its body, and the face is scratched and marred. “You're all killers.”

“Stark,” Steve says in his Captain voice, his stance wide.

Tony sets you down on your feet, placing himself in front of you as he pulls out his phone, “JARVIS.”

The metallic voice of the Legionnaire continues, “I'm sorry, I was asleep. Or... I was a-dream?”

Tony starts tapping at his phone, “Reboot, Legionnaire OS, we got a buggy suit.”

“There was a terrible noise…” the Legionnaire says, “and I was tangled in... in... strings. I had to kill the other guy. He was a good guy.”

Steve takes a step closer, “You killed someone?”

“Wouldn't have been my first call. But, down in the real world, we're faced with ugly choices.”

“Who sent you?” Thor's voice booms.

A recording of Tonys voice plays from the suit, "I see a suit of armor around the world."

Bruce looks at Tony, shock on his face, “Ultron!”

“In the flesh,” the suit - Ultron - says, "Or, no, not yet. Not this... chrysalis. But I'm ready. I'm on a mission.

“What mission?” Nat asks.

“Peace in our time.”

***

Next>

AN: boy!! This took so long for me to finish. I knew where I wanted to go, but I just couldn't get it out there! Thank you for reading, it means so much to me!! More to come soon!

[honeysmokedham]

TIMING: August 3rd, 2023 PARTIES: Nora @honeysmokedham & Thea @notstinky LOCATION: The Crypt of Annalise Bellowmore SUMMARY: Thea decides Nora NEEDS to have a clean crypt and she's going to make it happen. Nora's just trying to be okay. CONTENT WARNINGS: None!

The thing about chapels was that they didn’t have a doorbell. Thea felt wrong inviting herself inside, but she justified it by thinking of the chapel as an apartment lobby and Nora’s apartment was just down a very narrow set of stairs. She dragged her clothing rack down the stairs, tucking the stack of hangers under one arm and her broom under the other. The bow she had put on the rack so the present appeared more dressed up, had fallen off in the chapel somewhere. It was too late to go back for it. “Nora?” She called out. “Nora? Is that…is someone crying?” It was probably some recording Nora had to add to the atmosphere but Thea had to admit, the crypt had great acoustics. Why wasn’t Nora hosting karaoke nights down here? 

Nora was more paint than human, bear, whatever she was supposed to identify as, at this point. Her crypt has steadily been growing into a collection of stolen art supplies, and now, after her return from the mines, she had thrown herself into the art of creation. The only time such an act was more valuable than its sister, destruction, was when her brush touched canvas and the world stopped to exist. The world didn’t stop existing. The clattering sound of metal on stone steps brought Nora to an attention that not even the crying Munch doll could have. “Thea?” She had invited the other over, but Nora wasn’t used to people accepting invites to her crypt. This was her first official visitor. Nora extracted herself from her place in front of the canvas and moved through the empty space to the door. Babadook following close on her heels. “I told you not to buy anything.” It was a poor thanks for a gift that was so thoughtful. “Thanks.” Nora helped, tried to help with the rack and getting it into the main part of the crypt since Thea had her hands full. “Welcome to my crypt.” It was really one large room, everything in view once you got to the main area. “This is Babadook,” Nora nodded a chin to her dog. “Then Munch is the one crying, over there.” She pointed. “He’s a sad clown. I think its his thing to cry.”

Thea wanted to be polite. She didn’t say that Nora’s crypt-house smelled like dirt, dust, mold and paint— like the wet rotting corpse of an artist had crawled into the stone. She didn’t say the cobwebs were unsightly or that she didn’t exactly think it was safe for Nora’s horrifying cosplay dog to be in a space with snakes and spiders. As she did with everything else in her life, Thea focused on the positives. It was cool down here despite the summer heat and all the spiders must have been fun to watch crawl around. It was a unique place to live and, certainly, very Nora. “Hello, Babadook— we met last time, actually. I’m happy to see him in his costume again.” When the rack was settled, Thea busied herself with setting the hangers up for Nora to use, hoping that her clothes would get out of the pile on the ground and somewhere clean. She thought about the scene from Mary Poppins during ‘A Spoonful Of Sugar’ where Julie Andrews snaps and all the clothes and mess goes back into place. When she snapped, the best she got was a spider shifting on one of its many hairy legs on a web that was a little too close to her face. Thea wasn’t even going to say anything about the floating clown doll, that was, in fact, the source of the crying. 

“Were you painting, Nora?” Thea asked, picking up her broom. She had a lot of work to do— the crypt was more dirt than stone. And she wasn’t going to ask about the floating clown doll. “I am a little confused about what you do with the paint smells.” She was not confused, one sniff to the air told her exactly what Nora did with the paint smells. She was not going to ask about the crying, floating clown doll. “It’s not entirely healthy to breathe them in all the time.” She was not going to ask about the doll. “I also wonder about what you do with food… do you have a fridge or…” She wasn’t going to do it. She wasn’t going to— “How are you doing that?” She pointed at the floating clown doll, asking. “Is it on strings? Does it have a speaker? It’s moving like it’s actually floating. Is it magnets? It’s magnets, isn’t it?” 

"Oh right." Last time. Nora knew there had been a last time. Because it had been the first time Thea and she had hung out. It had been the start of their friendship, and the day that Thea had become damned for her association with Nora. Because last time was before Debbie. Last time had been before the phantom memory of the pressure it took to plunge her knife into Debbie's skull haunted her hand. Nora blinked, at the realization that last time had been a lifetime ago. Suddenly a new guilt was weighing her down. Why hadn't she been checking on Thea. Why hadn't she been apologizing to the girl who hadn't even wanted to break into a supermarket that day? Why was she letting that same innocent Thea, come into her crypt and clean it. Because Nora had already proven that she was a black hole, taking and taking, and Thea had already proven that she was better. Nora stood there, a statue as she tried to find the words. How've you've been since Debbie? Are you okay? Are we okay? Please don't clean. Please just be here as my friend. 

But words had never been her friend, and each imagined sentence never made it past the lump in her throat. 

And Thea was talking. Wonderful, kind, thoughtful Thea didn't question the black hole consuming everything she was giving without returning anything. Thea didn't stop and ask why she was carrying the conversation along with the burden of friendship. Nora swallowed back the lump in her throat and forced he voice to croak out a "Yeah.' She had been painting. It was a self-portrait of crystals consuming Nora's body, a successor to Goya's Saturn Devouring His Son. Because just like Goya, a madness overtook her in this art. An escape from the truth. 

"I don't have any ventilation." Nora kept forcing the words past the lump, begging it to disappear back inside her. Let her deal with it later. Let Thea be free from this extra burden. "No. Maybe I should get a fan." But wouldn't the fan only flow it around the crypt? It wasn't like the paint fumes would escape. "I don't have a fridge. I don't normally eat here." Then Thea was pointing at Munch, who was still sobbing. The crying clown doll was perfect for him. How Sofie hadn't noticed that there was a ghost in there was beyond her. "It's possessed. We talked about it. You can touch him if you want, but he'll punch you." 

Microplumes of dust flew up under Thea’s rocking broom. Her gaze was fixed on the magnetic clown doll. Possessed, Nora kept saying, as if it was a state of being that made sense for a doll. Thea was possessed, in the metaphorical— the only way that word could be used and mean something. Grief possessed her, memories haunted her, her body was hollowed out like the sort of fake rock her father put their spare set of keys in, thinking no one would ever look inside. Sometimes, even Thea lost that rock in the sea of real ones. She’d have to pick each of them up and shaking, waiting until she heard a ratting. No one had stopped shaking Thea. Thea was possessed, the doll was just a trick of science. Thea approached the doll. 

Thea was always a curious person, as a child, if a question struck her in the night, she couldn’t sleep until it was answered. The world was a massive, horrifying jumble of mysteries and questions; if she understood it just a little, just enough, nothing was scary anymore. Everything became normal. She ran her hands along the side, hoping she’d feel the magnetic pull on her bracelet and be down with her questions. Nothing. She tried underneath. Nothing. She tried on top. Nothing. Behind. Nothing. Thea poked it. The doll’s hand snapped out and punched her in the nose and Thea stumbled back; it wasn’t that the doll was a particularly heavy hitter, it was some mixture of confusion, fear, and the embarrassment of being punched by a floating clown doll. When she spun, regaining her footing, she opened her eyes to find Nora’s self-portrait. Thea shrieked; fear pulsed off of her in heavy waves. 

Thea snapped her hands over her mouth. “Sorry, it, um…” She swallowed, lowering her hands. “It’s a very visceral painting. It, um, for a moment…I really thought that was you. It felt like you were really…” Thea’s gaze dropped to it. “….consumed by crystals.” She turned to the doll, still floating, still a clown. “H-how did you program it to punch me? How did…” Thea turned around again. “Nora, this…” she gestured around. “…isn’t normal, is it?”  

It was weird seeing Thea come into her home with the intent of cleaning it. As if it was something Nora should want. It made Nora examine her living space with new eyes. There had been a joy in the reclamation of herself, and space, with the lack of care. A direct pull into doing the opposite of everything she’d been told to do her whole life. Keep herself clean. Keep herself presentable. Become approachable. Now her personal hygiene, the state of her home, everything about her had become a rebellious statement against that. But Thea cared. Thea cared enough to bring a broom and a clothing rack and clean up a place she’d never considered worth cleaning before. 

Luckily Thea became distracted by Munch. With Thea bothering the doll instead of sweeping, Nora got to forget the uncomfortable feeling that came with watching the back and forth of the broom. As if the broom was more than just a broom, but what the broom stood for was something she couldn’t put her finger on. Nora blinked once. Twice. Three times as Thea moved her hand around Munch until Munch punched her. Right in the nose. “Brutal.” Nora mumbled. “Munch stop, she’s a fucking guest. You can’t just go around fucking punching people.” The ghost was shouting, the ghost was in a temper. Munch was always in a temper. Nora suspected his temper was how he became a ghost in the first place. 

Thea was screaming and Nora was feasting. A tasty little snack. A treat for Nora. She walked over to stand next to Thea, tilting her head at her unfinished portrait and trying to imagine how Thea saw it. “Are you sure it wasn’t being punched by a ghost that scared you?” Nora questioned, but Thea still didn’t believe in ghosts. “I didn’t program Munch to do anything.” The sad clown ghost had flown off to a different part of the crypt to cry, and Nora kept staring at the self-portrait parsing through what Thea had said about it. The crystals had consumed her. “It was me.” Nora agreed finally. It was still the me she wanted to be. “You know those weird crystals that sprouted all around town?” Nora gestured to one that had popped up in her crypt. A large space was left around it. “If you touch it, that’s what happens. You receive the “blessing” and you become a crystal.”

The world spun and Thea stood unmoving— left-behind. The first time she saw the grainy footage of her bones shattering and fusing together into the hulking frame of a wolf monster, she’d felt much of the same. It wasn’t a new feeling then; every time a ‘bad day’ turned to days and even opening her curtains felt like too much of a chore, time stretched to swallow her. It wasn’t a new feeling now. The only thing that tethered her to reality was Nora, whose contorted face in the painting knotted Thea’s stomach with concern. Nora was hard to read and her painted face was no different; it was the words that Thea clung to. There was no blessing in the world that involved the transformation of the body into other: not a wolf, not a crystal. Thea knew that Nora didn’t adhere to the conventions of normal like she did, nor did Nora seem to find comfort in the idea, but she did understand transformation. “Did it hurt?” She asked, turning to face Nora. “When I…” Thea gulped. She glanced over at Munch, the magnetic programmable clown doll that was not possessed, because ghosts didn’t exist. Her nose throbbed. She glanced around her: all the dust and cobwebs and gray stonework. Finally, she looked back at the painting and into the crystals that couldn’t have literally consumed Nora, because crystals didn’t do that. Well, if they were going to talk nonsense, what did it matter? 

“When I transform, my bones snap and my skin stretches and—I don’t really remember it much, mostly I just feel it after, everything hurts and sometimes I just lay down for a few hours waiting for my legs to feel like legs again but—it’s like…” Thea swallowed, searching Nora’s impassive face for understanding. “It feels wrong. When I wake up… My body feels wrong. It feels like something bad happened to me and everything feels wrong. I don’t feel like me anymore, it feels like someone else crawled inside and shook everything up. And just when I start to feel like me again, it happens all over.” Thea pointed at the painting; her grip tightened on the broom’s handle. “W-was that how it felt for you?” 

A pause in time to consider the question. Did it hurt? “Yes.” Physically Nora had thought she was dying. She had ripped flesh off her face to reveal crystal underneath. Her body had torn in new ways as the crystals popped through her flesh. It had been brutal and drawn out. Answering the question, did it hurt, wasn’t what it took time to consider. What Nora considered was it didn’t hurt enough to stop. If her mind would remain her own she would touch the crystals everyday for the rest of her life to become that, become her, the portrait on her easel. Or maybe the real pain was emotional. Being given the gift of your dreams with a burden attached to it, too heavy to accept. A carrot dangled in front of her face by a master who wanted a different beast. “It hurt.” Could three words encompass the experience? Could they tie the turmoil up in a nice bow, and offer it as a shared experience? Were words that powerful?

Nora might have gotten lost there, in her own thoughts, had she not offered a shocking new turn of conversation. When I transform. The hair raised along Nora’s arms at the confession. Thea was a shifter? There had always been something animalistic about her scent, but Nora had ignored it. Part of Thea’s job, or something. She was sensitive about her smell, there had never been a reason to ask, but the picture was coming into focus. “You’re a shifter.” There was nothing in Nora’s voice. No judgment. No acceptance. Just the plain neutrality that her monotone always offered. “When the crystals transformed me it was long. I felt like I was dying.” Or had that only been the banshee’s lie that put the thought in her head? “When I turn into a bear, it’s a moment. My body breaks and remakes. Then I’m me again. As a bear.” Nora blinked as she digested the words Thea had offered. “You don’t-” She paused, trying to make sure she had this right. “You make it sound like you don’t remember when you’re shifted? What do you change to?”

“Shifter?” Thea felt the word in her mouth, the weight of each syllable and the curve of her tongue around the sounds. The word was new for her; she assumed--if she was going to assume she was anything--that she was a werewolf. It made sense to her, based on the grainy footage of her sleepwalking camera. Like most things regarding her issue, she didn’t really think about it. “I’m not a shifter,” she swallowed, scratching her forehead, leaving behind pink streaks across her skin. “I’m not a--I’m me. I’m not anything. I’m just me. I’m a normal girl. I’m a normal girl with a little problem.” The broom trembled in her grip, her fingers tight against the plastic rod. “B-bear?” Thea blinked. “Bear?” She asked again, as if the answer could change. She wasn’t a bear, her grainy recorded body was too slim and her mouth too dog-like. She knew there were big cats, like Felix, and now bears? Why had she gotten a wolf? The broom snapped in her hands. “D-do you eat people? Does the bear eat people?” 

The conversation about crystals seemed far off. She didn’t know what crystals had to do with Nora--what they had to do with the bear. She wanted to ask how different each had felt; if the crystals hurt but made her whole again or if it was just the bear that did that. Thea couldn’t get anything out but a series of hiccups and gasps. “I don’t remember,” she croaked. “Only a little. Sometimes. But I know…I know because…” Her trembling body didn’t care for the breathing exercises she attempted to employ; in, out, hold, in, out, none of it mattered. Her throat tightened. “...hair between my teeth and blood under my nails and I feel full. Inside. I feel full.” Thea sucked in a quivering breath. “It happens with the moon. I don’t know what it is. I’m normal, I’m a normal girl. It just--with the moon.”

With each stuttering word, and trembling finger Thea seemed to crumble. A shell of anxiety and emotion. Fear radiated off her friend, mixing with denial and apprehension. The broom snapped. A similar sound to her bones, their bones during shifting. Nora blinked at Thea, puzzling through the fractured broken sentences that had yet to shift into something complete. They lay wounded and open between the two of them while Nora waited for their transformation to complete. With each additional statement from Thea a form began to shape and Nora began to understand. Compassion, love or something of the like bloomed over Nora as she saw her friend painted in a new light before her. A girl alone and scared in a world that no longer made sense. A story she thought might be familiar to many of the werewolves she’d met, but they would have to know other werewolves to know it was familiar. With each panicked and hurt word, Nora felt herself become calmer and more resolved. How could she be angry about crystals and the mines in the face of her friend’s turmoil?

Nora stepped forward to her friend who just confessed to have eaten people. To her friend who didn’t want to be stinky. To her friend that had come over to clean Nora’s place because she wanted to. To her friend that had once told her she would die on the hill that nothing is a lost cause. Nora’s hand reached out, gently placing it on Thea’s arm. “You’re just Thea.” Nora confirmed. Because what else did you tell your friend who could turn into a wolf and ate people, but couldn’t remember it. “Normal can be different things. Normal can be turning into a bear or a wolf. Normal can be what we make it.” When Nora had been alone, she wished there had been someone else like her. Someone who ate fear and turned into a bear and could show her what her normal was supposed to be. Nora wasn’t a wolf, but she could make sure her friend knew she wasn’t alone. “You can be normal and the wolf. Just like I’m normal and the bear. We’re just us. You know?”

Thea whimpered, the sound caught in her throat and left a watery sob. Tears stung at the edges of her red eyes and when Nora touched her, the dam broke and they rained down her face. All her life she had wanted to be normal. She was too poor to be like the other girls in her school, her shoes had holes in them and her clothes came down from her older cousins. She was too smart to be average in class, which hadn’t felt like a curse until every hand she raised threw a series of daggers into her back and whispers burning her ears. She liked girls too much to join in on conversations about boy bands and movie star heartthrobs. No matter what she did, she was different. She was born different. Normal could be what they made it; Nora made it sound easy and Thea wanted to believe her. “C-can I hug you?” She sniffled. The second the affirmative left Nora’s lips, Thea threw her arms around her friend and held her tightly. 

She breathed in her scent of dust and mold; felt the scratchy fabric of her clothes with dubious laundry schedule; and felt more at home holding Nora than she’d felt under any roof. “You’re a good friend,” Thea whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry I tried to clean your crypt; it’s just you and I like you and I don’t want to clean you up and turn you into something else.” She’d only been trying to take care of her a little but truly, through the fog of her lies, she’d been hoping to make Nora a little more normal and she was sorry for that. “We’re just us,” she repeated, “we’re just us.”

They were a bear and a wolf and somewhere behind them a floating crying clown doll that was definitely possessed, and that was okay. That could be normal. It was only the two of them and their life and it was normal. 

[vacate-et-scire]

Hell yea, a matchup event, lemme be a sigma like yall tooPLSPLEASEPLZ—

Honestly dunno how to properly write about myself, so imma just kinda yap abt it and get to the rizzing part right here and there

Starting with personality, if I would describe it in a shortest way possible I would say I'm an ESTP with an enneagram type 7w8. But if I get to the actual details, the most prominent ones are: the fact that I'm really REALLY loud, unpredictable in the most strangest ways possible and hyperactive. FREAK FRIDAY IS OPEN YAAAA! Yet, even knowing my last characteristic, usually I can be found procrastinating when some important tasks are needed to be done, cuz I get easily distracted and tend to lose interest in things quickly. Instead, I unwillingly fixate on meaningless shi, like something that can be done latuh. For example, imagine urself suddenly deciding to deep clean ur house instead of doing one simple thing that u actually have to do lol. Ngl, that sometimes gets in a way when I'm trynna act like totally-not-a-beta around others, cuz usually people say that they don't understand me much and take some things that I do in another way. In other words, I can be nonsensical. Sometimes I literally gotta explain myself, so they will get me at least in some bit, but that doesn't bother me at all actually. I love socializing, meeting new bros and fooling around da others, especially when I know that I can get myself loose. Gotta be real, this trait of mine does cause some trouble when I start to unknowingly cross the line, but I always try to make it up if It gets uncomfortable for somebody. OH AND WOWZERS! Also anotha important thing. I don’t like to talk about feelings and all that big sad stuff AT ALL, queen never cry philosophy HELLO 💋! It’s easier for me to suck it up and look at the bright sight. I prefer to keep a distance and not open up to people, even though I think I’m really friendly and easy to approach. At least I get that idea from duds constantly coming to me for advice, help and other good stuff.

Yada, yada, yada, LET’S GET TO HOBBIES. I think you can say they’re pretty basic, expect for the fact that i’m another retired professional swimmer in this blog, HEEEELP— Sum stuff led me to break up with da competitive side of swimming, so now I only go to train meh body a couple of times a month. Aside my love for water, I absolutely ADORE horror things. Any media like films, creatures, merch, real life stuff, etc. I find weird, gross and creepy looking stuff endearing and it usually tangles with my other interests, those include: art, writing, gaming and me collecting figurines, plushies and other official things from various media. Digital art is my main method of income and my future profession…tho this freelance thingy is on more nsfw side rn— But ye, it is what it is. Talking about the other one that I mentioned, it’s safe to say that my room kind of looks like a museum now, lol. I have several shelves and a huge bookcase that mostly contains anything but books. And believe me, it’s SUCH A PAIN IN THE POOSAY to clean, but I do it often anyways. Gotta dust those figurines regularly so it doesn’t look like I live in a haunted mansion, even though I would like it very much.

…Imma put music in its own category if you don’t mind, bestie— Tbh, usually I listen to many kinds of music, cuz it’s hard for me to choose somethin’ in a first place and why-not-give-it-a-try type of vibe, but I think I can still name some of my fav artists and it’ll give you a more proper idea. SO! Lil Mariko is my queen, Lizzo is my queen x2, Penelope Scott is my queen x3 and Jazmin Bean is my queen x4. Period.

As for the fashion part, I prefer to do crazy ahh hot pink gyaru makeup on my face and pair it with the matching style. Besides this, I also luv how girlies and duds from 2000 dress and yur good ol pinkPINKPINKKKK McBling. …Tho, it’s hard to get most types of clothes that would fit into categories that I mentioned above, so I usually put on something that can resemble those distinctive highschool teens from 90s and 00s.

It’s kind of difficult for me to think of an ideal partner, but there are certain characteristics that would make me go AWOOGA. Tots want someone who I can annoy. Someone, who can endure my antics, but with some response too! Like if I were to pester em I would prefer them to react. Even if it’s kind of a negative response, cuz it can easily turn into a playful one from my experience. (Would love to shower them in affection, kisses and diabolically stupid names while they scrunch their nose at it and complain, but stay still—) It would be also nice if that person could kick my lazy ass and motivate me in one way or another, lol. So ye, someone with a strong core and who is not afraid to stand to me will do just fine. Bonus points if I can hang on his arm like a monkey.

I also have a soft spot in my glittery heart for kind of confused bros, who can’t understand others and seem like anomaly to ppl. Like they just exist and do bizzare things that you don’t expect anyone to do.

…ORRRR I just need someone who can match my freak. Who will and can embarrass me in the funniest way possible and who I can at least try to embarrass in return.

All of em are good, the end—

💋💋💋

THANKS FOR LISTENING TO ME BOSS!

Your Blue Lock Matchup: Shidou Ryusei

Shidou Ryusei is the absolute perfect match for your chaotic energy, unpredictable antics, and love for playful banter. Much like you, he thrives on the drama and the fun of teasing and pushing boundaries. His cocky, bold nature aligns perfectly with your need for someone who can handle your loudness and constant desire to keep things interesting. Shidou wouldn’t back down from your antics, and he’d give it right back to you with just as much flair, making for an exciting dynamic where neither of you would be bored.

He definitely fits the description of someone who can handle your moods—whether it’s playful or a little bit of annoyance—he can take it and return it with interest. His strong-willed nature would not only match your boldness but would be able to call you out when needed, keeping you in check and motivating you to follow through with things, especially when your tendency to procrastinate kicks in. He’s the type to challenge you and keep you on your toes, which would keep things interesting, but without losing the fun and humor that come with it.

Shidou is also someone who thrives in the spotlight, much like your desire to be expressive, which would make you both a pair that feeds off each other's energy. His dramatic flair would pair so well with your love for freaky, spontaneous moments, and you’d have plenty of fun annoying each other with ridiculous antics. He wouldn’t mind being your “monkey” for those cute moments of affection, and you’d definitely have a blast embarrassing each other in the most hilarious ways.

Overall, Shidou Ryusei would be your perfect partner in crime, someone who can match your intensity, put up with your antics, and still keep the vibe lighthearted and fun. He’s got the attitude and the strength to handle you, and he’d definitely keep you entertained, all while challenging you to be your best self.

[hopelesslyinlovegirl]

A self reflexion on relationships.

Many of my texts are introduced the same way. I know it seems repetitive, but I swear, inspiration comes at me in the worst times (when I have importants exams and I must study)

Tomorrow I have a mathematics exam. I have to study, a bunch.

But I can´t help but feel to put this thoughts in one of my tumblr texts.

The guy that was pursuing me broke up with me yesterday. What messed up most with my head were his contradictions and his lies.

He told me that he was thinking about this for a few days. But yesterday told me he would like to have intimacy and give me kisses and an hour later told me that in reality he didn´t want that, that he felt like neither of us was "ready for commitment".

I was pissed. And sad, of course. Because this situation used to be just part of my overthinking. Now that it happened, in all my next relationships I will feel that they are lying all the time. They will dump me when I don´t give them the one thing they want.

I felt like that barbie doll that you used from time to time. You know, the one that wasn´t your predilect doll but was there. When you needed it for some of your doll plots, she got out of the bottom of the box.

And you styled her. You dressed her with nice clothes. You washed and brushed her hair. And she´d play her part. Today, maybe she could be the love interest of that only ken that you had. The nice one.

But at the end of the day, she would end up again in the box. And she wouldn´t get out the next time you played with barbies. She´d simply be there. At the bottom of the box, forgotten, collecting dust, the hair looking dirty again. Because you don´t need her. She´s not your priority, never. And also is not the first choice.

Have you ever wondered, perhaps, that sometimes men and society treat women like those barbies?

He treated me like that barbie, because he felt that "i wasn´t for him", and he was "so so sorry" because "you are nice and i feel pity that you aren´t just for me" "someone will arrive that feels that you are their one woman"

And, okay. I felt so mad at that.

First of all, I don´t want his pity nor his sympathy. I felt so pathetic feeling like he pitied me. I understand it, though, because I was a crying mess yesterday. But I don´t need it. I need him to beg me to come back when he understands that he´s the problem.

Oh my god, this is so all too well (10 min version) coded. He did break me like a promise, being cruel in the name of being honest. Listen to that after this text.

Because he isn´t nice. He´s an asshole that goes up to women not knowing what he wants. He´s looking for love not knowing what love is.

Love is something you construct. Not something that just "happens". When idealization is over, that´s when love starts. When you choose if you want to spend your energy and time building a relationship. I never got after that part.

He projected onto me his own incapacity to mantain romantic relationships with women, saying "none of us is ready".

I was ready, because unlike him, I do know what I want. I know what love is. I´m smarter.

In the end, he wasn´t the one. It hurt me, but it is what it is.

The thing that breaks me is that some other girl is going to go through this. Because, obviously, he´s a man.

Do you think he really cares?

But again, girlie, if you are going through it here´s some advice: is not that you aren´t pretty enough or not good enough. You are Barbie. You are everything. He? He´s just ken. A ken that unlike Barbie´s boyfriend, is an ass and doesn´t know about the significance of love.

Some day, you are going to find a Ken that´s supportive. That loves you and that wants to build that with you. That´s gonna be your one. One that he feels you are his one woman. The one that shatters his world.

About me, I´m a writer. I´ve condemmed myself the day that I decided that I am. My world will spiral into Pizarnik, Plath, Woolf, Bevouir. Into casual encounters and experiences that will inspire me to write.

I´m not the one that finds love in the end. I´m the one that goes before the one. The process woman. The thinker. The philosopher.

Too talkative and too niche.

That´s who I am. I was born that, I will die that. No man is interested in a woman whose main topic is the societal perceptions of intelligence, or how the ideas or good and bad are constructed.

A woman of intellectual and academical feminism.

No, I just prefer to have my girls and go for afternoon tea with them.

-----

Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires, Argentina.

12/06/2023. 13:28.

856 words.

[myaquariusheart]

8/5

OH MY GOd, I just submitted my Dissertation and I can't believe it, all my work is done!!!! I feel a sense of relief and just realised I have nothing else to do, other than my Plato essay, which I will do slowly when I'm bored. That's it, it's done, this is going to determine if I graduate, which I will. Sorry I have to graduate, I can just feel it. It's been a long few days, staying at uni and finishing my work but my hard work will pay off. Now it's my world and I can basically do whatever I want. I had a similarity of 20% but I don't really care, it's done and dusted now. I will focus on drawing, art, writing and playing Animal Crossing. I need to fix my island and make it so beautiful and I just can't wait for this freedom. I need to focus on making money and just keep manifesting, love, success, money, and happiness for myself and others around me. I feel happy and have a sense of sadness because I'm never going to Uni again or having that fun drama that goes on in the library. It was a fun experience and I've been such a messy bitch but I have to love myself for it. WOW just don't know what I'm feeling right now, I just can't wait to pick out my graduation dress and everything. Later on I'm heading to the gym with cake and tomorrow, I'm dropping off my books to uni, and a last goodbye to that place. I have collected so many stamps on my bubble tea card and tomorrow I'm going to redeem my two free drinks. I need to celebrate but there's no one to celebrate with me, and in the way I want to celebrate anyways. T is going on holiday tomorrow and I'm so happy for her she deserves the world and all the success too. I'm feeling an overall emotion of happiness and just hope all goes well because I did work hard on my disso even though I started so late. ANYWAY yeah over the moon and super proud of myself but I did say a huge thanks to R as well, I wouldn't have been able to do anything without him. I'm literally saying thank you to everyone before anything even happens but LOL today is such a big day for me and I cant believe I have done it. I have so many things I want to do, mostly just relax and work and earn so much money but let me not do it so quickly.

[kingkatsuki]

Convincing Eddie to wear a suit for the time. Like it would be for a party or maybe prom and he’d planned to wear a simple dress shirt and jeans but you insist on the suit because it’s formal (and you just wanna know how he’d look in one.) He comes out of his room with his face all scrunched up because he’s struggling with the tie but he looks damn good in that suit you picked out. “It feels stuffy,” he mumbles. “And how do you tie this stupid thing? Can’t I just go without it?”

“No,” you chuckle. “Here, let me do it.” He lets out an irritated sigh as you gently push his hands away. “The tie brings it all together. And don’t you wear skinny jeans and a leather jacket like everyday? This can’t be any different.”

“I look like a puppet that’s playing dress up.” You roll yours eyes at his dramatic remark as you finish up with the tie. Once it was adjusted properly you brought your hand up to his chest to smooth it out then wrapped you hand around the bottom of it to tug him forward a bit. He gasps in surprise, frowning at you slightly. “Are you gonna pout like this all night?” His brows raise a bit as he stares at you. “I’m just your little plaything tonight, aren’t I?” He smirks. “Maybe,” you shrug. “If you keep up with this attitude you might find out.” A sly smile spreads across your lips as you release him, adjusting the tie once again. “C’mon, pretty boy.”

I LOVE THIS!!! And the “I’m just your plaything tonight, aren’t I?” Like he would just love how happy he’s made you by wearing it? Especially if you didn’t expect it???

You’d kept talking to him about how cute he’d look in a suit, and how you’d love to see him in one. But the conversations would always end in a disagreement or borderline argument because Eddie simply did not want to wear a suit, even though he owned one. The only times he’d ever worn it were for funerals, the basic two piece now collecting dust at the back of his closet.

You end up dropping the subject because you hate the way the air becomes stagnant after you have a conversation about it, Eddie becoming uncharacteristicly quiet as he walks away from you with a pout.

And it’s not that he wants to upset you, it’s the complete opposite. He just doesn’t like wearing suits because they bring back those sad memories of losing someone in his life— and when he looks at himself in the mirror he feels everything he is disappearing and replaced by someone who conforms.

That’s why you’re so shocked to see him step into the room wearing the suit, a nervous look in his brown eyes as he looks over at you hesitantly. 

“Well say something,” he shuffles awkwardly in his mismatched socks as the tie hangs loose around his neck, “I thought you wanted me to wear this shit—”

“I did— I do,” Your heart thumps against your ribcage as you take in the sight of him, trying to hold back the tears to save your makeup as you realise that regardless of how uncomfortable he looks, how many fights you’ve had about this, how he’d vehemently said ‘no’ he’s still decided to wear a suit…

For you.

“— it’s so fuckin’ stiff, can barely breathe in this shit- and I’m not wearing this,” he tugged the tie, “can’t tie it for shit-”

“No!” You cut him off as he’s ranting now as you step closer to him, letting your hands wrap around both ends of the tie as you begin to fix it around his neck. Looping the fabric as Eddie’s eyes focus on your face.

“You look pretty,” He hums, taking a deep breath as he inhales the intoxicating scent of your perfume.

“So do you,” You smile, flattening the tie against his chest as your palm rests against his sternum.

“I look like I’m 5,” and he says it so chidishly you can’t help but snort with laughter as he furrows his brows, “I’m being serious. I look like I’m playing dress up!”

You tug his tie playfully to pull him closer to you as you smile up at him, “No, you don’t. You look so good, Eddie. I didn’t think you were gonna wear a suit?”

“I wasn’t,” He shrugged, “But then I realised I’m a fool in love with a pretty girl who’d do anything to make her happy.”

His words had your heart swelling in your chest as you leaned up to peck his lips, pulling back to prevent ruining your lipgloss as Eddie tried to follow your lips with a pout.

“Oi, is that all I get? I’m wearing a suit for you.” He tried to kiss you again but you gave him your cheek, causing Eddie to groan as he buried his face in your neck.

“Wait until after the pictures.” You laughed as Eddie pulled back with a glare.

“No one said shit about pictures-”

“I finally got my man in a suit, there’s no way we’re not taking pictures.”

“Fine, but the ties coming off in an hour.” He was already loosening it from around his neck.

“Give me three hours.” You gave him puppy dog eyes.

“One.” He repeated.

“Two,” You countered and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Fine.” He stole another kiss before you could stop him, squealing as you pulled back to save your gloss.

[littlepadika]

Calling Home (5) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues…

Rating: E (18+ only)

Warnings: age gap (legal), dilf!frankie, praise kink, voice kink, size kink, low self esteem, discussion of addiction/ptsd/trauma/triggers, divorce drama, no use of y/n, no beta reader, DDLG🎀, unprotected piv sex, oral m and oral f, hickies galore👅, mild BDSM (cuffs⛓, choking).

Masterlist here

AN: Whatta ride... but all things come to an end🥺. i'm blown away by the support for this fic. Thank you all 💕.

Chapter Five

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie had his own mental list of stuff he needed to do before you would arrive. He dunged out his closet to make room for your clothes. It was long overdue. He had a lot of things he didn’t wear anymore that needed to go. He went out and bought some more plates and silverware since his two plates and Rosie’s plastic plates would not do. He no longer looked around his home with a sense of loneliness, now he pictured all the places you could fit in. He could see you reading by the window in the living room so he bought a comfy new chair to put there. He noticed your small plant collection in your apartment and thought you’d maybe like a bigger one in the back yard so he bought a planter box.

He was reading your novel, titled Our Little Kingdom, while your candle burned. You didn't give it to him at first. While you were in the bathroom and Frankie washed your dishes, he noticed a stack of papers poking out in the trash. It was your manuscript. When you came back and saw him reading it you tried to take it back but Frankie insisted and you caved. It was good. Frankie wasn't just saying that because he loved you. He could see how great writers had influenced you and still it was uniquely your voice. The story, too, was compelling. He couldn't help but imagine you as the protagonist as she was just as sweet and clever.

You were making good progress on your list. You had put in your two weeks notice and started to applying to jobs in Miami. You enjoyed working with veterans so you hoped you could do something similar again. As two weeks went by you were disappointed you still hadn't heard back from job interviews. Packing was a little more difficult. You didn’t know what was worth taking and what was worth leaving. You knew Frankie had most everything already so it was a matter of picking your most special things. The rest you were slowing taking to Goodwill in batches.

You had completely forgotten you sent your book in to publishers until a flurry of emails came in on the same day.

Frankie woke up in the middle of the night to his phone ringing. He sat up pulling the phone towards him. It was you. Why would you be calling so late? Maybe something was wrong?

“Frankie?” You sounded congested. He heard a sniffle. Frankie furrowed his brow at that.

“Hey. Is everything all right?”

“ They-they-“ you could barely get it out “they rejected me.”

“Who?”

“All of them. All of the book agencies.” You threw yourself onto your bed, hot tears running down your face.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry, sweet pea.” Frankie didn’t know whether to be sad or angry. He thought your book was amazing. He sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp. “They’re idiots. Every one of them.”

“They’re experts, Frankie.” You felt more tears leak from your eyes. “Maybe I’m just not a good writer. Maybe-Maybe-" You hiccuped and low cry slipped from your mouth. You covered your mouth, taking in raking breaths. It was agony to admit this to him when he believed in you most. You felt like you had let him down. Frankie's heart literally ached in his chest as he listened to your quiet weeping over the phone. He waited for you to continue, feeling his own eyes grow misty.

“Don’t disappear on me, little pea. Let me hear that voice of yours.”

You were unable to speak. Scared of what may come out. You felt like your walls were closing in around you and mocking you. How did you ever think you could be a writer like all your favorite authors? You were so stupid, you thought.

“I let you down.” You said shakily.

“No no no, little pea.” Frankie said quickly. “You could never let me down. I don’t need to a book agent to tell me you’re a good writer. I know you’re writing is beautiful and perfect. Just like you.”

His praise caused another wave of tears from you.

“Daddy…” You bawled.

“I hear you, baby.” Frankie heard his own voice shake with emotion. He never hated the distance more than he did in this moment. He needed to wrap you up in his arms. “Close your eyes, sweet pea. Use that big imagination of yours. Pretend I’m there with you.”

“Imagination isn’t good enough, daddy.” You blubbered, fat tears slipping from your eyes.

“I know, baby.” Frankie’s heart was breaking. “But try for me okay?”

You clamped your eyes shut and tried to focus in on his breathing on the other end of the phone. Frankie did the same, closing his eyes.

“Good, sweet pea. Focus on daddy.” He wished he was there to comfort you, wrap you up in his arms and shield you from the cruel cruel world. “I’m next to you. I’m holding you so tight.”

“Hold me tighter!” You begged holding your pillow pet to your chest.

“Okay. I just did.” Frankie whispered closing his eyes as if it would be more real. “Feel that?”

“Yeah…” A moment went by as you steadied your breathing. Tears eventually stopped falling, drying against your cheeks. Frankie’s steady breathing anchored you.

“I loved your book. It was really really good. And fuck it, I’ll publish it myself.” Frankie couldn't help but raise his voice.

“Silly.” You sniffled.

“I’m serious, sweet pea. Who needs those stuck up assholes.”

“Hmm yeah, you’re right.” You agreed, voice softening with sleepiness. You pushed your face into your pillow. You could still smell Frankie if you really focused. "I miss you, Frankie."

"I miss you, too."

"I still haven't heard from any jobs. And- maybe I'm just not good enough and-" You felt more tears fill your eyes.

"Shhh shhh" Frankie interrupted "Listen to me. You are the best. The right thing will turn up i'm sure of it."

"But it's the only thing left on the list!"

"I know..." Frankie pulled over your copy of the list that you wrote for him. He had crossed things off as you reported to him. "Let's see if they get back to you tomorrow." Maybe he was being too hard on you, making you get a job first. He only wanted to put it on there to give you some independence over the move. He didn't want you to feel like you had nothing to do once you got here.

Frankie waited until your breathing evened out. He called your name quietly. When he got no response he assumed you fell asleep. He didn’t want to hang up. He missed you so fucking much and he felt helpless.

When he woke up the next morning, he said goodbye to Rosalia as usual, called in sick, and started driving north. Fuck the list. You were coming home with him now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course Frankie called you telling you he was on his way. You felt bad for making him miss work but your excitement overpowered any guilt. You set a timer for 14 hours and started packing with new energy. Your eyes were still puffy from your tears last night. But you repeated what Frankie said like a mantra. Who needs those stuck up assholes. There were tons of ways to self publish nowadays. It didn’t have to be through a publishing house.

When you ran out of things to clean up and pack, you watched out the window waiting to see Frankie’s blue pick up. You had changed into sleep shorts and a t shirt. While you had a plan to dress more sexy you ended up accidentally packing that surprise in one of the boxes earlier today. It was getting dark when Frankie finally pulled up. He looked exhausted but still… Frankie. He was wearing his favorite hat and grey t shirt. You ran down to the street to meet him. He’s pulling empty boxes from the bed of the truck when he sees you sprinting towards him.

“Sweet pea!” He smiled as you launched yourself into his arms. “Oof.” You buried you face in his shirt inhaling his scent. He rubbed your back affectionately enjoying having you back in his arms. “Aw… it’s okay. It’s okay now.” He murmured when he heard you sniffle. He oddly felt his chest swell with pride at how much you missed him. He never had to worry about how you felt about him. He peeled your head off him by stroking your head. You looked up at him with a watery smile. “You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

You snickered at his dad phases. “I’m ready. Well… I still have some stuff I need to pack up. Too heavy.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Frankie kissed you chastely. You pulled him in for more though, fisting his shirt in your hands. “Mmm no no. Work first. Play later.” Frankie pulled back. You pouted but have to agree with his logic. The faster you packed the faster you could leave.

Back in your apartment Frankie got to work taking apart your bed and dresser. You finished packing your clothes and dusting.

“Hey what’s this? It was under the bed.” Frankie walked over holding a gift bag with pink tissue paper sticking up.

“Oh…” You quickly grabbed it away. “That’s supposed to be a surprise. For Rosie.”

“You got her a present?” Frankie was touched by your thoughtfulness.

“Yeah I mean… I figured it might make her like me more.”

“She already likes you, but she can never have too many toys.” Frankie stepped further into your space. You realize at that moment how sweaty he was from moving all the furniture. It was so late at night and you were both exhausted but the sudden rush of his thicker smell made you feel wide awake. “Can I see what you got her?”

You handed the package back over, watching him gingerly move the tissue paper to the side. His eyes softened when he saw the pink unicorn pillow pet sitting in the bag. A mini version of yours.

“Am I too presumptuous making us matching? I don’t know if she likes unicorns and-" Frankie cut you off, dropping the bag and kissing you up against the wall. He wasn't even sure what part of that turned him on, just your sweetness and wanting to be a part of his family. He held your face in his hands, his grip forcing your mouth open. You felt yourself start to grow wet. You loved when he just went caveman on you. Sometimes he didn’t have the words to express how much he loved you so he reverted to touch; to deep kisses and deep thrusts. His hands trailed down your exposed legs so he could lift you up on his hips. You held onto his shoulders as he swung you around. The bed was gone, the couch was gone.

"Fuck. Hang on."

You laughed as he ran you out to the kitchen to set you down on the counter. You pawed at his pants trying to undo his belt, but Frankie was faster, unhooking your bra from under your shirt and then pulling your shirt over your head. He took your hand and placed it over his large bulge between his legs.

“Feel what you do to me…” He gritted through his teeth his chest rising and falling sharply.


“Frankie- oh my god-please let me” You pulled he belt loose. At first he stops you. “I didn’t get to last time. Please?” He bit his lip considering your plea. He really just wanted to give and give and give to you. But he had been mean last time, not letting you touch his cock. So this time he doesn’t stop you as you unbutton his pants and pull him out of his boxers. You licked your lips as his cock fell into your hand, curving up towards you.

You hopped off the counter, getting onto your knees before him. “Take off your shirt… please?” He obliged. You kissed down his belly feeling it tighten against your lips. He watched you with fire in his eyes, his mouth slightly parted. You pushed the rest of his pants and boxers down. You stroked him slowly with both hands.

“You have to tell me what you like…” You held his cock and licked a long stripe from the base to the head making him moan weakly. You repeat the motion adding a few kitten licks at the end, lapping up the stray drops of salty precum. Frankie was struggling to think let alone speak. He gripped the countertop above you, his other hand going to the back of your head.

“Just- go slow.” You followed his instructions, slowly taking his length in your mouth. “Good-good girl.” He clenched his jaw staring down at the sight. Your hot mouth felt like heaven and your innocent eyes staring up at him was just the cherry on top. You took his dick as far as you could before you choked lightly. You were by no means an expert at giving blowjobs but you were frustrated you couldn't go further. Your jaw was already aching from his girth.

“Mm don’t hurt yourself, baby.” He hissed unable to hold his hips still, he jerked a little against you making you whine. “Come back up, remember to breathe.”

You slowly pulled off his cock before going down again. Frankie’s hand on your head gently guided you so you didn’t hurt your throat. You added suction, applying pressure on the underside of his cock. You started to find what he liked based on his sounds. You still couldn’t take him all the way in your mouth, tears gathered in corner of your eyes from the effort. Your hand pumped the rest that wouldn’t fit.

“Oh fuck.” Frankie gasped his hips jerking again making his cock slide back into your mouth. You moved one of your hands to his hips looking up at him to say it was okay. “Are you-you want me to fuck your mouth, sweet pea?” You nodded eagerly. You put one of you hands on his length where he wouldn’t fit. He gathered up some of your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slowly thrust into your mouth. Like he always did, he waited for you to nod and give him the okay. When you did, he couldn’t help the growl that left his throat. Drool leaked from your mouth onto your chest as he sped up using your head more forcefully. You were sure you had soaked through your panties. It turned you on so much to see him take control, use you for his pleasure, but still his grip on you was firm and gentle. Every grunt went straight to your pussy. “Such a good girl letting me use this hole, too.” He rasped. “You’re crying around my cock.”

“Mmhm” You hummed around his dick making him groan. He was close. He was battering the back of your throat. You could recognize the furrowed brow and the tightening of his balls. You intensified your ministrations.

“Good girl, good-I’m gonna cum in your little mouth.” He pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop. “Stick out your tongue, sweet pea.” He ordered. You obeyed, watching greedily as he fisted himself harshly the tip of his cock hitting your tongue. You placed your hands on either side of his tummy, anticipating his load. His chest was flush and his eyes were fluttering shut. When he came he yanked your head up harshly as cum splashed onto your tongue. You loved this perspective, watching his face contort with pleasure. You tried to take every drop but some dripped down your chin. “Swallow.” Frankie ordered roughly still maintaining his grip on your head. You swallowed, his warm cum sliding down your throat.

“Thank you, daddy.” You smiled up at him, wiping some of the stray cum off your chin. He let go of your hair, now stroking your head then your jaw. “Did I do well?”

“So good.” He chuckled and helped you stand, his breath still ragged. You squirmed pressing your thighs together. The move not missed by Frankie. “Did sucking my cock make you wet, sweet pea?”

You nodded shyly before saying “It’s okay though. You don’t have to-it’s late and we have a long drive tomorrow.”

“You’re always looking out for me but what kind of man would I be if I left you all needy. But you have to ask for it, sweet pea.”

“I kinda just want your mouth if that’s okay?” You asked feeling too tired for a full round of sex.

“Of course.” Frankie smiled. “Your mattress is still in the bedroom.” He led you in and helped settle you on the center of the mattress. He pulled your shorts and underwear off, staring at your slick reddened pussy. "You soaked your little panties, sweet pea. Did you touch your little flower while I was gone?" Frankie asked, pulling apart your legs.

"I-I tried to. But it wasn't the same."

"How come, little pea?" His patronizing tone had your cunt clenching. He was teasing you.

"It wasn't your fingers. I needed you." You huffed, trying to push his head down onto you.

"Mmm poor thing." Frankie chuckled, the rich sound giving you goosebumps. He felt his cock start to harden again despite you just sucked the soul out of him moments ago. He slowly licked up your slit moaning at the taste of you. Your head tipped back as he he slowly inserted a finger into you. "Eyes on me." He instructed. You forced your head back down so you could make eye contact. "Play with your tits for me." You obeyed, squeezing the flesh in your hand. He returned to his task, taking your clit in between his lips, quickly escalating your climax. Your hands never stood a chance. He inserted a second finger, curling it against you. They were so thick and long it hit that spot deep inside you it made you gush.

"Oh my god. Daddy-I'm-" You teetered on the precipice your breath caught in your throat. Your entire body erupted in flames as your mouth open in a silent scream. Frankie's eyes widened as your pussy strangled his fingers before fluttering uncontrollably. Your cum dripped onto his hand, he quickly replaced his fingers with his tongue trying to catch it all.

"That's it." He felt you finally take a shaking inhale. "Breathe, sweet pea. Breathe." Exhaustion hit you hard as every muscle relaxed.

"I'm sleepy..." You slurred.

"It's okay. You can go to sleep." Frankie leaned up kissing you, smearing your slick all over your mouth. He returned to licking your pussy less aggressively though. "I got you."

You nodded before drifting off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning you dump the last of your stuff at goodwill, packed the truck, turned in your key, and hit the road. You were bouncing in your seat with excitement. You hadn’t ever traveled south of DC. The landscape was beautiful. You and Frankie took turns driving, belting Fleetwood Mac on repeat. You forced Frankie to take obligatory selfies to remember the journey at rest stops or whenever the view was worthy. Over halfway to Miami you paused at a rest stop for a quick nap. Frankie was anxious to get you home and he didn’t want to stay put for too long. He was used to long drives and quick naps, but you weren’t. He didn’t want to exhaust you because there was so much he wanted to show you when you arrived. You laid across the backseat of the truck with your head in Frankie’s lap as the sun was going down.

In the early morning Frankie finished the drive. His own excitement increased when he was back in the city. You had your head nearly sticking out of the window looking at everything. You couldn’t believe how sunny and warm it was here. Frankie turned down a residential street. “Almost there.” He said. You buzzed in your seat.

Frankie made one last turn into a driveway. You instantly got warm feelings looking at the house. It was painted seagull grey with white trim. It was wonderfully symmetrical with two windows on the first and second floor with window boxes outside the first floor window. The front yard was nicely mowed.

“Your house is so cute!” You hopped out of the car, your legs enjoying the chance to stretch. The air smelled slightly salty being so close to the beach. The sun felt wonderful on your skin. You could have laid down in the grass and just fallen asleep.

Frankie showed you around his house with your hand in his, pointing out random things of importance in his giddy state. You followed him around with bright adoring eyes. Despite looking forward to this moment for a while, you barely looked at anything except for him. You could care less about where the tile for the fireplace came from. You didn’t remember Frankie’s story about how Will messed up his back moving in Frankie’s couch in because it was hitting you over and over again that you were home with Frankie. You didn’t pay attention to the story behind Rosie’s crib because Frankie was here with you. His warm hand holding you close like you may disappear. He was here with that damn cute excited voice as he showed you around his home, soon to be your home.

“Sweet pea? Earth to sweet pea?”

“Hmmm?” You smiled apologetically. Standing in the kitchen, the sun pouring in from the window above the sink bathed Frankie in golden light making him look ethereal.

“I said- we should start moving boxes in before it gets dark.”

“You haven’t shown me everything yet.” You realized.

“What did I miss?”

“Your room…” You swung your entwined hands back and forth.

“Our room, sweet pea.”

“So I won’t be sleeping on the floor?” You laughed.

“Never.” He kissed you briefly. “I just haven’t cleaned up in there and I need to make some space for your stuff and-“

“Frankie.” You quiet his rambling with another kiss. You couldn’t stop kissing him. “Your house is immaculate. That’s the room I want to see.”

He swallowed harshly before he led you up the stairs and down the narrow hallway to his room. While showing you the garden and the other rooms he was giddy but now he seemed more flustered. When you opened the door you could see why. Your candle was sitting on his bedside table. It was the first thing you saw when you walked in.

You immediately break away from him, going to inspect his bedside table. Glimpses of Frankie that made you love him all the more. Your candle, your books, your list, his sergeant pin, and an old alarm clock.

“Was this what you’re so embarrassed about?” You asked picking up the candle. It was almost used up. He averted his gaze. The back of his neck bright red which you recognized as a sign of his nervousness. “Frankie…” You set it down and took both his hands in yours. You couldn’t even convey what it meant to you. He had missed you that much that he burned your candle.

“I have the real thing now.” He said pulling you against his chest, dragging his nose over your cheek in reverence. You hummed in contentment. “This is our room, sweet pea. Our home.” He whispered.

“Our bed.” You added moving his hands to rest on your ass, wrapping your own around his neck.


“Eager girl.” He tutted, kissing just below your ear, squeezing your ass lightly.

“I can’t help it. I’ve waited so long, Frankie.” You tilt your head up resting your forehead against his.

“You’ll never have to wait again, princesa pea. I’m here.”

“Then I want you now.” You tugged him towards the bed. Falling down onto his comforter you were hit by a puff of his scent. Laundry detergent, old spice, and that indescribable musk that was Frankie. You barely got a chance to enjoy it before Frankie is falling on top of you. You laughed as he pulled you up the bed until you’re against the pillows. He's about to rip your clothes from you but-

“Wait wait- I have a gift for you.” His eyes lit up.

“Frankie…” You smiled “You didn’t have to get me anything.” He pushed away from you, walking over to his dresser. He pulled out a small package.


“Here.” He handed it to you.

You sat up. You felt guilty you didn’t get him a gift. You slowly peeled back the tape trying to save the paper. It was wrapped so nicely.

“Come on, rip it up. It’s just paper.”

“No… I wanna save it.” You argued, pulling it open finally. You stared down at the contents in your lap. It was a book with a pink cover and loopy writing. Our Little Kingdom. “Frankie… this is- this is my book.” You felt your eyes swim with tears.

“I know.” Frankie knelt in front of you. “I read it and it was so good. I wanted to get it bound. I was serious when I said want to publish it. I want to make it happen. But if you don’t want to at least we can enjoy it how it’s meant to be enjoyed.”

You flipped through the pages smelling the fresh paper. You reached the end and noticed Frankie had slipped in something as a book mark. It was a torn half of a check. “This is…”

“The check I tore up. I use it as a bookmark so I thought you would-“

You launched yourself at Frankie, a habit you learned from him when words were just simply not enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up, you were surrounded by Frankie’s scent, warm sun hitting your face. Frankie wasn't there. You heard movement downstairs. You threw on the first shirt of Frankie's you could find. You practically skipped down the stairs, heart leaping when you saw Frankie in his PJ pants and nothing else sitting at the kitchen table. His body was lit up in the morning sun, he looked like a goddamn dream. He was shoveling some cereal into his mouth but he stopped when he noticed you. He still looked so sexy to you in this moment, his strong arms and big hand gripping the small spoon. His chest littered with small hickies you made. You blinked a couple of times wanting to imprint this image into your brain forever.

“What are you doing up so early?”

“The sun woke me up!”

“Shit. I would have made you some breakfast or something.”

“That’s okay.” You smiled going to stand in front of him. You kissed him, licking some of the milk from his lips. Your hands rested on his bare golden shoulders. You loved how wide they were and how solid and warm they felt.

“Mmm is this mine, sweet pea?” He tugged at the Fleetwood Mac shirt hanging down to your thighs.

“No, it’s another boys.” You teased.

“Don’t joke about that, little pea.” Frankie warned with a small swipe to your ass.

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You giggled. “I was only joking. No one else has cool shirts like you.”

“You want some cereal? I can also make eggs or pancakes or-“

“I want-” You slipped your hand over his pants. You could feel his slightly hard cock sitting below. “This.”

“You already had some last night and you still want more?” Frankie groaned his thighs spreading further around you. “I thought you’d be sore, sweet pea.”

“I am.” You admitted kissing him quickly. “but I still want you.”

“Mmm…” Frankie pulled your hand away watching you pout. “I think you need to eat something first.”

“No I don’t!”

“Come on, I’ll let you sit on your special seat.” He tapped his thigh. You debated this. You decided to do what he asked, not wanting to test your luck so early in the day. You hopped up on his lap wiggling back until his semi hard cock was pressed against your back. Your thighs sitting over his legs, your pussy peaking out from his shirt. Frankie rested his big hands on your bare thighs rubbing the skin back and forth. You closed your eyes enjoying his touch. You could feel his breath against your neck as he looked down at the sight.

“Do I look good on my special seat, daddy?” You asked looking up at him.

“Perfect, my little pea.” Frankie smiled. He pulled the cereal over and you popped a bite in your mouth. You didn’t normally like cereal but since Frankie asked…

“Okay, done. I’ve eaten.”

“Woah I hardly call that eating.” Frankie shook his head. He placed a hand on your stomach, fingers splayed out over the entire width almost. He applied a little pressure which had you squirming again. God his hands were so big and warm just above where you needed him. “I can feel little rumblings telling me you’re hungry, sweet pea.” You rock against him more intentionally making him catch his breath.

“Not for cereal.” You bit your lip.

“One more bite, sweet pea. For daddy?” He rubbed his beard into your neck which never failed to make you to laugh.


You took another spoonful of the soggy cereal before looking up at him for approval. He chuckled as you chewed quickly. You looked so cute with your cheeks full. It made cock ache.

“Good job, sweet pea.” He smirked when you swallowed it all. He lowered his hand down to cup your pussy which was already dripping. You hand flew to his thick forearm.

You melted against him as he rubs your clit slowly. Last night was hurried and desperate but now it was like he had all the time in the world. You listened to him take large inhale against your neck, smelling you.

“You look so beautiful, sweet pea. In my shirt. In our kitchen.”

“Fuck…” You moaned. His fingers felt so wonderful and thick against you. You fucking loved the sound of that. Ours.

“I’m gonna fuck you on our table.”

He lifted you up with ease, pushing your back down on the table. The sun coming through the window bathed your body in soft light. You looked divine. Frankie had your legs spread wide, tongue on that pussy before you could even blink. “Holy shit. Daddy!” Your hands clenched into fists at your side.

“Sweet pea.” Frankie pulled off, lips wetted by your slick. You blushed under his hot gaze. “Why don’t you pull my hair?”

You whimpered as he took your little fist and put it in his beautiful locks. “I want to but… the last person I was with didn’t like it.” You turned your head to the side trying to hide your embarrassment. His hair felt like silk in your hands.

“Hey-“ Frankie gently grabbed your chin and turned you to look at him. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.” He was leaning over you, invading all your senses, but of course the aspect that hit you hardest was his voice. Soft and reassuring. That rich baritone that made you fall in love in the first place. “Pull my hair, baby, I wanna know how well I treat this pussy. You won’t hurt me.”

You nodded feeling your eyes wet with tears. His affection never ceased to shock you. He kissed you, softening your worried look with each stroke of his tongue. When you were relaxed, he returned to your pussy. He was a fast learner for the times, applying the pressure you needed with his tongue while hitting that spot inside your walls with his fingers. Your hands were laced in his soft hair tugging almost unconsciously.

“Fuck-Daddy" You gasped feeling your breath. Your stomach tightened but you still felt like you weren't quite to your breaking point. "I can't- I need- I need-"

"What, sweet pea, what do you need?" Frankie paused, looking at you struggle above him. You grabbed his hand which was holding your hip and moved it to your throat. "Holy shit." Frankie's eyes widened.

"I need you to push me over-" you struggled to think of how to explain it but Frankie started applying light pressure over your throat making your cunt tighten around his fingers. The strain on your airway finally brought you to the edge. He returned to your clit and didn’t let up even as your walls clamped and gushed around his fingers. Didn’t stop as your back arched off the table, your toes curled, and your hands pulled his hair almost painfully. He let go of your throat when you tapped his wrist and your breath returned ragged and sharp, extending your orgasm. You brushed some of Frankie’s hair from his forehead and he looked up, making eye contact, as his lips suckled on your clit lightly. You didn’t say anything for a moment, feeling your body come down from that peak, basking in Frankie’s loving gaze between your legs. You felt boneless.

“I love you.” You murmured. Frankie surged up, capturing your lips in a wet kiss. He pulled back and kissed the happy tears falling from your eyes that you didn’t realize had fallen.

“I love you, too. I’m never letting you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m home.” You wrapped your legs around his waist, needing to feel that promise inside you. Needing his promise filling you up.

“Are you sure you’re not too sore?”

“I’m sure.” You ran your hand through his hair, now addicted to the feeling of it.

Frankie slowly eased himself into your pussy. It was harder without lube. You winced a little once he was fully inside. Fuck he was so big.

"Am I hurting you?" Frankie felt bad and started to pull out.

"No please." You arched your back trying to hold him inside. "I'm okay. I want- I want-."

"Sweet pea..." He bit his lip as he struggled to resist thrusting into you.

"And if I can't walk- then you can carry me." You wiggled your hips. Frankie couldn't help but laugh at that not that he minded carrying you around. "Please, daddy." You asked one last time as you dug your heels into his lower back. Frankie placed his hands on your waist and started fucking into you slowly, withdrawing almost all the way out before thrusting back in again.

“I’m so proud of you… taking my cock like a good girl.” He kissed you softly, moving to kiss a train down your neck to your nipples and back up. "You're home now." You nodded in agreement. "This is our little kingdom, sweet pea.” Your shallow breaths slowly transformed into moans. You felt your muscles relax a little and signaled he could start moving faster.

Needless to say the cereal on the table shook and spilled as he fucked you. Spilled milk on your table. His cum spilled inside you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie enjoyed hosting so much since Rosie’s birthday he wanted to have a Fourth of July barbecue. With your help he took the decorations to the next level. Hanging fairy lights over the patio, and renting a bouncy castle for the kids. In an act of irrational niceness, you had said it was okay if Laura came by, that way Rosalia would be there too.

Frankie was clear he had no desire to hide you. He wanted to show you off. Still, you dreaded meeting Frankie's ex. Rosalia had warmed to you quickly even preferring you to hold her. You already loved her so much. Today she wanted you to follow her everywhere and watch her play. Frankie was stuck behind the grill but he still could watch his girls playing. You were wearing a lovely red sundress which Frankie was looking forward to stripping off. It brushed your thighs in the breeze and it was perfect height for Rosalia to tug on when she wanted to be picked up.

“You’ve done a great job with the decor.” Laura appeared at Frankie’s side.

“Thanks.” Frankie smiled tightly. Her surprised tone confirmed that she always underestimated him.

“You’ve been happier lately.” Laura studied Frankie.

“I guess.” Frankie shrugged turning one of the hot dogs for something to do.

“It just has me remembering the old days. Before everything with you happened.” Frankie prickled at that last statement. Everything with you. She always put it on him totally forgetting how she also made things worse.

“Frankie?” You appeared at his other side, eyeing Laura warily and doing little to hide your dislike. You had seen from yards away how Frankie tensed up, looking down. You wouldn’t let that slide so you went over. Finally removing your glare from his ex wife you look up at him, laying a reassuring hand over his forearm. “Uh- people are getting hungry. How soon until it’s done?”

“It’s ready now.” Frankie smiled down at you, instantly feeling more at ease. His answer let you know he was okay.

“Great I’ll wrangle everyone.” You smiled before darting back to the crowd.

“Who is that?” Laura frowned. “Someone's babysitter?”

“No.” Frankie shut off the grill facing his ex wife face to face. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Laura sounded skeptical. “She’s 12.”

“She’s a woman.” Frankie corrected her. “A woman I love very much.” He wasn’t going to listen to anyone look down on you.

“You should have talked to me before you brought her around Rosie.” Laura huffed, putting a hand on her hip.

“You had no problem parading your boyfriends around during our divorce.” Frankie shot back quickly looking to make sure they couldn’t be heard. “It’s in the court records so I doubt you want to bring it up.”

“Frankie…” Laura seemed to regret what she said.

“Let’s just… move on.” Frankie said as people started to draw near.

“Papa!” He heard Rosie squeal, toddling towards him.

“Rosie!” He picked her up, his anger instantly melting away. “Ready for your hot dog?”

As Frankie and the others started filling up their plates Laura crept closer to you as you were cleaning up some of the kid’s mess by the pool.

“Excuse me. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Laura.” She extended her hand. She was taller than you. Her face was tight as if she was holding in her sneer.

“Hi.” You decided to be nice, shaking the woman’s hand. You introduced yourself.

“So… you and Frankie. “

“Yes.”

“How long has that been going on?”

“A few months.” You said keeping it vague.

“And it’s going well?”

“Yes.” You grew annoyed by her vague questioning. Obviously it was going well since you were here. Her eyes were the total opposite of Frankie's. Hard and cold and icy blue. You quietly thanked god that Rosalia had inherited Frankie's eyes.

“Hmm he’s not doing that crazy thing anymore?”

“What thing?” You frowned.

“Well one time while we were together he stayed up the whole night because he thought some criminal or something was after us.” Laura laughed cruelly. You wanted to slap her for her lack of sympathy. What was funny about Frankie’s fear? “The psychiatrist said there would be delusions but that was just too much.”

“I think I’ve heard enough.” You snipped, trying to keep at least a polite facade. There were people just a few feet away. You prayed the couldn’t hear.

“Hey I’m sorry.” She schooled her features. “Don’t think I’m cruel. It wasn’t easy being with someone like that. I’m trying to look out for you.”

“Thanks for that. I think I'm good though.” You finished picking up the last pool toy and walked away before Laura could say more. You wanted to turn back and say something mean but you were determined to be the bigger person. You didn’t want to start drama that would hurt Frankie and Rosalia. You spent a good minute in the garage after putting the toys back, positively fuming.

“Sweet pea?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts, joining you in the garage. “Aren’t you hungry?”

"I was just cleaning up.” You said though your hands were empty.

“I saw Laura talking to you.” He watched you warily. Fear lapped at him. What did Laura tell you...“Everything okay?”

“She just… a bitch.” You huffed. Your word choice made Frankie burst out laughing. “I’m sorry I know you married her but how? She’s awful and rude and judgmental.”

“I know.” Frankie quieted his laughter, pulling you into his chest. “It wasn’t meant to last.”

“Because she’s a bitch.” You grumbled into his chest making Frankie laugh again. His tummy bounced against yours with his laughter. You loved it. You thought again about what Laura said. How cruel she had been in the face of Frankie’s PTSD. “If she says one more rude thing I may have to smack her.”

“You’re hot when you’re possessive, you know that?” Frankie smiled tickling your sides. “Come on, we should get back before our guests start to notice.”

“Alright.” You agreed, taking his hand and following him out of the garage. You felt Laura’s eyes on you two when you came back to the yard. Frankie got your burger set up for you before doing his. It’s the simple things that got you going; how giving he is. You tried to hide your blush from the onlookers as Frankie asked you ketchup or mustard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once everyone went home you and Frankie laid out a blanket in the back so you could watch the fireworks happening on the beach a mile away. He was quiet, at least more than he usually is. You didn’t know what to say to reassure him so again you reverted to touch. You placed your hand on his thigh reassuringly.

“Frankie?” You turned to him. “Do you want to talk about anything?”

“No.” He seemed taken aback by your question.

“Okay.” You moved closer to him until you were tucked into his side.

“You mean about Laura.” Frankie said after a moment. “Just- she didn’t say anything to you to make you upset right? She doesn’t get under my skin anymore. I don’t want her to get under yours.”

“She didn’t get under my skin.” You replied. She said nothing to make you insecure, just make you angry at her is all. “I’m just protective of you, you know. It seems like she was awful to you.”

“It’s fine.” Frankie shrugged.

“No.” You moved to sit on his lap, straddling him. “It’s not. You came back from your deployment probably in need of some comfort and all she gave you was judgment."

“She told you about that night.” Frankie hung his head in humiliation. You didn’t deny it. You didn’t want to upset him but part of you knew he should talk about this. Laura shouldn’t be the only one who holds this memory over his head. “It was my first night back. I just- I swore I heard gunfire. I was freaking out. I was probably acting really scary. I thought they came for me and she-Laura called the cops on me.”

“How could she…” You teared up on behalf of Frankie.

“I ran.” He continued, his voice thick. “I stayed a Will’s and calmed down. That was the end of the marriage.” He rubbed up and down your thighs under your dress. It always comforted him. You tried to think of what to say. His wife, the person who was supposed to love him the most, ostracized him and criminalized him.

Frankie was anticipating you to be afraid of him or push him away, but to his surprised you pulled him into a hug, holding his head against your neck like he was a child. He felt a sob rise in his throat and tears wet his eyes. You were so... kind. It was something he was still learning to accept and realize he deserved .

“You’re right.” You took a breath to relax yourself. “It doesn’t matter what she says. You’re mine now. Not hers.” You kissed Frankie on his nose then kissed his mouth.

“Always, sweet pea.” He rubbed his thumb over the area of your brow that furrowed in residual anger.

“I just wish there were some way…” you chewed your lip. “I have these-“ you pulled his dog tags out from where they hung between your breasts. “Reminds me I’m yours.”

“Maybe I need a necklace too.” Frankie smiled squeezing your thighs. That got you thinking…

“Can I try something?” You asked. Frankie nodded looking amused. You tugged at his shirt pulling it over his head. You never got over how broad he was. His toned arms were flexed holding himself up. You leaned forward planting a wet kiss on Frankie’s neck where it met his shoulder.

“Mmm gonna mark me up?”

You nodded and sucked harder till you were satisfied it would leave a mark. Pulling back you admired the red blooming where your mouth had been. It shouldn’t affect you as much as it did but you loved that he had a physical mark from you. He had scars here and there from cross fire and stab wounds. Some he wouldn’t go into detail. You loved them all but for once you wanted him to have a mark born out of love.

“I’m gonna give you a necklace, daddy.” You murmured tracing the path you would forge, down and around to the other side of his neck. You were gonna make hicks all around his neck like a chain. You leaned back down and planted another mark below and slightly to the right.

“Holy shit.” Frankie groaned, tilting his head back. He felt his cock start to harden under your attention. You slowly made your way across his hot skin until you had seven little wet hickies starting to show through the skin. You traced them with your finger, connecting the dots.

Frankie looked down, watching in fascination. His dog tags were a bittersweet thing, symbolizing his commitment to the military, but you wanted them. You wore them proudly, giving him more closure than 100 hours of therapy. But this... this new chain on his skin represented his belonging to you. “Beautiful, baby girl. Thank you.” He kissed you sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. You pulled away before he could deepen it. You start to lean down again like you were going to plant another hickie on him. He pushed you back and rolled the both of you over.

“Daddy! I wasn’t done yet.” You wiggled against the soft blanket.

“No it’s daddy’s turn now.” He pushed the straps of your dress down your arms, tugging your neckline down.

“But I already have a necklace.” You felt Frankie’s dog tags lying in your cleavage.

“Now you’ll have two. I spoil my girl like that.” Frankie teased. He kissed up and down your neck before settling on his starting place. When he started sucking it sent a lightning bolt straight to your clit. You gasped. You could feel him hard against your thigh, not fully yet. You rocked your hips impatiently, clutching his head against you.

“Be patient, baby.” He warned, pausing his work. You stilled your hips with a pout. “Good girl.” He resumed. You wanted to be naughty but you knew you’d never win that fight. Problem was you were loving his attention on your neck so much you couldn’t help but start grinding against his leg again. Your hand reached down and tried to stroke his hardening cock. Frankie pulled back, his lips swollen from giving you hickies. He was only halfway around your chest now.

“You’re being naughty…” Frankie chided, lightly slapping your hand away from him. You continued squirming under his gaze though you at least look apologetic. Frankie pulled away. “You don’t want your necklace?” Frankie pretended to be hurt.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” You turned on the puppy dog eyes. “Just- your mouth feels so good.”

“If you’re not gonna behave I’m gonna have to make you behave.” Frankie’s mouth curled into a smirk. Your stomach flipped around in excitement. “Sit back up on your knees.” He ordered. You eagerly sat up on your knees, placing your hands on your thighs. Your dress hung around your waist. Frankie stood up and started undoing his belt. You got excited thinking he was going to let you suck his cock but instead he just pulled his belt from his pants and knelt down again. “Remember just say stop if you want to stop.” Frankie reminds you.

You nodded your eyes dilating, staring at the leather in his hands.

“Hands behind your back, baby.” He instructed. You obeyed your knees widening subconsciously. He tied his belt around your wrists. It’s not tight enough to hurt but you certainly could not move your hands without really trying. Frankie licked his lips, staring down at your vulnerable position. “Good little sweet pea.” He cooed. “Now you won’t be able to be naughty. What do you say?”

“Thank you, daddy.” You whispered feeling your cheeks burn at the depravity of your position. The smooth leather of his belt rubbed against your pulse point and Frankie’s smell filled your nose. You’re out in the open. Sure there was a fence but it still heightened your arousal. You were dripping you were sure of it. He knelt before you again to finish his hickies. He held your hair pulling it back to give himself more room.

You tried to lift up your arms multiple times but got stopped by the belt. You whined as he sucked another mark into you and you couldn’t get any stimulation in this position. Frankie let you moan and whine for him but he didn’t stop his mission. He finally pulled back, his hooded eyes evaluated at his work.

“Look at it, baby.”

You looked down at the curved line of hickies running from collarbone to collarbone. “Thank you, daddy, for my necklace. I love it so much.” You looked at his chest. You were matching now. Your lust was momentarily paused as a fresh wave of adoration washed over you. It was so much deeper than sex. Frankie noticed your change in expression and kissed you softly, bringing you back to the moment.

“You sat still for me so good. Now you can ask for what you want.” He strokes your hair softly.

“I wanna-I wanna suck you cock please?”

“Are you sure?” Frankie smiled. “You don’t want my mouth on you or-"

“No.” You shook your head. The emotions swirling in you from lust to love made you hungry for one thing. “I wanna make you cum in my mouth.”

“Fuck.” He groaned before kissing you hard, licking into your mouth. He never had someone as giving and kind and protective of him as you. He could have cried but there was no need because you were his forever. No yearning just living. He reached around to pull off the belt but you stopped him with a small voice.

“Leave it on.”

“Jesus fucking christ.” Frankie stood quickly. You sat up further, your hands still restrained behind your back. Your head was tilted up at him, your dress bunched around your waist, it was the most beautiful fucking sight.

Red blue and white fireworks dazzled the sky above. He picked you up bridal style and carried you inside as quickly as he could while you giggled in delight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things started clicking into place like you were growing along some metaphorical ladder. You were finally where you needed to be. You got a job working at the VA in Miami, running their re-entry program. A small publishing house in Miami loved your book and agreed to publish it for a short run. Frankie took some money out of the Colombia account to cover the rest of the contract. Frankie had the book for sale at the shop pushing it on anyone who would enter. He was so proud of you. And that was all that mattered to you.

Frankie unironically planted sweet pea in the garden, telling you how they are slow to grow, but their delicate flower and sweet smell is worth the wait; just like you. Sweet peas were climbers, with the right support, they would bend to any shape. You knew you could go as high as the sky with Frankie by your side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Taglist: @floraandfrost @agingerindenial, @heythere-mel, @icanbeyourjedi, @linnie0119, @pedrosmustache, @thisshipwillsail316, @peterhollandkait, @leias-rebelion, @phoenix-of-loki, @prettypedros, @kennedywxlsh, @punkerthanpascal, @the-witty-pen-name, @twentyfirstcenturyfox, @madslorian, @sarahjkl82-blog, @bison-writes, @lightning-fast54, @maievdenoir, @nicolethered, @kenoobiwan, @danniburgh, @janebby, @dihra-vesa, @yespolkadotkitty, @ilikechocolatemilkh, @headinthestarz, @tanyaherondale, @christina-loves, @dobbyjen, @fangirl-316

[theperfectlovestory]

Even If It's Not

Summary: It’s always been a good day with Natasha, until Wanda found you

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader; Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Theme: Fluff, Angst

Tw: trauma, reaction to trauma, mention of death

. . .

Summary: it’s always been a good day with Natasha, until Wanda found you

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader; Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Theme: Fluff, Angst

Tw: trauma, reaction to trauma, mention of death

. . .

It was one fine day, like all the others for the past year. You woke up early, sunlight warmly casting on your face as it peaked through the opening of the curtain. You can hear birds chirping in the background, making you smile

You blinked the sleep away from your eyes, raising a hand to your mouth to cover the incoming yawn. As you move, a warm arm enveloped you, and you smiled at the sight of her

This side of her only coming out when it’s just the two of you

Your beautiful redhead sleeping soundly in your arm, head tucked comfortably in your neck. An arm and a leg on top of your body, clinging to you like a baby koala

You always can't believe that the famous Natasha Romanoff, feared by friends and foes alike in the battlefield, is one hell of a clingy sleeper

You turn your head gently, glancing at the clock on your bedside table

Time to wake up. No work today but you wanted to get some groceries to fill your stocks

You tried to gently wiggle your way out of Natasha's hold, silently cheering when you got out of bed without waking her up. Natasha's soft giggle prove you otherwise, making you pout

"I'll go back to sleeping then" she huskily said before hugging your pillow and burying her face in your smell, curling herself on the bed

You watched her body relax as she falls deep in slumber once more, smiling softly at how peaceful she seemed to be

"I'm going grocery shopping, want to come?" You asked Natasha in between bites, she looked up at you from the file folder she have

She's still doing reports, doesn't mean your on mission vacation, paperwork will do themselves as well

"I'll be wherever you are, detka" she smiled, sipping on her coffee "just let me finish this one and we can go"

You nodded, collecting the plates in front of you, Natasha pursed her lips, debating on wanting to wash the dishes herself since you cooked or finishing the report fast so you can go

You smiled, kissing her cheeks before taking the dishes on the sink. You hummed softly as you finish it up, Natasha, smiling while she listens. Whenever you are around, her paperwork doesn't feel as much a burden as it usually does

Done with the dishes, you went up to your room and changed into more appropriate clothes. As you put on your shirt, Natasha entered just fast enough to see what color of bra you are wearing underneath

She grin, standing behind you as she held your waist, kissing the side of your neck softly, innocently

Yet her intentions are far from one

"Nat" you warned as she nibble on your ear, she continued, right hand going up inside your shirt, your stomach now in full view of the mirror in front of you "we have to go" you moaned as she suck on the right spot under your ear, whining that you need to leave and she's messing up your hair...

"We can go a bit later" she answered, eyes meeting yours on the mirror "we can't, we have a reservation at that restaurant you like"

She grunted in your neck "I am not liking it very much right now" she muttered and you chuckled. Stepping forward before facing her

You pressed a gentle hand on her cheek "Come on, we rarely go out"

She looked at your eyes for a bit before giving up "fine" she softly answered, taking the hand in your face with hers, just as gently

. . .

"Can you pass me one of those bell peppers" you pointed at the container with 3 pieces of what you need. You smiled when Natasha picked one with just the right mixture of red and green. Small things like this are what you love about her. She only asked once and then remember it forever

"Is there a reason why you choose a combination of both and not just the green or the red?"

You thought for a while, blinking at the question you can barely remember the answer "I've always just done it because my mom does that too but I think it's because it's the most perfect condition to either store it or use it immediately"

Her mouth made an 'o' shape, signaling her understanding of the topic

"Oh detka, strawberries" her eyes sparkled as she put at least three packs of it in your cart, you giggled "isn't that too many?"

She looked at you, disbelief in her face "Do you know how much you devour them?" She asked and you chuckled "They're like your favorite thing in the world, you even prefer them more than my lips" she pouted, your fond smile never left your lips as you pulled her in for a kiss

"Now I know you are exaggerating, there is nothing more I love than your lips" you squint "well maybe except for your eyes"

You continued pushing the cart as her cheeks gets dusted in pink, you added a few more, items from the fridge isle before going on the dry goods

You passed by a small and portable fondue fountain, you eyed it along with the chocolates on the side

"Do you want that?" She asked, looking over your shoulder

"I'm interested," you hummed, "but is it worth it?" you sighed "we won't be able to use it as much when we get back to work"

"We can bring it there then and the boys and Wanda can have their fun, Wanda likes chocolate" at the mention of your bestfriends name, your eyes lit up

Now slightly more convinced

She leaned closer, whispering things you can do with the melted chocolate on the kitchen table. Your face blushed furiously as you hit her in the arm but despite that, you took a box and a bunch of carefully picked chocolate

She chuckled, eyes hooded with the thoughts too dirty to be even thinking about in the middle of the grocery aisle

You then looked around some more. Your list has been fulfilled but you opted to roam around to get some snacks or check new things the store has. Natasha obediently followed. Checking the items too and getting some that interests her

Mostly snacks

After you are satisfied with your purchase, you go to the cashier to pay. You will opt for a self serves but they only allow 20 items below, and your cart is obviously more than 20

The cashier greeted you with a smile, you doing the same. Making small talks to try and make the day easier for the kind worker. Natasha smiled admiringly at how easy you are to have a conversation with

The cashier is all smiles even after you paid and left

"I have always admired the way you do that" she said as she help you put the bag on the trunk of your car

"Do what?" You asked, tilting your head

"Talking to people, making them feel comfortable"

You nodded, humming as you continued with your task "It wasn't always as easy, but it comes with the job"

"I refuse to believe that you weren't always rainbows and sunshine" she argued and you chuckled

"Darling, I'm an introvert, the mere mention of conversation terrifies me" she looked at you dumbfounded for a second and you did the same just with an amuse smile instead

"Guess you learn something new everyday even when you are technically, already married" she muttered, closing the trunk "what else don't I know about you?"

She opened the door for you and you got in, making sure to shake of the bottom of your shoes to remove at least a bit of dust on it, Natasha smiled at the gesture

She closed the door once you are settled and got on hers, doing the same as you did before starting the car, making sure it's heat up properly first before starting to drive

You sat in silence for a few second as you think of things she doesn't know yet "well, I used to date guys" her eyes widen, looking back at you then back on the road

"Really?" She asked "what changed?"

"Nothing" you shrug "I just didn't realize I was into girls, the norm is being straight after all, but the first kiss I had with a guy was nothing compared to my first kiss with a girl"

She hummed, "and when was your first kiss with one?"

The conversation flowed seamlessly in your head, every smile and chuckles and groans she responded you with was embed in your memory

. . .

As per your usual arrangement, you and Natasha arrived at the restaurant at different times. Wanting to keep the surprised of seeing each other dressed up beautifully, knowing full well it’s to please the person who will be sitting in front of the other

You arrived in your newly bought shiny short dress with a lot of skin showing but still very decent. You’ve done your hair perfectly that it frames your face and your make up is a bit fiercer, bolder. You wanted to surprise Natasha, show her a different side than the usual girl-next-door

Her brow lifted up, lips in a side smile of surprise. You look edgier than her tonight and it’s making her feel all kind of things in her stomach

“Of course, I can’t go losing you to competition now” you smirk jokingly

She pulled your chair for you and you sat down, she leaned down and gave you one more kiss, not being able to resist the temptation of your red and plump lips

“Competition?” she chuckled, sitting down “We are married, detka, you already trampled all over them”

“Well, you never know”

The dinner continued with all playful banters, giggles and Natasha’s flirting techniques that you admit, did something to you. Not because of the lines, but because of who and how she’s saying it

 Along the lines, someone approached your table and that stopped you from talking to each other. You looked at the person and was surprised to see Wanda

“Wanda?” You called, standing up slowly as you take in her appearance

She looks tired, defeated, broken

“Y/n” she muttered, looking at you with sad eyes “Where have you been?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, lips into a gentle yet confuse smile as you held her arms “I’m on a break, but you know where we live”

“We?” She asked and you nodded “Yeah, with Natasha…are you okay?” you tilt your head to get a closer look on her face “Y/n…” she said, biting her lips “Natasha’s gone”

Your hand gripped the woman tightly as your mind reeled “Wanda…what are you saying?”

“She..” Wanda’s lower lip trembled, her eyes tight shut before she sighed, meeting you with her tired green eyes “She’s gone…she sacrificed herself for the world…don’t you remember?”

A chuckle left your lips, devoid of any humor. You stepped back, hands crossing on your chest “That’s a cruel joke, Wanda” you took a deep shaky breathe “I was just with her the whole time, she is literally right there” You pointed at Natasha who smiled at you like nothing is happening

Your brows furrowed and you were so focus on Natasha that you didn’t notice Wanda’s hand raised to your temple, eyes red and red wisp of energy flowing at the tip of your fingers

Your eyes widened in horror as the Natasha in front of you, smiling as lovely as you remember, slowly turned to ash, pieces of her flowing in the air. Your shaking hand covered your mouth to stop a scream that will never come, stuck in your chest like a painful rock that wedged itself in your lungs

Wanda moved further in your brain

You were back with Natasha in your dining room, eating breakfast and before she could kiss you, she disappeared again into ashes. The same thing happened to when you are on the grocery, before she can put the strawberries in your cart, her body flew away in the air, and the contents of the package spilling on the floor, strawberries roll on your foot as the scene changes again

This time, it’s Natasha and you sleeping on the bed, her arm and leg draped on your body. She tucked her head closer to your neck, this scene that you’ve been watching for the past year that brings you love and warmth and comfort now gives you dread

And pain

Your breathing has become shaky and erratic as you tried to forget the scenes before this one where she all but disappeared into thin air. As if noticing your discomfort, Natasha opened her eyes and called your name

“Nat” you managed to croaked despite the lump in your throat as tears well in your eyes

 Instead of asking the usual ‘are you okay?’ though, she smiled sadly, her face change to that time that happened a year ago

 Her hair in a braid, face white with worry and fear but she remained brave, determined “You’ll be okay” she whispered, hand caressing your face “You will be okay, my love”

 And then, as if the gods have cursed you to a life of loss and pain and suffering, you again, had to watch her disappear. Ashes taken by the wind, her smile never faded, not then, not now…and the three words you never thought would be the last, echoed in your memory

 You stood in front of Wanda, shoulders shaking from crying. Wanda pulled you close to her as she let you cry, whispering reassurances that she will always be by your side and yet, you can’t say the same

 “Wanda, you need to move on as well” Wanda’s tears started the moment yours stopped, you pulled away from her, but keeping her at an arm’s length “You deserve to be happy”

 Your face looked so peaceful despite what you just did, the scars from the battle scattered across your face and yet, to her, you were beautiful still. She pulled you closer to her, her body trembled before you and she watched, and felt, and embraced the feeling

 She whispered in your ears before your body truly disappears, just like Natasha’s “I thought I’m ready to let you go” she sniffed “But I was wrong”. Red magic surrounded the whole area once again, just like from when she arrived in the house you bought for Natasha and you

 "Even if you didn't choose me in this world too, I would just gladly be beside you. As long as you are here, I wouldn't care."

 And once again, you open your eyes. Natasha comfortably cuddled next to you as your lips turned into a satisfied smile…

 . . .

 A/N: "Even if you didn't choose me (don't love me) in this world too, I would just gladly be beside you. As long as you are here, I wouldn't care." (Credit to my wonderful angsty friend @my-wandering-rabbit for crushing my heart with this wonderful line and the title of this story)

[chipper-smol]

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Pale Jester Chain 2

Prompt: PJ finds his way into Lemm’s shop and begins ruminating about all the different relics with surprising accuracy and knowledge (much to Lemm’s annoyance and confusion)

By @werewolforeos

Lemm was alone, as usual. He dusted off the king’s idols so the illustrious stone regained its shine. He froze as the door to his ‘shop’ creaked, and the bell jingled- please don’t be another caffeine-wanting bug, he thought, turning around to greet the customer.

The masked bug was taller than he was, though not by much- most of its height came from its horns, eight tall spikes resembling a crown. Yet despite this regal feature, it dressed in a fool’s clothes- Lemm could almost imagine the bells attached to the cape’s ends, which luckily were absent. And all its clothes shone with a deep crimson.

“How can I help you?” Lemm muttered, eyeing the stranger’s staff. “Oh, mind that shelf, would you?”

“Oh! A friendly face in these caverns! My, my! What an unexpected surprise!” The bug replied with a too-jolly attitude. Lemm decided he did not like this bug. “Why, I was merely exploring this city- it’s quite hectic outside, no?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Lemm replied. “My shop here is safe, at least. It’s quite calm up here. Have you seen those husks?”

“Yes, yes. Quite the sad fate they have been left with- blinded by those unsightly orange lumps, yet stuck in their daily rituals all the same.” The stranger brought up his hands to his face, in a mocking display of shock. “Oh, heavens! We have yet to introduce ourselves to each other!”

Lemm rolled his eyes. “Name’s Lemm. Don’t have much else to say on that matter, but what’s yours, stranger?”

“Ah- they call me Jester, back up there. You have a nice name, Lemm!” A shiver went up Lemm’s spine as Jester spoke his name- he ignored it, it’s probably just the breeze. “So, Lemm! What do you do up here? It’s quite the nice shop~!” said the Jester, picking up a wanderer’s journal.

“Ah- hands off, please. The knowledge stored on these antiques is priceless.” Lemm tapped Jester on the hands. “I buy these relics of this old kingdom, for the sake of history and preservation. I’ve got many journals to decipher- so if you don’t mind, unless you have any relics for me…?”

“Ah, no, I do not have anything you might be interested in. Though,” the Jester mused, “Perhaps I might be able to assist in deciphering the script? It seems familiar to me.”

Lemm scoffed. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Tell you what, if you can decipher a full journal, I might part with it once I’ve copied it down somewhere.” “That sounds like a challenge to me~! Challenge accepted, shopkeep.”

Lemm gave the Jester a journal he’d deciphered already, to test how well he knew the old script of Hallownest. Putting his finger to the script, the Jester seemed lost in thought, as though looking at an old memory. “This is a passage about those blue cocoons, is it not? They call it Lifeblood.” Lemm blinked.

“That is… correct. But, could you translate the whole passage? I’m curious as to what your skills are.”

“The swirling blue liquid relieves pain, but if too much is taken at once, the Lifeblood seems to take over. We must carefully ration the amount given to the hospitals. Signed… Lurien, the Watcher.”

...That was, way too fast. “Hmm. I’m not convinced. Another.” Lemm trades the journal in the Jester’s hands for another.

“The circus was in town today,” the Jester reads aloud, “and I got to see Marissa’s show! Her voice is so soothing- it reminds me of my dreams.” Lemm was silent. This is ridiculous.

“Hm? Did I make a mistake?”

“Oh, no. I was lost in thought about- these signs here,” Lemm lies. “I hadn’t yet translated this passage, and had not seen this combination written as one word yet.”

“Oh! You’re looking at ‘plague’ there, shopkeep.” Cogs whirred as Lemm processed this information- these journals talk about many things, how did this Jester decipher these so quickly? And does he know things Lemm does not?

“These icons next to each other- ‘sick’ and ‘many’. Many sick make a plague, no?”

“Yes, yes. That does make sense. And here…”

“That’s a shopping list,” the Jester waved it away. “Honeydew, boofly meat, it seems as though this one was quite rich. Though it’s not that important,” he claims, “as those letters from the Watcher you’ve got there seem much more interesting to me.”

You’ve got to be kidding me, everything he’s said has been correct. Even the ones I hadn’t yet gotten to. Just who is this bug, exactly?

The Jester strided over to Lemm’s undeciphered journals, focusing on a specific grouping. “I hereby request the addition of a chamber for Lexi, my butler, inside my Spire. He wishes to stay as he works, and…” Jester pauses as he grabs the next passage. “I believe it would be a good idea to have him with me as I prepare for slumber. Hm, a little fruity, aren’t we, Watcher?”

Lemm just stood there, dumbfounded. “Er. I. Okay.” This is a lot more information than I expected to get in five minutes. Ignoring him, the Jester continued to rummage through the relics, stumbling across a stray king’s idol.

“Hey! Those were ordered to date and time!”

“And now they are not. Is there any issue there? If it is, you can always order them again.”

Lemm definitely did not like this bug. “Excuse me? You waltz into my shop, damage my collection, and strut about like you own the place with your knowledge of the signs used in Hallownest’s prime. Who do you think you are?” “That is irrelevant. I do wonder… where did you find this statuette?”

“A wanderer comes by every so often with many relics, and cleans out my geo stash. I mean- that’s irrelevant. Why do you care?”

Holding the idol at an arm’s length, the Jester tilted his head, studying the way it was sculpted. “This one was found in the resting grounds. I can smell the lavender,” he muses. “I’m surprised they had one of these there- the moths didn’t take kindly to that King. I suppose that’s understandable, given what he did to them.”

“Moths?”

“Yes, yes. Quite a long time ago, they lived in the lands Hallownest was built upon. Did you never get an education?”

Lemm blinks. “Well, I had school, but-”

“Shopkeep, this is something all bugs used to know. Did they scrap it out of the history books? ...Of course he would, that King would do anything for validation. I’m sure the guilt is eating him up from the inside.”

“Jester. The king is dead. Has been for a while. Have you not seen the state of decay this kingdom is in?”

“Ah, no. That Wyrm is still alive somewhere- I’m sure of it.” The Jester moved back to the door, holding his staff in one hand, and journals in the other three. “I do wonder,” he muttered under his breath,”why are these so familiar? Ah, Lemm, was it? Would you mind if I took these outside?”

Before Lemm could express indignance, the door opened once more- standing in it a drenched wanderer, who often stopped by to supply Lemm with his many relics. The pale white mask they donned looked up at the crimson Jester, an unreadable expression behind it. The wanderer gripped the handle of their nail- sharpened, coiled, pure. They recognized the Jester, and they did not particularly like him, Lemm thought. At least Lemm wasn’t alone in disliking his clown schtick. That being said, the Jester still held some relics- if a fight broke out, they could get damaged. Lemm quietly pried open the hands of the Jester.

“Ohoho! We meet again, little one! Do tell me about your excursions down here, won’t you?” The Jester was met with silent scorn. The shop was rife with tension, though the Jester seemed oblivious to it.

“Er, pardon me, but mayhaps you two should take this… outside.”

The wanderer stared at the Jester for another moment, before breaking their gaze away, and briskly walking towards Lemm. They rummaged in their pockets, producing another pair of journals, a Hallownest seal, and an arcane egg. The Jester giggled, the wanderer quickly turning their head towards him, and then sprinting back into the endless rain of the City of Tears before Lemm could give the wanderer the geo they were due.

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By @couch-cat

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By @arandoskeleartist

(audio file working on being uploaded)

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By @uncurdled-bean-curd

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By @the-trans-anon

Lemm was going to have a stroke.

He’d been having a perfectly fine day going through his relics without any annoyances running around, when a strange bug he’d never seen before entered his shop. The bug didn’t seem to have any relics to share, saying he was just exploring, and had been about to leave when he noticed one of Lemm’s king idols.

“What’s that?” The bug asked, reaching for the idol.

Lemm quickly yanked it out of his reach, not thrilled with the idea of someone manhandling his relics. “It’s an idol of the Pale King. The King himself was rarely seen so the bugs of Hallownest worshiped these in his stead.”

“Lies!” Before he could blink, the bug had grabbed the idol and jumped back towards the door. He held the idol up above their head, admiring it.

“Clearly it’s a tiny statue of me! Can you not see the resemblance?” He asked, looking towards Lemm and pressing the idol against his mask, eyes alight with mirth.

Lemm was about to snap at the bug to give him back the idol for gods sake it’s a historical artifact not a toy- when he too started to notice the similarities between the idol and the strange bug. Both had similar horns rising up as a crown, though the bug’s horns were much more curved than the King’s, and their masks looked nearly identical save for the black lines running down the bug’s face. The main difference was their clothing, with most of the King’s imagery in white and the bug’s clothes in a bright, fiery red. The more he looked, the more clear their uncanny resemblance became.

“...Are you related to the Pale King?” Lemm asked, feeling a headache start to form.

The bug looked confused, then put down the idol. “ Ah no, I’m afraid I simply jest my friend. Though we have similar names, I have never heard of your “Pale King” before. Though I have to say,” He looked back at the idol “your king was quite the looker.”

“Wait, what do you mean you have similar names? What’s your name?!”  

The bug looked about ready to answer, before he froze and looked up at the ceiling. “Ah, my apologies my friend. It appears the Master is in need of me.”

“The Master??!”

“May we meet again.” The strange bug bowed, and raced out of the shop.

“Wait! You can’t just say something like that and leave who does that!? Come back here!” Lemm ran after the bug, but he was nowhere to be found. “Shit.” He sighed, before deciding to look around for any sign of the bug. That bug had to have some kind of connection with the King, and like hell he was going to pass up a chance to get information about the reclusive Pale King. He needed to talk to that bug.

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By @lesiasmadness

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By @redcynder1234

Lemm angrily grumbled at the tiny hands that dragged him halfway across the kingdom. He had tried to fight the smaller vessel off back in the city of tears. When they had suddenly barged into his little relic shop, seeming urgent as he tried to drag the grumpy old bug out of his shop. Lemm had tried to wave them away, but the smaller bug had quite a lot of determination to show them something then and there, at least no husks dare tread in their path as they traveled. The infection may be gone for sure, but husks of former bugs sometimes still lingered around, it was nerve wracking for sure, but lemm was safe in his shop where he could get lost in his work for hours on end. However now with the little shadow dragging him out of the safety of his home, He was a little on edge.

Finally as it seemed the little ghost had dragged them to their location they pointed upwards. Looking up, lemm grumbled seeing an old rusty chain leading up an old well. “Absolutely not.” He growled out. Even as the small vessel flapped their monarch wings to start and climb the chain. Hearing his response however they stopped and looked down before pulling out something from their cloak. One hand on the chain they waved a king's idol in the air. “Yes you’ve been waving that thing at me through this entire journey! I still don’t understand why you’ve dragged me halfway across hallownest.” He barked angrily. If only the little vessel could speak. He assumed they couldn't speak a few visits back as they sold old trinkets at his shop but lemm never could be sure. It really felt like they were speaking sometimes.

The vessel seemed to wave and point it up desperately before disappearing up the well. “Ey! Little squirt! Come back here!” He barked up the shaft angrily. However when no shadow came to retrieve him he just grumbled angrily. “Stupid, familiar looking…” Lemm mumbled under his breath as he climbed up the chain. If his curiosity about what they wanted wasn't so persistent he would have turned straight back around and headed back to the city of tears. Plus, kings idols were a rare find and he wanted to get his hands on as many as he could.

As he scrambled over the ledge of the well, his old carapace not liking the climb in the slightest, he looked around. He remembered hearing about the town of dirtmouth. By its size alone lemm could tell the town must have been a lively and successful one before the infection's grip controlled and destroyed the place. It was sad, maybe to anyone other than lemm at the moment. Grumpy and tired he saw the cloaked vessel padding towards two pinky almost red tinted tents. “Little pest… just doing to leave me behind!” He barked angrily as he followed after the vessel. Nothing left to do this far into this journey but to follow the little gremlin. Plus, in case there were any more infected lingering about, he rather have another soul that could fight them off then be left to fend them off himself. He only knew how to work with small pliers and knives, not nails and needles.

The vessel seemed to be approaching a small crowd that had formed outside the tents. They had been there before the two entered town, but lemm could already tell from a distance they were all… scared? More weary if anything. As he got closer the little ghost had turned, waving the small king's idol wildly while pointing through the crowd. “Give me that.” He snapped while snatching the king's brand from their hands. “I swear if you really wanted to sell it to me you could have done it in the city of tears, instead of dragging me halfway across the kingdom!” He snapped angrily. Making sure it hadn’t been damaged he fetched a bag of geo from under his cloak and dropped it without even looking at the vessel. “You're lucky I'm not taking half of that for dragging me her- OW.” He barked when ghost suddenly yanked his beard. “I swear-“ he growled as he looked down, wavinging the vessel's hand away from his beard. However the vessel was glaring into his soul and pointing. Angrily he huffed and looked up, before his eyes widened. Huh? That was impossible!?!

Looking down at the idol in his hands he looked up. The normal silver cloak was gone, replaced with red jester clothes. His crown of thorns was bent in such a painful looking way it almost made lemm cringe at the thought; and yet as lemm held up the king's idol he could see the similarities. Far too close similarities to be a coincidence. However there was no way the king of hallownest was some low-life jester doing gags and tricks to please the normal class's eye. Especially to a dead kingdom. Yet thinking this could be the king's brother was almost laughable. The king was a wyrm if the small amount of text he deciphered was true. And wyrms were giant beasts that could kill anything in its path. Then who was this look-a-like in front of them? That must be why the vessel had dragged them here, they may be curious themselves but since lemm was such a history nut he would know more. Could have still told him that before dragging him here.

As the jester bowed and the small crowd nervously clapped. Seeming to be more doing it to please someone then actually liking the show. He paused as the jester disappeared back into the pink tents. He knew the vessel was still standing beside them, watching the relic keeper curiously. Lemm knew he shouldn't enter the tent and ask such a question, but so many questions could be solved about this kingdom if this stupid look-a-like statue was this strange jester. The pale king hidden right under everyone's noses. Yet it still felt wrong in some way but he couldn't figure out why.

Lemm didn't understand what caused him to head towards the menacing face-looking tents; but he headed inside their pink tinted curtains. He didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't the tent to be almost pitch black except for small lanterns hanging up around the place. He expected at least a little of the outside world's lights to cut through the fabric. Sure it wasn't bright already in dirtmouth, but the sheets had looked almost see through before, now they looked like solid walls keeping the relic keeper inside. A shiver ran down his back as he almost instantly regretted his decision. He was a relic seeker, not an explorer that went out and actually found the relics to study. However it was a bit too late to turn back now.

Walking down the hallway he saw another bug standing there. Playing a spooky tone upon the accordion in their hands. Lemm wished he could have just snuck around the bug but they noticed him before he got too close. “Mrmm… Sorry, but the master does not want visitors at the moment...” Lemm gulped softly. “Actually I am uh… here to see your jester I believe. I wanted to praise them for the wonderful show.” The lie came out of his mouth a bit smoother than he intended. Yet it seemed the other paused before nodding forward. “Mrmm… Continue then… but do not linger.” they simply stated. Lemm quickly nodded and passed by, making sure the king's idol was safely out of sight from the other bug's eyes. Once passed he calmed down a bit. The hallway led to a pretty large room, silken ropes hanging from just about everywhere above his head. Somewhere tied together, some were almost touching the ground. They were so long, but lemm had to admit it was a pretty sight. Something white suddenly appeared from above, it was the jester alright, carefully twisted around the silken fabric. Was he dancing? It kinda appeared like it. “H-hello?” lemm wasn't one for conversation but it felt a little awkward just watching the other. The other quickly looked down, a mask upon the other's face made the relic seeker shiver. However the others voice didn't sound nearly as threatening as he expected it to be. “Ah! Greetings down there, what brings you to the grimm kin’s tent.” He called down. Carefully sliding down the silken ropes to hang upside down in front of the relic seeker. Lemm nervously took a step back before stealing himself. “I wanted to ask you a question.” The jester tilted his head curiously. Carefully righting himself and wrapping his legs around the silken ropes to keep himself suspended in mid hair.

“Oh?” He hummed curiously “What question do you have for a little jester like me?” he spoke. Lemm gulped nervously before speaking. “Do… were… I….” how does he just ask someone if they were a king?! “Were you a king before?” He blurted out in her strange panic. The jester seemed to pause before bursting out laughing. Lemm huffed even if he knew how stupid that must of just sounded. “I’m serious!” He barked out, feeling a bit flustered. As the jester calmed he wiped a single tear that had formed in the mask's eye. “A funny joke for sure little bug, but there would be no way that I could be a king. I would probably put buzzsaws and little traps as far as the eye could see.” he snickered to himself as he joked, but lemm just huffed. “I am serious-” he barked again but the jester interrupted him “Then your answer is obviously no my small bug.” he chuckled “I could never be a king of something.” He chuckled. “Either way, I don't think you should be back here. If the master finds out you're here he may be quite mad.” The pale jester said with another chuckle. Lemm huffed angrily. “You look like the ruler that used to rule here--” “--That's enough.” the jester spoke with a huff. “I understand a joke but pushing it makes it unfunny.” the other huffed.

Lemm growled. “I’m not joking! I already said that.” he barked “You look like the king of his land, look-!” He held up the king idol that he had hidden in his cloak. The jester paused. If lemm continued to speak he didn't hear it, He focused on the idol in there hand. It made the jester feel strange, like there was something scratching at the back of their head but just couldn't figure out what was causing it. Like a memory long compressed and lost to time. Maybe it was better that they were suppressed but…. Flashes of memories went through his head. Bright white images with blurred faces. Hissing he took a step back before his head cleaned and something warm brushed his shoulder. Looking up he noticed grimm standing over him, his eyes seemed kind and light hearted but the jester could sense the small bit of anger in them.

The jester watched Grimm calmly lead the other outside the tents. Their words didn't fully register to him however as the two left. The strange symbol still was imprinted in his mind but the memories that had come along with them were gone. Strange, but it may be better for such things to stay hidden in his memory, but the jester was still curious. When grimm appeared beside him again through a burst of red smoke he seemed calm, but his red eyes shined in worry. “Ah yes I'm ok.” he chuckled nervously. “Just got a bit of a headache.” he said “What a strange bug.” he spoke, looking towards the entrance to the tent. Grimm only softly hummed “Indeed… Come, we have plenty still to do while we're here.” The jester paused before nodding, following grimm back into the tent.

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By @darkautodraws 

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By @daikoski​ 

The Pale Jester always had a knack for dancing.

—Or perhaps, certain kinds of it.

He’d discovered one time when indulging on a slower song from Brumm, that he had a knack for ballroom dancing of all things! But such a thing isn’t commonplace for his kind of performance, no, he much prefers storytelling accompanied with a fun little jig of sorts. Ballroom dancing—especially with the audience he tends to have—seems to be something a little too formal and delicate.

Which is why he finds himself taking on the endeavor of trusting seemingly delicate, flowing silks with the entirety of himself. Ahh, yes, that of aerial dancing! He notes them as seemingly delicate, as they’re more than capable of securing far more weight than originally thought, but also... he’s very sharp.

—Of course, he’s not so clumsy now to go and let his claws tear straight through the silk now, nor would he allow the plates of his body to catch on it either. Not like that one time, when he had first been trying to pitch the choreography to this performance...

Now that had been something. The clicking tear of threads being pulled apart and the swoop of his stomach as he plummeted before quickly catching himself with his tail, something of a boisterous, abrupt laugh escaping him.

“You’re not trying to escape from a web, are you? Try not to cut yourself down little Fool!” Divine had jeered affectionately, and he could have easily preened from the spark of laughter that ignited the rest of the Troupe before lowering himself.

(... he also most certainly tries to pad the sharp ridges of his body a little more ever since that incident, but that’s besides the point.)

Ah, but that’s beside the point. Such a joyous thing it is, to inspire such a reaction in others, even if it’s from a

slipup like that. Perhaps it’s even better when it is. (Aer all, the Jester in fact would like to think he uses his foolishness to endear

himself to others, not dolt around.)

The tent is empty as of now, though that’s no concern. The Grimmkin will flood the audience the moment he does so much as enter the stage—no, he’s searching for the more unfamiliar-yet-not guests to come in, if at all. Perhaps the little wanderer, the shadow? Or maybe even one of the town folks bold enough to come by? Oh, or the princess warrior! Though her kind are truly experts in silk, and he finds himself unsure of how she’ll take his performance. (It is due to her influence that he felt himself particularly inclined to this song and dance aer all.)

Ah, he should probably do some last checks on the rigging, make sure they’re steady and all that. That, and check on his costume, too.

“C’mon Jester, don’t tell me your talons are going all stiff on ya!” comes the snicker of a Grimmkin trying to goad him on, and he laughs, before launching into a sprightly comical bow, tail flicking. Actually, he feels as nimble as possible, thank you very much!

“Of course not, dear friend! I’m simply waiting to greet our beloved guests—” and speak and she will come, the familiar rubied-red cloak catches his eye, and he immediately pats and dismisses the ‘kin to greet the spider. “And here one comes now!”

“Hello, hello! Welcome, Little Hornet—” there’s a bit of distaste that shines through her expression at his thoughtless nickname, and he would reel it in had he not

already said it, instead opting to tuck the information away for next time, “—you’re just in time for this next performance! Sit down, sit down, make yourself comfortable!”

She’s ushered to her seat, which is something on the front rows amongst the many grimmkin. Idly he notes that neither of her siblings are attending, though he has no complaints.

This one’s less of a personal performance and more for all the Troupe to see, so he won’t be able to converse with her until aer. She comes here most oen to ask questions, aer all. A no-nonsense type of bug she is, and it’s only customary he’ll allow such aer a performance, and she seems to know the same. Nonetheless, he bites back a bark of amusement at the way she glowers at the chatty Grimmkin, a little bit crowded as it is.

Lights snap on, beaming bright and warm, and the show begins.

Distantly, he can hear the beginning notes of Brumm’s accordion, and ah, what a perfect guide he always is! The familiar haunting call sends a thrill through the Jester, and it’s with that he begins his performance.

He wonders briefly if aerial silk dancing has ever been seen within Hallownest. Perhaps so, perhaps not; he only learned due to the Troupe aer all, and Grimm hadn’t really shared where he had learned such an art either...

The whisper of silk that he coils around his hand is taut, strong and secure the more he loops it. It’s with quick, tight motions and a graceful swoop that he suspends himself right upside down, sharp mandibles pulling back into a pleased smile from behind his mask. That was a satisfying maneuver.

There’s a split second of concern regarding his costume—the fabric of his wings just do not seem to be cooperating this time around, but alas, it simply feels right to have them there!

The more he spends within the air, the more inclined, the more fond he becomes in fitting such an image. It feels even better when the silks are pulled and he’s practically in arms reach to the ceiling.

Though the Jester isn’t quite sure how to describe it; a certain kind of fun exhilaration, a familiar twinge in his chest at being lied to such a height—he’d first noticed it through the use of mere ropes and cranks, to trapezing and other such elevated storytelling (Ha! Perhaps if he finds more joyous stories to share, he could workshop that into a joke to tell Hornet...) to now dancing with aerial silks.

He lets himself be guided and pulled along, to sway and twirl with the call of the music and the warmth of the Heart with practiced ease and elegance. But of course; he’s more than prepared for this, and with each swoop and dip his smile widens more and more.

When the curtains close and all the Grimmkin have seen fit to disappear off to do whatever it is their hearts desire, the Jester remains lingering on the stage. To clean up mainly, but it is to keep a keen eye on the nimble princess as well. He watches as she simply hops up and makes her way down towards him, and he perks up in attention.

There’s some attempt at niceties, just polite, pleasant conversation on his part, to which she kind of shuts down aer a moment.

“Why the new performance?” Ahh, so some curiosity was piqued!

The Jester hums thoughtfully, letting the silks hold his weight up as he rocks too far back on his legs. It brushes whisper-so against him.

“Perhaps for no specific reason in particular, other than to further expand my capabilities as a jester!” He somewhat not-answers.

She doesn’t respond, instead opting to give him a very narrow eyed look, suspicion and more, and he feels compelled to continue.

“Well, perhaps not nothing. Hypothetically... if this old soul noticed a certain spiderling’s interest in acrobatics—and this is hypothetical, of course!” Hands up in the air as if in surrender yet jestful, he laughs, “and wished to, say, partake in something similar in an attempt to perhaps bond with her...?”

A pause and a beat. “Had it been to your liking, young one?”

He lets the words linger in the air, before dropping his hands down to tug at the silks once more. He wishes to be honest, so even though he feels... uncertain, telling her that, he doesn’t regret it.

Hornet’s expression does... something. It’s tiny—miniscule, even, and perhaps had it been anyone else but him, that faint little tell might have gone unseen. but he does see it, and he recognizes it quickly as some sort of conflicted emotion, a tension that he’s brought upon her.

It seems she very much teeters on something colder, fists gripping at the edge of her cloak before she almost quietly ekes out, “It had been fine.”

The Jester brightens up—why, from such a grumpy young princess like her, that could very well be the highest praise!

...Though it’s best he does not push further, nor goad her on either. Enjoyable their dances can be (with such strong, violent intent from her too!) he’s already finished his own performance, and she’s certainly due to rest sometime soon, nor would he want to upset her more in the first place.

And much to his surprise, she continues, “Such as... that part when you had dropped suddenly... I thought you were certain to fall and crack your mask in half.” Something of a surprised chuckle is pulled from him, and he hums. “Where you were supported by only one silk. It looked... dire.”

It’s vague enough that he can’t really pinpoint what part of the act she was talking about, but it brings forth words to his tongue, but just which ones?

Yes, just what was that phrase... right!

“That part! I was practically hanging by a thread, was I not?”

(So, he hadn’t been able to workshop that ‘elevated’ joke in time... but such is the way!)

By the Heart... he could consider this another job well-done, couldn’t he? No snapping, harsh remarks on the little spiderlings end, no such invasive shenanigans from any of the other grimmkin—the mischief they could get up to!

“It most certainly felt as though I had been too. These silks simply do not part when you want them to! I very nearly cocooned myself at one point!” He muses. A quick

recovery he always is, but it is still such a wrenching moment when there’s even the slightest miss of a cue.

“Tell me, I’ve never had the honour to learn or witness the art of silk in action. I can consider my act something akin to it, though it’s quite incomparable to that of a spider, and I find myself curious! Are there ever such... shenanigans like that?”

Perhaps it’s his curiosity as a now-performer, to find enjoyment in the silliness and mistakes along the way; a perfect performance starts from somewhere aer all, and he finds himself wishing to know more. Hornet probably knows what he’s doing—making good use of that ‘bonding attempt’ that he so mentioned earlier, and...

Is it in poor taste to joke around like this? She is one of the few weavers le... he wonders oandedly, when Hornet lets out something that sounds like a scoff-laugh.

“You would be surprised. Although we in particular favoured silk to be used in tapestries and story keeping rather than dance, it wouldn’t be... uncommon for a mishap to happen in a more verbose storytelling. Such as a silk shroud meant to mimic the silhouette of a corpse creeper ending up on the audience rather than the speaker themself...”

She does not specify if the one accidentally tossing a silken hunter on their audience is her, from her early days of practicing weaving, or anyone else... but she does look a little more relaxed, even if by a pinch. (And if he looked ever closer, maybe even a little embarrassed? It’s tiny, and far off, but maybe...)

(For some reason, he has a feeling he would have been too. Just a little bit.)

Hornet is about to speak more, unprompted (much to his delight), when she halts. One beat, two beats, and then looks at him.

“...you’ve never learned?” It's a small enough question that he nearly misses it. So like a whisper, edged with a sharp venomous hiss, and when the Jester is able to recollect himself from the sudden shock, he’s tuned back in only to see her cold regard and the turn of her back, needle gripped tighter, for she never goes anywhere without it.

“So now you’re curious.”

...Pardon?

He doesn’t give the reaction she wants, if the (hurt? angry?) scoff she gives at his bewilderment is not enough of a tell, then it’s the way she rolls her eyes before looking askance.

“...I will be taking my leave now.” She mutters something more about ‘he never learned about the weavers’ ... ‘not even of their culture?’ but the last bits of it are lost as she disappears from sight completely.

...

That... had not gone well? Or did it? It most certainly feels as though it did, but now their conversation has been cut short without him being able to give so much as a farewell. But he lets her leave. Not that he would stop her, especially knowing she’ll stop by sometime again, but he simply... watches.

She had been upset, in the beginning, and then the end. Upset at him. (Isn’t the first time.) (That’s one, aching pain in his chest today.)

...

The curtains have fallen, and as of now it’s time he recuperates for the next performance.

...That, or dust off that lantern of his to go and gather more flames for the Heart. The Troupe Master had allowed him to forgo such responsibilities in favour of honing his aerial dance aer all. Even with permission, he can feel the faint call of the flames, the flicker-spark as they burn deep within the depths of this poor, dilapidated kingdom.

(Or is it the call of the Heart pulling him away from his encounter with Hornet?)

(The enthralling change in attention is enough to jarr him just a little bit out of his thoughts, though he’s unsure if that’s what he wants or not. Distraction or focus?)

Deliberately, he redirects his thoughts to the spiderling, to their interactions.

...As a whole, it seems today has le him with very different emotions.

She had been testy at first, as always, but it seemed like he managed to converse pleasantly for her, even for just an exchange. And then she’s up and gone in not a moment later.

...There was an uncertain edge to her, when he had told her of his reasons for practicing such dance. The faintest scrunch of her fangs, as if trapped between pulling back into a snarling hiss or an uncertain smile. Or that if she did feel hostile, it was as though she was in polite company and couldn’t afford to be as such.

(And he knows very well that she does not quite see him as polite company, so why does she refrain as such other than habit?)

She was never one to hide her distaste towards him, but that had been something... different. What, he isn’t sure, but... odd, for such a small detail to stick out to him like that.

Ah, haha! But of course he recognized such a tell, not when he has the exact same quirk! Conflicted between strict decorum and honesty, where he’d much rather be honest and forthright than needlessly tense, as he’s so oen teased by his beloved—!

—His... beloved? No name follows that, and although it would be a complete term of endearment

as is, it doesn’t... feel complete. His beloved... one who knows him, knows his face despite the mask upon it

now...? His...

...Odd.

(...Here’s another chest pang.)

There’s a harsh little wheeze of a sour note, and the Jester perks up to see Brumm approaching, fiddling with the instrument before kicking into a slower, soer melody. He hadn’t realized he'd been standing there still, center of the stage, still with hands entangled in the silks, still very much not cleaning up or resting.

“Hello there, friend!” He greets, receiving only a nod in response and a curious look.

“Mrmm... Did something happen? Had it not gone well?” Straight to the point as always, too...

“I...” he falters, and for a second he feels terribly improper for such an obvious display of weakness, before continuing, “I do believe it couldn’t have gone any better!”

And it’s true! There isn’t much in his opinion that could be improved other than the few minute details, but of course, he is always striving to grow! Simply, everything had felt so right, he has no current complaints for himself!

Which is why... how odd it is that he feels so... down. This is by far one of his best performances yet, but that encounter with Hornet... it leaves him feeling tense. She had, while not the main reason he wished to learn such a dance, had been an influential part of it at least...

Because he cares for her like a... like a daughter. (Though that feels a touch too much, considering the fact she is the princess-protector of this fallen kingdom, and how terrible it is that she is to bear the responsibilities of the once so revered king...)

...So maybe a niece instead?

(Perhaps niece would work better—he can’t go and become too fond of the come and goers who eventually leave, just as how the Troupe will part from these ruins eventually too. But alongside that, there was an amusing term he had learned a few kingdoms back from a grub who had claimed him as their... ‘cool uncle’ in feeling!)

(Truthfully, he had never really learned the semantics of family lines like that—never needed to anyways. Taking up the mantle as a Jester of no-one but the

Troupe leaves him snapping up little bits of information from the many different places they’ve visited.)

(And here he is, subconsciously trying to claim a familial title for himself when he’s the last person someone would want as family.)

...

“I had believed perhaps this would be a more successful performance than my usual song and dance.” he admits, jovial tone a little lacking, far less overplayed than it usually is.

“Though I haven’t the faintest idea why... I thought perhaps it would make her happier that I do something she could potentially partake in. Aer all, I had never........”

Sharp words echo in his mind. ‘You've never?’

..........He had never what? The same phrase worms itself way into his mind again, this time from his own tongue. The things he has never done, but... what? Why is it that he feels inclined, feels like he needs, with all of his foolish heart, to make up for something he isn't aware of? Of strings le undone, of time he had owed but had never given...

There’s something tugging at him faintly, trying to unmoor itself from the deepest parts of his mind yet shrouded in the familiar, now comforting mist of blazing warmth and flame. He tries to prod at the thought a little further, before the feeling escapes him.

(Or perhaps the flame that so carefully protects his mind, so caringly had swept it up, crisping it with its bright beauty and letting it smolder into ashes so that these vague thoughts may no longer cling to him.)

He had never......

......Well, he’s never done many things! What he does now though is what’s more important than ever, and if he so desires to try and chip at all the ‘nevers’, what better way to do it than travelling with the dear Troupe?

Unconsciously, he tugs at the hanging silks. Something to fiddle with if anything.

(His head feels foggy again, chest tight. That’s three aching pains today. Or more? He can’t tell.)

Then there’s the low voice of his dear friend, and the Jester tunes into what Brumm is saying. “...Have you shown Master your new performance?” He doesn’t see, or rather, he can’t see the solemn looks of the musician, can only hear the little ‘hrmm...’ that vibrates from his voicebox.

The song he’s playing comes to an end, and he draws the last note out, long and mournful.

“Ah, but of course. Though I must say I haven’t performed it for him officially other than in practice—it would do me well to hone my skills further! You don't suppose he's free currently?” Brumm is offering a distraction, he’s aware, but nonetheless, he wouldn’t turn down a moment with the Troupe Master when he’s been nothing but kind during pain days like this.

“He should be. I shall inform him then.” He inclines his head. “...Take care.”

Brumm bids him a gentle farewell, soon disappearing into the depths of the tent and leaving the Jester to his thoughts.

So.

...Thrice. Thrice, that those aching pains have visited him within this same hour, and he frowns. Thrice, and he doesn’t have an inkling as to how and where they could have come and gone, nothing but a lingering phantom sensation in his chest.

(He had talked about it with Brumm one time, when they were both musing over the ambiguity of their characters; life before the Troupe, faded and gone, just as with everyone else. Life with the Troupe, all that they’ve known, but a satisfactory life it is.)

Where little weird memory aches aren’t impossible, or even uncommon, but are well taken care of. Soothed even, by the Heart.

Ah yes, the Heart. It’s taken the entire Troupe under its care, hasn’t it? They’re all here with the gied masks that brands them as one with the Heart, they’re here for a reason.

And the comfort that so fills him is something overwhelming, bright and unrelenting, such is the way of a flame within the dark. It washes over the last of the tugging memory pains, and he lets it. Lets it singe and smolder, lets it drape its curtain of red over his mind, so that the ache in his chest will disappear.

All of the lingering worries, all the doubts are held alo by a bare thread— —and the Heart snips through it with ease, and the Fool is at peace.

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

By @cloudcryptid

[ererokii]

Pretend I Am || Zhongli

note: hi! This is super indulgent for some reason because I just wanted to write this so bad. Thank you @reddriot and @etegomanere for betaing!

Warnings: spoilers for archon quests (?) angst, insecurity, identity crisis

WC: 5.1k

Synopsis: After his first love joined dust once again, Zhongli can’t help but believe she’s still here, through you.

Staring into a mirror wasn’t the same as it was before. An image was put into your head, your mind playing tricks upon tricks that got you dizzy just thinking about it.

Many tales of the God of Dust were passed down from generation to generation. Your family seemed to be fond of her stories, especially hearing about the creation of the Guizhong Ballista.

The more you heard of her, the more you wanted to be her. She was your idol as a young child. A woman building something was not commonly heard of at that age, but it was possible.

Now at the ripe age of 24, you despised hearing of her.

Glaze lilies.

How horrid, yet so beautiful. Delicate shades of blue sprouting up at you, with a deeper meaning behind the petals that saddened you. Staring down upon them, you were drawn to them despite having harsh thoughts of these flowers. When the sun went down and the moon took over, you would be home and have glaze lillies in your vase by the window.

Amber eyes would stare at you from the hallway, drinking in your appearance. The funeral consultant, Zhongli, would look on with a rather perplexed and sorrowful expression. The amount of times he found you with Glaze Lilies by your side was enough for a pain to form in your chest.

And that’s how it started. Something as simple as a flower was able to ruin your own image.

Accidentally slips of the name would be heard, causing your head to perk up at the sudden change. Not long after, formal apologies would be sent your way, gloved fingers would intertwine with yours, thumbs rubbing your knuckles.

It felt as if you weren’t enough. Hearing her name felt like a spear being thrown through your heart, ironic because the one saying her name was Rex Lapis himself.

Many times Zhongli would go on a tangent, speaking about the era eons ago; the two gods ruling over Guili Plains. It never bothered you, but by the way he spoke so highly of her, how his voice got more soft to the point where it sounded like he was whispering; you knew he wasn’t over her.

And all you could do was listen with a sad smile and nod your head to the things he spoke about.

In Zhongli’s eyes, you were beautiful, ethereal, and intelligent.

Just like Guizhong.

-

Your words seem like idle chatter in the back of his mind as he peers over at you from the sofa in the main lounge of your shared house. Your back to him, hands moving to grab things. There’s a slight downward curve to his lips, his gloved finger tapping away at his knee as if concentrating.

His golden eyes take notice of the dress you’re wearing. A shade of white with intrigue designs at the bottom. The forsaken flower that seemed to the base of his problems, shined like gold in his vision.

With slightly widened eyes, he leans forward, his hand balled. His calm breathing changes to something shaky, a small pant leaving his mouth. His vision becomes cloudy, tears threatening to spill past his lower lids. The Archon wants to reach out and grasp, wanting to make sure she’s safe forever.

But dreams could hardly become reality.

“Zhongli,” she whispers, a concerned look plastered on her face as she turns around to gaze at him. “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” He recognizes the sleeves from her dress; something he made poked fun at her for being too big. But for some reason, he can’t see her features. All he can take notice is the Glaze Lilly tucked behind her ear, holding a strand in place.

He’s unable to say anything and blinks, the tear trickling down his face as he stares one more time.

“Zhongli,” you call out for once more, taking a seat beside him on the sofa. “What’s wrong, my love?” you whisper, cupping his cheek.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is raspy, eyes looking down at the floor. “I’m sorry..”

“W-What are you even sorry for? What did you do?”

And he doesn’t tell you. He composes himself and says he’s out for a walk, alone.

From that night on, he never brought up what happened. But you weren’t stupid; you knew what was going on.

It was growing harder for you to stare at your reflection. It felt as if your face was a lie— like you were being lied too. The longer you gazed at the mirror, the more you got confused. In the eyes of everyone, they see a young adult woman with unique features that could make her desirable to any man in Liyue.

But in your own, you couldn’t even see yourself. All you could see was the stem, leaves and petals of a Glaze Lilly. No matter where, no matter what, it was there.

She was there— someone you looked up to in your childhood years.

Your fingers hesitantly stroke the glass of the mirror, feeling the cold underneath your fingertips. They trace the outline of your cheek, to your eyes, to the curve of your nose. It wasn’t you.

“Who are you pretending to be?” you whisper, taking a step back as it becomes clear.

Staring back at you was a faceless woman, though she wore a frown identical to your own. Her clothes were drastically different from your own. Gold and white silk robes adore her upper body, the only thing your eyes can grasp. The woman seemed strangely distant, something that you couldn’t quite comprehend, something that wasn’t you.

Your hand shakily lifts to your face, your skin warm to the touch. Your chest heaves slowly, deeply inhaling as you exhale, pinching the skin of your cheek. It feels all too real.

Your hands travel over your shoulders to your chest; the clothing of your night time wear does not feel the same as the silk robes she is wearing. It feels too real, yet the person in front of you threw your sense of reality for a loop.

You admire your hand, staring at the palm and the back. It looked as if you were first staring at your limbs like you never have before.

“Guizhong,” you whisper, one hand gripping the counter of the sink, your body leaning forward to stare closely. A yellow stem catches your attention, eyes gazing at the flower in her hair. Mesmerized, you place your hand on your head, feeling for the petals.

In the reflection, she has a petal in between her fingers, rubbing it gently. But you— you’re rubbing nothing but a few strands of your hair. Disappointment runs through your veins, hand dropping back by your side.

Your mind is swirling with thoughts that scare you. The feeling of not being able to recognize yourself was driving you up the well. They were hallucinations, you knew that. You wanted them gone.

You wanted to be able to stare at yourself, to truly be able to do that and speak with confidence and say it’s you.

Now you aren’t able to do that.

Who are you?

-

You never told Zhongli how you felt about yourself; you didn’t want him worrying. Chances are he probably will never know.

A night out was something you desperately needed and that, Zhongli gave you. Not one for fancy things, you told him just going to Wanmin Restaurant would be enough for the two of you.

It was back to the good days when you first got with him. Laughter was shared between the two of you, looks of love and adoration was sent your way. His hand resting on your thigh, giving it an occasional squeeze as he speaks about the interesting history about Liyue (even though you practically knew everything already).

When it’s your turn to speak, you speak with confidence. He loved hearing the words effortlessly flow from your mouth. You knew how to hold up a conversation and draw someone in.

Not to mention how extremely intelligent you were. You talked about inventing things that no man has ever thought of but never brought yourself to do so. Maybe there could have been a weapon to protect Liyue from monsters now with the Archon gone.

“And then if that’s even possible...” you trail off, a sparkle in your eyes as your hands are lively, emphasizing your points. Zhongli can’t help but pay more attention once you talk about inventions. Maybe you could build something like the Guizhong Ballista? But then again, she was one of the smartest women in his lifetime.

He takes his eyes off the woman beside him for a second, watching the waiters pass him with trays of delicious Liyue delicacies being served to other customers. He glanced back over, freezing in his spot.

Guizhong continued to talk, letting out a sigh of defeat, her head hanging forward that showed her being displeased. “It seems almost impossible at this point.”

Instead of getting emotional like the last time, he lets out a hum, then chuckles. “You’re an intelligent woman,” he tells her, looking down at their plates of food that’s almost wiped clean. “I’m positive you’ll manage it.”

“You really think so, Morax?”

“Huh?” That catches his attention, his head snapping back over to the woman. “What did you say?”

“I said you really think so, Zhongli?” Your eyebrows are furrowed, lips pursed ever so faintly as you shift in your seat. “Are you okay? You seem out of it.”

He’s unable to answer, staring down at you with a frown. From your view, he looks disappointed. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to make you repeat yourself but...did you say Morax?”

You’re confused. You have no idea what he’s talking about.

“No,” you start, tilting your head to the side faintly, “I didn’t say Morax...maybe you’re hearing things. We can go back home if you’re not feeling good.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” He lets out a sigh, closing his eyes for a split second before reopening. “Maybe I’m a little tired. It’s okay, darling. I’m fine really. Let’s just enjoy ourselves for the night.”

The calm and collected man did not seem okay, but you decided it was best if boundaries weren’t pushed tonight. “Alright,” you say with a small smile, grabbing his hand, squeezing gently. “If you say so.”

“I know so.” He leans closer, his hot breath against the shell of your ear, the hairs on your neck standing up. “You seem to doubt me on many occasions. Why is that?”

You scoff lightly, rolling your eyes as you turn your head to face him. “Oh stop it. You know I never doubt you.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so,” you say, copying his words moments prior; cupping his cheek and stroking his skin with the pad of your finger. “I love you, Zhongli,” you whisper, pressing your lips against his in a gentle kiss. His eyes flutter close, his hand dropping to rest on your waist, reciprocating the kiss.

And I…

That little incident of him hearing his old name did not go unnoticed. Throughout the day you would catch him staring at you like he was lost. His mouth would be slightly parted, eyebrows furrowed to the point where a small wrinkle formed in between them. Whenever you called him out on it, he would lightly shake his head to get his sense of reality straight again before brushing it off.

“Zhongli? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, my love.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Of course this worried you to no end. Maybe he was tired?

Maybe he was looking at someone?

Someone who wasn’t you.

-

A night stroll was something you both enjoyed immensely. The soft light of the moon gazing down at you, lighting up the dirt path of Dihua Marsh. No words were spoken between the two of you, rather enjoying the serene silence.

Your eyes focus on the trail in front of you, the leaves of the Sandbearer tree wisp in the cool air of the night. As you venture forward, you lightly kick the pebbles that rest by your foot, watching them roll forward or to the side. You earn a chuckle from the older man beside you; his eyes focused straight ahead.

There’s no definite place you’re headed too. At this point, you might as well be stuck here for the rest of the night.

At this time, monsters roam around, but tonight feels different. It feels as if you don’t have to watch every empty space of land to make sure nothing comes at you. There’s a churning in your gut, but you can’t put your finger on it.

Your eyes catch onto the river on the left side of the trail, the reflection of the moon evident in the rippling water. “That’s pretty,” you state softly, looking up at your lover, “don’t you think?”

“Mhm. I do believe it’s very beautiful,” he says, voice gruff and firm. His ponytail moves with every step he takes, the auburn color at the tips glowing slightly— something that wasn’t out of the ordinary.

“This area used to be pure, untouched by wandering monsters, bearing their hands on any living thing. That of course was what happened before the rest of the Gods decided to take seat upon the divine.”

Divine was Celestia. You heard numerous stories told by storytellers that stay in the small restaurant in Liyue. Each story was unique— not like the other. Many citizens of Liyue often got into bickers when it came to telling the ‘true’ story.

The God of Salt’s people refused to call the Geo Archon by his name. Morax was basically poison to them. They believe Havaria was murdered out of sheer jealousy. But of course, that wasn’t true.

When you first heard the story by none other than him himself, you were in awe. Despite the brutality and casualties placed upon god after god and innocent citizens, it left you with nothing but questions.

“Man is known to let their greed take over every ounce of them. Of course, me being ruler over Guili Plains at the time, I had no choice but to protect my people...then the death of Guizhong–” He stops talking, tongue peeking out and licking his lower lip.

You take notice where you’re at now.

A small field of Glaze Lilies.

You watch his shoulders rise slowly as he inhales deeply before exhaling, letting his head fall back as he turns his face to the sky, eyes closed.

“I’m sure you remember me speaking about the Memory of Dust correct?” You nod to his question, following him quite closely as he begins to walk once more, hands behind his back.

“She gave it to me a few months after we met. It’s something no mortal can handle. Even I wasn’t able to open it. I spent months on end, trying my best to open the mystery that was contained inside. It was truly a challenge. But of course, she was a woman with extreme intelligence. Guizhong was the brain for the two of us.”

And thus Zhongli continued to speak highly of her. He shared the moments when the God of Dust. Cloud Retainer and himself would meet up for tea and lunch in Mt.Aozang. He spoke when they would take walks together in Dihua Marsh, walking through the glaze lilies; listening to her sing at the blooming flowers.

Hearing him talk about his previous lover set a fire within you. Insecurity ran through your veins when he would smile, bringing up something else that came into his mind. It made you feel as if you weren’t enough at this very moment.

But, it made you feel loved.

A warmth blossomed in the pit of your chest, your body feeling light and relaxed. The way his eyes sparkled to the way he gestured— everything just seems so perfect. Your lips curled up in a smile as you gazed up at him lovingly, your heart skipping a few beats to the nervous feeling in your stomach.

You were in love.

It was as if he was praising you. You were the intelligent woman, the most beautiful being in Teyvat all those years ago. Generous, kind, thoughtful. Each of those words, you thought it was for you.

You were going deeper and deeper into a hole you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of. Love was something that was meant to be cherished, but was also the more cruel thing a human being can go through.

Love made people blind, and you were one of love’s victims.

“She sounded amazing,” you comment, running your hands through the spot of glaze lilies you’re currently sitting in, the cool green grass rubbing against the palm of your skin.

“She was extraordinary.”

You hum in return, closing your eyes as a cool breeze whooshes by you, goosebumps littering your arms as you shudder under the cold. With the wind, the blades of grass danced under the air, the nearby flowers swaying.

Zhongli peers down at your seated form with the flowers. He watches with intent eyes, looking at the way your hands hold the plant, careful as if it were a form of porcelain.

He can’t help but feel sad as you stroke the blue petals with the tip of your finger, a faint smile on your lips. He pondered to himself; why were you staring up at him with a dumb founded look of love? Surely he wasn’t saying anything great at that moment.

He can recall the way you stared at him with half lidded eyes, like you were dozing off in your own dream state.

It throws him for a whirl. These past few weeks messed with his head— more than anything has in his life.

“Glaze Lilies were her favorite, huh?” you spoke up, bringing it closer to your nose, sniffing as the aroma filled your senses, a pleased sigh passing your lips. Your fingers mess with the stem, no thorns popping out from it.

“They… yes indeed they were.”

It’s silent for a moment before a hum breaks the silence.

Sitting in a small field of Glaze Lillies in Dihua Marsh, you hummed softly to yourself as you become one with the flowers in your mind. If all of Teyvat was silent enough, your melody could reach all ears; the young and the old.

A sheer screen of white flashes before Zhongli’s eyes, blinding the archon for a split second before his eyes snap open, a small pant leaving his lips.

It’s no longer night. The sun has risen for the day, the rays shining down on him.

His arms feel slightly heavy as he gazes down, notice the black and gold lines littering his arms; the color of Geo glowing with each second. He checks his palms then the back, taking notice of the white robe he now wore along with his slightly baggy pants and no shoes.

Unsure, he slowly lifts a hand to the top of his head, feeling a sharp pole coming from under the hood. His horns stood up, tall and proud for everyone to know that this was Rex Lapis.

It’s quiet among the trails in Dihua Marsh. Something catches his eye as he turns his head, noticing the small traces of civilization.

“Odd...everything was in ruin after the war,” he mutters to himself, the dirt rubbing against his bare feet.

Instead of being near the field like he was moments ago, he’s rather far away; the patch of flowers in the distance. Morax is confused as to how he ended over here but decided not to comment.

With each step he takes, the rocks buried in the ground poke at his feet, making him wince faintly in pain. He most definitely recalls wearing shoes before coming out in the open.

Everything now seems to be beautiful, at peace. Nothing was out of the ordinary, the old statues were up, not a single crack on them.

The walk seems to last a millennia to the God of Contracts but eventually reaches the green patch that leads to the blooming flowers.

The first thing he takes sight is the clothed back of what looks like a woman who happens to be sitting in the field. The second thing he notices is a flower of Liyue that rests in her hand.

As he gets closer, his ears catch the melody the woman is singing. It tugs at the strings of his heart, yet drags him deeper into the hole of curiosity .

The red baggy robes are the things he recognizes on the spot. The sleeves are far too large for this lady, the white belt that is loosely wrapped around her waist that gives the idea of carelessness; but the way she moves, the way her voice reaches his ears.

There’s no doubt in his mind.

He gets closer and closer with each note she hits before he’s only three steps away from her. His pupils are dilated, his hand reaching out to grasp.

It’s only seconds until he feels a droplet trickle down his face, dropping to the grass underneath him. One tear turns into two, then three until he’s quietly crying behind the woman, remembering every note.

His arms that glowed have now dimmed, faded from its bright color. His head is hung forward, shoulders slugged as he lets out a shaky breath, bangs brushing against his forehead.

“You know, you don’t have to stand right there and stare.”

“P-Pardon?” Morax stutters, lifting his head up to see the woman’s head turned faintly to where he can see the outline of her nose.

“I said,” she started, her voice soft yet demanding, “you don’t have to stand and stare like that. You can approach me too.”

“My mistake,” Morax clears his throat, one hand wiping away the clear liquid from his cheek. “I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

She lets out a laugh that makes his heart flutter. “You didn’t scare me. I was able to sense you when you were back there by the old tree. You have a very powerful presence, Morax.”

“I’ve been told that before by old friends of mine.” He peered down at her, taking in the shape of her nose. “Might I ask, what’s your name?”

“My name?” She asks, not giving him what he wanted. “And why might you need that?”

“Well shouldn’t every god know one another?”

She’s silent for one second before nodding. “I suppose you’re right.”

“My name is—“ she tells him but he doesn’t quite catch it. He asks for it once more but does not hear it again. Morax rubs his ear gently before noticing that she’s standing up; back to him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Morax. I think we’ll get along just fine,” her bare feet move in the grass blades, her body beginning to turn.

The wind gets knocked out of his chest, lips parted in shock. A face he’s been trying to remember for eons— isn’t the same as it was.

Her eyes sparkled, a gentle smile on her lips as she approached him. Her features were unique, something that looks awfully familiar but cannot put his tongue on it.

“Don’t you think?” Her head tilts to the side, lifting a Glaze Lily in front of their face. His bright eyes can’t even stare at the plant, fixated on her face that he seemed to see every day of his current life.

“I…”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to answer me just yet, Zhongli.”

“What?” He asks in a whisper, voice barely audible to her ears. “What are you talking about?”

“I know, Zhongli.”

There’s a dull ache in his frontal, a hand clutching his forehead with a wince, eyes squeezed shut.

So many things hit him like a meteor. His head is spiraling, his heart feels as if it could burst out of his chest at any second. All he wants to do it lay down on the floor and let everything wash away. That seems like the best option.

“Zhongli...”

His eyes flutter open, adjusting to the now dark setting of Dihua Marsh. Clear liquid cascades down his face as he quickly scans the area. The old traces of civilization were now gone, the area nothing more than flora and fauna; the statues broken down.

“Zhongli.”

Your voice catches his attention, your body standing right in front of him, holding a glaze Lilly in front of your face.

It clicks in his brain for only a second when he sees the tear slipping down your face.

But the thing that throws him off the most is that beautiful smile you’re wearing.

Smiling through the pain as you told yourself many times in the past month. Your sad eyes aren’t even staring at him, rather looking at the petals that seemed to weigh as much as the rocks that surrounded the area.

Seeing your current state set off a small alarm within him. His hand as if automated too, reaches out and cups your cheek, a gloved thumb rubbing against the soft skin.

“What’s wrong?”

“This whole time–” Your voice is shaky, unstable as you steer your gaze to stare into his golden eyes. “–I was confusing myself to no end. Every night I would walk up the mirror and try to figure myself out but I never could. When I closed my eyes, I couldn’t see anything but this...this flower. It was all I saw.”

When you spoke, your smile never faltered. In all honesty, it was starting to get him a bit frightened at how calm yet broken you were.

“It wasn’t me.”

“Maybe you’re just tired?” he suggests, worried about your wellbeing. “You might be stressing yourself too—” You cut him off with a shake of your head, reaching up and cupping both of his cheeks, the stem rubbing against his skin.

“When you close your eyes… I know who you pretend I am.”

At this moment, his vision is blurry as more tears form before slipping past his lower eyelids. He’s unable to see your face, blinking the tears away, but more form in their wake. He’s unable to see you.

“I don’t understand what you mean...”

“I know who you pretend I am, and it’s okay.” Your lips brush against his own for a second, your tears mixing with his own.

Through his tears, he catches a glimpse of your face. To him, you look devastated. Your lips are down in a frown, your head hung forward with your body hunched just a tad, hands by your side. To him, you look done.

But you, you’re far from it.

The circumstances of the now don’t affect you as they did when you first caught onto the strange behavior. The longing glances, how he would spend his hours of the night trying to open the dumbbell that contained her wisdom. Not to mention the slip ups of her name being said rather than her own. Even in his sleep, you could hear him calling for her once in a while.

“I’m not upset. It took me a while to accept it but...I’m ready.” You bring the flower to your nose, taking a whiff then presenting it to him.

Once again the archon stares at you with a dumb founded look, something that was strange to see on him. He can’t say anything as you look forever different in his eyes.

It’s like your body was split in half, making two completely different people. The right side staring at him was Guizhong. His first lover and former ruler of the Guili Plains. Her eyes were sad with a smile, her body stiff as all she could do was stare at him.

The left was his current lover. Someone who went through months of denial, confusion and hurt. Your eyes shone as you offered nothing but a flower and your love and devotion to him.

Two women that happened to be one.

Yet one outshined the other.

“I’m ready to be who you want me to be.” Your hand runs up his face, tucking the stem of the flower behind his ear that now takes a seat in his black hair. “No matter how you see me as, my love for you can never change.”

Zhongli feels his heart flutter at your words and the small laugh that slips past your lips when you catch his look. Yet each time he closes his eyes, your face becomes blurry before going normal. Your clothes change, and so does the style of your hair. Everything changes once he closes his eyes to get his reality set straight.

I know who you pretend I am.

“Even if I’m not Guizhong, I’ll be her for as long as you need...until I die. I’ll always be here, Morax,” you whisper, gazing at his lips before pressing yours against his. Your arms slither around his neck, cradling the back of his neck.

Morax melts into the kiss, his arms encircling your waist bringing you flushed against him.

In his mind, he’s standing in Guili Plains with the sun shining down at him, the God of Dust currently in his arms as their people cry in joy that they found a safe place to live— two caring gods to watch over them forever and protect them from harm's way.

All the worries were thrown out the door as the now is most important to him.

But now, he’s standing in a field covered with the most beautiful flowers known to man, their petals swaying with the sudden harsh wind that hits against him and his lover.

After eons of waiting and in sorrow, Morax now has what he desired the most once the chaos of the Archon War was finished. To hold the one most important close again.

Unbeknownst to him, a single tear slips down your face as you begin to revel in the new identity you gave yourself. Pain will continue to surge through your veins but you could care less.

If Morax was happy, you will continue to be happy for him.

For you are Guizhong, the God of Dust. Lover of Morax.

I love you, Morax.

And I love you too, Guizhong...

taglist: @reddriot @kaqinq @thicmitten @katsuhera @novvabeam @patt-writes-stuff @etegomanere @tspice283 @bonitoge @mysticalchocolate @alexisskywalker @nyangorogoro030303 @frassycassy (add yourself to the Genshin taglist HERE)

[smallblip]

Forever Fifteen

Levihan | Part I of Good Bones | written for Levihan Week 2021- Memory (day 6)

It’s on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/33635872

“Hello stranger…”

Hanji doesn’t have to look behind her to know who it is. Already, she’s pulling a cigarette case from the inner pocket of her jacket. She holds one out to her side, and with a brush of cold fingers against hers, it’s gone. Her heart beats out of her chest.

Oh be still! We’ve been through this before! This should be as mundane as- doing the laundry.

She turns to face him, scanning him from his nice dress shoes to the way his hair is slicked back, an exaggerated simper on her face.

“What’s a handsome stranger like you doing in a place like this?”

He scoffs. “The party’s not over yet…”

“I know…” she replies, tilting her head to get a better look at her company. “I’m just watching…”

He follows her gaze to the courtyard below the balconies, to where Jean is sitting with Mikasa. Just- talking.

“Happened right under our noses…” Hanji chuckles. Oh right… she mutters when Levi gestures for the light. There’s a little fumbling because of Hanji’s penchant for pockets, but she finds the box of matches eventually. She strikes one and holds it close to Levi. A bright little light that burns embers into the greys of his eyes. The dark circles under his eyes have made a permanent home under his skin, and there are now lines carved into the shadows. When did those get there?

As always, Levi is the first to look away.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that would you?” He raises a brow.

Jean is now laughing at something. Levi clicks his tongue in annoyance. In the many years he has known these damned kids, he hasn’t once laughed at anything Mikasa has to say. Jean must be a fool then. Jean is a fool because he listens too well to Hanji. Listens when she tells him he should go for it if that’s what he wants. Tell her a good pickup line, swap a few jokes, share a little fruitcake. Easy.

Hanji gasps dramatically, “as Commander of the Survey Corps, I would like to remind you that I am well aware of the policy against fraternisation!”

“That never stopped you…” Levi answers. But oh it has. The people who knew them as lovers are now dust. And now the rumours speak for them, past prefixed to lovers as a way to explain the familiarity, as a way to grow the distance.

Oh it has stopped them.

“Never stopped you either… If only they knew the great Captain Levi wrote crazy ol’ Hanji Zoë a love letter in his youth…” Hanji chuckles, a little too brave so it must be the alcohol, because she feels anything but brave lately. Her laughter is a little too bright for the night. A little too beautiful and familiar that it makes Levi smile. There’s a spray of pink on his cheekbones. The thought of people knowing the details is mortifying to say the least. But no one will know. This secret will be buried in a shared grave. A cosy little grave that gets a little damp in the summer. But they’ll brave the heat. Good things happen in the sun. Good for the linens too. Just- not good enough to untether the smell of Hanji’s skin from the fabric of his sheets.

“Do you remember what was in that letter?” She continues.

He doesn’t look at her now. His gaze is fixed on Jean’s fidgeting and he thinks of his own attempts at romance. His own little love story that blossomed beautifully and died tragically as they grew older. When they were put in charge for lives outside their own. When Erwin had named Hanji the next in line for the cursed role of Commander. One last night with her. One kiss and a handshake and a- hello stranger, my name is Hanji Zoë.

Levi. He had replied, just Levi.

He remembers Pyxis’ smug little “maybe your boyfriend can help with the mission” and Hanji’s vacuous, unthinking “oh he’s not my boyfriend anymore…”. The look on Pyxis’ face had been one for the books- a genuine surprise from coming by two pieces of information. So they are exes. The rumours were true. Menacing Levi and Kooky Zoë. Levi had launched a kick at Hanji’s shin under the table. Never in Levi’s life had he wished so much for the earth to swallow him whole.

“No…”

He says. It’s not lying if she knows what he really means. If she can tell, between each drag of her cigarette, what he’s thinking.

And she can. Oh she can.

He lets the memory dance across his eyes. That night at the pub, two kids puffing out their chests so they wouldn’t rouse suspicions (not that people care much in the Underground), listening to the men sing songs about love. Oh what Levi would give be young again. To look at Hanji, really look at her for the first time and have his mind play static on loop. To realise that for the rest of his life he’ll only be mesmerised by her.

She chuckles. Another drag of her cigarette, two taps to watch the ash drip. A wink.

“We must be getting old then, Levi…” She says, “in a few years we’ll be a couple of old prunes, you and I…”

Levi smiles at her. He’s never really thought about the mechanics of growing old. But he thinks the image is nice. Of Hanji tracing pruny fingers along the length of his pruny skin where the crescent scars sit in the leather of his skin. And he’ll remind her of the time when they kids, because that’s what old couples do right? Tease each other endlessly, talk about the ambiguity of the good old days, reminisce over long walks? Levi wants the complete works. He laughs to himself, a private little joke that simmers to a murmur-

Four-eyed prune…

It’s a little later when Hanji decides maybe it’s time to stop eavesdropping and get back to the party. The musicians announce the last dance of the night. The trumpets trail after the saxophone and the sound is something grand. And Hanji asks Levi if he wants to dance, because she’s a sucker for romantics, even though she’ll never admit it. And she knows Levi is too. And Hanji thinks life must still be pretty sweet if she’s dancing with her ex lover with a sea of memories between them and the abject refusal to explicate the boundaries of exes. Because it’s hard to forget. Because it’s hard to wash your lover’s scent from your sheets. No matter how hard you scrub, no matter how much the sunlight eats at the fabric and bleaches it. So much so that Hanji thinks it’s all in her head. The smell of his skin, the taste of cigarettes on his tongue- he only smokes with her, only with her- the ghost of his breath against the shell of her ear.

And Levi’s heart is beating out his chest.

Oh be still! We’ve been through worse! We scrubbed at the sheets until our fingers were raw and pruny, remember?

But with Hanji it’s hard to catch a break. He knows. He’s dealt with this for so long that he doesn’t even flinch when she tells him-

“You’re my best friend, Levi…”

But she recognises all the signs. The slight twitch of the corner of his lips, the creasing of the skin between his brows, the sadness in his eyes so bright that she has to avert her gaze.

“Do you tell all the boys that when you dance with them?”

He answers. And she hears the rhythmic grate of the sheets against the washing board.

Forgetting is hard.

“I don’t dance with other boys…” She replies, channeling Hanji Zoë at fifteen- was it sixteen? Seventeen? Eighteen maybe? Hanji Zoë who would sneak into the boy’s barracks to make out with her boyfriend in the dead of night and scurry back under the sheets before anyone found out. “You know I like you the most…”

“Good…”

He says. And he’s Levi- a few years older than she had been, a little too curt, a little too much misplaced possessiveness, thinking to himself that maybe love isn’t so icky and banal. Thinking maybe this is what his mother had promised him. This is all that’s beautiful.

He leans his chin against her shoulder, wrestling against the caution thrown at his beating heart.

Let them talk. Let them say we were lovers in a past life. Because that’s all we are.

Hanji presses her temple against his. The familiarity is jarring in all the ways a stain is. Bright mustard yellow against white cotton, evidence of a split second stupid decision to eat on the duvet. This is a cumulation of mustard moments then- a stain so big the entire world turns yellow.

“I like you the most too…” Levi says, voice low like this is a secret. Like as if the whole of Paradis Island doesn’t already know.

Hanji chuckles, and the vibration that spreads from her bones to his makes him blush. He knocks his temple against hers. Stupid Hanji. Stupid mustard stain.

“Liar…” she laughs. The word is a breath that caresses his cheek. But she knows him- this boy Erwin collected from the underground city. He got under her skin and she proceeds to make it her job to get under his. She had greeted him with scars on his forearm and in return, she walked away with a bruised eye, a broken nose, and an epiphany. And in the years after- the good years- they do what every teenager would do-

fuck around and fall in love.

Levi pulls apart, and in that moment, his lips brush against her neck- fleeting casualness befitting a hey big idiot. It’s the hottest day in the history of mankind but I’ll brave the stickiness to kiss your sweaty neck. Befitting a lifelong stain of a crush on a stain of a human being that will never quite go away.

It’s hard to forget.

Hanji watches as Jean crosses the hall back to where Connie and Sasha are. A sheepish grin plastered on a bright red face. The two tease him endlessly and as always, Jean swats them away, trying to maintain his cool. Hanji knows nothing really happened, but his reaction can only mean hopeful possibility. She smiles.

“Hey, do you think we would’ve worked out?”

Hanji asks when they’re walking back to the barracks, her jacket concealing a few bottles of alcohol. The other bottles have found their way to Levi’s reluctant hands. They’ve been through this before. It’s okay now. After all, comfort is a stained duvet. Soon, she’ll have to bid him farewell with a goodnight, stranger. But for now, Levi answers without looking at her.

“Yeah…” he replies, matter of fact, “we’ve got good bones…”

Oh be still! Hanji feels betrayed that her heart- a wretched thing so broken- still beats the same for him- this beautiful stain of a human being. This moment is living, breathing nostalgia. What had they been before one another? Menacing Levi and Kooky Zoë. How could anything bad ever happen to them. She grins at him.

“The best…”

[cornacopicimagines]

A Rose Blooms │t.h

pairing: prince!tom holland x princess!reader

words: 8.4k (WHOOPS)

warnings: arranged marriage, SMUT (we been knew), slight praise kink and 10000% breeding kink, therefore unprotected sex, swearing, slight cockwarming & good lord there is so much

summary: Perhaps God does have a sick sense of humour. To allow such misguided souls to one another. Souls that shouldn't be allowed to feel the sense of happiness he can provide, that should accept their dire situations. The Prince of Wales and his new bride can attest to the quite well. 

a/n: what do y'all mean a historical prince au!tom holland with major smut and breeding kink is not a thing. i know the sluts want it, even if they never ask for it. i must provide it.

masterlist

━━★✼☆｡

y/n of Burgundy was a splendid piece of artwork. A sweet and humble French Princess with a huge dowry and a bright future. It was as if DaVinci had casted the girl from Venus's shadow and gifted the baby to displeased parents. Parents who so wished for a boy, that the arrival of a healthy girl is so overlooked that the girl is better off dead. The sadness is heard across not only France but the entirety of Europe. Poor y/n of Burgundy! The Unlucky Princess of Burgundy! It's all she hears; she is deemed a tragedy before her life is even written. Perhaps that is her greatest misdeed in this life, that because she is born the wrong sex to what is expected she is casted to the side as a woman destined for slight and anguish for her entire life. Even if this is the case, y/n wished to think of herself as unwritten for the moment being. A woman waiting for a calling no matter how big or small. A woman who's only current wish to sit atop this windowsill, letting the cool September French breeze kiss her flushed cheeks. Alas, even this is stripped from her.

"Get off the window, y/n!" her mother's shrill voice shrieks as The Duchess yanks y/n to the floor. It's harsh and frantic, as if an arrow is to fly through and hit her. Her tightly coiled chest hit's the wooden floor hard. It knocks the only wind y/n really has left, a wasteful shame.

"I am sorry mama," y/n responds quietly, her hands desperately pat to find a piece of wood that will not cut up into her as she attempts to regain her balance. Though her room is filled with four maids not a single one offers their own hand to help her. She knows it is because of her mother's cowl. If they dare so move in a direction towards her, The Duchess will become a Fury of Hell himself.

"The breeze is so sweet at this time of afternoon." Finally, y/n does place her feet back on the floor with a small clack of her heels. She takes a moment to take in the state of her gown. While she has countless others, something about the pure white of the satin being destroyed by the inevitable dust that has collected is disheartening even to her. The pattern of bright red roses now looks more of a dull blood grey than a true flower.

"The breeze is something so frivolous my dear," The Duchess is suddenly content with her surroundings. "Busy yourself with something more intelligent, it makes for a much better bride." 

"Thank you for the wise advice mother," y/n snaps, her fingers gripping the ruined material of her gown. "I'll be sure to not engage myself in something that gives me the slightest bit of freedom in the lifeless castle," it was no louder than a whisper. Her braided hair still muffling the sounds.

As if her words seemed to not even reach her, The Duchess mumbles in agreement before taking her leave. The door shutting loudly behind her, the air was finally safe to breathe. The maids immediately begin to swarm her. Like flies to honey; they grapple her, prod at her and pinch her. It was too much. It was as if a million ants had swarmed her body, nipping at any piece of flesh they could just because it was what they were meant to do. An instinctive need to draw more blood than necessary, it was overwhelming. They inspected her perfectly capable hands, wondering if their incompetence has cost them their heads because y/n of Brittany split her blood and The Duchess refused to let them help. She was suffocating.

She didn't mean for it to slip, it just did. Her voice raised, "Get out." It was softer at first. "Get out," they still didn't move, still abusing her. "I said get out!" Everything stopped for a moment, the air her mother had ensued had now come back. The maids all took a single step away from her. y/n felt the tears threaten her, warning by dancing across her lower lashes. "Do none of you listen, get out for Christ’s sake!" That's all it took, in a matter of seconds y/n was finally alone. She could hear the faint song of the trees whispering to her, it was calm, but she couldn't appreciate it. She dropped to her knees and began to softly weep into her palms. The groans muffled by the skin of her hands and the tears halted from falling by her fingers. In this moment and forever ahead of her, she was desolate.

But like all things, even this bleak minute of sorrow was cut to an end by the deafening sound of her father's boots storming down the hallways towards her room.

━━★✼☆｡

Tom spectated as the pole shattered into a thousand pieces. The splinters hitting ever edge of the arena. He watched as the knight fell limp and as his horse rode on through the chaos. The young prince roared out of his seat, his knees hitting the harsh wood of the royal box. His name echoed on the young knight's medallion above his breast. He had picked the winning side and rightfully so, Sir Harrison had never been defeated. For a moment, Tom turned around to face his beaming mother. A woman who loved the games, Tom always relied on his mother to accompany him to these festivities but his father. The Prince would always ask graciously but was refused every time. Constantly belittled for the consul of old men with a working cock between them, it was a joke. The King had many failed efforts to rile the English people to cause, Tom had offered a large gathering to help inspire the people. The King told his son this would cause nothing but useless panic and many painful deaths. Scoffing, Tom waltzed back to his seat. It was uncomfortable, it felt as if ants hand made their nets below the seat's support. He wished to ride alongside them.

"You cannot and you will not," The Queen smiled at him, waving to squires as they led the horses away. Tom's head swivelled around to meet his mother's. "I refuse it my son."

"I had said nothing mother," Tom replied quietly, he too doing his duty to the lower noble men who had come out today. Each one sweatier than the last. "Perhaps you are hearing things, 10 childbirths can change a woman's mind," Tom stifled a laugh, too which he received a slap on the arm for.

"Don't play smart with me son," The Queen spoke coolly, her countless rings clanged as she rose from her seat. Tom followed suit, allowing a hand for his now middle-aged mother for gracious help down the impossibly large stairs. "I almost lost your father to one of these silly little cock shows, I will not go through it with you my boy."

Tom raised an eyebrow, watching his mother's golden trim become bleaker by the stain of the grass. "I had half a mind to believe you enjoyed these silly little cock shows," Tom played. The Queen peered up at his through hooded lids. It was dangerous waters even for him, a man who has seen the blood of war. He allowed his mother and her ladies to return to Windsor, watching as if to wait for the shark to disappear.

"Your Royal Highness, if I may have a word," a soft voice called out from below the podium. Tom paced to the edge and stared down. Constance, he thought to himself as he smiled wickedly. She was a short and mildly plump woman, with wild unruly hair that had to be constantly shoved out of her face. He remembers her name because of how sweet his name sounded dripping from her tongue. Countless nights spent in the throes of passion, wearing moonlight as cloth. Tom knew he had dishonoured her just by bedding her, but he couldn't help himself. She was the first woman who really took an interest in him. Still, he had to come to her aid on multiple occasions. While he likes the way, she grips at his biceps, he however, doesn't like when her father comes storming into court demanding his daughter's honour back because Tom had prayed on her. Perhaps, it was the odd lack of ladies that would flock to his side or maybe it was simply because he wanted a little bit of fun before the inevitable. 

"You may, my Lady," Tom smiled widely making his way to her side. He could tell the mud was ruining the polished leather of his boots, he completely forgot about his favourite riding boots he had put on in hopes that he may indulge himself in the sports. Still, he pushed the though deep down at met her eyes. He not an unusually tall man but the way he almost dwarfed her was delectable. As he watched her squirm, he wondered as to why she would speak with him where anyone could see. There was no danger for him, but the world's eyes were on her.

She played with the small ring on her pinkie finger, riding it up and down the skin. "Why did you not tell me," she whispered, refusing to look up at him. Tears began to well.

"What on earth do you mean?" He queered, genuinely curious as to what had got her all worked up. His hands went to stroke her cheek gently, but she abruptly pulled away from him. This time her eyes did meet his, the salty liquid glossed over her eyes.

"It is bad enough that I am called the Prince's Whore but now they are cursing my name because I have ruined the royal couple!" she cried out, her deep green dress swallowing the mud below. "That a stupid maid slut has stolen you away from the beautiful French Princess!"

Tom saw nothing but red. Not because of Constance but because of what she said to him. He had begged his parents to let him choose his own wife. If he was to rule England after his father's passing, he wished to at least have a woman whom he truly loved by his side. He said nothing to her as he stormed away. The small drizzle of rain hitting his skin as he picked up his speed. He knew that his father was in a council meeting alongside his mother. Perfect opportunity to unleash his rage. He faintly heard her calling after him, that was muffled by the buzzing in his ears.

He had been told who he was meant to be and what he was meant to be from the moment he was born. Hardly ever seeing his mother or younger brothers because he was eldest, never knowing true companionship because he would be constantly cooped up listening to his advisors and tutors as they taught him the art of war and foreign policies. This was his one chance to spend his life with a woman who understood him and would grow a loving family much in contrast to what he had.

His hands pushed the heavy wooden doors, they hit the walls with a large smack. The entire council stood for the Prince, with the exception of his mother and sickly father. He walked past them with ease and took his seat at the opposite end of table. His eyes focused solely on his father as he absently noted the appearance of his son.

"Wonderful of you to finally join us," The Duke of Essex smiled weakly, in any attempt to deflect the tension elsewhere.

"When were you going to tell me?" Tom spoke, his voice barely above a whisper and laced with venom. His elbows digging into the cool wood of granite of the table. He watched his father finally face him; the man was a wreck. His greying hair stuck to his hair with copious amounts of sweat, his brown eyes had sunk deadly back into the sockets and his skin was pale and filled with wrinkles. "When were you going to tell me father?"

"You were spending too much time with that scullery maid," The King respond calmly, still flipping through royal documents. Tom was on the verge of an explosion. If the Prince was known for something, it was his anger. Much like Mount Vesuvius, he didn't get angry often, he hated how it affect those around him. The times he is pushed to the breaking point however, he was destroy everything in his path. "We had to put an end to it."

"We?" Tom pushed.

"Your mother made the arrangements; she is being brought here as we speak." Once more, the King had no interest with the devastated look on the Prince's face. Too caught up in an attempt to stile a cough.

"You promised me my own choice of bride," Tom seethed. He faced his mother, if the King wouldn't listen perhaps the Queen would.

His mother sighed; the silk of her sleeves draped over the arms of the chair. "That was before you had instinctively made the choice, we hoped that perhaps you would have fallen for the daughter of a Duke or at worst an Earl. You were going to marry that girl, after everything her family has done against the court. We couldn't allow it."

Tom jaw clicked. "Who is she?" He was done arguing, done protesting.

"You'll marry the granddaughter of the French King; y/n of Burgundy," his father spoke up before his mother could sugar coat it. "The family sent a portrait of the girl as the first payment of her dowry; it has already been placed in your room. Hopefully, you can find the slightest bit of attraction for your new bride before the wedding."

"Will I get to meet her beforehand?" He at least hoped to see the girl with his own eyes before calling her his wife. Finally, the King met his eyes. He dropped the quill on the desk as locked his eyes, leaning towards him.

"Did you really think you'd get that luxury?"

━━★✼☆｡

The sea breeze prickled at y/n skin as she sat atop the deck. She could tell they were getting closer. The wind went from a soft tone to a howling scream, something her great aunt had told her all about. English weather could go from a perfect sunny day to god's worst mood. In all honesty, she preferred it to French. It was wild and unpredictable, something she so desperately needed.

She remembered how she got into this predicament as she lay down a 9 ace on the table. Waiting for the ship to land.

"You'll leave tomorrow, it will take you a good couple of days to get there." Her father exclaimed, picking a raspberry from the plate and eating the sweet fruit. y/n stood in silence, still reeling her tears back into her eyes. She refused to weep in front of the Duke. She moved around the large room, in order to hear his words. "You'll make a fine queen," he smiled, placing his hands atop her cheeks. y/n smiled warmly before raising a concern.

"How do you know this will be different than the last?" she asked quietly, staring down at her shoes. Her father sighs before picked his coat up from the chair.

y/n placed her bets, her hand is exquisite. Three queen and a pair of Kings. If she doesn't win, it's as if God is going against her. The men that sit beside her raise their brows in confusion. She's not backing down.

"Because, you know their language and their culture from Great Aunt Mary. You were her favourite after all," her father tells her, the memory of the old lady teaching her English brings a curve to her lips. That was not the answer she was looking for, however. Her father knows it as well, he knows the answer she wants but he cannot give it to her. "Trust me pumpkin," the endearment is wonderful. Unlike her mother, y/n's father has always been kind to her. She doesn't know if it because she is his eldest daughter or because her brother is a lousy boy and she is the only child with a head still attached to her shoulder blades.

She releases her tension; she knows whatever comes out of this she must go along with it. She must accept whatever situation is handed to her and accept her duty as a future queen and mother to the English Throne.

y/n squeals, her hand's won. The rest of the chips are placed in her corner, she is asking if they want to go another round but instead, they all huff and walk away from her. y/n feels her heart sink into her stomach. Perhaps the English wind has turned their moods sour. Soon enough her worries are washed away as the boat docks into Brighton and y/n hears the cheers for her. She can't exactly make out what they are saying. Sadly, she doesn't get a chance to even greet her new subjects as her new English ladies are gently pushing her towards the carriage. The only thing she can do is wave and smile at them, hoping to instil a fraction of hope for the new royal couple. As she steps into the carriage, a huge white dress follows her. The abundance of ladies and herself are stuck in the cramped space for a little over an hour before they start agreeing to change her dress into the one being coddled.

"Why? This is dress is perfect as it is," y/n laughed gently, her fingers playing with the pearls that lace the neckline.

"Forgive me, my lady, but His Majesty; The King has requested that you wear a white gown." One of the younger girls pipes up. Sighing, y/n nods her head to agree and goes to stop the carriage.

While they don't completely undress her, she knows that the smock under her dress is shear and leave nothing to the imagination. Quickly they strip her of the current dress, even unlacing the corset before adding another one. As they place the soft silk of her veil over her head, she can hear the ringing bells at Westminster. It hasn't completely dawned on her what she is exactly going through. Marrying a man she has never met. Marrying a man for all she knows could be a tyrant. She's heard quite a few English Monarchs fall under that said category. Her heart started to jump now; she could fell the beat thump against her vocal box.

The people began to line the city. Countless bodies waved at her as she strolled through the city of London. The abbey somehow seemed ten times bigger in person. White rose petals fell through the air as the coachman opened the door for her. The walkway was paved with red velvet. Her heels felt as though she was ruining the beautiful material as she walked.

Tom can physically hear her pounding heartbeat from where he stands. He can't exactly make out her face, but he can see the white gown strutting towards him. It's the same patterns as the dress his mother wore more than 20 years ago. He's seen it in countless paintings, his mother scowling as she attempts to salvage any positive thing out of such tremendous pain. Harrison lays a hand on his shoulder; the contact makes him jump.

"I heard she looks like a siren," he joked, dusting a small particle of fluff off Tom's shoulder. "Perhaps she'll sound like one too," the comment was enough to grant the knight a hard whack on his arm from the Prince. He truly did wonder if she would as beautiful as the painting which depicted her. A small red rose for his house in her fingertips as she grinned softly. It was as if she was staring into his soul.

Tom reached out to allow her aid in getting up the stairs. She graciously accepted muttering a small thank you as her other hand lifted the countless layers of fabric to mend her steps. Her touch was soft, something he wasn't used to. The gentle touch of a noble woman, even if it was only upon his fingers. The entirety of Westminster Abbey went silent as the faced each other.

y/n could barely hear anything over her rampant anxiety. Though she was eased slightly as she blindly grasped at his fingers, she was afraid she gripped a little too tightly. Finally, she stood in front of him. The gown dipping down the stairs to end in her ladies' hands. She wondered what she looked like to him. Wondering if it was a glorious sight to witness a new bride waltzing towards him. Or if it was one of dread, to be in holy matrimony with someone you've just met for the first time. She's still trying to decide between the two.

The ceremony was beautiful. A simply yet elegant affair, as two young royals wed. She knows that she is marrying the Prince of Wales, a worthy husband for any noble woman. Yet she can't help the dread that builds as the Archbishop drones on. The hymns falling deaf ears. She tries to pay attention, but she can’t, all she can hear is the drumming of her heartbeat. It pounds against her ribs, creating echoes in her head. Before she knows it, his hands reach for hers. There was no strength in his grip unlike beforehand, it was soft and gentle. As if she was a beautiful yet delicate doll, that she would completely shatter if he pressed just that bit too hard. Their fingertips locked; her skin fell into the ridges of his knuckles.

“I proclaim thee, y/n of Burgundy to be my lawfully wedded wife from now until the end of my days,” he hesitated. She could hear it in his voice. “She shall sit beside me as I rule the kingdom.” The ring passes down her skin, the metal biting at her finger.

She repeats him. “I proclaim thee, Thomas – Prince of Wales to be my lawfully wedded husband from now until the end of my days. I shall sit beside him as he rules this beautiful country.” She smiles at the end, though she never intends to. y/n thanks her ladies that they cover her grinning face behind the thick white lace of her veil.

The entirety of Westminster Abbey is silent, no one dares even breathe as Prince Thomas coils his fingers around the tipping of the lace. He lifts it over his now wife’s face. He taken aback slightly. The painter wasn’t paid enough, clearly. She was even more beautiful standing in front of him. The same clear complexion now glistening in the soft sunlight of England. He doesn’t pry of course; it would be rude of him. Just to stare at his bride, as if they were the only people in the hall. Good lord, does he wish it was.

His hands reach her cheeks. Tender once more, he brings her forward. She shifts on her feet as they meet. A quaint and soft kiss, unlike anything either of them has felt ever. He can’t remember the last time, it was this – well, gentle. Thomas doubts he has ever kissed a woman of such luxury in his entire life up to this point. y/n is the first to pull away, her fingers resting lightly on his raised wrists. Their eyes meet for a moment, a short moment.

Westminster Abbey erupts into celebration. Red rose petals fall from the ceiling and music begins to flood the area.

As she stared around, y/n began to think to herself. I do not know what will come out of this, but I already can see that joy my presence brings to these people. I shall not let them down.

Prince Thomas of England, Heir to The English Throne and y/n of Burgundy, Granddaughter of The French King had been wed. They were now locked in holy matrimony, a feeling unlike any other. Both horrendous and hospitable.

━━★✼☆｡

The Hall is a grand party. Laughing and singing is heard from every corner, mugs of beer and wine are flung across tables and scraps of food are being thrown to the dogs. y/n has never seen such a scene unfold. Too contained by the prudish French court. The most scandalous thing she has seen is a risqué dance meant to be for a married lover.

That is what she always despised about the French Nobility. Their secrets. Whispers and Rumours spread faster than fire. If you had committed some heinous act, the entirety of France will hear about it by the end of the week. Perhaps that is another reason why she felt so trapped in Burgundy. y/n could never do a single task on her own before her ladies’ loose tongue would find their way back to her mother. A delicate little flower, such a waste of potential.

Tom noticed her prodding, her fork twirling the few peas left on her plate. He hadn’t said a word to her all night and yet he looks at her if she’s unwillingly to speak. Does she know any basic English? Perhaps not.

“How are you liking the food,” Tom asked her, leaning into her. She smiled up at him, he spoke to her in French. It made her heart swell for a second. y/n turns to face him, smiling warmly. Tom wishes he could keep that smile forever.

“It’s is very well Your Grace,” y/n replies to him. Her flawless English rolling off her tongue with a petite French accent. It’s like heaven to his ears and he’s taken aback. “My Great Aunt was an English Countess, I loved her very much. I was fluent in English before I was 8.” She explained, almost as if she had read his mind.

“You need not call me Your Grace,” he teased, it was somewhat natural for him.

“Then what shall I call you?” y/n queered.

“I am your husband now, whatever pleases you pleases me,” Tom replied, turning back to his empty plate in an effort to hide the rising red flush on his face. y/n knew she should leave it at that, so she turned her attention elsewhere.

“Are royal weddings usually this,” she paused, “loud?”

Tom laughed quietly, he too turned to face the ruckus crowd. Men laying in the laps of maids, dogs feasting over food that had been flung across the floor. Loud chants to the beat of the music filled the hall. He would have been completely embarrassed by the state of his people in front of his new bride, if he hadn’t seen the amused look on her face. “Not usually, I have only been to one other wedding and that was extremely sombre.”

“How so?” she asked, sipping from the freshly poured wine.

“I went to my uncle’s wedding a few months ago. He had also married a noble woman like yourself, but the poor thing was only 11. My uncle was 35 and counting.” He wishes it was different but like all things in this world, he is powerless to the wills of those who think they are higher than others.

He peered at her; y/n was already looking at him. An eyebrow and a lip raised in disgust. It was quaint.

“I wish I could be more repulsed by that,” Tom wondered if she was joking or if she was serious. He couldn’t tell just by the use of her tone. He did however note her wit. Something he so longed for. They talked for hours, sitting by one another and discussing anything that arrived at the conversation. Tom can’t decide whether it’s her honey-like voice or her banter but it’s making him feel things no one should for someone they are being forced to wed.

Just while they are comparing the contrasting jousting techniques, the joyful music suddenly stops. It’s a quick snap and the entire hall is now dead quiet. The Earl of Salisbury mounts himself on one of the tables. His cheeks red with drunkenness.

The Earl points directly at y/n and Tom as they sit in confusion. “The final tradition, an honour for any noble man. The Great Bedding!”

y/n turns to Tom, clinging slightly to his sleeve. He takes immediate notice. “Thomas, what is The Great Bedding?” There was great concern in her voice as she watched all of the men rush towards them. He didn’t get to answer as the women abruptly hauled him out of his seat and down the hall, away from her.

y/n didn’t fear too well either. At least a dozen grimy hands placed themselves all over her body, pulling harshly as they brought her into the air. Dancing her down the halls. She constantly whacked their hands, to no avail of course. They only dropped her once they got to a dimly lit room.

It was already buzzing with people. Hustling around a single bed, covered by finely woven silk. The men dropped her gently, placing her feet against the ground. y/n tried to turn around to give them a piece of her mind but was stopped as her corset began to become loose around her waist. Incredibly uncomfortable, y/n looked up to distract herself in any regard and found Tom at the other side. The maid’s hands undoing every buckle of his coat, tiny fingers unthreading the lavish ropes across his body. y/n blushed at the sight.

Tom was trying his hardest not to look at her, not to stare as countless men of the court undressing her. He could hear the bulky wedding dress hit the floor of the room, he could feel her eyes on him, and he could see the variety of unknown nobles swarming them in any hopes to achieve the right to gossip tomorrow morning. It was despicable.

He climbed in first, the cotton of the blankets itching his skin as he settled. The only comfort he found was in the softness in his unkempt hair. Not restricted by the gel he was forced to wear.

y/n slowly followed his lead, it was dead silent. No one dared breathed as the new Princess of Wales found her spot next to The Prince. All the while, the exact same priest Archbishop chanted away, and priests flung holy water at the bed. Some of the liquid found itself on her skin. Finally, the crowd bowed to the couple and began to take their leave.

Tom watched in peace; he would be alone. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, perhaps he would be able to get some well needed sleep. That seemed achievable until he felt a cold grasp around his wrist. His eyes shot open to find his father’s glare directly at him. “Don’t let the spring pass, I hope to see a grandson in the next few months,” The King spat.

It had been hours since the quarry of guests had left the room but the the monarch’s words etched themselves into his mind. Echoing nonstop, getting wilder as Tom felt y/n settle herself next to him. The mere presence of her alongside the duty he had to fulfil was too much for him. Tom shot up and quickly gathered his things, hauling his boots and clothes. He couldn’t be near her for another moment, too afraid of what he might do if she was subject to this sort of cruel punishment. Tom quickly decided he was sleep next door, just far away to have the thoughts no longer plague his mind but not too far that he would impose the wrong meaning on her. He reached for the door when she chimed in.

“Where are you going?”

He halted instantly. He wished that they could have gotten along like most royal couples should. A cold and initially distant meeting, then hopefully something would blossom over the years. Instead they had gotten along quite well, too well in fact. He was used to going slowly, taking his time in bedding a girl. A constant glaze over the court every few days, then promiscuous banter and in the span of months he would have her melt in his hand with a simple word. Now, he was feeling flustered and out of control and all of it was happening over a single night. Tom pressed his forehead against the wood, taking a deep breath. He turned to look at her, just like a painting coming to life. Her hair was down, unlike anything he had ever seen. Not grimed with sweat and dirt nor was it pinned underneath a headdress or away from her face. This time, the soft curls framed it. The nightgown clung to her shoulders; the fabric dangerously close to falling off. It made his life that much more difficult.

“I am sorry. You are a beautiful woman, but I just cannot fulfil the expectations that are placed upon me tonight. I will be sleeping in the room next door if you need me,” Tom blurted out. He waited for a response before he could speed out. She sat there, like a perfectly sculpted statue. It was torture.

y/n sighed, “nothing has to happen tonight.”

“But they will ask, they will pry like they always will,” he countered.

“Who says we have to tell the truth?” y/n giggled. God, it was a symphony to him. Tom watched her leave the bed, waltzing around to meet with him at the door. He wanted the tell her to stay exactly where she is, not to move even an inch closer but with ever step she took, his breath hitched higher in his throat. “I would prefer to spend the first night of my marriage with my husband, whether something happens or not.”

He swallowed thickly, “you are incredibly calm.” He now met her, his full attention on y/n as she chuckled in delight.

“I am filled to the brim with anxiety, just not that same fear that you are feeling,” she told him as she sat down the small longue in the middle of the room. She took the wine from the table and poured each of them a glass. Tom was hesitant at first, still wishing to flee the room and into the safety of his own solitary. Still, he found himself pacing towards her. Taking soft and flinching steps until he sat beside her.

“Then what is the fear?” He took the other glass, quickly chugging the alcohol. y/n said nothing but just stared at him in confusion. “The fear you feel, why?”

It was now her turn to become flustered. He looked genuinely curious as to why she was feeling doubtful, but she was unsure if he truly wanted to know the answer. Her father made her promise never to speak of it to anyone, a shameful secret that would ruin her future if it was released. But Tom was now her husband. They were bonded by law, a thought she really didn’t wish to dwell on. Surely, whatever she told him wouldn’t cause them any stress? Still, it would be rude of her not to tell him the reason after he had just clearly demonstrated his own fears in the commitment. “You must promise not to become angry.”

Tom nodded his head gently, even more intrigued then he was before.

y/n quietly exhaled, avoiding looking at Tom. “I was married once before, he passed from the sickness 3 months into our matrimony. Perhaps it was God way of guiding me to a better future, but it ruined almost everything. His death caused create strain for my family as they attempt to rebuild myself as if I was not capable of it myself. I am terrified that I am cursed, that I shall find myself falling in love with you only to be weeping over your coffin months later.” She had poured her soul out, shared such a personal section of her life. She was ashamed to see his face. Too afraid that pure anger and disgust would paint his face.

“Who was he? The man whom you had married?” Tom asked her again. His voice calling out as she stared directly at the purple velvet beneath her dress.

“The Prince of Spain,” y/n squeaked.

“That inbred!” Tom joked, suddenly becoming relaxed by the mere mention of the Spanish Royal Family. “I am surprised you got three months and not three days, that kid was on death doors for his entire life,” Tom was now in a fit of laughter. It wasn’t directed to her but more that they allowed such a beautiful woman to be the wife of such a dull man. y/n peered up, thoroughly embarrassed as she gave him a light whack. Tom finally came down from his laughing fit, staring directly at her. “You are cursed Princess; you are just coddled. Forced into a life clearly not meant for someone like yourself.”

The mere mention of the cradling of her life got y/n riled up, “that’s another thing! The Spanish constantly treated me as if I was some porcelain doll ready to shatter if they dared even look at me! I felt like a child trapped in a woman’s body and he touched me like that as well. God, I was finally ready to truly live my life and then he just was too soft, I wanted something much mor-” Oh. Oh God. She had run her mouth too far, dug her own grave with her rambling. Her hands clamped against her mouth as a heat rushed to her face. She could see the French ships arriving for her next month, giving her passage because she was not in pristine condition. Hopefully Tom didn’t pick up on what she was inferring.

“You aren’t a virgin?” his voice was quiet, almost dark. She felt her entire world shatter. Tom scooted towards her slowly, it was completely unnoticed. She was too deep in panic to recognise the growing flirt rising in the Prince of Wales. y/n shook her head feverously. “That little tick took you?” When he put it like that, it made her stomach tingle. She had never heard such a sentence used in that tone. She was drowning in thoughts.

“I didn’t know what I was doing, that’s why I was so unsatisfied,” she tried to explain, her hands now bunched up the fabric against her knees. “He was just so soft, too soft and I wished he would have-”

“Would have what?” he toyed. Tom doesn’t quite know why he was acting like this. So intent on prying her little secrets out of her. Usually, he would have just simply got straight to the point but now, seeing her become red with frustration was a view causing him great pleasure. Any abstinence he hoped to place upon himself earlier in the night had been thrown out the window. He finally felt back in control, something he longed for. Something she was serving to him on a silver platter.

“I..” she began but the words got caught in her throat. Her tongue stopped completely, almost refusing to finish the damning sentence. She wanted him to be rougher with her, she wanted him to treat her like a woman and not a girl. “What happen to you wishing to keep your hands to yourself?” She attempted to change the topic, trying to flee but to no avail as he quickly caught her wrist in his palms. Their skins igniting on sight.

“Don’t try to change the subject Princess,” he purred, standing up to meet with her at the side of the bed. Her title now held a completely different meaning, it wasn’t being used to describe her. It was being used to utterly destroy her; a nickname only meant to be whispered in the dim light of a dozen candles. “I can see right through you,” Tom’s calloused fingers met the loose fabric on her shoulders, dancing over her collarbone. It was soft but held meaning. “I can see that you wished he touched you differently. Touched you like a real woman, rougher and passionate.”

His words were damned. She should feel ashamed that she was feeling light-headed just by the grazing touch of his fingers above her perked breasts. “Yes,” it was the only thing she could get out. The only single three lettered word that allowed itself out of her mouth. Tom pressed his lips to her neck, underneath her jaw.

“Perhaps, he too was inexperienced.” He spoke through small pecks. “Allow me to show you something different, something better,” it was barely above a whisper, but y/n heard every word. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair as he peered at her.

“I would enjoy that very much,” y/n responded just as quiet, all the gentle touches he currently had placed upon her turned darker. He pulled her into his embrace quickly before tripping her feet from under her and ending atop her on the messily made bed. His hand instantly found the inside of her thigh, his finger bruising her skin. It was delightfully, the slight pain sending shivers down her spine.

Their lips met, gentle at first. Her hands moulding themselves against his jaw, moaning into his mouth as he pushed her deeper into the mattress. She wished she could stay like this forever, wrapping in Tom’s embrace as they mended together. Alas, he pulled away from her. Lips separating with a small pop and a soft whine from y/n underneath him. Tom took a distinct look at her; she was sprawled out and whimpering for something more. Did she give this look to him as well? Did she use the melody that was her voice to beg him to do anything? Tom didn’t particularly wish to replay the thought in his head but yet, he couldn’t help himself.

Her nightgown quickly found itself discarded; her nipples perked in the cold. His lips immediately latched on, massaging the soft tissue. He never knew something could feel this smooth, without any flaws or imperfections. Even though he knew he could spend an entire night between the valley of her tits, he too longed for something more.

In a matter of moments, he found himself staring directly at her sex. A glorious sight to behold, glistening with her arousal in the pale moonlight. She was practically dripping onto the sheets below her. He placed a soft kiss to her pelvis, she jumped at the contact. “If you feel uncomfortable, you need to tell me,” he told her all the while his fingers toyed at her hot hole. Dipping even so slightly into her heat. She was already in euphoria just from the slightest bit of pleasure. y/n nodded her head before locking eyes with him.

He didn’t waste another second, quickly licking a fat stripe through her folds. The taste was pure heaven, he didn’t give her a moment to register the feeling before diving right back into her juices. Sucking and pulling at her, wasting the night away feeling her thighs clamp around his head every time he flicked her clit coupled with a singular finger prancing in and out of her.

y/n wasn’t quite sure how loud she could truly be. She knew that even though they were in the far south-east of the castle, there could be a dozen scullery maids listening right outside the door. Or if someone was trying to achieve some sleep right beside them. At this very moment though, with Tom’s head in between her thighs devouring every inch of her throbbing cunt, she couldn’t give a single fuck. y/n allowed the string of curses and praised to tumble from her lips as she clasped onto the bed sheets for dear life.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Tom remarked, releasing her for a few seconds, “for such a pretty and delicious pussy.” He chuckled darkly. y/n wanted to bite back at him, but she was cut short but the addition of another of his digits sliding into her tight entrance. y/n clasped down hard on her hand. A foreign feeling began to drive itself into her stomach. While unusual, it was not at all exotic to her. It was thrilling, feeling her walls contract around his fingers as y/n began to instinctively rock her hips against his digits.

“God,” he purred, “that’s it, make yourself cum on my fingers Princess. Let me see that gorgeous face while you do it.” Tom had now retracted his mouth from her, completely mesmerised by the way her eyes screwed shut as she reached her peak. A cacophony of beautiful and dazzling sounds stumbling out of her mouth as he felt her climax all over his hand. Such a tantalising sight for any man.

y/n was too deep in her own return that she didn’t notice the retraction of his presences from the middle of her legs. So, when he felt his hands roughly pull her to the edge of the bed, she almost choked. The exhilarating feeling of his strained cock rubbing against her drenched folds made her forget her place. Made her speak before her mind could catch up. “I want you to fulfil the expectation.” She told him, her eyes never wavering from him.

Tom halted all his movements. It was painful but he needed absolute clarity before he did anything without her reassurance. “You need to elaborate Princess,” he told her darkly. He knew exactly what she was asking of him, he knew exactly what she desired.

“I want you to come inside of me,” she spoke as if she was a different person. y/n doesn’t quite know whether it’s the shift of mood or her own personal feelings but either way, she wanted to feel their juices mix and then leak out of her. Wanted him to fill her right up to the brim until the possibility was certain.

“You want me to fuck my seed right into you?” his words were dirtier than she expected but so was he as he slid in and into her. His naval hitting hers with a loud smack. He refused to move until he had played with her just that tad bit more. y/n’s head thrashed into the sheets behind her. She was so full, never has she felt this complete in her entire life. He wasn’t even moving but she could feel every inch of him deep inside of her.

“God yes,” she whimpered. “I need it so bad,” she was going to drive Tom insane. Just by a simple sentence, he was going to lose his mind and cum right now without even doing anything. 

“Want to carry my child, our own Prince or Princess,” he pulled back out of her and slammed right back in, knocking the wind out of her y/n. It was so profoundly dirty, just discussing it. It thrilled her to the very core, child-bearing was meant for women not girls. Perhaps that is why she is so drawn to the talk, the talk of something so primally feminine set her entire body on fire. She couldn’t speak a coherent sentence instead she just let out a continuous plea.

He began slow, hips rocking to find that perfect beat. He revelled in the only sounds in the room, the sound of his cock hitting the divine spot inside of her over and over again and her delirious moaning. It was a symphony he was lucky enough to hear. He wanted to hear more, listen to the pure sounds of him railing into her. So, he picked up the pace. His thrust became not only deep and harsh but fast.

God, if he could immortalise this feeling he would. The feeling of her walls constricting around him as he pounds right into her, the feeling of her legs wrapping around his constantly thrusting hips and the feeling of her sweating skin underneath his fingers as he grips for support. It’s like the Lord himself made her tight little cunt just for him.

“You’re so big,” y/n praised mindlessly. He’s never had someone say that to him without it sounding forced. It’s so raw that he can’t help but go even harder into with each praise that falls off her lips. “Fill me up, I want to feel you all inside of me.” It’s a dangerous game, she’s tapped on something so feral inside of him it hurts.

y/n wants to prop herself up and explore his body while he pounds into her, but she simply can’t. Her limbs give out with every thrust. Her entire body spasms each time he hits the perfect spot inside of her. She a moaning mess, trying to maintain any sense of normality but failing miserably. It’s a constant state of pleasure, she’s afraid that she’s lost track of time. That is until the faint, but all the desirable fit finds itself lit in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m almost there,” she whispers, it’s the only thing she can get out. His thrusts, that once had gained a steady and harsh rhythm are now falling. He’s losing focus with each grip he receives. With her words though, he gives her the final stretch. No longer does he has some form of structure but instead he’s just railing her like a wild animal.

It’s an explosion and neither knows why but it’s addictive. y/n climaxes around him, her toes curling as her final orgasm hits her long and violent. Shaking underneath, him as she unknowingly milks his own finish out of him. Tom’s fucking his cum right into her, he doesn’t stop for a second. Too focused on the goal ahead of him. Placing it where it counts. It’s a feeling he wants to never forget, better yet it’s a sight he wants permanently etched into his memories. As he pulls out of her, their climaxes tumble out of her. Dripping down her leg.

“Hold your legs up Princess,” he teases as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I heard it works wonders.”

The rose blooms only for those who care properly for her.

━━★✼☆｡

a/n: please don’t flop, omg this is so long and no one asked for this shit. please don’t flop chile 🤡