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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months ago

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1968 [Chapter 12: Aphrodite, Goddess Of Love] [Series Finale]

A/N: Surprise!!! A new chapter from Maggie?? On a Thursday?? I was just too excited to wait! Please enjoy the final installment of 1968 🥰💜

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6k

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The sun is rising, and all the guests have dissipated like morning stars. You and Aegon are sitting across from each other at the table in the kitchenette of your suite, cool grey morning light slanting into the silence, confetti on the floor, broken glass, crumbs from the catered appetizers—gyros, hummus, pita, mini spanakopitas, baklava—stomped into the carpet, spots that are soggy with spilled champagne. The Plaza might have to replace it. Outside, rain falls in a mist. Your makeup is smudged; your hair is falling out of its clips and pins. Aemond is waiting, standing with his back to the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, blonde hair slicked back, blue suit, prosthetic eye filling the void in his skull. You know what happens next, but you can’t bring yourself to rise, to speak, to set it into motion. You stare down at the lines in the palm of your uninjured hand and think of the ropes of a sailboat, the invisible strings of gravity that enchain the universe.

Aegon swipes at his eyes: bloodshot, vacant, continuously streaming tears. “I’m gonna go back to Yuma.”

You look up at him, startled. “Right now?”

“Right now,” Aemond agrees from the wall.

Aegon begs you in a hoarse whisper, eyes dark and glistening like the Atlantic at night: “Come with me.”

Your hands shaking, your voice splintering. “I can’t, Aegon. I can’t.”

He drums his knuckles on the table, gets up from his chair, rushes to you before Aemond can stop him. He’s holding you, his lips to your forehead, the salt of his tears on your cheeks and your lips, like the ocean is bleeding out of him, like he’ll drown you. “I’m sorry,” he says, breath catching in his throat, his pores hemorrhaging smoke, horror, rum, ruin.

Once you pushed Aegon away, hated him, stained him with your husband’s blood. Now your fingernails hook like claws into his army jacket and cling there, frantic and childlike. “Not yet, please, Aegon, don’t go, please don’t go.”

“I have to, I’m sorry.”

“Aegon, no–”

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He’s sobbing, he’s trembling, he’s gone. The doorway is empty like an unfinished sentence, like a myth no one remembers. The silence floods back into the rain-grey November air. The room is cold like a mausoleum. You touch your own face: tears Aegon left there, muscles and nerves dead beneath your skin, disbelief you sink through like the sea, waiting to hit the floor deep with the silt of rocks and wreckage and bones.

He’s gone? He’s really gone?

Aemond stalks over to the table, smirking, radiant, his hands in the pockets of his suit; he takes his time, he savors it. He’s never been higher. He was right all along. He can’t be killed, he is destined to be the president. It is God’s will. “Get ready,” Aemond says. “I have a victory speech to make.”

~~~~~~~~~~

He heads west on Route 70, billboards and drive-thrus, toll booths and reflective green mile markers, the kids fighting over who gets to pick the radio station from the back of the Dodge A-100 that Otto had hastily procured, handing over the keys as Aegon rolled his suitcase out of the Plaza Hotel. That first night they stop in Wheeling, Ohio, and the kids have startlingly little resistance to this upheaval. They can’t find much to complain about. A road trip with Dad and only Dad, no journalists badgering them for photos or quotes, no orders barked from Otto or Aemond, no exacting campaign itinerary, no scripted propriety, Mountain Dew spills on the carpet, Pizza Hut boxes on cheap springy motel mattresses.

“What do you think about all this?” Aegon asks Orion when the younger ones have dozed off: Cosmo and Thaddeus on one bed, Violeta in another, Spiro lounging across the threadbare sofa with a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring resting open on his chest.

Orion shrugs, that adolescent aversion to vulnerability, like the whole world is out to shake you down for evidence of the defections you’re so convinced define you. “It’s cool, I guess. It’s like an adventure. And we’ll get to see you a lot more.”

“Yeah you will,” Aegon promises. He feels sick: no booze, no pills, the grease of pepperoni churning in his belly. “And I’m never gonna be the way I was before.”

The bathroom is tiny and spartan, white porcelain, black specks of mildew. When he’s done showering, Aegon wipes the fog off the mirror with his fist. In Ancient Greece, a shaved head was the mark of a slave; it was meant to strip the man of his past, to make him brand new. He remembers Aemond saying this one afternoon as they were all out sailing at Asteria, Aegon sprawled on his back and drinking rum from the bottle as beams of sunlight refracted through the glass, Aemond leafing through one of his history books, Helaena throwing bits of pita to the seagulls, Daeron peering through his telescope for glimpses of dolphins, sharks, bobbing treasure from shipwrecks, imagined enemy vessels. Aegon thinks as he studies his reflection under the harsh fluorescent lights—crinkles by his eyes, skin ravaged by years of careless sunburn—that he wouldn’t mind not having a past. He opens his shaving kit and takes out the straight razor he never uses, shears off his tangled, windswept locks of blonde hair, smiles when the kids laugh and call him Yul Brynner the next morning over breakfast at the diner beside the motel, blueberry pancakes and toast wet with egg yolks. He’s not brand new; it’s impossible to be. But he’s getting closer.

The Fort Yuma Indian Reservation has grown during the Kennedy and Johnson years. The tribe now enjoys a steady income from numerous projects, including the leasing of farmland, a convenience store, a casino and resort, and an RV park. The school has been rebuilt—bigger, more modern, air conditioning, hallelujah—since Aegon was first exiled here twenty years ago, but several of the employees have familiar faces, and the current principal was once an English teacher assigned to be his mentor, a different lifetime, an ancient myth.

“You look good,” Artie says as he descends the concrete front steps on an afternoon in mid-November, 75 degrees, bright cerulean sky, no clouds. He takes Aegon’s outstretched hand and shakes it. “Kind of fat, but good. You still play guitar?”

“I do, yeah. I have one in the back of my van right now.”

Artie glances at the giggling, waving children behind the glass windows. “Jesus Pleasus, how many kids you got?”

Aegon chuckles. “Five, I think.”

“Five! Well, they’re welcome to attend here, if you want them to be where you are.”

“That’s a very generous offer. They’ve never gone to a real school before. They had private tutors in New Jersey.”

“What a great way to raise jackasses, if you ask me.” Artie gives him a stern look over, wrinkled brow, narrowed brown eyes. “You sober?”

“No pills, no drinking, occasional weed.”

“Goddamn, that’s a lot better than I expected.”

“Hey Artie?”

“Uh huh.”

“Would you happen to need a math teacher?”

Artie studies him thoughtfully. “I mean, we’re always looking for qualified math and science people. They leave the quickest, those aerospace and electronics companies over in California pay too much. Why? You know someone?”

“I used to,” Aegon says, then motions for his kids to get out of the van. Artie lets them eat ice cream in the cafeteria while Aegon signs his contract.

He’s in Yuma for three weeks before he meets a girl. Her name is Rachel, and she’s a dream that walked out of the Summer Of Love: hair down to her waist, boots to her knees, handknit vests, chipped nail polish and teasing smiles, a taste for sun and smoking. At night they sit under the stars behind Aegon’s bungalow out in the desert, roasting marshmallows and hotdogs with the kids, Aegon strumming his guitar, Rachel playing her harmonica, a few homely adopted mutts loping around instead of purebred Alopekis. She likes him, this boyish sunbeam of a man who always seems just a little lost, a little sad. She might even love him.

And yet there are ghosts, beasts, threads the fates have not yet severed. One night in January after the kids have gone to sleep, Aegon is flipping through television channels as Rachel returns to the couch with a bowl full of Jiffy Pop, plops down onto the cushions, curls up against him. Aegon stumbles upon CBS Evening News, a clip from the inauguration, and his words vanish mid-sentence, his eyes—an opaque, stormy, melancholic sort of blue—growing wide. He doesn’t change the channel. He doesn’t move at all.

“What?” Rachel asks. On the screen is a clip of President Targaryen being sworn in, his wife at his side and cradling the Bible in her hands. She’s wearing Oscar de la Renta—a powder blue wool coat that matches her husband’s tie—and a stately new hairstyle that is very distinctly inspired by Jackie Kennedy. Her smile is serene and dignified, if perhaps a bit remote. She could be a marble statue in a garden or a museum. It must be a lot of pressure for her, Rachel thinks. To live up to being the partner of a man that remarkable. “Aegon? Baby, are you okay?”

After a long time Aegon says, very softly, like it’s only to himself: “He made her cut her hair.”

Rachel stares mystified at the television and then turns back to Aegon. “What happened with her?” Something must have. He looks staggered, he looks haunted, he looks like someone Medusa turned to stone. Rachel knows about who Aegon is, of course, everyone does; but he never wants to talk about it. When people mention his family, Aegon smiles politely and then changes the subject. When they ask about his sister-in-law, he says he needs a cigarette and walks out of the room. She sent him a beautiful, shimmering gold acoustic Gibson guitar for Christmas; the first lady’s name was on the return address. To Rachel’s knowledge, Aegon never thanked her.

Aegon shakes his head, and Rachel can’t tell if that means the story is too long or too short, unrealized potential, loose kaleidoscopic strands of stardust, infinitesimal moments that wouldn’t have meaning to anyone else. “Nothing.” Then he resumes switching channels: I Dream of Jeannie, Bewitched, the Newlywed Game.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your parents fly north for the inauguration, so proud, so effusive, interviewed by every major news network. Business is booming at the Spongeorama Sponge Factory back in Tarpon Springs. They are seated between Alicent and Ludwika’s mother Elzbieta, newly arrived from Poland. LBJ and Lady Bird are cordial but uncharacteristically understated, retreating back to their home state of Texas like kicked dogs. All the defeated adversaries of the campaign trail attend to show their support, to wordlessly plead for a long-awaited national reconciliation. George Wallace won’t meet your eyes. Richard Nixon whispers through your hair as he clasps your scarred hand: “Aemond could never have done this without you.”

Jackie Kennedy’s chosen cause as first lady was the restoration of the White House, Lady Bird’s was environmental protection. You want to visit schools and help teach math to little kids, but Aemond decides it would be more politically expedient for you to be seen tending to wounded veterans of Vietnam; so you spend many of your days in hospitals, inhaling charred flesh and Lysol and dying flowers and blood. The Japanese ambassador bows lower to you than he does to Aemond. The prime minister of France tries (unsuccessfully) to flirt with you. Athenagoras I of Constantinople, the Archbishop of the Greek Orthodox Church, brings you a komboskini he has blessed. Reprieves come in slivers like a disappearing moon: lunches with Fosco–carpaccio, caprese, bolognese, polenta–and drinks with Ludwika, always something with rum, something that tastes like Aegon. You dream of incubators and arterial spray, stitches and scars and crimson bandages, the flash of blades, the thunder of bullets; but the would-be assassins go to prison and no one else ever tries. You are Persephone in the Underworld. You are Io in the wilderness.

You are just beginning to panic about what you’ll do when your tiny pink birth control pills run out when Fosco shows up to one of your lunches with a paper bag full of familiar circular packets. “I have been informed that I am to be your dealer,” he says, grinning. “I will be back with more in six months. I told the doctor they were for my mistress. I don’t even have a mistress! Isn’t this exciting? I am like a secret agent. I am the Italian James Bond. The name’s Viviani, Fosco Viviani.”

“Aegon asked you to do this?”

“Well, he did not ask, exactly. I do not think I was allowed to say no.”

You hide the paper bag in the Louis Vuitton purse Ludwika bought you, so thankful you don’t have words for it, missing Aegon like Orpheus missed Eurydice, searching through the shade-haunted grey haze of the Underworld for her.

“It was odd,” Fosco says quietly, delicately. “He did not want to know anything about you. He asked if you needed anything else that I was aware of, I said no, and then he hung up when I started to tell him about Christmas dinner.”

You remember Aegon’s words, ghosts from where Long Beach Island meets the Atlantic Ocean: Mimi wasn’t as strong as you. Maybe what Aegon didn’t say is that he isn’t either. You imagine the fates snipping threads, the memoryless oblivion offered by the River Lethe, moons becoming greater and lesser. He has to try to forget you. You have to let him.

On Valentine’s Day weekend, Daeron comes home. He and John McCain are the last two men freed from the prisoner of war camp known as the Hanoi Hilton. When he steps off the plane, Daeron is carrying with him, of all things, a single white rat in a wire cage. The first question he asks, after being engulfed in embraces from Alicent, Criston, and Fosco, is: “Where’s Aegon?” And he knows from the stilted, piecemeal explanations he receives that something has happened. You take Daeron to breakfast the next morning, and you don’t tell him everything, but you tell him enough. He spends a month recuperating at Asteria, then follows Zephyr, the god of the west wind, across the country to Arizona.

Aegon didn’t send you anything for Christmas, and he didn’t respond to the guitar you gifted him with Ludwika’s assistance. But on July 13th, a green envelope arrives in your mail basket with no return address. You open it to find a greeting card with an exuberant cow on the front. Inside, the original message—You’re mooooooving on up in the world! Happy retirement!—has been crossed out with black ink. You laugh, your first real laugh in weeks, and then read what Aegon has written in his chaotic, scribbling penmanship:

I thought this was blank :)

Hope you’re doing okay. You look great on tv.

Then there is an expanse of open white space, like a weighty hesitation. There’s no signature, but there is one final note like a postscript.

Thank you for the guitar, but please don’t send anything else. It fucks me up, you know?

Yes, you do know. Aegon never calls you, but Cosmo does. Once or twice a week he dials your private line at the White House–Aegon must have asked Fosco for it–and tells you all about his new life in Yuma, his school, his friends, the dogs, the desert. Aegon’s met someone named Rachel; Cosmo mentions her intermittently yet with unmistakable fondness: “Rachel makes the best s’mores,” “Rachel told me about seeing Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock,” “Rachel took us to pick pumpkins for Halloween.” You’re glad Cosmo calls, and you’re glad he’s happy; but afterwards you always feel so indescribably, irredeemably sad.

You sneak your pills and avoid Aemond as much as you can, something that becomes easier as he spends long hours reviewing briefs in the Oval Office, preparing speeches, meeting foreign dignitaries, strategizing with his cabinet, and scheming against his conservative foes across the nation, a faction soon led by California governor Ronald Reagan. You stand perfectly still as designers alter Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent and Givenchy to fit you like woolen armor. You strike up a chaste, harmless flirtation with a Secret Service agent from Atlanta named Nathaniel, not because he reminds you of Aegon—Nate is 6’4, 250 pounds, and a former Navy SEAL—but because he listens, because he is kind. He gives you riveting summaries of films and books that are considered too scandalous for you to be seen enjoying. He makes fun of your matronly skirt suits. He takes you to get lemon-lime Mr. Mistys at Dairy Queen. He massages your scarred hand with rose oil.

In May of 1969, Aemond voices support for university students across the nation protesting in favor of increased Black faculty and Africana Studies courses. In July, the Apollo 11 mission lands the first men on the moon, effectively ending the Space Race with an American victory. In September, Lieutenant William Calley receives a sentence of life in prison for his role in the My Lai Massacre the previous year. In November, the Rolling Stones release a new album entitled Let It Bleed. Ludwika gives you the record for Christmas along with an array of perfumes and lipsticks, all extravagantly packaged in a pink Gucci gift box. Your favorite song is Gimme Shelter. You listen to it at dusk in the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden, your chair facing west, taking slow drags off Lucky Strike cigarettes that Nate buys for you, embers glowing as the sun disappears.

“What’s out there?” Nate asks you one night with a slinky half-grin, and then when you don’t immediately answer: “You’re always looking that way. What are you looking for?”

You don’t know what to tell him. Nothing. Everything. Something that almost happened. And slowly, under a lavender twilight peppered with the remote glimmers of constellations—stars that cannot be changed, disasters predestined since before you were born—Nate’s smile dies, and he never asks again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three time zones away, Aegon’s hair grows out and he gets his ears re-pierced, tiny gold hoops that make him think of wedding rings. Rachel pretends she doesn’t want to get married. Aegon doesn’t offer. Once in a while after the kids have gone to bed, he climbs into the hammock in the backyard and smokes a joint, staring absently into the east as the new Rolling Stones album spins on the record player. Aegon’s favorite song is You Can’t Always Get What You Want. Rachel stands at the telescope they set up for the kids—Cosmo’s idea—and stargazes, making her way down a checklist of visible celestial objects.

One night Aegon asks as she’s squinting through the eyepiece: “Where’s Jupiter?”

Rachel glances over at him, then points up at the indigo sky. “It’s that one, the really bright spot near Perseus. Why?”

Aegon shrugs, exhaling smoke. “No reason,” he says; but he’s still looking at Jupiter, wounded, stoned wonder floating on the surface of his watery eyes.

Daeron settles down in Yuma and buys a ranch. He does some work at the VA Hospital a few hours away in Tucson, some white water rafting on the Colorado River, some hiking in the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge, a whole lot of roughhousing with his niece and nephews. John McCain, now a war hero and national celebrity, is always calling to see if Daeron has decided to run for office yet. A few times a year, they receive visitors from the East Coast: Alicent, Criston, Ludwika, Helaena, Fosco, and their three children. The president and first lady are not mentioned unless by accident. The kids adore their grandmother, and she loves them back, although Alicent never learns to appreciate Tessarion the rat and refuses to hold her. In 1970, Helaena and Fosco have one last baby, a daughter they name Marina after Mimi. Life goes on, but the ghosts remain.

On a chilly evening in January of 1972, Aegon is flipping through television channels when he lands on an NBC segment about First Lady Targaryen touring the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. “That’s so fucked up,” Aegon murmurs as she calmly soothes the suffering of mutilated men, and his voice is dark with scorching, clandestine fury. He gestures to the screen with the remote control. “She hates hospitals. He makes her do things that hurt her. He does it just to prove he can.”

Rachel says as she stands in the threshold between the living room and the kitchen, a question she has finally worked up the courage to ask: “No one is ever going to be able to compare to her, right?”

Aegon opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it again. And something washes over him like waves of the ocean, sun on sand, poison in the blood and the lungs, myths that carve themselves into your bones so deep you can see the red of the marrow underneath. He replies truthfully, his eyes still on the screen: “Right.”

Rachel packs her bags. Aegon gets up to help her. He feels it’s the least he can do.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you and Aemond return to Asteria for summer vacations, the seaside Targaryen compound is full of ghosts. You catch glimpses of Mimi stumbling up staircases, Cosmo trotting after you as you turn corners, Aegon smoking a joint under the statue of Zeus in Helaena’s garden. You open cabinets and bottles of his pills fall out. You see Sunfyre bobbing abandoned in the boathouse. The basement is just as Aegon left it. Sometimes you go down there and stand on the green shag carpet in the hushed, cool, damp emptiness, not knowing what you’re waiting for, staring at the wall until someone comes to look for you.

“What’s in these?” Nate asks one afternoon, snatching a notebook off the shelf. “Oh wow, look!” He shows you messy sketches in black ink, cartoon versions of the stories of Greek gods and goddesses, myths reimagined. “Who do you think drew them?”

“Maybe Daeron,” you reply, but it wasn’t him. You’d know Aegon’s handwriting anywhere. Nate leafs through a bunch of the notebooks, booming laughter—he especially enjoys that Poseidon has been characterized as a sexually insatiable dolphin—and reading his favorite parts out loud to you. One notebook is only half-full; the last few pages are covered with drawings of tiny cows, telephones with long spiral cords, the moon in all its phases. You tear these out to keep.

On each July 13th, there is a card with no return address waiting in your mail basket at the White House, always featuring a jovial cow, always making you smile. You entrust Nate with the task of hiding the notebook pages and greeting cards away somewhere safe, an arrangement he honors like an oath.

Every so often, when you feel lethal bitterness kindling, you are struck by the inspiration to find Aemond’s Ouija board. It must be here in the White House someplace, but you can’t figure out where. You search the bedrooms, rummage through closets, climb into the oak cabinets beneath bathroom sinks; you scrabble around like a rodent under the cover of darkness while Aemond is away on state visits and campaign rallies for fellow Democrats. Maybe he makes secret stops in Tacoma or Seattle. If he does, you don’t care. You’d rather Aemond be there than here.

In the spring of 1972, you find the Ouija board in a drawer of the Resolute desk, where Aemond conducts official business in the Oval Office. “Oh, that is insane,” you say to yourself as you slide it out. You mean to burn it in your bedroom fireplace, then think again. On the back of the board, the inscription has faded, as if traced by Aemond’s fingertips again and again.

If I destroy this, what will he do to Aegon and his children? What will he do to me?

You place the Ouija board back where you found it, slide the drawer shut, and crawl into bed, besieged by dreams of smoke and rum and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch.

Aemond’s national approval rating hovers between 55-70%—far about the historical average, although he never stops pining for an heir and proper first family to maximize his allure—until May of 1972, when the tide begins to turn. The treaty formally ending U.S. involvement in the war was signed back in early 1969, but the hasty troop withdrawal left capitalist South Vietnam vulnerable, and now it is being invaded by the communists backed by China and Russia. The Fall of Saigon is immortalized in the evening news, printed on the covers of newspapers; people who once collaborated with the Americans are shot dead in the streets. Refugees flee west to Laos and Cambodia and Thailand, east on makeshift rafts into the ocean. The few that Aemond manages to hurriedly admit into the U.S. inspire racism and xenophobia from suburbanites. Many of the hippies have grown up, had children, gotten jobs, settled down with credit cards and mortgages. Protestors march with signs out on Pennsylvania Avenue: America abandons her allies! Our global reputation is in peril! Will the communists invade here next? What did my son die for?

“They wanted me to end it,” Aemond marvels as he gazes out the White House windows. “They begged for me to end it, and now look at them. Ungrateful imbecile bastards.”

And you give him a rare piece of advice that he listens to: “You should call LBJ.”

On his ranch fifty miles outside of Austin, Texas, Lyndon Baines Johnson is dying of heart failure. Still, he smokes more or less constantly, and refuses to adhere to the diet Lady Bird fretfully lectures their chefs about. He has grown his grey hair long and sits for as many interviews as he can, desperate to salvage his legacy and remind people of the things he did right: civil rights legislation, the War On Poverty, rising from a poor farming family to the Oval Office. He knows exactly what it feels like to be hated for having no good options. He says gruffly through the phone: “The Vietnam War needed to end, Aemond. It had to happen. But someone has to pay for it, too. That’s your job now. Take the fall, and the country survives. Plenty of people still love you. And I’m proud of you, son. I know it ain’t easy, believe me. But I’m real proud.”

Still, Aemond fights. He can’t help it. It’s all he’s ever known.

He campaigns at a murderous pace, and you have to follow him across the nation. Perhaps intentionally, there are no campaign stops in Arizona. Aemond does very well, but Ronald Reagan does better; he’s quick and he’s cutting, but he’s also funny, and grandfatherly, and warm, and God knows the American people could use some of that after the past decade. He characterizes Aemond’s policy regarding Vietnam as “peace without honor.” He calls Aemond short-sighted about a dozen times, a jab his supporters guffaw at. He says the United States has surrendered its rightful place as the leader of the free world. His wife Nancy—his second wife—is vehemently opposed to recreational drugs and other supposed moral crimes including abortion and premarital sex. You hate her, and she hates you right back, though in a perfectly pleasant, ever-smiling, mid-century housewife sort of way. Reagan’s disciples call you a whore. Aemond gets the newspapers still loyal to him to publish scathing denials. You aren’t exactly sure why he does this; no comment at all would almost certainly be wiser politically, as Otto advises. But Aemond does it anyway, with deep trenches of violent determination knit into his scarred brow.

The 1972 presidential election is held on Tuesday, November 7th. It is not until the early hours of the morning on Wednesday the 8th that Aemond learns he has narrowly lost. It couldn’t possibly be construed as your fault; he wins Florida by a greater margin than he had in 1968. As the sun rises in a bright, cloudless sky, Aemond’s entourage clears out of the Lincoln Sitting Room, leaving the two of you alone with the droning television. Aemond is sipping an Old Fashioned on one end of the couch. You light yourself a Lucky Strike cigarette on the other. For once, Aemond doesn’t seem to mind.

“You know,” Aemond muses after a while. “Ronald Reagan is divorced.”

Your heart is racing; you aren’t sure what he’s offering. You’re petrified to say the wrong thing and change his mind. “Yeah, he is.”

Aemond nods, twirling his Old Fashioned so the ice cubes clink against the misty glass, not looking at you. “I think I’ll marry Alys and adopt the boy.”

And that’s how you learn that what Aegon said in the doorway of a hospital room four and half years ago was true, no impassioned declarations, no gratitude, only grudges that have grown quiet and cold and dormant. At last, Aemond is done with you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Otto, glowering spitefully, getaway car procurement extraordinaire, hands you the keys to a green Chevy Nova. On the front steps of the White House, you say goodbye to a palpably heartbroken Nate. He gives you the notebook pages and greetings cards. You give him a kiss on the cheek, a parting stain of red lipstick. But instead of blood, the color makes you think of cherry-flavored Mr. Mistys, the Lucky Strike logo, roses, sunburn, firelight, the rust-hued earth of the desert. You duck into the Nova and start driving.

The East Coast unfolds into the Midwest and then turns jagged as you hit the Rocky Mountains. At a gas station in Albuquerque, New Mexico, you toss your remaining birth control pills—still squirreled away in a box of hollowed-out tampons—into a trash bin. At a McDonald’s in Asher, Arizona, just forty minutes outside of Yuma, you stop to get a large Coca-Cola and touch up your makeup in the bathroom mirror: black eyeliner, gold shadow, both as heavy as you want them to be. You stroll back to your Nova under a radiant November sky that feels like summer, smiling to yourself. The hem of your roomy, floral skirt billows around your brown leather boots in the desert wind. Your earrings are small, glinting gold hoops. Your white tank top is simple and hand-crocheted, found at a yard sale in Amarillo, Texas; but your sunglasses are Bugatti, a gift from Ludwika.

You park outside the only school on the Fort Yuma Indian Reservation and go inside to the front office. The secretary says distractedly: “Can I help you, ma’am?” Then she does a double take. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear, do I…do I know you from somewhere…?”

“You might,” you say, pushing your sunglasses up into your hair. It’s only shoulder-length now, but growing, and wild from the wind. “I was hoping to find Mr. Targaryen, does he still work here?”

“He sure does, but he doesn’t like anyone calling him that.”

Of course he wouldn’t. “Just Aegon then. Which classroom is…?”

But before you can finish your question, and before she can answer, you hear echoing through the labyrinthian hallways the start of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Bad Moon Rising, not just an acoustic guitar but bass and drums too.

“I see the bad moon a-risin’

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lightnin’

I see bad times today

Don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

The secretary laughs, keeping rhythm with taps of her pencil on her desk. “I guess you can find him on your own, can’t ya?”

Yes, you can. You follow the music through long empty corridors, wondering where all the students are. You drag your fingertips—black polish, chipped around the edges—along grooves in the cinder block walls that have been painted over with vibrant murals. The song is getting louder, and now you hear other noises too, an ocean of energetic voices and squealing chairs.

“I hear hurricanes a-blowin’

I know the end is comin’ soon

I fear rivers over flowin’

I hear the voice of rage and ruin

Don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise, alright!”

You step into the cafeteria, raucous with students swapping pudding cups and bags of chips. Many of them are watching the stage, clapping along, playing their own imaginary guitars. Aegon is there strumming the sparkling gold guitar you sent him for Christmas back in 1968. He hasn’t seen you yet; he’s grinning at the kids up on the stage with him—his fellow bandmates, his fledgling rockstars—and leaning back from the mic to give them pointers. But Cosmo has. He flies out of his seat and crashes into you, now nearly ten years old, long blonde hair, a Rolling Stones t-shirt.

“You’re back!” he bellows over the music as you hug him. Teachers chatting amongst themselves by the wall give you curious glances.

“Yeah, kiddo. I am.”

“For a visit?”

“Maybe for a little longer than that.”

“Yay!” he shouts, jumping up and down.

You look back to Aegon, and now his eyes catch on yours: instantaneous recognition, disbelief, amazement. He’s just like you remember him; he’s just like he is in your dreams. You raise an eyebrow and wave tentatively. His own words surface in your skull like swimming up through cool, sunlit water: What are we gonna do about it? And Aegon smiles, the god of light, music, healing, truth.

Now his tiny bandmates are yelling at him, irate. He’s still plucking at his guitar on autopilot, but he’s missed his cue to sing the last verse. He shakes off his astonishment and continues, beaming, watching you.

“Hope you got your things together

Hope you are quite prepared to die

Looks like we’re in for nasty weather

One eye is taken for an eye

Well don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

Cosmo sprints back to his lunch to stop a friend from seizing his unguarded Ding Dongs.

“Don’t come around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

Aegon gives his guitar a final few strums as the cafeteria erupts into cheers and applause. His bandmates bow to their audience as Aegon takes off his guitar, leaps down from the stage, runs to you as children twist in their seats to stare. He’s wearing khaki shorts, tan moccasins, a half-unbuttoned white shirt that actually fits him, dog tags with Daeron’s name on them. He’s so afraid to ask the question; he’s terrified you won’t say the right answer. “Io…what the hell are you doing here?”

You shrug, casual, teasing. “Didn’t like where I was. Thought I’d try someplace new.”

He touches your face to make sure you’re real, marveling at you, his voice going hushed. “We’ve lost so much time.”

“Don’t worry. Your life’s only half over.”

Aegon laughs, eyes shining. “I’m really, really looking forward to the rest of it.”

You can feel the smile on his lips as he kisses you; you can hear a quiet, kind melody that fills the universe, the sound of all the chains of gravity breaking and moons drifting free from their planets.

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

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corroded-hellfire · 1 year ago

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As You Wish - Eddie Munson x Reader, Part 6

A collaboration with the incredible and amazing @munson-blurbs 💜

Summary: It’s your first official date with Eddie, and what’s almost as exciting as that is seeing how the boys react to the news

Note: I will never get used to the kind comments and sweet words you send me over this series. It truly makes me so incredibly happy. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Warnings: smut, p in v, mentions of oral, age gap, older!eddie, Eddie’s breeding kink should be a given at this point tbh

Words: 8.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie knocks on the door of the trailer he grew up in, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet. It seems like an eternity before his uncle opens it, a huge grin on his face at the sight of his nephew.

“Ed!” he says, holding the door ajar so Eddie can walk in. “What brings you back down to Forest Hills?”

“Can’t a guy just visit his uncle without needing something?” Eddie teases, leaning against the counter, careful not to get any grease stains on it. “I, uh, did need to talk to you, though.”

A concerned frown tugs at the corners of Wayne’s lips. “Y’okay? The boys good?”

Eddie nods, all-too aware of Wayne’s omission of Brittany. “We’re all fine,” he clarifies, “but Brittany and I are definitely splitting up. I filed the divorce papers, then she filed custody papers.”

“Shit,” Wayne mutters, rubbing his palm over his coarse gray beard. “‘M sorry, kid. This kinda stuff ain’t easy, even when you know you wanna end things.” He puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and squeezes. “You’ll find the right one for you.”

Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink, and he has to avert his gaze from his uncle. “I, um…I think I already did,” he sheepishly admits, massaging the back of his neck to relax his nerves.

Wayne’s eyebrows shoot up, but he can’t say he’s all that surprised. “The babysitter?”

“How did you—”

“I may be an old man, but my eyesight is just fine,” Wayne jokes, “and I could see the way you looked at her at Ryan’s birthday party last summer. Like you damn near worshiped the ground she walked on.”

Eddie lets out a nervous chuckle and nods his head. “Yeah, that’s pretty much how I feel about her.”

“She’s good with the boys,” Wayne says. “It was nice to see.” Nice for them to have a maternal figure who loves them is what they both think but don’t say aloud.

“They love her,” Eddie agrees. He opens his mouth to continue, but his uncle cuts him off.

“So do you.” It’s not a question. It’s a knowing statement from the man who knows Eddie better than anyone. It didn’t take much observation for Wayne to see the possibilities of what could be. Of what are, now.

“I really do,” Eddie answers. The lovesick expression on his face makes Wayne smile. He’s not seen that look on his nephew’s face since he was in high school. Even then, Wayne thinks, he didn’t light up quite like this.

“Take it slow though, boy.” Wayne didn’t give a shit that Eddie was in his 30’s now; he’s still going to call him “boy” because he’ll be Wayne’s boy until the day he dies. “You don’t want to rush into anything. That’ll just be trouble for everyone involved.”

“I know,” Eddie says. “I, uh, actually want to take her on our first date this Friday.”

“Do the boys know?” Wayne asks.

“Not yet. But they will. I'm not going to lie to them about where I'm going and who I’ll be with. They get that from their mom, and I will make damn sure they know I’ll never lie to them.”

“Good man,” Wayne says with an approving nod of his head. “Can’t imagine their mom feels too keen about watching the boys while you go on a date, though.”

“To be honest, I wouldn’t give a shit how she felt about it. But fortunately for everyone, she’ll be out of town. So, that’s another reason I stopped by. Wondered if you could watch the kids. It’d be up at the house still since I’m staying there while Britt’s gone.”

Wayne’s face lights up. “You know I never need an excuse to spend time with my grandkids,” he chuckles. “Now I just gotta figure out what kinda candy I’m gonna get ‘em hopped up on just in time for you to get home.”

“You’re the best,” Eddie says gratefully, pulling his uncle in for a quick hug. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wayne appears to brush off the compliment, but he’s beaming on the inside. Being a grandpa is his favorite thing in the world. “I’ve been meaning to stop by, anyway. Made a little something for those two rugrats.” He disappears into his room—what used to be Eddie’s room—and comes back with two of his woodworks: a miniature bookshelf with an R carved on the side, and a small box with an L on the lid. “Figured Ryan could use another place for his books, and Luke can put his Hot Wheels in here.”

“Someone just earned himself a #1 Grandpa mug for his birthday.”

“Hey, rugrats.”

Eddie strolls out of his bedroom—former bedroom, and down the hallway. The muffled sounds of some animated movie he knows he’s seen before become louder the closer he gets to the living room. Both boys are sitting at a Scooby-Doo themed table and chair set that Luke had gotten for his last birthday. They’re sitting too close to the television, but Eddie decides to let that slide for now. As he gets closer, he sees the boys are drawing, peacefully sharing a single crayon box for once.

“Yeah, Daddy?” Ryan asks without looking up from his art. Eddie picks the remote up off the couch and turns the tv off. Luke’s little head snaps up and his curls bounce as he swivels his body to stare in his dad’s direction.

“Hey,” he protests.

“Just for a minute, calm down.” Eddie sets the remote down on the coffee table and comes to stand between the boys’ chairs. He’s not entirely sure what it is they’re drawing, but there’s a brown patch that Eddie thinks is the dog that Luke is always drawing and wishing for. Someday, pal. I promise. “I want to talk to you both about something.”

“What is it?” Ryan asks, scribbling furiously with a red crayon.

“Hey, can we take a break from the drawing for a bit?” Eddie drops a hand to Ryan’s shoulder and his oldest son looks up at him for the first time.

“Why?”

“Just so I can talk to you for a minute.”

Ryan sets his crayons down and turns on his seat to face his father better. Luke copies his older brother’s actions and the brown crayon that was in his hand rolls towards the middle of the table.

“Are we in trouble?” Luke asks.

“No,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. “I just wanted to let the two of you know that I have a date on Friday night.”

Both of Eddie’s sons just stare at him. For a moment, he wonders if he actually spoke out loud or just imagined it in his head. Luke seems completely unfazed by the news, like he just wants to get back to his coloring. Ryan, on the other hand, looks a little skeptical. Eddie was prepared for this reaction, but he knows that as soon as the boys know who his date is with, they’ll be jumping for joy—quite possibly literally.

“A date?” Ryan asks. “Like, with a girl?”

“A lady,” Luke corrects.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, now truly getting nervous for the first time. Ryan continues to stare at him, and Eddie isn’t sure how to read the usually open little boy.

“So,” Ryan starts, “does that mean we get to spend time with—”

“Grandpa Wayne is watching you.”

“Why?” Luke whines, obviously bothered by the fact that someone who is not you would be watching them. That says a lot to Eddie because he knows how much they love Wayne. It takes most of Eddie’s nerves away, hearing that the boys’ first instinct was that they get to spend time with you if he’s going out. Actual excitement bubbles up within him and it’s almost impossible to keep the smile off of his face. A part of him almost wants to keep the boys in suspense—this is just too good.

“Because,” Eddie finally says, “I’m taking her on the date.”

Eddie watches their faces, eager for the reaction. Ryan processes the information first and lets out a gasp. Luke takes a few seconds longer, but then he’s standing up from his chair—knocking it over in the process—and his eyes widen as far as they physically can.

“You two are going on a date?” Ryan asks, voice high and excited. “Really?”

“Really,” Eddie confirms with a chuckle.

“Oh my gosh,” Luke gushes, his small hands coming up to run through his curls. “Yes!”

The obvious love and excitement these two have towards you only further solidifies an idea that has been floating around his head lately. That you and he were meant to be together. Eddie knew that his sons had a far better childhood than he had, but he could still see the struggles they had living with a mom who never cared like she should. Eddie tried to make up for it, but there’s only so much one parent can take on from the other. He’d wonder if it was some bad karma of his that his kids didn’t get to have the happy little family that Eddie always dreamed of. But now there’s you. And all three Munson men adore you to the moon and back. And what's crazier to Eddie is that you love him back just as much. The boys? Sure, they’re easy to love. But you love three of them as a whole. Eddie can’t wait to tell you how they reacted to this news.

“You guys are happy about this, I take it?” Eddie asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Ryan says, launching himself out of his chair and wrapping his arms around his dad’s waist.

Eddie lets out an oof as the weight of his son knocks him back a step. But he’s quickly returning the hug.

“Our super-secret plan worked!” Luke says.

Raising his eyebrows, Eddie turns his head to look at his youngest son.

“Secret?!”

“Okay, how about this?” You hold up a little black dress for your roommate to inspect.

Jess tilts her head in consideration. “Too clubby,” she determines, and you roll your eyes with a dejected sigh. “Think…romantic but sexy.”

“Fine,” you grumble, rummaging through your closet. “Does this one pass the test?” You show her a floral lilac dress with a small slit up the side.

“Perfect!” Jess determines, grinning as she grabs a pair of strappy wedges from the closet floor. “Wear these with that, and he’ll be putty in your hands.” She pauses. “Actually, he basically already is. But, still, you’re gonna look hot.”

Your cheeks burn at the compliment, as well as the thought of Eddie turning into mush when he sees you. “Yeah, yeah. Let me get dressed; this show ain’t free.”

“It is for Eddie!” she trills, but leaves and closes the door behind her.

You finish applying your makeup just as Eddie rings the buzzer. “Jess, I’ll be back later!” you call out. “Thanks again for the wardrobe help.”

“No problem! Hope you get laid!”

Same, you think, opening the door to find your handsome date standing in front of you. “Wow,” you breathe out. He’s wearing a dark green button-down shirt, black slacks, and his signature leather jacket. His hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. Your palms become slick with nervous perspiration at the mere sight of him.

“Wow, yourself,” Eddie smiles, pulling you in by your waist and kissing your lips. It starts off gentle, but he gradually deepens it, grabbing your ass and giving it a squeeze. “If we don’t leave now, I’m not gonna let you leave the bedroom,” he growls in your ear, punctuating his statement with a quick smack to the soft flesh of your bottom.

“Let’s get going, then,” you say, grabbing his hand and leading him to the car.

You’re filled with anticipation; the secrecy of the evening is driving you insane. “How long until we’re at this mystery location?” you ask, trying to keep your eagerness at bay.

“Soon.”

“Okay, but what’s ‘soon’?” you press. “Like, five minutes? Half an hour?”

Eddie chuckles. “Jesus, you sound like Luke.”

Your jaw drops and you cross your arms over your chest. “Did you just compare me to your five-year-old son?”

“Are we there yet?” Eddie exaggeratedly mimics in a high-pitched voice.

“I do not sound like that!” you protest through your giggles.

“I do not sound like that!” he echoes, keeping the obnoxious tone.

“Now who’s acting like a five-year-old?” you retort, laughing as he scoffs at you, putting your mind at ease. It’s Eddie, your Eddie, and no matter what he’s planned, you know it’ll just make you fall further in love with him.

Eventually, Eddie pulls onto a highway, and you head in a direction you’re unfamiliar with. All it does is make you even more curious, but you know that Eddie isn’t going to be answering any questions. As if it’s his way of telling you not to say anything, he turns on the radio and fiddles with a dial until he comes to a song he likes. His hand doesn’t go back on the wheel, though. He reaches over and takes one of your hands into his own. Butterfly wings stir inside of you as he brings the back of your hand up to his lips. After pressing a few kisses to the skin there, he laces his fingers with yours and rests them comfortably on the center console between you.

It feels like forever until you reach your destination. According to the clock on the truck’s dash, it was just under half an hour, though. Gentleman as always, Eddie comes around to your door to open it for you. He even offers his hand to you to help you out of the car. Once he’s shut the door behind you, he doesn’t let go of your hand again. Honestly, it wouldn’t bother you if he never let it go.

The parking lot of this mystery date spot is pretty crowded on this Friday night. As the two of you get closer, you inspect the large red brick building. It’s old enough looking to be charming, but not derelict or decrepit. Green foliage adorns the outsides, a few benches every couple of feet—mostly occupied at the moment. The other people you see are dressed at the same level as both you and Eddie so the little worry that you’d be over or under-dressed finally fades away.

Above the front door, there’s a white and gold sign that says “Scott & Ollo’s.” Eddie holds the heavy brown door open for you and, regrettably, you have to let go of his hand to step inside. You don’t have to go long without his touch, however, as he steps up behind you as soon as you both enter, his hands resting lightly on your waist. The first thing that you register is the music. It’s loud—not overbearingly so, but enough where you can tell its live music instead of a recording being played over the PA system. Next, you take in the waiters in their all black attire that are buzzing between tables covered in white tablecloths and an array of foods—that smell delicious, you also notice.

“Hello,” the hostess greets you and Eddie as you walk up to her podium.

“Hi,” Eddie says, keeping one hand on your waist as he speaks to her. “Should have a reservation for two. Under the name ‘Munson.’”

Your eyes are flitting around the space and Eddie watches you with a fond smile on his face as the hostess searches for his name.

“Ah, here we are. Right this way, please,” the hostess says.

Eddie once again laces your fingers together and guides the two of you through the decently filled restaurant. As you walk, you notice that the restaurant is arranged in a circular fashion, and that people at the tables keep looking in towards the center of the room. You try to crane your neck to see around some of the patrons, but you’re unable to see what they see. The hostess leads you down a few steps that lead down to another landing where tables are laid out. From here, it’s easier to see what has everyone’s attention. The middle of the restaurant has a live band playing and a dance floor that a few couples currently occupy.

“Here you are,” the hostess says as she presents your table. She sets a menu down at each place setting as Eddie waits for you to sit in your seat so he can push it in for you. “Your waiter will be Harris and he’ll be right with you.”

“Thank you,” you say before she steps away. Now seated, you let your eyes take in everything a little bit more. The small lanterns on the middle of every table, some women looking longingly at the dance floor while the men they’re with look terrified of it. At the grand chandelier that hangs over the whole space, the crystals on it reflecting the light all around. “Eddie, this place is beautiful. Where did you find it?”

“A buddy of mine from high school proposed to his girlfriend here. I’ve never been but they both said it was incredible. So far, they’re right.”

“And are you actually going to dance with me?” you ask with a small giggle as you pick up your menu.

“Getting to hold you close to my body while we listen to slow music? Hell yeah.”

You shake your head fondly at how unromantic he makes it sound; but you know that’s just him messing around. There’s no way he would’ve chosen this place to go if he didn’t want to have a romantic evening and dance with you.

“Should we get some wine?” Eddie asks.

“Sure, but you’ll have to order it.”

“Why would—oh, right,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “Sometimes I forget your age.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” you ask.

“I don’t really think of it one way or the other. You’re just…you. My person. Not my person who is twelve years younger than me, just my person.”

His words have your heart picking up speed, and it’s quickly pumping heat up towards your face. His person. It felt not too long ago you could only dream about Eddie ever saying that to you.

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle and you look up to see what’s so funny. But he’s just smiling at you.

“What?” you ask.

“You haven’t stopped smiling since we walked in the door,” Eddie says. You hadn’t noticed, honestly. But now that he points it out, you can feel the tightness in your cheek muscles at the long-held grin.

“You just make me really happy,” you tell him, love practically radiating out of your every pore. Eddie sets his menu down and reaches across the table to take both of your hands in his own.

“Baby, you’re it for me. Always. Don’t forget that, okay?”

The only response you can give is a nod, as you feel the emotion welling up behind your eyes. After taking a moment and clearing your throat, you think you’re able to speak.

“You’re my forever.”

Harris comes and takes your orders: Eddie gets a New York strip, medium rare, and you choose the chicken florentine. They’re delivered on intricately garnished plates; so beautiful that you’re almost afraid to eat.

“Been awhile since I’ve been to a restaurant that didn’t serve a Happy Meal,” he jokes, dragging his knife through the tender cut of meat.

“At least you have your kids as an excuse,” you tease him. “Before that, you were just a grown man eating a very tiny pouch of fries.”

Eddie laughs, popping a bite of the steak into his mouth. “Speaking of those two,” he starts, “I told them.” About us, is what he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t have to.

You offer him a nervous glance. “What…were they okay with it?”

“Oh, yeah. They were only upset that you weren’t watching them until I told them that you were my date.” He chuckles at the memory of their excited little faces, leaning in to add, “and did you know that their ploy to get us together was a secret?”

Clapping a hand over your mouth to keep your giggles from escaping, you widen your eyes. “I think we can cross ‘CIA agent’ off of their list of future career choices.”

“And professional poker player,” he agrees, running his thumb across the back of your hand. “But I really can’t believe my luck. Y’know, how much they love you, and how much you love them.”

“Of course I do,” you tell him. “Even if you and I weren’t together, I’d adore your boys. They’re great kids, Eddie. The best. Because of you.”

Eddie stands slightly to reach over and kiss your forehead. “I love you so fucking much,” he declares. Part of him wishes he had a ring so he could propose right now, make you his forever.

Once you’ve finished eating, Eddie’s by your side and offering his hand.

“May I have this dance?” he asks. He keeps his tone serious, but he waggles his eyebrows as he says it.

“Such a gentleman,” you smile, placing your palm in his. You can feel every crease and callous, and you’re immediately overtaken with a sense of safety and belonging. “Of course you may.”

He leads you to the dance floor, taking you into his arms. Your left hand rests on his right bicep, and your right hand takes purchase in his left. His free hand is soon pressed to the small of your back so the two of you can sway impossibly close.

The band plays the opening chords of “Something,” by The Beatles, and your face lights up with joy.

“I love this song,” you tell him, adjusting your stance so your left hand can travel to the nape of his neck.

Without missing a beat, Eddie says, “I’ll learn how to play it for you.” Shit, he thinks, I’d go home and figure out the chords right now if I wasn’t on the best date of my life.

You’re not totally convinced, tilting your head in disbelief. “Even though it’s not metal?”

“Only for you, my love.” His response is sincere, and you rest your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. If you had to take bets, you’d guess that yours was beating in perfect tandem.

After you’ve finished dancing, you both agree that you’ve worked off some of your delicious dinner and have room to split a decadent dessert. You settle on a piece of cheesecake with cherry topping and Harris serves it to you with two forks. Eddie tuts you when you go to take the first forkful, but when you look at him in confusion, he spears a generous bite of the dessert and holds it up to your lips. A bubbly feeling floats through your body as you open your mouth and accept it from him. It’s amazing how the littlest things Eddie does give you full body reactions.

Once the cheesecake is devoured and the bill is paid (which Eddie snatched up the moment it hit the table cloth), Eddie offers you his hand and you walk out of the restaurant and into the chilly evening. There are no clouds in the sky, revealing the black canvas dotted with tiny diamond stars and a luminescent moon. You’re so busy taking in the view, you didn’t even realize Eddie shrugged out of his leather jacket until he’s draping it over your shoulders. It’s pure instinct to clutch it tighter around you, wanting Eddie’s scent and essence as close as can be.

The band can still be heard outside, muffled, but clear enough to tell that they just started playing Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” The two of you are approaching the first row of cars in the parking lot when Eddie tugs on your hand, pulling you to a stop next to him. Before you get the chance to open your mouth and ask what’s wrong, Eddie wraps one arm around your waist and tugs you up against his chest. He takes your left hand in his right and laces your fingers together as he begins to sway from side to side.

“Wanted one more dance with my girl tonight,” Eddie mumbles, giving you a warm smile.

“Dancing in the moonlight? Who knew you were such a romantic, Munson,” you tease. He leans in and nips at your earlobe, causing you to giggle.

“You would’ve thought you’d caught on by now,” Eddie retorts, giving your hand a light squeeze. Letting your eyes slip closed, you lean in and rest your head against the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder.

“This is perfect,” you say, tone dreamy and light.

“You’re the best dance partner I ever had, Sweetheart.”

The words bring a smile to your face, and you press a light kiss against Eddie’s throat before looking up at him. “Hey, can I tell you something?”

“Course baby,” he replies, his hand that’s on the small of your back tracing patterns over the material of your dress. “You can tell me anything.”

You pick your head up and look at him from beneath your eyelashes. “I’m not wearing any panties.”

That’s all Eddie needs to hear before he’s taking you by the hand and tugging you to the car.

“Slow down; I’m in heels!”you protest between giggles, but Eddie is not about to waste precious seconds that could be spent inside you.

You assume he’s going to drive home as fast as he can, which is why you’re more than confused when he opens the back door instead of the front. He slides in and pats his lap with a mischievous grin.

“In your car?” you balk teasingly, already ducking into the vehicle and draping a leg over his. “Eddie Munson, you’re a little horndog.”

He doesn’t deny it; he simply closes the door and bunches your dress to your hips. You certainly weren’t lying: there are no panties to be found. He inhales sharply at your perfect pussy on display like this for him, and his burgeoning erection twitches behind his fly. “Fuckin…holy shit,” he manages, letting his middle finger graze your glistening folds. “And already wet f’me, hm? Was it my dance moves?” He gently bites your earlobe, and you shiver at the sensation.

“Was…just you, baby,” you breathe, bringing your lips to his neck and trailing kisses along the side. His hands grip your bare ass, and you use the leverage to grind against the seam of his pants. “What’s got you so worked up?”

Eddie fumbles with his belt buckle, finally unfastening it with a relieved sigh. “‘S you. So fucking gorgeous, and all mine.” He whimpers when your fingers brush up against the outline of his cock while you unbutton his pants and tug down his zipper. “Tell me ‘m yours, please, baby.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper in his ear, taking in the new sensation of his cotton boxers on your throbbing clit and rubbing yourself against it needily. “All mine, only mine.”

Instinctively, Eddie finds your hole and slips a finger inside. “Bounce on it,” he instructs, pouting when you shake your head. “Whas’ wrong?” Shit, he thinks, was car sex a bad idea?

But you chase away his worries when you tell him, “Need more. Another finger. You’re too big for just one, Eddie.”

He happily obliges, making you feel full in the second-best way he knows how. With that, you take what you need, holding onto his shoulders as your pussy grips his thick fingers. He’s plunging them in and out of you as you ride them, the two of you working in perfect tandem to bring you to your release.

Eddie knows every last inch of your body like the back of his hand, and he curls his fingers slightly to drive you over the edge.

“F-Fuck, ‘m coming!” you moan, and it must be louder than you realize, because Eddie laughs and lets out a sshh.

“You’re gonna get us caught, pretty thing,” he warns you, but he doesn’t slow his pace. “I’ll have to tell the cops that I just couldn’t help myself; ya looked too damn gorgeous tonight. Had to be inside you.”

The thrill of being discovered has your orgasm crashing over you, and you cry out Eddie’s name as it hits. He removes his fingers from your pussy, popping them in his mouth and swirling his tongue around to lap up your slick. It’s enough to nearly make you cum again.

“Gotta feel you,” he mutters, taking his cock out of his boxers and into his hand. Pre-cum leaks from the tip, and if you had more room, you’d lean down to lick it off. “Gotta feel you around my dick, sweet girl.”

“Mhm,” you squeak out, aligning yourself over his length and sinking onto it. Inch by inch, you take him inside you as he stretches you in the most delicious way. The thick vein that runs from base to tip is heaven against your walls, and you steal a second to just feel him before you start moving.

His hands grasp your waist, sinking into the plush of your ass as he helps you ride him. “Thas’ perfect,” he growls, nodding as you bounce on his cock. “You make me feel so damn good. We were made for each other, I fuckin’ swear.”

The tempo is slow at first as you ease into it, trying to balance the fullness within you and the newest setting for your trysts. Gradually, you pick up a bit of speed, and he matches it, balls slapping against you.

“I love you,” you tell him, adding the promise of, “I’ll always love you.” You brush his hair from his face and kiss him passionately, tongue brushing his. When he pulls away for a breath, he gives your lower lip a little bite.

“I’ll always love you,” he swears. “Always, always, always.”

You can feel how close he is, and you’re right there with him, so you pull the trigger. “Prove it,” you murmur. “Fuck me so full that your cum drips out of me. Or maybe I’ll keep it inside me and get nice and knocked up for you.”

A string of swear words leaves his lips as he spills into you. “Oh, fuck yes, holy fuckin’ shit. Wanna get you pregnant, y’gonna look s’good havin’ my babies.” He presses his hands into the plush of your thighs. “Cream my cock, baby. Show me who makes you cum.”

Just a few more bounces is all it takes for you to cum again, flopping against his chest as you take big, heaving breaths.

“Can’t believe I scored on the first date,” Eddie jokes, and you bite his shoulder in retaliation. “Ow!” He rubs the spot dramatically. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get home, yeah?”

“Don’t wanna move,” you mumble, smiling as Eddie chuckles and kisses your scalp.

“Faster we get home, faster we can fuck on a nice, cozy bed,” he murmurs, trailing a fingernail up and down your arm. “And I can go down on you like a goddamn gentleman.”

The next morning, you’re barely awake and pouring yourself a cup of coffee in the kitchen when two rambunctious boys burst in.

“You’re here!” Luke cheers—which sounds more like shouting, this early in the morning. You and Eddie had talked about how it might look having you in the house when the boys woke up. But you figured they wouldn’t ask questions, and if they did, Eddie was ready to provide a long explanation on how something was broken in your car, and he couldn’t work on it while it was dark outside.

“Hi,” you say, voice still groggy from sleep. You shuffle over to the table and take a seat. A Munson boy takes a seat on each side of you, and you let out a chuckle. “Can I help you?”

“How was it?” Ryan asks.

Shrugging your shoulders, you bring the Garfield coffee mug up to your lips and take a sip. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh, come on!” Luke whines. It’s hard not to smile and play it cool, so you just take another sip of your coffee.

“What is all the racket?” Eddie walks into the kitchen, the palm of his hand rubbing at his right eye. He’s wearing blue plaid pajama pants hung low on his hips and nothing else. You know there’s nothing beneath them because you watched him put them on as he rolled out of bed. He had tossed you a pair of his sweatpants to put on since you’d only been wearing a pair of panties and one of his old t-shirts.

“Daddy!” Luke calls, making Eddie wince at his volume.

“Take it down a few notches, kid.” Eddie ruffles his youngest son’s curls before walking over to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“How was the date?” Ryan asks, eyes looking back and forth between you and Eddie.

“Date?” Eddie asks. He walks over and takes a seat at the table before taking a casual sip from his mug. “Did someone go on a date last night?”

“Luke, you had a date?” you tease, poking him in the ribs. He gives an overdramatic roll of his eyes and runs his hands down his face.

“No! You two did!” he says.

“Oh, that’s right,” Eddie says, looking at you now. “I do remember seeing you at a restaurant last night.”

“You guys are the worst,” Ryan sighs, slumping down in his seat. It makes both you and Eddie chuckle.

“It was a wonderful date,” you tell them, deciding to end their misery. Now that they sense they’re going to get some answers, the boys are very alert and paying attention. It reminds you of how your childhood dog would react when you asked her if she wanted a treat.

“Was Daddy a gentleman?” Ryan asks. Eddie scoffs, as if insulted by the insinuation that he would be anything but.

“Of course he was.”

“What did you eat?” Luke asks. Leave it to him to ask about the food.

“I had steak,” Eddie says. “And…other things.”

Heat comes to your cheeks at the way he eyes you over the brim of his coffee cup. Giving him a light kick under the table knocks the smug smirk off his face, though.

“Like potatoes,” Eddie says, though you expect it’s more to appease you than anything.

“Ryan said I look like a potato,” Luke adds.

Coffee almost shoots out of your nose, and you have to quickly cover your mouth so you don’t spray the table with joe and creamer. This was life with the Munson men. Unpredictably hilarious and quite honestly the best thing you’ve ever had in your life.

“You don’t look like a potato,” Eddie responds.

“He did as a baby!” Ryan rebuts.

Eddie rubs his thumb and index finger over his eyebrows as he lets out a sigh. “It’s too early for this,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Are you going out again?” Ryan asks, and you’re thankful for the subject turning back on track.

“I don’t know,” you muse, tapping your fingernails against the porcelain mug. Both Ryan and Luke frown at your response. “I haven’t been asked yet.”

“Daddy, ask her!” Luke chides.

“Pretty sure I did ask,” Eddie says, raising an eyebrow at you. You know what he’s referring to, but panting out “fuck, when can we do this again?” while you’ve got his dick down your throat doesn’t count.

“Did you? When?” You smirk at him, backing him into a corner. Now he has no choice but to ask you properly. Eddie’s eyes narrow at you, and you can practically hear him saying you’ll pay for this later.

“Fine,” he grunts. He takes another sip of coffee before setting the mug down and clearing his throat. “My darling, would you like to go out with me again?”

It feels so infinitesimal to be asking for a second date. This is something teenagers do in high school, not adults with someone whose body you’ve already memorized or when you’ve already declared you’ll love them forever. But it makes the boys happy to hear and he does want to take you out again.

“I would be honored.”

Your reply still causes Eddie to break out in a beaming smile and reach across the table for your hand. Happily, you lace your fingers with his and don’t even notice the two boys watching with glee.

“Can we come?” Luke asks.

“Luke,” Ryan groans, “that’s not a date, then.”

“Did you kiss?” Luke asks, ignoring his older brother. Suddenly, Ryan is leaning on the table, eager to hear the answer as well. You see the heat you feel in your face reflected in the pink of Eddie’s cheeks.

“Boys—” Eddie starts before being interrupted by both of them whining.

“Daaaaad!”

“Come on!”

Trying to stifle your giggle, you give Eddie a nod to let him know it’s okay with you if he tells them. Receiving your signal, Eddie nods his own head in reply and shifts in his seat.

“Yes, we kissed.”

Both boys cheer; Ryan throwing his arms in the air and Luke dancing in his seat. You laugh in amusement as you watch them. The fact that they’re almost as happy as you are about you and Eddie being together warms your heart in a way that’s new. It feels as if a new compartment of your heart has been unlocked and all of this love is flooding into it.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says, trying to calm the boys back down—even if he’s still grinning himself. “We’re all going to the Harrington’s today, so after breakfast I want you both to get dressed.”

“Uncle Steve’s?” Luke asks. “Why?”

“For a play date.” Eddie shrugs and rises from his seat. “More coffee?”

“Yes, please,” you tell him. He picks up your mug and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Neither boy misses the act of affection, and it feels like a surge of adrenaline spikes your blood. You’ve always been so careful not to let the boys know what’s going on between you—ever since that very first night. But now, getting to be so open about it, knowing they’re going to start seeing you as their dad’s girlfriend instead of their babysitter…it’s a lot. It’s not bad, but it’s a bit overwhelming.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting in your seat under their gazes. “You can play with Theo and Natalie for a while.”

It doesn’t escape your notice how Ryan flushes at the mention of Natalie’s name. You force yourself to bite back your smile but make a mental note to bring it up to Eddie later.

“Alright, Munson’s,” Eddie says as he places your coffee mug back down in front of you. “What do we want for breakfast?”

“Pancakes!” Luke says.

“Daddy burns those,” Ryan reminds him.

“Good thing I’m here,” you say, standing up from your seat.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do that,” Eddie says, ghosting a hand against your waist.

“I want to,” you tell him. “Sit.”

“No, let me help you at least.”

“Okay,” you agree. “Can you help me get everything I need together?”

“Course I can.”

Ryan nudges Luke across the table. The younger brother raises his eyebrows in question. Ryan nods his head in the direction of you and Eddie. Luke turns his head to see the two of you moving in tandem to get things out of the cabinets that you’ll need. You share passing words, gently touching or brushing up against one another as you work. It’s so domestic and comfortable for the two of you. But to Ryan and Luke, they’ve never seen something so peaceful. An activity as simple as making pancakes was a potentially explosive event in their lives up until now. It’s the first time both Ryan and Luke are realizing this is how it’s supposed to be. It’s meant to be, “can you pass me the flour?” instead of, “Jesus Christ, where did you put the goddamn pan?” like they’re used to.

The boys stay silent, just watching you and their dad help one another and him make you giggle. It’s possibly the warmest moment they’ve ever felt in this house. Ryan has the sudden urge to hug both of you, but he doesn’t want to interrupt the moment and have it stop. Luke watches in awe at the easy smiles you and Eddie give one another, never shooting the other a glare when they aren’t looking. It’s happy and it’s soft and it’s warm and tingly in a way he didn’t know existed. He’s never been so happy to have to wait for food to be made.

“Luke,” Ryan whispers, never taking his eyes off of you two.

“What?” Luke’s gaze never falters either.

“Daddy’s so happy.”

Luke nods enthusiastically. “And it’s all because of our super secret plan.”

Eddie rings the Harrington’s doorbell not once, not twice, but five times.

“Will you stop that?” you snap, but a smile dances on your lips. “You’re like a child.”

Eddie doesn’t have the chance to retort before Steve swings open the door. “Munson and Munsonitos! And, uh,” he stammers when he gets to you, “Lady Munson?” he tries, nervous to see your reaction.

Eddie wraps his arm around your waist. “Lady Munson, huh? Kinda like the sound of that.”

The four of you pile into the living room, and Steve encourages the boys to head into the family room where Natalie, Theo, and Danny are playing. “Amelia’s napping, but she’ll be awake and demanding Uncle Eddie cuddles soon,” he promises, laughing when Eddie huffs impatiently.

Steve walks over to the old record player a little too nonchalantly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Let’s set a little mood music, shall we?”

Your boyfriend catches on before you do. “Nope, Harrington, no way. Absolutely n—”

Whoa oh oh oh oh oh oh

Whoa oh oh oh oh oh

Uptown girl

She’s been livin’ in her uptown world

“I hate you,” Eddie grumbles, but his eyes give away his true feelings.

Steve doesn’t buy it, either. “Look at that shit-eating grin,” he teases. “You can’t even listen to this song without making eyes at her.”

“Harrington, I will throw all your hairspray in the dumpster if you don’t shut up.”

You’re spared from breaking up their ridiculous fight when Nancy comes in the room, twisting the cover onto a bottle. She waves you over, and you dutifully follow, not wanting to witness whatever nonsense the two men were about to engage in.

When Steve realizes that there are no women around, he leans in and whispers to Eddie, “I told you, didn’t I? Came to your work and said you should be fucking the babysitter.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest and shakes his head. “Overachiever that you are, you went for the whole relationship.”

“Overachiever, huh?” Eddie muses. “Never heard that one before.”

“I figured. She probably only says you’re not so tough, just because you’re in love with an—”

“HARRINGTON, I SWEAR TO GOD.”

You and Nancy can vaguely hear the end of Eddie shouting something at Steve, but you’re both in the playroom now and the kids drown them out. Ryan and Natalie are using an array of crayons and markers to create masterpieces that are surely destined to hang on the refrigerators of their respective houses. Luke, Danny, and Theo are playing with Legos and Hot Wheels. The three young boys try to make obstacles for the toy cars to overcome out of the small plastic blocks.

“I can’t lie,” Nancy says as the two of you take a seat on the couch at the far end of the room. “Steve and I were really impressed by the way you handled Theo and Luke’s candy bar argument.”

The praise catches you off guard but brings on a smile so large that it hurts your cheeks.

“Oh, um, thank you! It wasn’t anything major,” you tell her. The music playing in the other room suddenly switches off and Nancy lets out a melodious chuckle.

“I told Steve not to play Billy Joel,” Nancy says with a shake of her head, “not unless he wanted Eddie to kick his…” she trails off as she looks at the kids, “…butt.”

You’re not sure what to say in reply to that. Nancy knows the friendship between the two men far better than you do, having over a decade more of experience with them. Anything you could think to add would be so generic or minuscule next to any of her anecdotes about them that it would be obvious you’re just trying to fill the silence that is becoming more awkward by the moment. But you need to say something.

“So,” you start, Nancy’s full attention coming back to you at the sound of your voice. “You saw the Innocent Man tour? How was that?”

“Oh, wow.” Nancy blows out a breath and looks down at the floor as if she’s trying to conjure up the memories. “It was forever ago…but from what I remember, it was amazing. He just kept singing and singing.”

Just imagining that brings a smile to your face.

“Sometimes, I like to just focus on the piano keys and drown out everything else. Helps me clear my head,” you explain.

Nancy nods along. “I find myself doing that when I’m driving. If I ever play it at home, the voices of four children drown it out and it’s a little harder to clear my head.”

“You really are a great mom, though,” you tell her. “I can see how much your kids adore you.”

“Thank you,” Nancy says, a bit of emotion snaking its way into her voice. “And having a partner like Steve is the best.”

As if the sound of his name being spoken somewhere in the house summons him, a loud commotion comes from the room you’d left the two men in.

“Munson, let go of my nipple!”

“Not until you apologize!”

You and Nancy share an amused glance before shrugging at one another. Ryan even hears the ruckus and looks in that direction. When he sees that neither you nor his aunt are reacting, he goes back to his drawing.

“Well, most of the time he’s the best,” Nancy says.

The clock is ticking until Eddie and Steve come back in the room, but there’s something you feel the need to get off your chest while it’s just you two women there.

“I have to be honest with you, Nancy,” you start. “I was so intimidated by you. Like, almost scared of you.”

“Of me?” Nancy asks, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”

“Well, yeah,” you say with a huff of laughter. “I mean, just meeting you at Ryan’s birthday I could tell how sophisticated and intelligent you are. And then when Eddie talks about you — because as I’m sure you know, he loves talking about his friends — I heard how well accomplished you are and all that you’ve achieved and while being a mother of four. It’s beyond impressive.”

“That’s really sweet, actually.” Nancy gives you a shy smile and a touch of pink coats her sharp cheekbones. “But I promise, I’m a nice person. There’s no need to be afraid of me.”

For the rest of what you have to say, you find it harder to look Nancy in the eye as you speak. Your hands fiddle with a loose thread on your jeans as you cautiously glance back and forth from your thigh to the woman sitting next to you.

“Plus,” you say before you can lose your nerve. “I know how I look from an outsider’s perspective.” You risk a glance over at the kids, and even though they’re busy playing, you still lower your voice. “Young babysitter starts working for a family and then the parents are separating and I…ya know. With an older man. I know what people are going to assume when they look at me. And I don’t care, I really don’t, because I love him. And he loves me. But I care what the people in Eddie’s life think. What his family and friends think. Of me.”

Nancy lets out a sigh and there’s a sympathetic look in her eye as she nods her head.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have some of those thoughts when I first found out about you two,” she confesses. “Not long, but longer than I’d like to admit. But you know what I said to Steve once we got home? That if you’re the light that lit a fire under Eddie’s ass to get him to dump Brittany, then thank God.”

Questions you want to ask Nancy about Brittany fly into your head in rapid succession. It doesn’t sound like the two of them were close. Does everyone hate her? It’s not hard to believe at all, but you’d love to hear it from a perspective other than Eddie’s. But between not wanting to look like a gossiper and the fact that the guys make their way into the room, you keep your mouth shut.

Nancy must share this sentiment, and possibly doesn’t want to discuss Brittany much in front of the kids, because she changes the subject as the men settle into seats around you.

“You’re in school, right?” Nancy asks you.

“I am,” you reply. “Finishing up my basic education courses.”

“Do you know what you want to do once you graduate?”

“Not a clue,” you admit with a sigh. “Right now, I’m really enjoying babysitting.”

“The kids love you,” Nancy gushes, leaning forward and resting her hand on your arm. “Not just Luke and Ryan—Natalie and Theo couldn’t stop talking about you, either.”

A sense of pride swells in your chest and you can’t help the bashful smile that grows on your lips.

“They’re all such great kids,” you say.

“Would you happen to have time to add the four great Harrington kids to your schedule?”

Having Nancy ask you that question makes you feel about fifty pounds lighter. Not only is she acknowledging you as part of Eddie’s life, but also has enough trust and faith in you to watch her children. The acceptance by her, Steve, and the kids makes you more emotional than you would’ve thought. It takes a moment for you to compose yourself to answer without your voice trembling.

“Of course!”

Your shoulders sag in relief and you hear a familiar tune being hummed behind you. Turning in your spot to look behind you, you see Steve perched on the back of the couch, a smug smile on his face. It takes your brain a moment to realize it’s Uptown Girl that he’s humming. Letting out an overly dramatic irritated groan, Eddie lunges at Steve, who shrieks and covers his chest.

“Stay away from my nipples, Munson!”

Nancy sighs and shakes her head.

“Would you look at that? There’s two more kids I didn’t account for.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #AYW #AYWS

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yandere-wishes · 2 months ago

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SWAN SONG (Yan! Baron Von Rothbart x Reader)

𝜗𝜚🦢 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 Written in collaboration with my lovely @umgatochamadopercyval ~💝

𝜗𝜚🦢 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 Swan Lake Ballet OST

𝜗𝜚🦢 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 One Rothbart on the rocks coming right up

But I love you more than words can say, I'm sorry things ended up this way~💜

He's been trapped in his melancholy lately. Glaring daggers at haughty snowflakes from his frosted study window. The snow, no matter how nostalgic and periodic it may be, fills him with a sense of anguish.

But why the snow? Why the very milieu of his upbringing?"

Oh just cause. Just cause it was snowing when he first caught sight of a peculiar swan down by the lake.

At heart, Rothbart is and always will be a conqueror. It's such a shame that Princess Odette's kingdom had to learn that the hard way. He doesn't regret his decision, doesn't regret the curse. But sometimes, just sometimes in the silent dead of night, he can't help but feel that maybe, just maybe he was a bit too hasty.

Odette may be queen.

The sovereign of the lake.

But there are other swans. Other wedded towed white feathered birds, that shapeshift into pretty girls at night.

Maybe Rothbart was too hasty in picking his obsolete bride.

It's easy to forget a curse when you have enough distractions. It's easy to forget a skinned knee when you're staring at a sunset. Odette calls you angry, delinquent, rebel. Every word that can never be used to describe her. The forest is a landscape under your feet, a haze of greens and whites. The cold bites at your wings, knawing between the feathers.

It's easy to forget a curse when you have enough of a distraction.

There's a piercing clangor that calls for a landing. A loud clamor of something memorable yet foreign. You hear the frightened squeaking of your kind, their screams of terror reverberating through your ears. You glance at the sky as you descend, the sun has all but set you should be regaining your true form soon.

The wood crunches under your toed feet. Your muscles ache in this layout, you roll your shoulders back trying to ergo the tension. You hear the screaming again and run towards the sound.

Don't think, don't dream, just act.

You see the bodies before you notice the men with the guns. Bloodied morbid on the ground, white feathers marred with red. This was to be expected, wasn't it? The noise must have been a gun, a bullet racing through the air. You watch as the men exchange salutes, some descending from their steeds. In the last silver of light, you notice one of the swans twitching, a weak noise emitting from her orange beak.

You rush in, gathering her in your arms. You hear the men scream, holler in surprise at a wild woman appearing from the trees. You don't listen, don't care you just run, run back to the lake.

There's a split second when your mind blanks. The next thing you register is the weight in your hand and then a pained cry that paints you in satisfaction.

It's easy to forget a curse when you have enough distractions.

It's easy to remember a curse when it starts to kill you again.

You meet Rothbart a day after the hunting party. See him descend from the sky in all his fiery glory. He's nothing less of a phoenix, nothing short of frightening. He melts the snow at his feet, turning it into an eerie mist. He's here to check on the queen, to make sure she wasn't the young swan that died. He can not permit her such satisfaction.

Even though you fight with Odette, you love her deep down, if she’s the queen you are her second, brave enough to leave the lake sometimes and live in the wilderness, bringing exotic flowers and trinkets back to the lake.

That’s one of the reasons that makes you shield her from his looming presence, ready to duel your captor.

“She’s not feeling up to see you, Baron” You block his passage.

The chill should be familiar by now, biting, harsh, but familiar. You shouldn’t shy away from the frost in his eyes. “Your loyalty is commendable, maiden” he all but spat.

You laugh, truly you think it’s his obsession that’s commendable. Deranged, twisted, malicious, but commendable to some extent.

You stay in a staring contest for some time until the weight of his gaze is too much to hold onto.

“What are you doing here?”

"I was here to see my bride."

"She isn't your bride..." Vemon leaks from between your lips lacing pre-practised words. This has to have been the umpteenth time this conversation has played out. Exact same in every way, with snowflakes descending gingerly upon your head and his icy eyes memorizing your every feature. No doubt to remember who to slaughter later.

"Just bring me-" he's cut short by the loud echo of the gun. The sharp chirp and moans of thousands of rudely awakened birds fleeing into the air.

"They're back" Someone screams and before he knows it the lake is almost desolate. White feathers litter whiter snow, as a group of half-swan, half-girls huddle in a corner whispering machination. Rothbart cringes as he hears Siegfried's name thrown around with zealous hope.

He watches you transform and depart above the canopy.

Hear the gunshots disturbing the moon and stars.

He doesn't wait around to see if you return.

Rothbart knows he isn't lucky enough to witness your demise.

People are stupid that way, aren't they? Believing that ends come so easily? That death is such a deliciously easy thing to hold in the palm of your hand and kiss whenever one pleases. No death is just another hard-earned badge from life. And you, his darling little swan are a little too far from earning such a delectable pleasure.

Rothbart mocks a bow at an inraged Odette. Laughs in a tone too sadistic to name and promises he'll be back. He leaves out the part of just 'who' he'll be back for but he doubts Odette ever pays that much attention to his little speeches. Doubts she caught the little sparkle of wordplay.

He's here again next midnight. Winter coat made of reddening feathers and redder flames still. You turn from your seat on the river rocks. Legs bent as you try to see if you can stand on point with a bullet wound in your thigh. Maybe those showy flames could be useful for once, maybe they could cauterize the wound.

"You do not dance" Rothbart dares to ask. He studies your frame trying to find an imperfection, a sign of last night. You simply sigh tongue in cheek, choking on river air. The younger maidens dance under the moonlight pas de chat's with their arms crossed, they look too serene to be here. Too used to the feathers and beaks. You motion vaguely to your leg, ballet shoe platform flat on the ground. Rothbart knees before you, delicately tracing a warm hand over your powerful legs. Hicking up your tutu ever so slightly. His thumb runs over your thigh pressing gently into the wound. Scratch really, the bullet narrowly missed and yet left too deep a mark. His finger digs deeper and deeper, you stifle an icy moan bubbling in your throat. You throw your head back tenderly as his eyes pierce your neck. Rothbart summons his flames, they burn the scarred tissue and ravage your muscles. You choke on a sob and yet...

You haven't felt this warm in years...

"You see what you've done to us." Odette preaches, she's seated by the river bank. Rothbart tower's over here, eyes glued over her shoulder. Some of the other swans are helping you dance. As if it's such an important thing. As if you need to pirouette and Plié to breathe. "You do not listen, Baron," Odette says, voice low and depleted. "Oh but I do my dear Odette, And I've come to offer aid." The queen snorts, half a honk and half a laugh. "I suppose your aid would be to turn us into carnivorous wolves? To rip and tear these hunters apart."

"Those hunters are royal born. The party is run by a duke's son. I could perhaps persuade his parents that the forest is too dangerous your their wayfarer heir." Odette simply rolls her eyes. "What do you want" she mumbles defeated. Rothbart sucks in a breath, straightens his spine, and watches as Odette flinches at the sound of crackling bone. " I'd like to take one of your swans home with me."

No, the answer had simply been a no. Of course, followed by a slew of vulgar accusations. Ones that Rothbart didn't even know the sweet swan princess Odette would know. "Simply permit (y/n) to keep me company in my castle and I shall free you from this obnoxious threat."

Odette curses again, making sure they hit close to home. The last one is particularly bold. The monster she says and for a split second Rothbart almost feels cruel. In a spiral of flames, he is gone. Leaving Odette to cry, tears melting the snow...

It's a few moons before Rothbart sees you again. He'd been isolating himself in his library, watching the snow and reading poetry he pretended to understand. He'd always thought himself stronger than this. Always invincible.

He hears a tapping at his window, the forest view blocked by the white of a swan's body. Rothbart is quick to jump to his feet, to push the window apart and permit the bird in. It's you, he can tell by the angry way you wobble about his library. He finds it rather cute how you shake your feathers to dry yourself, before curling by the fireplace, glaring daggers at him. Rothbart returns to his seat picking up the ancient book about princesses and genies. He'll have to wait till moonbreak to understand what this is all about.

"I heard your proposal to Odette...I'm here to solidify the deal." You're still curled by the fireplace. Point shoes and feather tutu. He thinks you look quite adorable like this, stubborn little pet. "Does your queen know that you are here?" He asks, the cadence of his voice a little too playful. "Yes does, or well, she will once she reads my note." Rothbart rolles his eyes. " Great, so I should be expecting an army of swans at my door any minute now."

"No" you sign looking out the window with a glint of hope twinkling in your eyes.

"No?" You refuse to elaborate, "Will you save them from the hunters" you finally plead. Rothbart summons you to stand and come forth. He then pulls you onto his lap, fiery lips nipping at your pretty throat. "Yes, I suppose I will."

Your back is to Rothbart's chest as his hands wrap around your waist. Head turned at an odd angle as he kissed you deeply. The letter to Princess Odette and Prince Siegfried's wedding lies on the carpet forgotten. "You little swan" Rothbart breathes between each kiss. You like the lilt of his voice, like tender flames dancing in the hearth.

"May we please go to the wedding." You plead, chasing his lips, desperate for his addictive, acidic taste. "We shall see," he murmurs, pressing stars into your hips. Rothbart, kisses your forehead, relishing in the way you nuzzle into him. Desperate for his warmth, his touch, him...

Maybe he'd been a bit too hasty to offer his heart to Odette.

But then again he had won, his cruelty and depravity had been rewarded with his own little precious swan. His darling lover who tasted of moonlight and Oenothera. You were his, all his, trapped with him forever inside his castle.

Rothbart kisses you again deeply, softly. Savoring your sweet moans between his teeth.

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andy-wm · 1 year ago

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3D by JK (feat. JH) - my take.

Ok, unpopular opinion maybe, and I might get my ass beaten for this (not in a good way 🤣)

Feel free to disagree RESPECTFULLY.

Disclaimer: If anyone comes at me with that cancel bullshit I will block you, because we all get to have an opinion.

If my post enrages you, scroll past until you can be civil, then come back and talk. Or block me. I dont mind.

And don't tell me that because I don't love this song I have to hand in my ARMY card... I'm not going to.

🙂💜🙂

I'll start by saying I love JK so, so much. Adore him. Will always support him.

But for me, 3D is a misstep.

My feeling is Hybe should have reconsidered releasing it as it is.

JK's lyrics are fun and sexy. The innuendo is on point. The melody is great and the chorus has excellent sing-along value. Even though I'm not a huge pop music fan, I like the vibe.

The MV dancers are awesome, and I got a kick out of the fire hydrant metaphor.

And in that jacket with nothing under it, JK looks hot enough to melt asphalt.

However....

Including Jack Harlow's rap IMO is a mistake. It sucks, frankly. Not in a good way.

It not only misses the mark on the tone of the rest of the song but his lyrics are really just offensive. Misogynistic. And racial refrences are just... not cricket. It's 2023 not 1995, regardless of what his hairstyle tells you.

His lyrics sound like an incel bragging about their sex life when all they've ever done is watch porn. From his words, I doubt he knows how to please any person but himself.

His message is gross, but its still just... generic. Like he went to urban dictionary for spicy language and then googled how to treat women like shit. There's nothing original about what he's saying. He's not even being gross in an intersting way. It's gross AND boring.

(Jack, if you're reading this, sorry my guy you gotta do better.)

I've been army since 2018 and this is the first BTS song I have tried to find merit in and given up.

I honestly tried to be into it and i just... can't. It doesn't sit well with me.

This is a new experience for me because even when BTS release something i don't immediately love, i still stream and watch and let it sink in, or I work on figuring out what I am missing and why it's ACTUALLY good even if i can't grasp it.

This... it's just... not good, in my opinion.

I have to clarify here...

It isn't about explicit content, i am totally down for that. If anyone read my post on Seven, they will know my response to that song. In a nutshell, I believe all adults who want to, should happily and shamelessly be doing ALL the horizontal tango. Every type, every day, in every way. With anyone and everyone they fancy as long as all parties are informed and consenting adults who are equally enjoying the experience.

Yes. I am all about getting down.

That doesn't mean treating your partners like a body count or using and abusing them with no consideration. That's not cool.

**PSA: please be safe and use protection. Get tested regularly if you have multiple partners. Don't do anything you don't feel good about and dont stay with partners who harm or manipulate you 💜**

Now, back to the smut.

Some criticisms i saw of Seven were about how dirty it was. A few people were upset because JK said fuck, and because he sang about how and when he liked to fuck. But more criticism was levelled at Letto. Why?

It seemed like it was because she's a woman, singing about sex.

Letto totally owns her sexuality and she knows what she wants. I snorted with delight at how deliciously filthy her lyrics were. Some very clever wordplay made her verse so visceral, and pretty shocking to the pearl-clutchers, without her ever saying anything directly. I really enjoyed it.

She was telling us straight up how good she is in bed. Good for her. She totally rocks. And she wasn't disrespecting anyone. She didn't need to do that to make herself cool AF.

The difference between Letto's rap and jack harlow's is that jack sounds like he's just looking at the women he's singing about as a hole to stick his dick in. Women have fought for long enough for equality and respect. They don't need this bullshit. You can sing about getting down, and you can be absolutely filthy and nasty and wild, and you can do it without degrading your partners.

I did read a theory about this song being social commentary on toxic masculinity. You can find it here and you can read it below:

Its not bad as a theory. At least it wouldn't be if Namjoon or Yoongi or Hobi - or Jungkook himself - had written the song. If that were the situation we'd see some inkling of self awareness in the rap, and maybe a hint of character development. But there's none.

Sorry ARMY, this is not the class of lyricism we have come to expect.

If jack is trying to make a social statement^*, or play a character, he is not succeeding in showing any growth or humanity at all. He's really just that stereotype.

In the last few lines, after he offers to fly his victim from Korea to Kentucky, he says "and you ain’t gotta guarantee me nothing I just wanna see if I get lucky."

How considerate...

All I see is zero care factor about the actual person he's trying to get with. Which is quite different from JK's lyrics, which show awareness that he's interacting with a conscious, living human being, not a piece of furniture.

jack follows with "I just wanna meet you in the physical and see if you would touch me"

Ugh. Not with a ten foot pole, douchebag.

And how about, in his first verse "All my ABGs get cute for me"

Good god, really? Is he seriously saying this?

So its a no for me.

The ONLY saving grace is that there's an alternative version which is pretty fun. It's almost as if Hybe knew we would hate the version with jack harlow. Wow, such insight!

Now, i know that's not the only reason they made an alternative. They needed a clean version for US radio play (let's be real, what possible other purpose can this song serve? *°)

But they could have censored jack's... actually they couldn't. The rap verses can't be salvaged. They genuinely have no merit, the only hope for the song is totally removing them.

What does that tell you?

ARMY will no doubt still chart the main track but personally, I would feel morally compromised if i supported that version. So I'll stick to the alternative and hope for better things to come.

------------

^* Stylecaster doesnt think so either. I visited their website to check thr lyrics. They said, of D3, "Meanwhile, Jack Harlow brings the cool with his two verses as he raps about all the women he could pull"

Uh, really? I hope that's intended to be ironic.

*° The MV had only 4.5million views after 12 hours. And we know what brilliant strategists Hybe employs. I am travelling in Korea right now. There was no promo visible here. And it was no accident that it was released at lunchtime on Chuseok - the biggest famiily holiday of the year - when relatively few people in Korea would be available to engage with it. THEY KNEW IT WAS A STINKER.

#jeon jungguk #jungkook #bts jungguk #bts jungkook #jungkook 3d #hybe entertainment #bighit

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leaderofthebadbitchbrigade · 10 months ago

Text

I want a Sunday kinda love | JC X JB

Liked by Thebetterchasetwin and 936 others

Just_.chaseyyyyy :Happy birthday to my bestie for the literal restie, my leech(mosquito), my fave and my rock. From the day you hit me in my four year old face with a football and then took care of me all day🥹🥹.love ya to pieces❤️❤️

Comments:

All HBD

Lsuteaaaaa: @j.sheisty and @just_.chaseyyyyy at joes birthday party last night

Comments:

Thebetterchasetwin: @j.sheisty@just_.chaseyyyyy explainnnn

Alana.b12: @j.sheisty@just_.chaseyyyyy

User-1: @j.sheisty@just_.chaseyyyyy

User-3: @j.sheisty@just_.chaseyyyyy

User-2: @j.sheisty@just_.chaseyyyyy

Just_.chaseyyyyy: @j.sheisty what did we do ?????

J.sheisty: @just_.chaseyyyyy I’ll text you

Jordyn’s phone:

My baby😍❤️:this

Jordyn:damnnnn

My baby❤️😍:yeah…

Jordyn:did my brother see

My baby❤️😍:definitely and they posted on that damn lsu drama page

Jordyn:double homicide

My baby❤️😍:at least we don’t have to hide it

Jordyn:I’ll be brave and post

Liked by lsuteaaaaa and 2,679 others

Just_.chaseyyyyy:yall caught us or wtv (sorry jamarr

Comments:

Alana.b12: finally 🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊

Thebetterchasetwin: I respect it i guess lol @j.sheisty still gotta watch the hands tho

J.sheisty:@thebetterchasetwin I can’t agree to that💀💀

Thebetterchasetwin: @j.sheisty wtv

Lsuteaaaaa: thank yallll💜💛💜💛💜💛

User-1:warrrrrr issss overrrrr

———-

An:did yall like it🫣🫣

#joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow #joe shiesty #joey burrow

91 notes · View notes

f1letters · 2 years ago

Text

maroon | cs55

"how the hell did we lose sight of us again? sobbing with your head in your hands, ain't that the way shit always ends?"

summary: they both knew their relationship would ruin them both, but they couldn't stop themselves from running back to each other every goddamn time

warning: angst, toxic relationship, mentions of a vicious cycle of breaking up and making up, right person wrong time, suggestive language, swearing, a bunch of references to older classic rock bands and albums (and CAS because they are my fav band of all time haha), open ending

pairing: carlos sainz x reader

word count: 4.3k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past.

spanish words used: hermosa = beautiful; corazón = heart

hey everybody! honestly, this song is the one I've been looking forward to writing the most since the beginning... I worked so hard and I gave everything I had in me to this story (hence the story being the longest so far, something about writing for Carlos just makes me write so much more every time, haha), I couldn't be more proud of what I did! haha, hopefully, you guys love it as much as I do! happy holidays to everyone! 💜

masterlist

When the morning came

We were cleaning incense off your vinyl shelf

'Cause we lost track of time again

Laughing with my feet in your lap

Like you were my closest friend

Dozens of voices echoed through the crowded room, engaged in different conversations and dialogues.

The crowd seemed to have a life of its own. Old friends catching up on the latest news in their lives. New friends being made unexpectedly. The sharing of the latest gossip and rumours among the most curious souls. The sound of endless, genuine laughter through the halls.

In the middle of the glowing lights, the shiny clothes and the loud music, hidden in the shadows, there she was.

Y/N had escaped the huddled bodies until she found refuge in an empty room. With the door closed, the noise of the party was now muffled, leaving the girl alone with her thoughts as she searched through a vinyl shelf she found there.

Led Zeppelin. Pink Floyd. Radiohead. The Clash. Their owner had taste, she thought, fascinated by their timeless records. The young woman also appreciated these older classic albums, although she couldn't find many people like her.

With her hands roaming over the vinyl without much care for the party happening, Y/N nearly dropped a Nirvana album on the floor when the bedroom door burst open.

"Oh." The unknown man said, stopping in his track when he came face to face with her. "Sorry, but do I know you?"

"Hmm, I don't think so." The girl frowned in doubt. Her eyes widened as she realized she was clearly breaking into someone's room. "Oh my god, is this your room? It is, isn't it? What was I thinking going in like that-"

"Hey, don't worry! It's okay! I just wasn't expecting to see anyone in here." He chuckled softly, extending his hand to the girl. "I'm Carlos, and you are...?"

"Y/N, nice to meet you!" She shook his hand back. The girl could have sworn she felt a spark run through her veins as soon as she felt his touch.

"Hmm, sorry for going through your stuff. I- I'm a huge music lover and I- Just couldn't help myself." The girl continued, half choking up, half laughing at herself, lifting the album in her hand to show Carlos what she was doing.

"I don't mind." The driver responded, approaching her and taking the vinyl from her hold. The warm skin of his hand contrasted with her cool one, letting his touch linger. "So, are you a Nevermind fan?"

"More of a Bleach girl myself." Y/N said smugly, her eyes glazing over the boy's charming figure before returning to the shelf. "You have an incredible collection. I wish I had this many records."

"How'd we end up on the floor, anyway?" you say

"Your roommate's cheap-ass screw-top rosé, that's how"

I see you every day now

Hours passed, and both lost track of time as they talked about everything and anything.

Y/N and Carlos were instantly attracted to each other, bonded not just by their shared love of music but by a soul connection neither could explain.

It was profound in ways that were beyond physical attraction, it had to be experienced to be truly understood.

Almost like their souls knew each other from the past.

The couple stood there, only a few hours after they met, sitting on the floor of his bedroom. They laughed with her feet in his lap, with a cheap-ass screw-top bottle of rosé beside them.

It was like an enchanting enigma how much they felt like each other's closest friends, like they had been part of each other's lives forever.

A Fleetwood Mac song was playing from Carlos's red vinyl record player when the woman spoke. "Isn't it crazy that I ended up at your house party and didn't even know who you were until you walked into this room?"

The two chuckled softly as their eyes locked and the driver's hand ran along the top of her thigh. "A bit maybe." He bit his bottom lip, a little unsure and nervous. Deciding to take risks that night, he continued. "But it was totally worth sneaking in here and skipping the party just to meet you."

Y/N could feel her cheeks heat up as they flushed. The girl tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and looked away from him to the floor.

"I don't know about you," Carlos again captured the attention of the girl beside him, approaching her little by little. "But I don't think I've ever felt this chemistry with anyone in my entire life, hermosa."

Driven by her impulsiveness and by the tension that hung in the air, the young woman made the first move and closed the space between them, letting her lips rest on his in a much-desired kiss.

It started out soft and slow, their hearts beating faster and faster as the adrenaline grew. Y/N let her mouth open a little, and the driver took that as a sign to let his tongue swirl in her mouth. Her hands found their place among the brown locks of his wild hair, as he pulled her body towards him until she was on top of him.

Y/N was never one for one-night stands or sex on the first date, but that moment felt different for her. None of it felt sudden, ill-considered, or a mistake.

In fact, Y/N had never felt like anything was so right as pulling the Spaniard onto his bed mattress that night.

And I chose you

The one I was dancing with

In New York, no shoes

Looked up at the sky and it was

For the next six months, Y/N and Carlos were inseparable.

Their feelings for each other continued to grow stronger and stronger with every passing day. However, the two kept them secret from each other, hidden in the privacy of their own minds.

During those magical months since the night they'd met, they'd given themselves to each other, body and soul. But they both knew there was something more between them: something impossible to ignore, something special.

So special that the two feared they would ruin it by putting a title on their relationship.

They were… Friends with benefits, lovers, soulmates? All options were honest and sincere, but they were only attempts to escape the term "boyfriend and girlfriend".

Painting New York City white, snowflakes fell from the skies while shimmering under the lights like jewels bestowed by winter.

The couple could already see their destination, such was the way the girl's maroon apartment building stood out among the snow-covered sidewalks.

Carlos hugged her waist from behind, squeezing the girl's body and picking her up off the ground.

"Carlos, stop! You're going to drop me, you idiot!" Y/N squealed playfully, being immediately put down again in front of her door.

The driver placed a tender kiss on her forehead and then adjusted the black beanie that covered the top of her head. "I would never let you fall, corazón."

Except I already fell for you, she thought to herself, making her heart ache.

The two hurriedly climbed the building's stairs, eager to return to the warmth of her home. They had barely passed the front door when the two started taking off their cold and damp shoes in search of some relief from the discomfort in their feet.

The Cigarettes After Sex album that they were listening to before leaving her living room continued to echo through the walls of the apartment. Immediately, Carlos grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him, wrapping her shoulders with his arms as he started to sway their connected bodies gently to the music.

"What are you doing?" Y/N asked, caught off guard by the driver's movements.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Carlos asked playfully, running his hand through the young woman's long hair. "I'm dancing with you to your favourite band."

Just when she thought it wasn't possible for her feelings to grow any further, Carlos seemed to challenge her, proving her wrong all over again. Her heart could explode at any second with how much love for the Spaniard she kept in it.

"Carlos?" She asked in a whisper.

"Yes, hermosa?" He replied in the same tone.

"I'm so glad I chose you."

In the end, what mattered to them was seizing the moment before it was over, being happy with each other before the inevitable end came.

Both Y/N and Carlos couldn't help sensing that they were doomed to end sooner or later.

The burgundy on my t-shirt

When you splashed your wine into me

And how the blood rushed into my cheeks

So scarlet, it was

Eventually, the first signs of the end of their honeymoon phase began to appear.

Their flaws seemed more noticeable, their patience thinner, and their problems more difficult to solve.

All of a sudden, the illusion that their relationship was perfect started to fade with time.

The two began to see themselves as opponents with their backs turned to each other instead of the hopelessly in love souls they were in the beginning.

On a random spring night, the two were getting ready for another one of their dates, in the privacy of his house, like they did so many times before.

The two naturally assumed their tasks without much dialogue at this point: Y/N was leaning over the stove as she finished cooking dinner for them, while Carlos was in the dining room setting the table.

After completing what he had to do, the driver went to the kitchen in search of a wine to serve with the pasta that his lover was preparing. He opened the pantry and took out his favourite red wine from one of the bottom shelves.

Carlos walked to one of the drawers, removing his corkscrew from it, and opened the bottle without knowing that Y/N was moving dangerously close to him.

By accident, his sudden movement caused the bottle to splash onto the once-white t-shirt the young woman wore, now leaving a huge burgundy mark on it.

"Are you fucking serious?" Y/N complained, disgusted with the state of her outfit. "This t-shirt is new, Carlos. For fuck's sake, this stain is never coming off."

"Calm down, it's not like someone died. It's just a fucking t-shirt, Y/N." Carlos replied, in the same aggressive tone. "I'll buy you a new one. Don't let this night be ruined for something so small."

"You'll buy it?! You always think that your money solves everything, don't you?" The girl spat, starting her way to her room to change her clothes. "I just wish you would be careful for once in your life and not be so fucking clumsy."

"It's a piece of fabric, oh my God." Carlos followed her, not ready to give up. "Get over it!"

"You know what? Enjoy your dinner alone. I'm out of here."

And so their new routine began: they argued, they fucked, they made up, they repeated.

The rooms they'd once set on fire with their burning, sizzling passion were now left in ashes, burned by the flame that brought them back to each other's arms, time after time.

The mark they saw on my collarbone

The rust that grew between telephones

The lips I used to call home

So scarlet, it was maroon

Fight after fight, the two kept finding their way to each other every single time, like two individuals relapsing on their favourite addiction.

The young woman had been dragged by the Spaniard to another one of his races, though as a very discreet and unknown guest.

Nobody knew her in that world, not even his closest colleagues, and Y/N couldn't help but feel hurt by all of Carlos' secrecy.

Okay, they weren't together-together, but the fact that she wasn't even mentioned to his best friends still seemed like a red flag to her.

Y/N had managed to escape to his room without anyone noticing, coming face to face with the shirtless figure with his back to her.

"Hey, handsome." The girl approached him, placing her hands on his chest as she leaned against his naked back.

"Corazón, you are here." The driver turned towards her, placing a kiss on her lips and down along the side of her neck. "I missed you so much. These weeks without you have driven me crazy."

"Hmm... Were you missing me or having me?" Y/N questioned, trying to pretend to be unaffected by the way his mouth sucked on her collarbone so sensually.

The boy turned his eyes to her gaze and cupped her face gently in his hands. "You, hermosa. You."

Their moment was interrupted by a member of Ferrari knocking on the door, warning Carlos that he would have to prepare for the driver's parade. Both of them slipped from his room and the motorhome, coming across two other drivers she recognized from watching other races.

"Well, well, well," Lando announced, messing with Carlos and his mystery companion. "What do we have here? Sainz, you don't even introduce your 'friend' here to your boys"

"Pfff, friend." The Spaniard's teammate, Charles, replied, also joking. "At least her fresh hickey tells me otherwise."

The girl immediately looked down at the neckline of her shirt, where she noticed the love bite near her neck.

And when her gaze rested on her lover's annoyed face, she realized how unhappy he was that they got caught.

When the silence came

We were shaking, blind and hazy

How the hell did we lose sight of us again?

Sobbing with your head in your hands

Ain't that the way shit always ends?

"Since this muppet here doesn't want to introduce us, I'll do the honours. I'm Lando, this is Charles." The McLaren driver said, pointing to his Ferrari friend, followed by his outstretched hand towards the girl.

"Nice to meet you both, I'm Y/N." She greeted the British, and then the Monegasque.

"So why are you hiding your beautiful girlfriend from us, Sainz?" Charles asked curiously.

"She's not my girlfriend, I have to go." Carlos replied, turning away and leaving behind two shocked friends, a hurt girl and her heart broken into little pieces.

After hearing a thousand apologies from the two nice guys for meddling in matters that weren't theirs, Y/N decided to walk to the exit of the circuit and skip the race altogether.

Hours passed and only silence came to her hotel room, with no sign of Carlos.

The girl sat on the floor, back against the bed covered with a maroon duvet, shaking, blind and hazy, until he eventually appeared.

How the hell did we lose sight of us again, she thought to herself over and over again.

The driver entered the room, shoulders slumped in regret, expecting to find an upset Y/N he had to apologize to.

Never did he expect to find the girl he loved sobbing with her head in her hands.

Carlos knelt down in front of the young woman, placing his hands on her knees, which provoked her to look at him with eyes smudged with mascara.

"Sorry, hermosa." The boy apologized, letting his forehead rest against her knee.

"Sorry for what, Carlos?" Y/N asked, determined to get the truth out of him.

"I shouldn't have turned away and left you alone with Lando and Charles." The Spaniard confessed. "I understand that you didn't see the race, but it's done now, you don't need to be like that..."

"The discussion is over, yes." The girl spoke, getting up from the floor and looking at the image of him still kneeling. "But us, this, whatever it is, that is over too."

"Stop, Y/N!" The driver also got to his feet, trying to stop her from leaving. "This is just another argument. We always come back to each other, that's the way shit always ends."

The woman released her wrist from his hold, opened the door and glanced at him over her shoulder before walking away.

"Not this time."

You were standing hollow-eyed in the hallway

Carnations you had thought were roses, that's us

I feel you, no matter what

The rubies that I gave up

A day passed. Then two days. Three days.

On the fourth day, the doorbell to her New York apartment rang and her heart just knew that he was going to be the person behind the door.

Y/N opened the entrance to her house and there he was as expected: Carlos, standing there, hollow-eyed in the hallway, flowers in hand.

"Before you interrupt me, I beg you: please, listen to what I have to say. Then you can send me away if you want and I'll go." Carlos begged her, his hands gripping the red flowers more tightly. "I love you. I'm sorry I came to that conclusion so late but I do, I love you. So much my chest hurts whenever I'm not with you. And I know I've been an asshole to you, especially on this last race, and I know I don't deserve you but I'm not ready to give up on you, on us."

The young woman remained silent, listening to the words she'd been waiting to hear all these months.

But they were too late.

"These roses are for you, corazón. I know they are your favourite flowers." The driver held the flowers out to her.

"Carnations," Y/N replied, leaving the Spaniard more confused than ever. "These are carnations, not roses."

The two kept their eyes together until a tear ran down the girl's eyes. And both of them knew.

"I'm sorry, Carlos, but you should leave." Y/N sobbed. "I loved you all this time but I had enough."

And I lost you

The one I was dancing with

In New York, no shoes

Looked up at the sky and it was

Maroon

It took six months for them to end their perfect, magical honeymoon phase.

Followed by another six months of endless fighting and pain inflicted on each other.

Perhaps in some poetic way, six months passed from Y/N losing him until they saw each other again.

Nothing hurt more than being away from the one person she loved more than anyone. Especially when she knew the passion and the love between them were still there.

She couldn't help feeling that they were two cursed souls destined to suffer for their love.

Without Carlos, even music seemed to sound different.

Since the day she saw the boy walk out the door, her vinyl had remained exactly in the same place, gathering dust, as she didn't have the courage to listen to them again without being consumed by memories of them.

Trapped in her thoughts on yet another sleepless night, Y/N looked up at the sky and thought to herself: I can't die from a broken heart, but I can't help but feel like a part of me did that day.

The burgundy on my t-shirt

When you splashed your wine into me

And how the blood rushed into my cheeks

So scarlet, it was

Maroon

Tired of brooding over the excruciating time away from the driver, Y/N relented and agreed to leave the comfort of her home to go to a party for the first time in a long time.

Dressed to the nines, the girl found herself in a crowd in the middle of an unfamiliar house.

It was the same as always: old friends, new friends, gossip, rumours, laughter, shining lights, loud music.

The young woman simply couldn't enjoy that life as she did before. All she wanted was to go home, lay under the covers, with the fire burning on her fireplace... But the memories that place held of him began to feel like they were too much for her to bear.

Alcohol in her hand, as usual, Y/N escaped the noise to a random room in the house, much like the night she met Carlos.

This time, the girl found herself in the middle of a guest room, with nothing more than a bed and some basic furniture, where she sat enjoying a sweet drink.

Mirroring that night even further, Y/N was stunned when the white bedroom door opened to let in the tanned, handsome boy who was consuming her head.

"Oh," Carlos said, unable to contain his feelings when he saw the woman again after so long. "Hey, I- I was just looking for the bathroom. I- I'm going to go."

"No, wait!" Unconsciously, Y/N stood up, grabbing the driver's wrist without giving it much thought until she felt the blood rush into her cheeks. "Sorry, I don't know what I'm doing. I just- I don't know... I miss you."

The Spaniard let her words sink in, all emotions on the surface. "Y/N... Please, don't do this. I don't know if I can survive another heartbreak."

"You're right, I'm sorry. Forget this ever happened." Y/N got ready to walk out the door until it was the boy's turn to grab her arm.

Carlos pulled her towards him, grabbing her face with both hands and pulling her into a so-desired kiss filled with longing, pain, and lust.

The mark they saw on my collarbone

The rust that grew between telephones

The lips I used to call home

So scarlet, it was maroon

His lips brushed hers, allowing him to inhale her breath and feel the warmth of her mouth, until he let his lips mash against hers in a rough, heated kiss.

She opened her mouth quickly, pushing her tongue past his teeth and meeting him in an electric and passionate battle.

Both lay on the bed, her straddling his body like she did a million other times, her lips still glued to the ones she used to call home.

They both pull away, panting with their gazes focused on each other almost as if they were afraid the moment would suddenly be over.

"I still love you, hermosa." Carlos confessed, letting the words slip out. "There wasn't a day that I didn't think of you, or that I didn't want your body next to mine just like this."

For one more night, Y/N gave in to her most intimate desires and allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of belonging in the arms of the man she loved again, as she removed her dress and her lips returned to where they belonged - his.

And I wake with your memory over me

That's a real fucking legacy, legacy

And I wake with your memory over me

That's a real fucking legacy to leave

Such was the girl's amazement when hours later she woke up in the same bed, alone with only his memory over her.

The wrinkled sheets on the right side of the mattress were the only sign that the driver had been in that room the night before.

Not a note, a discarded piece of clothing, a stray hair.

Just crumpled linens and the marks of his love smeared across her soft skin.

Once again, Y/N was left with only her regrets and her sorrows for being so weak and so naive to think this time would be different.

That was the legacy he left every time: his touch on her remained, as did his absence.

The burgundy on my t-shirt

When you splashed your wine into me

And how the blood rushed into my cheeks

So scarlet, it was maroon

Back at home, the girl went straight to her room, wanting nothing more than to get out of her dirty clothes from the night before.

Her hands started their work of removing the dress, until she stopped in her tracks, naked in front of her bathroom mirror, when she saw the marks left by Carlos all over her for the first time.

She swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall, as she stepped into the shower.

The hot water ran through her hair, over her shoulders, and down her back, until loneliness overcame her and her eyes wept and wept away all the hurt she felt.

How could I have been stupid enough to fall again, she wondered.

After a few minutes of crying and showering, Y/N left the bathroom, towel wrapped around her body, and went to her dresser in search of an old t-shirt to wear.

Among the dozens of her neutral shirts, one stood out. It was scarlet, and it was his.

Without thinking twice, she grabbed the t-shirt and draped it over her body, ready to give in to the sadness. Her arms hugged her own torso, seeking physical comfort in a place where she was the only person left.

Or so she thought until she heard the familiar doorbell ring later that night.

The mark they saw on my collarbone

The rust that grew between telephones

The lips I used to call home

So scarlet, it was maroon

The only light on the dark street that night was the street light that lit up the star-crossed lovers ever so slightly.

There he was, standing outside of the door of her maroon building, red roses in hand this time, face pleading for forgiveness.

Although their lives might not have fit together, they were just two broken souls who had found solace in each other's hearts, unwilling to give up on the greatest love they had ever known.

And just like that, pulled back into their vicious cycle, all she had consuming her mind was him all over again.

"Hey, corazón."

It was maroon

taglist: @dan3avocado @starxqt @roseinnej @spiidergirlsworld @ccloaned @hotpigeon22 @dr3lover @lovelytsunoda @primadonnasdream @luxebeautystyle @wallfloweriism @ilivefortheleague @gwynethhberdara @satellitelh @adavenus @audreyscodes @wifeoflucyboynton @th6ccnsp6cyy @classifiedsblog @flyingmushroomss @motylekrozi @claramllera @gabrielamaex @handsupforamiracle @pierre-gasssllyy @lorenaloveslewis

@idkiwantchocolatee @simpforsunwoo @kissatelier @xweirdxsceletton @micksmidnights @miniminescapist @inchidentwithmax @hopelesslyromantics-world @alwaysclassyeagle @indieclarke @capela-miranda @okokoksblog @pulpfixion @sins-only33 @sainzclerc @allisonxf1 @honethatty12

@amsofftrack @scuderiamh @junkiespromise @loudoperahumanoidpanda @honeyric3 @holy-macncheese-balls @ricciardosheart @pierreverstapkin @ravenqueen27 @majkaftorek @home-of-disaster @buendiabebeta @itgirlofnowhere @roses-of-eden @thewintersunset @rubychocolatechips

(taglist continues in the comments)

thank you to everyone that asked to be tagged! please let me know if you want to be added to the next stories! 💌

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danisbrainrot · 8 months ago

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Happy birthday, I hope you're having the best birthday, also i hope you a healthy and happy life 💛🎂

Also thank you for writing my requests, it's literally so sweet of you 💜

And since I'm Johanna mason obsessed I thought

Reader is disappearing into the woods for long hours, then comes back home exhausted. Johanna is getting worried and curious about what reader is doing. Usually, reader would love Johanna to go with her on her walks in the woods, but not this time.

Reader is actually building a tree perch or tree deck (I don't know what it's called, but it looks like the pictures), as a surprise for Johanna's birthday. On Johanna's birthday, reader decorated it with flower bouquets, lanterns, and candles, making it look like a fairy tale setting, with a smile picnic if that makes any sense

Ps: English isn't my first language so sorry if anything don't make sense

johanna mason x reader no because being obsessed with johanna mason is so real. also thank you so much <333, i needed to pump out a johanna fic for my birthday so i'm glad you asked for this one!! as always, i love your prompts they're so imaginative! johanna might be *slightly* ooc.

"i'm just going for a walk," you call out, letting the door slam behind you. johanna peeked her head out from the kitchen, but saw you were gone and shrugged. she felt a little hurt because usually, you would go for walks with her but she brushed it off and went about her morning routine.

when this habit continued for a couple of weeks, she began to grow upset. you'd walk out the door, planting a kiss on her cheek and waving goodbye and she'd be alone again; moping around the house, she would grumble angrily to herself about how she was going to confront you. then when you return home, cheery and embracing, her face would lighten up and she’d ignore how she was feeling.

then, the hours grew longer and you weren’t returning quite as happily. you made sure to hug her, or kiss her, but your mood was dampened and you were beyond exhausted. johanna began worrying something really bad was wrong; the situation left her conflicted. did she stop you from going out so you wouldn’t be tired? or let you do what you wanted? the idea of losing you scared her immensely, that she sent finnick a letter asking him for help. he came a week later with annie and their son, saying that he would stay until after her birthday party, and help her sort out the problem. the second you were left alone with him, however, you managed to convince him to disappear with you as well.

johanna had never been more concerned. what were you two hiding from her? were you cheating on her with finnick? she shook her head, refusing to let her mind wander down that path. you would never do that to her—could never do that to her. so she’d end up playing with finnick’s son and talk to annie all day until everyone else showed up. katniss and peeta—along with haymitch—rocked up the day before johanna’s birthday, eager to help. while katniss and haymitch gave awful advice (johanna didn’t want to snap at you and demand you tell her what happened), peeta encouraged her to wait a little longer; she wondered if you’d told him something, and now she was nervous about what she was supposedly waiting for.

it wasn’t until you finally disappeared in the early morning of her birthday that she cracked. she followed you, while you crept down the dimly lit trail. you occasionally placed a candle on the ground and lit it, before continuing on your way. it was a little while before you finally stopped in front of a large tree, with a gorgeous wooden deck. she hides behind a tree as you climb up the ladder and began setting up the blanket, placing the food on top and adding a few finishing touches to give it the rustic vibe johanna loved so much.

“you can come up now!” you announce, watching johanna peer out from behind the tree, as she hesitantly approached the ladder. she looks up at you, signalling for her to join you, before swiftly scaling the ladder and kissing you once you’re reunited at the top. “happy birthday, johanna,” you whisper against her lips.

she smiles, her blush prominent now as she realises how embarrassing it was to suspect something was wrong with you, when in reality you’d been working on this for her birthday. “thank you,” she replies, pulling away and sitting down properly. she takes one of the sandwiches you’d prepared and munches down on it. “did you build this all by yourself?”

“i had a little help,” you confess, shrugging your shoulders and plucking a bunch of grapes—before throwing them in your mouth one by one. she can’t contain her snort, rolling her eyes playfully. “the best thing about sharing friends with you, is that they wanted to help me build and prevent you from seeing it prematurely. it was a good idea throwing a party and inviting them all, otherwise i’d never have gotten this done in time.”

johanna smirks, shaking her head, “that explains a few things,” placing her head in your lap as you softly stroke her hair.

“happy birthday, my love,” you whisper, kissing the top of her forehead.

she smiled up at you, “it is when you're here.”

#johanna x reader #thg series #wlw #the hunger games #fanfic #fluff #blurb #johanna mason #thg #johanna mason x reader #danisasks #dani's fics <3

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somethingsomethingwords · 10 months ago

Text

Ok so, here is another one. This is a little bit different from what I usually write or even like reading, but alas, sometimes an idea just enters your brain and just doesn't leave. Also this one has a title ig. So here it is. I hope you'll like it. Enjoy 💜

Of course I wanted you to stay

(but you didn't, no you didn't, no you didn't)

Lance was so full of adrenaline he almost dropped the mic. He was shaking from head to toe, but there was a huge grin on his face.

There was no sadness, because even if this was the last concert of the tour, it had been one of his best ones like, ever.

Also he was home, so he knew that after all the crazy partying he would do tonight, tomorrow he'd meet his sister, he'd go to that bakery that sells the best cupcakes, and he'd be able to roam the streets with his thick glasses and ugly beanie and scarf combos, and no one would recognise him.

But still, that's tomorrow. In that moment, there was the encore.

It was always different, so it was always special, but that day even more so. It was composed of three of his older songs, about pain and heartache and moving on despite the past, maybe in spite of it. He loved it very much. Because he was home, singing his first hits and he was ending one of the happiest and saddest tours of his life.

It had started great, new album, in love and energetic. Then he was left behind, alone and with nothing to show for it. Because it had to stay a secret. He had to keep his love secret. He had had no one to complain to, because the only people who knew would have been put in an uncomfortable situation, and he didn't want that. So he hid his hurt and did what he always did. He put it in his music. He sang his pain until the only hurt he could feel was the one in his throat.

It really had been a rollercoaster. But now it was the end, everything was better, and he wanted to send a last fuck you. He may have matured, but nothing would make him lose his pettiness.

So he sang.

Are you sorry like you weren't at the time?

Loving you was easy,

that's why it hurts now

The worst way to love somebody

is to watch them love somebody else

and it works out now

And sang.

Cause someone loved me,

someone fucking loved me

Someone fucking loved me,

I loved him too

Goddamn it, I was worth something,

I fuckin' earned something

I have a right to die, a right to live,

a right to choose, too. And God, no!

Of course I don't wanna feel better!

Can you fucking imagine?!

And sang.

Because, in the end,

you can see how much I loved you

from the fact that I'm fine now

It's a lie, but I say it anyhow

He put every single emotion into these songs, and finally let them go.

When the crowd roared, it all exploded.

He felt a solitary tear wet his face, but nothing could have stolen his smile. He waited for his band, then bowed and left the stage.

The night was young and he was feeling free and wild. And quite hungry, actually.

So he took his band to his favourite pub. They ate, and drank, and ate some more.

On the taxi towards his house, Lance realised that, no matter how much it had hurt, he didn't regret having what he had with Fernando.

Even the tears, even the heartbreak, they all shaped the person he was today.

He liked to think he was loyal, and dependable and kind. But most importantly, he liked to think he was better than the person he was yesterday.

His house appeared, and after paying and tipping the taxi driver, he opened the door.

Yeah, it was big and a little bit empty and a little bit cold. A little bit like his heart. But it was something to be proud of, because it was his, and he was working on it.

---

The next day he really started to rethink all of this rock star thing.

His head pounded with his heartbeat and his mouth tasted rancid.

He got up and drank some water, downing a couple of aspirins for his headache.

After the shower he felt somewhat normal, and decided to go out for breakfast.

He reached his favourite bakery and ordered two pastries to go. He wanted to retreat and lay warmly in front of the fireplace.

Lance noticed him as soon as he stepped out, but he decided to ignore him. His house wasn't that far, he could reach it quickly and without having to talk to him. For once, he wanted to thank whoever made him with long legs.

But even if he could go fast without running, so could the other.

They walked in silence, side by side, for a few minutes.

When the silence and the presence were getting to him, he abruptly stopped and turned towards the other man.

"What do you want?"

Fernando didn't deserve kindness nor gentleness. He forfeited those when he left Lance. Via text. Without explanation and blocking him immediately after.

Lance had spent too many days crying; now he wanted nothing to do with the man.

"Hello Lance. Was just around" he said, as if it explained why he was in Canada and not in England, in Monaco, hell even at home in Spain.

Lance huffed and started moving again, having had more than enough, but stopped when he felt a firm grip on his wrist.

He stared at the hand on his arm with wide eyes, before raising them to Nando's face.

"You have three seconds to either take your hand off or have it broken" he said shakily.

There must have been something in his voice that made the threat a real one, because suddenly he was free again.

"Lance, am sor..." Nando started.

"Shut up before I make you. We can't discuss here, someone could recognise you. Come to my house" surely not his finest moment, but all Lance could feel was fury. Still, he wasn't raising his voice, so he could consider it a win.

you are still protecting him, Este's voice said in his mind.

shut up, of course I am, but what else could he do?

They arrived at his house. He quickly opened the door and closed it when Fernando got in.

"You have no right to come here with your flimsy excuse and expect me to be ok with it. Now, tell me what you want and get the hell out of my house" there, simple and direct.

For a moment, Fernando seemed seriously sorry. But Lance didn't care. He was the one left behind, the one who had to pick up his pieces when he fell apart. He healed as best as he could, and he would not apologise for building up his defences.

"Lance, I am really sorry, for what's worth. I want to explain"

"You are a few months too late. At this point, I don't even know if I care. I only ever asked one thing, Alonso. One. I was ok with being kept a secret, and avoiding being seen together, and the distance. I only asked you to openly communicate and shit like that. You just left without a word" now that he had started, he couldn't seem to stop.

"You knew, I told you why I wanted that. Why I needed you to be honest and open, yet you just disappeared. I had to ask Este, who had to ask Mick. And for what. To be told that you had a new model girlfriend? So no, Alonso, I don't care anymore. It would just reopen old wounds. Now go, I'm sure you have somewhere else to be"

and someone else to be with, it wasn't said but both could hear it.

"That's not right. I have nowhere to go. Am alone, Lance" he said, something hurt and teary in his voice.

Lance was about to replicate, sharp words already on the tip of his tongue, when something in Nando's expression made him stop. His eyes showed how open he was being, how vulnerable.

Lance sighed, and led the man into the living room, making him sit on the couch, while he went into the kitchen and brought back two glasses of water. He would have preferred something stronger, but this felt too important of a moment to have it tainted by alcohol and not being in the right mind.

He sat on the opposite side of the couch, and waited for the other to start talking.

"First of all, am sorry, really. I knew it would hurt you, how I left you, but I did it anyway. And I know you have no reason to believe me or care. Am here because I believe you deserve the truth about everything"

He seemed honest, but Lance wouldn't trust him so easily, not again.

"What are you hoping for with your confession months later, mh? I'm not going to obediently come back to you, waiting to be heartbroken again. You're not gonna fuck me and leave, either. So, what do you want?" he was probably being unfair to the other man, but anger and confusion had never been a good mix of emotions for him.

"Lance, I would never..."

"Like you would never leave, Alonso? Don't make promises you can't keep and don't say things you don't mean" he interrupted, harsh and stubborn.

"You are right. I made promises and then I broke them and betrayed your trust. But I need you to know I had reasons. Not perfect, not good, but I had them" and goddamnit, Lance could feel himself beginning to soften.

just listen to him, said his conscience, suspiciously sounding like Mick.

"Would you care to explain them?" Was he being sarcastic or curious? He himself didn't know.

"Of course. Someone was starting to notice some...changes in me. I was happier, nicer, smiled more. Someone I don't like said something in a way I didn't like. Made me understand that he knew something was up, and would ruin me. So I decided that I needed to protect myself, to protect you. Left you because I couldn't see you. I knew I'm not strong enough to leave you if I saw you"

It all sounded logical, from a certain point of view, but Lance knew there was more, so he waited for the other to continue.

After a few seconds, Fernando raised his eyes, looking at Lance, before turning them down again.

"I didn't like the weakness. All the time, I was thinking about you, wanted you near. It was too much. So I thought I could just stay away, and forget about it"

about you, was left unsaid.

"And can you? Forget about it?" Lance not only wanted to know. He needed to, before going on with the conversation. He could feel his hands beginning to shake and his eyes starting to water, but he had to be sure.

Fernando immediately raised his eyes, and spoke with a tone determined and something like hope in his eyes.

"Of course I can't. I'm here right now, begging for a second chance" he said pleadingly.

"Then beg" Lance said, not meanly, but he also wasn't feeling particularly charitable, and it was better to make some things clear from the beginning: he wasn't going to repeat the same mistakes. He wasn't the young man staring at his teen crush, starry eyed and in love and grateful for every scrap of attention and affection. He was older, maybe a little bit more bitter, a little bit wiser. Fernando left some marks onto his heart, and he wasn't going to refresh them for nothing less than certainty.

"Lance, please give me another chance. I know I fucked up, was so wrong. I'm begging you, let me fix this. However long it takes, is ok. Just, tell me you'll think about forgiving me, and starting again" he was being so earnest, how could Lance resist?

"Even if I forgive you, and it's a big if, I'm not going to forget anytime soon, ok? I'll need time and space and for you to make an effort" he really was weak for this man, but who could blame him, he spent half his childhood idolizing him and then he met him and fell in love.

"Will do whatever it takes. But let me, please"

Realising all the air stuck in his lungs, Lance sighed.

"Ok"

He didn't even finish the word that Fernando picked him up and spun Lance around, making him laugh despite himself.

Fernando finally put him down, and took his hand to kiss it, maintaining the eye contact for a few seconds.

Lance could feel himself blushing, and quickly shook his head, still smiling.

After a few seconds of just getting reacquainted with one another, Fernando broke the silence.

"I liked the show yesterday. Especially the encore"

And now Lance was definitely blushing. His encore had been designed as a way of finally letting go, one last screw you to the man now in front of him. But he couldn't say that to him, even if it was pretty clear.

It would have been childish to throw shades at Fernando in one of his concerts, no?

"Yeah, I was inspired, I guess" his smile smaller but still there.

"Fuck the guy who made you suffer, the bastard" and in his jokingly way, Nando was telling him that he wasn't angry, and that they would be ok.

"Yeah, fuck him"

#lance stroll #fernando alonso #strollonso #grumpy cat boy x besotted old man #this old man is down bad #the boy isnt any better but at least he tries hiding it #this is a popstar au ig #also my very first #song fic #if u'r interested the songs are #body better by Maisie Peters #Feel better by Penelope Scott #and for my italian entry #Occhi grigi di Fulminacci feat Giovanni Truppi #roughly traslated by me #go liten to all these artists obviously #also also #the title is from Villain by Maisie Peters

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swiftgreatest · 2 years ago

Text

Kill You to Try | Warren Rojas x Fem!Reader

request by anon: "Hey!!! Could you please write a Warren Rojas x reader fic where the reader is a director and gets to direct a music video for the band and warren is pining for her ?"

a/n: hello!! i hope u like, this is my first fic from a request!! and if you want, can request more. thank you! 💜

tw: warren being anxious, grammatical mistakes because i didn't review this..

words: 1.7k

Everything happened so fast, with the big hit of "Aurora", the band started to receive more attention, yes the problems behind the scenes helped with the fame, but the good songs and the rock n roll lifestyle makes them more famous.

And that attracted your attention for Daisy Jones and The Six, a lifestyle with parties, drugs, sex and the rock, things from the classic rockstar life. A kind of life that you like and know so well. Being one of the big and requested directors, makes you famous. You had work with several bands and artists of the 70's rock scene and you stood out in a place full of man and prejudice.

But this doesn't let you down, you still stand, fight and work to show your talent. You have your own work and the people can feel the truth and your love for your work. You have a presence and no one can ignore you, everybody knows you, they adore you and your work.

One of these "fans" is the famous drummer of The Six, Warren Rojas. He knows your work for a long time, since the time of "The Dunne Brothers" he sees his favorite bands having music videos directed by you and is enchanted with your job and you. He's always anxious for your next job and keeps this appreciation in a secret. So it is easy to wonder his reaction when he knew who was going to direct the next music video of the band.

The band just have some videos of the "Aurora Era" and are going to start the new tour, for this reason, Teddy and Runner Records chose to make a new music video for the band, to have more visibility to the songs of "Aurora". And the selected song is "Kill You to Try". The record wants something big and ambitious for this new hit. So it didn't take a long time to get a phone call from Teddy Price inviting you to direct this project.

You're so happy to work with the band, you love "Honeycomb" and falling in love with "Aurora", and making a job with the number 1 band in the charts brings more highlights and fame to you and your career. A job like the others, it's what you think, but nothing is like we think.

————————————————————————

After the annunciation for the band about the new video, take only 3 days to recording start, everybody be so excited and anxious (in the good way), especially the drummer with curly hair. Since the announcement, Warren just was thinking of you, he's going to meet you in person, work with you, he's so happy and anxious with this and don't realize how nervous he is, and especially when the recordings started.

Warren watches you talking with his friends, the band and you get along so fast, talking about music you like. Daisy, Karen, Graham and Eddie liked you, they liked your way and the passion for your work. He admires you all the time, his heart beats faster every time you smile or laugh, you're so beautiful and looking at you makes him feel so good and lucky.

"Hey dude! What 's going?" Asked Eddie. Bassist is the first to realize how nervous his friend is. The drummer usually passes his hands in his hair and mustache or walks in the set.

"Hum? Nothing dude, is everything good here, is nothing wappen" Warren said

"But it looks like you're going to have a collapse any time, walking in the set like a racing car. Is it mescaline again?"

"Mescaline is a powerful drug man, i learned this in Billy and Camilla wedding"

"Good, but this doesn't answer my question. What's happi-" Roundtree doesn't complete the sentence because he and his friend have been interrupted by S/n.

"Hi guys! Sorry for interrupting, but i would like doing scenes of you two with your instrument and scenes of the band together" Before filming solo scenes of Billy and Daisy, Karen and the piano and Graham on guitar, you just need takes of the drummer and bassist.

"Of course! You're going first Warren!" Eddie said and walked away leaving his friend alone with you. The drummer doesn't understand, but Eddie knows that Warren changes before you come around. Being more nervous, sweet and careful around you. The bassist knows you're the reason for all this drama.

"Great! If u feel ready Warren, we could start now" Like Warren you've your secrets too! Of all the members Warren is the one who gets your attention, his looks are not the only thing that attracted you, his attitude and talent too. You caught yourself admiring him on the drums sometimes and thinking what those hands could do.

"Y-yes, i'm ready for it" He confirms as shake his head and gives a smile that can light up this whole town. You notice a different attitude of him in relation to you, he talks with everybody except you, this worries you, makes you think that he doesn't like you and for this reason ignoring you.

You explain to him what you want for his scene with drums. He listens in silence and differs from his bandmates. He doesn't ask or talk nothing with you, it was as if he held himself around you. But you don't know that man is a big mess now, only because of you, you stay in his head all the time and he fights to try to say anything to you.

He's enchanted, you're like a pretty and harmony melody, you've your own shines and bewitched the body and soul of this man. His scenes were fast to record, he had a natural charm and his drum solo was your favorite part, you and he looked at each other all the time, it was like he couldn't take his eyes off you. You try to talk with him at the end of scenes but he walks away from you, leaving you alone and confused.

————————————————————————

After many scenes, you reported that you have enough content to the video and thank the band for the opportunity and the good moments. They were kind and nice, you have talks with everyone. Except Warren, this frustrated you, the only member owner of your attention is the one to ignore you and run from you.

Before you go, you see the drummer go into a room. You can't hold yourself, you can't go without knowing the reason why he doesn't like you. You close the door of the room and scare the drummer. Only you and him in the close room.

"S/n? What are you doing? What happened?"

"I'm the one who should ask this for you! You've been ignoring me all day! I know we don't know each other but this is the opportunity to do this, I'm expecting to come closer to you and talk with you. You're the one who I most want to talk to, but you ignore me! Like I'm nothing to you. So you need to say to me, what I did to you? Did I do something bad?"

You pressed him to a anser, he was shocked with your honesty, different from him, you're honest and open about your feelings, now he's blaming himself for being a coward and makes you feel wrong. Please, you're perfect in his opinion. This time he chose to say the truth and fight with the nerves who put him down.

"I feel so sorry if I did you thinking I hate you or something like that, you got it wrong. The truth is…" Warren breathed deep while caught all the courage to confess your feelings "I'm crazy for you. I know this sounds crazy, but I admire you and your work for a long time. You're an inspiration, like a good old song who makes everyone happy, the only in my mind. I've been longing for you for a long time. And now we're working together and I don't know how to act around you. I did wrong, so I want to ask you for one chance to make different. Only one chance with you could calm down my heart and my mind" He's so deep in his confession that don't realize how you look at him now with shiny eyes and hold a smile and happy laugh. Oh this man looks so funny now, he's still talking until you interrupt him.

"Hey Warren!! Breathe! Now I understand and I'm not going to lie to you. I'm couldn't take my eyes off you any moment in the day, you stay on my mind since the first meet, your eyes, your lips, anything on you, i couldn't touch, just wonder how it feels and this kill me slowly and have you ignore me makes me burn in inside, but now i know the truth. So come on, I just need one chance". He comes so close while smiling, so close to your breath and the beats of your and his heart becoming one only. Warren holds himself to screaming of happiness for knowing you both feel the same thing. "Let's make this work. Saturday night, in my house, just me and you and no one else".

And that is the first step of a new story.

thank you for reading!! if u like reblog and like please!! my requets is open, look at my rules first ❤️ all the love xx.

daisy jones and the six masterlist

#warren rojas #warren rhodes #Daisy Jones and The Six #The Six #warren rojas x reader #warren rhodes x reader #warren rojas imagine #warren rhodes imagine #warren rojas one shot #warren rhodes one shot #Daisy Jones and The Six imagine #Daisy Jones and The Six one shot #eddie roundtree #imagine #one shot #swiftgreatest's write

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mikasas-biggestwhore · 1 year ago

Text

Attack on Titan characters and their butts ‼️‼️‼️‼️

This was a random conversation between me and a friend of mine and I decided that our opinions needed to be shared with the world!

Characters: Eren, Armin, Mikasa, Jean, Connie, and Sasha

Hope y’all enjoy 💜

Eren Yeager

— I’m sorry to the Eren fans but brotha is flatter then flat. Flatter then the floor type of flat-

— HE’S GOT A INVERTED BOOTY TYPE OF FLAT😭

— Like Eren doesn’t even have fat on his butt. It’s all completely just bone so you know that poor boy is in pain whenever he manages to fall on his ass

— If you smacked his ass aint shit gonna happen and your hand is just gonna hurt. Feels like you just smacked a rock bruh

— It gets worse guys

— Eren can’s throw it back to save his life.

— You might be like “What’s the point if he doesn’t have a ass?” Okay sure but even if you don’t got a ass it’s still nice to know how to throw it back

— ITS GETS EVEN WORSE.

— He’s tried but that poor boy is more lost then Dora the Explorer

— And before y’all start arguing the proof is all in that once scene where Eren meets up with Floch and Floch hands over that jacket to Eren.

— HIS BUTT IS MERGED WITH HIS BACK GUYS. IM SORRY.

Armin Arlert

— Okay see against popular believe Armin 100% has a fatty

— He has a very plush and squishy ass. He has the the type of ass that you could lay your head on and you would have the best sleep of your life

— He also has some jiggle along with all that plush booty. Like it definitely has its own little bounce when he walks around and whatnot

— IF YOU SMACKED HIS ASS YOU WOULD GET THE MOST SATISFYING SOUND EVER.

— See Armin has all that booty and doesn’t even know how to use it. On top of that he’s completely unaware of the fact that he has a very nice ass

— Like when he’s running upstairs or jumping around, he’s confused asf why everyone is struggling to breath. It’s because DAMN THAT ASS IS FAT

— Side note: Armin has the second biggest fatty in the survey corps ⭐️

Mikasa Ackerman

— MIKASA HAS A NICE ASS

— Okay see she definitely has a fatty but it’s a firm kinda butt. She works out and is a very muscular woman so it makes sense for her.

— I hope this also makes sense but it’s also plush but not pillow worthy like Armin’s. Like you could use it as a pillow but it’s the kinda pillow you gotta fool around with before being happy with

— Sadly Mikasa does not have any jiggle because like I said before she’s muscular. So why her ass is fat it will not bounce

— Does Mikasa know how to throw it back? Of course she does. She’s fucking Mikasa Ackerman. Oh and she throws it alright

— She could kill somebody with that ass. This is not a issue though because Mikasa is a aware that she has a ass but she never uses it at all

— Such a waste :(

— Side note: please don’t slap her ass she’ll break your hand and arm. I know from experience 🤕(I’m delusional as all hell.)

Jean Kirstein

— Got me apologizing again except this time to the Jean stans

— Jean is as bad as Eren bro

— They are both painfully flat like the only difference is that Jean got a smidge more fat then Eren does

— If you smacked his ass, it would still feel like hitting rocks regardless. I'm sorry guys.

— If it makes y'all feel better Jean knows how to throw it back. He probably figure it out by accident somehow 💀

— It’s just that he’s ass at throwing ass. So he doesn’t do it a lot it all

— He’s just embarrassed to do it because he’s really trying his best but he’s practically as bad as Eren-

— He wouldn’t be caught dead shaking his ass in public but if he was messing around with just Sasha and Connie he is definitely twerking

— They support him the whole time <3

— He’s twerking horribly but he’s got the spirit. (He hates to admit it but he asks Connie for tips)

Connie Springer

— Guys unfortunately Connie is also apart of the flatty patty party with Eren and Jean

— HOWEVER Connie absolutely works with it

— HIM AND SASHA THROW IT BACK TOGETHER ALL THE TIME

— Connie does it as a joke really because he is aware that he doesn't have anything but that is not gonna stop him at all

— When Connie twerks ain’t shit moving but you can’t tell him that

— He will throw his ass like he has the fattest ass on this earth and will swear up and down that his ass gave a little jiggle when he moved it a certain way

— Connie’s ass possibly giving a little jiggle has definitely caused arguments between Sasha and Connie 💀

— “Dude did you guys see that?! My ass jiggled! My ass is basically as big as Sasha’s!”

Sasha Braus

— Let’s get one thing straight

— THIS GIRL GOT THE TWO B’S (BOOTY AND BOOBS)

— Like outta all the girls in the servey corps she got them all beat.

— Another thing is that Sasha is fully aware of what she has and happily uses her gift from God. (That’s how she fr rizzed up Niccolo)

— Her thing is that she loves to act clueless around everyone knowing good and well they are all suffering as she runs up stairs

— Truthfully she does it because she thinks it’s absolutely hilarious. Watching someone face turn red of them getting choked up because she bent over really give her a kick

— Now see Sasha’s ass is on the same level with Armin’s. Her ass is very plush and soft enough to be pillow for you to rest your head and have a heavenly sleep

— Does it jiggle? FUCK YEA IT DOES

— Sasha’s ass does a little bounce with each step she takes while walking. LORD HAVE MERCY WHEN SHES TAKING THE STAIRS

— Sasha gonna hurt them with the type of ass she has

— STAN BIG BOOTY SASHA ✊🏽

Y’all Imma have to make a part 2 ✋🏽😭

All this booty talking got me wanting to eat a piece of cake because gahdamn

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consistentlyamess · 1 year ago

Text

We'll see about that - Chapter 1⎮Open with me, oh, we could be honest

[4.4K-ish]

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: You just wanted a fresh start but you might get more than you bargained for when the sleepy town of Hawkins lives up to its reputation.

warnings: takes place after season 4, 18+ , MDNI, slight age gap (reader is like 2 yrs older than Steve), canon typical violence, mentions of a lonely childhood, mentions of difficult relationship with parents, underage drinking, swearing, eventual smut, abusive relationship, brief stancy storyline, strangers to friend to lovers, pining, slowburn

A/N: I HAVE VERY LITTLE IDEA ABOUT WHAT I'M DOING AND I'M TERRIFIED. but I did get about 10 more likes than I expected, and I've been thinking about this story for so long, that so far it's kind of flowing out of me. so here's chapter 1!!! I probably won't be able to keep this pace up, just a heads up. *hides under a rock immediately after posting* just please bear with me while I figure out what I'm doing here, I guess. idk if it's a warning or not but english is not my first language and it's not beta-d. so. it is what it is . 'tough girl' is a very conscius nod to mizz @loveshotzz who had me on. the. floor. with AIRWIY

💜💜💜 TY for reading!!!! 💜💜💜

Fic Masterlist

Previous Chapter I Next Chapter Coming Soon

---

You woke up with a pounding headache. Sometimes they still came. Mostly like this, in the morning, out of nowhere and it takes about two or three aspirins for them to go away.

This is the first hiccup. The last time you had a headache like this, it was about finals time back in Bloomington. You just wanted to get out, you wanted it to be over, barely slept, barely ate, so the headaches were no surprise really. Then after graduation, when you were leaving one cursed town for another, you thought you left the headaches behind as well. Which very obviously was not the case. But they passed pretty easily compared to the previous ones.

The week passed in a blur mostly. You hung out at Family Video quite a lot and when you weren’t there it was mostly just getting used to the town. The first couple of days you find a diner where you can have coffee in the morning. The second morning you run into Steve.

‘Hey, stranger, how are you doing?’ He says with a boyish smile.

‘Just getting my morning coffee, trying to show this lovely town that I’m just like them, you know, coffee, pancakes, the works.’

‘Good thinking, you would be truly terrifying otherwise.’

‘You think?’

‘Oh, absolutely! 5”6 woman with a killer smile and - and I quote - decent cooking skills? Dangerous.’ He’s flirting with you but you pretend to be oblivious.

‘Well, wait ‘till you see my reward sticker collection. The lack of teachers shows, stacked up some pretty great stars and flowers and whatnot. Those kids won’t know what hit ‘em.’

Fine, maybe not that oblivious.

‘Wow, bringing out the big guns early, huh? How does one earn those stickers? Would some A-grade guacamole do the job at a dinner party?’

‘We’ll just have to wait and see, I guess.’

‘Guess so.’ You reach the coffee shop and he’s opening the door for you with a sly smile. Oh, boy.

As you get to the counter, you see that a tiny brunette is already balancing some coffees and pastries there.

‘... and I’ll also take like four of the cheese sandwiches.’ ‘Coming right up! Hey, give those pastries back, I’ll get you a bigger bag.’

‘Thanks, Al.’

You don’t miss the way Steve stiffens a little beside you.

‘Having a party Wheeler?’ He says.

‘Oh, god, you scared me.’ The tiny woman said, clutching at her chest. Her big eyes and tiny pointy nose made her look very cute.

‘You know exactly that’s for those assholes in the office.’ She says with a frown.

‘I know, you looked very cute though.’ She smiles shyly at that, looking down at her feet. Oh, boy, indeed.

‘Hi, we haven’t met before-’ you reach out trying to cut the tension.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was so occupied with those goddamn sandwiches.’ She shakes her head and takes your hand immediately. ‘I’m Nancy, Nancy Wheeler. You must be the new girl. Robin told me all about you. Went on a tirade actually. You’re starting in Hawkins Elementary, right?’

‘News travel a little unsettlingly fast here.’ You let out a nervous laugh. ‘But yes, that would be me.’

She glances up at Steve, who suddenly finds something very interesting on the menu above the counter. He runs a hand up his neck and squints at the menu. Subtle, Steven, really. Seamless.

‘So, she told you about the dinner on Saturday as well?’

‘A little more actually, she invited me.’ She frowned again and it made you laugh again.

‘Good! That’s exactly what I was about to do.’

‘Great! She told me she was gonna bring a pie but I’m betting my left arm she’s gonna burn it, so we’ll bring a back-up.’

‘We?’

‘Jesus, what a fun bunch we are. My boyfriend, Jonathan, is coming too. But only if it’s okay with you! He's staying for a while, finally. A little socialization we’ll do good for him.’

OH. BOY. So many alarm bells go off in your brain you can’t even count them.

‘Next!’ Al shouts out.

‘Sorry, one sec.’ You excuse yourself and you count your lucky stars that it immediately snapped you out of it. You’re not sure you could’ve contained your face.

‘Hi, Al! Can I get a black coffee to go please?’

‘If you ask this nicely, you can have anything, sweetheart. Comin’ right up! Anything else for you? The muffins are fresh.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss that! Please, throw one in!’ You smile sweetly and he smiles back. On another day, in another café you might have suggested something very different this guy could do with his fresh muffin but you needed this town to like you. If anything happens or if you run out of gas in the middle of the road, you need to have friends. People looking out for each other. Looking out for you. That’s what these small towns are all about, right?

‘Jesus, keep it in your pants Al.’ Steve mutters to himself and both you and Nancy raise an eyebrow.

‘Okay, I totally forgot, I have an appointment with the…’ Shit. You’re blanking. ‘... the, uh, the school counselor!’ You say a little more loudly, you’re so proud of yourself. ‘So, I’m off.’ You slap a two dollar bill on the counter and start moving toward your exit.

‘Who? Miss Kelly? Isn’t she on vacation, still?’ Nancy asks. ‘I haven’t seen her in like a week.’

‘Well, I have an appointment with someone, maybe it’s not the school counselor. I didn’t, uhm, write it down. But I’ll see you guys on Saturday, right?’ You wave your goodbye and your lungs feel less tight right away as you get out of the diner, leaving a little dumbfounded Nancy and Steve behind you. Whatever you walked in the middle of, you want no part of it. No matter how boyish his smile or homely brown his eyes are.

***

Staying away proves to be way more difficult than you thought though. Robin is way too nice to say no to, and more importantly, you really like her. It also doesn't take long until you meet the other members of the party. You met Jonathan one time at the library you visited. He was with Nancy, looking for something they didn’t elaborate on. A very endearing stoner Argyle, a gloomy kid, who visited his not-a-girlfriend friend in the hospital every week, Lucas, his quippy and lovebly snappy sister Erica, a kid with the smartest mouth on him you’ve ever seen, Dustin, Will, who’s very soft spoken is really fast to become one of you favorites, not just because he’s really into art, Nancy’s broody brother Mike and of course the shy and sweet El. Or Jane. You’re not sure and nobody else seems to be either. But, hey, who were you to complain about weird nicknames? But all of that came with a lot of Steve on the side and keeping the flirting to the minimum was a real challenge. Especially ‘cause you liked it. He knew what he was doing and he was good at it. But it was impossible to miss how he softened when he saw Nancy, how something akin to hope flickered in his eyes.

It was also impossible to miss that they were hiding something. At one time Mike referred to the mall fire with air quotes and Robin immediately kicked him in the shin. Whenever Will touched his neck, everyone became tense. El kept looking around and spacing out sometimes, until Mike brought her back with a gentle tug on her hand. You’re not stupid, you pick up on these things. But you don’t ask too many questions. They’ll tell you if they want to. Or not. That’s also fine with you. Everyone has secrets and it’s not a surprise that a town like this may harbor more than one.

The second hiccup does come at the dinner though. You were nervous all day. And of course cooking and cleaning all day. You made lasagne and your favourite salad with grenadine seeds and walnuts, and some chocolate chip cookies, just to be safe. You bought wine and soda, a bunch of scented candles, you cautiously put up fairy lights, the first thing that made the place look more cozy, more yours. Your chest tightened at the thought a little. This is okay, this is your place. This is what people do when they have a place. You were just renting, of course, but the owners made it pretty clear that they’re not planning on coming back anytime soon, so they gave you the all clear on any makeover your heart desired. You didn’t know what your heart desired. Not yet anyway. You were so focused on just getting a place, any place, you would’ve taken a room in an attic without lighting. You’re a little startled by the doorbell as you get lost in your thoughts while tossing the salad.

‘Shit’ you mutter to yourself. You haven’t changed, your hair is a mess, you’re a little sweaty from all the work you’ve done and of course the table is not set yet. Great going, Peach. One hell of a first impression. Well, it wasn’t a first impression, not really, but still. The doorbell goes off again.

‘Coming!’ As you tear the door open it presents a bickering Robin and Steve.

‘... I took my eyes off of it for one second, Steve-’

‘Yeah, well the recipe clearly stated that you have to watch it very closely! Constantly!’

‘Oh, my go- Peach!’ Robin rasps as she notices you standing there. She basically throws herself in your arms. ‘I burned the pie.’ She says in a sad voice that reminds you so much of a kid who was caught with her hand in the cookie jar. ‘I failed you, I’m so sorry!’ ‘Oh, honey, it’s okay! I made some chocolate chip cookies, Nancy is bringing some pie as well, we’re all good sweets, don’t you worry!’ You tell her, hugging her tightly and laying a kiss on the top of her head for good measure. ‘And next time just call me, my pies are the talk of every Thanksgiving. I can give you some tips and tricks.’

‘You’re an angel.’ Robin sighs. Above her shoulder you lock eyes with Steve for a minute. He watches the two of you with the most doughy eyes and smile you’ve seen on him so far. He waves a little and huffs out a quiet ‘hi’. You take one of your hands from the girls back and wave back to him. He keeps watching and you can’t take it. You pull Robin away, grabbing her shoulders.

‘Alright, early birds get the worm’ you clap your hands ‘which means, you guys get to help me with the finishing touches, while I go take a shower and change, because I may smell like an onion but I have so much flour and butter on me that if you put me in the oven for 20 minutes on 350º I might come back as a pie as well.’

You make them laugh with that and the little laugh that comes out of Steve makes you want to run away into the woods and scream, it's so sweet. For the love of GOD, girl, get it the fuck together. This time Robin’s prodding finger in your ribs is what snaps you out of your state.

‘You're the boss! We’re at your service, m’lady!’ she bows theatrically. ‘Band kid?’

‘Trumpet’ Steve says with a shit eating grin. Robin seems a little uncomfortable at that.

‘Figures. Band kids are always the best.’ You wink at Robin. ‘Stamina and nimble fingers. Exactly what you need in the kitchen.’ Wow, you’re staggeringly bad at this not flirting thing.

‘Well, damn. If you were recruiting I’d never even look at a swimming pool or a basketball.’ Steve counters with the beginnings of that same shit eating grin.

‘Jock?’ You ask, turning to Robin.

‘But a reformed one at that. Did some penance for his sins.’

‘By driving 12 year olds around town?’ ‘And by bringing wine and some beer to your dinner party, smartass.’ As he says it, he starts moving around you, already having rid himself of his coat and shoes. He leans close and almost whispers the last word in your ear. It makes the muscles in your neck flex. ‘So, where do you need us?’ Robin’s eyes ping-pong between the two of you so you turn around. ‘Right. Plates are in the cabinet above the sink, cutlery in that drawer, glasses are already on the counter and you have some napkins on the table already. I’ll turn myself into a human again and be right back! Don’t break anything, please, I barely have enough stuff as it is.’

Your turn to make your way to the bathroom but you still catch the sound of Robin’s swat that probably lands on Steve’s arm. They hiss something at each other, but you try not to eavesdrop more. Not my circus, not my monkeys, not my circus, not my monkeys, not my circus, not my monkeys.

By the time you make your way back, Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle are all there. The letter with suspiciously narrow eyes and mellow smile. You make a mental note to ask him about that sometime. As you make your way to the table, still drying your hair with a towel, Nancy gasps.

‘Oh, my god, I love your dress!’

‘Thank you!’ You answer as you reflexively look down at yourself, before hugging her. ‘It was my mom’s in the sixties. Real flower child shit, I love it.’ The dress is almost floor length, it has a warm, orange-ish shade thanks to the thousands of tiny flowers, but it also has a dark, almost black undertone. It hugs your hips and has small buttons running up all the way on the front, top three still hanging loose, revealing some of the lace underneath.

‘Hell yeah, brochacha, I dig your style.’ You giggle at Argyle’s antiques as you hug the two boys shortly as a greeting.

‘Hey, do you have a corkscrew somewhere in here?’ Steve calls from the kitchen without turning around. ‘Uhm, that’s a good question actually. Let me check!’ You make your way to the kitchen, and plop the towel on the counter temporarily. ‘I- oh’ Steve says the moment he turns around and sees you. You’re suddenly very aware of those top three buttons. You should’ve buttoned them. ‘Wow, you, uh, you look really nice.’ He says, running a hand up and down his neck once. So, it is a nervous tick. You hope to any higher power if they're there, that you don’t blush. ‘Thanks.’ The smile you can’t hide. You know it’s there, he knows it’s there. Well, fuck. ‘So, have you checked the bottom drawer? I think that’s usually the bastard drawer.’ ‘Bastard drawer?’ He asks with furrowed brows but still not taking his eyes off of the tiny flowers. ‘My mom used to call it that. It’s the drawer you just kind of throw shit in, shit you don’t know where else to put. It's kind of rude, now that I think about it.’ You grimace to yourself as you zero in on it.

He watches you as you move toward said drawer. He likes the way the dress sways with each step you take. It’s a slow, almost magical movement of fabric in his eyes. A mix between a witch and some sort of fairy. He likes that you’re still barefoot, you look at home, even though you’ve only been here for a little more than a week. He likes the way you tuck your wet hair behind your ear as you crouch down. He likes your wet hair too, if he’s being honest with himself.

‘Uh-huh! The bastard drawer never disappoints.’ ‘Way to go flower child!’ Argyle chimes from somewhere in the living room. Steve shakes his head at that. But you can tell, he’s hiding a smile. ‘Thanks dude!’ You shout back as Steve moves towards you. You think he’s going to help you up, but then Robin storms in. ‘Hey, Peach- oh, come on, I’ll help you up.’ Something flashes in Steve’s eyes as he leans back on the counter. ‘Do you need help with anything else?’ ‘You can help me bring in the drinks if you’re up for it. The lasagne need another 10 minutes but we can have some drinks until then.’ ‘Really? Me too?’ You snort. ‘I’m not your mom, babes, of course you can.’

The evening goes well after that. You get to chatting, you talk about uni, very briefly but you mention that you had a failed relationship as well, you gush about your favourite teacher and ask them about the children of Hawkins. They tell you about the town, about how they met, how they became closer when tragedy after tragedy struck. Robin mentions clumsily that Nancy and Steve used to be a thing, which in turn makes the whole table uncomfortable. Except for Argyle, who, god bless his heart, chimes in with a ‘This lasagne is schmashing dude’. Which eases the conversation again. ‘It is really good, Peach.’ Steve emphasizes, tongue darting out to lick the corner of his lips. ‘When did you learn all of this?’

‘Well, growing up it was just my mom and me. We didn’t have a perfect relationship but she loved cooking. That was really the only thing we did together. Then she had to work more, so I had to do it on my own more and then when I was uni, it was comforting to do things we used to do together.’ You shrug a little almost as a sign that you don’t know what else to say. You do that a lot, Steve notes to himself. As well as the fact that your cheeks and chest get a little pink after two glasses of wine. Just some notes. You don’t know if it’s the wine or the fact that you haven't felt this calm, since what feels like a lifetime, but this sudden openness catches you off guard. But Robin jumps to the rescue again.

‘Oh, my god, that is so sweet!’ She squeals and she grabs your hand. ‘By the way, I never asked you about how that kind of date went?’

Now she is the one with the deer caught in the headlight eyes.

‘Duuuuude, you had a date? That’s awesome! How did it go?’ Argyle joins your inquiry. ‘Oh, it was… well, we- uhm’ she gets caught off by the ring of the phone which she seems very grateful for. You? Less so. ‘Who is- sorry, I’ll go get it.’ As you get closer to the phone, on the other side of the wall, your stomach starts to knot. No one is supposed to know this number. Maybe the school. Please, god, let it be the school. As you reach for the phone, you know it’s not the school. You’re so sure it makes you nauseous. Panic crawls up your throat, your hands are shaking but you know you can’t not answer. Normal people are not afraid to answer phone calls.

‘Hello?’ You call but nobody answers. You swallow with a big gulp. ‘Hello?’ You try again, this time squeezing your eyes shut and balling your hand into a fist. And that’s when you hear it. Breathing on the other side. You panic and slap the phone back on the wall.

‘Is everything okay?’ Steve asks and you hear the slide of a chair on the floor, and you start moving further into the kitchen. ‘I- Y-eah’ you call with a crack in your voice. You take a deep breath, trying to stady yourself. ‘Just ah, a wrong number. I’ll go heat up the pie!’ You try to think about the cold metal of the Colt on your night stand. It’s okay, you’re safe here, you can protect yourself, you made sure.

You’re already leaning against the stove when he finally catches up to you.

‘Do you need help?’ ‘No, no, I got it’ you call back over your shoulder, without turning around. You crouch down in front of the oven and open it. The heat comes rushing out but it’s still not enough to warn you. You grab onto the sheet with reckless abandon and promptly burn yourself.

‘Ouw- Fuck-’ ‘Shit, are you okay?!’ Steve comes rushing towards you as you hear the muffled sound of the others fussing in the living room. ‘Shit, come on, come here.’ Now he helps you up, one hand holding your wrist, the other settling on the small of your back as he guides you to the sink. ‘We have to put some cold water on it, so it doesn’t blister.’

You can only nod. The panic of the phone call is still at the back of your throat but now the burn of your palm feels a lot more urgent, so you will your body and your mind to work together and prioritize here. As the cold water hits the burn, you hiss and Steve apologizes.

‘No, please, it’s what you’re supposed to do.’ ‘So much for the pie tips and tricks, tough girl.’ He smiles at you a little mockingly. ‘I never said anything about kitchen accidents. You got nothing on me Mugsy.’ ‘Alright-’ Before he can really get going, Robin clears her throat loudly in the kitchen door, standing with crossed arms. ‘You guys okay in here?’ ‘Yeah!’ You say, pulling your hand away from Steve as gently as you can. ‘Yeah, just burned my hand. Nothing life threatening. But I will need someone else to put the pie in the oven for me after all.’ ‘I got-’ ‘I can do it.’ ‘Really, Robin? So, I’ll have to take care of two burns?’ Steve says, turning around with his hands on his hips. ‘Oh, calm your tits mom, I can put a pie in the oven on my own you-’ ‘Both of you can shut up, I’ll put it in.’ Nancy says as she pops in and comes directly towards you and looks at your hand with a concerned look. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Guys, it’s just a sheet that was a little too hot. I’ll live.’ Nancy nods but you know that she can see that you’re still shaking. She moves to the oven and Steve takes the opening to make his way back towards you. ‘Do you have some ice? You should put some ice on it for the night.’ ‘Hey, Steven!’ Robin calls out a little too loudly and a little too sharply. And you make a mental note to send her a gift basket because now that the panic and the pain are subsiding, you really don’t want to feel his breath on your cheeks and his fingers moving your wrist so carefully, like you’re made of glass. ‘Would you be a darling and help me open a bottle of wine.’ ‘You’re a big girl, you can open a bottle of wine on your own.’ He quips back. ‘Oh, now I can do things on my own?’ ‘It’s a bottle of wine not a piping hot oven, Buckley, there is a difference.’ They continue arguing but you can’t make it out anymore under the sound of running water and Nancy and your laughter. ‘They are literal children.’ ‘It’s cute, really. I always wanted siblings.’ You confide in her. How can you not? Her blue eyes have this shade to them. A shade that sees right through you. A shade that tells you there’s no use in lying. Or hiding for that matter. ‘Are you sure, you’re okay?’ She asks, quiet, sincere. ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. Had much worse.’ You smile at her and she doesn’t push. You’re thankful.

You almost can’t believe it but the rest of the dinner goes by without any more accidents. You guys come close when Robin wants to cut into the pie but Steve takes the knife out of her hand. Everyone wanted to help clean up but you swatted them away, insisting that you were the host and it was fine. You pack a box of leftovers for Argyle and he’s out the door. Nancy and Jonathan are the next, thanking you and even Jonathan shooting you a smile that tells you, he really did enjoy himself. By the time you close the door behind Steve and Robin, you almost forgot about the phone call. Almost. Not even a minute passes when there’s a knock at your door again. You huff out a laugh. ‘I told you, dude, that’s all the cookies I have, there’s- oh, Steve.’ You’re stopped in your tracks. ‘I- did you leave something here?’ ‘Yeah, I,uh, can you check if my wallet is on the counter, for me?’ ‘Sure, come in, I’ll be just a sec.’ You check but there’s no wallet. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t find it! Are you sure it’s not in the car, or-’ When you arrive back he’s leaning over the small dresser next to the door.

‘Oh, shoot! You know what?’ He says, feigning a realization. ‘It was in my back pocket. So forgetful sometimes. Night, tough girl!’ You’re a little confused but that doesn’t keep you from quipping back. ‘That nickname’s gonna stick, isn’t it?’ ‘Depends. Maybe I’ll think of something better.’ He says with a wink and turns on his heels.

After locking the door you glance down to the dresser. There’s a note on the block of Post-its you have there.

I’m very used to spending nights on my own in an empty house. If something spooky happens again or you need some ‘tips and tricks’ just give me a call.

There’s nobody there to see but you still feel like you have to hide your smile by trying to bite into your lower lip as you study his number.

Fucking hell. You really should’ve finished those goddamn buttons.

#steve harrington fic #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington slowburn #robin buckley #robin stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #nancy wheeler #nancy stranger things #jonathan byers #jonathan stranger things #argyle stranger things #we'll see about that #WSAT #WSAT fic

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