#idk i just have been fixated on the fact that he claps for like everyone

[cosimad]

↳ every time nick nelson claps for someone

[jamiedc-they-them]

The life you both took and gained (Platonic)

Requested Imagine: “hey, me again, how you been? i have a dany request where the reader is young (not child young more like teenager) and fighting in the pits and dany's like "hes just a child" and nervous while r fights. and maybe in the middle of the fight r loses his weapon and has to improvise, but comes out on top, and dany's like "go see if hes alright and bring him to me" and then idk love me some dany... B”

This isn’t one of my longest (which I apologise for) but I hope you like it :D

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She hated it from the moment she declared it. But she knew that it was also the only way to achieve the peace. Still, she looked out at the view of the city of Meereen. She put her hands on the balcony as she took a breath in. She had freed the slaves from here, yet some wanted to go back to chains and others wanted to fight in the pits.

She couldn’t, just couldn’t understand as to why. She looked at the city. Despite being in control, she still felt lonely. She was in charge of this people that worshiped her and people that supported her. But she had few of those she’d call friends.

It was then she remembered an empty bed, one in a room that had no occupant. Thing was though, she just didn’t have anyone there to live there. There would always be one or two in her old place of residence. Rooms that she didn’t see the point of; rooms that just went to waste.

She always yearned for someone else to be with her; someone she could actually talk to about it and protect. Someone she could have to try and make sure they had a better childhood than her.

She knew that everyone deserved that, at least; a good beginning. Or, at least a stable one.

However, now she was the one wasting time. She really wanted to do anything but go to those fucking pits.

However, it was the only way to keep the peace and keep the place from falling into a coup. So, she took a breath, and left.

 It was loud, packed with people that just wanted blood it seemed. She couldn’t stand it, despite being a queen who was waging a war on people she hardly knew to find an army and take a throne. Maybe it was the fact that she had no idea who either side was and saw the action up close and heard the cries of cheer from everyone else.

Still, she sat in her seat, just wanting this to be over as soon as it possibly could be. She could already feel the urge to vomit as she watched all the contestants walk out; young adults.

Well, that was until she laid eyes on you, youngest of the bunch. You were definitely the youngest, someone that was barely into their teens. Now that urge to vomit was defiantly rising.

“My Queen, you haven’t clapped yet. They are awaiting your command.” Missandei reminded her, but Danny could tell that her friend felt ill at the sight you being there as well.

“I….I can’t.” She argued, eyes glued to your figure; you were only looking at the floor, and not the Queen.

“It’s the only way to get them out, my Queen.” She told her.

Daenerys closed her eyes as she sighed, knowing that there really was no way out of this. If she wanted to get you out of this system, she had to let you play this horrible game.

So, she rose her hands up….she paused, as if giving herself one more chance to back out. Then….well….

Then she clapped.

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Her childhood was anything but sweet. Having a brother that seemed to hate her very existence to the core and do everything but kill her seemed send a message. That being: you’re mine and you will never be free.

It was subtle at first, the jabs that were verbal (never physical. Or, at least, rarely physical, as he didn’t want to damage that, as he called it “prize” or rather, “merchandise”) at herself whenever she did anything wrong or didn’t wear something he approved.

 The fight started right after her clap. You were quick and agile, which meant you mainly stuck to smaller bladed weapons and tried to avoid conflict where you could. Your other opponents seemed fixated on each other rather than you, which did you a favour.

One swung at you, but it went over your head. You then attacked back, swinging your blade and cutting into him. After your first impact occurred, you then swung and made another connection; he cried out as his other arm than had a cut in it.

You tried to continue your streak, only to get your neck being squeezed by the much taller man. As you squirmed, you then stabbed him in the hand, making him drop you. As you hit the floor, you ripped the blade out of his hand and then slammed it into his eye, bringing him to the ground.

One down, a few more left to go.

Danny could only watched with concerned eyes and not the normal borderline apathy. Sure, at times, there were moments were she would be concerned. But this time it wasn’t just that; this was a feeling that bubbled in her stomach. That being on your survival. She knew only one could make it out. Only one person could survive and win.

Now, she was actually rooting for someone to win. Now, she actively wanted the other ones to not make it and felt a sick sort of joy when you brought your attacker down.

 Her brother loved to warn her about the dragon she was close to awakening. Namely, her brother. However, she soon found that she too had the ability of the dragon as well (obviously, not the fire breathing part). She learned that when she got in a bath that was too warm, but she was fine in it. To her, though, it was sort of soothing to have that. To have that moment of power in a sense; to have something that made her feel like she had some sort of power. Granted, your brother hadn’t tried it; but she never really wanted to know if he could do it.

To be honest, she didn’t care.

 Your next opponent was your age and size, meaning it was quick. Danny had a hard time keeping up, seeing you both dodging and swinging, blades crashing against each other over and over again. One swing would clash, another would hit nothing but air.

She watched as it went on, as if you were in a dance with one another. She watched as you dodged, weaved, then swung once again. You both then ended in a lock, pushing against one another to try and get the other off of damage.

You dropped your blade, but letting it fall to the floor. As it fell, your opponent looked to it. It was what you both wanted and needed; you pushed, slamming your blade into him and dropped him to the floor.

That was two down. You looked up at the others, more particularly, the tall one. God he was a big bastard, someone who just seemed to wipe the floor with everyone else. That, and he was carrying a big axe. So, that just seemed to add to your problems with him.

 It was time to go with her brother to be sold. Before, he had been bad. But this was something else. He’d even admitted that he’d let them fuck her senseless if it would get him what he wanted. He was a monster, and she was anything but a child. She was someone that barely had any choice in that matter. She was forced to grow up since day one.

Now, she was being sold off. Now she was marrying someone she didn’t know at all. Now she was definitely forced to grow up.

 You were pushed to the ground as your new opponent pushed their sword against your dagger. As they did, Danny’s breath picked up. She gulped as she heard the cheers of the crowd grow and grow as your apparent death neared; or maybe someone else was being brutally murdered. She didn’t care, all she did care about was what was happening to you in this moment.

Your previous opponent’s blade was a small distance away from you. You would reach for it, but you knew that doing that would allow the sword to end your life. As much as you hated that this was all you had; it was something to fight for.

You slammed your knee into a place that no one deserves to be hit, using the opportunity to grab the other blade and slam it into their head.

That was three. Danny felt like she could breathe again. However, she now noticed you didn’t have a blade.

She remembered when she gave into it. Gave into the game that Drogo was playing. He was all about sex? Fine, she could do that. As much as she didn’t want to, this was about survival. So, she gave into it.

However, she also knew that doing this would make her brother mad. But she knew that this moment would get her some protection from him.

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Three were down, but there were still opponents remaining. One of them was the big guy. Sure, he had been hurt in the fight, with cuts and bruises. However, he was still standing and moving on like it was nothing. He was still swinging that axe around and being able to use it with ease.

However, you still had no weapon, and you knew that getting one would put you at risk and in the crosshair of your enemies. As, they would obviously watch you go for it and try and stop you.

“Throw them something,” She gained a look from her best friend, “They need something. They have to make it through this.” She said in justification. God, she wished she had Drogon right now to end the fight quickly and save you.

The crowd started to boo as you didn’t move; as you silently debated your next move. You were looking between different weapons, none of them being the ones you wanted. However, a blade hitting the floor made you turn around. What you saw, was a blade that was behind you and far away from the others. It looked rusty and broken. But it was better than nothing.

But a shit blade and live, than a good blade and die.

You ran for it.

 She was correct, her brother was anything but happy. He was livid. He was now in the middle; well, more like near the back of the group while Danny rode up front with Jorah. However, she still felt on edge. She had never not felt on edge.

“Tell them all to stop.” She ordered Jorah as they spoke.

“You want the entire horde to stop? For how long?” He asked.

“Until I command them otherwise.” She answered bluntly.

“You’re learning to talk like a queen.” He noted.

“Not a queen, a Khaleesi.” She said, leaving Jorah with an impressed look on his face. If she was forced to grow up, then grow up she shall. If she was being honest with herself; in her mind, she should’ve years ago.

 You grabbed the blade, Danny smiling a little that you did take it. Now, you were back on even ground with the other ones. Now it was you with a blade you liked, but opponents that also liked their own ones.

As you went for the shortest of the remaining ones, the large one then started to make his own way over. You both seemed to know what him coming over meant. However, instead of teaming up, you did the opposite.

While you were good with blades and somewhat liked swords; they weren’t your strong point. It seemed, just your luck, that your enemy preferred them. As you swung in sheer desperation to get the fight over and turn your attention to the larger one.

However, as you swung, she dodged and cut you in the back. As you turned to swing again, the blades clashed as she used your momentum against you and sliced you in the back again. Now you had two wounds and were bleeding.

Danny looked at you in more concerns you continued to get hurt with a blade you did not prefer. She gulped, realising that the blade she gave you was a bad idea. She looked to Missandei, but the woman shook her head. She knew that she couldn’t help you anymore than she could.

She turned back at the sound of cheers, seeing you put your opponent with the blade down. However, you did look worse for wear. You were bloody at this point, both with your own and the blood of your combatants.

She saw you stumble a little as you went into your defensive stance once again. Then charging your opponent.

 Daenerys had gone for a walk after dismounting her horse. As she walked, she felt some sense of peace. She felt some sense of normality; just a girl out for a walk. Just a child exploring.

That then shattered when she heard galloping, seeing her brother burst through the weeds with his sword raised, “You DARE?! You give commands to me?! To me?!” He sneered as he then dismounted.

He grabbed her by the throat, “You do not command the dragon! I am the lord of the seven kingdoms. I don’t take orders from savages or their sluts,” He pointed his blade right at her throat, “Do you hear me?”

He was cut off the next moment when a whip was wrapped around his neck and he was brought to the ground.

Seemed that that moment was all she’d ever had.

 You were slammed into the ground, barely being able to roll from the axe that was barrelling towards you. You got away, hearing the axe slam into the ground. You didn’t even think about your next move, your own blade coming down to try and end him.

He reached up and grabbed it, hand bleeding as he then slammed his head into your own; then throwing away your blade.

“We need to stop them!” Danny said, now beyond worried at the outcome of this.

“We can’t, Khaleesi.”  Missandei said in a dejected tone. Daenerys turned back, once again, at the cheers from the crowd as the saw you be thrown to the ground, this time rolling on the floor.

He then started to charge at you as you reached out for a weapon on the floor. He got closer, and closer, and closer, and –

He stopped, looking down at the spear that was now impaled into his person. He gasped as he tried to get some breath back. However, now, blood came out of his mouth. He then stumbled, before falling to his knees.

You then grabbed the sword, walking up to your bleeding opponent. Now, the crowd was silent. To you, it was just you and him; two people forced into this life and never given another one. He looked at you with a tired look, but one that held some morbid understanding. Understanding that either one of you would have to do this. That you had no choice in this.

You let out a cry as you swung the blade, slicing his throat open. He gargled for a moment, before finally succumbing to his wounds.

 Her brother stormed into the tent, drunkenly asking for her. He was still high on his ego, as always. He then drew his blade, pointing it at her now pregnant stomach. Her husband went to defend her, but she stopped him. She wasn’t the innocent child she was back at the start. She never was. She was a woman now, a Khaleesi.

She ordered her people to grab him and lower him to the ground. As he was, Khal Drogo heated up some gold in a pot. He let it boil as her brother cried and begged to be let go.

However, all Danny did was watch as the Khal raised the pot and poured it over her brother’s head. He cried out for a moment, before he fell on the floor as the gold cooled and became apart of him.

 You had won, and you had been taken away instantly. Danny didn’t even get a chance to see you react to winning.

“Where are they going?” She asked. Missandei seemed to not be sure how to answer.

“Where?” She asked, firmer.

“To the barracks, Khaleesi.” Was the answer.

So, that was where she went.

 You were sat in a room with barely something that seemed like a bed. It was more like a piece of hay. Despite what you had been through, this was your reward it seemed.

She knocked at your door. As you looked up at her, your eyes widened.

“You fought well.” She told you, not sure what else to say first.

“It’s what I was trained to do since pretty much birth. I’ll live here, I’ll die here.” You said morbidly.

She soaked your words in, she then remembered that moment with her brother. Hell, even before that, when she went on that walk. It was a moment to fully be alive and be a child. She saw that in yourself as well, that person that grew up without a chance.

“What if you didn’t have to,” You looked at her with confusion, but she also saw the slight hope that you were cautiously putting down just in case, “I used to think that I’d have to grow up quickly as well. That I couldn’t have a chance to be me and who I wanted to be. You deserve better than that.” She told you, with pure honesty.

You looked at her with a softer look, one that showed surprise. No one had ever told you that before. All anyone here had ever told you was that it was time to fight and what not.

“Where would I go?” She gave you a gentle smile at your question.

“To a place that I hope you’ll call home.”

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Her answer was a large room, in the place you always saw but never thought you’d enter. The place she called home. Now, you were in it, being led up the stairs and not getting the normal judging looks you’d get; instead, they were only blank ones of apathy. To be honest though, this was better than the ones that seemed to bore into your soul.

She led you up the stairs, where her throne laid. You took a moment to look at it. She turned to you with a soft smile, “You can sit on it, if you want.” You looked her at with wide eyes. She only gestured to the seat.

“Go on.” She said gently. You looked at it, before moving and slowly lowering yourself into it. You didn’t fit, obviously too small for it. But, part of you felt slightly powerful; you felt like a small child with the way your feet swung off from the seat. You even kicked them a little.

Danny only laughed at your antics, happy that you were relishing in this freedom.  She knew she couldn’t give this to everyone, but this was a start.

“Come on, I’ll show you your room.” She said, holding out her hand for you. You slowly reached your hand out, connecting her hand with your own. However, what shocked you, was that she only let you work your own pace; she didn’t yell or judge.

She silently led you through the halls until you came to a door, “This is your room.” She said, taking a step back as you put your hand to the door and slowly pushed it open.

What met you was the largest room that had ever been called your own; you even looked back at her as she stood outside the door with a smile, “It’s yours.” She assured you. You smiled at her as you took it all in.

You fell against the bed, taking a deep breath.

“I’ll let you get acquainted. I’ll see you in a little bit.” She told you, before slowly closing the door.

 She returned to her balcony, leaning on it and overlooking the city. She had made some difference. The pits were still going on, but she had helped you find some innocence. That was enough.

[bellesque]

idk if your requests are open still but royal loki concept with a midgardian reader— yeah? maybe? take it wherever you want from there and be creative because your other fics are and just amAZING! i might be late but anywayy— happy birthday, even though it was yesterday!

Midnight’s Mischief (Loki x Reader)

Read on my AO3.

Summary:

You only wanted to feel like a princess for a night.

You didn’t expect to meet an actual prince.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, Dancing, Royal Loki, some Cinderella Elements

A/N: Listen you can’t give me so much freedom like this because I feel in my bones this is going to turn into a multichaptered fic and I have a million other wips side-eyeing me rn

Tag List: @shiningloki @imnotrevealingmyname @wolfsmom1 @hanyasnape @lukeyirwy @toozmanykids @rorybutnotgilmore @myraiswack @green-valkyrie (Tag List is currently open! If you’d like to be a part of it, let me know!)

BEING IN A whimsical, fairytale ball has always been high on your list of escapism fantasies.

You wondered if princess parties (like the ones in movies) were actually real when royalty was still a thing. If they got to attend extravagant, lavish balls in venues that seemed to reach the high heavens, with castle corridors illuminated by candlelight and crystal chandeliers. Whether fact or fiction, you’ve never been more excited for a night than you are now.

Just for tonight, you allow the indulgence of looking—and feeling—like royalty.

Your heels clack against the marbled tiles of the venue as you and your friend Leigh navigate your way to the Regency Ballroom. Careful not to trip over your ball gown, you glance at Leigh. Beside you she shimmies, adjusting the top of her gown to fit her boobs better.

“I feel twelve,” she mutters, brazenly cupping her breasts.

“Oh, please. As if you’ve never wanted to be a princess for a night.”

“I mean, yeah, when I was twelve. And I’m saying this with love, but the fact that you’ve got on a fucking crown isn’t exactly helping me feel like an adult here.”

Your cheeks grow warm. “I’m sure I’m not the only one,” you say, a little defensive. “And by the way, it’s a tiara.”

Leigh smirks at you, perfectly painted lips curling at the edges. “Twenty bucks?”

“Fifteen.”

“Bo-ring.”

“Fine.”

She claps her hands, looping her arm with yours. The Regency Ballroom is right ahead. “I hope you know that I agreed to this because you said there’d be some yummy men. Potential knights in shining armor, all that jazz.”

“And I value your honesty,” you say, nodding a thank you to the servers who open the large doors as you approach. “But, for the record—”

“Whoa, the organizers of this thing were not playing.”

It’s true: the place is more than what you imagined from the email invite you received prior. Aside from the grandeur of the venue itself, the entire ambience transports you into what feels like another world entirely. Soft, regal music swells from the mini orchestra that plays on the raised platform, and everyone’s dressed in gowns of all colors and periods and styles.

It makes you a little giddy to see everyone commit to the event to such an extent. You wish this becomes a regular occasion.

“You don’t mind if I ditch you, right? If I, hypothetically, find someone cute?” Leigh grabs a glass of wine from a passing waiter. “Because I saw this guy in a tailcoat on the way inside, and he was kinda giving me looks already, so…”

Leigh is neither best friend nor fair weather friend. She’s in town for a few days, and having been partners in a high school class once, she somehow felt the need to ring you up, pleading for you to take her anywhere because she was dying of boredom.

You mentioned that you had an extra ticket, and she said yes before you could even finish your sentence and tell her it was to a costume ball.

“Hey, no worries,” you beam, plucking the wine glass from her fingers and taking a dainty sip, “by all means, mingle! Meet someone! Get swept off your feet! It’s a party. It’s what I was going to do whether or not you came anyway, so don’t be too guilty.”

“Okay, great!” She kisses you on the cheek. “Because he’s kind of already waiting.” Leigh jerks her head to the buffet table across the room, where a broad-shouldered man stands tentatively, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He’s clearly waiting for someone—that someone specifically being Leigh, if the not so surreptitious glances your way are any indication.

Before she can leave, a lady with a hoop skirt that’s draped more than the large windows of the ballroom comes into your peripheral, something glittering atop her bouffant hair.

You lift your chin at Leigh triumphantly. “Pay up first, baby, you saw that tiara.”

“Fifteen.”

“You said twenty!”

“I changed my mind!” she calls as she lifts the hem of her gown off the floor, retreating. Laughing, Leigh waves and you bring up a hand as the man places a meaty hand on her shoulder blade.

Well. You knew you’d lose her for the night. Just not this quickly.

Still, what you said is true. Leigh’s absence doesn’t dampen your mood. You’re happy standing by the tables at the side, observing people and their different gowns, with a glass of rosé in hand. Couples trickle into and out of the ballroom dance floor; others mingle by the tables like you, occasionally nibbling on the fanciest finger food you could ever imagine. The light reflecting from the gorgeous, majestic chandelier dances over the partygoers, and you revel in the moment, wanting to commit this to memory. Simply existing in it. The minuet transitions into a waltz, and more people and their partners taking to the dance floor with excited grins on their faces.

You would like to take your dress out for a twirl at some point before the night ends. If only a gentleman were to ask.

“That’s a lovely color on you, my lady.”

Speak of the—you turn around, glad you didn’t startle so much to the point of spilling perfectly good wine, to face whoever spoke to you. A subtle smirk plays on the face of a lithe man dressed in what looks to be costume straight out of a period film. Or fantasy period film. It doesn’t really make sense, but somehow he makes it work.

You glance down at your gown: a rich forest green with silver detailing cinched around your waist. “Oh, uh… thanks.” You smile politely.

Only it falters after a couple seconds, because he pins you with an expectant look. “My… lord…?” you try, uncertain.

Satisfaction spreads across his face, confusing you mildly. Did he really wait to be addressed…?

“Would you care to dance?” he asks, taking a step towards you and bending forward. A bow, you realize, as he holds the posture while awaiting your answer.

“O-okay, sure.”

You slip your hand in his outstretched one, his slender fingers clasping around you and leading you gently to the middle of the dance floor. His back is as straight as a board as he guides you towards him, and when you’re a pace away he pulls you closer. His hand settles on the small of your back, yours on his shoulder.

And then you’re waltzing; slowly, tentatively, shyly. Though he takes the lead you can’t follow as well as you should, your bafflement blocking you from waltzing like you do in your daydreams. And as weird as it sounds, he’s distracting you from dancing—even if you’re dancing with him.

He’s good-looking. Strong, cutting features with a regal gait. He stands much taller than you are, his head angled down towards you so his green eyes pierce you with the intensity of the sun at high noon.

He doesn’t break eye contact with you. As much as you try to look away, fixate your attention instead on the couples that sway around you, your gaze always finds his. And he probably hasn’t looked away from you once. There’s no malice in it though—he regards you with somewhat of a silent, amused curiosity.

If it’s awkward to be dancing with a good-looking stranger who seemingly can’t take his eyes off you, it doesn’t help that you’re both painfully silent. You expect him to make polite small talk as he guides your steps—only aside from the lovely orchestra playing and the faint chatter of the attendees around you, all that’s heard is the sound of your breathing.

The music winds down, violins sustaining their last note, and your expectations are shattered once again when instead of this mystery man guiding you into a twirling finish, he spins you into the next dance.

Another waltz.

“Do I scare you, princess?” he asks, raising his chin slightly.

You jump a little at his sudden question. “Um. Maybe a little?”

The man sighs, giving a short chuckle as he shakes his head minutely. The hand on your back releases you as you circle around him, one of your arms outstretched as gracefully as you can manage, before you come back in front of him and rest your hand back on his shoulder.

“Perhaps my reputation does precede me,” he mutters.

You blink, even more confused now. “Sorry?”

“Do you…” He narrows his eyes in near disbelief. “Do you not know who I am?”

“I think I’d remember if you told me your name,” you say with a sheepish laugh. Of course you’d remember. With a face like his and the rich voice to match, meeting him on a night like tonight? You’d remember it forever.

“Ah. Then—forgive me, my lady.” He pulls away from you to bow cordially. “Prince Loki, of Asgard.”

Stunned doesn’t seem to cover the emotion racing through you. No one else seems to mind that you’ve both stopped smack dab in the center for him to bow to you with a flourish of his cape. He looks up at you, expectant, yet again, and so you hastily curtsy and mumble your name.

He rises, taking you once again in his arms and picking up where you left off in perfect rhythm to the music. It’s a little disorienting. Your mind struggles to catch up: so far he’s bowed to you twice, is leading you through a perfect waltz, and is, apparently, a prince.

“And your kingdom, my lady?”

“What?”

“Am I to believe you’re a princess with no people to rule over?” he smirks.

And then somehow, realization dawns on you: he’s an actor. Trying to get you into some kind of fantasy, medieval, whatever character to really sell the idea to yourself that you have actually been whisked away, into a story akin to fiction.

“Okay,” you snort, “since we’re doing this whole made up thing, fine, I’ll humor you. Uh”—you rack your brains, glancing at the chandelier overhead—“Genovia.”

“Genovia,” Prince Loki repeats, as though testing the name on his tongue. It comes out melodic and velvety, making you shiver involuntarily. “Sounds… quaint. Not as dreadful or painfully dull as some of the other kingdoms I’ve heard of tonight. What in the Nine is New Jersey?”

You laugh this time, an actual belly laugh, your head tipping back in mirth at his delivery. You sober up sooner than you’d like when you see he’s still absolutely mystified.

“Well, that’s what it is,” you add helpfully. “Genovia… it… yeah.”

“What are your people famous for?”

Damn. He’s really making you think. “Gosh, um…” You blow out a raspberry. “Horses? Apples? Archery? Oh! Mattress surfing.”

Prince Loki hums thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of it.”

Either he’s an exceptionally good actor, or he really hasn’t seen The Princess Diaries. Or, a part of you begins to argue, he could actually be who he says he is—

But that wouldn’t make sense.

Could it?

“Well, what about you?” you say quickly, seizing the opportunity to deflect. “What’s uh, what’s Asgard famous for?”

“The Realm Eternal,” Loki says, completely serious. “Warriors of strength, leaders of justice.” He pauses at your lost expression. “Have you not heard of it?”

You have a feeling he has more to say, so you shake your head. Prince Loki spins you around once, before continuing.

“Asgardians are the peacekeepers of the Nine Realms, endowed with strength of all facets to keep the realms from falling. Thwart the possible dangers it can be to itself before it starts, or finish disputes where they arise. We protect. Asgard plays a vital role, if not the most vital of all the realms.”

“And you’re their prince.”

The corners of Loki’s lips curl upwards. “One of them.”

“So you have a brother.”

You’re not sure why you’re still entertaining him at this point. The waltz’s cadence does nothing to separate you from each other, and neither does the lively first note of the polka. Instead Loki’s leading you into a quicker step, bouncing in the most poised manner you’ve ever seen a man dance in.

“Aye,” he says. “Most prefer him to myself.”

“I prefer you,” you blurt out mindlessly, immediately feeling regret in the form of heat crawling up your neck.

Prince Loki’s piercing green eyes light up in surprise. “Not many would,” he murmurs.

“Well, I mean—” you backpedal, “—I don’t—I haven’t met—”

The entrance to the ballroom rattles in its hinges, followed by a booming thud. Heads swivel to the source of the commotion and even the orchestra falters. You are no exception, craning your neck to look behind Loki and at the doors.

He is the only one who seems completely unfazed.

“Perhaps that is for the best. Ready for our big finish, princess?”

Bang! The doors swing open, and strange men in very detailed costumes—metal armor, odd-shaped helmets—charge in, long spears in hand. Your mouth falls open. You’ve never seen anything like them. The attendees gasp collectively, some dancers pulling away from their partners to retreat to the sides of the room.

But Loki places his hands on your hips, lifting you off your feet and into the air, and instructs, “Eyes on me, princess.”

“Wh—” He spins you around, the world around you blurring, and you fix your attention on him so as not to get dizzy. “Prince Loki, I think we should get ou—”

He sets your feet on the ground, a mad intensity in his eyes—and Loki wraps his arms around you and kisses you.

Well. You’ve had multiple daydreams about how tonight would go. This is definitely not one of them.

His arms tighten around your waist, and swarms of butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach. Your feet are on the ground, but with your fingers and toes tingling with every soft movement of his lips against yours, it feels like you’re floating. He’s kissing you. You’re kissing him.

The clanging of armor jolts you apart, but Loki keeps you within arm’s reach. Your heart pounds against your sternum.

“I like it when you say my name,” he murmurs.

“Prince Loki!” one of the strange men shouts. The prince in front of you flinches slightly, and then huffs in amusement.

“Don’t like it when they do.”

“I—what?”

Loki sighs. “I’m afraid I have to bid you good night. And farewell.”

“Wait, who are they?” Question after question presents itself, your mind a jumbled mess and your knees still shaking from that damn kiss. “What do they want?”

“The Einherjar. Ah. Well.” He brushes a thumb over your cheekbone. “What’s life without a little mischief?”

“Your Highness!”

“Where is he?”

He pulls you by the elbows, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, and whispers in a voice that could melt butter, “Something to remember me by.”

And then he takes off, a cheeky grin splitting his face as he keeps his eyes trained on his pursuers, slinking through the crowd and towards a nondescript door. An exit.

The strange men sift through the partygoers. Some shake their heads in fear, cowering; others shrug. You simply hope they do not approach you. And by some mad stroke of luck, when they’re a few feet away from you—they ignore you entirely.

Loki catches your eye by the small archway, and with a mischievous wink and a heartstopping smile, he disappears with a flash of his green cape.

You exhale, a little shakily, as one armored man shouts instructions and points to the door. They bolt after him, each footfall thunderous. A few seconds tick past, and once the clatter disappears completely the orchestra warms up again.

Back to normal. Just a little. But you—you’re still reeling from what just happened.

Leigh sidles up to you, poking your side.

“So,” she says, “who was the knight in shining armor, and what’d they want with him?”

His kiss, the feel of his mouth against yours, still tingles at your lips, lingering like the warmth of a fire. You stare at the open door, still trying to make sense of what on Earth just happened.

“I… I think I just met a prince.”

[werejusttouchingeachother]

Baby, Touch Me

Summary: It has been months since you saw your boyfriend Mark due to his busy schedule and when you finally fly over to see him, he decides to tease you a bit and goes overboard — Mark as himself, boyfriend!Mark

Genre: smut (M... or R? idk man, you decide, it’s pure filth anyway)

Words: 6315, yeah you read that right, this went on forever cause I got carried away and I’m sorrynotsorry

Pairing: Mark x Reader

Warnings: a hella lot of teasing and foreplay, slight dirty talk and pure smut

Music Rec: 

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Your eyes fluttered open and you squinted in confusion at the darkness, knowing that you’d fallen asleep when the sun was still high in the sky. Your hand reached out blindly for the phone on the bedside table and you narrowed your eyes to read the time.

6:17

“Shit,” you hissed, sitting up and scrolling through your notifications to check if Mark had replied to your earlier messages.

Spring break had officially began at your university three days ago and the original plan was to leave for home as soon as it started but after Mark had told you that’d he finish his schedule and finally head home to rest after tonight’s wind-up party, you proposed flying over to attend the party together and spend a week together actually touring the city (since you know he hadn’t had much time because of the comeback, back-to-back concerts and interviews) before flying back home together.

Mark had immediately jumped at the idea and it was then you knew that you weren’t the only one missing him after so many months of not seeing each other.

You sat up in your hotel bed now, knowing that you were running late since you had to shower, dress up for the party and then catch a cab to the hotel where the boys were staying.

You thought of the last time that you’d seen Mark as you stood in the shower, cold water running over you. It had definitely been about four months and as great as it was to text and call him, it was never enough. You’d been craving to hold him and be held by him and it was probably this yearning that made you fly all the way out here to see Mark rather than go home and wait for him there.

All the fancam videos from the recent concerts that were floating around certainly weren’t helping you miss him any less.

You dried your hair hurriedly, pulling on the new black lace underwear that you’d purchased just for tonight. You stood in front of the wide floor-to-ceiling mirror opposite the bed as you slipped on the crimson coloured velvet off-shoulder dress that clung to your body like a second skin, accentuating every curve and pronouncing it more. The second that you’d seen it on the mannequin at the store, it had reminded you of Mark during Regular era, in the velvet suit of the same colour and you knew how much he had loved that outfit so you were sure that this would be a pleasant surprise.

You quickly finish your makeup with a lipstick that was the same colour as your dress, your hair pulled to a side to show off your neck and adjusted the sleeves off your shoulders.

Mark isn’t going to know what hit him and you were going to make sure of it.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your purse and your phone from the table where it was charging and headed out of the room. You caught a cab and fidgeted during the whole ride impatiently, anxious to see him.

Right when you were around the block that lead to his hotel, your phone vibrated in your hand and you glanced down to see Mark’s message:

Where you at, babe?

The endearment made you grin despite how often he’s said it because of the fact that you could see him say it, hear it leave those lips in less than five minutes.

Three minutes, you quickly texted back as the cab pulled up to the entrance of the hotel. I’ll be right there.

You quickly got into the hotel and once you let reception know who you were and that they were expecting you, you headed straight for the lobby and made your way to their room.

You stopped once you reached the door with the number that Mark had texted you, feeling your nerves creep up on you as your stomach fluttered. You glanced at your phone screen and fixed your makeup, hesitating for a bit as you wondered whether you should text Mark to come outside so you could have a few minutes alone because you knew all the boys would be inside.

Before you could even act on it, you heard the lock jiggle and then Mark was opening the door, saying, “Why are you just stand—?”

He stops as he sees you, both your eyes widening at the sight of each other.

Mark Lee was in front of you and he was wearing a suit.

You stare at him in awe, wondering if he’s always looked this good or if your brain decided to create illusions since you hadn’t seen hum in so long.

He clears his throat, blinking a few times as he stutters, “Y/N. You… You look b—”

“Y/N!”

Your arm is suddenly grabbed as the boys pull you inside and they crowd you in a long group hug and you don’t even know whose arms are around you, your eyes still fixated on Mark who got interrupted, Mark who is still staring at you as he leans against the closed door now.

You force yourself to look away as the boys pull back and you smile at them, murmuring greetings as your eyes involuntarily slip back to Mark again and that’s when you realise:

He hasn’t touched you.

Almost as if he realises the same, he steps forward in your direction and you turn to him, lifting your arm to reach out for him but strong arms suddenly grip your forearms from behind, yanking you back slightly.

Johnny’s teasing voice is close to your ear as he says, “No kissing, guys, you know how much time Sooyong Eonnie spent on your makeup, Mark and Y/N, if you get that red lipstick of yours anywhere on him, I’m pretty sure she’ll kill you.”

You hold back your protests, knowing he was right but you were aching to touch Mark and it’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him, it was frustrating to have to hold back even now.

“It’s been so long, Hyung,” Mark smiled, rolling his eyes and you could tell even he was annoyed as he joked, “I’m sure she won’t be too mad if I hug my girlfriend after almost five months of not seeing her.”

He doesn’t even wait for a response as his hand grabs yours and yanks you forward, his arms immediately wrapping around your waist and holding you tightly to him. You raise your head slightly so that you won’t press your face to his clothes and skin, worried about getting your makeup on him as Johnny warned but Mark doesn’t seem to care as he buries his head in your hair and you can hear him inhale deeply. Your arms are around his neck as you practically melt in his grip, fitting snugly into his body and you can feel his chin on your shoulder as he keeps his head in your hair. You almost sag in relief at his grip that was tight enough to hurt but you don’t mind the pain because despite being pressed up against him as much as possible, you still wanted more.

Mark pulls away slightly, his hands still firm around you and you turned your head to meet his gaze, both of your eyes dropping to each other’s mouths at the same time.

God, I want to just…

“All right, guys, Taeyong is finally done, let’s go,” you hear SooYong’s voice as she claps her hands in order to hurry everyone out.

Mark’s shoulders deflate slightly at the same time that you let out a frustrated sigh, your breath hitting exactly on his mouth since your faces were that close to each other and he gives you a close-lipped smile as if to say, ‘I’m frustrated too,’ before quickly pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and then you feel the cool air around you replace the warmth as he lets go of you, stepping back. He reaches for your hand immediately and holding it tightly in his, you watch him as he yells at the boys to hurry up before you both walk out, hand-in-hand to the cars waiting for all of you.

***

As soon as you enter the party hall, you try to break away from Mark’s hold and step away to get some air, knowing that you wouldn’t get what you wanted—at least, not now anyway. Mark seemed almost unaffected as he casually held your hand again and talked to everyone coolly.

If you thought all the months away from him had been hell, the car ride on the way here had certainly proved you wrong: pressed up against Mark, you’d been giving him all kind of signals and signs to do something, anything, and when he’d seemed oblivious, you’d grown tired and put your hand on his thigh. Not a second later, he’d taken that hand in his own, holding it lightly.

Now you were just annoyed as you watched him goof around with the guys, beginning to think you were the only one feeling so frustrated and ready to jump him so when he let go of your hand to pick up a drink, you muttered that you’d be right back and quickly stepped away, going to the other side of the large room.

It had been almost half an hour now since you left his side but he seemed to remain unbothered that you hadn’t returned—even if he was, he certainly hadn’t done anything about it or approached you.

You stood near the free drinks table and Doyoung who was standing beside you suddenly nudged your hip with his elbow, jerking his head toward the right as he said, “What do you think about Taeyong’s new hair?”

You looked in the direction of Taeyong and cocked your head as you watched him laugh, observing the strands of black hair with thin streaks of blue falling in his eyes as he shook his head.

“He pulls it off, as always,” you commented, sipping the champagne in your glass. “His superior look will always be the Boss red and Cherry Bomb pink, though.”

“Oh, definitely,” Doyoung nodded, agreeing. “Punk and pastel colours definitely suit him.”

“You should try them too, you know,” you teased. “I miss the Cherry Bomb blueberry look.”    

Doyoung laughed and began talking about his favourite hair colours and cuts. You nodded, listening as your eyes drifted to Taeyong again who was now laughing with Mark.

Your eyes froze on him as you almost immediately tuned Doyoung out, captivated by the sight.

You had only seen Mark in the dim lights of the hotel room and even in the car, you’d tried not to look at him too much in fear of doing something beyond your control while in close proximity with the other members and managers.

But right now, Mark was standing right where the grand yellow chandelier lights were hitting him perfectly, casting a soft glow over his chiselled face and the light filtering through his freshly dyed jet-black hair. You could see the slight shimmery dark-gold accent on his eyelids and one glance was enough for you to know immediately that it was Haechan’s work and not Soyoung’s and you couldn’t help but wonder if she knew about his improvisation.

Regardless, you wanted to hug Haechan for it cause Mark looked ethereal.

Doyoung was still talking beside you—something about concepts now—and almost as if Mark could feel your eyes on him, he looked up and locked his gaze with yours.

Your breath slightly hitches as your grip tightens around the neck of the glass, watching closely as he slowly lifts the champagne flute to his lips and sips. He lowers the glass, tongue tracing his lower lip too sensually and definitely cause you’re watching. You’re watching him with parted lips now, breath heavy and eyes slightly wide.

Mark gives you that infamous small smirk and then winks.

Fuck it.

“Doyoung, I’ll be right back,” you interrupt Doyoung who is still talking without glancing at him as you quickly finish the drink in your hand. You don’t wait for a response as you slam the glass down on the counter and stride towards Mark with determination.

Fuck staying away just cause I’m not getting what I want, you think. I’m horny enough that I’ll take what I can get at this point.

You wrap your hand around Mark’s arm as soon as you reach his side and Mark, Taeyong and Johnny all stop talking as they see you.

“Where have you been, Y/N?” Taeyong asks and you answer that you were just getting a drink as Mark starts to ask something about the concert at Houston.

Johnny laughs and they began talking about the incident. You gaze up at Mark, your fingers clenched around his bicep, feeling the smooth material of the black blazer although you’d rather have it off, along with everything underneath it.

The boys get excited as they realise that they can’t recall the name of some amazing food that they had ordered in and Taeyong runs to search for Jaehyun who was the one to suggest the place.

Mark’s eyes drop to you the second that he leaves and that’s when you realise that you’re completely pressed yourself up against his side and that you were staring up at him like a starstruck idiot.

Mark runs his eyes over your face and down your body against his as he raises an eyebrow and asks slowly, “You okay? Something wrong?”

You shake your head and take a soft breath, stepping away slightly to regain some composure. Mark lowers the glass that he’d been holding on the table and grips your hand that was around his arm tightly in his right hand, his left hand resting on the small of your back. You freeze as that hand drops dangerously lower and before you can even process it, he’s cupping your ass to press you up against his front as he lowers his head to your ear.

The wall is behind you and no one can see where his hands are or what he’s even doing and if they did see you, it would only appear as if he was talking into your ear to be heard over the noise.

The hair on the back of your neck rose as you feel his warm breath on your ear, smelling the sweet champagne on it as his husky voice says,

“Y/N.”

You blink up at him, waiting and slowly feel the annoyance wash over you as he pulls his head back and you realise he has nothing else to say—he was doing it on purpose, to tease you, to rile you up.

You let out a heavy frustrated breath as you put your hand on his chest to push him back so you that you could breathe. “I have to go to the restroom,” you grumble as you start to stomp away from him and head for the other end of the hall where the restrooms were.

Mark watches you with a small smirk and when you’re surely out of earshot, Johnny comments wryly, “You know, you should probably go check on her in that restroom before she takes care of herself and leaves you cold at the hotel tonight.”

Mark’s wide eyes dart to Johnny as he questions, “Wait, what, you’ve noticed?”

He rolls his eyes, snorting as he says, “Everyone has noticed, dumbass! The sexual tension between you two is thick enough to be cut with a knife. Why do you think Taeyong left in the first place?”

“Why haven’t you left then?” Mark retorted.

“Cause I’m bored at this party and I want to know how much longer you’re going to keep teasing her by acting all cold.”

“Not longer,” Mark replies immediately, looking in the direction of where you’d disappeared. “I’m as weak as she is.”

“No, you’re weaker,” Johnny chortles. “Cause if you don’t fuck her soon, she’s mad enough that she won’t come to you and will just leave the party to go back to her hotel and take care of herself, like I said. But you will go to her.”

Mark was shaking his head. “She’s not allowed to touch herself. She knows that. I’m the only one allowed to make her cum, unless I say otherwise.”

When there was no response, Mark turns to see Johnny gawking at him with wide eyes, speechless at what he said.

“Why do you think the tension is so thick?” Mark laughed. “It’s the built-up frustration of months.”

“Well, what the fuck are you waiting for then?” Johnny demands, jerking his head towards the direction of the restroom.

Mark shakes his head again. “I need to catch her in the act. That way, I get to punish her.” He smirked up at Johnny. “That’s better, isn’t it? I’m a genius.”

Johnny rolled his eyes again as he glanced at the watch on his wrist. “If you don’t go soon, I think she’s going to get there without you and leave you with blue balls at our hotel, genius.”

Mark curses as he starts walking quickly to the restrooms.

***

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks flushed almost the same colour as your lipstick and dress.

“Fucking asshole,” you mutter under your breath as you fan your face with your hand, trying to cool yourself down. You were considering heading straight for the airport and flying back home, just to show your boyfriend how petty you could be.

Only Mark Lee would want to tease and play hard-to-get after almost five months of a dry spell.

The door to the restroom opened and you glanced up at the mirror to see Mark walking in behind you.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes running over your entire frame. “You okay? You’ve been here a while.”

You glare at him in the reflection, even though he’s just staring at your back now, especially your ass.

“I’m fantastic, Mark,” you spat out sarcastically.

The hint of a smirk ghosts his face as he takes your shoulder and gently tugs you around to face him.

“Hey,” Marks says, his voice low. “I didn’t get to tell you earlier but you look gorgeous. I love this dress on you so much, it’s so red and so perfect and so… tight.”

His eyes are no where close to your face as he breathes the last word and you stare at him in disbelief before finally giving in to your screaming desires. You grab the lapels of his coat and yank him to you, pressing your lips to his in a feverish kiss.

Your grip on his collar is fierce as you spin him around and force him backward until he is pressed against the marble counters, kissing him desperately. Mark’s eyes are wide, definitely never having seen you be so dominative before but he quickly regains control as he pushes himself off the counter, wrestling his tongue into your mouth.

“Why the fuck haven’t you touched me all night?” you muttered breathlessly in between kisses.

“So that you’d touch yourself,” Mark replied, his hands roaming your back before finally settling on cupping your ass as he says, “I’m surprised that you haven’t already.”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to,” you glare at him, kissing him fiercer in annoyance at his response and knowing that it hurt when he groaned, his hand squeezing your cheek tighter.

“Exactly,” he breathes, his other hand coming up to grip the back of your neck firmly and hold you in place so you could look at him when he says, “I want to punish you.”

You moaned at the delicious word, immediately taking effect on your body as you almost collapse in his arms. He quickly spins you both around so that you were pressed up against the counter for support now as you grip his hair tightly, letting Mark leave hungry wet kisses all over your bare neck.

“God, Mark,” you moaned. “I’ve been waiting for so long.”

“Yeah, you weren’t subtle,” he smirked, sucking a bruise into your neck. “Everyone noticed, it’s like you were in heat.”

He lifts his head to press his lips now tainted the same red as yours to your mouth, his one hand pulling the top of your dress down enough so he can take off your lace bra. He pinches your nipple with one hand while the other wanders down, cupping your heat through your dress and you part your legs involuntarily to give him easier access.

Mark moans loudly into your mouth as he feels how wet you already are. “You’re so desperate for me.”

“I am,” you begged. “Please touch me, baby, touch me.”

“I am touching you,” he replies, nibbling your earlobe.

“More,” you moan, the despair in your voice clear to even your own ears. “I want more.”

You feel his lips stop kissing you and he pulls back to look at you. You’re leaning back against the counter in an uncomfortable position and from the way that Mark looks at you, you can tell how needy you must look with your swollen lips, messy hair and throat that’s slowly blooming with purple bruises.

Mark’s eyes cloud over as his hand tightens over your clothed core. He reluctantly pulls it out from between your thighs and mutters, “Let’s go.”

“What?” You blink away the lusty haze to look at him, confused. “Go? Really?” You pause. “What about the party?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Mark retorted. “Johnny Hyung will cover for me with whatever excuse he thinks is best, he owes me for the last time he snuck out of practice with Ten anyway.”

You grin breathlessly at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Okay, let’s go.”

You hastily fix your dress and pat down your hair as best as you can, wiping off the lipstick that is completely smudged now all over your jaw and neck. Mark only washes off the dark lipstick too, not bothering about his finger-fucked hair as he walks out of the restroom impatiently, hand tightly gripping yours. You watch as he nods at Johnny who rolls his eyes when he sees the pair of you and when he gives a slight shake of his head in refusal to cover for you, Mark stops walking to loudly mouth, “Ten” at him, making Johnny’s eyes grow wide.

You can hear Johnny’s exasperated sigh even from across the room and you grin as he flips Mark off before nodding tiredly and that’s all it takes for Mark to quickly drag you to the doors that lead out of the hotel to the parking lot.

He shoves you into one of their cars, hands immediately roaming your body and touching as much of your skin that is exposed. You realise how right he was about you definitely being a bitch in heat as you’re already panting and moaning with just his hands on you.

You breathlessly rattle out Mark’s hotel address to the driver and Mark cuts you off quickly with a, “No. Give your hotel.”

“What?” You shook your head. “Someone could see you.”

He stretches over the seat to reach into the back and pulls out a bag in which there were trench coats, face masks and sunglasses.

And that’s when you realise this is a company car. It’s SM’s van, of course they’d have the disguises for any emergencies.

And if this didn’t count as an emergency, you don’t know what did.

Mark looks up to meet your eyes, not glancing at the driver as he says the name of your hotel, “Hotel Sapphire. And drive fast.”

As the car starts, he presses the button on the side to pull up the dark screen that shields the driver from seeing you two in the back as Mark resumes groping you, his hands running up the length of your legs.

“I love how this sticks to you, it’s so sexy,” he comments as he pushes the material up your thighs and sides, bunching it up around your waist to get to where he wants.

You’re already a moaning mess as you feel the cool air of the car’s air conditioning wrap around your thighs, a relief and a trigger at the same time. Mark’s hands feel hot against your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake as they trail up your thighs. His one hand is fondling your covered breast and you help him tug the dress down, writhing in his arms.

You’re splayed over the backseat with Mark lying on top of you as his mouth immediately goes to your bare nipple, sucking and biting harshly and his hand moves in between your thighs. You moan as you feel his hand push aside the lace fabric covering your pussy and you lift your ass so that he can pull the panty down easier, which he does at an animalistic pace before his fingers find your centre again, two digits pushing in without warning.

You arch your back off the seat, eyes closing as you feel him scissor and stretch you out, your walls already dripping with arousal as you twitch beneath him. Cool air hits your wet breast as you feel him pull away and you open your eyes to see him watching your face as he keeps moving his finger around inside you, teasingly avoiding your clit.

“Mark,” you groaned, desperate as you buck your hips up into his fingers, needing any friction you could get. “Mark, please.”

You could see his eyes darken with lust at your plea even in the unlit car. He leaned forward and kissed you fiercely, smirking against your mouth as the pads of his fingers finally found your clit, making you arch further into him. He circled your clit quickly, not letting you adjust to his fingers or pace and you were already clenching around his hand, whining against his mouth.

You moved your hand from its firm grip on his forearm and wrapped it around his shoulders as you pulled away from the kiss, throwing your head back as he fingered you faster. You can feel Mark’s eyes on you as you gasp heavily, feeling his other hand hold your knee firmly to keep your thighs spread as his fingers worked you into your high.

The knot in your stomach grew tighter and you knew you were close as you started shaking, holding on to Mark tightly as if you would fall off the very edge that he was bringing you closer to.

Your moans grew louder as you felt your walls clenching and Mark’s finger suddenly slowed, one finger extracting and rubbing over your slit lazily.

You raised your head from the seat, eyes shooting wide open to look at Mark only to notice that he was smirking.

“You—” you cut yourself off as he pulled out his hand completely and licked the glistening liquid off of it.

“We’re here,” he replied, blinking innocently as he removed his fingers from his lips with an audible ‘pop’ sound and looked around, the car slowing to a complete stop as you saw the familiar lights of your hotel building through the window.

Again. He’d edged you on purpose and timed it perfectly so that he had an excuse.

You pulled up your dress over your chest and opened the lock, kicking the door open in frustration. You stepped out on shaky legs, needing the support of the car to stand as you grip on to your purse tightly. You adjusted your skirt the best you could, tugging it down your legs as you felt smothered by the tight dress suddenly, just wanting to rip it off your body.

Mark stepped out from the opposite side, wearing a black trench coat that looked suspiciously like Johnny’s from the way it almost drowned his smaller frame, a bucket hat pulled over his hair and down low to cover his face that was concealed beneath a mask.

The car pulls away from between you two and you glare at Mark who you know well enough to know that he is doing that annoying smirk behind the mask. His eyes are teasing little crescents as he chuckles when you huff and move to stride past him into the hotel, his hand reaching out to grab your own and stopping you.

You both make your way quickly into the hotel, Mark in tow as you check in hastily at the reception and head for the elevators, stepping in right as it opens and pressing the 12th button. You swivel around and watch as Mark quickly jabs the button to close the doors when you spot a man heading for your elevator.

You roll your eyes as the doors close, ready to tell Mark off but the words freeze in your mouth as he pulls off the face mask and turns to you, dropping to his knee in front of you. A loud gasp escapes your throat as he grabs your thigh, throwing your leg over his shoulder and you watch as his head disappears under the velvet of your dress. Your hands shoot out to grab the steel rail behind you, fingers tightening around the cylindrical bar as you lean your head back. Your eyes fall on the reflection of the shiny mirrored walls of the elevator and you can see the back of Mark’s head as he buries it in your throbbing heat, the sight turning you on more.

You moan loudly, throwing his stupid bucket hat across the elevator floor, fingers going to grip his hair tightly as you finally feel his tongue on your clit. He tongues you frantically, lapping up all your wetness and you can hear him sucking and licking, the noise sounding like heaven to your ears as it echoes in the elevator.

It doesn’t take you long to unravel under Mark’s merciless tongue, especially after all the teasing that he’d been doing tonight—your orgasm comes crashing over you, making your eyes roll back in your head as you almost grow dizzy with the arousal. Mark doesn’t slow down or let up as he continues licking around your walls, collecting all of your cum. You squirm as you feel his tongue flick your sore clit and you see your eyes widen in the reflection opposite you as you feel the elevator slow its ascent.

You yank on his head and Mark stands up right as the elevator dings, meeting your wide eyes and smirking as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The doors open and you see a trio of guys whose eyebrows raise in unison at the sight of you two.

You pull down your skirt the best that you can but Mark remains unbothered, snatching the hat from the floor and pulling it over his head while taking your hand. Your legs are unstable, a fact that Mark picks up on quickly as he wraps his arm around your waist and practically hauls you out of the elevator. You let him manhandle you as he drags you to your room quickly away from the three guys who were definitely snickering at you two now.

Mark quickly finds the key card in your purse and swipes it over the lock, pushing you into the room when he gets the door open. You turn to face him as he enters, kicking the door shut behind him as his hands come to grab you again. You’re quicker this time, pushing into him with the same force that you had in the bathroom earlier as you slam him against the door. Your lips find his and his arms wind around your waist tightly.

“Stop trying to take control,” he mutters against your lips, thrusting his tongue into your mouth to make his point clearer.

“Take control then,” you taunted, fingers gripping the small hairs at the back of his neck tightly enough to hurt.

Mark let out a low moan at the pain as he bit your lower lip at your bratty comment. He pushed you from him long enough to grab the hem of your dress and pull it down at the speed of light. You blinked, momentarily taken aback at the lack of underwear and Mark caught the expression on your face.

“Bra is at the restroom of that party and your underwear is on the floor of the car,” he explained, standing up from pulling off the dress off your legs.

“Those were new,” you stated, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I really don’t give a fuck, babe,” Mark replied wryly, as he pulled you to him and started kissing you again. Your hands quickly worked his coat off of his arms and your fingers flew at lightning speed to unbutton the white shirt that had been on him for far too long now.  

You ran your hands down his bare chest once you finally got it off, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths at the sensation of skin-on-skin, finally, after so many months.

“Say it again,” he muttered into your mouth, his voice husky as his hands fondled your bare breasts.

“What?” You panted, grinding up against the bulge in his pants desperately.

“The restroom, when I was touching you.”

You immediately know what he means and arch further into him, grinding into him harder as you say with all the desperation that you feel, “Touch me more. I want more, I need more. Please, baby, touch me.”

Mark groans loudly, pulling away for a second to look at you. “God, that is the hottest thing, Y/N.”

He takes off his pants and boxers, grabbing your hand as he steps away from the pile of your clothes. He pulls you further inside your room, turning you around to face the wide floor-to-ceiling mirror opposite your bed. You watch with bated breath as he grabs the dressing chair and drags it to the front of you, pulling your one leg up so that you could rest your foot on it.

“God,” you breathe, leaning back against his bare chest as you stare at his face in the reflection, his eyes focused only on you as his fingers find your clit again.

“Is this it?” he grunts in your ear, one arm in your hair to hold your head back so that he could watch you in the mirror as you fuck his hand. “Is this what you wanted, you impatient slut?”

“Fuck, daddy,” the word leaves your mouth in a breathy moan before you can stop it and you know it turns on Mark so you continue, “More, I want more, please, I want you inside me.”

He fingers you rapidly, edging you over again until you’re a quivering mess. You’re thankful for the support of the chair as you know you wouldn’t be able to stand without it. Mark pulls out his hand as soon as he feels you clenching and you watch him in the mirror as he coats his erection that is already spilling precum with your wetness that was dripping off his hand.

He doesn’t wait as he slips it inside your slit easily with the way that its spread open, thanks to your raised leg. You lean forward, gripping the top rail of the chair tightly as you feel him fill you up deliciously. You’re moaning at the sensation that you’d missed so much, both of you realising that you had gotten tighter from the months you’d been apart as he feels the resistance.

Mark slowly thrusts into you, letting you adjust to him and as soon as you do, he doesn’t wait to hammer into you. Hands tight on your hips, he holds you in place as he fucks you into oblivion. The position that you were in let him reach the spot that sparked your orgasm much faster and his hands find your breasts that are bouncing with the force of every thrust.

“M-Mark,” you whine, your eyes tearing up from the arousal and stimulations that he was giving you. You could feel your head spinning again at how good this was, at how you were feeling pain that shifted into intense pleasure, at how good Mark was giving it to you.

“Cum with me, baby,” he whispers hoarsely into your ear, thrusting harder and rougher as you feel him reaching his high too. The air is hot and heavy around the two of you, filled with the filthy sounds of your skin slapping and a chorus of moans. His hand drops to between your thighs again and just a brush of his fingers over your sore clit is enough to have you cumming all over his hand again. It triggers his own orgasm as you feel his cum fill you up inside your pussy in thick spurts that along with yours are too much that it overflows and spills out of you, dripping down your thighs.

Your voice is hoarse as you let out a final whimper. You lean forward on your outstretched arm that was gripping the chair for support, your body slick with sweat as Mark collapses against your back too, his arms around you in a loose backhug.

Both of your heavy breathing and pants are all that you can hear as you try to regain your composure and suddenly, you feel soft familiar lips press against the nape of your neck in a gentle kiss, the gesture already relaying what Mark couldn’t say since he was so bad at words.

You smile and lean back into Mark, your hand coming to wrap around his own that was on your stomach.

“I missed you too, Mark.”

[artificialqueens]

Once Upon A Time (Branjie) - dreamyunicorngirl

A/N: Hey lovely people!So I’ve been working on this lovely songfic for the past 3 months and it’s finally here. A big thank you to my two wonderfull betas, Charlotte and Mags. Without them this fic wouldn’t exist. Thank you Charlotte for cleaning up the mess in my mind and always believing me. Thank you Mags for cleaning up the mess of a fic and bringing the best out of me and this fic. I couldn’t have done this without you (and without everyone on the AQ discord).

The song I used is “Once Upon A Time” from Bare A Pop Opera Have fun crying your eyes out to this one :)

Please tell me what you think! Hope you love it as much as I do - can i say that? - idk but i will. Enjoy my loves!

TW: Religion, Internalized Homophobia, Panic Attacks

Wordcount: 14693

Once upon a time

I first held your hand

Vanessa meets the ice-cold beauty on a very unspectacular day. The rain is pouring outside of the dust covered windows of a dance studio in the suburbs of Los Angeles as a steady rhythm makes the walls cave in, free spirits throwing up their hearts on the dance floor. Crimson painted lips let out a small laugh as she carefully studies all of her students, realizing that they are as annoying as always, way too loud-mouthed, and full of adrenaline - just like their teacher. Vanessa introduced a new choreography that day, hoping to share her passion with the youngest of her students, daring them to be as bold and creative as their young minds allow them to be. The kids twirl around on the wooden floor, each beat erupting in a new movement. Flashy grins fill the room as students let their fantasies unwind. Children swirling through the air, swinging their brightly painted wings, dancing to the rhythm of their souls, rather than to the one playing from the loudspeakers. A sly smirk appears on her lips as she looks over her newest work of art, full of pride. 

With a small clap and a ‘Mary, we are finished for today’, the class ends, students erupting into heartfelt laughter and chatter. Within seconds the dance room starts to lose its character, as student after student leaves through the wooden doorway. Scanning the room, Vanessa slowly gathers her bag stained with red paint. She’s mentally planning out her well deserved weekend - full of “The Notebook” retwaches and banging parties in between - when she spots one of her students, Plastique, hovering in the hallway. 

Before she can even tease Plastique for having a staring contest with the floor, Vanessa catches the sight of her - a glowing beauty entering the hall with a head held high. Her perfectly sleek ponytail swinging with every step, sending a shiver down the woman’s spine. Tongue tied and wide-eyed, she stares as the blonde strolls towards her youngest student. With broad shoulders straightened in a regal poise, she seems to be walking on air, as a reserved smile appears on her otherwise indifferent face. Curious feet carry the brunette towards the stranger, before she can even sort out her spinning thoughts. Her pulse quickens, and she silently prays for her heart not to fall out from her chest - a hot flush rushes through her body as she catches the beauty staring back. 

With a slight cough, she introduces herself, “Hi, I’m Vanessa Mateo, Plastique’s dance teacher,” She hesitates a little before continuing, “but my students call me Vanjie”. 

The blonde looks her up and down, raising a brow as she extends her hand. Another shiver, much more intense than before, goes through Vanessa’s being as her doe eyes meet grey thunderstorms. Vanjie shakes her hand after catching herself staring at her counterpart in awe for an embarrassingly long time, praying for the blonde not to notice her already sweating palms.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes. I’m here to pick up my goddaughter,” she replies in a steady voice, lips curved into a smirk. Her fingers linger on Vannessa’s tanned skin for a second too long, causing the other woman’s breath to hitch in her throat. 

And love was not a crime

Ground beans and freshly baked pies sweeten the air. Two pairs of hands wrapped around steaming mugs and two toothy grins. Shy doe eyes with fluttering lashes flirt in silence. 

The two women have made it a habit of meeting up on Fridays, after Vanessa’s classes ended, get a coffee or two and let go of all the pent up annoyance from the week. Heated rambles and soothing advice fill the air between them, creating a bubble for just the two of them. Even silence was cozy with the other by their side, simply appreciating each other’s presence, feeling their own hearts warming up with every meeting. Neither of them initially expected a lasting bond, and yet, the moment Brooke sat down next to Vanessa, she could feel a bouquet of flowers blooming in her soul, her body buzzing, full of warmth and gratefulness. The shorter girl never felt less judged, more treasured and more safe than with Brooke Lynn by her side. And slowly but surely, the ice queen accepted the fact that she genuinely enjoyed her company, even began to look forward to her weekly meetups with the loud Puerto Rican. 

Brooke smiles around the rim of her cup as Vanessa rambles about her equally loud roommate falling for another “street-rat”. Her hands fumble in the air, grand gestures accompanying her captivating story. Laughter fills their little bubble, breathing life into two equally exhausted souls. Yet every time the Latina fixates on those stormy eyes, her heart shakes, bends and inflates like a big balloon, as it keeps growing fond of the woman by her side, tripping over words while Brooke’s smile widens. A slight flush on Vanessa’s cheeks always follows, rose petals replacing the blood cells in her veins - painting her cheeks a pretty shade of red.

“Hoe, that can’t be true!” Vanessa screeches, trying to lower her voice after receiving disapproving looks from the elderly visitors of the small cafe, long-drained cups discarded on the otherwise empty table, both forgetting the meaning of time.

“No, I’m telling you, I just never had the time to date. Never found the man of my dreams… but you know, he is probably busy shagging some other woman.” Brooke lets out a nervous giggle as a heavy lump clogs up her throat, regretting having shared this with Vanessa. 

She has known the other woman for quite some time now, but was it soon enough to let her see all of her insecurities? Silence falls between them as Brooke desperately tries to avoid the all too familiar doe eyes directly in front of her, dread filling up her lungs, slowly replacing the air around her as she exhales heavily. Her eyes flicker across the café, trying to find something, anything, to take the edge off.

“Have you ever thought about, you know…” Vanessa softens her voice, a slight frown appearing between her brows as she weighs up how to phrase the question burning at the tip of her tongue. 

“Is everything alright, can I get you guys anything? Two more coffees perhaps?” Vanessa is cut off by a waitress with a beaming smile and an awful sense of timing. 

“No, thank you, but we would like the cheque please?” Brooke flashes the tiny Latina an unsure smile while the waitress leaves the two of them to sit in silence, Vanessa’s unfinished question hanging in the air.

The brunette carefully observes the woman right in front of her, waiting for a reaction as she twirls her caramel brown hair around her finger. With a single cough, she mentally prepares to revoice the question, but before Vanessa gets a chance, the waitress returns with their cheque. With a deep sigh the brunette sits back in her cream coloured chair and crosses her arms, accepting defeat.

Brooke hands the waitress a five dollar bill with a small “Thank you”, before grabbing her belongings. Vanessa mirrors the blonde’s action as she swallows her way too curious inquiry. Brooke, polite as always, holds the café’s bright pink door open for her, before waving goodbye to the lovely owner, a new found friend of theirs.

“Would you mind going for a walk to the park with me? I’ve still got some time left before I need to be home…” Brooke trails off, playing with one of her earrings, trying not to look directly at the brunette. 

“I would love to.” Vanessa grins and joins the blonde’s side, her initial question long forgotten. A light flush covers the Canadian’s cheeks, brightly lit eyes watch the little powerhouse next to her bounce across the crosswalk.

They walk together, sparks flying through the chilly air as nervous hands brush against each other, while Brooke realizes that she’s found herself weirdly drawn to the brunette with big sparkly eyes. She observes the ball of joy skipping next to her, brash words and deep laughter resounds between the trees.

A bright smile is plastered on the shorter woman’s face as she rambles about everything and nothing at the same time, pointing out odd looking shapes of roots and tumbling ducklings along the way. Every time Brooke looks at Vanessa, something undefinable pulls at her heart. A thin string of hope connecting two lonely souls; a warm feeling gradually replaces Brooke’s otherwise cold interior, slowly melting the thick ice built up around what some would consider to be her heart. With every shallow breath, it begins to beat a bit faster, and her cheeks start to burn whenever the girl lays eyes on her. It’s that moment when an unholy seed is planted in her chest.

A silent ache in her being, one that barely scratches her lungs, but leaves her breathless for a second, catches her off guard. Vanessa’s vibrant laugh and intoxicating smile makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She’s never felt like this before, so used to always keeping people at an arm length - valuing her freedom and her ability not to depend on anyone with her own happiness. As the realization hits her, she is afraid of what it might mean. No, it couldn’t… No, she would never. She slowly shakes off her spiralling thoughts, accepting this all must be an overreaction, simply knowing that her parents taught her better than this, never considers that the mind has its own ways.

The night sky darkens around the two familiar figures as they fall into comfortable silence. Each enjoying the quietness of nature that surrounds them, each mind spiralling on its own accord. With every step Vanessa takes, her heart pumps the blood in her tiny body a little faster, red like rose petals, flooding every inch of her being after weeks of accumulation. Her eyes carefully follow every move the other woman makes, admiring her simple elegance. Craving her closeness. 

“The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?” she states, innocently.

“We’re in the city, Nessa, the stars are hardly visible,” Brooke lets out a mocking huff.

A memory illuminates her spiraling thoughts - the Canadian and the Latina giggling on a hilltop out of the city, dancing along to the music in their hearts, drenched in the moonlight - gone within an instant, passing by like a shooting star. 

“I’ve meant the ones I can see sparklin’ in your eyes.” A sheepish smile appears on Vanessa’s lips as the scratches the back of her neck.

“You say this to all of your friends?” She jokes back, because friends is what Brooke needs them to be. She comes to a halt in front of her apartment complex, a slight frown gracing her forehead. Just friends.

“No,” a breathy whisper, barely a tease - a reminder of what she couldn’t have. “Just you.”

In a private world where

You said don’t look down?

The static hum of a TV in the background and smooth olive fingertips on her hips. A deep sigh escapes her cherry-kissed lips as she closes her eyes and frantically tries to catch her breath. Fists desperately gripping cotton pillows, a tightened chest denying sweet oxygen to enter her burning lungs, as soft wet kisses are planted across her neck. A little Puerto Rican goddess seated in her lap, lavishing every inch of her silky skin with adoring attention. Groans fill the heavy air as unspoken words swirl around the intertwined bodies. Hands grasping at virgin skin, marking their desire on every inch they can reach, as one particular lost soul shuts her eyes from reality. Colourful constellations imprint on holy skin. Rose-stained fingernails scratch lines onto a willing lover.

With each feather-light touch and each tug of skin, Brooke fights her overwhelming fear of the unrighteous scene in front of her eyes. Clinging to the darkness around her shameful being, only allowing her skin to sin. Scared of a person she doesn’t recognize, a lover she never dared to have. Yet deep down she knows, she just needs to see. Needs to take in all of the lust, all of the passion. Watch eager lips on a silent frame, roses growing on her skin. Every movement with so much care and precision, revoking needy sounds from her gaping mouth, godly sounds that were only reserved for the Latina beauty. Brooke couldn’t keep her hands from caressing Vanessa’s body, eyeing her every reaction, careful not to get pricked by her thorns. Staring at blown out pupils, getting lost in swirly brown eyes full of lust and adoration. 

Her fingers flinch as Vanessa’s lips pucker at her touch, deep red blood adornishing the ice queen’s fingertips. Sickly sweet thorns piercing through white skin, staining it with deep rooted promises. It’s the exact moment Brooke vows her long lost soul to let go. With a deep breath, she buries her mauve nails in the brunette’s hair and pulls her mouth to her trembling figure. 

Desperate teeth on bruised skin, painting reminders of losing control. Arching backs releasing unspoken words, speaking their own language. Demanding fingers chasing her own release, as she forces her mind to simply forget. 

‘God loves you, Brooke, you can do this for him’

A sting in her heart, another breath caught in her throat. Tears springing to her eyes. She shakes her head, trying to escape the biblical quotes imprinted in her mind. Casting off all her consciousness, desperately following her primal urge. With one last trembling breath, she grounds her body onto the squirming and willing brunette underneath her, and just let’s go.

But then I did and now you’re lost above me

It’s when the first sun rays fall through the curtains that Brooke’s guilt-stained memories begin to eat her alive. Her shaken heart stumbles as frightened eyes take in the blooming mess right in front of her. Sickly sweet hands closed around her throat, heavy feathers buzzing in her bones. A silent sob escapes her bruised lips, sin-stained fingers grasping at her exposed figure. Cyan waves crashing at the shore, drowning her frame. Tightly hugging what it is left of her dignity. Vanessa is still sound asleep to her right, unaware of the hurricane breaking lose. The blonde’s ice-cold heart weighs heavy in her chest as realization begins to settle within her mind. ‘What have I done?’ Like she had been visited by the Devil herself, she dashes out of the bed. Desperately scrambling for every item of clothing she can find, shaky fingers attempt to clothe her bare soul. She spins around one last time, fearing every next step she will have to take. With one last forbidden kiss to Vanessa’s forehead, she is gone. Only leaving dried up rose petals behind.

So much left to say

Trapped alone here 

With my best-laid plans astray

Months pass and Brooke Lynn still finds reminders of her favourite mistake imprinted on her soul. She desperately attempts to wash off every sign of their shared night. Scratched skin and thrown up thoughts, as she prays to the showerhead to cleanse her from her sins. Silent sobs, red stained porcelain skin - results of attempts to scrub away every memory until rotted rose petals cover the ground her shaking figure stands on. A silent scream stumbles from her forever blemished lips as her head hits the bathroom floor.

Night after night, the snow queen kisses bearded men who grip roughly at her hips and push her against walls in dark alleys with even darker passion, bruised constellations forming on her skin. She desperately tries to choke the thoughts lingering at the back of her mind with the aftershave she chases like oxygen. Lies spill so easily from a burned throat as she attempts to dry out the seed of doubt in her soul. Every kiss just a rehearsed act, the flick of a tongue, a silent moan. Only the most convincing actors play the part. She tries to learn a foreign language, staging a new scene each day - attempts to let them guide her to a hidden piece of heaven on this Earth, praying to find forgiveness in each kiss. Yet they never teach her how to forget dried up rose petals and the taste of her name.

Vanessa spends days filled with loneliness, mourning the past. Months of coffee dates, moonlight dancing and late night shopping - all turned into stone. Maybe she had misunderstood the hints, misinterpreted the signals. Fire and ice alive just for a single moment in time. Vanessa regrets never pouring out her smitten heart to Brooke. The roses and daisies, lavender and berries, all fading away in her chest. Maybe they were simply destined to be friends all along and Vanessa had just messed up, letting the burning fire in her get the best of her. Because the lonely Latina indeed craved her, craved all of her. With every touch and every glance, the flowery garden of affection in her soul grew. She wanted to break Brooke’s icy walls, melt away all the pain and let her come undone. Get down to the nitty-gritty of her soul, exposing her to a force unknown. Yet she only got to admire her personal hurricane up close once, before Brooke took away everything she had left to give. Because loving her is a losing game. Just a small-town girl in a big arcade, addicted to a losing game.

So she throws herself into work and parties too much - all while attempting to dampen the fire in her soul, even though tequila only fuels the red flame instead of bringing it down to a simmering heat. Vanessa loses her heart on the dance floor, grounding her body, rubbing her burning soul onto every tall blonde that catches her eye. Playfully, she whispers sweet nothings to willing partners, gives away every inch of herself, desperately awaiting a revelation, a savior. And after all her drunk shenanigans, she closes her eyes and can still feel Brooke’s mauve painted nails scratching every inch of her. Imagining softly painted lips bruising her up, instead of chapped kisses barely grazing her skin, is her saving grace. Equally intoxicated lovers never tug on her hair like the ice queen did, don’t imprint their desire for the Latina on her body so artistically like the other woman. No one gives her the pleasure she craves like a drowning human craves oxygen - the deeply satisfying ecstasy the blonde gave her. And no one, simply no one, touches her heart like Brooke Lynn. 

Standing scared outside a cold church

Soul search, seeking some lost answer

From a God who loves me

Brooke Lynn goes up North again, visits her family and old friends. Taking a well deserved vacation - at least that’s what she told her employees. Her mother greets her with open arms, asking too many questions, majority of which Brooke has to leave unanswered. Most conversations fly past her consciousness nowadays, leaving her mind blank; she works on auto-pilot, building up a new comfortingly safe routine. Visiting her childhood church again is a part of her plan, attempting to dig up some virtue, hoping to find forgiveness. It has been years since she last set foot into the stone cold building. Years of build up pain and shame breaking in a crescendo as her body crashes down, kneeling in front of a wooden cross. “Please forgive me, father.”

As sickly sweet poems begging for forgiveness escape her still bruised lips, everyone pretends not to hear the longing desire humming within her heartbeat. Night after night she lays awake, striving to drown the rhythm of rainbow within her soul.

“Lord Jesus, for too long I’ve kept you out of my life. I know that I am a sinner and that I cannot save myself. No longer will I close the door when I hear you knocking. By faith I gratefully receive your gift of salvation. I am ready to trust you again,” with a shaken voice, the shell of a woman urgently repeats the words stumbling from her lips as she is laying alone in the comfort of her own bed. Tears leak out of her darkened eyes even after her breathing has evened and her consciousness faded away. A torn apart heart craves healing while the mind attempts to rest. 

From then on she speaks to God every day. Praying to forget. 

‘God loves you Brooke Lynn, but not your sin. You can do this for him.’

Her shaking fingers itch for a rosary more and more with each night. A silent prayer on her lips as faded memories and forbidden dreams flood back to the surface - each of them continuously burning her wrinkled soul, only thriving on poisoned air, capturing a broken heart. All she wishes for is calmness - a privilege Brooke’s damned soul is not worthy of. Pictures now disrupt her restless slumber. Red spit on burned out soil, a grey face melting away. Butterflies and daisies scratching bloody feet, berries and flowers adornishing a decaying shell of a lover. An anxious soul dances on clouds as Venus feeds her the venom of eternity. Broken glass mourns a broken bond as her consciousness fades away for the second time that night.

Can I turn to You in my need?

An unbearable heat builds up in the tiny dance studio. Young students repeatedly practice their choreography for the upcoming regionals, each pair of stumbling feet steadily increasing the temperature within the already stifling room. Frustrated groans fill the air as their ruthless teacher pushes them for another round. Children miss their cues and barely hit the beat, and Vanessa pinches the bridge of her nose, brows knitting in a frustrated frown. Leaning against the chipped wall, she slowly watches her students sloppily wobble through the brunette’s precisely crafted choreography. A sick feeling of disappointment - no, just failure - spreads in Vanessa’s chest. Crinkled eyes watch tired limbs in wrong positions ruining her well rehearsed craft. 

The Latina had spend weeks perfecting each step, making sure each movement sparked a purpose, each gesture told a story. It didn’t matter that Vanessa couldn’t stand to see herself in the mirror while constructing a passionate dance for her students to follow, to immerse themselves in. Nor does it matter that it took the skilled teacher much longer than it should have, each ounce of creativity drowned from her overworked mind. A flow of artistry used to live within her, flowing through her veins, just like the rhythm that claimed her soul a long time ago. But now every time she stares into the stained mirrors of an empty studio, a stranger appears at the other side of the glass. Eyes so empty, a mouth so silent and a heart slightly chipped. She desperately tries to keep it together, so she chooses to focus on her students’ flaws instead. She picks them apart one by one. Each mistake of each child highlighted by Vanessa’s grim voice ringing through the clustered room, mocking their imperfect performances. Comments leave her dried up lips in a harsh tone, hitting her students in the face, correcting their posture with a lack of respect, dragging down their innocent souls.

“Scarlet, for the third time today, it’s a left turn and then a drop, not a right turn and a simple flourish - it’s not that hard, Mary.” Impatient words escape through clenched teeth, letting boiling hot frustration get the best of her. 

“I know, but It’s just really fast, and I-” a wombly children’s voice quietly tries to defend her mistake, rubbing her eyes to hide glassy tears.

“No buts. We’ve been over this way too many times, just get into the gig.” Throwing her hands in the air, Vanessa looks around, directing her message to all of her students, “y’all aren’t here for no reason, so you better step your pussies up to get these cookies.”

“It’s not like Scarlet’s never made that mistake Miss V, but now, all of the sudden, you give a fuck. Somehow, all of us aren’t good enough for you today. I call bullshit,” Yvie defends her friend, challenging Vanessa with her pointed tone. Yvie was right, she has been unnecessarily harsh today, for reasons unknown to the children. A heat wave flushes through her rock solid body, fists tensing at her sides, fully knowing she couldn’t let that kind of behaviour pass. Vanessa has never deemed herself to be a strict teacher, but in that moment, she just snapped.  

“It’s because you all aren’t giving your goddamn best. We’ve been over this so fucking much, y’all should know it by heart by now, Mary. We have a competition to win - you guys can’t just-” as her muscles start quivering and purely harsh words leave her aching throat, she attempts to catch herself with a deep breath. “Anyways - todos vosotros me ponen de los nervios, I won’t discuss this any further. Class dismissed.” 

She draws in another slow, steadying breath, plastering an obviously fake smile on her chapped lips. In an attempt at a carefully controlled voice she adds, “I better see something good from all of you tomorrow morning, no shit show.” 

In one swift motion she turns around, ignoring the wide blown eyes of frightened children, combing her hair with her shaking fingertips while packing all of her belongings to her slightly worn out sports bag. 

She tries to keep it together, plasters another forced smile on her weakened lips, a band aid to fix her broken heart - at least for now - as she coldly wishes her students a good night, grasping at every string of her being to keep herself together. 

After she dismissed the class, she lets her thoughts wander, not paying too much attention to the string of curse words leaving her mouth. Scratched skin, heavy lungs and an exhausted mind rot away. Eyes closed, steady breathing. Focus, Mary, focus. Her heart yearningly awaits Brooke Lynn’s return. Needing to see the blonde beauty walk through the halls of the dance school, just like the day she met her, even though deep down she knows that her friend won’t come back to her. 

The lost figure lets herself glide onto the wooden floor, pulling her knees up to her chin, and tries to calm her breathing, still feeling the burning fire simmering in her veins. Tears of frustration escape a heated grimace as she slams her right fist against the floor. How could she do that to her? A sweat stained forehead falls into her lap, red nails dig deep into her own skin, anger growing within her.

“Hey, Miss Vanjie, I was just wondering, I am - is everything alright?” Big, bright child eyes stare at her flushed face, a mind full of worries presented to her, curious. 

“Por Dios, shouldn’t you have left already?” In one sweep she is up on her feet again, shaking off her startled expression. Certainly won’t let no goddamn child look taller than her.

“I - I just wanted to help, because, you know, you were really mean today, Miss V. And I thought, maybe - maybe you are upset” 

Vanessa’s world stands still for a moment, shaking hands tightly folded into fists. How could she let her emotions get the best of her? An overwhelming feeling of embarrassment spreads in her chest, tightening with every breath. She failed to keep her personal problems from affecting her ability to teach - Jeez, she shouldn’t be doing this. 

“Shit,” she curses silently, “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.” Her almost robotic voice fills the air, nearly regretting her outburst. Nearly.

Her swirling thoughts come to a halt as Plastique’s mother, Nina, approaches Vanessa as well, softly laying her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and asking for some privacy. As the girl grabs her bag and moves to the changing room, Vanessa dares to face the well known calm after the storm. Kind hearted emerald eyes pierce through the burning steam surrounding the brunette tornado.

“Would you mind explaining to me why you felt the need to be an ass to your students today?“ a steady voice without any ounce judgment asks, only fueling Vanessa’s pounding heartbeat.

“I don’t know why that matters, Mary. I felt some type of way and that’s it - it’s not my fucking fault my students can’t distinguish left from right.” Her body tenses with every punctuated word.

“But that’s not what this is about, isn’t it?” Nina’s head is tilted to the side, her face wearing a sympathetic smile. 

“No, it’s not, but that’s none of your business.” The younger woman puts on a brave face; attempts to hide her inner turmoil from her counterpart, pretending to unsee the damage her lack of self control has caused. Fists still balled up tight, fighting the urge to punch the stained mirror at her side.

“It is my business if your lack of professionalism results in my daughter, and other children, being crushed by your harsh words.” Her smile falls for a second, before pity reaches her kind eyes again, as she finally acknowledges the hurt in the young woman’s gaze. “Look, Vanessa, I know it’s not easy, but-”

“No, it’s not fucking easy. I don’t feel like this for no reason.” She couldn’t take it anymore. Her voice increasing in volume, cutting of Nina, as she barely registers anything or anyone besides the woman through a narrowed vision. 

“I know, but you gotta keep your calm, dear,” the kind hearted woman tries to reason, yet the blood pounding in the brunette’s ears keeps drowning out the words. 

Vanessa takes a step back and throws her hands in the air, letting out an infuriated groan, before attacking her scalp with sharp-cut nails.

“Jeez, I thought we were closer than for you to be so condesc- condescen- for you to judge me. It’s not my fault some of them actually complained about me poppin off,” bitter words leak out of her mouth, not only raising her voice, but also her hand again.

“You could have pulled them aside-”

“They all fucked up, I am not hiding it from them, hoe, so they better learn to take some criti- criticism.” Flared up nostrils and the world around her painted in dark red. It didn’t matter that she was in the wrong - all of her build up emotions came crashing in a crescendo around her, making her believe that maybe her outburst was justified. 

The setting sun highlights the destructive potential of the burning match.

“That’s not criticism anymore, Vanessa, it’s straight up bullying.” Nina voicing the truth is an icy wave hitting her upfront, drenching the brunette from head to toes. Cold, ghostly fingers wrap around her throat and an unbearable weight crashing her bones.

“I don’t fucking bully my children, I never bully them, I could never bully them, for fucks sake, I just, I-”  her building volume crashes into a heart wrenching sob. Red nails forcefully tug at caramel hair, fighting her inevitable destruction.

“Hey-” Nina shuffles closer and wraps one of her arms securely around Vanessa’s waist, petting the bruised fingertips holding onto her own frizzy and uncombed hair. “Shh - just take a deep breath.”

Her breathing becomes erratic again as silent sobs bubble up her throat. “I shouldn’t. I-I don’t know what to do, Nina, but - she just left. And I-”

“I know,” Nina shushes the frightened deer in her embrace, barely recognizing the headstrong woman who just passionately fought her moments ago. Nina silently holds pieces of the once ever-so-joyful and loud-mouthed girl in her arms, slowly taking in all that’s happened so far. Viciously poisoned words replaced by hopeless destruction within her small frame. 

Nina knows she shouldn’t be here, Brooke had begged her to not speak a word to Vanessa about her departure. But Nina also knows that she can’t just let the young one suffer on her own. Something broke within her heart, seeing her so shattered. Just a shell of the woman she used to be.

“I don’t even know why I care so much, it’s not like she said she loved me and shit, but-”

Nina silently holds the brunette as glassy tears wet her delicate blouse. She sighs as she realizes this must have been something more serious than “a fight between two friends”. Just one look at the broken girl in her embrace says enough.

“-but you love her,” Nina finishes.

Vanessa doesn’t have to say a single word for Nina to know that she has hit the right nerve. The burned out girl simply closes her eyes as cyan waves flood her paralyzed mind. A muted soul drowning, because she wasn’t there.

Would You take me back or watch me bleed?

Are You there? There at all?

Time keeps moving and the planet Earth keeps spinning, yet Brooke Lynn cannot find the person she desperately longs to be. Her body and mind betray her God-loving soul as she rutts against her bedsheets, one finger pressed to her bundle of nerves. A droplet of heaven on sinner’s skin will never heal a soul not worth saving. So her heart begins to shake as she comes undone to the thought of her. Because holy water on forbidden soil still grew the damned fruit of Eden. 

Rosary prayers are replaced by deep, toxic drags of flower painted cigarettes. A golden cross weighs heavy on her chest - the last reminder of her once so innocent soul. It mocks her with its presence - everlasting, reminding her of her failure to keep control, the one skill she had always taken pride in. With a deep breath she runs her shaking fingertips through her messy, freshly cut hair and opens it’s clip, let’s it fall to the marbled floor. 

Weeks pass before Nina calls, begging her to come back to the States and telling her how much misses her. Brooke Lynn let’s rehearsed lines pour from her throat, promising to get back to her soon. She scribbles on notebooks as she listens to Nina’s trembling voice, trying to ground herself into reality. 

“You can’t just kill the beast, throw the gun away and pray away its death, Brooke, that’s not how life works,” Nina finally drops the bomb.

“What kind of beast are you even talking about, Nina? I am way too sober to deconstruct your metaphors right now,“ Brooke steadies her breathing, tries to sound oblivious to whatever Nina might be hinting at. She picks up her chewed up pen again, doodling on a scraped note, trying to distract her thoughts from spiralling too deep.

“Don’t play dumb, Brooke, we both know what I am trying to say. You can’t just disappear out of everyone’s lives without even saying goodbye, you can’t just…” A deep breath resounds on the other side of the line, making Brooke realize how serious Nina actually is. “She misses you, Brooke, she misses you, like, a lot.”

Brooke’s heavy heart sinks even further, turning to stone with each word punctuated by the other woman. “That sounds like her problem”, she mutters through clenched teeth, cautiously looking away from any feelings she still harbours for the Puerto Rican goddess. 

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.” Brooke could practically see Nina’s clenched fists and furrowed brows, nearly screaming at her from the other side of the line.

“Don’t call me that,” she exhales loudly, trying to ground her slightly shaken voice. She never intended to confess anything to Nina, her sinful nature was between her and God. 

“But - that’s your name!”

“Yeah, and I hate it when you say it like that. It sounds as if i killed an innocent puppy.” She doesn’t need to say it, Nina already knows. 

“It’s because you kind of did,” her best friend lets out a frustrated laugh. “Well, Brooke. What I am attempting to say is that whatever you may be going through, I am here for you. I just want to help you, sweetheart, I know you are beating yourself up about everything that has happened between the two of you.” Brooke wishes Nina would be at least condescending, reminding her of the God-loving daughter she could be. Yet all she receives is an everloving soul, a heart so big it can see past her mistakes, past her sins.

She can’t bear to hear it anymore, can’t take it. She bites at the skin around her nails, trying to distract herself from the desire to slam her fist against the table. 

“You haven’t seen me in weeks, Nina, how could you even know?”

“I can see your misery all the way from the States, that’s how bad you’ve gotten. Look, I know you are afraid of dealing with the conflict inside of you, but we both know the Bible doesn’t say anything about-” With every spoken word the fragile woman gasps for more air, drowning in a sea full of fear. Cold hands of truth wrapped around her delicate throat.

“Please, don’t, Nina,” she whimpers.

“Brooke…” A short moment of silence fills the air between the two friends. “There is no point in running away. You are just pushing away the people who love you for who you are,” a pleading voice doesn’t fully reach the woman in need. 

“Like you?”

“I actually meant Vanjie, but to be honest with you, it hurts me as well seeing you like this, I just…” On the other side of the line, Nina closes her eyes praying to God from the high above. “Just please come back. I miss you. Plastique misses you. We all miss you.”

“I can’t, Nina, I just can’t.” A single tear falls down her rigid face. “I am so sorry,” she mumbles before hanging up on her. The confidence she has build over the past weeks has been replaced by consuming guilt in a blink of an eye. With shaking fingers she slowly picks up the golden cross from the marble floor, its weight overwhelming her fastening heartbeat. She closes her eyes before fastening the chain around her throat again. Her heart still bounded by ice in a decaying chest. A spark of hope buried by self doubt. “One day,” she whispers to herself, “but not today.”

And as I fall from the person that I tried to be

Could You really love someone like me?

“Hey stranger - x” 

Narrowed eyes stare at a way too brightly lit screen, shaking hands grasping Vanessa’s phone like a nicotine addict holding their first cigarette in weeks. Waves crashing around her, tearing down all that has been and all that ever could be, drowning the brunette in a whirlwind of emotions. Just take a deep breath, Vanessa, a deep breath. A hollow voice, a reminder of her broken heart, screeches inside of her, warning the girl, urging her no to answer. The heartache she had to endure, infused by her favorite ice queen, could last her a lifetime. She had sworn herself that she wouldn’t let her in again, attempted to erase the blonde bombshell from her memory for weeks. Still embarrassed of the scene she had caused at work, her deeply lit fire burning down the spectacle around her. 

Yet just minutes later, her fingertips betray her overworked brain. They are typing a reply on their own accord, a way too heartfelt reply. Full of hatred and love and feeling of lost, pouring out the hurricane Brooke had ignited in her soul. 

She catches herself before she can hit the send button. Rational thoughts replace the emptiness in her brain as shaky hands delete a message never meant to be seen by the thunderstorm eyes. She silently decides that written words can’t express Vanessa’s heartache and won’t ever depict the reality and the range of emotions she had to endure. Not daring to give Brooke Lynn the satisfaction of acknowledging the mess of emotions she had reduced Vanessa to. 

The Latina takes a second look at her screen, her heart clenching at the written words. Strangers - that’s what they have become. She feels like she has been hit by the screen, awoken by a simple phrasing, causing disappointment to settle within her. In utter silence she chews up her lip as she can feel her heartbeat falter, missing a beat here and there. 

A light chuckle escapes her lips, amused by her own misery. 

How did she end up like this? 

Vanessa always fell hard, that wasn’t new to her. But it was nothing compared to the mixture of emotions that Brooke Lynn had left her with. Nothing compared to the fire in her soul, prepared to burn down a building in the process of fighting her longing for the ice queen.

“Can I call you?” 

Another flash of light that burns too brightly, Vanessa’s eyes twitching in return. Questions ring inside of her head, almost too urgent to ask them out loud. 

“Please - x”  

It’s the message that breaks her. Brooke Lynn was never the one to beg. Vanessa always had been so certain that nothing could bring the ice queen down to her knees. As she feels the garden of love-colored flowers being revived in her chest, feathery light fingertips type a response as if having gained a mind of their own. 

“We are not having this conversation over the phone.” She isn’t so sure if she even wants to have this conversation, too afraid of the burning fire in her soul, still wondering if this is all a dream.

“Okay” 

The reply is short, something she didn’t expect. Vanessa had assumed that after all the weeks of silence Brooke wouldn’t give up that easily. Maybe she was wrong. 

“Same place, same time? - x" 

Once upon a time

All I needed was his hand in mine

Two familiar figures sit on a bench in the park, full of stardust and broken promises, facing the night sky, searching for long lost answers in the muted celestial bodies pinned onto the firmament. The cold air is clouded with unspoken words hanging heavily between the strangers. The brunette is playing with the hem of her shirt, still unsure why she agreed to this meeting at all. The blonde holds her head high, as her stiffened body tries to maintain her regal posture, still unsure why she had proposed the idea in the first place.

No, she knows, she definitely knows why. A full cigarette package in her overflowing handbag reminds her of words yet to be brought to light. Though right now, her usually overworked mind is completely empty, leaving the ice cold beauty at a complete loss of words. Burned edges hide behind a layer of cold skin. Suffocating rose seeds in her chest as she is desperately scrambling for words, trying to find her voice. 

“Well, I think I owe you an explanation.” Brooke whispers as she stares longingly at the moon, avoiding Vanessa’s burning glare, the younger one’s neatly plucked brows bumped together in a scowl.

“Yes, you do, Mary. Also, you might add an apology if you’re feeling fancy,” Vanessa slurs through slightly gritted teeth, attempting to calm the flame blazing in her soul. Her flared nostrils still giving away her true emotions to the Canadian. 

Brooke couldn’t blame her for going up in flames and charring the Canadian’s sin stained fingertips in the process. 

“Okay, right, my explanation itself won’t be an apology, though, because nothing can ever justify hurting you. I just need to get this out, so you can see my side of the story and understand where I am coming from. I mean, I am sorry, truly sorry, don’t get me wrong, but what I am about to share shouldn’t be just an excuse for my actions and so-” rehearsed lines pour out of her dried out mouth, barely allowing her to gasp for air. 

“Don’t forget to breath. I’d rather not have you fainting on me, hoe.” For a short second Brooke’s lips twitch into a barely recognisable smile, a reminder of long gone summernights, before a hauntingly tight grasp around the stone she has for a heart throws her back into reality. 

“Yes, sorry.” Her body stiffens as the remark settles in. “Okay. So, I don’t know how to do this actually, I’ve never talked about any of this and yeah, serious stuff makes me tear up very easily… I’m sorry in advance and, yeah.” She takes a deep breath, clumsily attempting to gather her thoughts as she slightly dabbs around her already wet lash line. “I guess I just have to bite the bullet.”

The Puerto Rican keeps a close eye on Brooke Lynn, seeing her visibly shaken. The ever-so-cool Canadian suddenly fidgety, with shaky fingers resting in her lap and blown out pupils, biting her lips so hard, she must be drawing blood. Seeing the destruction the ice caused within her counterpart, Vanessa’s own flame starts to cool down. Finally able to see the ashes her blaze left behind. 

“As you may, or may not know, I grew up in a very Christian household. We went to church every Sunday, spoke a prayer before every meal and regularly went to confession.” She doesn’t know how much she could actually bare to say out loud - barely reliving the memories was painful enough. 

“So growing up as a child I was taught to believe many things that were tied to the Bible, one of them being a homosex-” the word gets stuck in her throat, memories of threatening dark voices screaming the word at the top of their lungs, spitting hatred at the feet of scared children, “- liking girls was a sin. At least once every few months it was brought up in service, fuelling everyone’s disgust for the celebration of this sin.” 

Brooke’s voice starts to shake ever so slightly as she pinches the skin around her nuckles to bring herself back to the present. 

“I mean, I never participated in any, you know, sinfully- I mean, any gay activities, but just the concept of it all still scared me shitless. So, you know, ehmm, until one day…” She takes in another deep shaky breath, preparing herself. “My mom once caught me kissing a girl. I was a child, I didn’t even know what kissing meant, and I just thought-” she stops herself. The memory too painful to conjure up in her mind. A warm steady hand sets on her shaking thigh, a single touch untangling her spiralling thoughts, keeping her grounded.

“So, I guess I was, I was just a girl lost among the teachings. All alone and scared.“ 

Silence fills the air, letting her confession linger in the space between the two broken women. Leftover, unspoken words deeply hidden at the back of her mind, tugging at her heart, causing her to lose her composure for a second. Another deep breath and the blonde dares to shily look up, only to find bright doe eyes, full of pitiful stars staring back at her.

"And then you came along.” She faces away from Vanessa again, not knowing what to say. Never having planned for a confession of her blooming feelings to be part of sharing her story. So used to carefully hiding away every fresh flower that had grown in her chest in a small casket at the back of her consciousness. She had thrown away the key to her deepest, darkest secret months ago, but all of a sudden its gates have been opened. Honest confessions dripping down her burning lips like sickly sweet honey from overflowing honeycombs.

“Meeting you was the most amazing, yet simultaneously horrifying moment in my entire life. I - you know - when you started flirting with me, I really tried to convince myself we could just be friends, good friends, like me and Nina.”

Vanessa’s fingers move from the Canadian’s thigh to her sweating palms, caressing them with ever so light touches.

“I wanted to be the God-loving daughter so badly, I wanted to make my family proud. But somehow, you were the one to unleash all of these feelings, all of those forbidden thoughts and I…” She looks to the ground for a moment, shame flickering across her face as she centers her breathing, tries to find the right words. “I didn’t know what to do. So I just ran. Away from you. Away from the deep roots of my sin.”

Bone crushing silence fills the space in their tiny bubble, making goosebumps cover Vanessa’s skin. 

“I shouldn’t have done that. I know that I should have said something, but I was so scared, Nessa. So scared. I didn’t want anybody to know, I was so ashamed of my feelings for you and…” She finally looks up again, regret pooling in her stormy eyes.

“So what happened?” Curiosity slowly replacing the burning heat in Vanessa’s soul, still taking in all what the wounded woman presents to her - trusts her with. 

“What do you mean?” Brooke asks with a breathy voice, slightly cocking her head and raising the arch of her perfectly painted brow.

“If you are so ashamed and didn’t want anybody to know, simply playing the fucking God obedient wife, than why are you here, Twinkle Toes?” Vanessa doesn’t hold back, having bottled up embering questions for way too long.

“Because- because if Nina could see past my sins, maybe so could I?" 

Vanessa’s visibly cringes at the blonde’s choice of words. Pain contorting her face, her soul drenching in pity. 

The vulnerable woman next to her seems like she doesn’t truly believe her spoken words either. Glassy eyes, a silent sniff - an attempt at finally putting her heart and mind at display.

"Baby, why do you keep calling your love for another woman a sin?” Vanessa’s soft words barely reach Brooke. 

“But isn’t that what it is?” Big grey eyes stare at their last string of hope. 

Brooke has never looked this young to the other woman as in this moment. Her lips pulled into a quivering pout, hands balled into anxious fists and her usually wavy, long bob resembling a bird nest due to her constantly raking her fingers through her hair. Putting her trust and vulnerability on display as her body fights against her. Lips continuously shaking with every word bubbling up from her tightened throat, needing a cough every few seconds to make her words come alive. Fingers drawing pictures in the air, questions her mind doesn’t dare to ask. 

“No, baby. No, it’s not. You are not a sinner. My momma always told me that the God you believe in loves you, unconditionally and shit like that. Those people who justify hating someone for who they love are abomi- abomina-, awful.” She grabs both of Brooke’s hands, squeezing them tightly. It’s as much closeness as Vanessa dares to initiate, yet not enough for her to evaporate every ounce of self doubt out of Brooke Lynn’s body. 

“It’s not that easy,” the blonde whispers, simply shaking her head and shifting her gaze to the night sky again.

“I know, but the bottom line is, Mami, Jesus preaches about love, not hatred. So fuck what evil people told you about your religion, because He was all about love, you know like ‘love thy neighbor’ and shit -” Vanessa’s heartfelt speech is interrupted by a quiet giggle from the woman desperately clutching at their intertwined hands, “- and that’s what matters the most.”

“I just don’t know. There must be a reason people preach against homosexuality so much.” Brooke’s eyes are harboring every homophobic prayer and countless lectures she had to endure, preaches of pain and the longing to heal, but also sing a song about her lack of courage to face her fears. At least on her own. 

“Baby, where in the Bible does it say homosexuality is a sin?” Vanessa’s usually harsh voice turns into a soft whimper as trained fingertips draw circles on Brooke Lynn’s skin.

“Ehh.” 

Both women know that Brooke’s loss for words isn’t just temporary, her counterpart simply outsmarted her - for once - fairly aware of the fact that there is no answer to this question. Brooke had to accept defeat, swallow her tongue and acknowledge that she can’t back up her internalized hatred. She closes her eyes for a short moment. A deep breath in and a deep breath out. 

Having to question her upbringing is a new cross she’ll have to bear. But she certainly won’t have to carry it on her own. 

"Exactly. I ain’t no preacher’s daughter, Mary, just a simple hoe, but even I know that faith should be about love and not hatred. You know what my mama always said?”

A long lost heart slowly finding her way back to the right path. Guided into a new direction. 

“Na-ah?” Brooke shakes her head as she can taste her heart beating in her dried up throat, whimpering as olive fingertips trace her cheekbones. 

“She always said: ‘no matter who you love Vanessa, you can always be a godly wife, even to your own wife’ - I mean, I am not about all of that religious life - but Brooke Lynn, I could show you that a life like this is possible." 

The Latina underlines her proposition with a flutter of her lashes and a cheeky kiss to Brooke’s blushed cheeks. 

"Vanessa,” barely a whisper escapes agape lips. 

“You don’t have to say anything right now, just think about it.” Vanessa gifts Brooke Lynn a soft smile, squeezes her hand before her soft lips brush against the blonde’s temple. Two hearts skipping a beat at the same time as young rose buds surround two lost figures sitting on a bench of mended promises under the night sky. 

Then I lost my way and

Now I know not what I do

The sweet melody of church bells fill the busy streets of the Hollywood Heights as kind-hearted strangers stroll down Franklin Avenue. Young birds sing songs of forgiveness, guiding lost souls to the place of worship. A short brunette is stood in front of the Hollywood United Methodist church, tightly squeezing one of the lost souls’ sweaty hand. She directs a big grin towards the shaking blonde, gifting her with wordless encouragement. Under a night sky full of broken hopes and dreams Vanessa had promised Brooke to find her a new godly home. So she had spent the past few weeks carefully skimming the gay-affirming churches in LA, the Methodist church just happened to be one of many in the area. Naturally, it had been a hassle to convince Brooke Lynn to give it a shot, explaining her that a Sunday Pride sermon would the most healing of them all. But puppy eyes, childlike pouts and lots of brief kisses finally convinced the weary woman.

Vanessa wouldn’t consider herself to be religious per se, however she understood that faith has always been a big part of Brooke Lynn’s life, and she would never in a million years take that away from the woman she loved. The night she had first heard her story, the strong woman collapsing into her arms, she had sworn to do whatever she could to help Brooke settle her internal struggle between faith and sexuality. Even if that meant tackling her own fears and diving head first into the deep unknown, just so that she could protect the Canadian from her self-destructive behaviour, showing her the love and safety she deserves. So here she was, a not so religious Latina dragging her love, whose entire body was trembling at the sheer sight of a church, to a Sunday morning sermon at the Hollywood campus.

Brooke Lynn had initially agreed to Vanessa’s plan, tears streaming out of her otherwise empty eyes, as she recognized this as her last chance, her last hope. Momentarily she was excited about the possibility of finally being free, her heart tightly gripping at a spark of faith. Vanessa’s words seeming like a cure to her curse. Yet the promise of a new beginning was soon overshadowed by violent memories intruding her newly calm mind. 

Terrified eyes stare down the big red ribbon adorning the otherwise plain, yet regal exterior of the church. A thunderstorm takes place inside of Brooke Lynn, shaking her up. Her spiralling mind denying the Canadian the hope of salvation as shaky fingers grasp at a steady figure by her side, regretting ever agreeing to this mad idea. Each fingernail digs deeper into tan skin with every painfully sharp breath the lost woman inhales. The blonde’s pulse quickens with every step she forces herself to take towards the building, conjuring up judging faces in the shadows of the church, deep black claws holding her back.

The last time she had visited a place of worship she had come to face all of her sins, called them by their names, begged for forgiveness and desperately waited for her salvation. Still, she was never cleansed of her sins, never was saved by God’s good grace. Her soul still deeply stained with blood-red roses, giving into promises of a not so lonely future. 

Yet deep down she still fears the consequences of giving into the temptation of Eden, fears being at God’s mercy. But Vanessa had sown a seed of hope into Brooke’s rotted mind, set a spark to the possibility of tasting a fruit that doesn’t bring down the heavenly garden. A believe she desperately wants to uphold, but isn’t so certain of anymore. The last time she prayed to her God, she was desperate for forgiveness of her sins. Her motivations remain the same this time around, but now she is just begging God for a different kind of forgiveness.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Vanessa,” she finally speaks up, voice trembling as she turns to her comfort blanket, her stepping stone, who attempts to calm the turmoil in her soul with just one look. 

In no way she is ready to face her fears which drown her in self-doubt at night, wake her up screaming at the top of her lungs and leave her emotionless during the rest of the day. But would she ever be ready? Could she ever repair her splitted soul? 

“You don’t have to go to the service, Brooke.” Sympathy radiates from Vanessa’s eyes as her pout pulls up into a comforting smile, “But I can assure that if you do, everything will be alright. I’ve visited this church with my mama before, and it’s the most welcoming church I’ve ever been to.” 

The brunette wasn’t necessarily lying to her, more so leaving out the part of her falling asleep during the sermon, but Brooke doesn’t need to know that.

“But what if -” the blonde’s voice sounds wobbly with fear as she attempts to put her concerns into words. Bars behind her eyes holding the ever so strong woman captivated, anxiety is ruining her hopeful mind, tainting her will to be free at last. Worst case scenarios running wild as she chips off the leftovers of her nude nail polish.

“We’ve been over this, boo”, Vanessa cuts of the squirming woman by her side, not needing to hear Brooke voicing her fears out lot, already knowing what she is going to say. She silently instructs the blonde to take a deep breath, reviving her suffocating lungs, as Vanessa gives her hand a solidarity squeeze. 

“This church celebrates diversity. No one will be judgemen-, judgement-, no one will judge you, Mami.” The brunette still struggling to gain Brooke’s trust every now and then.

Doubt still clouds the Canadian’s eyes. A heavy fog, slowly dissolving as the brunette punctuates each whispered word with as kiss to her cheek and jaw, “I’ll be right by your side, Mami, and hunt down everyone who even dares to look at you the wrong way.“

Olive skinned arms slowly wrap around a navy sundress, holding the blonde before she can fall apart. Soft fingertips drawing circles into exposed skin as a frantic heartbreak regains its normal rhythm. 

In their intertwined state, the pair catches a glimpse of two men, both in their late thirties, walking into the church, one hand holding each other, the other gripping their children’s hands. Their laughter illuminating the entrance of the holy building. Contrasting with the image of the church Brooke Lynn had painted in her mind.

As Brooke’s erratic breathing slowly calms down due to Vanesa soothingly whispering nonsense into her ear, she can untangle herself from the shorter one without feeling dizziness clouding her vision. Silently tugging at the brunette’s hand as she finally dares to walk through the gates of the church, following the footsteps of the family of four who wordlessly touched her ever so guarded heart. The red ribbon hanging above them turns into a symbol of a comforting blessing instead of a curse.

Two quiet figures, lost in their own thoughts, walk down the aisle of a barely packed church. They take a seat on a wooden bench engraved with roses at the back of the hall, hidden from noisy eyes. Brooke Lynn carefully views the faces of the visitors, her mind scanning her surroundings for potential danger, looking out for disapproving frowns, waiting to hear slurs thrown in her direction. Yet all she can find is people as diverse and colourful as Vanessa promised them to be. 

The pair made it just in time before the service starts to begin. A tanned hand on Brooke’s upper thigh, keeping her spirit in the present, hindering her mind from spiralling. The blonde attempts to focus on the sensation of Vanessa’s fingertips against her cotton dress, lightly caressing her thigh, as her muscles relax beneath the brunette’s touch. Goosebumps covering every inch Vanessa touches. Meanwhile, Brooke chooses to ignore the bottle of memories, a dangerous barrel about to explode at the back of her mind. 

The service starts with a greeting and an opening prayer by a man in his fifties, one that Brooke Lynn doesn’t dare to look in the face directly. Her eyes burning holes into the wooden bench right in front of her, just focusing on the static voice of the pastor. An old habit that had protected her at home, had kept her panic attacks at church to a minimum. Holy words fill the air around her, stinging her sensitive skin, not fully reaching the woman in need just yet.

The moment sin free fingertips open up the Holy Bible, lovingly caressing the leather cover, and the reading of the scripture begins, Brooke’s lungs forget how to carry breath at last. Her body stiffens as her throat starts caving in, thorns piercing holes in her sensitive thorax. A punch in her gut is added to her panicked state and the world around her just goes blanc. She can’t see or hear anything besides her own frantic attempt at trying to get enough oxygen into her system. She feels all too much and simultaneously doesn’t exactly know what she is feeling. Teary eyes shut close and try to unsee the cross right above her head.

”Please forgive me,“ she whimpers, as her voice painfully breaks.

Long fingernails dig deep into the softest part of her palm, drawing blood, as she tries to overhear the loud pulsing of blood in her hears. She is fully aware that oxygen is reaching her brain and flooding her system, yet she still feels like she is dying inside. Brooke seems to be the only passenger on a sinking Titanic. All alone in the ocean, screaming so loud, yet no one can hear.

Soft hands grasp at her tightened jaw, softly turning her head, before olive fingertips caress her red stained cheeks, wiping away any stray tears. The Canadian’s head rolls to the side, falling into Vanessa’s embrace. A deep sigh escapes her chewed up lips between muffled sobs.

"Shh, love, everything is alright,” Vanessa whispers, or at least as much as the woman with a truck driver voice can whisper. But she tries, for her. Keeping a low volume as she hums calming affirmations to the woman by her side.

Soft kisses are planted across still firmly shut eyelids as Brooke Lynn quietly thanks her past self for taking a seat at the back of the church, hopefully being able to slightly hide her still ongoing meltdown.

A deep breath, Brooke Lynn, a deep breath. The excruciating pain in her abdomen starts to fade with each stroke across her thigh, as honey runs down her throat, coating the thorns in her chest, protecting her lungs from ever lasting self-destruction. Another minute passes before she manages to crack her eyes open again. A face of an angel faces the wreck of a woman, shielding her from the service. Her saviour softly strokes the blonde’s beetlejuice red cheeks, fixing her heartache with a bandaid of change.

The voice of a woman, ever so calm and static, slowly enters the bubble Vanessa had created around the Canadian. The ongoing selmon, preached by a woman in her late forties, focuses on the importance of diversity in the church and the representation of LGBT+ individuals, reflecting love on Pride Sunday. As soon as the words reach the suffering woman, her head snaps back to the front, properly focusing on the selmon this time around. Her breath is still a bit heavy in her throat as her hand tightly grasps Vanessa for support, cautiously listening to the words spoken. She was so used to her body working on auto pilot during the mass, her mind usually circling around any mundane activity she could think off, trying to escape the preached words nagging at her soul. Yet all she ever needed was kind and wise words carefully unfolding the tangles of Brooke’s misery, breaking down the walls she had built up all those years ago. Hearing a member of a Christian church speak so lovingly about a commonly hated community was a better salvation than meaningless repentance could ever give her. The sight of the wooden cross above her head losing its power over her with each passing second and each kind word spoken. 

“But today, in the fifth chapter of Roman, Paul says that we rejoice not only in the glory of God but also in our sufferings. The message is not that Paul and his readers rejoice because they are suffering, but rather that they rejoice in the midst of suffering. Part of the human condition is to experience good times and difficult ones. The Bible is full of stories of people who faced immense suffering, and remained faithful to our loving God in spite of the difficulties of their own lives. Paul says that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us. Because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. We must never lose infinite hope. Progress in our society could have not come to be if suffering were an impediment for future movement. Think about that in our own context today, think about all the movements that have taken place in our society, those that have challenged discrimination. Especially on this Pride Sunday. Each triumph allows for progress to be identified, and each setback creates energy for us to keep on, because hope does not disappoint. Amen.” 

“Amen,” the crowd answers. Brooklyn whispering along, hiding her freshly shed tears behind a mask of devotion to her heavenly father. She feels a ghost of a hand hovering beneath her heart, holding it up for the world to see. Sensing an indescribable presence supporting her very being. 

The monotone, yet soul saving salmon cracks Brooke’s carefully placed walls. Her mind spins like a merry-go-round, tightly holding onto each word inspired by a scripture that had burned scars into her skin just months ago. She never thought that her suffering could not be a punishment, always had assumed the torment she had to endure was of God’s will. But with Vanessa by her side, she starts to believe every word, feels the knot in her stomach unfolding as she mouths the words - hope does not disappoint. 

The service ends with a worship tune, one that the Canadian had heard way too often during her time as a young altar servant. As the last notes vanish into thin air, Brooke slowly comes back to her senses. Her muscles begin to relax and her breathing comes out a lot smoother, slowly realizing that she just survived another mass. The blonde has witnessed a service filled with love and admiration for her kind of people with a companion by her side, showing her the way and guiding her through it. Her body completely relaxes for the first time this morning, almost utterly calm as she silently celebrates her victory of not bursting into flames the moment she had set a foot on the holy soil. 

The blonde crawls out of their bench, her legs slightly shaking after all the babel her head had to withstand, ready to leave her first experience with a gay affirming church behind, as Vanessa grabs her hand, pulling her back into her embrace. Two heavy chests collide as Vanessa’s face forms into a shit eating grin. Two women stare at each other in the middle of a filled aisle, getting lost in each other’s eyes. A small smile settles on the taller one’s lips.

“I told you so,” the short one laughs out loud before playfully groping the Canadian’s ass, receiving a high pitched shriek in return. 

“Not at church, Vanessa,” Brooke hisses as she scans the room for people who could have seen her inappropriate gesture, at least inappropriate for the place they are in. 

“I just couldn’t help myself, Mami,” Vanessa professes as she flutters her lashes seductively before she gets forcefully dragged outside by her lover. Deep laughter bounces of the walls as two not-so-broken souls make their way home.

I bow my head and turn to You

The Candian’s clean-cut apartment overlooks the busy streets of LA, traffic being an ever present white noise, one that recharges Vanessa, making her more giddy and jittery than in any other environment. Cheerful radiotunes flow through Brooke Lynn’s light blue kitchen walls and bounce off her white tiles surrounding the stove, as she hums along to a catchy pop song while finally doing the dishes. Simultaneously she tries to listen to Vanessa’s commentary to ‘The Office’ with an amused smile, as she shimmies along to the soft bass filling the air. Muted voices reach the kitchen every once in awhile, spilling over from the running TV in the living room as Vanessa’s voice mixes in, keeping Brooke’s mind from running in circles. 

Vanessa had immediately taken a seat next to Apollo and Henry on the black leather couch, both of them snuggling up to the Latina after the two emotionally exhausted women had returned from the service, starting a re-watch of their favourite show as soon as Vanessa got a hold of the TV remote. One that she had originally forced Brooke to join. Just half an hour in, the blonde excused herself, violent thoughts ruining the peaceful mind, and took on any chore that would help repairing the shattered glasshouse in her soul. One that obviously isn’t fixable with cellotape.

"Booooo, you can’t possibly know what’s going on if you’re in the kitchen,” Vanessa whines, not even five minutes after Brooke left her side to polish the dishes. 

“Nessa, the volume is high enough that even our neighbors will know what’s going on between Jim and Pam,” Brooke replies matter of factly while drying off one of the last plates. 

"But it’s not the same if you can’t see what’s happening." 

Vanessa doesn’t get a reply this time around. Dishes simply clattering in the distance.

"Broookiiieee,” the Latina whines again, dragging out each syllable.

Brooke can practically see the brunette’s plump pout quivering and her bright puppy eyes begging her to come over through the wall and decides to throw away her towel on her spotless kitchen counter with a sigh, making her way over to the needy brunette again - not able to resist her.

Vanessa greets her with grabby hands and another whine as Brooke settles by her side, hesitantly wrapping an arm around Vanessa’s waist. 

“You are unbearable,” Brooke Lynn mumbles into the Latina’s curly hair before placing a shy kiss on her vanilla scented forehead. With a content hum she lays her heavy and still foggy head on Vanessa’s shoulder, while bringing her attention back to the TV. Giving her mind some space, allowing herself to just not think - embracing the emptiness. Simply enjoying being close to her ‘favourite human’ - calling her lover a more adequate name was simply too soon.

A welcoming warmth spreads through Vanessa’s body as goosebumps grace her skin wherever the Canadian’s touch reaches. With a peaceful sigh she happily receives any loving gesture Brooke might have to offer, appreciates every brush of skin against hers. A rush of serotonin flooding her system with each sweet word whispered into her ear and chaste kiss planted on her cheek. Vanessa knows that the older woman still isn’t used to showing her affection for the brunette freely, so she considers every small moment that expressed more than words could say a victory. 

The two sit together, entangled with each other, focusing on the ongoing TV show with Vanessa throwing in an obnoxiously loud comment every now and then. But soon her focus shifts to the beauty next to her, as the setting sun illuminates the living room through the large windows, making the blonde glow from within. The Latina quietly observes how the TV screen reflects in her stormy eyes, and the way her long lashes cast a soft shadow on her high cheekbones. Carefully, she traces the dried up tear tracks on the blonde’s cheek, getting her full attention within a second. Her stomach twists at the blank expression she receives.

“Do you maybe wanna talk about the service today, Mami?” Vanessa asks with the softest version of her voice, as she twirls a blond strand of hair around her finger.

“Ohh, it was nice you know,” the Canadian offhandedly comments, not brave enough to face the younger one yet, and simply straightens her posture as her eyes fixate on the TV screen in front of her, “the woman holding the selmon was a bit boring, tho’.” 

The show is slowly losing its appeal, Brooke’s darkened eyes now flick across the room, trying to find something she can focus on without losing track of what she is sharing with the woman by her side. An attempt to close off her heart once again.

All of a sudden, a warm hand appears on her shaking thigh, a reminder that she can’t fool the woman who already knows her darkest thoughts without speaking them into existence. Numb grey eyes watch olive fingertips draw circles on her leg, wondering if the silent spell imprinted on her skin could ever keep away the demons in her mind.

“Don’t get me wrong, the message was really nice, nearly brought me to tears, but she really can’t preach. She definitely should apply for a seminar or something like that…” she trails off, still not able to face the loving figure right by her side. Her sweating palms ball into loose fists. A brave soldier fighting her own mind on the battleground of the shared love.

Both women are completely aware of the unspoken words hanging in the air between them, thighs brushing as heavy breathing fills the silence between them. The Canadian’s mind desperately tries to suppress the events of the morning, clings to the present as if it was her last lifeline. Focuses on the pounding in her ears and her heartbeat increasing with each soft fingertip caressing her skin, coaxing her shattered soul.

“Brooke,” Vanessa speaks up again, softly placing her hand above Brooke Lynn’s fidgeting fingers. Her heart breaks at the sight next to her.

“She is probably a nice woman, you know, just not that well spoken and all-” her nervous rambling sets in, trying to restrain the words she really wants to say out loud, bubbling up in her throat.

“Brooke, are we really going to ignore the elephant in the room?”

The blonde finally really looks at Vanessa again, pity painting a compassionate picture on her flawless face. A shameful head hangs low, staring at the Latina through heavy eyelids, her mouth agape as she searches for the right words. Her heart heavy in her chest, she slowly shakes her dizzy head. No, she couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room. 

Silence falls between the two women, as the older one freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. Her eyes fixated on the space between Vanessa’s eyes - staring - trying to find her words, trying to clear her messy mind. A deep breath, hold it in, exhale slowly. Repeat. 

“I just, I don’t know what came over me. I really thought you being there with me - I -” a lump in her throat hindering her from spilling the truth like an overflowing sink.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it it’s fine, Mami. But it might help to figure it all out and shit,” Vanessa interferes Brooke’s rambling, interlocking their fingers - attempts to give her some comfort while reassuring the Canadian that she’s not alone.

Vanessa’s never been good at serious conversations. She is always the one to loosen up a tense moment or overly emotional situation with a joke or two, prefers seeing a loved one laugh because of the Puerto Rican woman stumbling over her own words,than seeing them cry. But what Vanessa had witnessed this morning had startled her, left her a bit shaken up. It wasn’t just a friend crying over a fuckboy or accidentally deleting their bachelor’s thesis. This was a silent and heart wrenching cry for help which she couldn’t brush off. The state she had seen her in was heartbreaking to say the least. An event she couldn’t simply forget, couldn’t leave unspoken about.

“It’s just that the moment they started reading from the scripture I was suddenly back in my old church, waiting to hear homophobic slurs fall from pastor’s lips, and it somehow felt like the walls kept caving in and all,” she whispers out loud, eyes closed, hands tightly gripping at Vanessa’s figure.

Breath in, breath out.

“I lost it today. I genuinely lost it. Looking back at it, it doesn’t seem to bad. I keep telling myself that people have it worse, that I am not that fucked up. But I genuinely thought I would go up in flames, die from my sins and so on.” Another deep breath, an attempt to calm her shaking voice, an attempt to buy her some time. “But even though I might have had to endure one of my worst days today, I don’t wanna give up just yet, Nessa.”

Pleading eyes stare into concerned doe ones framed by furrowed brows. Each hand squeeze and each calming word are like medicine for her sick soul. A lost soul finding her way back home, as she hopes to find her saving grace within the love and compassion the brunette so freely gives to her.

As Vanessa silently tucks a strand of blonde stray hair behind her ear and studies her, like she wants unravel her soul and love her entire being, Brooke just knows it’s her - it’s always been Vanessa.

She is the one.

“I can’t give up now. You know that God used to be such a big part of my life, and I wanna find my way back to him, eventually. The service today truly wasn’t the best I’ve ever visited, and I kinda miss a lot of our old traditions we had at church, which I obviously got accustomed to. Just the vibe in general was so different, something that really threw me off.”

Another pause. A healing woman too distracted by olive toned fingertips temptingly caressing her sides, wandering south without the owner’s intention. 

“Yet despite all of this, the selmon somehow ignited a spark in me, reminded me where I truly belong - in God’s arms - and I don’t wanna let it die just yet,” Brooke attempts to explain, not being able to express what she is truly feeling through the limited space within mundane words.

“So you wanna go back?” The Latina lifts a perfectly painted brow, hands settle by her side as her lips fall agape into an O-shape while asking her question. 

“No. Not at all.” She firmly shakes her head, a slight shiver running down her porcelain skin just at the thought of having to go there again. “But maybe we could take a look at St Thomas? It’s an epostical church. Only if you would come with me, though…” Brooke timidly voices her plan after a small pause, biting the skin around her nails again.

“Why this one?”

“You know, Nina said some of her les-, lesbian friends go there. It’s apparently a bit more traditional, which in hindsight could trigger another panic attack, but it’s still affirming,” she sighs deeply, realising she doesn’t even know what she actually wants just yet, “I don’t know what to do, Nessa. I just know that I don’t wanna give up just yet. I guess I finally found a point of convergence, so I can’t let either go. But that doesn’t mean I can’t prioritize one over the other currently.”

“And what exactly would you prior- priority-, shit, pick over the other, Mami?” The brunette softly asks, one brow raised as she nervously chews up her bottom lip. Her mouth runs dry, causing her to swallow hard. What if her love chooses her faith over Vanessa? Would she let her go? Fight for her to stay or just accept defeat? 

Tiny poisonous bugs crawl in her veins, a threat to the blooming garden of affection in her heart. Her skin itching as electricity shoots through her limbs and her leg shaking as she anxiously anticipates an answer.

“You.” 

One cut clear word makes Vanessa’s world stand still for a second, before it goes back to spinning at twice its original speed. Brows raised high as she stares at the blonde beauty wide eyed in disbelief.

“Pinch me, bitch.” A dead serious face reduces the blonde to a giggling mess right in front of her, biting her lip to smile along with her contagious laugh, before a tiny whisper in her head extinguishes every ounce of doubt. Maybe she really loves her back. The brunette’s lips raise into a smug grin, her heart beating at a record speed.

“There’s no need for that, sweetheart,” she interferes with another heartfelt laughter. “I think I really love you, Vanessa, and even though I didn’t really wanna admit it, I have to face the truth.” She gives herself another second before continuing, takes in all of the different emotions playing out on Vanessa’s face. Joy, fear, and at last - love. 

“I have enough time to figure out my struggle with religion, but I don’t wanna lose any time I’ve got with you over an internal battle I can’t win,” the shaking in her voice intensifies with each word until she can barely pronounce anything at all properly. Her mind feverishly taking in all sensations, a spark of electricity shooting through her bones the moment Vanessa’s slim arms wrap around her with a loud yelp.

Fireworks have been ignited in the brunnette, joy buzzing through her veins as she climbs into the older woman’s lap. Her cheeks burning from a straining smile stretched across her face. Skin on skin, transmitting heat to the other, simply feeling alive as Vanessa carefully listens to Brooke Lynn’s increasing heartbeat.

A small tear settles at the Canadian’s lash line. A tear full of hope, love, and the prospect of a wonderful future ahead. Shaking fingertips dab at the wet spot, grey eyes looking up to the ceiling. The lost woman only just realizing that her home is in the tiny Latina’s arms, finally accepting that Vanessa never brought her off the right path, but that she was the right way all along. The path that could lead her to self-acceptance and to God.

“Don’t make me cry, boo,” the brunette replies as she stifles a small sob as well, softly biting down on a knuckle, pinching herself. 

“It’s just that there is still a long road of self-acceptance ahead of me. Hurdles to overcome - like my family’s reaction to all of this.“ The Canadian gestures between the two of them with sadness tainted smile burdening her otherwise happy complexion. “But I still wanna tackle live by your side and keep taking baby steps from now. ”

Brooke punctuates her heartfelt speech by grabbing Vanessa’s hand and soothingly caressing the flesh she had just pinned between her teeth. Bright stormy eyes, as calm as the brunette had ever seen, stare into sparkling doe ones, toothy grins falling into place.

“I know I’ll find my way back to religion one day, might even become the ‘godly wife’ you deserve,” she says with a small giggle referring to her mother’s words, giving Vanessa’s soft hands a small squeeze, accompanied by a kiss to her dry knuckles, “but right now I just wanna focus on you - giving us a shot. And I would be very grateful if you would take my hand along the way.”

Brooke pulls the wide eyed brunette as close as humanly possible, wanting to feel every inch of her, giving their souls a chance to grow an everlasting bond. Cats snuggle closer to the two intertwined lovers and Vanessa let’s her love-clouded head fall onto Brooke’s shoulder. A deep content sigh escapes the Puerto Rican’s lips. 

As the blonde beauty places a lingering kiss at the corner of Vanessa’s mouth, the brunnette still finds an ounce of doubt lingering behind the stormy eyes. Everything was turning out all too well. The younger one should have known this couldn’t be real. 

“Do you really want this?” Vanessa barely whispers, too afraid of the answer she might receive. Fear leaking out of her desperate eyes with each second passing in silence as the tiny woman squirms in Brooke’s lap. A cold hand steadies her shaking thighs, keeping her in place.

Brooke Lynn knows that she wants all of it. She wants a little house with a white picket fence, giddy children, and cats roaming her own heavenly garden. Vanessa and herself - hand in hand - building a family. She wants to be a godly wife to this stunning goddess. No, Brooke doesn’t only simply want it, she craves it deep down. A seed of love sown into her chest the moment she had meet the Latina. It scares her. But she knows that it’s a good kind of fear. One that wraps you up slowly, constricting your whole essence, until you accept your fate. Turning the lingering fear into a comfort blanket of hope, embracing it.

She wants to say all of that and even more, scream her love for the brunette at the top of her lungs, yet simply answers with “Yes,” as she longingly stares at Vanessa’s lips.

Doe eyes light up at the simple word and peach painted lips crash into hers. Soft lips slightly brushing against each other, luring out a slight hum from the Latina. Teeth gracefully tugging at her bottom lip, making her eyes flutter shut as a shiver runs down the brunette’s spine. Bodies curving into each other, hands roaming, and noses bumping into each other as giggles fill the space between their lips. Two lovesick woman desperately trying to hold onto the other, fearing their dream to disappear. Cheeks flushing and sparks flying as two souls intertwine, dancing to the song of love. 

And as the two women find their loving home within each other, droplets of heavenly water baptize God’s lost daughters’ souls, finalizing their bond. A spell that cannot be broken.