Rebs. She/her. Shipper of many, fic writer, general trash fire. I love Star Wars, DC, Marvel, Jane Austen and most things geek. Feel free to send asks or prompts!
She should be home, sleeping or doing some last-minute researching or repacking her bag because there’s no way she got everything she needs in the duffel she sent ahead yesterday.
She should be doing anything but tracking down his address.
She should be doing anything but standing at Frank’s apartment door.
But here she finds herself, desperate to see him, needing him to know she’s leaving, needing him to know where she’ll be. Needing. So desperately needing.
The door opens, and suddenly he’s there. She doesn’t even know what she tells him about her trip. The worlds tumble out without her thinking about them at all. She is too focused on him, scanning his face for changes, taking in the way he moves and holds himself. And then the supposed reason she came here is over, and she’s left hesitating in his doorway as he’s looking down at her, standing so close she can’t think of anything at all.
She’s waiting for him, desperately waiting for him to close the gap.
Her hand has found its way to his chest, and slowly she uses it to prop herself up higher against him until their lips line up.. She allows herself to lift her other hand up to his neck, her face hovering even closer to his, pulled in by his orbit. But she won’t allow herself to go any closer. She wants to know that he wants this. That he chooses her…
She waits, her breath shallow, eyes closed, standing on a precipice, wanting to jump.
She could swear he’s leaning in, she can feel his breath warm against her cheek, coming as quickly as hers is. But her lips remain untouched. The empty air is a painful absence.
She opens her eyes slightly, trying to look into his, trying to spot even the faintest hint of his thoughts in their darkness. But she’s too close to him. Always too close but never close enough.
After another agonizing moment, she sighs in defeat, a heaving breath that weighs her whole body down. Her feet flatten from where she had risen on her toes, and slowly she pulls her hands back, extricating herself from him in the only way she can.
“Goodbye, Frank,” she says, after taking a step back. His eyes meet hers now, his pupils blown wide as he stares at her with that look that is both wild and soft. And yet still contained. Still careful. Too damn careful.
“Goodbye, Karen.”
She turns around before he finishes saying her name. A little embarrassed, a little frustrated, a little heartbroken.
Down the hall she jams the down button on the elevator, hears the old thing whirr and groan its way to his floor before it dings open.
The noise wakes him from a trance of good intentions and undesired restraint.
Karen steps into the small space and stares at its back wall with a shaky hand raised to her lips, waiting to turn until she hears the doors start to close. She doesn’t know what she had been hoping for from this farewell, but she knows she didn’t get it.
And then, just as the doors are coming together, a hand slams between them with a bang, sending them recoiling back open.
Frank steps heavily into the elevator, slapping the emergency stop button as he does. And then he stills. His eyes are still wide and wild, focusing in on her, but this time there’s a greater openness to them than she’s ever seen before. He steps toward her gently, his hand rising slowly, a single finger lifting the strap of her bag and dropping it on the ground. He cups her face in both hands, and for a moment simply stares at her. When he does move again, it’s slow, intentional, as he leans in and presses his lips to her forehead. He follows the line of her nose to press a soft kiss and its tip. And then, finally, finally, his lips find hers.
She’s enveloped in the tenderness of him, his mouth soft and warm against hers. He holds them there, both of them sinking into the sensation before deepening the kiss, and all at once he crashes like a wave over her senses. Her arms wrap around his neck, pulling herself into him as he pushes up against her. They melt together, lost in each other.
Ok this is driving me and my friend crazy, can anyone remember which movie/tv show has a scene with a woman using her compact makeup powder to reveal some sort of lasers???
I’m rereading P&P and just- The thought of Fitzwilliam Darcy listening in absolute petrified horror and mortification while Lady Catherine expounds on Elizabeth’s impertinence when she so condescendingly went to speak to her about the impossiblity of her marrying her nephew. And then having her indignantly quote that upon being told that she would be despised by everyone connected to him Elizabeth’s answer was that “the wife of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her situation, that she could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine.”
Darcy just staring at his aunt, who probably takes this as shocked indignation, while he tries to start believing that Elizabeth ‘I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry’ Bennet said those words, about him, to his aunt’s face
@ezbozart I hope this OK but I could not get your art out of my head and I had to write this:
Scar Tissue
The night is warm, the promise of rain in the air. Nile scratches idly at the label on her beer bottle. It’s in Dutch, so she has no idea what it says.
It’s nice. She’s on her third one and doesn’t feel anything yet. She would normally be feeling something by now, but at this point nothing about her body should surprise her.
She remembers Andy drowning a bottle of vodka on the plane and thinks perhaps quantity and speed is how you get one over on immortal livers.
But she'd have to go inside for more beer and inside means people and talking and questions.
Copley looks at her neck. Because of course he fucking does.
‘You’re one of them.’
‘Yeah, I’m new.’
She touches her throat.
The door behind her slides open and she startles.
‘Sorry.' Joe leans against the railing next to her and hands her another beer. She places her empty bottle on the floor. 'Booker has some tops with the high neck because… you know.'
She nods. She knows.
They drink in silence for awhile. Her eyes on the moon, his on the door.
Joe's is an oddly thin, flat line. Just under his sternum. She saw it at the lab, thick and shiny against his skin. We killed each other. Many times. She tries to imagine Nicky's heavy sword, pressed through skin and bone.
She can't match it up the image of them now, how Nicky curls around Joe's back as they sway in the kitchen. Nicky's hands, laying one on top of the other, press against Joe's chest. Against his scar.
She trails her own fingers against her neck almost absent mindedly. If Joe notices, he makes no comment.
‘Where is Nicky’s?'
‘How do you know-- ah.’ He turns and leans over the railing. ‘The lab. Nicky’s is a bit… easier to cover.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I swiped low, under his shield. Aiming for the femoral artery.’ Joe takes a slow sip of his beer, his eyebrow raised pointedly.
‘Oh God, it's on his dick, isn’t it?’ Nile asks, startling a laugh out of Joe.
‘Not exactly his dick, no.’
Nile puts her hands up. ‘I won’t ever ask about it.’
'He'd show you if you wanted to see. I got a good swing all across here-' Joe waves his free hand and Nile covers her eyes.
'Nope. Don't need to know, thank you.'
They laugh. It feels good. It feels freeing.
Joe doesn't look. His eyes stay on hers and it's easy. She feels freer than she has since she woke up in the med bay.
'Quỳnh used to say it could be worse.' Joe says, as the conversation and beer run low.
Nile hums. He leans, brushes his arm along hers.
'It could be worse,' he says softly. His hand strays to his chest. 'You could have died.'
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