#Better not be the last though COME ON FANDOM DON'T LET ME DOWN FOR ONCE

[whysamwhy123]

Now that Mariah May's officially in AEW, I can write that silly little crackfic idea I've had bouncing around in my brain ever since the rumours started! Like everything I write, this fic will be for precisely no one, even more so than what usual. But IT'S FUNNY TO ME IN MY LITTLE BRAIN AND I WANT HER TO INTERACT WITH MY VARIOUS BLORBOS SO IMMA WRITE IT AND THERE'S NOTHING ANYONE CAN DO TO STOP ME except not read it, rendering it a waste of my time and making me feel bad about myself, I guess

[einsvei]

Embracing Frostiness .1

Pairing(s) : Kalim al Asim, Riddle Rosehearts, Malleus Draconia

❅ — about. "Your lips taste familiar. it's my favourite flavour, isn't it? Let me have another taste, please?"... ( 2.3k ) ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʷʰᶦᶜʰ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳ ᶦˢ ᵐʸ ᶠᵃᵛᵒᵘʳᶦᵗᵉ. ᴵ'ᵐ ˢʰᵃᵐᵉˡᵉˢˢ.

☃︎ — warnings. Fluffy headcannons and mini scenarios, all SFW. If you count kissing and teasing as suggestive, then there's that. Here is my shitty Christmas present to the TWST fandom.

Setting: the boys are still NRC students and classes/studying are mentioned.

Kalim Al-Asim, Coconut.

"You taste sweeter than usual!"

As soon as your lips touch, he stills. A thousand questions run through his mind, and greedy for an answer, he continues to place eager kisses on your face. It tastes so familiar, but its nearly the last thing on his mind.

He could get addicted to the taste of your lips, he thinks. Will hum curiously and keep you pressed against him, rendering you unable to get away.

Even when you push him, desperate for a breath of air, his lips will without a fail chase yours. Would probably shamelessly lick you if he's feeling more playful. He'd definitely lick his own lips after the two of you separate, how evil.

Kalim is a lover of PDA. He wants everyone to know how much he loves you, and vice versa! kisses, hugs, hand holding, nothing is entirely off the table when it comes to you. It's how he greets you and says goodbye, one of the main ways to communicate the near suffocating amount of affection he holds for you and those he holds very dear.

But as soon as you start adding lip balm with specific flavouring, expect his kiss attacks to become increasingly more frequent— and by that, i mean, it's the only thing he can think about.

"What flavour is it today?"

"I hope it's the one from yesterday again!"

Kalim wouldn't mind any other choices of flavours you would choose, but you can tell how much more longing his stares get when you use the coconut one, saved for special occasions.

You can encourage him using this ( Jamil recommended, ) for rewards in tests, mock exams, finishing homework on time, or simply by doing well in class. It will work very efficiently, unsurprisingly so, and by consequence— expect a nod of approval from the vice housewarden every once and awhile.

He'll wonder absentmindedly during class, only brought back by Jamil's book snapping shut beside him. He can only smile sheepishly and apologise.

But if the prospect of being rewarded for his due diligence is on the table, he'd be remarkably concentrated and very passionate on the basis of schoolwork. Though, Kalim is still Kalim, so make sure to bring him back down to earth if his mind wanders. If classes are out, its free game in his books!

Anytime he'd see you, he would, without a doubt, steal kisses from you— whether it's in passing due to him being in a hurry or simply doing it distractedly. It's as if a switch had been flipped inside of him, and a deep craving of the syrupy taste of you is all he can think about.

"When did you buy this? do you have any more of it?"

Assuming that you would tell him it was simply an offhanded purchase, or a one time thing, he'd stare at you curiously, before nodding resolutely. You'd do well to remember that look, as it usually means that an incredible amount of money is about to be spent.

Kalim will make sure that you have a very large stock worth of flavoured lip balm or Chapstick always at the ready. He's giddy, nearly vibrating with excitement as he watched you pick them out at Sam's shop. If there isn't anything that catches your eye, don't worry! he'll contact his parents and get a couple crates fully stocked imported and sent straight to ramshackle.

If by some stroke of luck— or misfortune, Kalim is more mischievous that day, he will whine and pout; yet won't say anything. He'll expect you to already know what he wants, simply by his mood. Better give him those kisses he clearly yearns so much for.

Will follow you around with those wide eyes of his, trailing closely behind you like a lost puppy. The display is just so adorable, you can't help but shower him with all the kisses he wants; smooshing the apple of his cheeks.

Coconut is his favourite flavour, and you're one of his favourite people; so Kalim thinks it's the best of both of his most prized worlds.

He's very indulgent by nature, and he'll definitely take advantage of your willingness and play into your love for him in exchange for more sweet tasting kisses. It's your fault you got him addicted to the taste of you, y'know? make sure to take responsibility.

Riddle Rosehearts, Strawberry.

"Don't just kiss me out of nowhere! what? huh...there's something different?"

In common riddle fashion when it comes to physical affection, he'll completely freeze up, body going stock still.

His face is rapidly gaining a red hue, and it threatens to take over his entire face. It feels to him, and looks to you; that his brain has completely shut off, as its not exactly sure how to respond to your straightforward affections.

You gotta let him know before you kiss him, lest this happens. Sure, it seems funny, and you might get a little chuckle out of it, but riddle doesnt like to feel like hes being made fun of. Occasional teasing is alright in his books, but he's very tight strung outside of your relationship and may sometimes find it difficult to tone it down.

If he were to ask for one, there would have to be a lot of prerequisites needed in order for it to happen. Not being a fan of PDA, you would have to be alone; and of course, you'd have to ask first. It's not that riddle doesn't want your affection, that's very far from it.

He is very starved for touch and affection, due to his very strained relationship with his mother. Unfortunately because of that, Riddle doesn't know how to receive affection-- be it in gifts or in the physical sense. He's glad you remembered his favourite flavour, and will compliment you shyly on your memory; he expects nothing but the best from his partner, after all.

He'll be very nervous if you kiss him randomly, but will notice that something is different awhile after he manages to reboot himself appropriately.

Being extremely observant, ( not to mention the fact that since he's not exactly allowed to have sweets, he will notice the delicious taste almost instantly. ) It'll be addressed, but only after a confused and blush ridden riddle scolds you, of course.

Riddle has a hidden sweet tooth, and doesn't get to indulge in it very often, so he may start seeking you out in the hallways, and drag you to an empty corridor or classroom, and ask for a kiss. Maybe if he felt more bold, he would wordlessly ask for permission before taking what he wants.

"Is it...is it on, today?"

he couldn't dare meet your eyes, it's taking a lot out of him to even ask! Riddle was taught to not be selfish, but maybe it's okay if it's with you, right? He'd cough into his fist, and give you a peck. It's up to you if you want to deepen the kiss ( he wouldn't complain,) or keep them simple in scale. Riddle won't outright say it, lest he wants to embarrass himself— but he sometimes catches himself watching your glossy lips whenever you speak.

Whenever you lick them, he yearns to taste it off of you; but knows to restrain himself. His kisses are shy, and he quickly learns to relish the delicious taste that rests on your lips. In due time, the more comfortable riddle is with you through the journey of your relationship, he'll become more eager, and show more vulnerability intimacy wise. He may let out a small whine into your lips and shut his eyes tight, embarrassed to lock eyes with your own during such a moment.

Perhaps ingesting lip balm so continuously isn't the best for his system, so he advises you to not wear it all the time. Even though he could just— not kiss you all the time when you're wearing it. He's tempted to collar you for that thought.

Dorm members will comment on their housewardens behaviour offhandedly, 'he seems less ... him?' or rather, the version that they're essentially used to seeing, at the very least. Your kisses are always slow and delicate, as if you're afraid riddle would break if you pushed him too far. He prefers to not be taken lightly due to his stature, and will encourage you to not play softly with him all the time— his manly pride is important!

But Riddle knows that you want to cherish the moments that the both of you are able to be physically intimate like this for as long as he’ll let you. The pleasant calming scent from the scented balm and the tempting taste of your lips helps relax him a lot more than he had initially thought. Expect his mood to be a lot less capricious than it used to be— Trey and Heartslabyul as a whole is very grateful to you. Its a very small change in his eyes, but in an outsider's perspective, it's major. Don't expect any further leniency on rule breaking, though.

Malleus Draconia, Ice cream

“You really remembered?”

Depending on how far along your relationship with malleus is, he'd be hard pressed to either do one of two things; cling onto you constantly and follow you, or practically have to restrain himself physically so he doesn't always seek you out.

Lillia told him some people prefer when their partners aren't always around them, and in common draconian fashion, took those words very seriously in assuming you and everyone else were the same way. Malleus is quite lonely, so don't take it too much to heart if he happens to cling onto a bit too much. You're the only one aside from his family that he's been able to confide in, whether it be about his emotional insecurity or physical— and with that comes the responsibility of reassuring him every now and again. He won't tell you, of course, but if you're observant enough to notice it, make sure to not leave that alone, lest it escalates.

With the array of peculiarity twisted wonderland holds as a whole, you'd be surprised if you didn't find anything of odd origins at the mystery shop. So spotting the ice cream flavoured lip balm on a shelf is the least astonishing thing you've experienced so far. Don't look too deep into the logic side of things, and buy it! And subsequently, malleus would notice the change by the smell alone. He yearns to be near you and prefers to not take any opportunities when he is for granted. So, when he catches a whiff of a scent he's very familiar with that isn't your natural one, his interest is immediately peaked.

“Something smells different about you today.”

He would sniff you to pinpoint it, As he knows that the scent is on you, but wishes to know exactly where it is. Stopping at your face, his eyes bore into yours, and he'll expect an answer. Tap your lips, or if you'd say it verbally, it would most likely end the same way. A smile would paint his face, a soft crease in his eyes— he's amused.

“Human inventions are incredibly peculiar. How amusing...”

He'd whisper before sealing your lips with his own, greedily and shamelessly licking the seam of your mouth slowly. Make sure to tell him if it's too much, he'll stop, of course, but will expect more. He's overjoyed ( silently ) that you recalled his favourite food and thought of him enough to buy something that he liked. Don't be surprised when small trinkets, stunning gems and miscellaneous items find their way to your hands, in return. Malleus wants you to know, and will try his best to make it very clear that he thinks about you as much as you do him— if not more.

If malleus wants a peck, or a kiss in between classes, or during a late night walk, he'll tap his lips— as you did before.

It'll become a bit of a signal for you both to speak the words that you, or he may be too nervous to speak aloud at times. Malleus is the prince of chivalry, and will always make sure your consent is spoken for whenever physical intimacy like that is present; the last thing he wants to do is potentially hurt you or make you uncomfortable in any way shape or form.

Once the first encounter is done with, expect a very disgruntled pair of knights to ask you where their young master is— his sneaking away has gotten incredibly worse as of late! Don't say anything too obvious, or show them the note he wrote you with a location sprawled on the back of it to them. Sebek is very skeptical when told you have nothing to do with it, but Silver and Lillia will work to reassure him and get off your back. Just make sure they never catch you kissing! though one would be more aghast than the rest, to be fair.

His kisses are delicate, yet hold an undertone of soft eagerness, be aware that he can, and will nip at your lips to tease. Due to his duties as future heir, be prepared to be bombarded with affection by malleus when all is said and done. You're his reprieve, his haven outside of the world that seems to do nothing but fear him— and he cherishes you more than you could possibly ever know. Expect very slow sessions of smooching, and a heavy sigh to leave him as he visibly deflates in your hold, arms wrapped around you.

“Does your tongue taste as sweet as your lips? Shall we see?”

( ༄) EINSVEI⠀𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ⸰౨ৎ ͙ࣳ ━━ all rights reserved. I implore you to not plagiarize or steal my works. ❅*‧ ִֶ!

[forasecondtherewedwon]

After the Horse Has Bolted

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Jane x Guildford Rating: T Word Count: 1899

Summary: Though they escaped execution, Guildford continues to struggle with his transformations and, worse, with dreams of losing Jane. A frank conversation with Susannah might help more than he expects it to.

He loves her like this, watching her move about the camp at twilight. She isn't the only person here with medical knowledge, and she lacks the experience to deal with more severe battle wounds, and some of the Ethians are steadfastly distrustful, but there are enough willing to let Jane close, and enough minor wounds, and, generally, enough patients to go around. Her skills are badly needed.

As Jane tends to people, Guildford feels a bit useless. Though he did try to help, he quickly realized it was all too unfamiliar for him to be of much use. Besides, these people don't extend the same welcome to him as they do Jane. He doesn't have her bedside manner, he supposes. Fuck them for finding him slightly jumpy and suspicious after one of their own (technically, one of his own, but fuck) attempted to murder him with iron manacles. But he thinks this without heat. These people are their allies—almost their only allies—and he's trying to see what Jane sees.

Mostly, he just likes seeing Jane. Jane in the early morning, scavenging in the woods for medicinal plants. Jane winning over strangers by sitting at their side to cut the thread of their stitches with her teeth instead sitting on the throne to sign a document they may never feel the benefit of. Jane alive. Guildford hasn't told her yet that he sees her differently when he closes his eyes. He sees her pristine white dress across the square, the black strip that blinds her. In his dreams, he watches helplessly as she kneels and the axe swings down. That's when he wakes up screaming her name.

Yeah, maybe that's another reason these people feel a little uneasy around him.

Except Susannah. Susannah's been marvellous. They've sort of met before—him below the stairs with the beautiful woman he would next see walking up the aisle of a church, her rushing down those stairs to warn Archer about the guards, then the night of the attempted assassination outside the old Ethian camp—but Susannah makes more of their acquaintance than it really is. She does it so the others will trust him, because they clearly trust her. They listen to her. It isn't long before Guildford learns it was Susannah who mustered the rescue party that saved his and Jane's lives, though he suspects as much even before it's confirmed. He sees their bond. He's grateful for it.

How grateful though, is the thing, when Susannah plonks herself down on the log where Guildford's seated, and follows his eyes, smirking to catch him gazing at Jane.

"D'you ever let your wife ride you?"

He can't look at her as he responds, "Just the once, escaping execution."

"Ah, y'know that's not what I mean."

"No, I don't know that," Guildford says stubbornly.

Susannah hunches forward and catches his eye.

"How come you're blushin' then?"

"Piss off."

"No."

He looks at her, and she's grinning. While Jane was raised a lady and Susannah supported herself in service, Guildford's found them to be cut from a very similar cloth. They're both unflinchingly bold when they want to be. Cautious, at other times, but not timid. Not everyone can tell the difference. He's been learning Jane, and is beginning to know Susannah, and he can tell she's teasing him for a reason. It might be friendly, or a protective test of Jane's husband's mettle, or something else. Whatever it is, Guildford realizes he's probably better off not trying to shut her out. They're persistent, these two women.

"Want to know why I'm asking?" Susannah prompts.

"I'm guessing you'll tell me."

"Very good!" She shifts closer and lowers her voice. "It's 'cause I've heard you screamin' your feckin' head off the last three nights."

"And you thought Jane was responsible?"

"Yeah, I hoped she was ridin' you like there's no tomorrow. Two reasons for that. You want 'em?"

"Terrific," Guildford says flatly.

"One," Susannah says, holding up a finger to show the count, "because back when Jane and I lived under the same roof, I was beginning to have serious concerns that she was never gonna let herself enjoy herself. It was a virgin you took to your marriage bed, Guildford, no question."

"You are nosy, aren't you?" He scowls at her, but Susannah stares back, unfazed.

"It's the same for her with me. If your hair wasn't curled already, she'd have stories to tell you that'd do the job."

"Please just get to your second reason."

Susannah sighs.

"If it's not Jane, somethin's troublin' you, and it can't go unaddressed. We can't have that. You'll either attract trouble to our camp or somebody already livin' in it'll stab you themselves to keep you quiet. Probably your wife."

Guildford sags. He knows she's right—the last thing he wants to be is a liability. He doesn't want to get anyone else hurt or killed. Especially Jane. Jane, who was sentenced to death for marrying him. Jane, who stood in the fire with him, the bond between them even stronger than the rope that wouldn't split. She would die for him. Without question, without thought, without hesitation. But he wouldn't survive getting her killed.

Susannah has fallen silent, apparently waiting for him to suggest a solution. Guildford doesn't know if this is an Ethian thing or just a Susannah thing: allowing that the person with the problem probably knows themselves best. He thinks it's likely that she's wrong in his case, believing himself the picture of stunted self-knowledge and repressed memories. He takes a deep breath. He can't be that man anymore. It doesn't do anyone any good, himself included.

"I keep dreaming she was executed. You and the Ethians don't come, and I can't get free of the ropes, and I see her beheaded." His own throat feels painfully thick as he forces the words out.

"I can see why that'd be botherin' you."

"It nearly happened," Guildford agrees.

"That's not why. I don't think it's about Jane."

"Of course it is!"

But Susannah's shaking her head.

"It's not her who's powerless, it's you. In the dream, you're tethered. Outside the dream, what is it you feel you can't control?"

Slowly, Guildford understands what she's getting at. He answers, "My transformation. My Ethianism." He narrows his eyes at Susannah. "You're very insightful."

"I'm not, actually. You just have a very straightforward problem: mental impotence. See it all the time in men. Tragic affliction."

He catches sight of her smirk and wants to shove her off the log.

"Have the two of you been able to fuck since the near-execution, by the way?" Susannah asks.

"Thank you for the advice, doctor," Guildford says sarcastically, head cocked to one side, "but that is really none of your concern. Try meddling in your own relationship."

"What relationship would that be?"

He frowns.

"Are you and Archer not...?"

"Archer?!" Susannah catches herself and continues more softly. "In his dreams. Not to be insensitive," she adds, making Guildford roll his eyes. "But no, definitely not. Trust me, if he'd been lucky enough to have me in his bed, he wouldn't have been lookin' at..."

It's far too obvious that Susannah has just caught herself again, but Guildford's glad she did. His trust in his wife is absolute. That doesn't mean he would appreciate Archer attempting to come between them. He rises, deciding to forget Archer and focus on Jane.

"Try the sex thing," Susannah says on their parting. "It might help, is all!"

"Try the minding your own business thing!"

Guildford actually does plan on trying something thanks to this conversation, but it's not sex. (Yet. Later? Gods, yes.)

He doesn't try to sleep that night, not yet. He lies on his back in the dark, listening to the low murmur of conversation from the lookouts tending the campfire, to the sound of his own even breathing. He stares up at the trees, their shapes black against the blue-black night. Sometimes, he stares past them at the stars.

Before dawn, Guildford gently rouses Jane from where she sleeps beside him. Between treating the injured and being startled awake by his screams, she hasn't been getting as much rest as she needs, but he hopes she'll understand. Taking her hand, he leads her to a clearing a short distance from the camp. Someplace they'll be able to see the sky change colour ahead of sunrise. They walk with soft steps. The yawn Jane can't stifle has the round, open notes of birdsong. Soon, real birds begin to sing. He wonders whether any Ethians are among them.

Gradually, everything brightens.

"Stand here," Guildford says, taking Jane's hands in his plea, then dropping them and backing off to a safe distance.

She doesn't argue. He's told her about his mother.

Before the light of day can rush across the horizon, Guildford closes his eyes and concentrates. There's no risk of imminent death to compel him now. He has to know if he can do it anyway. Instead of resisting thoughts of the past, he permits himself to recall how it feels to change, concentrating until the sensation is alive in him. Instead of disconnecting from the present, he inhales the earthy scent of the forest, shifts his boots on the ground, knows without looking that Jane is standing where he left her, waiting for him, trusting him.

He changes just before daybreak.

In this form, his hearing is keener, keen enough to pick up Jane's quiet gasp from across the clearing. His own steady breathing expands his strong lungs, drawing in details of his environment that are beyond his human senses. What he likes best is Jane's smile as she approaches him, the soothing strokes of her hands on his face. He stands there on four legs, enjoying her gentle touch and the heat of the sun on his flank, then, closing his eyes to the world once more, Guildford changes back.

He's stumbling forward into Jane's arms before he realizes he never moved away from her before trying to transform. Obviously, his human form is smaller and therefore less of a hazard, but Guildford isn't convinced that was the ruling instinct. It felt more like... he just knew he could do it. He was sure of himself, in that body and in this one, and in whatever he is during the fleeting moment in between.

"Guildford! How did you do that?" she demands, full of awe and urgent curiosity. "I haven't seen you control it since the night we escaped the Tower!"

Yes, that's true. After bearing her away from that place, he turned back into a man. That's how he was when the Ethians found them, and how he remained through the night. At dawn, he despaired, once again becoming a horse against his will. It persisted. Day, horse. Night, man. The terrible dreams. This morning has been Guildford's first time taking the reins, so to speak. It's a colossal relief, and he looks lovingly into Jane's eyes, knowing she understands that much, even if she can't yet explain the rest.

It seems to him that the best words to say are, "I've always wanted to kiss you at daybreak."

"That's a lot of effort for a kiss," Jane observes.

"Then you'd better make it worth it," he retorts with a grin.

And he holds her, and she does.

[mins-fins]

LABYRINTH (L.CH)

SUMMARY . . . it's really easy to just say "i'm fine" and go on with it, anton doesn't take it, though.

PAIRING . . . anton lee x male!reader

GENRE . . . fluff, light light angst

WARNINGS . . . mentions of sleep deprivation

WORD COUNT . . . 0.7k

NOTES . . . *taps mic* hi anton lovers, hi again riize fandom, i love anton hes just so 😢 anyway i didn't willingly make this the demons stole my computer and typed it out for me 🙏 *crowd cheers and applauses and fire alarms go off and the place explodes*

. . . my beloved mother (aka the best and only elif i know) @jinkiseason asked to be tagged so here you go (you better read this 😡) (i made it in your wc range/j)

"y/n".

said boy startles, almost hitting his head on the counter. he groans, covering his face for a moment. once his eyesight registers, he looks up to see his roommate, whose eyes are focused on the textbooks set on the kitchen counter. "shit sorry, what time is it?" he asks, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"it's two am" y/n swears he almost gasps out loud when he hears. two? as in two in the morning? that can't be.. "i— i'm sorry did i disturb you? i didn't mean to fall asleep i just—"

"no no" anton cuts into his sentence. "your not disturbing me.. i— why are you sleeping on the kitchen counter?"

how long did i doze off for?

"i was.." y/n pauses as he catches anton's gaze, he recognizes that gaze. he's seen it from his parents, his older siblings, his ex lovers, his friends, and just.. strangers. anton already knows how he's going to respond. "studying".

anton closes his eyes, sighing, and y/n feels that recognizable shame curl in his gut. "y/n.. what time did you start studying?"

y/n goes silent once again, disappointedly looking down at the kitchen counter as he begins to drag his finger up and down it, trying to distract himself. he feels another curl of shame in his gut when he hears anton sigh, again.

"y/n—"

"i know i know, i'm sorry" he immediately says, feeling like he did something wrong, anton's tone of voice was really stressing him out, he hated that tone of voice, he hated the way it was so recognizable and how anxious it made him feel. "i didn't mean to upset you".

anton simply blinks, then shakes his head. "it's not your fault" he whispers, walking up to y/n and rubbing a hand up and down his back. "y/n i worry about you".

y/n musters up a smile, but he's so tired he can't even keep it up, frowning immediately. "i have so many exams this week.. this is my best bet—"

"no, you need to sleep".

y/n chuckles sleepily, his eyes barely able to stay open. "it's okay, i can rest after my exams are ove—"

"do you really think i'm gonna let you do that?"

y/n pauses, biting the inside of his cheek. he almost laughs once again, but he stays silent. anton looks at him for a moment; then closes his textbook. "come on".

"come on where?"

"your going to sleep" anton states, he doesn't ask or even wait for an answer, he just says it like he knows what he's doing. y/n looks at him like he just said something crazy, but anton doesn't budge.

"what?"

anton looks at him for a split second, sighing. "i don't want you to disagree with me, your going to sleep whether you like it or not".

y/n scoffs; "i'm not even tire—"

"its two in the morning, you studied all day, you are going to sleep".

anton grabs his arm, helping him stand up and dragging him away from the kitchen counter. y/n lightly yelps, but it's quiet. "anton, seriously, i don't need sleep, i'm fine i don't—"

"you need to stop trying to argue with me" anton mutters, turning on the sink and handing y/n his toothbrush. "i care about you, and your going to sleep, whether you like it or not".

y/n finally sighs, he stops trying to argue with anton, which makes the other smile. he grabs his toothbrush, hoping he's not that tired and can successfully do it.

"when was the last time you even got a full eight hours?"

y/n gives anton a look, not being able to respond because he's brushing his teeth, he lightly shoves his shoulder and anton laughs. that's pretty ironic considering anton barely gets sleep himself.

"your talking about eight hours?" y/n says, rinsing his mouth before looking back up. "you barely get sleep yourself".

"yeah but this is about you is it not?"

"i hate you".

anton deadpans for a moment, snickering. "no you don't" he easily responds, smiling. "now chop chop, you need to sleep".

"don't rush me".

"i will if i want to! come on, sleep!"

y/n sighs, yawning, but follows.

[irritablepoe]

My ao3 fics - Masterpost

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

Bungou Stray Dogs

Multiple Chapters:

how do i say goodbye (22/?) - follows ranpoe's relationship post-canon

embrace the sound of enchantment (3/?) - royal au for ranpoe with ranpo as the prince and poe as his servant

communication methods (3/?) - stalker/yandere poe with a very willing and encouraging ranpo

Ranpoe Oneshots

i could never forget you - ranpo and poe decide to meet up, though even after waiting for an hour, ranpo doesn't show up; hurt/comfort

in the low lamp light i was free - ranpo comes home from defeating fyodor. poe takes care of him

too much at once - poe is overwhelmed at a party; ranpo takes care of him

the feverish heat of yours - omegaverse au, omega!poe and alpha!ranpo

awake on a midsummer night - poe has his obsessive moments. ranpo does too.

do you regret meeting me? - ranpo asks poe exactly that; poe shows him how much he loves him

(un)holy ghost who haunts your home - poe has a dissociative episode when he's outside with ranpo

betrayal from the beginning - poe is kidnapped by fitzgerald; ranpo saves him

meet me on the rooftop - ranpo and poe have a conversation on a rooftop while looking at a sunset

keeping an eye out (while i flirt with you) - bartender au, lots of flirting

you hold me hypnotized, i'm mesmerized - character study/inner monologue of poe

mine to possess - pre-canon poe and his brother talk about ranpo; he's at his worst here

a worthy opponent - may the better one win - pre-canon interaction of ranpoe before the mystery game

Other Oneshots:

kill me with your kindness (i'll gladly surrender) - fyolai; fyodor needs a hug

bleeding memories - mushimizo; character study

tell me you're part of me - fyodor and poe meet because of business; fyodor tries to get poe on his side

a hat a day keeps the bad thoughts away - multiple fandoms; crack fic about hats

are you getting sentimental with me now? - poe and fitzgerald; poe is at his worst when he shows up to breakfast; fitzgerald takes care of him

shared grief of broken men - fitzgerald and poe talk a bit about grief and life

courtesy visit - gone wrong (no clickbait) - poe and lovecraft go on a mission together

a ship for the two of us - bramcraft; they're enjoying a meal (a ships crew) together :3

Moriarty The Patriot

pillows to ride on in a maid dress - louis; i'll not elaborate, the title says it all

need a little help with that? - continuation of "pillows to ride on in a maid dress" with james bonde

Vicious

let this bullet pierce you - victor finally hunting eli down

torture me lightly - post-canon; victor sees hallucinations

with my last breath i think of you - victor dies and thinks of eli

Crime and Punishment

your help heals all my wounds (17/?) - post-canon events of crime and punishment; razras; dunya/sonya

affection - oneshot; razras

there will come a soldier and a poet - lotr au; poet!raskolnikov and soldier!razumikhin

Jackaby

not a word of gratitude - jackaby is alone. he'll always end up alone

don't turn away with this heavy heart of yours - abigail and jackaby talk about jackaby's emotions

Arcane

rest now - viktor is extremely sleep-deprived and faints. jayce finds him

these are not all of my fics, if you want more go check out my other works. a lot of them are written for whumptober 2023, so mind the tags on them. mind the tags in general lol.

the fics are all restricted to ao3 users only because of ai scrapping, i'm very sorry

thank you for reading through this and if you decide to read them thank you as well it means a lot to me <3

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

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Daddy Knows Best, Part IV

Title: Daddy Knows Best, Part IV 

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI 

Pairing: StepDad!August Walker x StepDaughter!Reader  

Fandom: Mission: Impossible - Fallout 

Word Count: 3.3K 

Summary: August Walker and your father were once friends. One mission, a single decision, made them enemies. August decides he needs to get his revenge. And what better way, than to become your new Daddy? 

Chapter Summary: Daddy and Babydoll deal with the police, and attempt to move on after the tragedy.

Warnings: pet names (Daddy, Babydoll, babygirl), age gap (the reader is 18, August is in his late-30s), loss of a parent (mother), police interrogation, Dom/sub vibes, unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, dead dove: do not eat 

A/N: This is different from my usual fics. This would be considered dark!fic in every way possible. If you read the warnings and still choose to read, you are making your own decision. No one is forcing you to read this. This is an entirely self-indulgent therapeutic fic. Enjoy! Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.  

Dividers by: @saradika 

Support/Reblog banner by me 

Cover Art by me 

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist 

You wake in your bedroom, the early afternoon sun shining through the curtains. You roll over on your side and expect to see Daddy but he’s not in the room. Deciding to take a shower and start the day, you rise and undress.  

As you wash yourself, you are suddenly hit with an overwhelming feeling of emptiness and loss. For a few moments, you were free. And then you remembered. 

Mommy’s dead. 

You saw her lifeless body floating in the swimming pool. That vision will probably never leave your brain. The last memory of your mother is of seeing her face down. The crystal-clear water of the pool marred with the sight of her. 

Even though you had a rough relationship with her, you still mourn the loss of your mother. With your dad out of the picture, you only had one parent in your life. And now she has been taken away from you. 

The water in the shower had gone a bit cold so you rinse yourself off and grab your towel to dry yourself. You dress in a black crop top with a sleeveless black plaid A-line dress on top of it. Pulling on some black thigh-high stockings and a pair of black platform Mary Janes, you embody the look of the mournful daughter. 

You look over yourself in the mirror and try smiling at yourself. Instead, a few fat tears roll down your cheeks and you let them fall before giving up on trying to fake happiness. Wiping your face, you settle for going to find Daddy. 

Once you leave your bedroom, you walk downstairs and are surprised to see that Daddy isn’t alone. Both men stand when you reach the bottom of the stairs, but the woman stays seated with a small smile on her face. Daddy holds out an arm for you to come join them. 

“Come on over, don't be shy. This is Detective Marshall. He came to talk about what happened to your mother,” He nods at my words, “And this is Rachel, she’s a psychologist who works with Detective Marshall.” 

I watch as Babydoll walks over and stands next to me, she greets our guests and then sits leaving space between us on the couch. That’s my good girl, don’t give them the chance to question our relationship. I sit down and gesture for Marshall to continue. 

“I think I’d like to continue with you in private, if that’s alright Mr. Walker. Perhaps Rachel may speak with your stepdaughter?” Marshall suggests and I agree to his terms. 

“Why don’t you take Rachel up to your room so you two can have a little chat?” I insist, patting Babydoll’s knee softly. 

Once she nods, she and Rachel make their way upstairs and I hear the door to her bedroom shut. I look back to Marshall and he is scribbling in his little green notebook. His eyes are harder when our gazes meet. 

“Just a few more questions and I will be out of your hair, Mr. Walker.”  

“Please, call me August. Whatever I can do to help.” I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and my hands clasped together. 

“I appreciate that, August. Uh, so you say that your stepdaughter was the first to see your girlfriend’s body. Where were you at this time?” 

“I was bringing in my luggage from my car. I made it to the kitchen and noticed the open patio door. When I walked toward it, I heard her scream and caught her as she passed out. I saw her mother in the pool and realized that she wasn’t moving. After putting my stepdaughter in her bedroom, I called the police.” I kept my face neutral, but my eyes welled up a bit and I blinked away tears. 

“So, you and your stepdaughter weren’t home when your girlfriend was killed. You two had been on a trip?” 

“Yes. I had been on a trip for work, but my stepdaughter didn’t want to be here alone with her mother, so I brought her with me. Their relationship has been a bit strained since the divorce about a year ago. She misses her father and I, no matter how hard I try, am barely a substitute for him.” That’s it, play the role of a loving stepfather. 

"You mentioned you work for the CIA, Special Activities. Is it safe for you to take your stepdaughter along on business trips in your line of work?” 

“She was never in any danger. No one knew our location or that she was with me. The safe house we stayed in was discreet and out of the way. The only time she was left alone was this morning, and it was just for a couple of hours. I’m sure you understand I can’t divulge the details of my assignment. But you are more than welcome to check in with my superior, Erika Sloane.” I fish her card out of my wallet and hand it to Marshall. 

“Thank you, August. As soon as Rachel is ready, we’ll be out of your way.” 

No sooner do those words leave his mouth, than Rachel is coming down the stairs with Babydoll in tow. I notice the smiles on their faces and wonder what they got up to while they spoke. As they come back into the living room, Rachel stands next to Marshall and Babydoll stands near me. 

“I think that’s everything. We’ll be in touch, August. Thank you for your time.” Marshall reaches out to shake my hand and he smiles at Babydoll. 

For a split second, my face betrays me as I slightly scowl at him smiling at her. But in the same breath, I steady myself and look at Rachel before shaking her hand. 

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” Rachel tilts her head at Babydoll and touches her shoulder. 

I walk the detective and his partner out and once the door is closed, I turn and make my way back to the couch. My perfect little one sits with her leg under her, her big doe eyes settling on me. 

“So, sweet girl, what did you and Rachel talk about?” 

You took Rachel into your room and closed the door behind her. She looked around and smiled at the various photos and knickknacks you had scattered about the room. She sat on the edge of your bed and patted the space next to her. You sat down and she began to ask questions right away. 

“So, you and your stepdad seem close. What was your relationship like with your mother?” 

“My mom and I were never all that close. I was a lot closer with my Nanny, while she was here. Um, I guess I’m more of a Daddy’s girl. Mom was never satisfied with me, I don’t think. She always wanted me to be better. At sports, at school, at everything. She wasn’t my biggest fan. And then after the divorce, I felt even more distant from her. Dad was gone and I was left with her. Then August started dating Mom and it was weird in the beginning, but he ended up being a nice guy. And he listened to me, and he would stand up for me when Mom was on my case. I didn’t hate my mom. I just wished she liked me.” You looked away from Rachel to wipe a single tear that threatened to fall from your eye. 

“Seems like August was your knight in shining armor.”  

“Um, yeah. He cares about me. He cared about my mom too. He doesn’t treat me like a kid like Mom did. I don’t mean to make my mom seem all that bad. She was doing the best she could, I know that. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. I hope whoever did this to her rots in a jail cell forever. Sorry, I’m just angry and upset. My emotions have been a bit off the rails.” 

“It’s perfectly normal to feel sad or livid or even bitter about death. With your relationship with your mother, I am not surprised your emotions are unsure of what to do. Sometimes, we might even feel like a weight is lifted off our shoulders when a certain person in our life is gone. Nothing of what you’re feeling is wrong.” Rachel tilted her head at you and smiled.  

“Thanks.” You returned the smile and went back to fiddling with the hem of your dress. 

"Do you feel safe here with August? I only ask as a precaution. Having you in a place where you feel safe is most important.” She put a hand over yours and you froze. What did she mean by that? 

“I feel more than safe with him. He’s never given me a reason not to trust him.” You suddenly felt defensive over August and you tried to keep yourself calm. 

“Good. I’m glad you have him to help you through this trying time. But if you ever need to talk, or even if you just need someone to listen, you can call me.” She pulled a business card out of her pocket and handed it to you. 

“I don’t know if I’ll have anything to talk about but thank you.” 

“Maybe something that you can’t talk to August about. Something that maybe only another woman would understand?”  

“Oh. Ok. Um, I will let you know if anything comes up.” You stood and put the card on your desk and Rachel stood as well. 

“Good. Any time, day or night. I’ll be available at that number. Use it whenever you need me. I think that’s all I need. Why don’t we go and rejoin the others?” Rachel went to your bedroom door and let you walk out first. 

You’re not quite sure about how to feel about your interaction, but at least you felt like you defended August well and even made a new friend. She seemed nice enough anyway. 

After she tells me everything that she and Rachel talk about, I feel a bit more at ease. Less like the detective thinks I murdered her mother, but more like his partner thinks something is going on between me and Babydoll. 

Which there is, but she doesn’t need to know that. 

Even if she did know, it isn’t illegal. She’s 18, a consenting adult, and she’s well taken care of. Not that I need to explain myself to anyone. 

“Babydoll, you know you can talk to me about anything, right? Anything at all. Daddy is here to listen and to keep you safe.”  

“I know, Daddy. There is something...but, I don’t know.” She ducks her head and looks to the floor. 

I put a finger under her chin, lifting it so she can look at me. “Anything, Babydoll. You ask and I’ll make sure it gets done right away.” 

“Daddy, I...don’t want to live here anymore. All I can see around me is bad memories with Mom. Or old memories with...my father. And neither of them is in my life anymore. Does it make me a bad person that all I wanna do is move on? I feel weird even being in the living room, so close to where Mom died.” She plays with her fingers and looks down again. 

“Let me make a few calls, Babydoll. I’ll see if we can be out of the house by week’s end, alright?”  

“Thank you, Daddy. This means a lot.” She stands and wraps her arms around my neck in a tight embrace. I hug her back and lift her off the ground a bit and she giggles. The tuneful sound tickles my ears, and I am happy to be the cause of it. 

I kiss her cheek and send her up to her room to deflate. In the next few hours, I have a house lined up for us on the nicer side of town. Three bedrooms, three baths, finished basement, big backyard with an in-ground pool. A perfect place to start a new life. 

By the end of the week, we are finishing up moving all our stuff over to the new house. Other than a small crying fit that Babydoll has while she and I go through her parents’ belongings and decide what to keep and what to donate, the move was mostly hassle-free. 

One morning after a run to clear my head, I was surprised to have a visit from Detective Marshall, and this time he only wanted to talk to me. I let him in and ask Babydoll to give us some privacy. We talk for a short while about moving from the old house and how Babydoll is doing. I ask him to cut to the chase and he nods and tells me Babydoll’s father’s body has been found.  

He was discovered in a hotel room with substances in his system, along with a suicide note that included his confession to killing his ex-wife. At that bombshell, I’m visibly unnerved. Marshall reaches out a hand to my shoulder and apologizes for having to deliver this information.  

He makes a sort-of backhanded comment that my former partner must not have liked that I took his place in his family. I responded by saying it wasn’t appropriate to make assumptions about dead men. Besides, as his ex-wife told me many times, they were rocky well before I stepped in. Marshall also stated that since Babydoll’s father had confessed to the murder this case was now officially closed, and we could go ahead with a burial ceremony. 

I thanked him for relaying the news and escorted him to the front door. Before he left, he made sure I knew he would be keeping an eye on us. Seems the detective doesn’t trust me. I couldn’t care less, honestly. Let him try and pin this all on me. 

I mean, he could pin it all on me if he wanted to do so. It's not like he would be wrong in doing so.  

But I covered all my tracks and sealed them airtight. And with my record, they’d be ridiculous to come after me now that they have a confession and another dead body on their hands. 

I wait until the detective drives off in his large black Ford F-Series, leave my sneakers at the door, and then make my way up to find Babydoll. I find her sprawled across the bed in the Master bedroom, sketching something in her notebook. Technically, this is my bedroom and hers is down the hall, but she sleeps with me most nights. 

“What are you up to, Babydoll?” I ask, coming around the bed to sit next to her and peer into her notebook. 

She shuts it before I can get a good look inside, “It’s a surprise, Daddy. You can’t see it yet.” 

“Oh, I'm not allowed to see it yet, huh? Well, I guess Babydoll isn’t allowed to cum tonight then. How about that?”  

Fuck, I loved to tease her. She always made the cutest little pouty faces. 

“Daddy! No! Please may I cum tonight? I’ll do anything. Just, I was making you something special and I don’t wanna show you ‘til it’s finished. I don’t wanna ruin the surprise. Please?” There goes that little pouty lip of hers, it could make me agree to anything. 

“Ok, fine, Babydoll. But you’re gonna cum when Daddy says to.” 

“I can be a good girl for you, Daddy. I promise.” 

“There’s my good girl,” I lay back against the pillows after I shuck my muscle tank, joggers, and socks, “Show me that sweet little pussy while Daddy gets his dick ready for you.” I take out my length and start to stroke it while she pulls her panties down, laying on her back so she can show me how she plays with herself. 

Within minutes, her cunt is making those glorious squelching sounds I love so much while she fingers herself for me. I am beyond hard at this point and I am salivating just to get inside her.  

“Come up here and lay back Babydoll. Let Daddy have his turn now.”

She removes her fingers from her wet snatch and slides next to me. I take off my boxers and my cock springs up and bounces against my abdomen. Leaning over her, I position my dick at her entrance and slowly slide in thanks to the wetness she has accumulated. 

“Fuck, Babydoll, you are so tight. You feel so perfect around me.” I don’t stop until my balls are against her ass and our hips are flush together. I’ve molded this pussy to fit my shaft perfectly. Pulling out, I slam back in and am rewarded with her angelic little whimpers. 

I don’t necessarily need to last long; I just need to make sure I get her to her peak before I reach mine. I find a steady rhythm thrusting in and out of her tight heat that has her keening in my ear. Her arms are around my neck and her legs are wrapped around my waist. 

I can feel her core tightening around me, and I know she is close. Reaching a hand between us, I use my thumb to flick against her clit to push her over the edge. Her moans tell me everything I need to know. 

“Cum for me, Babydoll. Soak my fucking dick, sweet baby.” Not even a second later, I feel the tell-tale signs of her orgasm as her folds flutter around me and the dam breaks loose. She screams out and I can’t help myself. 

I fuck into her until I feel my balls draw up and then I slam into her heat one last time. I swear I was going to pull out and I almost did, but the warmth and the tight fit and my exhaustion from the run got the better of me. I came deep inside her as my cockhead sat against her cervix. I didn’t give a fuck about anything except the notion of her cunt holding me so perfectly as I blew my load. 

The only sounds in the room were of us catching our breath.  

Once I could move again, I lean up on my knees and pull back from where I collapsed on top of her. Holding her legs open, I let my length slip out. Soon, my massive load starts to rush out and I push all of it back inside her as she lazily smiles up at me. I smile at her then pull her into the bathroom with me to shower. 

She’s barely able to stand in the shower and I mostly hold her steady. We both get clean enough and I help her dry off then dry myself off and we make it back to the bedroom and lay back down in bed. I tell myself it is best to talk to her now about all this instead of waiting and possibly upsetting her. 

“Alright, Babydoll. Daddy just creampied you, I didn’t pull out this time. I came inside you. Now, in the morning, Daddy is gonna run and get you a plan B pill so that you don’t get pregnant. But I think it might be time that we get you on birth control so that Daddy doesn't have to worry about this kind of thing in the future.” I speak slowly and clearly so she knows that I have her best interest at heart. 

“Ok, Daddy. Can we take a nap now? I’m exhausted.” She is already rolling over on her side and throwing an arm across my chest. 

“Yeah, Babydoll, let’s take a nap.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder and kiss the top of her head. 

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking of her tummy round and swollen with my kid and her tits heavy with milk. But I know that’s just emotion talking. As much as I want to get her pregnant, right now it is far too soon after everything with her parents. 

Right? 

Part V (coming soon) 

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long to get out, loves. Anywho, hope you enjoyed this. I still have more in me, I think. 

**Tag List** 

@winterschildren8 @raccoon-eyed-rebel @viking-raider @devotedlythoughtfulanchor @livisss @randomweirdoss @brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102 @mrs-solo-walker [Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁] 

[violetmuses]

Shattered - A. Aretas 🖤❤️‍🩹

Title: Shattered - A. Aretas 🖤❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe 

Character: Armando Aretas 

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: When Isabel Aretas seeks revenge, you cross paths with her son, Armando. @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @peaxhygirl

====

2020

Three shadows moved past burning flames as this outdoor space crackled from every direction. Nightfall casted right over this pitch-black skyline. 

Standing in one bloodied prison uniform, Isabel Aretas leads the dark moment without ever speaking. 

You've met Isabel's son, Armando, and watch as this separate vehicle pulls up to help everyone depart the large and horrific scene. 

Onward. 

_____

Still lurking in Mexico, Isabel would plot vengeance all around.

Several members of the Miami Police Department jailed her late husband, cartel leader Benito Aretas.

No matter what happens next in South Beach, loyalty stood as this main rule. Wavering from that mission reeled Isabel's plan near wrong spaces. 

Even before reaching Miami with Armando, neither of you have spoken to each other. 

An invisible air rendered your voices silent in the otherwise gorgeous compound. Though Isabel hasn't expressed herself, you've known better. 

As of late, your communication with Armando lies between cell phones: 

Armando: Ready? ✈️ 

It's time to go. You thought. 

*****

The Miami Harbor reeked of brackish yet putrid air during one summer night. Gangsters nearly huddled around this dock in search of veiled cash. 

“I knew treasure stayed in the ocean, but somebody lied to us. Coño!” Zway Rodriguez shook his capped head while facing Armando. 

“Should cover the cost of materials we've discussed. And then some.” Armando revealed slightly accented English while holding money. 

“Who's this? Hola Mami.” Zway Rodriguez ignored Armando and pointed near you, stepping closer to flirt.

“None of your business.” Armando defended you here. 

“My bad. Thought you could share, man.” Zway lifts his hands. 

Weirdo. Armando thinks. 

“Let's renegotiate, especially when you have her with you. I know plenty of ballers who'd like to see that pretty face.” Another idiot wearing terrible sunglasses moved  forward and noticed Armando, but propped you up in this disgusting manner. 

 “ What you say? We had a deal.” Stepping even closer, Armando slowly reaches his breaking point. 

“Oops.” This idiot draws his firearm and points the weapon directly toward Armando. Other goons surrounded the men, lurking. 

Smirking in the dark, you cornered yourself once Armando finally reveals this Karambit knife to stab the idiot wearing shades. 

Aretas even shoots various bullets from his own gun. Both weapons quietly tucked sleeves found near leather pants. 

“C'mere, look at me. Last warning: I don't renegotiate.” Countless body drops later, Armando defended everything and lifted the choking man's face, taking this final bullet to kill him. 

Silently gesturing for you to come back, Armando takes charge.  Zway and other survivors watch this dangerous man speak once more.

As you've learned, the Aretas Cartel drifted through shadows like ghosts, horrific in many ways. 

“My family's taking back management of this town and we'll need some loyal employees. Who wants a job?” Armando grounded leadership. 

“Dental?” Zway then dared to be stupid all over again. 

“Say that again?” Armando pointed the barrel of his gun toward Zway's chin and you only lifted your brow, just waiting for that trigger to go off. 

“Easy, Papi.” Zway just kept taunting this moment, but Armando set the firearm down and tapped Zway's gold jewelry. 

“You'll work for me now.” Armando offered Zway rules without even yelling. “If you get people to fall in line and stay out of my fucking way, I won't kill you.” 

No longer talking, Armando stepped back, leaving Zway quietly anxious and scared. 

“All right, fellas. Listen up. Listen up. Let's get this money now. Vamos!” Zway shouted toward the others and people scrambled to gather remaining cash, alive. 

Standing on the dock, you watch as Armando dialed this number to contact his mother Isabel. 

When the phone call ended, Armando turned around and looked at you. 

“Yeah?” You whispered and leaned in to hear Aretas possibly speak. 

“May I?” His accented English pulled through when Armando glanced down, politely reaching for your hand. 

“Yes.” You gently take his palm in return and exit the dock, gaining actual trust. 

*****

“I'll be back. This one is on me.”  Armando stands in his motorcycle gear and interrupts you. 

“Who's the target?” You ask. 

“Mike Lowrey. I'm tired of waiting. Tag me.” Aretas gathered essentials and left this hotel room. You would still trace the operation. 

Here we go. You thought. 

______

Jackpot! 

Not long after Armando pulled his trigger, Detective Mike Lowrey stood down. 

“Got ‘em. Are you still waiting?” Aretas questioned your location by phone. 

“Yeah, why?” You glanced around while sitting near your laptop just in case. 

“Mind if we order room service or something?” His slightly accented English returned. 

“Celebrating?” You almost laughed in response to Armando. 

“Technically. The boogeyman is gone.” Aretas grounded this phone call. 

“All right. Let's do it.” You hung up and nearly smiled.  

______

Once you offered space for Armando's privacy, both meals and dessert lined up for enjoyment. 

“What's your name again?” Sitting across this table, Aretas dares to flirt, but you don't feel uncomfortable. 

“Very funny.” You clipped back. 

“All jokes aside, I'm serious.” Armando locked eye contact. “My mother hardly introduced us after the prison break.

Realization slammed thoughts down. Isabel's escape hit the ground running with vengeance and you couldn't process time altogether. 

You barely knew the man who stayed in this hotel room, her son. 

“Where should I start?” You offered the question, genuinely puzzled. 

“Doesn't matter.” Armando shrugged for a moment and still watched you. 

Even while music played from this Bluetooth speaker, Armando couldn't glance elsewhere. 

You're beautiful. And despite sharing this mutual understanding for violence, Aretas would still take bullets for you. 

“Want my file?” You would definitely send highlights of your own battles. 

“No.” Aretas understands how lethal you are when given signals. “My mother doesn't choose amateurs.” 

“What's on your mind?” You gestured near your temple. 

You. Armando thinks. 

******

Within months of the large-scale assassination taking place, news changes everything: 

By some unexpected chance, Detective Mike Lowrey survived! 

“How'd it go?” Briefly staying in Mexico this time, you whispered to Armando once Isabel chided this situation. Her son didn't follow the hit list in order. 

“Heading right back to Miami.” Armando wouldn't make eye contact with you as this team left the compound once more. 

Dammit! Square one. 

*****

Returning to the Miami Harbor, you set out this propped laptop while scrolling names from law enforcement databases and Armando watches. 

“Do it right. No more chances.” You warned him, reasonably irritable now. 

“Be careful…” Armando walked behind you and his sleeved arms over your space. 

“Am I wrong?” Even as you speak, his calloused palms gently smooth your knuckles. 

“Never.” Armando whispered through ongoing trust and welcomed distance to let you work. 

_______

The second time around, every single pierced bullet moved  closer and closer toward gaining true revenge. 

Even Miami Police Department Captain Conrad Howard stood responsible for locking down Armando's late father, Benito Aretas years back. 

When Captain fell this time, Armando really showed out. 

“Cheers.” Aretas clinked glasses with you, still fair enough to dodge taking out Mike Lowrey near innocent civilians. 

“Now what?” You've set your own drink down tonight. 

“Home stretch.” Armando clipped that response once more. 

“All right.” You lifted the glass of champagne and handed this beverage to Armando before walking away, turning off music. 

Your faint lipstick smudged this glass, catching Armando's interest. 

Updating one private list set on his phone, Aretas counted another trait of yours: 

You've rarely worn makeup, unlike his mother Isabel. 

____

The following day, you woke to see text messages lighting up your phone: 

Armando: Meet me in ten minutes! ⏰️ 🛩 

Given no other choice right now, you scrambled out of bed without hesitation and didn't even try fixing covers, hopping the shower. 

Something went wrong. 

****

“What the hell happened?!” You run back into the Mexico City compound and find Armando pacing by this mirror. 

“Would you lie to me?” Furrowing his brow, Aretas rasped the important question to you. 

“No.” Vowing once more, you would pull every trigger at the first chance. “What's going on?” 

Vulnerable for the first time, Armando reached out and you nodded as his dangerous fingers somehow warmed your arms. 

“He's out for blood.” Armando revealed Detective Lowrey's plan to kill him. “If anything happens to me, run.” 

“I'll never step without you. What about our loyalty?” You recalled the earlier promise. 

By that very moment, Armando nearly turned speechless. 

“C'mon.” Taking your hand in private, Aretas led you out of this room, ready for war. 

******

As you battle near Armando through your own defense, this big-time compound standoff erupted with the Miami Police Department AMMO squad. 

“Armando, you're my son.” Detective Mike Lowrey stood among fire and rubble as his words revealed near embers. 

What?! Absolutely not. Your own thoughts panicked. There's no way in hell that Lowrey is telling the truth. 

Isabel would've lied about everything. 

“Shut up.” You offer venom too, staying just as enraged with Armando in bewilderment. 

“I didn't know about him. If I had known…” Lowrey still makes an attempt while looking at you.

Armando then uses force to kick Mike backwards and destroys even more of this space. 

Every other second, his fists pulled more and more strength, but the main question lingered. 

“Who are you?” Aretas still injured Lowrey without fail and brought out the detective's weakness. 

“Ask your mother…” Mike continued responding even when Armando pulled his collar. 

Isabel Aretas emerged while dampened from outdoor rain. 

“¿Es cierto lo que dice?” Speaking his native language of Spanish, Armando asked Isabel if Mike really told the truth. 

"No importa. Él no significa nada para ti.” Isabel refused to answer clearly and this response doesn't even matter. 

“Hey, do ya'll see this fuego? Can we take this shit outside?” Detective Marcus Burnett is scared of the fire and damage engulfing all corners. 

“Cállate!” Armando shuts Burnett down once more, yet faces Isabel with sadness. “¿Quién es, mamá?”

“Tell ‘em!” Mike nearly shouts to Isabel despite everything. 

“Es mi papá?” Armando's heart continues to break. 

“Is he my father?!” Reaching this final resort about Mike Lowrey, Armando Aretas yelled to his mother in English. 

“Yes.” Isabel confirms the truth to Armando at last. No doubt whatsoever. “Kill him…”

Just when Mike and Armando stand while facing each other, Isabel clicks the barrel of her own gun directly behind your head. 

“No…”Armando realizes what is happening with you and more grief snatches air right from his lungs. “You took so much away from me. Don't pull the trigger.”

Ignoring her son, Isabel wanted to kill you here, but Lieutenant Rita Secada stepped up and locked immediate bullets to end Aretas.  

When you grab Armando's hand once more, the AMMO  squad hurries to escape tragedy and this outright mansion collapses forever. 

******

“How you doing?” Following the death of Isabel Aretas, Detective Mike Lowrey stepped forward to check on his estranged son, Armando, in prison. 

“I've paid my debt. It's a big one.” Armando tells the truth, sighing in this orange uniform. 

“An opportunity might help cut down some of your debt.” Mike continued. “Interested?” 

“Yeah, man.” Armando nodded toward his biological father, prepared. 

“And don't think I forgot…” Mike lifted his brow and stepped back to reveal your presence. 

“Hi.” You smiled toward Armando while standing in this darkened space. 

“Hey.” Armando greets you with his slightly accented English once more

“Uh-oh! Are you blushing over her?” Mike chuckled near Aretas. 

“No.” Aretas fibs and pulls himself together  knowing that visitation will run out. 

“Yeah, right. You're sprung as hell, but I'll see you soon.” Mike started to walk away, but still noticed when Armando winked toward you from his spot. 

He's just like me. Lowrey confirmed one final time. 

Who knows what the future brings? 

[the-family-business-83]

Species Decipit

Part 1 | Masterlist WIP

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: The Winchester brothers were once good friends with Sarah. She was a good hunter, and made pretty good company too. But after running into the Men of Letters, things changed drastically for the trio.

Type: Series

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, OFC Sarah Rogers (probably more that'll be introduced later on)

Genre: Angst, action, slight fluff, possible smut but not yet

Warnings: If you haven't seen the whole show, this series contains spoilers for seasons 11-12.

There will be mentions of blood and violence, and alcohol use. There will also be a fair amount of cussing, but not more than what's in the show. If those aren't your thing though, read at your own risk. Some parts of this series may contain more of these subjects than others. Also, fair warning, this gets very angsty, like a lot of angst, so be prepared.

Word count: 3,493

Send me an ask to let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist!

Beta: I don't know their Tumblr tag but @Outofnowhere82 on Discord, a member of the @spnfanficpond, helped me with this one

A/N: I posted this on Wattpad first, it was posted with the title "Everybody Wants to be My Enemy" (Link here) but I decided to change it a little and post it here too. I think I like this one better so I hope you guys enjoy this angst-coaster ride 🥰

The moment she pulled the key from her pocket and slotted it into the keyhole of the heavy iron door, Sarah had to take a moment just to breathe in. The walk up after sliding out of her car was one that felt like she'd been on auto-pilot, as her mind was already wandering through the surreality of being back here again. How many times had she come in, and yet this time would be among one of the only–if not the only–that she did so without the two lumbering flannel-clad brothers Winchester flanking her sides; the only time she'd come here without knowing that they'd probably be waiting beyond that door, for her to come in or to open it for her.

But as she closed her eyes for a brief second, she shook the thoughts away and turned the key over to unlock the mechanism, and pulled it out only when she heard the familiar click to grant her access. Descending down the small winding staircase, she made it to the second and final door to go inside, which she pushed open after another quick unlock with the key, and stepped inside as she tucked said key into one of her pockets a moment later. Her gaze shifted throughout the room, her cerulean hues not being able to see much in the pitch dark. Sarah pulled a flashlight out of the duffle bag on her shoulder, and clicked it on as she carefully made her way down the stairs to find the power box. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling she had at the fact that the place was not only dark but also so quiet she probably could have heard a faucet leaking in the shower room halfway across the bunker. It was stupid wishful thinking but some part of her had hoped that maybe, just maybe they were home… but they weren't, and she told herself to grow up because it was stupid to have hoped for in the first place.

Once she found the power box, the blonde flicked her eyes over the different switches for a moment, before pushing the correct ones up to turn everything on. In the blink of an eye, everything in the war room lit up, followed by the library, and in the hallways that lead out of the war room. For a moment, it was almost soothing, because she was reminded of the first time she'd come here seeing the place all lit up in all its true glory. She still remembered Sam explaining what the place was, where things were, and the house rules. Which of course, Dean had chimed in for that last part, no surprise there. But the memory, fleeting as it came, made the tall huntress smile faintly in reminiscence. It was such a simpler time, compared to now.

When her mind came back to reality a second later, Sarah cleared her throat and clicked off her flashlight, putting it away as she took a right and started heading down the hallway towards where the rooms were. She was headed for her own room, so she could set her things down at least, but curiosity got the better of her when she passed by familiar number 11; Dean's room. She's already gone past it but something made her stop, and backtrack to the door where she turned and clenched her jaw as if it would hold back the wave of guilt that threatened to come forward. She shouldn't have come back here, it was hard enough to be finding her footing right now without those men, and the place may have been home once but now it just reminded her of the things she'd done. Yet somehow she couldn't stop herself as she pushed the door open further from where it was slightly open just a crack.

Fumbling her hand along the wall on the inside of the room, she flipped the light switch on. She didn't know what she was really expecting, but she wasn't sure she was prepared to see it still in the same shape as it had been the last time she'd seen it. Wall decorated with all Dean's weapons as per usual, a crate filled with vinyl records right next to his record player just as he liked it, his desk still a mess that had a system of Dean's own devising…. And most of all the bed of all things was still half-assed in the process of making it. It made her shake her head slightly but whether it was out of familiar amusement or sadness would be up for debate. She made her way over to the record player then, and set her bag on the chair before selecting a Rolling Stones album. The needle was set on its surface a moment later as the blonde set it up, and she turned up the volume a bit while the classic crackling switched to the first notes of "You Can't Always Get What You Want". Admittedly, as she heard it start she almost switched it to a different track, or just a new vinyl entirely, but instead she snorted a sort of scoff at the cruel irony and picked up her bag again as she left the room with the door open so she could hear it continuing to play.

Sarah deposited her bag into her room next, because it happened to be on the way in-between Dean's and Sam's room, always had been. And she didn't even bother with unpacking yet, just leaving her bag on her bed as she ran some cold water to splash on her face with the sink that was in there. It took her a moment to just, settle, because readjusting to what she used to call home was a big step for her, truth be told. But as she hummed along to the song drifting from Dean's bedroom, the tall huntress did actually take it upon herself to trek down the hall further to Sam's room, hands in her pockets as she walked. And what she found was an empty room, bare of decorations, in contrast to his brother's. But the other difference was that it was still neat as ever; neatly made bed, tidy coat rack, not a thing out of place. Unless you counted the few books that were sprawled across that very same neatly made bed, with a small stack living on the desk beside his laptop from whenever the last time he'd used them was. It was a sad sight, as familiar as it was. She was so used to finding the man busying between one book to another in here, whenever he wasn't stationed in the library to do the exact same thing. She didn't spend as much time in that room however; she ended up turning away with a deep breath in and shut the door behind herself, clicking the light off on her way.

Like riding a bike, she found the kitchen with no problem, and bumped the light on with her elbow as she was mid-way through pulling her shoulder-length hair into a messy bun. Once that was done, she went straight for the fridge to find herself a beer….if there even was any still. She didn't trust any of the food in there honestly, not with how long it had been. So she didn't think much of any of it or how it looked as she shut the door a moment later and instead searched out the bottle of Jack she'd always kept in one of the cabinets for safekeeping. Glad it was still in its same hiding spot, Sarah took to finding herself a glass a moment later, poured some liquor into it and took a long sip. But she damn near dropped it when she heard a very deep, very familiar voice as she froze, thankful that the bottle was already on the counter. She hadn't even heard him come in but that voice sure alerted her to his presence, followed by the feeling of metal against her henley covered spine.

"Don't move a muscle, bitch." His voice was hard, gravely with how low his tone was despite being just loud enough to catch her attention. His signature etched silver Colt M1911 with ivory grips was up and aimed square at her as he pressed it against the middle of her back, and if looks alone could kill, Dean's stoney features probably would have. Sarah wasn't normally on the receiving end of such looks, but she'd seen them before, and she didn't need to look at him to feel it on her now, just knowing he was glaring holes into the back of her skull. The weary woman didn't say anything at first, too stunned to really know what to say and not daring to move with how Dean looked. So there was a moment of utter silence between the two, one that was thick enough to be cut with a knife.

"I'm gonna start asking questions and so help me I better get nothing but straight answers from you." He didn't have to tell her why for her to know what would happen if she didn't. Swallowing hard, she simply nodded, and let him go on. "Why the hell are you here? Did your new, fancy boss send you?"

She didn't know how to describe it, but there was a part of her that grimaced when he said it like that, and yet another part of her couldn't help being pissed underneath whatever showed on the surface. "No. As far as they know I'm dead now. I plan to keep it that way."

"Right. So you just decided to come in for a visit, is that it?" He didn't sound any happier than before, in fact if it was possible he almost sounded a little more pissed. The truth was the last he'd seen her, they were on opposing sides and Dean still couldn't get past it. As far as he knew she was still the Brits' lackey, and in his eyes she was lucky he didn't shoot her on sight. "I'm only gonna ask one more time. Why. Are. You. Here?"

Breathing in deeply she turned just a little more to face him better, and in the same motion pulled the gun swiftly from his hands as she clicked out the cartridge before tossing it onto the counter. She didn't get a word in, at least not much beyond an 'I was-', before she had to duck as a heavy right hook was coming her way. She was quick to move with his hits, keeping up decently as they scuffled there in the kitchen but he played dirty by chucking a towel in her face to disorient her and proceeded to sweep her legs from under her. Going down with a grunt as she hit the hard tile floor; before she knew it she was wrapped up by the man as he knelt beside her, his arms expertly around her neck in a headlock as she tried to squirm and free herself.

Unaware for the moment, Sam came into the bunker right about then, dumping his things on the war room table for now because he'd noticed with the lack of a response from his brother with the conversation he'd tried to start, that Dean wasn't in sight, and frowned as he looked around. "Hey, dude- where'd you go? Dean??" He waited another moment or so before he started down one of the halls and calling out louder for him to hopefully hear. "Dean! Hey, where are you man?"

Still there had been no response. Giving a tired sigh, the taller Winchester ran a hand through his hair, about to give up. But that was when he caught, albeit faintly, scuffling from the kitchen, before a few metallic clangs of things clashing, and that put the male into alert mode as he then pulled his pistol out and began jogging for the kitchen as he followed the direction of the sounds. "Dean?! Dean!!"

By the time Sam got there, Sarah was fighting just to stay conscious, because there was nothing within her immediate reach that she could really use, and even if she wasn't short, Dean was still bigger than her and so it was hard to fight him off. "De- Dean- lis'n- pl'se- I'm not he- to hur- I jus-" the huntress tried to choke out against the strong forearm squeezed against her windpipe. She hadn't even noticed Sam arriving, as she was too focused on keeping her vision focused and trying to get oxygen–both of which she was definitely failing at with how the bigger man holding her made it impossible to get enough air in no matter how hard she kicked and fought.

"Dean, what is-" and this time, Sam was the one to cut himself off, because he recognized the blonde right away even in that situation. And he almost, almost shot her right there because of how he'd come into this. But the pacifist buried in him urged him not to, at least for now, so instead he readjusted his aim to be towards her thigh, grazing just enough to not be too fatal but also enough to catch attention and keep her from running very far. "Dean! Hey, let her go!"

At first all Dean gave his brother was a hard look, because the idea was insane. She'd tried to kill them before, or at least fed them to the lions in a way, and he really fucking hoped his brother wasn't trying to forgive her for all of that. But Sam's voice came again, urging him. "Dean, c'mon. She can't get away like that, you can let her go."

Finally, with a split second of debating, Dean let her go with a grumble, and stood up as he went to grab his gun and reload it before aiming it on Sarah once more.

Had she the lung capacity, Sarah would have screamed when her leg was shot like that. But she didn't, and so no sound left her unless you count the squeak that briefly croaked out at it, with her eyes scrunching shut to grit through the pain. Even still, she fought to keep herself conscious, and when she was finally released? She fell to her side, one arm weakly propping herself up while the other massaged her throat as she coughed, trying to regain air to lessen the stars in her blotted vision. After a moment, she finally leaned herself up against the island as she just worked on catching her breath, a hand squeezed against her thigh where the bullet had hit her to help stem the bleeding. It was already staining her jeans a dark red, leaving traces on the tiles where it dripped slightly. It wasn't much but it was enough that with the momentary deprivation of oxygen in tandem with the bloodloss—and her own….less than ideal health state—she was already feeling a bit dizzy and fighting to stay awake. She closed her eyes just for a moment against the pain, as if somehow she could will it all away and maybe when she opened them again, this would all have been her imagination so they could start over.

"Now what happened here?" Sam was the first to break the very brief lull of silence, excluding Sarah's coughing, and he glanced to his brother for a moment, arching a brow.

Sarah paused for a moment to settle herself, breathing in first before answering. "I just wanted to come home. There's no reason, there's no scheme, nothing… I'm just trying to get a handle on myself again, that's all. I didn't think you were here, the lights were off and no one seemed to be around." She obliged him with her answer, albeit weakly, despite how she tried not to sound or look it. But Sarah never had been the best at hiding her emotions on her face, or at least not with people who knew her well. In fact, probably the only time she was perfect at it was when the Brits had her under their thumb. But she doubted Sam would believe a word she said, let alone Dean. The look of distrust never once left the older Winchester's features, and once she'd answered, there was even a small squint. She knew all too well that meant he was debating whether to even give her a sliver of trust to believe her story. "Look, Dean, I-"

"Save it. I don't want the pity story you're cooking up there. I want you out of my kitchen and out the damn door. Because so help me, if I see your face in here again-" his voice, which had raised a little to cut the blonde off, was interrupted by his brother as he shot a look at Dean. Never once did Dean's attention leave her though. "Dean, slow down a sec. How'd she even get in?- how'd you get in?" The taller male's gaze shifted to Sarah with the second question, brows furrowed as he tried to work out the equation in his mind.

In any normal circumstance the woman would have been not just relieved but also glad to see the other brother, but any glimpse of those feelings was squashed by the fact that his reaction damn near mirrored Dean's. "I…I still had a key. Look, like I said neither of you were even home when I got here, I thought-" But she cut herself off there, licking her lips and clearing her throat as she quickly changed her words from 'I thought you were really gone' to: "I thought the place was empty, I just needed a place to…find my own head."

"Plenty of motels, coulda bunked down anywhere. Why here?" Dean's response came without skipping a beat. And Sarah had to try not to wince at the coldness in his voice.

That stung. More than she wanted to admit. She knew she'd done….horrible things, she knew that and so in a way she didn't blame him. But that didn't make it hurt any less to hear that from him. "Because this is home. This is square number one for me, I thought it would help-"

This time it was Sam who cut in, mulling over her words. "Help what, exactly? And why should we believe a word from you?"

"You don't wanna believe me, fine. I don't give a rat's ass. But if you're gonna shoot me, shoot me. If you really wanna hear jackshit from me? Stop reaming my ass out and take it or leave it." She sounded frustrated that time, wearily so, and likely because of the pain in her leg for the most part. Fumbling for the towel that had been dropped on the floor, she tugged it over and used it to tie around her thigh because her hand was not only getting tired but also not doing the best job of applying pressure, the blood already beginning to ooze out between her fingers. She grimaced through the sting of pain it shot through her leg, before resting her head back against the island once she'd finished the task and letting her eyes slide closed.

Dean shared a glance with his brother, jaw muscles clenched and gaze asking the silent question of 'your call, what's it gonna be?' because if it was up to him, he was ready to unload a clip in her. Sam was the one giving her any kind of leg to stand on here, so whatever sliver of the emerald eyed man that was giving her even a fraction of a chance, that was the part that was letting Sam make the call.

The taller male took that silent message, and glanced towards Sarah once more, a brief squint flashing through his eyes as he considered the options. "Alright, start talking then. From the beginning, no crap, tell us what happened since you left to work with the Brits."

This was going to be….a long ass night. She knew it would be. Though she supposed it would have been anyway, regardless of whether it went this way or not; the only difference in this version was that they were really still alive, and Sarah wasn't sure if that was more of a relief than it was pain. It was complicated. Whatever the case though, the tired huntress sighed, albeit shallowly due to her current state, but as pained as she was to do so she nodded with eyes closed as if to hide away from the two towering men while she tried to recall. Soon though her mind seemed to fail her, fading into simple darkness as the sounds around her dimmed out. Seconds turned into minutes, without her even realizing, as she stayed like that, unconscious to anything happening around her.

Taglist: @ageekchiclife @babypieandwhiskey @buckys-zomdoll @canadianspnhunter @cas-backwards-tie @castieltrash1 @deanscarlett @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @firefly-in-darkness @idreamofhazel @idreamofplaid @kalesrebellion @katelyn--renee @kayteonline @kickingitwithkirk @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @manawhaat @melbelle45 @mrswhozeewhatsis @mysaintsasinner @mysupernaturalfics @notnaturalanahi @plaidstiel-wormstache @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @supernatural-jackles @there-must-be-a-lock @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @trend90s @waywardjoy @whispersandwhiskerburn @akshi8278 @fuiabarcelos @ssonia13

[vikingstoner69]

Fandom; one piece

Paring: Zoro/reader

Warnings; unsafe sex, biting, choking, possoves zoro

A/N: I know this took absolutely forever! I'm really sorry it's been a rough month for me and haven't been able to do much writing. As always feedback is always welcome and my ask box is open as well.

You can see your breath as you walk beside Brook where you were freezing in this part of wano. Things had taken a turn for the worst like normal and you all were now being hunted down. You had heard Zoro was badly injured so you came with Brook to see how he was doing, you were not expecting what you found though.

"We were just sleeping!" You hear Zoro yell and peek your head inside to find Zoro laying on a mat with a beautiful woman laying beside him and you feel your heart crack. Zoro and you had been fooling around and as time went on you had thought he had felt the same you did, guess not. Biting your lip you feel eyes on you and see Zoro stare at you but you don't look him in the eye.

"I'm going back to the hut Brook" you say loudly enough for everyone to hear as tears feel your eyes. You had no right to be angry. He was not yours to clam and he could do whatever he wanted but It still hurt more than you had liked.

"Well okay, are you sure? We just got here" he says looking at you, you look at him then finally at Zoro once you pull yourself together, you would not let him see how much this hurt you.

"Yeah, I have seen all I need too and he is clearly more than fine" you say harshly, venom laced at the end making Brook look at you oddly and you heard a groan come from the hut you were standing at.

"Oi! (Y/N)! Wait!" You hear Zoro call but you ignore him and keep walking. You bite your lip harshly and hold back yours when you feel him grab your arm.

"Let go!" You snap, turning and yanking your arm free, you were pissed and hurt and wanted to be left alone. Zoro glares at you and your tone.

"What is the matter with you!?" He growls clearly not happy with your attitude but you didn't really care at that point. You ball your hands into fits wanting to punch him but you think better of it.

"Why don't you go back to her, I'm done being your plaything Zoro!" You snarl and turn away from heading back into your hut slamming the slide door behind you leaving you in a low lit room with the only light coming from the fire. You roughly rub your eyes from the tears and you felt like you wanted to scream.

"You wanna explain what you mean by that" you jump and swing around at his voice, the glim in his eye is dangerous and you almost feel like prey under his stare.

"You heard exactly what I said Zoro! I'm done with whatever the hell this is! I'm done being in love with a man who doesn't feel the same! Im-" your rant is cut off as your back hits the wall and you look up at Zoro who now towers over you and you feel your stomach drop, you knew he would never hurt you but that look excited you more than it should.

"You're not leaving me (y/n) and you're more than a play thing! Your mine" he said huskily and your mouth goes dry at his words. Zoro leans down and kisses you deeply pulling your face and body close to him and your arms are placed on his chest. You try to push him away but he is hard as stone making him growl and nip your lip and you moan.

"But your injury?" You moan as he sucks a mark into your neck. Zoro chuckles darkly before he bites leaving a mark behind that he soothes with his tongue making you cry out.

"Nothing is going to stop me from showing you that you're mine in every way" he says huskily, never breaking eye contact, your hands run up his chest to rest behind his neck where you run your nails through his hair there making him shiver.

"And you're mine?" You whisper his lips so close to yours. Zoro reaches for your hand and he places it on his chest.

"Every last part of me til I take my last breath" he says, you lean up and kiss him deeply and he growls lifting you up and you wrap your legs around him and moan at the friction. Zoro carries you over to the mat on the floor and lays you down hovering over you. Zoro undresses you leaving you bere under him.

"Zoro!" You moan your back arching as he kisses and bites down your neck. You reach up pushing his kimono open and your nails run down his chest making him growl. You lean up kissing and biting his neck leaving marks behind and he groans grinding into you.

"Who do you belong to?" He asks huskily his hot length running through your folds making you moan and you look up at him.

"You zoro I belong to you, and you belong to me" you moan and he smirks before he slowly enters you and you cling to him. You let out a moan at the stretch and burn as he bottoms out, no matter how many times you two have done this he always feels too big.

“Always so wet and tight for me” he groans as he lets you adjust. You lean up and kiss him deeply, nipping his bottom lip making him growl.

“Always for you, now fuck me zoro I need you” you moan clinging to him tightly. Zoro groans and starts to move his thrusts rocking your body making your nails claw down his back.

“Fuck your mine! All mine” he growls his hand wrapped around your throat as he pounded into you making you cry out his name.

“Oh fuck zoro! There!” You cry out as your toes curl. Zoro snarls at the sounds he was making you make and every time your nails clawed down his back he would see stars.

“Fuck! I wanna feel you cum on my cock” he growled as he pounded into you. You cling to him as the knot grows tighter, you are so close.

“Zoro please, I'm so close!” You moan your hips thrusts up taking him deeper and he groans.

“Come for me” he groans and you tighten around him as you cum hard.

“Zoro!” You cry out as you cum, Zoro hips slams into you once more before he stalls and you feel his hot cum shoot inside of you.

“God Dammit (y/n)” he pants as he leans his head down trying to catch his breath as you do the same. Zoro pulls back and grins down at you as he slowly pulls out loving the face you make every time he does. You look up at him and stroke his face softly and he leans down and kisses you deeply, stealing your breath once again.

“Never forget your mind, but I'm always here to remind you” he chuckled dark and you lean up your naked breasts rub his chest and you feel his cock twitch. You grin and flip him on his back so you were now straddling him, his hands resting on your hips as you lean down close to his ear.

“your mine Zoro don't you forget that, don't make me chain you up” you say hottiy in his ear before biting his neck.

“Promise?” He chuckles darkly and you sit up a bit.

“Don't start something we don't have time for” you smirk, climbing off him and looking for your clothes.

“Just you wait” he grins.

[ashaleeleedagurl]

Come on Fizzy!

Fandom: Helluva Boss

Summary: Fizzarolli has been feeling really down and doesn't want to talk to Asmodeus and Ozzie thinks Fizz is keeping him out.

Ler: Ozzie

Lee: Fizzo

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

"Fizzy! Please!" Asmodeus pleaded, "Just tell me what you've been upset about!"

Fizzarolli crossed his arms and turned away from Ozzie, silently crying. He's also been learning a new language to mumble under his breath, "Nee... Ik wil niet echt..." (Translated from Dutch, "No... I don't I don't really want to..." )

Ozzie sighed and picked up Fizzarolli, sternly, but softly speaking to him, "Last chance Fizz, tell me or I'll unleash my secret weapon" as he smirked at his boyfriend.

"Yeah right!" Fizzarolli said, sticking out his tongue.

Asmodeus then swirled Fizz's tail between his fingers as the helpless imp squirmed and laughed, unable to talk in any way.

"Tickle, tickle, tickle, my honeybun!" Asmodeus teased as his boyfriend was soaking in tears.

Ozzie just smirked as he continued swirling Fizzarolli's tail as he started softly nibbling his sides, making the jester's face flush bright red.

"OHOHOHOKAHAHAY, OHOHKAHAHY, IHIHI'LL TEHEHELL YOHOHOU!!!" Fizz practically screamed.

Asmo let him down after a couple more seconds of tickling and gently kissed Fizz's forehead, "Now, tell me why you've been upset, Froggie. You haven't talked to me for 4 days straight.. what's going on..?" He asked with concern.

Fizzarolli's smile started to drop as he looked down with a sad expression on his face, softly mumbling so Ozzie couldn't hear, "I don't feel like I'm good enough.... For anyone... Not even you and you're my boyfriend.."

Ozzie could still hear it and gently caressed his boyfriend's cheek.

"It's ok Fizz... You are good enough to make anyone happy.. even the most stubborn cacti..." Asmodeus said, reassuringly. "Now come here, my little imp.."

Fizzarolli ran into his arms and started crying happily, now realizing he isn't not good enough for anything. He finally realized what it felt like to cry like this and he was kind of embarrassed, but Asmodeus said otherwise.

"It's ok Fizzy... Just cry it out..." He said comfortingly.

Once he knew Fizzarolli was slightly better, he started swirling Fizzarolli's tail once again, being a lot more gentle for his boyfriend, who was still recovering after that emotional moment.

"Is this ok Fizzy?" He asked worryingly.

Fizzarolli nodded, even though he could barely talk, "Yehahahah... Thihihis ihihis ohohokay.." Fizz's croaky, little voice said.

Asmo did stop after a few seconds and took his tired imp to bed.

"Sleep well, Froggie..." He said as he kissed Fizz's forehead "I love you"

Fizz smiled and snuggled against his boyfriend "Love you too Ozzie.."

Asmodeus dramatically gasped, which made Fizzarolli giggle, "What?"

Ozzie picked Fizz back up and started twirling Fizzarolli's tail again.

"OHOHOZHZIHIE, WHAHAHAT DID I DOHOHO!?!?!" Fizzarolli laughed.

"You didn't say the 'I' in 'I love you', my little imp, now suffer my tickle fingers!" Ozzie said like he's going to eat Fizz's soul. "NOHOHOHO! PLEHEHEHASE STOHOHOP IHIHIT!! IHIHIHI'M SOHOHORRY!!!" Fizzarolli screamed.

Asmodeus stopped and kissed his boyfriend's cheek near his lips. Fizzarolli then said "I lohohve yohohou Ohohozhzhzie.." with a wobbly smile on his face.

"I love you too my little imp!" Ozzie gently said as he laid Fizzarolli on the bed and laid next to him.

Fizz yawned and climbed on Asmo's chest, falling asleep while curling like a puppy.

Asmodeus sighed and took Fizzarolli's hat off, placing it on the nightstand. "Sleep well Froggie, I love you"

My first Helluva Boss fic :3

[anonymousbeefriendfanfics]

Spicy Times with Sage Lesath (HCs)

Today's content, along with my return to the Last Legacy fandom (sorry I've been away so long, my friends) is dedicated to my darling "child," one of the people I am proud to call my friend. Happy birthday, honey, I hope you enjoy your catboy <3

Character: Sage Lesath

Fandom: Last Legacy

Warnings: Sexy times are discussed, not too much detail. Also serious fluff towards the end~

I feel like funtimes with the catboy has two settings: all or nothing. It depends entirely on what mood you're both in.

Most of the time it's 'all.' Sage is 110% all in. This man's sex drive is through the freaking roof. He wants you in every way, every position, on every surface, you name it. The innuendos and suggestive commentary reach an all-time high. He's ready and willing to slip off at a moment's notice for some quick fun, though he prefers to take his time. He's more than down for getting down and dirty, the rougher the better.

His ideal scenario would be alone at home (well, wherever 'home' happens to be at the moment, anyway) with nowhere to be and sufficient soundproofing or no one around to hear. He wants to be able to take his sweet time and not need to worry about being quiet. If you ever find yourself in this situation, expect one hell of a wild ride. He has impressive stamina and a quick recovery time, so you'll very likely be at it for hours, if not all night long. Let's just say that you'll both be very tired but very satisfied by the end of this.

Let's talk toys for a minute. I don't think Sage is too into them, he usually prefers to do things the old fashioned way with just your body on his, but he's more than happy to include them from time to time to spice things up a bit. I think his favorite would be ropes, just to see his partner tied up under him... also lingerie. He's definitely a biiiig lingerie fan, even if it's as simple as you wearing his shirt. I feel like he also likes the thrill of things, so fooling around in semi-public places would definitely excite him, as would spontaneously trying new things together. You may want to try bringing some food items into the bedroom, too. Just saying, this man would happily lick whipped cream from every inch of your body if you let him.

Sage absolutely loves getting off but he secretly craves your happiness and approval more than anything else, and would do just about anything you want to bring you pleasure. Beware of body worshipping, because once he gets really caught up in the moment, endless praises will start slipping off his tongue. Speaking of his tongue, have I mentioned that he's very good at this? He has enough experience to know exactly what he's doing, and he's surprisingly perceptive in bed, so he's quick to adapt to his partner's specific needs and responses.

His other setting, though, is exclusive to you. This man has had a ton of sex over the years, but he's never once come close to making love. But once he finds a partner, once he falls for someone? That changes. Suddenly things are far more passionate, more intimate, fueled by love instead of just lust.

I'm talking the kind of affectionate, cuddly, loving sex where you're tangled up so tightly that you don't know where he begins and you end and yet it's still not close enough. Soft touches and languid movements, savouring every single second you spend lost in one another. The sort of sex that is a love letter and a prayer rolled into one, worshipping one another while simultaneously thanking the powers that be for allowing this to happen. Words of devotion and praise and affection whispered against skin, pressed into kisses, devoured in a kiss that travels straight to the soul.

This doesn't happen terribly often. Don't get me wrong, if it's what you want or prefer, Sage is more than happy to accommodate that. But for it to truly become that intense, he needs to be in the right headspace. Sometimes it happens randomly, but most often this is the result of being separated for a while or having a dangerous experience. Anything that makes him want to hold you tight and never let go. Another reliable trigger for this is if Sage himself is having a bad time emotionally, if something significant has happened to shake him up or bring his mood down. He basically becomes a lonely kitten, and this is one of the ways of making him feel better.

Sage is also surprisingly good at aftercare. Sure, he's not exactly known for that, as half the time there isn't really time nor the need after his flings - but with a partner, that, too, changes. It doesn't matter if it's the roughest sex you've ever had or the softest, he's going to spoil you as much as possible afterwards. He'll help you clean up and bring you snacks and water, make sure you have everything you could possibly need... and then it's cuddle time. He gets so clingy after sex. He wants to be wrapped around you one way or another, probably purring up a storm, especially if you scratch his ears. Post-sex naps are very common for him, and now for you too, because good luck getting away from him in that state. He's a lovesick kitten.

Writing Masterlist 🐝 Requests Open!  Tag List 🐝 @deemod33r @dollyb0y @mossmosis @krae16 @mako-bones @saintfl0rian @bunnythedrone @bananacockatiel @pst-02 @hestia-marie

[sassydefendorflower]

for the reverse tropes - I would love to see some bat related nursing home au, that just sounds amazing lol

"If you steal my favorite checkers game one more time, Hood, I will personally make sure the staff finds your switchblades."

Dick "Nightwing" Grayson leaned back in the most comfortable armchair in the common room of the Batmania Nursing Home in Gotham City. Across the table sat Jason Todd, often referred to as Red Hood, since - according to his own fairy tales - he used to be a feared gangster, back before the second hip replacement and the accident on the ice skating rink.

"As if. Nobody's afraid of you, twinkletoes. Just because you used to do gymnastics... doesn't mean jackshit now." Jason pointed the cane leaning next to Dick's chair, an elegant thing made from mahogany, it's handle shaped like a bird about to take flight.

"Gentleman, let's try to get along, yes? Anyone up for a game of chess?" Barbara Gordon's white hair was bound back into a stern up-do, the young nurse wheeling her towards the table barely visible in the presence of Batmania's very own Oracle. Rumor had it that there was nothing Barbara didn't know - and so far that had held true.

"I don't think we have time for chess today, Babs."

"Why? Are you scared, Grayson?"

"No, today is Thursday."

"Ah, you're right." Barbara smiled, all three of them having come into the common room for a reason after all. Jason had even put down his book (some brick by David Graeber), another weapon surely hidden somewhere on his body, in anticipation of what was to come.

Because on Thursdays all three of them welcomed their favorite visitor.

Young Timothy Drake, almost twenty by now. He'd started coming around some years ago, as an afterschool project his parents signed him up to, and now he visited once a week just to see his three favorite old-timers.

And it was quite obvious why they enjoyed his presence so much.

He talked to them.

Better yet, he told them stories.

"Okay, so last time I was here, Red Hood had just returned from the dead to lay claim on Gotham and take revenge on Batman, yes?"

"Finally someone appreciates how badass I am."

"You're not, Todd."

Dick grinned, leaning forward as if to hear Tim better, even though his hearing hadn't left him yet. Jason flipped him off, not daring to loudly interrupt again out of fear that Tim would stop his story.

"Well, the Red Hood is certainly trying to appear daunting in this particular story."

"And where am I in this, Tim?"

"Oh, Oracle is busy in her tower. Have I never told you about the Birds of Prey?"

Timothy Drake was smiling, the rapt attention of his audience invigorating. Barbara shook her head, and he took her hand, ready to guide her into the favorite part of this majestic and heroic universe he had created specifically for them:

Batman. Nightwing. Red Hood. Robin. And, of course, Oracle.

A story just for them.

~

I hope you enjoyed that :D It was certainly fun to come up with!!!! And thank you so much!! <3 <3 <3

(send me a Reverse Trope Writing Prompt with a fandom and a set of characters and I'll write something small for you)

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 12! (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Spanking. (If spanking is not your thing, I have marked those parts with ~ at the start and end of them so you can read past them.) Dom!Elvis and dom/sub dynamics. Sex. ANGST. Jealousy. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 10,660

A/N: We're back, y'all and this part is a MONSTER so you're gonna have to carve out some time (it's what you deserve)! It took on a life of its own, honestly. I really wanted to explore the darker sides of both our Reader and Elvis and their choices. It is important to me in this piece to show that Elvis was a very complex human with very real faults, which can throw some people for a loop if they idealize him or don't know much about him, so be warned.

With that said, the convo between him and Anita in 1961 is real. I transcribed his parts as best I could with the quality of the recording. Hopefully, I did his mood justice in the writing (in terms of how Reader is interpreting it), but if you do choose to listen, I recommend headphones and patience. It's a long one and not a great recording. And once again, depending on your point of view, it shows a not-so-flattering side of EP, so proceed with caution.

Thank you all SO MUCH for your love, patience, and distractions as I've been ill! This community has been so wonderful and it's been amazing getting to know you all better and to be able to share our love of EP in all the ways! 💖

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. I will say I'm a bit self-conscious about this part for a variety of reasons, mainly covid-brain, so be gentle! I'm sorry in advance if it's not up to par.

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone.

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!)

Los Angeles, 1961

Walking down the hallway, you cannot help but be drawn to the perturbed sound of Elvis’ unique cadence from beyond the door of the den. It is cracked open just enough for the sound to come through, which must have been a mistake by whoever left last, probably one of the guys. You had seen Red come from this direction not that long ago.

You’d come out to LA at Elvis’ behest to join them all for a visit while he was filming his latest movie. You were happy to see Jack after so much time apart, and you’d instantly gotten swept back up into the Elvis lifestyle while being here, though it was moderately toned down considering his filming schedule. It was a nice change from what was becoming a bit of a lonely existence at Graceland. It wasn’t that you were alone, per say, it was just that the other wives were having and taking care of their little ones, which was a constant reminder of a life you couldn’t have. You loved spending time them and with the children—they just weren’t your own.

You certainly don’t mean to snoop, you’d only been making your way through the California villa to the bedroom to grab something out of your bag, but your curiosity wins out. You stop just shy of the door, head bowed, ear to the crack, wondering who has Elvis in such a state. Of course, you can only hear one side of the conversation, but you try to piece together as best you can what might be going on. You know you shouldn’t, but you do anyway.

Elvis responds to the person he’s talking to in an exasperated tone, “You know why—you know why I don’t call you anymore? This very reason, right here. This very reason right here…I-I-I-can’t talk to you, hon. You mess with my damn head, man. I-I-can’t count on a decent conversation with ya. Ya start throwin’ up all kinds of shit to me. Look, if I called you e-e-every damn night, you’d start bitchin about something different. You’re just a fuckin’ nag, that’s all, you’re just a nagger that’s all.”

Your eyes widen at that, at how mean he’s getting with whichever one of his women he’s talking to. You have seen his temper firsthand over the years, but not directed at you and you’ve never heard him talk to a woman this way. After knowing him all this time, this side of him shocks you a bit, and you stay rooted to the spot.

“Well, that’s the way I feel about it, a-a-and y-y-y-you don’t have to be that way either. Not to the extent that you are, you don’t have to be that bad,” he says vehemently. “I just know you’re gonna start throwin’ something up to me a-and I ain’t got time to hear it. You turn me the fuck up, you know that?”

And he certainly is turned up, you think. His annoyance and frustration are coming through loud and clear on this end, punctuated by his stutter. The woman must be talking because he pauses before continuing.

“Yes, all the time. I-I-I can’t stand it, I-I can’t stand it, Anita, I swear I can’t stand it. I call you and do right, my ass,” he says, annoyed. “I do, do right! My ass. If I called you e-every night, you’d start that shit.” Elvis starts mocking her in a whining, high pitched voice, “‘Who’d you see today? You g-got a girlfriend, I’m surprised at you, blah blah,’ that bullSHIT!” He spits it out at her, angrily. “Naw, it ain’t no lie. Naw, you bring it up every time I talk to you.”

Your heart races a bit just hearing the confrontation and at the thrill that you shouldn’t be eavesdropping in the first place. Of course, it’s Anita, you think. He’s been seeing her the longest of any of his girlfriends, even through Germany. You are friendly with her, but not very close. Although she is always nice to you, she has an air about her that rubs you the wrong way. Not that you’d ever show it, but she just seems a bit self-important to you, what with her beauty queen titles and flitting up to New York or out to Hollywood for her singing or acting. She is a little too pretty, a little too nice, and sometimes it just feels underhanded.

Or maybe you’re just jealous, a niggling voice in the back of your mind says.

You scoff at that. Jealous of what? Sure, it seemed like she had a glamorous life, what with all the things she did, and how beautiful she is, and being the girlfriend of THE Elvis Presley, but you know better than that. And right now it sure doesn’t seem like you have much to be jealous of, considering the way he’s talking to her. She’s been around four years, and there is still no true commitment from him. At least you have a husband who loves you and you are a permanent fixture in Elvis’ inner circle, giving you a leg up in this situation, you think a little haughtily.

Good god, what is wrong with me? Why am I being so petty?

You don’t have an answer to that.

Obviously, Anita is not happy, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. Anita’s not dumb, even though she can play that part if needs be. She knows he’s seeing other women, and just because you’re not her biggest fan doesn’t mean she deserves to be treated poorly, by him or anyone else.

The thing is, you realize suddenly, even though he is likely in the wrong, you are still going to take his side in the end because he’s your friend. And that thought surprises you a little bit. But at the same time, there is anger starting to simmer in your chest at his poor behavior, at the way he keeps some of the women in his life hanging, waiting with bated breath to see if they will be the one to win his undying and singular attention.

You, of course, know better. Elvis is needy and fickle and loves being adored by as many women as possible. If there is one thing he’s addicted to, it’s girls. But he would no sooner give up his freedom to love as many of them as possible than he would to give up his career. Not to say that he doesn’t genuinely care for some of them; in fact, he is overly loving and demonstrative in some ways. It’s just that the standards for his love seem different than anyone else’s, and he gets away with things he might not otherwise because of who he is. But in your experience, the girls all figure it out eventually, and it seems like Anita is finally getting there.

It sounds like she is giving Elvis the business about it, which he doesn’t like one little bit.

“Why can’t you be sweet instead of bitchin’ like an old naggin’ ass wife, huh?” you hear him say, a little viciously, your eyes going wide. “I can’t stand that, I can’t stand it. Baby, you’ve got me crazy, you know that? You get worse a-all the damn time, a-and th-th-that’s why I don’t talk to you on the phone.”

You really, really should leave and get your nose out of his business, but it’s like you’re incapable of getting your feet to move. You’re mad at him for speaking this way to her, even though she likely IS nagging, you know it’s for good reason. She is right. He wants to have his cake and eat it, too, and he does not like being called out on it.

You hear him backtracking now, almost wearily telling her how much he loves her, over and over. The man doth protest too much. And the way his stutter pops up now, it sounds more like a child covering a fib than agitation. But you hate to assume.

“I told ya that I’m in love with ya. I-I-I-I-I-if I—if I—if I didn’t love you, I tell ya, I wouldn’t waste my time with you. I don’t have to,” he rebounds bluntly, harshly, then recovers quickly, “Well, I-I look forward to being with you, and I-I think about you a lot. But because I don’t call you three or four times a damn week, you say to me ‘Why don’t you…?’” His nastiness gets the better of him again, as he starts to mock her, but then he stops, his frustration evident. “Aw, HELL. I tell ya how I felt aboutcha, you oughta know how I feel. I mean, three long years, w-we’ve been battling this back and forth this same thing. You know I love you, darlin’.”

It all sounds rather unconvincing to you, as he seems to bounce so quickly from one emotion to the other. Maybe he believes it, you think, but you don’t think she’s buying it, not by the way he continues to reassure her, nearly pleading in some moments, and calling her pet names before that indignant tone returns to his voice. Even from out here, you can feel just how hard he’s trying to be patient, trying to placate her, with the many declarations of his love.

Silence falls for a moment, and you wonder what she must be saying to him, whether she’s falling for this or if she’s just as disbelieving as you are. You think she might be coming around based on how his voice changes yet again, how he’s both gentle and matter of fact, then his tone becomes almost boyish and sad.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming down the hall towards you. In a complete panic, you nearly jump out of your skin before looking around frantically for an escape. Desperate, you fling yourself into the room across the hall, but in your excitement, the door slams behind you.

Your hand pops to cover your mouth, as if this action alone will have kept anyone from hearing the door.

There is silence for a moment before you hear Elvis shouting, muffled, “Cliff? Cliff!”

Your heart thunders in your chest as you chastise yourself for being so damn stupid as to be eavesdropping on Elvis of all people, then you say a silent prayer that no one finds you as you hear more footsteps and another door slam. The footsteps head away, and with shaking breaths, you slowly open the door to find the hallway empty once more.

You tell yourself you are gonna skedaddle right out of there and go on with your business, but then you hear Elvis lay into her yet again:

“I-I-I love you very much a-and q-quit-quit-quit bitching and nagging me so much. I get so mad, I could break your neck.” That takes you aback, the way he just throws the phrase at her before going back to imitating her meanly, “’I can’t help it, I can’t help it! I can’t help it!’” W--w-w-w-what are you gonna do when I’m nuts and in an asylum?” Then he mumbles something you can’t understand but you hear him chuckle before he sighs big and loudly.

He's telling her he loves her but in a way that makes it obvious that he wants off the phone. She’s not having it based on the silence from his end.

Then he’s back to talking real nice and low to her, seemingly contrite and sorry, his stutter emphasizing it all. The stutter gives him away, you think, though you aren’t sure if it’s more agitation at her or that he’s feeling guilty. Perhaps it’s both.

“Well, m-maybe I’m not doing my part right now, but I mean give me a chance, you know. Just give me a chance. Don’t-don’t-don’t worry, j-j-just give me a chance, I-I, it’ll all come out in the long run. Okay? Take my word for it, hon, I wouldn’t lie to you. I love you, Anita.” A pause and then he giggles, “I’ll enjoy it. I love you very much darlin’. I do, Anita, I do…w-w-w-why would I lie to you, baby? I-i-if i-i-i if I’m l-l-l-lying…” he says, his stutter so bad now it’s hard to understand anything he’s saying.

You internally scoff at this. He’s been lying to her for years. But part of you wonders if he truly believes it will all turn out for them in the future. He is something of an idealist, after all. Maybe he really does fear losing her. Maybe that stutter is betraying his nerves rather than his guilt.

You aren’t sure how you feel about the prospect of him actually settling down, especially with Anita. For one, you don’t think it’s in his nature, but two, something about him doing it turns your stomach. You can’t pinpoint why, exactly, but the idea of him being married with little ones running about Graceland makes you want to scream.

You quickly push that thought out of your head, convincing yourself that your broiling frustration at him has more to do with his treatment of Anita than anything else. If he loves her and needs her so much, maybe he should just tell her the truth. You continue to listen in as he talks baby talk to her and emphasizes just how much he really will call her more, and then you hear him yawn.

“Hell, I’m tired. Oh, yeah. You do? You do? Well don’t sound so damn serious. How much you love me? How much you love me? Maybe? Baby? I love you. I love you. I wish, I wish, I wish I was with you,” he says, weary and tired of the conversation. There are long moments of silence, and you wonder what she is saying or if she’s hung up on him.

“I gotta go. There ain’t no party, I just gotta go. I’ll talk to ya later. I will. Don’t throw up more ideas…” He starts that terrible imitating of her again, “’I can’t! I can’t help that!’ I could slap your face right off.” He laughs through the rest now, and you know him well enough to know he’s being an asshole, provoking her. You can practically hear her shouting through the receiver, she’s yelling so loud.

“I think you’ve lost your damn mind. Yeah, ya have,” he says gently, quiet but cutting. Then he continues to chuckle, seemingly finding her agitation amusing. “Well…we’ll see. I’ll talk to ya later. Okay? Okay? Take care honey, be patient. Alright. Take it easy. Bye.” You hear the receiver click as he finally hangs up the phone.

You’re fuming now, a bit off the rails considering none of this has anything to do with you, and you know it. The gall of him to behave that way when he knows he’s in the wrong, that he is lying to her. For god’s sake, he is having a party right now and there are girls here that you know were invited by him for a particular purpose, and he’s over here telling Anita how tired he is and how crazy she is when she is right all along.

The now-small logical part of your brain is screaming at you to leave and to get your nose out of his business before you do something stupid, but instead you listen to Elvis as he lets out a huge sigh that ends in a frustrated growl.

“Who in the hell is out there lurking in the hallway?” you hear him shout out of nowhere.

Shit.

Your heart pounds, knowing you are caught, and you are mad enough that you refuse to run away. You take a deep breath instead, pushing the door open slowly.

Elvis looks up through his dark lashes from behind the huge mahogany desk, his hands steepled and his jaw set. Surprise flashes over his features when he lays eyes on you, his left eyebrow shooting up, but his eyes quickly return to a steely blue, hardening.

“How much did you hear?” There’s no preamble, no beating around the bush, no charming quip.

You consider lying for a moment. “Enough,” you finally say, knowing lying would be futile—he knows you well enough to see through your deceit. You are angry enough at him for it to show on your face.

“Hmmm. Mmm hmm,” he tuts, seemingly disappointed in you, his anger still simmering just below the surface. “What the fuck were you thinkin’, listening to my private conversation?” It comes out frighteningly low and biting.

You open your mouth to speak, but before anything gets out, he’s yelling, “What is it with the goddamn women in my life sticking their noses where they don’t belong?!” You cannot help but flinch at his outburst, even as angry as you are.

Elvis gets up so fast and so violently the rolling chair he’s sitting in flies backwards, hitting the bookshelf behind him. Rounding the desk, he advances on you, and you stumble, countering by stepping back. With his dark hair and flashing eyes, his features both soft and severe all at once, his natural beauty is intimidating.

Already angered by his conversation with Anita, he is teetering right on the edge of fury, on that blinding temper of his. Which is why you have no idea what comes over you next.

“So, how’s Anita?” you ask sardonically. A small part of you is hoping that your sarcasm will deescalate the situation. It does not. More likely, for whatever reason, you have this urge to push him right over the edge. He’s never turned his temper on you before, and his temper can be blindingly terrible, yet still you persist.

“Don’t be insolent. It doesn’t become you, y/n,” he seethes, his soulful eyes now a churning, hard, steely blue, like the northern Atlantic during a storm.

You continue anyway, “You should just tell her, E. She obviously suspects what you’re doing, wouldn’t it just be easier—"

“I didn’t ask for your fuckin’ opinion!” he shouts at you. Your heart begins to pound in your ears, along with the ringing of his voice, but you are stubborn as hell and pissed off, too, so despite all the warning bells, you keep going.

“You’re right, you didn’t, but I’m telling you anyway as your friend and as a woman who knows—and more so because no one else will dare to call you on it—” you shoot at him, trembling with anger, “Being cheated on and then being lied to and made to feel crazy about it when you know something is wrong is awful. That’s why she’s nagging you all the time. You are making her feel crazy. You should either tell her or leave her, Elvis, but this isn’t right.” You let out a breath, your body hot with anger and you are surprised at your boldness.

“Aw, hell, y/n, you gonna be bitchin’ and naggin’ now, too, huh?” he barks, his eyes flashing.

More words, ones you didn’t expect to speak, come rolling off your tongue. “Why are you hanging on to her if you are just gonna constantly screw around behind her back? How can you really love her and do that to her? You have to know after all this time that she wants you to marry her, but I think we both know that’s not going to happen, is it? What exactly is the point of all this, then, Elvis?”

You expect him to scream at you again and you brace for it. But instead, he steps closer, cornering you. Anger is rolling off him in waves but now it’s tempered by something else, too. Something heavy and thick that starts to suck the air from the room as his deep eyes lock onto yours, unwavering.

“Why y/n, you sound almost jealous.” It comes out smooth, too smooth, with a dark chuckle as he takes one more bold step into you. Your back hits the wall, breath catching at the insinuation.

“W-what? No,” you eek out defensively, in a voice far too high for your liking. You feel your cheeks flush. You know objectively what he’s trying to do, distract and deflect blame for his situation off him and onto you. It’s manipulative but effective because you are flustered beyond repair now.

And maybe because there’s a little truth to it, that small voice from earlier adds. Though you have no idea how Elvis may have pulled that deep thought, one that you barely acknowledged yourself, from the deep recesses of your brain.

Faltering under the pressure of his gaze and the closeness of his lean body practically pressing up against yours, you try to skirt around him.

He slams his hand onto the wall next to your head and you wince as his arm blocks you in. You’re breathing hard now, feeling something between shock and fear and exhilaration as his beautiful face comes too close to yours, forcing you to turn back to him.

Elvis will not be ignored.

“I’m not sure I believe you, baby,” he purrs. “Why else would you be snooping into my private romantic business?” His nose almost grazes your face, tantalizing, the scent of his Old Spice filling your nostrils, consuming you. You realize you’ve never been this close to him, not like this.

Maybe there’s a good reason for that.

Your heart drops into your stomach, but you roll your eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you respond, glaring at him. It sounds almost convincing.

Elvis chuckles meanly, not believing you, his lip curling into a grin, but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s a panther stalking his prey, and you have come crashing into the jungle, demanding his attention. 

His wrath is laced with something fervently sexual, and anything sexual coming from Elvis is ten times what it might be from another man. It’s intoxicating in the worst way possible, clouding your thoughts, distracting you from your frustration at his behavior. It’s as though, over time, he’s learned to wield his charismatic essence and his sexual energy into a weapon, one which he is now turning on you.

You realize you are in way over your head, but you’ve left yourself no room to backpedal out of this.

Elvis’ icy eyes roam over your face. For a moment you think he might close the gap between you two and press those pillowy lips to yours. For a moment you allow yourself to wonder if they feel as soft as they look, if they taste as sweet as you imagine.

What would he do if it were you that closed the gap? Would he be shocked out of his rage and pull away? Or would he kiss you back? Would you want him to?

Guilt washes over you, a cold shock, in response to these thoughts. What in the hell is wrong with me today?

But right now, cornered as you are, you feel like you might do almost anything to get out of this intense limbo he has you trapped in. You decide to call him out and see what happens.

“Oh, please, Elvis. Does this bull work on all the girls?” you hum almost nonchalantly, even though your heart is galloping, but it has the desired effect. He bites his tongue and shakes his head, leaning back from you. “What, you think you can just try and beguile me, of all people, and I’ll forget about what a jerk you’re being?”

“That’s not—,” he begins, through gritted teeth.

“Oh, shut it,” you interrupt, even more mad now after calling him out on his bad behavior for the second time. “I have half a mind to call Anita up myself after the stunt you just pulled!”

“The hell you will!” Elvis growls, eyes heated, yanking you by the arm towards the desk. “I’ll teach you what happens when you stick your nose where it don’t belong.”

~

You yelp in surprise as he pulls you over. It all happens so fast; you barely resist because your brain doesn’t comprehend what’s happening until he’s planted himself on top of the desk and bends you over his knee.

“Elvis, what are you…?” you yell. He cannot be serious, there is no way he will—

The first smack hits your backside hard. You choke in shock, not just at the sting but at his audacity. You are frozen, speechless, until you realize he’s aiming to do it again. You try to wriggle off his leg, flailing your arms for purchase, but he is much stronger than you. His arm clamps down on your back, holding you fast.

“Elvis!” you shriek at him, “Don’t you even think about—!” The second smack lands harder than the first, on the other cheek, and you squeal, kicking your legs.

“You gonna stay outta my business, y/n?” he asks.

“Goddamnit, Elvis!” you hiss, trying to glare back at him, but he holds you fast.  

“Takin’ that as a ‘no’,” he muses, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he brings down his hand again. You yelp again, then grit your teeth. He’s not going easy on you, though you are absolutely sure he’s not anywhere at full strength, either. He’s not truly trying to hurt you. While your dress is softening some of the blow, it still smarts, sending your eyes watering.

You are livid, but much to your shock, you are also finding yourself exhilarated, stimulated. Your heart races and you have no idea what’s gotten into you. It’s like everything you’ve done in the last thirty minutes—poking your nose in where it didn’t belong, becoming so angry at him, pushing all of his buttons on purpose—was some strange way to get here. Not that you knew, not at all, that this would be your punishment, but it was almost as if you were crying out for his attentions all along.

This realization stuns you into stillness, and you barely register him talking to you again.

“I can do this all day, y/n, until you tell me what I need to hear,” he says in a sing-song voice. He’s enjoying it, his anger still there, but no longer at the forefront of his intent. No, now he is entirely focused on getting you to cry uncle.

You are stubborn and silent, though still reeling with confusion from your realizations of what got you here, slung over Elvis Presley’s knee, and that you, too, might be enjoying this, but in all the wrong ways. When his hand slaps your ass this time, you bite back the sound that wants to come forth, because it is no longer one of shock. Never in a thousand years do want to admit that you are relishing the feel of his hand on you like this, that the sting is having the opposite effect of what he wants or what either of you expects. It is wrong in so many ways.

Your lack of response must confuse him because you feel him hesitate in the slightest. You are unsure what comes over you, other than the impulse that you don’t actually want him to stop, which means he definitely should stop, but you can’t let him know why and instead it all comes out jumbled. The intended, “Elvis, please don’t!—Stop!” somehow (perhaps a little less than subconsciously) turns into a breathless, pleading for him to continue, “Elvis, please…don’t…stop.”

And though you feel his leg tense under you slightly, the only outward indication that he takes it any other way, he indeed does not stop. You squirm at the last second, realizing your mistake. And when his hand lands this time, fingers splayed wide, he hits decidedly lower and more centered than before. There is no way to know if it is purposeful or accidental, not that it matters in this moment because you cannot help the way your fingers dig into his thigh and the embarrassing moan that escapes your lips when he slaps your center along with your ass.

There is no denying what that sound meant. There’s no way to play it off or pretend it didn’t happen. You are fully aroused and completely mortified.

And Elvis knows it. You know he does by the way he stills, how his other hand clenches your dress at your waist, how you can feel his chest heaving along with your own in the thick, heavy silence that comes after.

For a moment, you wonder if he will push, if he’ll try to continue under the guise of this insane game, and a shameful part of you almost wants him to, wants to see how far you’ll both go, but that thought is fleeting.

~

He releases you, and you scurry off his lap as though he is on fire. And he might as well be with that tell-tale twinkle burning in his crystalline eyes, which are no longer stormy with anger but brimming with amusement and surprise and curiosity and heat. Then, as if he can’t help it, those pink lips pull up into a wide, cheeky smile, his tongue peeking out between his teeth and the tip touches his top lip. The look is somewhere between bashful and positively sinful.

You smooth your dress frantically with your hands, your face burning. Flustered beyond repair, you swipe at your watering eyes, feeling the heat scorch through your body. You are so utterly embarrassed that you could cry. Neither of you speaks at first (what in god’s name can you say??), but Elvis starts to giggle—giggle—that hiccupping little laugh of his that you know will spiral into a fit if he really gets going.

“Don’t you…don’t you dare laugh at me, Elvis Presley!” you sputter and stamp like a child, pointing at him, but his face is going red now and he’s starting to lose it.

“I’m-I’m n-n-not! I just c-can’t…” he stutters before he erupts into full blown belly laughs.

“Oh, my god,” you cry, bringing your hands to your face. You are both livid at him and mortified at yourself, but the situation is completely ridiculous and his laughter becomes contagious. “I swear to god, this isn’t funny!” you wail, fighting back your own laughter.

This just sends him into fresh peal of laughing, and he doubles over.

You finally break down, laughing, too. “Shut up!” you yell, but all the sting is out of it with your own giggles. “This is all your fault!”

“MY fault?!” he cries, trying to catch his breath, tears leaking from his eyes.

You don’t have an answer to that. You know it’s very much on both of you, especially you.

Finally, the laughter starts to die down and you both are wiping at your eyes and catching your breath. Silence starts to hang heavy again, but you break it with ferocity.

“Let’s just pretend that none of this ever happened, okay? I’ll forget everything I heard, and you’ll forget…the rest of it, and we’ll never, ever speak of this again,” you say seriously, with conviction. “Deal?”

As absurd as the whole situation is, you both know there are very real consequences, for both of you, if any of what’s transpired leaves this room. The problem is you know he can be terrible at keeping secrets; however, there is no way for him to tell yours without exposing himself. You can see him work through this now that he is calmed down, his blue eyes regarding you carefully.

You force yourself to remain steady under his intense gaze, trying your best to ignore the way your body wants to involuntarily respond to him all the sudden. You need him to know how serious you are because if this somehow got back to Jack, or to anyone at all, you would be humiliated at best and divorced at worse.

Maybe that’s a little dramatic, you think, but it wouldn’t be good for anyone. But it lights enough panic in you to get your head on straight.

“I’m serious, Elvis. Not a word from either of us,” you reiterate, as Elvis’ face has become unreadable. Your body still feels hot and you will your heart to slow, praying that he’ll give you the answer you need so you can get the hell out of here.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally nods, “Not a peep.” He purses his lips and mimes locking them and throwing away the key. You want to roll your eyes, but instead breathe a sigh of relief. You turn, quick on your heel to leave, needing as far away as possible from this whole situation. Far away from him.

“Y/n?” he calls out from behind you as you reach for the door.

Your heart drops into your stomach and you brace yourself for a quip. You turn, not expecting to see the apologetic look on his face that you do. It’s almost childlike in its sincerity, his eyes big and mournful.

“I-I’m sorry I lost my temper. I-I-I shouldn’t have put my hands on you like that,” he says, playing with his ring nervously.

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor. An apology is not at all what you were expecting. You blink a couple of times, your whirlwind of emotions calming for a moment.

“Thank you, E. And I’m sorry for sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. It really is none of my business,” you add, cheeks warming again as you look down, feeling embarrassed for all the reasons, feeling exposed under his gaze.

“Naw, baby, you’re just callin’ it as you see it. You’ve never pulled punches with me, and I don’t expect you to start now,” he replies, lip curling up in a smile.

You nod. “Even so, I’ll do my best to refrain from spying on you in the future.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay.” You turn and leave before he has a chance to stop you again. Hurrying to the bedroom you are sharing with Jack, you lock yourself in, lean back on the door, and slide to the floor with your head in your hands.

What in god’s name came over you? Why would you do such a thing? And why in the hell did you like it when he touched you like that? Panic and guilt run through your veins like ice. You push all the thoughts away, as deep and as far as they will go.

Not a word. Pretend this never happened. Nothing is wrong if it never happened.

You repeat it in your head until it sticks.

*

Carrying the black folder with your sheet music, you take a deep breath and take a seat on the stage behind the curtains that hide the backstage from the audience. You’ve never been backstage for one of his shows, and it is bustling with musicians. Your job tonight is to follow along with the Sweet Inspirations and see if you can find your footing in the music while the show is happening. With the volume on stage, no one should be able to hear you from out front.

Nerves flow through you, nevertheless. It’s been a crazy three days with the vocal coach, who has assured you that, yes, you have the capability to do this and are “a natural,” but that you need to work through your stage fright. You’re not sure if it is her idea or Elvis’ to put you backstage during a performance, but here you are, your heart pounding as though you were going on stage with the rest of them.

In those three days, you haven’t seen Elvis alone, either. This has made you incredibly uneasy for a variety of reasons. Part of you is glad because you feel like your head is clearer about the whole affair, that you have some semblance of control, that if you want to end it (and you should) that you can.

However, another part of you craves his attention, missing him desperately, worried that he’s gotten what he wants from you and now is moving on. You keep thinking about how if he’s not spending his nights with you who might be keeping his bed warm instead. This fear is beginning to wreak havoc and is at odds with your logical thoughts. You know you need to get over it, to get over him, that all of this is just for fun anyways. It’s just sex. Nothing other than that was ever promised. He’s free to do what he wants with who he wants.

It's not as though you haven’t seen him, though, it just hasn’t been alone. Between your lessons, his schedule, and Jack seemingly looming everywhere, it’s been hard to steal any time away. As soon as you told Jack you were staying, that Elvis was offering you a job as part of the show, you couldn’t quite get a read on how he felt about it. Jack seemed surprised, a little annoyed, and wary when you told him. You were sure he wouldn’t want you around anymore, but instead he has been more attentive than usual, which has also thrown you for a loop. You don’t know if he suspects something might be going on, but he hasn’t been off cavorting until all hours of the night anymore, instead staying with the guys at the after party every night in Elvis’ suite.

In any case, all you and E have had are a couple of fleeting, longing looks and the occasional touch, which is maddening. He did come to one of your lessons, but remained professional in front of the coach, only giving you a quick peck on the cheek and left a lingering hand at your waist, burning through your dress and threatening to set you aflame right there and then.

During the after parties, where the gang, plus a lucky group of fans (usually pretty, young things), would come up and join you all. You smiled your way through the gatherings trying to appear as normal as possible as the girls flirted endlessly with Elvis, and he flirted back at them. Not to mention the way Jack would look at the girls, too. The whole situation was becoming untenable.

Thank god for Sandy, who always seemed to be there when you needed her, with a squeeze of a hand or a bump of your shoulder, stealing away with you to the bathroom when it all became too much.

But, lucky for you, you at least had a distraction of learning all the music for the show, hence why you are here now, amongst the fervent energy that is building backstage. The Sweet Inspirations just finished their set, and now everyone is waiting on the man of the hour.

You finally see him round the corner, clad in his black herringbone suit, the one you find impeccably flattering on him. He looks gorgeous but is vibrating with nervous energy and seems like he could be sick at any moment, his eyes focused on something only he can see. Involuntarily, you rise out of your chair in his presence, wanting to go to him, to comfort him, but you stop yourself. It isn’t your place, and you don’t want to distract him or possibly make his nerves worse.

Much to your surprise, Elvis seems to sense you, turning to you, and his cobalt eyes light up when they meet yours. He switches gears, much to the surprise of some of the guys, and walks towards you. They don’t follow, which you are glad for. You meet him, desperately wanting to pull him in for a kiss, but everyone seems to be watching. His eyes travel over your face, needy under the fear he’s experiencing.

“You’re here,” he says gratefully, as though it is a surprise that you actually showed up.

“I’m here,” you reply. “How are you feeling?”

“Nervous. But better now,” he says, those big blue eyes blinking at you with an almost shy smile.

“Me, too,” you laugh. God, you want to touch him so badly, it’s like an itch you can’t scratch.

“I miss you,” he whispers, and it nearly breaks your heart with the way it makes it swell in your chest.

“I miss you, too,” you nod breathlessly, “and we’ll talk later, but right now, you need to go out there and kick some ass, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, taking a deep breath, puffing his cheeks and letting it out slowly. He reaches out and grabs your hand, squeezing it tight, his huge rings cold against your skin. Then he turns abruptly, heads off, and cues the band to start.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. Seeing that side of him, so needy and small, is such a contrast to how larger than life he is as he walks on that stage. It reminds you so much of the young man he once was, so different from the cocky, self-assured man he can be today.

Then the show starts in earnest and you sit back down, realizing you have a job to do and can’t just moon over him the entire show. You do your best to follow the music, humming along, quietly finding the high harmonies to the songs you feel like you’ve heard a million times but are now experiencing differently because you are listening for other things.

You do notice that some of his jokes are falling flat and that the audience isn’t responding as enthusiastically as they could be. Elvis fights for their attention, being the consummate performer that he is, and you can tell he’s a bit ruffled by it.

By the end of the show, you’ve been swept up in the music and it feels like no time has passed, your nerves long forgotten. It’s an amazing feeling, really, as the crowd applauds and the curtain falls and everyone bustles with after-show energy. Even though you weren’t officially on stage, you still feel swept up in the high of it all and it’s invigorating.

Elvis, of course, is soaked with sweat, breathless as the swarm descends with compliments, though he doesn’t smile or seem to believe them even though he nods through them. You know he is a perfectionist in his own right and by his demeanor, he seems agitated by how the performance went. His eyes find yours only briefly, guarded, before he is hustled away. You hide your disappointment in collecting your music and instead focus your energy on conversing with some of the musicians as they pack up their instruments. The mood feels sour, dampened, as Elvis’ displeasure radiates even after he leaves. Your emotions are tumultuous, as you feel neglected, and you are glad when you see Sandy waiting for you so you can go up to the penthouse together.

“How’d it go?” she practically bounces. “How nervous were you?”

“Pretty nervous at first, but after the first song, I just kinda got swept up in the music. It was pretty remarkable, actually,” you reply. “Though E didn’t seem very happy with the show.”

She pulls you along, through the curtains and out into the hallway. “And how is…everything else?” she intones with a knowing look.

You sigh, shifting your music folder to the other arm, looking down. You hurry her along, away from prying ears. “He came up to me before the show and told me he missed me,” you whisper.

“Oooh, really? That’s good, right? Sometimes a man needs to know what he’s missing to really appreciate it,” she muses. “Do you miss him, too?”

“I don’t want to! But as soon as he was there in front of me, I felt like I was gonna come out of my skin to get to him. I’m just…having all these feelings I don’t know what to do with, San,” you fluster. “Every time I think I have a handle on it, something happens to remind me that I’m completely off the rails.”

“You’re not ‘completely off the rails’, y/n. You’ve just got it bad,” she says almost nonchalantly.

“Ugh! I’m desperate to see him alone, and seeing him but not being able to touch him or to do anything that might give us away is hard. Not to mention, all these girls hanging all over him is making me crazy, and Jack seems to be everywhere under foot all the sudden, which is even more maddening. Oh, I need to end this. I can’t keep doing this,” you whine.

“Listen to me, we are just gonna go upstairs and hang out with everyone just like normal, okay? And we’ll try to get you two alone at some point. I’ll talk to Jerry, okay?” Sandy says, grabbing you by the shoulders. “I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, babe,” you sigh. “I’m fine, really.”’

Sandy side-eyes you as you both head up to the top floor.

The guys have procured yet another gaggle of women and a few men to join the party tonight. Jack has planted himself next to you, uncharacteristically putting his arm around you. Surprised, you try not to stiffen, reminding yourself that this is your husband and it’s totally normal for him to put his arm around you, but it feels more possessive than affectionate. Or maybe you are just imagining it.

You busy yourself making small talk as you all wait for Elvis to appear. When he does, freshly washed, the smell wafts over you, reminding you of your most recent escapades in the shower. You flush a little at that, hiding your face by taking a drink.

Elvis glances at you only momentarily as he enters. He seems a little off, you think, a little edgy, as he commands the room and finds a seat amongst the girls. Your jaw tenses as they fawn and fall all over him, and he flirts back as though he can’t help it. This makes you insane to watch for the third night in a row. All you can think about is his hands on someone else the way you want them to be on you.

And the more you want Elvis’ hands on you, you instead get Jack’s, which seem to be gripping you at all times in some way. Over your shoulder, on your knee, on your hand…you’re trapped in this tortuous hellscape where you would do anything to get him to stop touching you, but you can’t, you can’t without it giving yourself away.

You are equally trapped as you watch your lover give his attention to everyone but you. Every time Elvis laughs or smiles or his eyes sparkle flirtatiously, or if he touches one of them or when they touch him, you want to launch right out of your chair at him.

He wants them, you think. That’s why he hasn’t seen you the last few days. He’s been with other women.

The thought drips like poison into your heart, twisting it, filling you with anger and sadness.

Why would he want you when he can have any pretty young thing? No one wants you. No one chooses you. It drips again, icy and brutal.

All of it goes on for what feels like an eternity, and you want to scream, to cry, to escape, but you’ve made this bed and now are being forced to lie in it. It’s your punishment for all your misdeeds, you think. But your stomach is rolling with an ever-growing fury at Jack, at Elvis, at those girls, at yourself, and you start to squirm in your seat.

Finally, your jealousy gets the better of you. If Elvis won’t pay attention to you, then you’ll find someone else who will. It makes the most sense that it’s your husband, of course, who is already strangely attached to you tonight, so you bite your tongue and force yourself to return his affections instead of shirking from them. You lean into him, you put your hands on him, on his chest, his arm, his leg. You pretend it was like it was years ago, when you still both wanted each other more than anything. You throw yourself into the act because it takes your mind off the women across the room.

Jack is surprised, you can tell, but he’s not too far gone into the bottle and soon is returning your affections, pecking at your cheek and neck. After a while, when he whispers in your ear that he wants you, part of you is exhilarated, powerful, because finally your husband wants you again.

It’s in that moment when Elvis’ eyes find yours for only the second time since you’ve been here, those intense blues locking on as Jack’s breath tickles your ear. Elvis’ gaze darkens dangerously, and you watch his jaw clench as he watches you and Jack. And when Jack takes your hand, pulling you off the couch, you feel Elvis’ eyes burning holes into your back.

Finally, is all you can think. Finally, the men in your life are paying attention.

You are so wrapped up in this game, in your anger and your jealousy, that when Jack yanks you into the bathroom and locks the door behind him, you aren’t even upset about it. You want to be disgusted at him (and you are—you still hate him for what he’s put you through), but in this moment, he only has eyes for you and that’s all you want right now, even if it is misguided. Even if the love isn’t there like it’s supposed to be.

When he kisses you with his whisky-tinged breath, it almost feels like he cares. When he gropes you and touches your body in the places he thinks he knows will turn you on, you pretend that it does. You let yourself get swept into a fantasy, into the act, because at least it’s something to chase away all the terrible things you’ve done and all the terrible thoughts in your head.

When you grab at the straining erection in his pants, the heat of him burning into your palm, and hear his gasping moans in your ear, you feel powerful. As you sink to your knees, you relish the look of lust and surprise in your husband’s eyes, and it’s enough to keep you going, even though part of you is appalled. You take him into your mouth, closing your eyes, wishing he was someone else. Jack twists his hand in your hair as he leans against the counter, slack jawed, and you know this won’t take long. It makes it bearable. You’ve known him long enough to know exactly what to do: how to lick, where to touch, the noises you need to make. And you relish in the control you have as he comes undone in record time.

Jack is still gasping for breath when you stand, spitting what he left in your mouth in the sink and washing your mouth out. He grabs at your ass, panting, “Jesus, treasure, what’s got into you? That was fuckin’ hot.”

You shrug coyly at him in the mirror. “I gotta pee, sweetie,” you say, shooing him out, wanting him away from you. More than anything, you want to be alone to simmer in your anger and revulsion.

“Mmm, okay. Thanks, babe,” he hums, still obviously refracting, drunk on you rather than whisky for once. He kisses your cheek sloppily before zipping up and heading out. It doesn’t escape you that he didn’t even make an attempt to get you off. Not that he could, but it figures.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hair askew and cheeks red, eyes blazing. This is the woman I’ve become, you think bitterly. I’m either fucking my lover with my husband in the next room, or I’m sucking off my husband with my lover in the next room.

It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You don’t recognize yourself anymore. You ache for Elvis, but you cover it with anger and jealousy and fear. You hate Jack for what he’s done to you, yet you fall into him and use him the first chance you get.

Rooting around in the drawers, you find some toothpaste and swish it around in your mouth, hoping, wanting to get the taste of Jack, the taste of your own bitterness out. You wash your hands and comb your hair, wondering if this was enough, if you can go back out there at watch Elvis with those women and not die a little inside.

Knock, knock.

The insistent rap on the door startles the hell out of you and you jump. “One second!” you shout with one last look in the mirror. You open the door quickly, not wanting to keep whoever is waiting, and walk out.

And you run smack into Elvis’ chest. You don’t even need to look up to know it’s him—at this point you know his physique and his scent anywhere. A little yelp escapes your lips, and you feel the heat, the anger rolling off him in waves. You gulp, raising your eyes to his and they are as hard and dark as you’ve ever seen them. Your heart jumps into your throat as he grabs you by the arm and yanks you across the hall, throwing you into his bedroom and slamming the door behind so hard that the wall shakes.

You stumble for a second in your heels but recover quickly, turning to face him. Elvis is furious, in that terrifying way you’ve seen before, nearly blacked out with rage. You can see him barely holding on, gripping to a sliver of sanity as he faces you, chest heaving.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” he seethes, his hands fisted and jaw clenching and unclenching, black hair tumbling over his forehead.

Your heart sprints in your chest and you unconsciously step backwards before you catch yourself and stop, lifting your chin at him. “I don’t know what you mean,” you say almost haughtily.

“The fuck you don’t,” he says, advancing on you. You scurry back again, putting the large couch in between the two of you. “You think I didn’t notice the way he was all over you and how you were all over him out there for everyone to see?? You think I didn’t know what was goin’ on when you left?? You think I didn’t see his fuckin’ face comin’ back into the room, grinnin’ like an idiot?!” he screams, grabbing a bottle of water off the coffee table and hurling into the wall.

You flinch as the bottle explodes, glass tinkling down to the floor. “Elvis, stop it! Calm down, everyone can hear you!” you hiss, trying to knock some sense into him, but he’s way beyond that.

“I don’t give a shit!” he yells. “How could you fuckin’ do that?” The rage and the hurt you see in his blacked-out eyes is more than you ever expected and tugs at your heart. But you are still furious in your own right, furious at him for this display, furious at the whole situation.

“How could I do what, E? What? Be with my husband? My husband? Or have you forgotten since the stunt you pulled the other day in the bathroom that I have one?” you throw back at him, “That I have to go back to my room every night to him, pretending like everything is fine? Did you forget that?”

You’re not even sure if he hears you with how gone he is. He rounds the couch, coming for you. Scrambling back, you find that you have nowhere to go, your back is against the wall. Reaching you, he grabs your face in his large hands, his intense eyes drilling into you. “I don’t ever want to see you looking at another man, touching another man. I’m a really jealous motherfucker, y/n. And I don’t ever, ever, ever want you to be with another man, I don’t care who he is. I want to know that you’re mine and all mine,” he heaves.

“Are you kidding me?” you say, wrenching out of his grasp. “How can you demand that of me when you know it’s not possible? I have to keep up the pretense of my marriage! And you think I don’t know that you’ve been with other women? It’s been three days, Elvis, I’m not an idiot!” He looks at you with a mix of dumbfounded innocence and rage. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Maybe it was the girl in your lap just now or the one kissing you that gave it away!”

Elvis growls, shaking his head, staring down at you with those endless eyes. “You’re just fuckin’ jealous. You’re so jealous you went and fucked your husband in my bathroom to get my attention, is that it?” He slams his hand on the wall next to your head, but you refuse to react.

You know you shouldn’t say it, but he’s right and you know it. You did do it to get his attention, and now you have it. “No, baby, I didn’t fuck him. I just sucked him off and spit him out,” you say demurely, cutting, batting your eyes at him, knowing and not caring how awful you’re being.

The way his eyes widen betrays his shock, but he covers it quickly as they narrow. You wonder for a moment if you should be truly afraid because you have pushed him too far, but you almost don’t care. Part of you wants him to feel all of this, a fraction of the tumultuousness that you’ve been feeling for the last week.

“Hmmm…,” he hums, then clicks his mouth. His eyes are black and blazing as they pass over your body. This stillness is almost more frightening than the shouting. You shiver, trembling, but it’s just as much from your own anger as from his, and you can feel the fury laced with something else entirely. You refuse to back down or look away.

~

“You goddamn fuckin’ little brat,” Elvis finally snarls and yanks you with him to the couch. He slams down and pulls you over his knees, and suddenly, a memory from a long time ago flashes in your brain, one you had entirely pushed out of your mind. You choke on it as it floods back to you, knowing he must remember, too, knowing that everything is quite different this time around.

You gasp when Elvis pulls up your dress and yanks down your panties, the cold air of the room hitting your most sensitive areas. “Elvis! Elvis, don’t you dare, don’t you even--!” you shriek, writhing in his lap, not knowing if your words are protests or encouragements at this point.

When his open palm slaps your ass, the sound reverberates through the suite, the sting radiating down your thighs and sending water into your eyes. You gasp again, more from surprise than anything. Surprise that while it smarts, it doesn’t feel bad.

“Elvis,” you breathe out, wriggling in his lap.

He holds you to him. “Oh, don’t you ‘Elvis’ me. You’ve been an obstinate, naughty lil’ brat, and I ain’t havin’ it,” he says through gritted teeth before bringing his hand biting down onto the other cheek.

You hold back your cry, digging your nails into his thigh instead, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big reaction. Beyond the sting, you feel heat gathering in your belly, but you don’t want him to know that either.

“Seems ya need a lesson or two about how to behave, now don’tcha, you naughty lil’ girl?” he seethes, laced with a sneer. He brings down his hand again, and this time you can’t hold back the sound that emanates from your throat, a whiny moan.

“Ah, that’s what I thought,” Elvis purrs wickedly, rubbing your stinging skin with his fingers. You are completely at his mercy now, your frustrations unravelling under his touch. You buck in his lap, needing more, needing him to ease your toxic thoughts.

“Hmm, you like rilin’ me up? Like gettin’ me all worked up and jealous, huh?” He smacks your ass again, this time his fingers grazing your core. You moan fully now, unable and unwilling to contain it, tears running down your face, your heat building in the most confounding of ways.

“Answer me—didja pull that lil’ stunt on purpose, baby?” he asks, his hand reverberating on you again.

“Y-yes,” you breathe out.

“Yes, what?” he pushes, palming your ass, leaning down towards your ear, his breath hot.

It takes you a second in your haze to piece together what exactly Elvis wants, and once you do, it sends a delectable shiver down your spine. Once again, he never ceases to amaze you in how he can bring out pleasure in you that you never knew you craved or needed.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whine.

You hear him choke back a groan at that and next to your arm, you feel a twitch in his pants. You can’t help but smile.

“You wanted my attention, and now you’re gettin’ it, honey. Is that what you want?” he says, heat leeching from his voice.

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe again.

He brings his hand down one more time with a grunt, and you cry out in pleasure and pain, ass raw but you are somehow feeling a release that you didn’t know you needed.

~

“Look at you, baby,” Elvis says, somewhere between pride and surprise, running a finger through your folds, which unbeknownst to you are dripping wet. You bite your lip at the contact, sucking a breath in. You want him to touch you, but instead he pulls you up to face him. You hiss at the feeling of your raw ass hitting the backs of your heels as you kneel on the sofa.

He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him, tears staining your cheeks. “I need ya to look at me, honey,” he orders. You do. His eyes are still dark, but his fury has been tempered by lust.

“You been waitin’ eight long years for me to do that, haven’t ya?” he murmurs. Of course, he remembers exactly how long it’s been.

Your heart flutters and you nod, admitting to yourself that it may have crossed your mind once or twice, in your most secret moments.

“Ain’t nobody else touched you like that, baby?” The way he asks it is almost laced with hope, hope that this is something of you that only he gets to have.

“Never,” you whisper, shaking your head, his hand still gripping your chin.

“Only me, huh? Good girl,” he says, pleased. He lets go of your chin, wiping the tears off your face with his thumb. Then he looks in your eyes.

“I need you to be truthful with me now, baby, yeah? Don’t just tell me what you think I want to hear. Do you want me to keep bein’ rough with ya? Are ya likin’ that? Because if you don’t, I’m gonna stop,” he asks, voice real low.

You appreciate him pausing long enough to ask you and you consider him for a moment, though it doesn’t take long. “Yes, I like it,” you say, surprising yourself with the truth of it.

That dark look flashes over Elvis’ face again, and it sends a thrill right through you.

“Okay, but you tell me if you need me to stop, promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good, cuz I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet and I’m still fuckin’ pissed,” he growls. Your heart plummets into your belly with excitement as you watch the sweetness drain from his eyes, replaced by his fervent anger from earlier.

And you smile.

**

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals  

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch  @tattywood 

@sassanoe 

Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

[prettyboybuckley]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @saybiwithme @bi-buckrights @zainclaw

How many works do you have on ao3?

160

What's your total ao3 word count?

1,070,239

What fandoms do you write for?

I've mostly written for 9-1-1, though I started off with Shameless (6 fics) and I have written some for Teen Wolf (5 fics). There's one 9-1-1 crossover with Schitt's Creek.

Top five fics by kudos:

parents always yelling (telling us to get our acts together)

i just want something to hold on to (and a little of that human touch)

I will come to you (even in my sleep)

open up again (i believe in second chances)

exes and the oh's

Do you respond to comments?

Always, even if it takes me months. I actually just caught up again (there's still a bunch to go, but right now the oldest is 17 days ago instead of 250 days...). It's just a rule I have for myself, and even with the backlog I've kept it up so far, so I'm not going to stop doing it now.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'm not a big fan of angsty endings, I generally try to at least make it a hopeful ending or, in the case of the college au, use an epilogue to fix things.

But I guess sunny skies & summer highs qualifies as an angsty ending simply because of the cliffhanger (and yes, there is still going to be a continuation, I'm working on it 🙈).

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Choosing one out of 160 is really hard, but I think tell me, will you stay or will you run away is definitely one that deserves a mention here, because it already has a happy ending and then the epilogue just makes it even better 🥰

Do you get hate on fics?

Not commented on the fic itself, no. I've had some people talk shit about my fics on twitter, though, and not even vaguely but calling me by (user)name.

Do you write smut?

Is grass green? Yeah, I write smut 🤭 Thanks to two times kinktober, I have 95 explicit fics, by far the most used rating for my fics.

Craziest crossover:

let's have some fun tonight is my 9-1-1/Schitt's Creek crossover fic for 9-1-1 Rarepair Week, and my only crossover fic

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

My head over feet Buddie valentine's two-parter got posted as one chapter in Wattpad work with over 30 fics once. Filed a DMCA and Wattpad took it down within two hours.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Two of my fics have been translated into Russian afaik, one on ao3 and one on Ficbook

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Nope. It may be a nice challenge for the future? Not sure who I'd do it with.

All time favourite ship?

Gotta go for Buddie on that one, lol. Especially if you look at my writing history. But I often tend to hyperfixate on one ship at a time (current reading obsession is McDanno)

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Buck's POV of if love is art then you might be my masterpiece. I really want to, but at this point it's been two years since the original so I don't know if it'd be worth it either. (I know not everyone was happy about how I ended it, but I doubt any of them are still waiting for more). Writing a different POV of the same fic takes an amount of planning that my brain just really struggles with. And I could pick up where the last chapter (before the epilogue) picks up, but I think that way there would be some crucial information about Buck missing.

What are your writing strengths?

I've been told quite a lot of times that I am good at keeping characters, well, in character, even when putting them in partial or complete AU's. Of course, what is in character or not is subjective, but I do always challenge myself to work as much of the canon backstory and personality into who they are in the AU as possible.

And I like to think I'm pretty good at writing smut.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm terrible at pacing, which multiple of my long fics prove. It'll be drawn out first and then suddenly rushing. And being ESL I do struggle with things like sentence structure and grammar pretty regularly still.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

As long as there is some kind of translation provided somewhere I like it, but I'm not so quick to use it myself. Not beyond a few Spanish words here and there (generally pet names between Eddie and his family we've seen on the show or the occasional curse word when I feel it fits better than an English one, but I usually need to employ help from Spanish-speaking friends for those).

First fandom you wrote in?

Shameless! I binged that right before I started 9-1-1 and combined with the creative writing minor I was doing, it was actually what got me back into writing in general and what made me write my first ever fic.

Favorite fic you've written?

My in your arms i feel safe-series (which I always lovingly refer to as the ace kink fic) is definitely one of my favorites simply because of how personal it is to me and for the reason behind me writing it in the first place.

Other strong contenders are i would've loved you forever (it's never enough but i wanted it to be) and i'm begging you, come home to me (Teen Wolf, Thiam)

tagging @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @loserdiaz @watchyourbuck

[northern-passage]

honestly same...I also only stick to reading the same ifs I've been reading since like 2 years ago + as a disabled lgbt person this community has gotten to toxic to interact wth tbh

hmmm putting this under a read more but here's some ramblings about my personal experience as well as some advice if anyone wants it

before i started writing tnp, when i was just a reader, it was very easy to curate my space and avoid a lot of the nastier people (especially back when the forums were the main space for people to talk about IF. i didn't go on the forums at all) and i was very much outside of the fandom and followed only like one artist whose recommendations i started off with before finding more stuff on my own.

once i became an author though it is impossible to avoid certain groups of people and it's really hard to hold on to that comfortable space. over the last like 3 years now my audience has definitely changed and dwindled a lot due to my.... Big personality but before that i had to endure a lot of harassment, people stalking me, people harassing my friends just for being my friend, almost constant transphobia and racism, and even now i still have people that seem to just camp in my inbox waiting for any opportunity to try and hurt me/get a reaction out of me.

i've been pretty open about all of this stuff happening too which most people also don't like, though that seems to be pretty standard across any fandom when you try to talk about how bad they are. i'm never really surprised when other authors delete without any warning or they just slowly stop posting and never come back. it's definitely something i've wanted to do more than once and still think about sometimes. even now after finally seeming to find my "niche" and a more understanding audience, it's really hard and i struggle with finding inspiration and motivation because of how people have treated me.

unfortunately i think it's always been this way, it's the nature of sharing work online and especially with IF feeling so "collaborative" people really feel entitled to it. and i also see readers facing this same kind of harassment, too, so it's definitely not just an author problem.

my advice is to just block and ignore people as best you can and just stay in your own little bubble with your friends or at least people that you trust. if you're an author going through any of the things i mentioned then just know there are a lot of other authors that have had to go through it, too, and that you should also just block and ignore to the best of your ability. just because you're an author doesn't mean you have to tolerate it. i used to respond to a lot of messages which is why i feel that a lot of my harassment lasted for so long, because they thought it was "funny" to upset me, but the more you respond and give them attention the more they'll keep doing it. so just block anons and move on (i know i make it sound so simple. trust me i used to be really bad about it, now i try to take at least a day or two before responding and usually by that time i realize how stupid it is and i just delete it without any fanfare)

at the end of the day though it's your decision, and your well-being comes first before anything else. i say this to both authors and readers, there's no reason to force yourself to stay in a place that makes you uncomfortable or is triggering. sometimes it's better to just let go and move on, though i know that's easier said than done. i'm a prime example as someone who still logs into tumblr daily despite trying really hard not to do that.

and i'm not saying to give up on your work, but rather that writing privately is always an option, and it's what i've been doing now with my other projects ever since i took siren's call down. i know the desire for outside validation can be overwhelming but i think it's important to remember that you should be writing this for yourself first and that there's no harm in keeping your work private until you're ready. tumblr is fun but there's also a lot of problems that can be difficult to deal with while you're also trying to keep motivation and creativity up to write your story, and it can be really discouraging.

like i said, your first priority should be yourself, and if you have to step back away from tumblr/fandom then you should & you shouldn't feel guilty about it.

all of that to say that there are nice people out there, too, i've made really good friends here and i really value their friendship and their understanding, especially when i was going through the worst of it. and there are a lot of readers who have been very kind to me and that have sent me very nice messages and drawn lovely art over the years and i always try to focus on that over everything else.

it can be really easy to get overwhelmed by all the negativity and hostility which is why it's so important to find your people and be supportive of each other.

[elvisabutler]

the girl is mine

summary: the colonel has never liked you. he likes you even less with this special and suggests a quick divorce to free up elvis. you bear the brunt of elvis's aggravation on the matter. you're his, aren't you? fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) | elvis presley pairing: austin butler elvis x female reader rating: m. word count: 1423 warnings: throat fucking. possessiveness. 68 special elvis. the colonel being the colonel. mild hint of face fucking. oral ( m receiving, f implied/referenced ). reference to cheating but no one is cheating. author's note: welcome to the double dip day 29 for kinktober, throat fucking with austin!elvis. imagine who you want, this is supposed to be austin!elvis and imagines what happened post the "mmhmm" scene but can be read either way. i've got no other real comments to say other than woo i am almost done- in the middle of november- with kinktober ( at least the main parts since i had that tiny gaggle of double dips ). also at some point tonight you might end up seeing a little mood board for something i've been cooking up.

Once upon a time you're pretty sure that the Colonel was useful to Elvis. Once upon a time he helped your now husband navigate a world he was never a part of. Once upon a time he helped him shoot to the level of stardom that no one had ever seen before. He had his use once upon a time but nowadays you truly wonder what exactly is his use. Elvis's last films had flopped, Elvis was deliriously unhappy with the quality of work he was putting out and well- he was just unhappy in general, unfulfilled and you knew better than anyone that an unfulfilled Elvis was a dangerous Elvis.

Elvis had kept you in the dark as to what all exactly was happening in the special, telling you that he wanted to have you be just another audience member and saying "don't you be asking Jerry 'bout it, he ain't gonna tell you either." It's fun if you're being honest, usually you're at least mildly privy to the things your husband will do but not today. Of course, this meant that you wanted to go and congratulate him on what was one of the best shows you think he's ever done with some of the best singing you've ever heard and tell him how the entire crowd was obsessed with him.

But, then you hear it outside the door. You hear your husband's voice harden, you hear the Colonel threaten him and you fight the urge to storm in there, guns blazing to ever so delicately- truthfully not at all- punch that toad in the face. Before you can properly entertain the idea, the door is opening and the Colonel leaves but not before glancing at you with a huff and a shake of his head. You think maybe you should let Elvis cool off, knowing fully well that when he gets hotheaded that sometimes even you can't cool him down and you hate being on the receiving end of his frustration like this especially when you were in such a good mood. But you hear him muttering and you know that no, you ought to check on him.

"Baby?" Your voice is quiet when you enter the room but Elvis hears it nonetheless his facial features shifting from pure anger to something far more fond for a moment.

"Darlin'." He opens up his arms as if to ask you to come closer so that he can hug you and you oblige knowing you just want to do whatever it'll take to make him feel better. You'd like to talk about it, but- that might be better saved for later. "Colonel's- talking goddamn silliness again. Thinkin' I oughta divorce ya after that comment you made about the sewing machine and how you make a great wife but you'd rather hand stitch or have a professional do it in that one magazine."

You bite your lip in a bit of embarrassment before you shrug. "It's the truth though, I know even with those machines anything I turn out isn't gonna be half as good as what I can pay an honest working woman to do for me. Should be happy about it. I didn't say it wasn't a good-"

He chuckles, cutting you off. "You might as well have." He rubs at the back of his neck in thought before he sighs. "He thinks- He never has liked ya, thinks you're with me for all the wrong reasons, thinks you're sleeping with half the Mafia when you and I both know you wouldn't dream of that. Right Mama?"

There's a pause where you lick your lips and ponder before nodding. It's in the moment that you look up and see Elvis's eyes looking just a little more stormy than they already were that you realize your playful pause was a mistake. You open your mouth to say something before he places his finger on top of your lips.

"Not a peep out of you darlin'. I know the Colonel ain't right because you've been a good girl. You are a good girl. Always take my cock so well. Always let me get my fill of ya." He moves to grasp your chin, pulling you in for a soft kiss that quickly turns into him nipping at your lower lip. "Can I use you right now, darlin'? Get what I need out of you for right now? I'll give you a present at the end."

You should say no, you should say no because usually when Elvis is like this and asks you a question like that you end up doing something that you really shouldn't have. But- he's your husband and truth be told- the idea of having a promised present at the end fills you with enough excitement that you nod your head slowly. "How do you want me, baby?"

He shakes his head as he bites at his lips. "On your knees for me." He pulls at the tie on his robe, revealing that he isn't wearing a stitch of clothing underneath. You gulp as if it's your first time as you sink to your knees. You should wait until Elvis is ready, should wait until he pulls your mouth onto his cock but you don't, you see how he's for some reason already hardening just by looking at you on the floor so you start to wrap your lips around the tip earning a moan from him.

"Satnin." He groans, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, cupping your neck in an effort to get you to take more of him into your mouth. He knows he could get you to deep throat him immediately, you'd adjust but he's trying to be gentle. As if you can hear him being worried about the need to be gentle you look up at him and relax your throat, a hand moving on top of his giving him permission.

It's all the permission he needs, his fingers somehow gripping at your hair in whatever way he can and pushing your mouth further down his cock until he feels the tip of him against the back of your throat. You're coughing around his cock a little, trying to adjust even as you swear he's becoming girthier than he already was. The temptation to shut your eyes is there but you resist making sure to train your eyes on Elvis even as you try and make a swallowing motion knowing that the few times you've done it before Elvis has seemed to enjoy it.

The way his hand tightens and tries to yank at your hair tells you that you made the right decision. His thrusts into your mouth are sloppy as he mumbles above you words that are truly going in one ear and out the other with you catching snippets about "the colonel" "best girl" "my wife" and you start to clench your thighs together, your hand moving down to between your legs before he does a particularly rough thrust that has him hitting the back of your throat with enough force you can't help but stop breathing for a moment.

"Don't- Goddamn- sorry darlin' but don't you be touching what's mine. Gonna take care of you like I always do. You just wait a few minutes." He mutters, shutting his eyes for a moment as if to stave off the inevitable that is coming barreling faster than he intends it to.

Now that you know that you being touched depends on him coming first, you hum around his cock, the vibrations causing him to still for just a moment before an almost inhuman growl leaves his body, the thrusts and the pulling and pushing of your head on his cock reaching an almost fever pitch as you try and keep up, your tongue moving and your mouth just focusing on the task at hand. It doesn't take too long until you feel him coming while he's at the back of your throat, the salt and warmth of it coating your mildly abused throat as you try and not cough too much, as you try and not waste too much.

When Elvis pulls you off his cock, you think he's going to say something before you feel him picking you up and just setting you on the vanity behind the two of you and pulling down your underwear. Your voice is a little rough when you speak. "Elvis?"

"We'll talk later. Think I promised you a present, didn't I?"