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whiskyanndboots · 3 months ago

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Vertigo

Summary - You were kicking yourself, you were a coward, a hopelessly unrequited mess hung up on a time traveling genius who didn't end up with normal, boring girls like you.  Pairing - Five x Reader, OCxReader (briefly)

Warnings- Swearing, sexual innuendo, alcohol, canon divergence, pining

A/N - I didn’t edit this, sorry, but I got a little fic idea and ran with it. I’d never heard of Umbrella Academy until about a month ago when the series ended and the community was on fire, I only write for series 4 and Five is aged up in this one because it’s a travesty we didn’t get his family making jokes about him legally being able to drink now. Sloane is alive because so she should be.

You tilted your head back and finished your drink while the bartender was already making your next one, the pleasant buzz of alcohol thrummed through you easing the anxiety you'd had in coming here earlier tonight.   "He won't stop staring" Charlotte whispered in your ear, leaning into you so much you stumbled into the bar.   Charlotte was your favourite co-worker, she didn't seem to care much about your vague answers and the distance you kept from everyone at work.   "Who?" You answered with fake interest, you knew who.   "Oliver!" She exclaimed laughing into her drink still way too close to your face.   She was right, Oliver had been staring all night, aswell as flirting and buying you drinks. Oliver had asked you out once a few months ago and you'd rejected him, he took it on the chin and you'd been friends ever since. But you weren't blind, you seen the way he'd look at you, eyes flicking over your body before darting back up to your face when you'd walk by, his gaze always drifting to your mouth while you spoke. 

The only difference was that for the first time tonight you were flirting back.   "Come on, let's go dance" Charlotte tugged on your arm lightly gesturing at the packed dance floor.   "I'll get my drink and I'll meet you out there" You told her, she dropped your arm and practically bounced into the crowd, your gaze caught Oliver’s and you gave him a quick smile, ducking your head and turning to face the bar.   He was handsome, smart, funny, successful and he was very, very into you, you should have been over the moon, but there was one very crucial thing he was lacking when it came to your feelings.   He wasn't Five Hargreeves.  You'd been living with Five for two years now, you'd been surprised when he offered up his apartment while you were still reeling from having somehow, inexplicably, jumped timelines. He had said he was away working all the time and the place was empty anyway.   Considering you'd been staying with all the other Hargreeves siblings on a rotating roster the offer sounded like a dream. Five had eventually warmed up to you after he'd decided you weren't secretly trying to screw over him and his family, it took a few months longer than this siblings, you thought living with him would be awkward and you’d have this semi silent co-existence type of roommate relationship.   As it turned out living with Five was easy. Yes, he was snarky, bossy and arrogant, but he was an old man at heart and he acted like one. When he wasn't working he was home reading about things that made your brain hurt, watching jeopardy and random documentaries, he’d recently found his new hobby in building these little complex car sculptures he'd painstakingly put together for weeks at a time.   He liked walking too, the two of you often went for strolls, getting fresh air and finding new things to see, you were always excited about these little adventures and finding another hidden gem in the city. Five also had a love of classic cars and driving them very fast whenever he had occasion, the first time he asked if you wanted a spin in a 1983 Pontiac Firebird he’d acquired for a Saturday drive you spent most of it holding on for dear life. Five was an entirely sensible, though impatient, driver in the city, but he let loose when you traveled onto open roads. He liked to go see some of the weird wonders America had to offer, he had a list.

It was so easy to forget he was an old man on the inside while simultaneously forgetting his body was so young on the outside too.   Your favourite thing by far was drinking scotch at home on the couch just talking, laughing and listening to music as he tried to help you understand some complex theory on physics or his own time travel ones, he also told you stories of his life. Most of the time they were funny, but some nights it got somber and they were nights where you were brave enough to reach out and squeeze his hand as a comfort, he wasn't normally a very physically affectionate guy, but he always squeezed your hand back.   This was a problem because you'd very quickly fallen for Five, so quickly it was embarrassing, and Five had zero inclination towards you romantically.   You were helpless really, his tenacity, how incredibly intelligent he is, his arrogant charm and quick wit and how much he loved his family all made your heart flutter. There were times when he'd look up at you with mischievous green eyes, a slight smirk tilting his mouth and his dark hair falling so perfectly in his face that your heart would slam against your ribcage.   But as you had pointed out, this was all completely one sided.   Five saw you as a friend, a close friend, but there was nothing more. He'd never once made a move or even hinted at seeing you romantically in the last two and a half years you'd known him.   It was fine at first, it was enough for you just to be in his orbit, to live in your home together drinking coffee in the morning while he did crosswords in the newspaper and asked for your help occasionally, to be at family dinners or events and stand to the side to watch his incredible and weird family laughing and shouting while the both of you stole a moment for each other in the, usually, happy chaos.  It was enough to be cooking dinner and have Five come home muttering about the idiots he worked with, shrugging out of his jacket and coming to see what you were making. He'd lean against the kitchen counter venting while you were getting everything ready, he'd eventually sigh loudly and ask about your own day. You'd try not to get too distracted when he'd reach up and loosen his tie, long, tapered fingers plucking the knot expertly apart.   He'd always stand there until you were done cooking, hair messy, a slight smile on his face, sometimes teasing you as you tried to one up him with playful insults, you never could, but you still tried and the wide grin he'd give you when you inevitably were lost for words against him made your face flush.  It was all so domestic and you were far too comfortable with it.   The longer you indulged in the bubble you'd created with Five the deeper you were falling in and the more it was going to hurt when it ended.  You'd been thinking lately about the future, you wanted someone to love, maybe even a family, you'd spent over two years now in a kind of limbo not willing to accept you weren't going home to your old life. But you were getting older, you were watching everyone else's lives change and grow while yours stayed the same.   You dreaded the day Five told you he met someone, it was bound to happen eventually, if anything you were surprised it hadn't already. You'd see the way women looked at him, but he always brushed them off if they were brave enough to approach, atleast while you were with him. You didn't like to think about what happened when you weren't.  So you pushed yourself to do this, to have some fun and get to know your co-workers better, let your walls down and maybe even give Oliver a chance. Lila had even called and invited you out tonight and although you would much rather have spent time with Lila, Diego, Klaus, Luther and Sloane you declined. Lila sounded happy you were getting out of the house and making other friends.

You were glad you came, you were having fun and the more alcohol you drank the more free and giddy you felt. It felt amazing not to care so much about your problems.

You hadn't been with anyone since you found yourself stranded in this timeline and all the pent up frustration from living with the man who made your pulse quicken on a daily basis felt like it needed to be let out.   You grabbed your drink and made your way over to Oliver, he smiled widely as you approached, it felt good to have someone interested in you.  "Wanna dance?" He asked, there was a relaxed demeanour about him, he'd been drinking as much as you and you wondered if he could feel the same adrenaline about you as you were about him.   You nodded taking his outstretched hand as he led you onto the dance floor. The pub you all decided to visit had a band playing tonight, doing some pretty decent covers of some 80's rock and roll, you'd been here before with the others, it wasn't far from your apartment and Lila and Diego's house.   You saw Charlotte out there, swaying her hips with her arms around a mans neck, she winked at you with a wide smile when she saw Oliver pulling you further into the crowd of people.  You danced and sang , laughing and spinning around, everytime Oliver touched your skin it sent butterflies into your stomach, you don't remember the last time you felt this kind of nervous excitement, this exhilarated.  

A lie.

 You absolutely do remember.   It had been their birthday, all of their birthdays, but it was Five's second twenty first birthday, so naturally there was alot of alcohol involved. Five endured endless teasing about finally being able to drink and watching his cranky, snide banter with his family had you grinning all night.   You shook your head, you wouldn't let yourself think about that night. It was a year ago and you'd filed it firmly in the do not open part of your brain, you saved it for late nights when you couldn't sleep and you let yourself take a pathetic hit off the memory.   Oliver pulled you closer to him and out of your head, his hands were on your hips, he had an easy, boozy grin on his face while he held you tighter against his body, you could feel muscle and warmth, your breath quickened.  "You're so beautiful" He yelled over the music his hand sliding up to cup your face.   Your heart was racing as he leaned in, you'd been waiting for this all night.  His mouth clumsily pressed onto yours, you kissed him back with a vigour you didn't even know you had. This was what you needed to do, you had to get Five out of your head which was ironic considering its all you could think about now.   The kiss was messy, not unpleasant though, he pulled back to smile at you before smashing his lips back onto yours more forcefully now, his hands sliding down your body as you swayed to the music,   Your stomach turned flipped on itself, a sick feeling of guilt winding through you. It felt like cheating which was stupid, you weren't dating Five and Five wasn't in love with you. Five couldn’t have cared less you were doing this.   Suddenly everything was too overwhelming, you pulled back, but stayed in Olivers arms. His face was flushed and a goofy smile was plastered across it. You weren't sure you could do this, a kiss was one thing, but more felt like too much more.   You were kicking yourself, you were a coward, a hopelessly unrequited mess hung up on a time traveling genius who didn't end up with normal, boring girls like you.  You were abruptly pulled out of your mid makeout crisis when your arm was roughly yanked backwards and out of Oliver's arms. The alcohol made you unsteady and you'd almost tripped over stumbling into another body.  "Lila?" You blurted out confused when you turned to see the culprit, she looked furious.  "What the hell are you doing?" She barked at you loudly, you furrowed your brow at her, your mind trying to catch up with where Lila had just come from.  "(Y/N)?" Oliver asked moving closer, hand outstretched in concern.   "Back off wanker" She spat pulling you roughly through the crowd.   "Ow Lila!" You exclaimed, she was squeezing your wrist too hard. You quickly sent a reassuring wave and smile at Oliver behind you while Lila practically dragged you with her, your boozy legs not wanting to cooperate properly.   As you made it off the dancefloor you were greeted with a few of the other Hargreeves family members, you smiled before realising they looked didn't look happy to see you at all, Diego in particular looked furious.   "We're going home" Lila turned her head to tell you, not bothering to stop as she passed her family, even Luther and Sloane didn't meet your eye as you were tugged past.   "Why?" You tried to pull your arm back.   Lila turned to look at you with so much barely restrained fury you flinched, she didn't answer and you didn't fight her as she continued to pull you into the cold night air.  "I said I'm driving" You heard Diego arguing with Klaus as you tried to catch up with what the hell was happening. You were sitting in the back of Lila and Diego's van with Klaus, Sloane and Luther before you knew which way was up.   Klaus sat beside you, the side of his mouth lifted at your confused gaze, but his expression was pinched.   "Wait, I didn't tell them I was going!" You exclaimed looking back at the bar as the car jerked away from the curb throwing your body against your seatbelt.

“That’s what you’re worried about!?l Diego yelled, turning in his seat to glare at you, it made you flinch. You'd never been on the receiving end of a Hargreeves wrath before.

 You looked over to Luther and Sloane, their mouths were tight and they were pointedly not looking at you. You were so confused, you were willing your brain to sober up a enough to make sense of this.   "I can't believe this, how could you do this?!" Diego continued on driving the car faster than he should have been, white knuckle gripping the steering wheel, Lila was staring straight ahead seeming deep in thought.   You were definitely missing something because you had wracked your brain several times over and you were pretty positive you hadn't done anything at all to warrant this level of outrage.  "Are you gonna say something?" Diego once again turned to look over his shoulder at you.   "Just lay off, Diego" Klaus interjected "wait until we're home, she's drunk"   "Lay off?! I haven't even started" Diego fired back.   The car turned sharply and you grabbed onto the seat to steady yourself, you looked over to Klaus who's expression wasn't angry as he gazed down at you, it was worse, he looked disappointed.  "Has something happened?" You finally spoke up, as the words left your mouth you had a sudden scary thought "Is Five ok?"   "Oh, so now you give a damn about Five, huh?" Diego sounded exasperated even though he let out a chuckle, shaking his head muttering things you couldn’t hear.   The car pulled up in their driveway with a harsh jolt, you felt like the journey hear was way quicker than it should have been. You let yourself be led into the living room by Klaus who sat you down on the couch, the Hargreeves filed into the room each taking a seat, Lila pulled a chair from the kitchen into the room and planted herself down infront of you, Diego however was pacing back and forth looking like he was struggling not to explode.   Klaus appeared beside you with a glass of water, you hadn't realise how thirsty you were, "Thanks" you muttered taking a long gulp.   No one had answered you about Five yet and anxiety was building in your chest.   "How long?" Lila asked, the way she was staring into your eyes was intimidating the hell out of you.  "How long what?" You asked back creasing your brow.   "How long have you been fucking that guy?!" Diego exploded making your head snap towards him in surprise  "Diego, let me do the interrogating honey" Lila reprimanded, but turned to you expectantly.

"Oliver?" You asked quietly, what was their problem with Oliver?  "That the assholes name, huh? Oliver what a dumb ass name" Diego was muttering to himself.   "Well?" Lila widened her eyes at you expectantly. You suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable being stared at under a spotlight like this , this was your personal life and you could do whatever the hell you wanted.   "I don't see how thats any of your business" You replied steadily, Lila looked like she could have slapped you, the twitch in her hand made you pretty sure she wanted to.   "Our brother is our business" Diego stalked forward towards you "I never would have picked you for something like this, we all thought of you like family, Five worships the ground you walk on" You leaned back into the couch, Diego's voice was measured, but it felt oddly like being yelled at.   "It stops now. You tell him when he gets back or we will" Luther spoke for the first time, all business and no nonsense, nothing like the goofy big guy you'd come to know over the last few years. Sloane locked eyes with you before dropping them, a sullen look on her face.  "I'm sorry" You closed your eyes for a moment raising your hand up before running it across your face "why are you all so pissed?" You turned your confused gaze to Klaus.  "Well, I imagine it was having our night interrupted by our brothers girlfriend playing tonsil hockey with some guy who's definitely not our brother" Klaus answered, his delivery was light, but his tone was clipped.   "Five's gonna be devastated, is this what do while he's away at work? I just- I just- I just can't figure out why you'd do this to him, you guys are happy, aren’t you happy?” Diego was pacing again.  Your brain short circuited.   Girlfriend?  "Are you talking about me?" You asked bewildered. You weren't sober enough for this conversation because clearly you were missing something here.   "Well as far as I know there wasn't anyone else out cheating on Five tonight" Lila answered back sarcastically.   "You-" You couldn't even find the words, what in the actual hell was going on "I'm not Five's girlfriend"   The room went silent.  "You can't be that drunk, if this is your idea of a ruse, it's a shit one" Lila raised her eyebrow looking annoyed.  "Let me get this straight" you leaned back in your chair closing your eyes for a brief moment to organise your thoughts "you think I'm Five's girlfriend and you caught me cheating on him" You glanced at all the faces around the room.  "Yeah, obviously" Lila's face scrunched up in confusion.   "Well, you're missing one very important piece of that puzzle, I'm not his girlfriend" you shot back.  "You live together" Sloane suddenly piped up  "We're roommates"   "You're always together, you went on a date last Saturday" Luther joined in.   "We're friends, it wasn't a date it was a classic car show"

“You’re like a boring old married couple, I saw you arguing over whether to have blueberry or chocolate chip muffins with your afternoon tea last week! ” Klaus looked at you imploringly.

“I’m not boring” You spluttered

"You're definitely knocking boots" Lila raised an expectant eyebrow.   "No, absolutely not. Wait, you know that" You shook your head confused and turned to look at Sloane who also definitely knew that. You remembered the conversation with them about how you were most definitely not sleeping with Five despite everyone believing the contrary, but you cleared that up a year ago and no one ever brought it up again.  "But our birthday" Klaus sounded mystified, your heart started pounding.   How did they know about that night, did Five tell them what happened? You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.   "What about it?" You feigned innocence.   "Our master plan to make sure you two emotionally stunted sweethearts finally admitted you wanted to jump each others bones" Klaus looked at Lila who looked panicked at his admission.

“What plan?" You swivelled your head between them.  "Well, we thought Five was being a cowardly little shit and needed a nudge in the right direction " Lila's smile grew cheesy and fake, you were sure she could feel the anger and embarrassment radiating off you.  "It seemed like a giant success, I mean, when I drove you both home Allison and I were worried you were going to get it on in the back seat if I wasn't quick enough" Klaus replied laughing and nodding at his siblings, you were definitely red in the face.  "No!" You said borderline hysterical "that definitely did not happen" This was hands down the most embarrassing moment of your life.   "Wait, hold on, you aren't cheating on Five?" Diego asked with a hand in his hair.  "No, we're just friends" You desperately wanted to end this conversation “you can ask him if you don’t believe me” you offered.   "Holy shit" Diego looked equal parts stunned and horrified.

“But you two-“ Luther looked like he was struggling to find words “you’re both- you always-you know!” he exclaimed, his hands waving in front of himself.   "I need more water" you muttered going to the kitchen.   What an absolute nightmare, clearly the way you felt about Five was so obvious his own family thought you two were together, you were absolutely fucking tragic. You had to do damage control, the single worst thing you could think of happening in your life right now was the idea of Five looking at you with pity in is eyes if he found out about your feelings.   "Hey" Lila and Sloane both slunk into the kitchen as you were downing your water "I think we need to talk"   "What was this master plan Klaus was talking about?" You raised an annoyed eyebrow in their direction.  "Well, it all started last year on the twins birthday"   

A/N - thanks for reading if you got this far, most of this was a set up for another, hopefully, two parts to this series.

#five x you #five x reader #five hargreaves x reader

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only-luce-the-goose · 9 months ago

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More than Nougat

Synopsis: You taught Jack about hickies and now he’s obsessed

Warnings: none really, just a whole lotta fluff

Nothing! There was absolutely nothing! No beer, no bacon, no nothing! And who would’ve eaten all the food and not replace it? The two black holes for humans you live with. The Winchesters, those boys with their bottomless stomachs drove you crazy sometimes. You’re half tempted to throw Jack into the accusation but he’s still figuring the foods he likes.

“I’m going on a supply run!” You shout through the halls. All you hear is a couple grunts of acknowledgement, until a voice behind you says “can I come?” You nearly jump out of your skin, not expecting to see Jack behind you. “You scared the shit outta be dude, but yeah, of course you can come” you answered him. “Sorry for scaring you y/n” he apologises.

You chuckle his apology off, trying not to let your heart run wild. Even though Jack was only, technically, a few years old, he resembled someone of your own age. This very quickly led you to falling for him, his newborn innocence, childish humour and clinginess (you loved though, let’s be real).

“Alrighty Jack, let’s go” you say as you lead him up the stairs, to the garage. You unlock your ‘64 Pontiac and hope in, turning on some background music before peeling out of the bunker.

“Can we have a movie night tonight, y/n?” The nephilim asks. “Absolutely” you reply “what do you wanna watch?” He sits there and has a hard think about it, “I don’t know, I’ll look up movies when we get to the bunker. Can we get snacks now though?” He asks. You nod your head as you park. You pull out a trolley and give it to Jack to push, while you wander around and get enough food to supposedly last a few weeks (you knew better than the expect it would last a few days).

Jack absolutely piles the junk food into the trolley, which gives you a good laugh, still enamoured with his childishness. He gives you a massive grin and keeps walking, always making sure to look behind him and make sure you’re still there. You head to the checkout and pay for the mountain of food you bought, Jack standing shoulder to shoulder with you the entire time, watching you interact with the register guy. Jack means his head on your shoulder after you pay and keep making small talk, even though you’ve finished all you need to do. Jack links his hand to yours to try and push his point, he doesn’t wanna be near anyone but you anymore.

After you get home, Jack wizzes off to the computer to search for a movie while you pack away the food, keeping out the snack for movie night. Jack comes bounding in a few minutes later, a dvd in hand, and says “I wanna watch this one” he hold it up for you to see. You look at him and asks if he’s sure, “I’ve never seen it so I really wanna try” he replies. You hold on your giggles as you make your way towards the dean-cave (you think it’s a silly name but whatever).

You press play on the movie as you and Jack get comfortable next to each other on the couch, sitting leg to leg so you can both reach the junk food. Sandy and Danny start singing on your tv screen and it has Jack laughing, you don’t know what at, but you don’t care. Getting to see Jack make you laugh makes your day a little brighter.

You get to the point in the movie when Rizzo appears with hickies from Kenickie. “Y/n?” Jack gets your attention as he taps your shoulder. You pause the movie as you turn to Jack, “what’s wrong?” Jack points at Rizzo and says “what’s wrong with her neck, who has hands small enough to punch her like that?” He ponders “or did she get bitten my a vampire? Some vampire bites look like that, don’t they?”

Jack looks at you concerned as you bust out laughing. “Oh Jack, those are called hickies” you tell him. He raises his eyebrow, almost like he want to ask something, so you continue. “When two people like each other a lot, some like marking their partner. It’s kind of like a possession thing” you can see the cogs turning in his head, trying to make sense of what you said.

“I like you a lot, and I don’t like when you talk to people that aren’t me, so do I put hickies on you?” Jack admits, a big grin adorning his plush lips. You feel a bit conflicted, maybe you didn’t make it clear enough that it was an ‘in love’ type of like, not a ‘just friends’ type of like and so you told him. “I don’t think you get it, it’s for people who love each other. Like want to get married and have a family, kind of love. Not the kind of love you have for friends”

His grin doesn’t falter, “I know what you meant, y/n, and I mean what I said. I like you a lot, the ‘love’ type of like. I wanna hold your hand, and kiss you, and I want you to give me hickies and I want to give you some too” if you were a cartoon, you knew you’d have hearts in your eyes and heart would be thumping out of your chest at Jacks brazen confession.

He watches you patiently as you lean over and peck his lips, testing to water. “I like you a lot too, Jack” you say as you make deep eye contact. Jack kisses you back grinning. “Can you give me a hickie y/n?” He asks shyly. “It’s kind of something you have to build up to. You have to start with marking out before you move to hickies” Jack smashes his lips onto yours as soon as you finish your sentence.

After showing Jack how to make out, you pull away which causes a small whine to rise from Jacks throat. “I’m gonna give you a hickie now, ok?” You say as Jack vigorously nods his head. You got back to kissing his lips, then start trailing them towards his neck. You spend a couple seconds looking around for his weak spot, knowing you’ve found it when he moans and bursts a light bulb.

You look up and see his eyes glowing gold “sorry” he says sheepishly. You kiss his lips, then go back to his neck. You suck and nip at the supple skin, causing all sorts of noises to come out of Jack. You pull back “that should give you a nice purple one in the morning” you say. Jack nods as you both lie down, his head on your chest as you doze off.

You wake up to Jack shaking you, “look, it’s here!” He bounces around, clearly happy to the new addition on marks on his skin when he says, “I think I like this more than nougat”

#jack kline #jack kline fanfiction #jack kline hickies #jack kline oneshot #jack kline x reader

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reigningqueenofwords · 3 months ago

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Oh, Sassy

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 3,610 Request: Anonymous. May I ask for Dean getting to know a car girl who is also a chef (like she loves food and stuff)? Take care of yourself and drink enough! Xx

“Y/L/N!” Your boss called out, making you slide out from under the car you were under.

“Yeah?” You called back as you got up and made your way to his office. “What’s up?” Leaning on his door frame, you crossed your arms. “I was just finishing up Mr. Carson’s car. You know the one you jumped down my throat about this morning?” You raised an eyebrow.

Your boss gave you a bored look. “This is Dean Johnson.” He sighed, motioning to the man sitting across from him. “New hire. He’s gonna be shadowing you while he gets used to the garage. Probably only a couple days.” He shrugged.

You gave Dean a small wave. “Why me? I work odd hours because of the restaurant.” You reminded him. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to shadow one of the guys who are here all day?”

“Nate’s last day is Friday, he’s moving, remember? Then Gage threatened the last guy I hired within two hours and made him quit. Kyle is…Kyle.” All you could do was nod at that, knowing exactly what he meant. Kyle was nice, but a bit out there.

Sighing, you nodded. “Alright. Well, I’m only here for another hour. It’s up to him if he wants to help me on Mr. Carson’s car or meet me here tomorrow morning.”

“I’m here, might as well start, right?” He smiled as he got up. “Nice to meet you.” Dean held out his hand for you.

You shook his hand. “I’m Y/N/N. Let’s go get started. Do you have something to change into?”

He glanced at his clothes, then at you. “Should I? I usually work on cars in jeans and a t-shirt. Sometimes I’ll throw on a jumpsuit.” He shrugged.

“Yeah, we had jumpsuits when I first started, but we all got tired of wearing them.” You motioned for him to follow you to the car. “Right now I’m finishing up this old 1993 Pontiac Bonneville. Mr. Carson will be in first thing tomorrow morning to pick it up, so you’ll meet him then.”

“You make it sound like he’s a grumpy old man.” He chuckled.

“Sometimes.” You said simply, wanting to get back to work.

Finally, you were clocked out and walking through the parking lot. You lived just a couple blocks away, so you didn’t bother to drive. You had an hour and a half to clean up and get to your second job. “Need a ride?” Came Dean’s voice, making you look over. He was standing next to a beautiful 1967 Chevy Impala.

“Nice car.” You motioned. “But I’m good. I live a couple blocks away.” You shrugged. “Thanks, though.”

“Anytime.” He said simply before getting in.

The next day, you yawned as you walked in, downing a large Monster Ultra. “Those things will kill ya.” Dean told you from where he was leaning against the wall.

“But it keeps all you guys alive after I’ve worked most of the night.” You gave him a sarcastic smile. “And why are you out here…and not in the garage? Are you in time out?”

“Oh, sassy. Nice.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes. “Let me guess, you’ve been put in time out before?”

“Gage got mouthy my first week here, so I might have superglued a couple of his tools to his bench.” You shrugged.

Dean threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, that’s hysterical. My brother would do that to me. Don’t give him any ideas if you ever meet him.” He shook his head. “And no, I’m not in time out. I was told to wait out here for my ‘babysitter’ by one of the guys. He didn’t give me a name.”

You nodded, motioning for him to follow you to the back. “That would be Nate.” You told him. “Bummed that he’s leaving.” He was a chill guy overall, and didn’t really get mouthy like Gage. And he was all there, unlike Kyle.

“So, you said you worked most of the night. Second job?”

“Yeah, I’m a chef.” You finished your drink and tossed the can into the recycling bin.

His eyebrows shot up. “So, you’re a mechanic and a chef?” Dean couldn’t tell if he was more surprised or impressed, then remembered hearing you mention a restaurant the day before. Now that made sense. “Couldn’t pick one?”

Laughing, you pulled your hair into a pony tail. “Nope. I used to help my dad work on cars when I was a kid. He died when I was 13, and I kept it up. When I was 15 I got sick. I binged Food Network for a few days. I went to culinary school when I graduated. Couldn’t find a job as a chef right away, so I got a job as a mechanic right outside of town. After working there a year, I finally landed a job as a chef. Quit my other job. And that seemed to be okay for a bit, but something was missing.”

“You missed being a grease monkey.”

You nodded. “I really did. Started working here about 9 months ago. Bossman likes to get on my case. I think it’s because I’m the only girl, but he’s not a bad guy.” By now you were used to it, and just dealt with it. “What about you? What’s your story, Johnson?”

“Traveled a lot as a kid, and kept it up after my dad died about a year and a half ago. Finally decided I was tired of it. So, me and my brother picked a spot to stay put for a while.” Dean knew he was omitting details, but he didn’t feel he was truly lying to you. How could he say he was wanted by the FBI? And that his family had hunted spirits up until recently? That his brother had psychic powers? He would be honest as much as he could, while keeping out other things.

“Losing a parent is tough. I’m sorry for your loss.” You said honestly.

“Y/L/N. Mr. Carson is here for his car!” Your boss called down the hall.

“Coming!” You called back before glancing at Dean. “Ready to see if he’s a grumpy old man today?”

You and Dean got along great, and you found yourself crushing on him as the days went by. He was easy to talk to, and it was nice to have a friend at work. A couple weeks after he started, you approached him at lunch. “Hey, De? I have a question.”

He grinned at you. “De, I like it. What can I do for you?”

“There’s this awards thing for all the chefs in the state this weekend, and I kinda don’t want to go alone…” You explained awkwardly. “I was wondering if you’d come with me?”

“Like a date?” He licked his lips, clearly flirting with you.

There was no way to stop the blush that formed on your cheeks. “I-if you’d like.” Why turn down a date with a fun, nice, and handsome guy?

“Do I need a suit?”

“Unless you have a tux.” You joked. “But a suit should be fine.”

Dean sipped his soda. “Guess we’ll have to exchange numbers. I can drive. We can arrive in style. Unless you have a nicer car than Baby, which I doubt.”

“I have nothing as pretty as her.” You told him. “Dinner will be served at the awards, as well, so we’ll be well fed.”

“Do I get to try your cooking?” He was curious, that was for sure.

You pretended to think. “Maybe on our second date.”

Dean leaned against Baby as he waited for you downstairs. He stood up straight when he saw you come out. “Wow.” He breathed. “You look beautiful.”

“You look very handsome, too. You didn’t have to rent a tux, though.” You smiled.

“It’s an awards thing, right? Gotta look good.” He brushed over the front of his jacket. “And clearly I needed it because you look… wow .” It wasn’t like him to be this speechless, but he was so used to seeing you in a tank top and jeans. He was used to seeing you with grease all over you, your hair pulled up out of your face. “Shall we?” He moved to open the door for you.

Smiling, you stepped forward. “We shall. And hey, maybe you’ll be a good luck charm and I’ll win an award.” It would mean a lot to you if you did.

“Hi, Dean, come in.” You opened your apartment door for him. The date to the awards had been a blast, even if you didn’t win anything. When he dropped you off after, you kissed his cheek and asked him out on a second date for the next night. Dinner at your place.

His face lit up when he saw you. “Hi, sweetheart.” He greeted you. “Oh, these are for you.” He held out a bouquet of flowers.

Smiling, you took them. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.” You shut the door behind him once he was inside. “Can I get you something to drink? Beer, water, soda, milk?”

“Beer. Thank you.” He looked around your living room as you went to put the flowers in some water and get him a beer. “So, something smells amazing.” His mouth was watering.

“Thank you.” Handing him his beer, you sipped your own. “Baked potatoes are almost done, and then I’m making some steaks with butter garlic onions. Then, for dessert, homemade cherry pie.”

“Love me some cherry pie.” Dean winked. “Sounds delicious, sweetheart.” One perk about staying in one place was not having to microwave his meals. “Maybe for our next date I’ll have you over for burgers. I make a mean bacon cheeseburger. I’m sure I can tell my brother to scram for a few hours.” He was already mentally planning a few dates for the two of you, wanting to spend as much time as he could with you. He pictured taking you to the movies, out to eat, to the beach, and to the fair. Maybe walking away from hunting was the best thing that happened to him because he’d met you.

You smirked at him. “What? Are you worried your brother is more charming than you?” You teased him.

He chuckled and shook his head. “More like I don’t want my baby brother around while we’re on a date.” He countered before taking a swig of his beer. “Want any help?” He asked when your timer went off.

“Sure. Can you get the cheese and sour cream from the fridge and put them on the table? And how do you like your steak? Warning: you say well done and I’m kicking you out.” You gave him a playful look. You couldn’t help it, he made you feel fun .

“You wound me. Do I look like the kind of douche that would order ‘well done’?” He put his hand on his chest. “Medium-rare, thank you.”

“Good boy.” You winked before heading to start the steaks. Hearing Dean groan lightly, you giggled to yourself.

One year from the date of that awards show, you were moving into the house that Sam and Dean rented. You got along with Sam, and had no problems with him staying. If anything, you felt it was a really good idea. Because you had two jobs, there were technically four incomes for one home (also, because you worked two jobs…you did the least amount of housework, only doing it on your days off). “That was the last box.” You grinned as you saw Dean coming down the stairs. “I am officially all moved in.”

“Awesome.” He looked like a kid on Christmas. “Sammy has to work until 5, so he said he’ll meet us for dinner.” He took the box from you and went to take it upstairs.

“So, this means we have a few hours to ‘celebrate’? Just us?” You followed him, eyes on his butt. “I work tonight, so right now would be perfect.”

“I like how you think, sweetheart.” The two of you just seemed to fit together perfectly.

“I’m home!” You called out as you shut the door behind you.

“You’re early.” Dean glanced at the clock. “Like…4 hours early. What’s wrong?” He saw the look on your face and rushed to you.

You sniffed. “Uh, remember Darla?”

He nodded. “Yeah, the older waitress that told you she wanted to pinch my cheeks? Everything okay?”

“She didn’t come in for her shift tonight, which is really unlike her. She has never missed a shift without calling, and even that’s rare.” You started. “So we sent Jimmy, the busboy, to check on her.” Your voice broke. “Poor Darla…Poor Jimmy.”

“Baby, what happened?”

“Her door was busted in. And sh-she was dead. Brutally killed.” He pulled you to him, holding you tight as you cried. “We closed early for the night, and the cops came to talk to everyone before we got sent home.”

He hated that you were hurting, but beyond thankful that you weren’t the one that went to check on her. You didn’t need to see something like that. “Do they have any idea who killed her?”

You shook your head. “I asked one of the officers how she died. The look on his face…” You breathed, pulling away slightly to look up at him. “He said he’s never seen anything like it, and if he didn’t know any better, that a bear got her.”

“A bear?” He furrowed his brows.

“That’s how bad she looked.” Letting out a breath, you stepped back. “I’m going to take a hot shower and take a couple sleeping pills.” You kissed his cheek softly.

He nodded, rubbing your arm. “I’ll be up shortly.” Sam was supposed to be home from work soon, and wanted to talk to him about this. Something in his gut told him his two years in town were coming to an end. He watched you slip off your shoes and then make your way upstairs. He’d stay and grow old with you if he had the choice. Part of him had let himself dream about an actual future with you. The two of you working on Baby with a little you. Him watching you teach a little him how to properly chop on onion. Clenching his jaw, he forced down the tears.

“Dean?” Sam paused in the door. “What’s going on?”

Looking at his brother, he didn’t have to say a word. He saw that Sam understood what was going on. Sam knew that them living away from the supernatural was over. He was angry enough that he was losing his apple pie life, but even angrier that Sam was losing his. His baby brother had really just started letting his guard down in the last 6 months or so. Just in time for it to blow up in their faces.

Dean jerked awake when his phone rang. “Hello?” He yawned as you shifted besides him. “Bobby?” He sat up. Dean had called him now and then to check in, but Bobby never called him.

“You still in that town you told me you settled in?”

“Yeah, we are.” He said softly, glancing at you before slipping out of bed. He didn’t want to risk waking you up.

Bobby sighed. “Been hearing rumors from the town about half an hour away. Sounds like a crossroads demon.” He warned him. “I don’t know if it ever went your way…”

Dean groaned. “It has.” He knew that was what tore Darla apart. “Y/N/N’s coworker must have been one of them. She came home upset, and I can’t blame her. Darla was always nice.” He ran a hand over his face. “We had planned to keep an eye out just in case.”

“Not gonna lie, was hoping it woulda passed your town by.” Bobby told him.

Standing in the kitchen, Dean looked out the window into the backyard. The same backyard that you had just been lounging in the day before, in the bikini you’d bought just to wear for him. “Maybe it’s a sign, Bobby.” He said, letting his emotions show. “Maybe it’s a sign I need to get out of town. What’s next? Werewolves? Vampires? I can’t let her die.”

“Dean, you’ve been there two years.” Bobby pointed out. “In those two years I’ve heard you happier than I ever have before. You’ve sounded more alive than ever before.” He was clearly trying to talk Dean out of leaving. “That woman loves you! And from what Sam says, she’s perfect for you. Walk away now, and you’ll always wonder what could have been.”

“What happens if we decide to have a family one day, and then something comes after them? What if I can’t protect them?”

“Boy, that’s a question every parent has. To this day I wonder the same damn thing! You boys might be hunters, but you’re my boys. At least think about things.”

Sighing, Dean closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bobby. We’re leaving.”

Waking up, you rolled over to cuddle Dean, but he wasn’t there. “De?” You blinked, slipping out of bed. Usually, if he couldn’t sleep, you could find him in the garage, so that’s where you went. “De?”

He whipped around, blocking the trunk. “Baby?” He had clearly been crying.

“What’s going on? What the hell is that in your trunk?” You moved over to look. “Why do you have so many weapons?” Your eyes went to him. “Why were you crying?”

“Let’s go inside to talk. Sammy, why don’t you go start packing my clothes?” He glanced to Sam, who was off to the side.

“Why does he need to pack your clothes?” Why weren’t you getting any answers? You pulled your arm from him as he tried to lead you away from Baby. “Talk to me!”

“My name isn’t Dean Johnson.” He swallowed. “My name is Dean Winchester, and up until I moved to town…Sammy and I traveled the country hunting things.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Hunting things? Like deer?”

“I wish.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Vampires, ghosts, demons, wendigos.” He listed.

Blinking, you tried to let that sink in. “You’re telling me that’s all real?” You stared at him. “Say I believe you, why leave now? Why try to leave in the middle of the night?”

“Because Darla was killed by a hellhound. She must have made a crossroads deal and her time was up.” He explained. “It was a wake up call. We can’t escape that life.”

“You’re leaving me, us, because someone else was killed?” Of course you cared about Darla, but what did she have to do with your relationship with Dean?

“What if the next thing that comes through targets you?”

“By that logic- you running away from your girlfriend is running away from protecting her!” You countered. “What if something comes through, and you aren’t here? What then, Dean?!”

“Us being here is like a beacon. Bad things just follow us.”

You shook your head. “So, what the hell was the last 2 years? What bad happened then?” You locked your eyes on his. “What ‘bad thing’ followed you over these past 2 years?”

He looked down. “Nothing.” He admitted. “They were the best 2 years of my life. I let myself hope for things that I can’t have.” He managed.

“Who the hell says you can’t have them? I’m here, aren’t I? I love you, and I think I’m pretty fucking good!” You threw your hands up.

“Sam got out once. Had the apple pie life. It got his girlfriend killed.” He told you. “I can’t let that happen to you. I love you too much.”

Clenching your jaw, you stepped closer to him. “So don’t let it.” You said firmly. “Teach me.”

Dean whipped his head up to stare at you. “What?” He breathed.

“Teach me. I’m a fast learner.” Your heart was pounding in your chest. “We stay right here while you teach me anything I have to know. I’m sure there’s a way to make this house safe, right?” He nodded a bit. “Then we do that. I’ll quit my job as a chef, and we keep working. All three of us. You teach me until you think I know what I need to know. Then we can leave.”

“I can’t ask you to do that. You have a life here.” The pain couldn’t be hidden from his eyes. “You don’t want to live motel to motel. Eating shitty food and sleeping on crappy beds.”

You cupped his cheek and gave him a soft smile. “You know why I want to do this?”

“Why?”

“Because I love you too much to let you walk away from me.” You kissed him softly. “I can’t see my life without you. We all have some money put aside, and we can put even more aside between now and when we leave. That’ll get us a couple nicer motel rooms now and then, right?”

Dean looked in your eyes, wondering how the hell he got so lucky to find you. “You believe me?”

You took a breath. “Mostly.” You admitted. “It’s a hard thing to wrap my head around, but I’m sure as you tell me more, and as you teach me- I’ll come around.” Your heart told you to trust what he was saying. “Please, let’s go back inside, tell Sam to stop packing, and talk.”

“You won’t hate me for taking you from the two things you love? Cooking and working on cars?”

“I’d hate myself for letting you walk away.”

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader

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2000sangel · 10 months ago

Note

Hihi I got a one shot request!! Vox x Reader where reader takes charge of date night! I feel like everyone headcanons, rightfully so btw, that Vox is 100% a fancy expensive restaurant for every date kind of guy. Maybe Reader takes care of date night for a change, opting for something more simple and comfortable over expensive clothing and expensive food. Fluff!!! I love the fluff (*≧∀≦*)

Hello there! Writing this was so fun, I might've not made it fluffy enough so feel free to tell me to change stuff or request something similar next time. Tried to make Reader as GN as possible too!

Have a nice time reading ^_^

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Vox x Reader - CEO of a Good Time

The moon shined brightly outside of the V Tower, its rays illuminating the rooms of the headquarters a bright red; you stared at your own reflection in the mirror of your room, the color of the pretty yet conservative outfit you were wearing contrasting against the red coming from the large window behind you.

A quick glance at your phone informed you that it was almost time to head out, so you grabbed your belongings and made your way towards the door. Opening it revealed the tall figure of your boyfriend, dressed in a dark blue striped suit with a touch of red from the tie neatly tucked into his blazer. You had told him to dress comfortable, and well, if this was his definition of that you couldn’t judge him, really.

A relaxed smile on his TV screen, he lowered the hand that was hanging in mid-air, ready to knock on your door;

“Oh, ready at the same time.” He pointed out, “I assume it’s time to get on our limousine then?”

You chuckled, linking your arm with his and walking towards the elevator.

“No silly, we’re driving there. It’s not that far anyways.”

From the corner of your eye you could see Vox blink, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Still, for you he was willing to show his more gentlemanly side.

“Ah, I see...then let me drive.”

Once in the elevator you pressed the button supposed to lead you to the ground floor, opting to not say goodbye to the other Vee’s; Velvette was probably busy anyways, and Valentino...well, your dislike of him was apparent to everyone in the tower. Plus this was supposed to be a night for you and Vox alone, and a very special one at that since your boyfriend had allowed you to choose everything about it: the location, how to get there and what to do afterwards.

You set Vox’s arm free once you two reached the garages, letting him retrieve his black Pontiac Chieftain; he took the time to walk over to your side of the car and open your door, and once you were both inside he entrusted you his phone.

“Set the location to where you want us to go, hot stuff.”

“Gladly, princess.”

Vox glitched, choking on his own saliva.

“Told you not to call me that...”

“Yeah, in public!” you let out a chuckle, fiddling around with his phone.

Once the location was successfully set you placed it in your lap, as this car wasn’t equipped with a phone holder. Vox groaned as you blew him a kiss, and started driving and following the directions of the GPS.

---

The pizzeria you had chosen was humble, certainly not a place that Vox would’ve chosen had he been in charge that night. It was located in a cute little alleyway – well, as cute as those can be in Hell – so Vox struggled for a bit before he could find a parking space. When he did though, he once again made the effort to open your car door, earning a little kiss from you.

“I’ll trust that you’ve already been here and tasted the food, at least?” he questioned as you began walking towards your destination.

“Oh, don’t be so distrustful. My friends speak very well of this place!”

Saying the entrance was surrounded by LED lights would be an understatement; arrows pointing at the door and pizza-shaped lights almost blinded you, reflecting the light off of your boyfriend’s screen.

Once inside though, the pleasant smell of pizza immediately reached your nostrils and you were met with a quiet buzz typical of small taverns like this one. As your eyes adjusted to the dim orange lights, the owner themselves welcomed you.

“Greetings, greetings! We’re very pleased to serve a couple as grandiose as you!” She bowed, recognizing you and Vox. She then referred to you; “A table for two, like you said?”

“Yes please, and thank you!” you replied politely, letting her lead you to a square little table near the fireplace like you had asked earlier on the phone. Vox hesitantly followed the two of you, his gaze falling on the Imps sat at the other tables staring curiously, probably surprised that a couple such as you and your boyfriend would choose a place like this for a night out.

You sat down in front of each other as the owner of the pizzeria promised that a waiter would’ve been at your service in just a few minutes, and handed you two menus to choose your pizzas from.

“What are you going for?” you asked absentmindedly, scanning through the options.

“Well, I’d rather play it safe and get a Margherita, since we’ve never been here and all.”

You both ended up choosing your own pizza and letting it know to the waiter as they brought you breadsticks as an appetizer.

You stared at the flames flickering, the relaxing atmosphere of the pizzeria and the warm temperature embracing you like a fuzzy blanket. You think you would’ve fallen asleep if Vox hadn’t tapped his finger on the wooden table.

“Don’t sleep, the pizzas will be here soon.” He reminded you almost gently.

“I’m not sleeping, just resting. Isn’t this a nice change from the usual busy rich people restaurant?” you quickly realized what you said, stumbling on your own words as your boyfriend raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “Not that I don’t appreciate it when you organize dates, it’s all very sweet...but this is cute, no?”

Vox scanned your face, your gentle smile and soft cheeks illuminated by the fireplace’s light almost making him short circuit. He cleared his throat and awkwardly adjusted his tie when he realized that he had been staring for a bit too long without offering you a reply;

“Ah, yes, it’s not...as bad as I thought it would be, how did you find this place again? Your friends?”

You explained that, while you were usually busy working at the V Tower, your friends had a little more time on their hands, so from time to time they’d organize little hang outs with each other in places they didn’t know. Vox focused on the first part of your sentence: you didn’t have much time to hang out with your friends. He’d make sure that this changed once back at the tower, or at least he was going to let you choose where to go a little more often than usual.

He listened as you complimented the ambience of the place, and took a moment to admire it himself, ignoring the curious gazes of the other demons sat around you. Maybe it was a nice change, especially seeing you this happy, yeah.

The pizzas arrived soon, the waiter placing a candle at the centre of your table.

“Romantic!” you commented, “Vox, take a picture!”

Vox did as you told him to, ignoring the notifications on his phone and concentrating on shooting the perfect picture of you, even telling you to strike different poses. When he did so you raised your eyebrows, your mouth slightly agape.

“What? Got something on my screen?” he asked, switching to front camera to check for stains.

“No, it’s just...you usually say you need to check your notifications and all first, so I was a little surprised is all.”

He stopped admiring himself and refocused his attention on you;

“...Oh. Well, can’t really be an asshole all the time I guess,” he smirked, taking a surprise picture of you. You barely restrained yourself from yelling at him for that – jokingly, of course – and instead opted for stealing his phone and deleting it immediately as he laughed.

The pizzas were delicious, both you and Vox practically devoured them and even offered the other a slice of each other’s pizza. He also decided not to order alcohol as he was supposed to drive you both back, and drinking is never a good idea in these cases.

He led you back to his car, an arm draped across the small of your back protectively as you passed various groups of ill-intentioned individuals; it was late at night when you left the pizzeria, after all.

This time you ran forward a little, opening the car door on the passenger’s side for him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake-“

“After you, sweetheart.” You teased, a smug smile plastered on your face. He rolled his eyes, taking you by the hand and letting you sit instead. “Aw, boring. I thought I was the one in charge tonight.”

“Maybe next time I’ll consider your strange proposals.” He said, walking to the other side of the car. Before he could start it you placed your hand on his, making him turn towards you.

“Thanks for...indulging in this. Next time the lead’s all yours.” You said sincerely. He smirked at you, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

“Nah, I can handle a little change.”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #x reader #vox x reader #vox x you #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin

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slippinninque · 6 months ago

Note

Could you do a spicy one where the reader keeps teasing Fontaine until he snaps

😇Taquiner😈

Fontaine x blackfemreader

Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+, cursing, mentions of, drinking alcohol/liquor, teasing, dirty talk, fingering, semi-public, dry-humping, pet names, long fic

He spotted the bronze fabric in the storefront window from across the street from the barber's. He could imagine you glimmering beneath passing street lights, sitting your fine ass in the passenger seat as the Pontiac cruised.

It was his own damned fault.

It was only right for him to bring you to see it for yourself, coaxing you to give him a little fashion show of other pieces that caught his eye.

A few hours later and you were done up. The dress was backless with a low, delicate chain settled right above your lower back. The bronze of it was hypnotic against your skin and Fontaine spritzed you with his favorite scent as you twisted your hair in the bathroom mirror

Fontaine's earlier vision came to life once the two of you set out to find a good time. You were a vision as you flipped through the car's radio, played on your phone, then set your eyes on him before your fingertips ran up the side of his neck.

"I feel pretty, oh so pretty!" You sang softly as your fingers found way into his beard.

Fontaine caught your hand and kissed the back it, lacing your mischievous little fingers with this.

You slid over to tuck yourself to Fontaine's side, bringing his arm around your shoulders and smiling contentedly through the window.

"Excuse me, ma'am, you're distracting the driver."

"Hm? Me?"

Fontaine glanced down at the hand crawling up his thigh before giving you a raised brow. You winked at him and blew him a saucy kiss as the tips of your fingers danced along his zipper.

"Keep playin' with me, I'll turn this shit around." Fontaine promised to you as he waited to make a left turn, "Gonna let that nice dress go to waste, baby girl?"

"Boo, tomato-tomato!" Though you poked out your lips at him, the dancing fingers ran back up to tickle his neck.

Fontaine went towards downtown. There were murmurs at the barbershop that a lounge opened the week before and it was current hotspot. When Fontaine pulled up, you marveled at the overflow of people walking in and out of lounge's doors.

It as a nice-sized building with multiple floors, but still seemed to be under construction in some parts of the building. The spirit was high, the floor thrumming with music and motion while people from all sides of the city came together to break in the dancefloor.

You couldn't keep your hands off Fontaine or yourself for too long. Being absolutely alluring the entire ride out, you let loose as soon as you entered the lounge and heard the music, you swayed and danced with your keen eyes on him.

Fontaine took you do the dance floor, feeling the beat through your body and feeling the heat of your hands on him. You were in a playful mood that only came from having his undivided attention for hours on end.

It left him aching and heated, seeing how you reacted to his attention and kept him wanting more of yours. Touching and showing too much, knowing Fontaine couldn't put you in place in the crowd.

You would wander, and he would let you get a few feet until he was tugging you back into his orbit. You went easy every time, pouting and feeling no remorse for those falling under your spell.

It was Fontaine's own doing. You were a sexy little monster that he made specifically to drive him crazy all night.

He kept you close, felt how you rolled back against him or pushed your breast flush to him. After spotting the light sweat on your brow, he suggested a small break to get some drinks and to cool off.

"Race you!"

"Girl, don't run in them hee--"

You were already speeding off towards the bar with an impish look thrown over your shoulder at him. Fontaine shook his head to a brother getting a tipsy lap dance from his girl, he got a sympathetic look in return.

When Fontaine came up behind you, he watched in disbelief as you counted the bills you pulled out of your purse.

Fontaine cleared his throat and you jumped, eyes popped wide but refusing to look at him.

"I know you ain't just try to pay for somethin'." Fontaine muttered in your ear, sneaking a pinch to your bottom.

"What? Me? No...I was...y'know. Hanging out." You awkwardly leaned against the bar and aimed your sheepish smile towards the lights hanging above.

"Mhm."'

Just to be sure, Fontaine plucked the few dollars you managed to sneak out and put them right back into your purse and snapped it shut himself.

Fontaine went into his pocket and got out a few bills to the bartender to start a tab. Fontaine ordered whiskey for himself and when you did the same, Fontaine shook his head at the bartender.

"She's not gonna like that."

"Excuse you, I am trying to broaden my horizon. Maybe I will like it!"

Fontaine shot the other man a look as you nodded, resolute. The bartender shook his head as he set about getting Fontaine's drink ready. Fontaine took joy in watching you squirm in your seat, eyes squinted in the face of your bad decision.

------

To your credit, you made it through the whiskey.

Two more drinks followed, dainty and colorful this time. Fontaine was good off the one he had as he preferred to have a clear head when being out with you.

The night deepened as you ordered wings and Fontaine was convinced to take a few sips of the fruity cocktail you ordered.

All giggly and smiley, basking in his compliments and whispered teasings. He meant it every time he told you how good you looked, even taking to warning off nonexistent suitors just to hear you laugh.

The two of you went over the week you had so far, comparing gossip when you perked up. He followed your gaze over his shoulder to where the restrooms and privacy booths were.

"That looks like Grace." he commented at the same time you popped up out your seat with an excited call of, "Gracie!"

You turned to him but Fontaine was already nodding, unbothered that you wanted to speak with your friend.

He watched you hurry over and heard the squeals of reunion as your other friend Lina came from behind Grace to initiate group hug. The three of you held onto each other in a huddle formation to hear each other over the music.

When you were with your friends, Fontaine didn't sweat you. He didn't put himself in women's business and was more than happy to watch you turn up with your crew. They were good to you, anyway. He was happy to see you enjoy yourself.

Fontaine was nearly done with his Coke and was considering a batch of mozzarella sticks when his phone went off.

Baby: [Yeah you should come out]

Baby: [It's a good time right now]

Fontaine tilted his head at your texts, wondering if you knew you were in the wrong chat box.

Another text came through as his thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Baby: [I'm with my man of course, he spoiling me rotten]

Fontaine looked across the small pool of people to see where you were still catching up with Gracie and Lina, only to see you looking back.

When his phone vibrated again, Fontaine hurried to swipe it open.

Baby: [You wanna see how much fun I had?] With an attachment...?

You were bent over, camera aimed at where you slipped a finger into your pretty pussy through the mirror at the the boutique.

On your knees in a leather mini--you told him you didn't even bother getting into it when he brought it to you.

Fontaine flushed hot at the thought of your playing with yourself only a few feet away from him.

More naughty pictures of your delicious body were delivered, a video of you tweaking your nipples through the sheer fabric of a nightie, audio of the sticky-sweet sound of your pussy sucking on something.

Fontaine couldn't believe you had your fun without him. You even denied him a quickie before setting out for the evening, even after Fontaine promised not to make you sweaty.

He wasn't sure how he would do that, but it was the intent. You only laughed and promised to make it up to him, plotting on his peace the entire time...

Oh, he had to have you.

He watched as you watched him pocket his phone. The girls had no idea what was going on as they carried on their conversation.

Fontaine sipped his drink and watched you excused yourself from your girls.

You didn't go towards the restrooms, instead you went for the opposite side of the aisle with a black curtain that Fontaine first saw as a solid wall.

Slipping past the curtain without another look his way, Fontaine jolted to pay the bill before setting off into the crowd.

Being cool as he surveyed the area, he was content with only finding faded patrons and a bored bouncer. Fontaine lingered a moment longer on the main floor before he crept behind the curtain in time to follow the sound of your clicking heels.

-------

He might have gotten a bit carried away once he got you into the storage room. The two of you crept into the furthest room--that seemed to still be under some renovations but was nearer a janitor's closet.

You tasted like cherries and vodka, smelled so so good. The liquor had you loose and you were vibrant, wanting to get into something as you threatened to climb up him.

Undeterred by the ragged space, the both of you moved around the assortment of brooms and brushes as you traded heated kisses. You reached up and left biting kisses into Fontaine's collarbone as he ground you down onto his thigh.

It wasn't until Fontaine nearly cracked his face on a hanging wet-floor that he paused and searched for a suitable corner that wasn't filled with Brillo Pads or dry wall panels.

He backed you up against the utility sink and you grasped the rim behind you and watched him with eager eyes.

"Nuh-uh, turn that ass around..."

Turning you himself, Fontaine came close and rucked up your dress. Keeping the excess balled in one hand as his free hand cupped you between your thighs.

He stopped.

Fontaine knew his sweetie and he knew you. She was already soft and warm, purring between your thighs in a way he was more than familiar with.

He narrowed an eye at you, "You did it again? Here?"

"Hmm?"

"Hmm? Don't act like you can't hear me now."

"Um...

Fontaine chuckled into your ear, draping over you back to give our nipples a tough little pinch that had you gasping. You hung your head with a weak noise but still didn't look at him.

"Try again."

"I...I didn't mean to come..." You gave him a pitiful look over your shoulder, "I got carried away in the bathroom when I made that sound to send you..."

Fontaine straightened up with a grunt, "So you ain't wanna share? Maybe I wanted some."

"M'sorry, 'Taine, promise I am..."

"Don't believe that shit even a bit..."

A breathy laugh left you and this time your pout turned into a smile.

"I can't help it," You threw familiar words back at him, "You make me feel so greedy..."

"So, you ain't really sorry at all, then?"

"I'm really am! Sorry that I didn't take more pictures. I rubbed myself in that blue dress. We had to get it 'cause I left a spot--eep!"

Fontaine spanked you across your ass once. It only took the one time before your back arched and your stance widened expectedly.

"Look at you, lil' needy. Ain't even touch you and you 'bout to hold it open f'me..."

"Keep teasing me and I'll do it myself." You sassed back, "You ain't the only one that got fingers."

Having the correct effect on him, Fontaine growled at the thought of you being so bold. You reached in the front of yourself with purpose before Fontaine beat you to it.

Fontaine kept an absentminded hold on your dress as he followed the shimmering trails left already on your thighs from your excitement.

His fingers excused themselves around the string of your thong, delving into your wetness before you could take a breath. Fontaine found your spot, hissing at the feverish heat squeezing back.

"Yes! Fuck! Good, so-so good, more...." Pliant again, you put your weight onto sink as your bounced back onto his fingers. Fontaine's mouth dropped open to mirror yours as he rammed into your spot.

"This is all you gettin', you've already had yours--remember?"

His words loosed a whimper from you, "N-no! You can't be like that!"

"Oh, I can't? Can't what? What can't I do with my pussy, hm?

Fontaine gave your whining half an ear as he was more focused on getting his wrist wet. Crooking his fingers and hitting and stroking you slow just to watch you nearly buckle--that was worth his attention.

From the way you use one hand to grip his working arm and trembled, Fontaine would bet money you were close. The sound of him playing in you echoed amongst the bareboned room.

"Please, another? Please, Taine..." You gasped at the burst of staccato of thrusts, making your words bump into your pleasure.

Fontaine worked another finger in and the stretch sent your eyes rolling back. He ground, miming what he'd do to you if the time was there. Slow, hard thrusts that was torture for the both of you despite the layers between you.

"Don't never know when to quit. Just wanna take my shit as deep as you can, huh? Don't need no sense for that--do you, pretty?"

"Ooo, f-ffuck, you're not being fair 'Taine!"

He chuckled smoothly at that, "I know what I do. Don't mean you gotta misbehave to get me to do it for you."

"Misbehave? You didn't like the surprises?"

Fontaine took his fingers out of you and grabbed a handful of your ass as he spoke into the pulse thundering in your neck.

"So, I find out that you helped yo'self with me bein' only a few feet away and ready." Fontaine rolled his hips against yours and groaned at the burst of relief it gave him. He buried his nose at one of your bantu knots until it gave away access to your neck.

"Then you got the nerve to look this good just to tease me! Then you get yo' self seconds at some point while I'm waiting at the bar like a good man, Nah, this all you gettin' until we get home."

"I wanna go home now."

Fontaine laughed at your whip-quick response as he moved his hand back between your legs, pushing the silky threads of your thong down enough on your thighs.

"Hmf. How many pictures did you take?" He asked, teeth skimming for a suitable spot before he worked on sucking a bruise into your skin.

His hand sped up and he applied that pressure he knew you liked. You squeaked, "N-Not sure..."

"...You got more that I didn't see?"

"Um....no?"

Fontaine sucked his teeth and pulled back, dry fucking you hard enough that the sink squeaked beneath you. Bouncing back against him as you whimpered, on your tip toes as you tried to put Fontaine where you wanted him to be.

The sound of your necklaces and bangles singing together made him grin. He palmed your ass and then your waist, finding the sound of your building ecstasy made him tease you. He held your dress much like a reign and was distantly impressed by how well the fabric was holding.

Fontaine couldn't help but to finally tease you back now that he had you where he wanted.

"Feel good, baby? See what you coulda had if you came to me?"

"Aw, bet you can't give it to sweetie like I can...

"I saw 'em staring at you. Wonder if they lookin' for yo' pretty ass right now. You gonna give 'em a chance to see the faces you make when it's too good?"

"Ain't gonna be long before you soak me, huh?"

You threw your head back with an agitated noise, desperately searching for the perfect friction to take you over the edge.

"I can't, Fontaine--it's not enough! I need you to touch me again, like earlier..."

"You need me?"

"I need you so bad, 'Taine, c'mon, I feel like I'm burning down..."

Fontaine may have melted a bit at the sounds of your pleading. He knew you were just as worked up as he was and needed him bad.

You really were too precious. Even with your panties down and even with that bratty scrunch to your brows, you were just perfect.

"Okay, okay, you startin' to sound like my type of 'sorry'. Ready for me to take you home so you can make it up to me?"

"I can do it here for you, Daddy..." Your voice was sugar sweet, "How ever you want me too..."

He used the fabric of your dress to dab at your glistening back as his mind raced with opportunities and possibilities. He was tempted to give you what you both wanted--How could he not be when you were begging so prettily?

After a quick glance around, Fontaine spotted several dangers to you in the form of rickety storage and a puddle of mystery fluid near his shoe.

Fontaine reached down to pull up your thong, and chuckled at your disappointed whine.

"Don't be making those sad noises, greedy girl, I'm gonna take you down nice and slow once we get out. I can't have you like I want to in here, understand?"

"I guess...it does smell kinda funny in here..."

Fontaine couldn't resist kissing you, biting at your lip and chasing the last taste of liquor on your tongue. Your hands went into his locs tugging enough that his stomach swooped.

"Yeah, c'mon and let's get up outta here." Fontaine husked against your neck as he stole another nibble of you.

You laughed at the rush of words that left him and tried to fix your hair. Fontaine pulled your dress down and figured the wrinkles won't be spotted by the low-lights of the club. He hoped the same for the glistening specks he spotted on the front of his pant and felt on his stomach.

You slipped your hand in his, staying close as Fontaine went over to crack open the closet door for a quick reconnaissance.

"Ready?" He whispered, winking at you once the coast was clear.

"Been ready since we left the house, baby!"

You have his hand a squeeze before giving a devilish laugh, darting out into the hallway and leaving Fontaine scrambling after you.

--------

"Oh noo, bless it Jesus."

Fontaine broke free of his pillow prison in time to see you collapse into laughter, wordlessly holding your phone for him to take.

A photo of you and Fontaine from the back. Your dress was wrinkled to high hell and in a very obvious way. You decided to take down the bantu knots but without the proper separation, you looked as if you were caught by with a finger in the socket.

Rubbing as much sleep out of his eyes as he could, Fontaine focused again on what he was seeing.

It was of him. Gripping your ass as you both snuck through the side door and then another shot, close up on the tag of his inside-out shirt waving good-bye.

Another ping, your phone vibrating in his hand. It was a text from Gracie, with another photo with a myriad of emojis.

Gracie: [Ya'll be doing each other like dat?? I love black love.]

It was Fontaine's turn to groan but your smothered carrying on fully woke him. Now laughing himself, he leaned over and pulled until you laughed into the open air.

Fontaine took in your goofy smile and your lopsided bonnet, unable to stop himself from pinching your chin to steal another kiss. The two of you barely made it out of your shoes by the time you got home, going at it once in the living room before dragging your tired bodies into the bedroom for Round Two.

"Don't act all surprised now, thanks to you--you're gonna have to hop on that sewing machine and do up some matchin' red 'A's for us..."

"Thanks to me? Like you ain't the common sense between us?"

Fontaine shrugged and flopped down to lay next to you, nose to nose as you wrapped your arms around him. The warm feeling of being in bed was better than any trouble that could be found in a storage closet.

"Anything after midnight on date night ain't got nothing to do with me. I was seduced into making bad decisions."

"Pfft, just terrible..." You rolled your eyes, "This is all the thanks I get for making date night fun! Gettin' blamed in the morning, ain't that 'bout nothing..."

He could still smell your perfume on your skin and when you stretched, Fontaine pulled you over him to play his blanket as you searched for the TV remote.

"I'll make it up to you," he threw familiar words back at you and heard your humored snort.

The TV was switched on old reruns perfect to fall back asleep to and to outline the perfect payback.

-------

Ending notes: this took so long and I'M SO SORRY to that anon, lol! 🤗I hoped you like it and hope you have more prompts/asks to share! 😭I hope I got 'Taine's snap right, i still feel like i wrote him too soft lmao! Tell me what you think! Please reblog and comment, thank you so much for reading my ramblings! 💜💕😌

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chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

there ain't enough room in this Pontiac for the two of us

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 8K

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

summary: 1. No sex. 2. No touching yourself. 3. No orgasms. 4. No murdering your annoying DEA partner. (A Javier Peña-shaped rift on this iconic fic)

tags/warnings: smut, dubcon/noncon elements, hand jobs (f receiving), no use y/n, javi being sexually frustrating as hell, time period compliant sexism (not from Javi)

a/n: please go read the original fic. Her’s is far superior to mine and this is but a shameful hollow echo.

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Bogota

11:23PM

Back before you willingly and eagerly joined the special task force between several unruly government organizations created with sole and express purpose to hunt down and catch the cartel king Pablo Escobar – before you applied to the DEA on the highest recommendation of your law professor, your criminal psychology professor, and the dean of admission, all whom believed your talents, (despite the unfortunate accident that you were a woman) would have a deep and profound impact on catching those responsible for the deaths of thousands worldwide – hell, even before you applied to Stanford and you spent your free time oscillating between color guard, JROTC, and retaking your practice SATs and ACTs until you got nearly a perfect score so that the realization that you didn’t have one single friend in the world to distract you from your single-minded almost obsessive focus to prove yourself, despite all your faults –

Before all of that –

If someone had discreetly taken you by the arm, gently sat you down, and told you what a perfect and deluded idiot you would make of yourself on a seven hour stake out on a dark, rainy night in the capital of Colombia, well, you probably would have laughed them out the door.

You aren’t one really predisposed to bouts of uncontrollable, side-splitting, “I’m laughing so hard I’m afraid to take a breath out of fear of the noise that’s going to come out of my nose” laughter, but if someone allowed you to take a good, long, healthy look at one of your more unhealthy habits – that, of course, being your almost toxic levels of competitive behavior – you might have been prone to at least one giggle.

The thing was, you really didn’t lose. Ever. You didn’t back then and you don’t now and your tenacious, unbreakable will made you not only a formidable and dogged DEA agent, but it also (and perhaps more importantly) made you a social, professional, and absolutely mental equal to men like Javier fucking Peña.

Javier Peña, whom women would literally melt into a puddle around, whom men would clamor over themselves just to get a drink with. He’s just so fucking cool, you overheard one of the office interns mutter to another, just look at him. That was also the day you spilled coffee down your entire blouse because you squeezed your styrofoam coffee cup too hard, but that was an entirely unrelated matter.

Whatever sway Peña seemed to inflict over the panties of every woman in the building, you resolutely stayed immune. When you first joined, it had been easy to avoid him. So much so, you were completely flummoxed when the man with the name you’d heard whispered in the hallways, finally made his way over to your side of the building for a meeting with your boss. He walked in with a badly-fitted suit, bags under his eyes, the reeking stench of day-old cigarettes, but by the reactions of the phone girls, you’d thought Elvis himself had just emerged from his coffin and began performing “Hound Dog” topless in bedazzled pants.

This? This is “The Guy”? The guy that women on your floor would spend their entire lunch breaks in the bathroom comparing stories over – “yes, Kathy, I heard his dick really is that huge!” “Yes, Shannon swears he made come for hours just with his tongue!”

Him?

Really?

Was it just slim pickings between married men and wheezing senators?

Never meet your heroes, I guess.

That was back in the late 80s. Back before the bombings and the kidnappings and the mutilated bodies of journalists.

Things had changed. Significantly.

Once things had gotten – let’s just say, dire – the agency started moving around teams, prioritizing certain missions over others. Which meant not only were you taken off a case you had just spent the better part of a year and a half building, but you were reassigned to a new team. Co-led by the one and only Javier. Fucking. Peña.

Now, Javier didn’t like the rain, especially not after a seven hour stake out. You knew this because every time it rained, he stormed into the pen, snorting like an enraged bull, his hair wet and his shoulders damp. Why the man couldn’t just simply go out and pick up an umbrella, you didn’t feel the need to ask. But it set your teeth on edge that a grown adult would be so annoyed by something that had such a simple solution. More than once you thought about hurling your own umbrella like a javelin at him, but your fighting matches had become legendary around the office and you refused to be provoked again by Javier’s own arrogance.

But that’s what started all of this, right?

You, with your white-hot competitive streak, and him, with his over-inflated ego, clashed again and again – until finally about the one thing both brought you a sense of pride: your sex lives.

Annoyingly, this was proving more difficult than you anticipated.

Thumbing the rim of your third lukewarm coffee of the night, you sigh, long and loud, not entirely regretful of the choices that led you here, but simply rather irked that someone had come along and finally proved to be a real challenge.

“Shut it.”

“Excuse me?”

Javier, who had been sitting next to you for the better part of the past seven hours, his long legs tucked up around the bulky wheel of the black Pontiac Firefly the agency had rented for this mission, continues to scowl through the dark and the rain at the spot where you had tracked one of Pablo’s higher ranking enforcers. A gambling den on the first floor, and a brothel in the basement, most men you tailed here spent only a few hours betting and fucking, before wandering back home, probably a little drunk and significantly less horny. But this guy – fuck – did he have the stamina of an Olympic athlete?

What had begun as a quick follow up to some intel your team received earlier in the week had turned into one of the longest and most unbearable nights of your life.

“I said, shut it.”

Your mouth drops open. “I am literally just breathing, Javier.”

“Yeah and you’re doing it too loud.” He takes a sip from the coffee between his legs then resumes his hunched, crossed arm position. “It’s annoying.”

Huffing, you sink lower in your seat, as much as the surveillance equipment and evidence boxes around your legs would allow.

“This is so stupid,” you grumble.

“This is basic DEA work, sweetheart. If you can’t cut it, I’m sure I can find someone – literally anyone – else to take your spot. Sarah’s always been eager to spend some extra time alone with me. Or what about Mac? You two get along right? Who am I kidding? You get along with e-e-everyone–,”

It is infuriating he knows exactly where to poke and prod to supercharge your competitiveness as well as your jealousy.

“I’m not talking about the sting, Javier! I’m talking about your need to always be in control. I’m talking about how, just because you can’t get your fucking rocks off, you’ve been sniping at everyone in the building.” You scowl and lean as far away from him as you can in the cramped hatchback. “Making everyone’s lives hell because you haven’t gotten your dick wet in a month.”

“Oh, sure, I’m the only one being a fucking nuisance in the office,” he sneers, scratching at his forehead with his thumbnail. “After your little meltdown at the copier machine, I think Mark from accounting would rather fist-fight God than have to ask you for a stapler again.”

You snatch up the used napkins in the cupholder between you and shred it to pieces. You chuck the little bits at him as you snap back,

“The. Stapler. Was. Right. There! He. Was. Being. Stupid!”

“Stop it! You’re going to get it in my coffee!”

With a snarl, you hurl the mangled rest of the napkin at him and he swats it out of the air. It rolls over the dashboard, fluttering in the AC that was doing absolutely nothing to combat the sticky humidity.

He did this to you. He always did this to you. Made you feel like a silly child, an overly emotional brat, for pointing out things he did time and time again. Why was he allowed to get away with it and you weren’t?

In the temporary silence, the rain patters loudly on the roof of the car. Headlights emerge from the gloom and disappear as the few unlucky caught out in this deluge run from awning to awning with magazines, newspapers, or umbrellas tucked over their heads. It had been raining for hours and it seemed to have no intention of stopping anytime soon.

You aren’t sure which irritates you more: the humidity or the stickiness gathering on the crotch of your panties.

It had been there for days, constant, a reminder, no matter how often you changed them out for some temporary escape. Your thighs tightened as close as they could, but a large storage box split your legs apart.

“You know,” Javier begins softly, almost contrite, gentle in a way you’d never heard before. He's pinching the edge of his coffee cup with his fingers, resolutely not looking at you. “If this bothers you so much, you can just quit. Call it off. No hard feelings.”

You snort. He really is the most ridiculous man alive.

“Yeah? You’d get the satisfaction of finally coming, after being hard for at least – what, a month, month and a half? – and half my next paycheck? I don’t think so.” You adjust in your seat, your left hip starting to ache from the position you’ve been maintaining for seven hours. “Well, the money’s one thing. But I think I’d rather be physically shot than have to listen to you parade around the office, gleefully spilling secrets about me as your latest conquest, bragging to all your little buddies around the water cooler how you finally bested that bitch in the bullpen. At that point, I’d rather we just actually fuck. At least that way I can finally understand what the fuck has the secretaries all in a goddamn hissy fit over.”

After nearly a third of the day spent next to you, he finally tears his gaze away from the target and looks at you. His dark eyebrows drawn down, plush lips frowning, he’s unnervingly serious. You wonder if you actually managed to make him genuinely angry.

“I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t brag about you to anyone, even if you lost. And I especially would never if you let me fuck you.” Let me? Now that’s a turn of phrase you definitely won’t spend hours thinking about. His frown deepens as he glances down to his coffee cup. “People – women – like to talk, but I never say anything, to anyone. I don’t encourage it, but it feels like I’m the one being checked off a list. Like I’m a space on a fucking bingo card. It’s rude.”

Gobsmacked into silence, you watch as he cranks down the window for just enough space to chuck his (and yours) empty coffee cups out onto the wet road beside the car. You let him tug it out of from between your legs without a single line of snark.

Your brain finally comes back online when the window squeaks back into place.

Hang on a second – did you really just feel bad for the office casanova? That little shit manipulated you into actually feeling sorry for the dozens of women he willingly brings home then turns out like used toilet paper. You can feel that decades old hate and disgust crack open and boil in your stomach.

“Well, hey, Javi, here’s an idea. Just stop fucking the women you work with. If it bothers you so much, then stop fucking women entirely!”

“I did! I have done that and I am!” He gestures wildly with his hands, palms out as if in supplication. “Everyone in the office – including Noonan, I’m pretty sure – knows about this stupid fucking bet and for once, it’s been great to have an excuse to not have to hold up my expectation of being a great lay!”

You will not allow yourself the time to fully process the idea that not only is Javier Peña grateful to not have to fuck a skirt, but it’s you he’s doing it for, so you snarl back, as you always do.

“Then what? What’s got you so fucking wound up, if your poor dick needs a break from getting sucked?”

With a groan that starts somewhere in his lower ribcage, he falls forward into the steering wheel, his forehead on the rim.

“I’m not saying that, alright? It’s actually been nice to have my bed to myself for a bit. But Jesus Christ, I miss pussy.”

Don’t.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the way he says it. Like it’s holy.

The warmth of the humidity in the car ratchets up as your heart starts to race, your palms sweat. You wonder vaguely if there’s condensation on the inside of the windows. He shouldn’t be allowed to get you so wet by just saying the word. You swallow, clawing back that familiar anger until you feel in control again.

“So then go get it.” You wave your hand around the dark streets of Bogota. “Just go out there and end this thing once and for all. God knows I’m sick and tired of having to listen to you roll around, grunting and huffing, with a hard-on so big I can almost hear it.”

“What are you so mad at me for?” He snaps up, a much more palatable rage in his eyes. “All of this – the bet, the rules, the fact that you actually included wet dreams – you decided on!”

“You’re the one who demanded you move into my apartment for the entire duration of this hell! You’re the one who went out and bought two twin beds like a fucking maniac and made me take out my bed to put in your little torture devices to make sure neither of us cheated off the clock!”

“And you agreed to it! I’m not the only insane one here! Sometimes I think you do it on purpose – kicking and fighting with the sheets, moaning in your sleep, rubbing yourself up on the mattress. Twice now I’m pretty sure I’ve gone blind in one eye, listening to all that and not being able to do a goddamn thing about it.”

You scoff, but now slightly uneasy. You’ve been moaning in your sleep? Fuck. Taking down your overbearing and egotistical coworker a few pegs was one thing. Becoming roommates with him was something else entirely. About two weeks in, he had come out of the bedroom without his shirt on – he’s been doing that more and more lately – and you had to sit in the bathroom with your hands clamped around the toilet seat for ten minutes straight to keep from finger-fucking yourself on the living room coffee table.

“I’m honestly surprised you didn’t want to install cameras in the shower just to make sure I’m not jacking off in secret. You better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there, Javi. You touch yourself once and I win, Javi. Stop looking at my ass when I’m wearing less clothes than a Victoria Secret model, Javi.”

“It’s summer in Bogota, you jackass,” you snipe, particularly ruffled by his high-pitched affectation of you. It stings more than it should because it sounds exactly like the shrill harpy all your male coworkers make you out to be. “What do you want me to wear?”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, something terrifying like a smirk crawling across his perfect mouth and you feel the safety of annoyance crumble out from under you. He really is so fucking pretty.

“A puffy snowsuit would be lovely, actually. Arms, legs, all wrapped up. Cover your gorgeous hair in a hat too, if we’re at it. But if I knew you’d wear what I bought you, all you had to do was say so. Women always say I have excellent taste.”

You sigh, again, irritated and desperate to relieve that fist of tension in your shoulders, that gently knotting warmth between your legs. You wonder how much rubbing your crotch with the seam of your jeans you could get away with before he’d say something.

No, fuck, shit – focus. You’ve got to get a grip. This is just like those long night study sessions at the academy. All you had to do was buckle down and get serious about this. Sleep deprivation and curtailing your basic instincts didn’t scare you. You had been outlasting men like Javier your entire life and you weren’t about to get weak-kneed now.

And then something occurs to you that you hadn’t really considered before.

You had been so caught up in your own denial, in fighting your own need to hump your pillow even for a bit of relief – you hadn’t stopped to think what this might be doing to him.

Jesus Christ, I miss pussy.

Here's a crack in his resolve and you had seen it. Just for a minute. But it's there. You didn’t have to win so much as to make him lose.

Javier Peña. Nowhere to go and having nothing to fuck made him a very dangerous man. One you could easily exploit. However, and as much as it physically pained you to admit, Javier was smart. Blind-sided by his own horniness, or not, if he caught wind of you purposefully stacking the odds against him, there was no telling what he’d do in retaliation.

For a moment, your sex-deprived brain lounges in the idea of the many forms his retaliation might take.

No – Focus. You lick your lips, wrenching your gaze to the ceiling of the car. You had to be very careful about this.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” Go at it from the side. Around back while his attention is focused elsewhere. This was fucking guerilla warfare tactics. Placate him with submission. “I didn’t realize my outfits were bothering you. It’s just . . . it’s been so hot lately. I feel like I wake up, drenched wet in sweat, and it’s just too much still. And then, with this bet, sometimes I wake up and between my legs, I’m so –,”

A fist slams against the inside of the window so hard and so loud it makes you jump. His shoulders hunched, the fist in his lap tight and white-knuckled, he doesn’t even fully open his mouth when he snarls, “Do not . . . under any circumstances . . . finish that fucking sentence.”

He’s breathing heavily, breath skipping between his ribs, and you know you’ve got your opening. Your bottom lip drawn in between your teeth, you’re as much transfixed by his control visibly slipping as you are secretly, darkly thrilled to hear him make those noises. He breathes for a few more times, eyes closed. The sound of rain makes another appearance.

His hands come up to wrap around the steering wheel, as if he were picturing something else flexing beneath his palms.

“I know what you’re doing, or what you think you’re doing. But it’s not going to work. It’s just going to make me mad and I am not above hauling you over my lap and spanking you for being such a tease.”

You aren’t sure what shorts out your brain first: the fact he caught on so quickly, or the mental image he’s painting – and how much you fucking love it. God, when did it get so hot in here? You can feel sweat pooling along the ridge of your spine, under the cups of your bra. As though reading your mind, he shucks off his notorious brown jacket and hurls it into the back seat. Your toes curl in your boots. He’s wearing that white linen shirt that expertly shows off the cut of his biceps, his forearms and is more appropriate for a beach trip in Hawaii than the mean streets of Bogota. In his movement, his infamous sunglasses clatter against his stomach – if he just buttoned his collar all the way up like any man with an ounce of decency, they wouldn’t get in the way as much. You want to tell him that, correct him yet again, but now you can see the sweat shine in his clavicle, skin slightly pink and feverish over the hollow of his throat. You had no idea you affected him this much.

“You’re right. This is ridiculous.” He huffs, tossing back his glasses too before flopping back against the seat. “This can’t be healthy, at least. Edging ourselves for weeks at a time. I keep seeing tits in the clouds.”

“So then end it already.” You don’t mean to sound breathless – it’s the opposite of what you want – but your heart rate still hasn’t settled over the idea of Javier spanking you till your ass is red. He’s so much bigger than you, broader. He’d do it rough, if you asked, you know he would. You really hate to sound like you’re begging, but maybe you are. His eyes snap open wide at your near whimper. “Javi, please. We’re not going anywhere. He’s been in there for hours and he’s not coming out any time soon. Just unbutton your pants – I can just watch you – drop your hand in your underwear and –,”

A hand that can cup you nearly from ear to ear flies across the console and claps over your mouth. Something’s changed about him. You can see it in his eyes. At this point in your partnership, you had become fairly good at identifying his emotions, given there were only a handful he ever cycled through: tired, irritated, bored, furious, frustrated, disappointed. But this . . . this is different. His shoulders still face forward, arm reached out over the console, but his thick eyebrows arch down, as if he’s considering something. His head is cocked slightly to the side. You have to stop yourself from breathing in a sigh when his tongue wets his bottom lip.

“I’ll willingly lose this godforsaken bet on one condition,” he rasps out. His hand is warm, all consuming, you can barely breathe under it. You train your entire focus into the way his hair flops over his forehead to keep from whining at what his deep voice does to your lower half. Your muscles clench and your neglected pussy drools. Fuckin’ traitor. “And the condition is, that after this is done, after this fucking doomed stakeout is finally over, I drive us home and you let me rail you against our couch. How does that sound?”

You squeak, once. That’s it, but you can already feel that tell-tale hum, that warmth that almost itches, taking root below your stomach. His eyebrows arch in surprise, in victory, that smirk threatening to make an appearance. Your nails dig into the pleather seat – you want to thrash back, to get out from under the weight of his hand, to snark back a litany of responses that are not only mean but belittling – but you don’t.

You know he can feel you swallow and his eyelids hover halfway as he licks his bottom lip. He shifts, elbow now pressing against the back of the seat, his weight leaning forward, almost pressing down on you. His other hand is dangerously close to your knee.

“I’d make it good. I’d make it so fucking good, I swear. I’ll get down on my hands and knees and eat that wet little pussy for as long as you want. Lick and suck that attitude right out of your cunt.”

The car is too small, too cramped. Heat is washing over you in waves and the ache between your thighs is burning. With him this close, you can smell his cologne, the cologne that you rib him endlessly for because you’ve watched women inhale it like a pheromone as he passes down the hall. The scent now floods your senses, choking out everything that isn’t him, and your fingers dig up around his wrist, to pry him off you. You can feel sweat trickle down your temple onto his pinkie over your cheek. He watches it with his eyes, hungry and ready to devour. You have to wrestle back some semblance of control, or else your heart is going to beat out of your chest.

With all the strength left over from keeping yourself from bucking your hips up into the center console, you shove him back across the car.

“You fucking . . . stay over there,” you croak, gulping down air as if you had been deprived. He sprawls back, arms outstretched across the window ledge and the back of his seat. “Don’t ever fucking t-touch me again. Those things y-you said. I should report you–,”

“Why?” he chuckles. “You liked it. Thought you were going to eat me there for a minute . . . and I would’ve let you.”

It’s remarkably easy how your white-knuckled, lightning-sparked anticipation for him to do exactly what he said he’d do quickly morphs into a near-blinding rage. He doesn’t get it – he still doesn’t get it – he thinks this all a fucking game, when every minute of every day, your entire self-worth was put on the line.

But this is how you danced with him – right up to the edge, barking, screaming, yelling, then when it got real, or even almost real, you backed down. And he knew it.

“You really deserve someone who knows what they’re doing,” he continues. He folds his arms across his chest, grinning wildly. “Maybe that would teach you to be nice. Is that why you’re so nasty all the time? Someone who cares about you to properly stuff up that sweet little pussy in the way you need it?”

You feel fire crackle up and down your spine, plunging low to lick your insides every time he muses about the state of your cunt, then sky-rocketing back into this rage you’ve built out like walls.

It’s your turn to twist in the seat, to push against the windows as if you could expand and break out from this twisted scrap of metal that kept you chained to him.

“This is not about sex, Javier.” Your teeth ache from grounding out the words. “This is about proving to every single man out there that I deserve to be here. That I’m not just some cock-struck idiot who falls to her knees just because you snap your fingers. I don’t care what you think I need or what you want to do to me. I don’t care because until I come out of this bet the winner, all they’ll ever see is a pair of tits who negs them to do their fucking jobs.”

That wipes the smirk instantly off his face.

His eyes go soft and that might be worse than when he threatened your cunt.

“You think I don’t respect you.” It wasn’t a question but a surprised, almost hurt, statement. He sits up as best he can while still facing you. You were both irate and appreciative that you didn’t have to put it all into words. Words that would make you, again, feel like an overly emotional wimp. Someone with feelings. “You think I’m doing this – that I’m still doing this – because I want to humiliate you.”

You wait in silence for the pricking in your throat to subside before continuing on. “Is that not why? To bend that bitch as far as she’ll go before she breaks so everyone can see how much of a child she really is?”

His nostrils flare. “That’s the second time you’ve called yourself that tonight and I won’t stand for a third. Do you understand?”

His protectiveness flares so fast you aren’t quite sure what to do with it, so you nod.

“Good.”

Javier turns back around, his knees spread outright around the edge of the steering wheel, and picks the packet of cigarettes from underneath the radio. He wheels down the window again, rain spitting inside the inner ledge, and he lights up for the first time all night. His breath is shaky as he exhales through the crack he made. You can’t stop staring at the shine against his throat. What was rain and what was sweat? The golden lights from the store fronts and shops make the curls around his neck glow.

“I’m sorry that by fighting with you, I made you feel inferior. If you can believe it, I actually respect the living shit out of you and I . . .” He taps out ash before dropping his gaze to his lap. “That was never my intention, but Christ alive, you drive me crazy.”

If anyone ever asked, with a gun to your head, what was the one thing that immediately turned you on, you would without question answer with: Javier’s voice. How deep it got when he barked orders. How stern and serious it was when he directed raids and stationed soldiers. How playful it could be when you stopped trying to claw his eyes out.

He inhales slowly, thoughtfully, before blowing out again, fully turning his shoulders away from you as if something he is ashamed to admit is crawling up his chest into his mouth. He presses back against the seat, his unoccupied fingers tapping on his thigh.

“I think you’re one of the best agents I’ve ever met,” he confesses quietly. “Which should be the only opinion that matters, actually. I don’t say that to be egotistical – this bet isn’t about them. It’s between you and me, so fuck them. They’re all idiots and you know that. They know you know that and that’s why they want to take you down. Some men can’t stand it when a woman is smarter than them.”

Your tongue unsticks from the roof of your mouth. There is a heady mixture of pride, relief, and lust swirling lower and lower. He thought you were one of the best agents he’s ever met. Your lower half tightens at the praise, especially coming from him. “And you? What do you think?”

Javier grins. He flicks the butt end of the cigarette out the window and rolls it all the way up as he says,

“It’s a fucking turn on, is what I think.” His hips adjust towards you, that obnoxious belt buckle gleaming in the low light. Do not look at his crotch. He presses the backs of his two fingers against his mouth as he watches you. “But I’m not going to let you win this bet because you flutter your pretty eyes at me.”

He knocks his temple against the headrest, gaze shamelessly sweeping up your thighs, your wrists – of course, your tits – your neck and then your lips. You had caught glimpses of this look from him before – when you were reporting to a room full of slobbering men with precision and direction, or when you kneed a suspect into the ground, pinning him down and cuffing him with the other hand or that one time you joined the game of volleyball at the agency picnic in nothing but a sports bra and swim trunks. But now, that unique Javi look that seemed reserved only for you, it barrels down on you in full force – not another agent or superior around the corner to drag his attention away. Without restraint, he let those dirty, nasty little thoughts spring into his mind and you can almost hear the moans you're making in his head.

The desire that had been reduced to a simmer suddenly flares up in a fever pitch. Between your legs, your cunt aches at the mere hint of attention.

“Javier, don’t,” you warn. You try to back away, try to cut the argument in half like you do in the office by storming away down a hallway or into the bathroom or your car. But you can’t. You’re pinned by proximity under the weight of his stare. You’re not even fighting with him and he’s making you angry.

Angry? God, leave it to fucking Javier Peña to prove to you that the line between rage and being outrageously turned on was a razor-thin edge.

“I’m not even doing anything, baby,” he croons. He rounds his shoulders as if trying to lean forward, cover himself with his body. If you couldn’t see the whites of his knuckles around his clasped hands, you would have feared you would have been making this all up. “I’m not touching you, just like you asked.”

“Thank you, Javi,” you squeak out. “Now, please let's just get back to–,”

“I could, though, if you change your mind.” His eyes follow a very predictable path up the curve of your throat. “I could touch you. Are you going to change your mind?”

Even now, on the knife edge, even when he has been extraordinarily honest with you, you can’t make yourself say it. Can’t ask for it.

“It’s against the rules.” Because she's a traitor to you, your cunt leaks when you meet his jet black gaze. You feel the sweat on your neck return so fast you shiver. “I will kick you if you come over here again.”

“You’re so mean to me but, fuck, I love it so much.” He smirks. With mounting horror, you watch as he lifts his hand, the same one that flew over your mouth, up to the lip of the center console. “Here I am pouring my goddamn heart out, and you want to resort to violence.”

Not so much cautious, but more with the slow, syrupy flow of direct and deliberate intention, he brushes the backs of his fingers against your thigh. You jolt back, a muffed gasp caught between your teeth, but you don’t move to snatch his hand away.

He watches your face for any hint of resistance. When he doesn’t find any, he continues, casually flowing the pads of his fingers from the top of your knee, all the way up to your hip.

“Do you wanna know what I think, baby?” He purrs. “I think, somewhere along the way, someone came along and really fucked you up. Hurt you beyond comprehension.” His touch is more insistent now, more of his fingers, his palm occasionally. His thumbs sweeps your inner thigh and your cunt clenches down onto nothing and your teeth ache in your head.

“Javier–,”

His eyes flutter for a minute at the sound of his name tearing through your mouth. “Fuck, you’re getting me distracted . . . what was I saying? Oh, yeah . . . I think someone fucked you up and like the fucking warrior you are, you built up safeguards to never let that happen again.” His eyebrow arches lazily as he palms your waist. By the sheer grace of God, you had tucked your shirt into your pants today, never wanting to give the men in the bullpen the satisfaction of an accidental flash of skin. But Javier just tuts at the intrusion. His knuckles digging into your skin, he pinches out the edge of your shirt, bit by bit. “Problem is, you kept building until you locked yourself in and now you don’t know how to get out. You don’t know how to ask nicely at all.”

His broad palm slides uninterrupted under your shirt, smoothing the rough pads of his fingers across your stomach, and then up to the underwire of your bra. That’s enough to jerk you out of this dizzying haze.

“Javi, you can’t–,” you squeeze your eyes shut, as tight as your cunt, as he threatens to brush his thumb over your teased nipple. “I–I don’t wanna – I don’t wanna lose –,”

“Fuck the bet, sweetheart. You can tell them I lost for all I care. Right now, I just wanna feel you gush between my fingers.”

He doesn’t even need to touch your tit to yank that first moan out of you, but the breeze of his thumb only elongates the noise. Your own hand claps over your mouth this time, to muffle half of that stifled sound.

“None of that now,” he purrs, switching the direction of his hand and going lower on your body. “It’s fine when we’re in public, but here, I want you hoarse from screaming my name as loud as you can.”

“Javi, please–,”

His hips twitch. Twitch so hard they jerk off the seat, the side of his crotch rubbing the steering wheel. His eyes roll back in his head.

“Juuust like that, baby. Keep saying my name just like that.”

His fingers don’t slow down as they breach the waistband of your pants. He didn’t even unzip you so his entire warm hand is shoved right up against your coarse, damp hairs.

“Fuck, is this sweat, baby, or is it from me? Please fucking lie if it's not and tell me it’s for me.”

The pad of his middle finger skims the top of your lips, terrifyingly close to your clit and you finally react. Your clit throbbing, your fingers clamp down on his wrist and he freezes. But he’s panting, breathing harshly across the seat.

“Don’t ask me to stop. Not right now. Please don’t –,”

Your hips buck into his palm and your head drops back against the window. You end up pressing him harder against you and you moan.

“It’s you, Javier, I’m dripping for you.”

“Shit,” he snarls and rubs himself against the steering wheel again, anything to relieve the pressure. His fingers slide around the edges of your puffy, swollen lips, skitters across your pulsating clit, and you nearly orgasm from the direct touch. You jerk back, the denial of your orgasm almost painful, but because your waistband binds him to you, his fingers come with you and you bump into them again. You almost cry out at the intrusion, but his hand is still.

“Can I touch you– c-can I put them inside you, baby – please?”

Tight-lipped, you shake your head furiously, muffling nuh uh between your teeth. He hisses darkly.

“This can’t possibly still be about this stupid fucking bet –,”

“I don’t – w-w-wanna lose – I-I-I don’t wanna lose –,” you swallow, voice breaking, and you yank his hand out from your soaking underwear. You can’t bear to look at his fingertips, assuming from the ocean between your thighs, they’ll come out pruny. But the ache doesn’t go away. It lingers, waiting and lurking for the next touch. It’s been denied too many times tonight. Your head spinning, you gasp for breath for the split second he’ll allow.

“You know, for such a smart woman, you really don’t get what’s best for you.” His other hand finally comes around and grabs your knee, pinning you apart with his broad hand and his other elbow as his fingers dive for the buttons of your pants. You try to shut your legs, but the box at your feet is immovable. “Just fucking relax and let me take you apart.”

“W-w-wait, Javier, that’s not–,”

His gaze pinning you down as much as his weight is, his fingers deftly unzipping your pants, sliding through the opening, and pressing up against your sodden panties. You gasp. It’s relief, painful, throbbing relief, but it comes at the cost of fire licking your spine.

“But that’s not what you need, is it, pretty baby? That’s only part of it. Touching is one thing, but you need someone inside of you, don't you? Need someone to fuck up into that pretty cunt.” Your pussy swollen, you fight to breathe as much as it to fight off your impending orgasm. “Just say thank you, Javi when we’re done, alright?”

Unrelenting and deaf to your cries, his fingers strip back your underwear and finally, finally, finally, he sinks two fingers into your hot, pulsating core. His shoulders shudder as you arch back, letting out a wail. Your thighs quake around the box in front of you.

“‘Is so good. So warm.” He slurs. His hand releases your knee and slides up your hip to palm as much of your ass as he can reach. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He inhales like he wants to haul you over the console into his lap, but that you resolutely cannot allow, because there would be no coming back from that. You can still see the other side of your orgasm, enough to stifle it back down, sequester it. He strokes your inner muscles, in and out, the wet sound obscene – you must be gushing – and he hums. “Listen to that, sweetheart. God, the things I could do with that. Put you over my fucking shoulder, for one.”

Your release is roaring at you, the razor-edge of pain and pleasure digging into the meat of your pussy, as you fight again to deny what you actually really want. You plant your heels, rolling your hips against his fingers because if you were going to fucking lose, you were going to be the one to make you do it. Not him.

And then unprompted, he retreats his fingers and all but shoves them into his mouth. His hips buck up again and he’s not breathing properly. You shudder at the loss of contact but at least the edges of your vision return. God, you’re not sure how much more you can take. But there is some respite, even for a moment. Javi seems to have momentarily forgotten how close he had come to winning.

Saliva and your thready cum dripping from between his lip, Javier sucks on his fingers as if someone were threatening to cut off his hand. His hips bump lazily, distractedly, against the steering wheel as his other hand white-knuckles his knee. He licks his wrist up to the meaty side of his palm, never one to waste excess.

“Fuck, fuck, f-f-fuck,” he murmurs, eyes closed. The sight has you flushing again. “I’m gonna eat that cunt whole if it’s the last thing I do. Gonna put you in my lap and bounce you on my cock until you beg me to let you –,”

“Come.” You command, sanity finally snapping as you use the same voice to scold rowdy students at the academy or talkative agents in a presentation. It’s forceful, direct, and you are hoping that it throws him off enough to do exactly that. Come, so you win fair and square. Because that means you can finally come too.

It works.

Or it nearly does.

Javier’s spine goes rigid, hips still, his soaked fingertips hovering inches from his wet lips. His eyes snap open and oh, shit, you’ve done it now, you’ve really done it now. His once blissed out face contorts into that scowl of primal determination that only comes down for raids. For meetings with sketchy CIs. Moments when lives are at stake.

“What did you just say to me?” The growl is more gnarled wolf than human. You immediately back up as far as the car will allow, the front of your pants still undone.

“Javi, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry –,” By his expression, you half-expect him to throw open the door, storm around to your side, yank you to your feet and start fucking you against the car window. Your cunt is throwing a fucking riot at this point. She’s so pissed at you, she’s squeezing so tightly, you think she’ll suck the air right out of you. “I wasn’t thinking – i-i-it just slipped out –,”

He unbuttons two more of his buttons on his shirt and you think, deliriously, he’s going to take his shirt off, but no, he’s just letting more heat escape. More steam rise from his sweaty back. He seems to grow, fill out, until he takes up the entire front seat of the car.

“Please, please, don’t make me come, Javi.” You cry, shrinking back as far as you can. You might actually die from this. From him or a lack thereof. Either way, Javier Peña is going to destroy you.

“I should leave you alone, you know.” He growls. “I should just leave you there to fucking drool into your jeans, smart little cunt knotted up so tight, I could breath on you and make you come. The kind of shit you pulled tonight, you fucking deserve to suffer. But I’m not going to do that and you know why?”

Without warning, his hand snatches around your wrist, yanking you up against the center console. He’s right, you’re so fucking close, the movement rubs you wrong and you squeak again.

Slowly, with superhuman restraint, his nose delicately strokes the underside of your jaw by your ear, then down your neck, as if inhaling the goosebumps that burst out across your skin. You shudder. “J-J-Javi, p-p-please –,”

His other hand slides back up under your shirt, his fingers slotting in between your ribs, your back as arched as it can go. He feels you breath shakily and he closes his eyes. His next words are so soft, spoken so close to your cheek, you can feel the hairs there vibrate with the frequency of his voice.

“I’m not going to do that because I want you to know exactly what the fuck has the secretaries in a goddamn hissy fit over. I want you to think of me and me only every time you try to open your legs for anyone else. I want you to cry in frustration every time you can’t make yourself come with just your fingers because they’re not mine – they’re nowhere close to mine – and I want you to scream in frustration when I don’t pick up the phone. After tonight, I’m going to ruin you for everyone else.”

He pauses, as if expecting an answer, but he couldn’t possibly think you are capable of responding, of dredging actual human thought up out of the murk he held you under. His lips drag gently over the arc of your cheek as he leans into your ear. His voice rumbles and you whine, embarrassed, at the sound alone.

“Because that’s what you’ve done to me.”

No, no, that can’t possibly be right – it’s a trick. It’s a trap. It’s a lie. Javier Peña can’t actually be –

And then, in that same, slow timbre of voice, Javi says,

“I’m gonna finger-fuck you now, okay?”

Any chance of fighting back, of arguing still, is obliterated when his hand shoots back down between your thighs, surges past your underwear, and hooks his fingers up inside you again. This time it’s fast, he’s not waiting for you to gather your sense, he’s going to split you open, here in this fucking Pontiac.

The force of his thrusts make your spine turn to ooze and you drop forward onto his shoulder.

Fine. It’s fine. You’ll fucking lose. Who cares about your precious pride?

You don’t realize you’re whimpering in time with his fingers until you try to say his name. He cups the back of your head, reverently, as he spews more filth into your ear. As if the lewd noises he’s evoking from your pussy isn’t enough.

“I’m going to take care of you, you little sweet cunt. I’m going to take care of you the way no one else has. That’s right, that’s a good little pussy, squealing for me. Hmm, tell me, does she like this?”

His thumb merely brushes your clit, the lone survivor in all of this, and your hips jolt in his hand. He holds you steady against his shoulder. Your fingernails dig into his bicep.

“Oh, yeah, she does. Of course, she does. I can do that for as long as you like, alright?”

That white heat curls your body inwards, tearing your mouth open, and sending your eyes to the back of your head. “JaviJaviJaviJavi – please –,”

He tsks into your ear. “You keep saying that but you never tell me what you’re begging for.”

It’s coming. It’s staggering. It eclipses everything and it’s just out of reach. You feel it start to expand and after all this time, it’s actually a fucking relief to give yourself over. To let yourself be rent asunder by something this huge and overwhelming.

His fingers, the ones not rocketing you towards the biggest orgasm of your life, gently wind up into your hair, sweetly caressing the soft skin behind your earlobe. His voice is quiet, coaxing, kind. His lips almost kiss the ridges of your ear.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ll tell you what to say. Say, Javi, I want you to make me come.”

“Javi, I–,”

There’s an explosion.

No, not like that. He’s not that good.

It’s a literal explosion in the street, with flashes of flames and heat that rattle the car. Alarms go off, your vision goes white – because of a pipe bomb stationed out underneath a car parked outside the part-time gambling den, part-time brothel. Javi’s arm flings out in front of you as the car is rocked from the impact. Flames lick the charred out husk of the front of the building. Only when your ears stop ringing, do you finally hear the screaming.

And then patter of bullets.

“Baby, get your gun and stay low!” He roars, as the windshield of the car behind you shatters, the popping of gunfire echoing the distance. He lunges back and grabs his jacket, fumbling for his gun. The panic in his voice shakes you awake and you dig into the glove box for your own handheld.

It’s a firefight for your lives, in the middle of the rain, in the middle of chaos and smoke.

It’s time to go to work.

🤍Part 2

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postnuclearophelia · 1 year ago

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“Sometimes during the night I'd look at my poor sleeping mother cruelly crucified there in the American night because of no-money, no-hope-of-money, no family, no nothing, just myself the stupid son of plans all of them compacted of eventual darkness. God how right Hemingway was when he said there was no remedy for life - and to think that negative little paper-shuffling prissies should write condescending obituaries about a man who told the truth, nay who drew breath in pain to tell a tale like that! ... No remedy but in my mind I raise a fist to High Heaven promising that I shall bull whip the first bastard who makes fun of human hopelessness anyway - I know it's ridiculous to pray to my father that hunk of dung in a grave yet I pray to him anyway, what else shall I do? sneer? shuffle paper on a desk and burp rationality? Ah thank God for all the Rationalists the worms and vermin got. Thank God for all the hate mongering political pamphleteers with no left or right to yell about in the Grave of Space. I say that we shall all be reborn with the Only One, and that's what makes me go on, and my mother too. She has her rosary in the bus, don't deny her that, that's her way of stating the fact. If there can't be love among men let there be love at least between men and God. Human courage is an opiate but opiates are human too. If God is an opiate so am I. Thefore eat me. Eat the night, the long desolate American between Sanford and Shlamford and Blamford and Crapford, eat the hematodes that hang parasitically from dreary southern trees, eat the blood in the ground, the dead Indians, the dead pioneers, the dead Fords and Pontiacs, the dead Mississippis, the dead arms of forlorn hopelessness washing underneath - Who are men, that they can insult men? Who are these people who wear pants and dresses and sneer? What am I talking about? I'm talking about human helplessness and unbelievable loneliness in the darkness of birth and death and asking 'What is there to laugh about in that?' 'How can you be clever in a meatgrinder?' 'Who makes fun of misery?' There's my mother a hunk of flesh that didn't ask to be born, sleeping restlessly, dreaming hopefully, beside her son who also didn't ask to be born, thinking desperately, praying hopelessly, in a bouncing earthly vehicle going from nowhere to nowhere, all in the night, worst of all for that matter all in noonday glare of bestial Gulf Coast roads - Where is the rock that will sustain us? Why are we here? What kind of crazy college would feature a seminar where people talk about hopelessness, forever?” ― Jack Kerouac, Desolation Angels

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whositmcwhatsit · 8 months ago

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Since this started out as a birthday fic, I really wanted to get Chapter 2 done in time for my birthday, but I missed my deadline by 4 days.

Never mind.

Thanks, as ever, to the cheerleading and alpha-reading of @thatbanditqueen, who bestowed the glowing critique of 'tolerable' to this labour of love.

Anyone needing to catch up, here is Chapter One

Chapter Two

For two weeks after the night Aurora barged into Elvis Presley’s house and somehow didn’t get chased out by security, the ladies at the hair salon would ask her every day if she had heard from him.

At first, when she told them no, they would smile gleefully and say it was going to happen any day, after all he must have asked for her number for a reason. Then, the smiles began to dim and they would start to make excuses to make her feel better. She felt like she was letting them down each time she had to answer in the negative. There was no space to feel her own disappointment because she was carrying enough for other people.

After that two weeks, it petered out into sympathetic looks and attempts to ‘cheer her up’. Honestly, Aurora didn’t need the cheering up, though of course she took all the free food and extra tips that were offered. It had been a strange, fun, surreal experience, but men like Elvis didn’t call back girls like her. She had already got way more than she deserved.

Joanne showed up just before closing one Thursday when even the sympathy was beginning to fade and Aurora was sadly eyeing the dip in her tips. Joanne threw herself into Aurora’s chair, studying her Farrah bangs with a critical eye in the mirror and trying to rake the volume back into them with her fingers.

Aurora nudged her legs out of the way with her hip as she swept under the vanity, feeling tired, hot and impatient after a long day. She was envisioning a cold shower and laying flat on the back porch with the noisy fan, maybe sneaking a beer from the ice box before her mama got home.

“You’ll never guess who I bumped into last night,” Joanne began.

“Probably not,” Aurora agreed, shoving the broom into the closet and going to collect her purse from the poky kitchen in the back.

“That guy Dave? Elvis Dave.” Aurora wondered how he would feel to know that he had that nickname while ignoring the way her stomach swooped at just the ‘e word’. “I was at the gas station with Beverly from work and he pulled up in that sweet ride of his and blocked me in.”

Aurora was trying to feign nonchalance as she felt Joanne’s eyes studying her intensely in the mirror.

“Why? Did he even call you after that night?”

“Nope, and I didn’t expect him to since I didn’t give him my number and we’re not in the book. You guys aren’t either, are you?”

“No, Mama thinks having a lady’s name in the phone book is like advertising that you’re easy pickings for creeps and weirdos.”

Joanne nodded, because they had known each other long enough that Aurora’s mama and her ‘interesting’ ideas were not a revelation.

“So, giving Elvis the wrong number, was that a brush-off?”

“What?”

“Dave said that the number you gave Elvis was for a store, a hardware place or paint… something like that.”

Trying to force her brain back through the hot sludge of the days since, Aurora was sure that she had written down the right number. Or had she? Her penmanship was not going to win any awards on a good day. At dawn after an eventful night…

“So, it was a mistake?” Joanne asked as they stepped out into the dripping heat of the late afternoon and walked across the parking lot to Aurora’s busted old Pontiac GTO. Aurora eyed the dented fender ruefully and ran her hand over the dusty hood as if in apology.

“Oh my God!” She covered her burning face with her hands, laughing slightly manically. “I’m such a loser!” What must he have thought of her?! Wait, he had called her! A dam had broken in her brain and all the thoughts were rushing and swirling around, taking out any sensible notions in their path.

“Well, that’s good, ‘cause I gave Dave the right one.”

“What?”

“You made a mistake giving him the wrong number?” Joanne was a smart girl. Street smart anyway, but that was probably the dumbest question she had ever asked.

“Yes!”

Despite the overly airy way Joanne said it, it hit Aurora like she had put force into it. The way her stomach swooped was unexpected since she had even been denying to herself that she was upset by the radio silence. For a brief, quavering moment she let herself get excited, maybe even a little bit hopeful, before practicality rammed down to crush those emotions into tiny specks. It was stupid, it was all so stupid: her jolting whenever the phone rang, the relief at realizing she had given him the wrong number and that he had tried to call her, the excitement that he might try again.

At no point in Aurora’s years on Earth had anyone or anything ever been cruel enough to lie to her about her station in life or what she should expect from it. No, God had been kind and straight with her from the get-go: His plan for her was basic, a very rough draft if you will, a couple of words scribbled on an old envelope.

“So, you gonna come out?” Joanne asked, fiddling with the fringe of her purse. “Or you thinking you’ll head home and wait by the phone?” Aurora rolled her eyes as she opened the creaking car door and dropped into the oven-like interior.

“I am gonna go home, take a cold shower and probably pass out in front of the tv,” she corrected.

“Sure you are.” Joanne leant in the window and poked her index finger against Aurora’s forehead, laughing as Aurora swatted it away. “Drive safe rushing home to wait by the phone.”

“Only thing I’m in danger of is cracking a headlight driving it into your smart ass!”

Joanne’s cackle traveled across the mainly deserted lot, the nail polish of her extended middle finger catching the light just beautifully. Aurora snorted as she turned over the car, praying through the warm-up grinding and growling.

“C’mon, baby, don’t let me down,” she murmured to the dash, patting the wheel appeasingly. “You can do it.”

It took a few more seconds of sweat sliding into uncomfortable places before the engine finally caught and the car revved. Aurora let out the warm, stale air she’d been holding in her lungs and peeled out, eager to catch the breeze through her open window.

The phone was ringing when she pulled up at the house.

Without thinking about it, she left the car in neutral and shot inside, leaving all the doors open between her and the receiver.

“Hello?” She was afraid that she might not be able to hear the caller because of the swirling whooshing sound of her blood pumping around her body and her heart pounding in her ears, but her grandma came through crisp and clear, complaining that her fan wasn’t working properly and that Aurora’s cousin Denny had promised to come round and take a look at it, but had not shown up yet. It was all Aurora could do to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Tapping her fingers against the formica surface of the telephone table, Aurora willed Denny and his lazy ass to show up so that Grandma would get off the phone to yell at him instead, but of course that little shit was probably already out, fumigating some bar or disco with his Old Spice.

Biting down on a sigh, Aurora reached out with her leg and hooked a chair from the kitchen with her foot and dragged it over so that she could rest her weary legs as her grandma started talking about which of her friends had died, lost their husbands or bailed their grandkids out of jail this week.

Nearly an hour later, still cursing Denny, Grandma announced that she didn’t want to waste any more of Aurora’s time, because no one wants to hear a silly old woman prattling on, and Aurora of course told her she wasn’t silly or old and she loved her and loved talking to her, which earned her another thirty minutes on the phone before she finally managed to hang up. Her elbow ached, her hand was numb in patches and the hair around her ear was damp with sweat. And Elvis had probably called another girl by now, some beauty queen whose grandma never tied up her phone line.

Weary in every way, she trudged through the little one storey house, returning out front to grab her car keys out of the ignition and shut the door. Brian, who used to go to school with her brother, lifted his beer bottle up at her from where he was sitting on the steps of his front porch across the street and she threw up her hand as she turned to go back into the house.

Mama got home later, complaining about her manager and the new girl whose cash desk hadn’t come out even at the end of her shift.

“It’s not like she even has to add up the change in her little pea brain!” she ranted, leaning over the pot of spaghetti that Aurora had thrown together earlier. “Spaghetti, in this heat, Rora?”

“Nothing else,” Aurora shrugged. “I’ll pick up some groceries after work.” She fought very hard not to point out that her mother worked in a damn store the size of a warehouse full of food that she could easily buy after work, because that sort of back talk never ended well.

“I thought you’d be out tonight,” Mama said later, sipping from a beer as she pushed the congealing spaghetti around her plate on the little stand, eyes on Barnaby Jones on TV. “Betty was saying that Joanne was going to Ladies Night over at Sal’s. They got a new bartender that looks like that boy from… Lord, what was it, ‘Shazam’?”

“Yeah, maybe in the dark with your eyes closed!” Aurora snorted.

“Betty’s always had her work cut out for her with that one. Back in my day, her folk’s would’ve been hurrying to get her tied up with some nice boy before they ended up having to send her away to family in the country for a few months, if you get my drift.”

“Mama! She’s not that bad. You can’t tell me y’all didn’t go crazy about boys when you were kids. Aunt Margie told me about how you never sat out any dances when you were our age.”

“Yeah well, Marg should mind her own business and pay more attention to that son of hers. You know, he promised Grandma days ago that he’d take a look at her fan and she’s still waiting.”

“I know,” Aurora sighed. Boy, did she know.

Admitting defeat, Aurora finally climbed into bed just before midnight, checking the screen of her open window before settling down with a huff. Maybe she should have gone out with Joanne. As much as she knew that Thursday nights at Sal’s were a horror show, it didn’t stop that nagging feeling in her stomach that maybe she had let something slip away, and ignored possibilities. At the very least, she would have laughed until her sides hurt as she and Joanne danced to the jukebox.

Tomorrow night, she told herself as she drifted off, her blurring eyes fixed on the shard of moonlight that sliced into her dresser.

The moon had set by the time she startled awake a few hours later. Her mother was hunched over her, a silhouette of curlers and rounded shoulders, fingers tight against her shoulders.

“Rora, wake up!”

“What’shappeningisitbad,” she mumbled as the pieces of her conscious mind tried to converge and accidentally passed one another, blurring even further. She jolted as her mother shook her even harder.

“Wake up! There’s someone on the phone asking for you.”

“What? Why?” Aurora squinted at her mother who seemed flustered, fiddling with her headscarf and the neck of her nightgown over and over.

Trying to blink sleep from her eyes, Aurora let her feet drop heavily to the floor and shoved herself up into a seated position. With her eyes half closed, she shuffled out into the kitchen and picked up the receiver laying against the counter.

“Hmmmello?”

“Hi, is this… Aurora?” Whoever was on the phone said it like a substitute teacher trying to take attendance, not sure whether they were being played.

“Uh, hmm, yeah. Who’s this?”

“I’m gonna ask you to hold one for a minute.” There was fumbling, which she might have found intriguing if she hadn’t been sprawled with her cheek against the counter, eyes squeezed shut against the brutal overhead light.

More fumbling.

“You are one difficult chick to track down, Tiger, you know that?! Goddamn.”

“Elvis?” she said, even as her brain was processing the voice. At the same time, her mother prodded her sharply in the back, whether to get some sort of explanation or to make her stand up straight while having a conversation with the King, who knew, and Aurora was not about to pause the proceedings to find out.

“Yeah, Elvis,” he returned, miraculously making a drawl drip with sarcasm. “You were taking ‘seek and ye shall find’ a little too far, weren’t ya, sweetheart? Almost called out the US Marshals trying to track you down.”

It sounded like a fifty-fifty split on whether he found the mix-up amusing or annoying and she couldn’t help cringing into her hand yet again, but he was calling. He was calling!

“Not sure, early… or late, one of the two. Goddamn, I can’t believe I finally got you. I bet you didn’t think I’d be able to do it, right? I tell you, ain’t nobody won money betting against me, honey, really.”

“Hello?! Sonovabitch, d’I lose her again?” She giggled at his mumbling and quickly interjected:

“Hello! No, I’m just trying to wake up. What time is it?”

Aurora opened her mouth to explain that she hadn’t given him the wrong number on purpose, that she wasn’t the sort of girl that set a scavenger hunt for anyone wanting to call her, but he was talking fast and leaving no place to jump in.

“Anyhow, the reason I was really callin’ was to make sure you’re takin’ care of Cupcake. You looking after him, feeding him, petting him and all that?”

“You mean Muffin?” She glanced up over the counter at the large tiger ornament sitting in pride of place on top of the TV. “Course I am.”

“Hot damn, Muffin, that was it! Well, are you sure? I feel like maybe I should barge into your house in the middle of the night and find out for myself, you know?”

Aurora couldn’t force a laugh, couldn’t even inhale as her dismayed eyes surveyed the sagging couch and faded wallpaper. If Elvis Presley set eyes on her home he would know everything there was to know about her within ten seconds and lose interest.

“You don’t even know where I live,” she prodded with a shaky wheeze. “And even if you think you do, you’re wrong. I could bring him to you? You want to check on him so bad, I’ll send him on over to you.”

There was a long pause, Aurora’s turn to wonder whether she had lost him, and when he spoke again there was an odd intonation to his voice, a knowingness that made her feel flayed open for all to see.

“Yeah, you should come here, bring ole Cupmuffincake so I can check you’re treating him right. I’d send someone over to pick you up.” She heard murmuring and the edge of Elvis’ voice cutting through the muffled sound like he was having a conversation with his hand over the receiver, and it hit her what was happening.

“Hello? Elvis! Hello?!”

“Honey, I’m just-”

“I can’t come now. I’ve got work in the morning- soon!”

There was another long pause. Each time, she balanced on her toes, wondering if this was the time, this was the final straw and he would hang up, give up, and drop her.

“I- I understand, your- your job’s important.” He sounded like a bad actor at a table read. She suspected that he had long forgotten quite how important a job was if you wanted a roof to stop the rain falling on your head and food in the ice box to stop you starving to death. “What time d’you get off work, honey?”

“I can finish at five,” she replied, knowing she could reschedule her last appointment. “And I can drive over. You don’t need to send anyone. I know where you live after all.” She forced a little laugh, but his voice was subdued when he replied:

“Yeah, I guess you do. After five then? You’ll come straight over?”

“Sure, I’ll come straight there.” She was reassuring him, like she was doing him a favor by showing up at his mansion all sweaty and messed up after a day of work. She wasn’t sure how this situation had come about, but had no doubt that it was wrong. A man who has a wall with gates around his property and security guards, cameras and barbed wire on fences did not have to make anyone promise to come to his house.

Elvis then told her that he had been planning on going for a ride on his motorcycle. He asked if she had ever ridden one before and when she admitted that she had, because she sensed that he had wanted her to say no, he assured her that his was better than whatever souped up

bicycle she had tried before. He made her promise that she would come dressed for a motorcycle ride.

“You know, one time this one little girl showed up here in a cute little dress. Hair done up all pretty and everything, see, and-” He laughed to himself. “You should’ve seen her after we’d gone out on the hogs. She was all mad and I said to her, I said, I ain’t the kind of guy that just sits around, you know, having a damn tea party on a date. I gotta, I gotta be doing something, going somewhere, otherwise I’m gonna get bored.” He sighed loudly into the phone and Aurora half imagined she felt it against her cheek. She wondered if he was telling her this because he didn’t want her to think that she was visiting to sit on his bed and read books again, or to let her know that their night together had been a rare occurrence and she shouldn’t expect more of the same.

“Well, I promise not to wear a cute dress or make any effort with my hair.”

“You are trouble,” he laughed. “I knew it the moment I saw you, man. Trouble with a capital T! I’ll tell ‘em not to let you in, you see if I won’t.”

When they finally hung up, Aurora again had an aching elbow, stiff elbow and partially numb hand. She turned slightly and faced her mother, who had been walking in and out the kitchen throughout the whole conversation. She eyed her pointedly over a cup of coffee.

“I know he’s Elvis, but I think that means he owns a watch or two,” she remarked. “And some of us need to be getting up at a decent hour to get to work.”

“I know, Mama, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect it.”

“Just…” Her mother sighed, lowering the coffee cup from her mouth. “Just be careful, honey. Remember Memphis is chock full of girls that Elvis used to call at 3AM.”

“I know, Mama.”

Afterwards, Aurora would have no recollection of her day at work, and was surprised that she received no complaints about uneven bangs or stripey dye jobs. Her mind was definitely not on her tasks. She kept planning and replanning and unplanning what she was going to wear. What outfit would look like she had made some effort, but also wouldn’t have her showing her underwear to passing motorists on a motorcycle? She needed to look like she belonged with Elvis, but couldn't afford the time and money that would require.

Although, maybe that was the point? Maybe he was making a show of slumming it, maybe he wanted her to look ordinary? She couldn’t think why that would be, other than some sort of publicity strategy? She imagined herself, wide-eyed, her waves flattened after the heat of the salon, eyeliner caking in the creases of her eyes, staring out from the front page of the National Enquirer as it screamed: “Elvis drops his standards!”

When work finally ended, she sped home, ignoring the ringing phone and performing a hop, skip and jump into the shower that would have qualified her for the upcoming summer olympics. She brushed her teeth and blow dried her hair at the same time, shaving her legs and layering on the eyeliner like a motivated octopus.

She was pulling up at the gates of Graceland by 6.30, both annoyed and relieved that no one would ever know the heroic efforts she had made just to be there. She gave her name to the guard at the gate house, maintaining eye contact like a crazy person as if this would convince him that she wasn’t trying to sneak in without an invite. You know, like she technically had done a couple of weeks before.

When the gates started to swing open, she hesitated a little too long, not quite believing that it was for her, and also a little frightened that it was. The guard came back out and directed her up the right hand side of the drive as if she was unsure of where to go.

After Aurora pulled up in front of the famous portico in her grubby, dented Pontiac, she waited. She had no idea what she was supposed to do next. Ring on the doorbell like a nervous prom date? Ding dong, Avon calling? Hi, can my friend Elvis come out to play?

When she had come before, they had parked around the back of the house, but that seemed too familiar. She smiled as she thought of fans standing at the gates and glimpsing her rusty old lemon through the trees parked in front of a millionaire’s mansion. It just summed up this whole silly situation.

Finally, she climbed out of her car, grabbing her jacket and purse as she stared up at the looming fieldstone walls with their barred windows. The windows gave off a strange vibe, a sense of seeing and being seen, and she glanced away, the loser in the staring competition.

Aurora had barely rung the bell when the front door swung open and a short, older guy, who may or may not have been wearing eyeliner, stood beaming at her like they were best friends.

“Well now, you must be Aurora. Everyone said you were a pretty little thing. C’mon in, darlin’, don’t be shy. I’m Charlie.”

Aurora thought of herself as a pretty good judge of character, a skill hard won through bad experiences. And this Charlie made her think of the uncles you knew to avoid at family gatherings, especially once they had a few drinks in them. Something about the amount of teeth in his smile compared to the lack of warmth in his eyes. She trusted her gut and took a few steps away from the arm he had wrapped around her back.

“Well, Elvis is right upstairs. I think you know your way around up there, right, darlin’?” She forced a smile a second too late and they were stuck in a toothy standoff as Aurora wheeled round in a wide arc and headed for the stairs, her cheeks burning at Charlie’s insinuation. She wondered what Elvis had said to him.

As she climbed the stairs, Aurora’s mind was strobing with thoughts. The first, obviously, was marveling at how thick and soft the carpet was. It would be very difficult to have an argument and stomp down the stairs here. The second was that she was walking up to Elvis Presley’s bedroom, invited, and that would never stop being surreal. She caught sight of herself in the mirrored panels on the wall and checked her teeth for lipstick and wiped beneath her eyes.

Reaching the landing, she heard the resonating sound of an organ being played and she faltered, but reminded herself yet again that she had been invited.

When she reached the doorway of what she vaguely remembered being an office she had passed through last time, she caught sight of Elvis, just his back and side profile as he sat at the organ. Another man, slight and shorter, was standing by it as an audience of one.

It seemed rude to interrupt the intimate concert, so she waited in the doorway, listening as Elvis sang a hymn, putting in as much effort as she imagined he did when performing to thousands. It made the hair on her arms prickle the way his rich voice enveloped her and an odd stillness fell upon her, in spite of her nerves and the awkwardness of the situation. Somehow he managed to distract her into forgetting she was anxious without even being aware she was watching him.

With a grand flourish of his hands on the organ, Elvis brought the song to a close with a tremulous plink of the last key on the keyboard and then laughed quietly to himself and his one man audience, mumbling something only his friend could hear.

‘Go in!’ Aurora silently instructed her feet. ‘Just walk forward!’ They picked the worst time to launch a mutiny.

Sliding his fingers across the keys again, Elvis sang, “She thinks I don’t know she’s there” to the tune of the George Jones’ song ‘She Thinks I Still Care’. She could feel her cheeks heating up as he looked over his shoulder straight at her, a playful grin lifting and lighting up his face so that she was smiling before she could think.

“Look, there she is, Billy, the damn fugitive. Tell her- Tell Tiger what you said to me, man-”

As Billy went to open his mouth, Elvis gripped his shoulder while rising from the organ bench and spoke over him like a little kid who couldn’t wait to share the secret.

“See, man, I told you she was real! Y’all think I’m crazy- and I am- but not this time. Come in here, honey, come let us all have a real look at you.”

“I had him and some of my other guys searching high and low for this girl called Aurora, and after a while, ole Marble Eyes here says to me- Tell her what you said-” Billy managed to get one word out before they finished in unison:

“Elvis, I ain’t so sure this girl really exists!” The two men laughed, and Aurora was glad that the annoyance that had been dripping from his words on the phone seemed to have evaporated. Elvis slapped Billy in the chest with the back of his hand and gestured at her.

Apparently Aurora’s feet paid more attention to Elvis than to her, because they walked her right into the room like the traitorous traitors they were.

“See?” Elvis said to Billy in a low voice, seemingly settling an argument that extended beyond whether or not she really existed. Billy shrugged, a little grin on his face, but Aurora didn’t miss the way his eyes, though not as jarringly dissonant as Charlie’s, followed Elvis almost anxiously as he crossed the room to meet her.

Even though Aurora was wearing a thin jacket, she still thought she could feel the heat of Elvis’ touch as he squeezed her shoulders and leant in to lightly kiss her cheek. In fact, the temperature of the air around her seemed to shoot up as she breathed in his spicy citrus cologne and squinted slightly to stop him blurring around the edges.

“Yeah, you’re real alright,” he murmured, his hand sliding down her arm and his fingers tangling with her own as he stepped back and brazenly looked her up and down. It was a struggle not to recoil, attempt to cover herself or blush, but she sensed that this was what he was testing, pushing to see if she would crumble or curl up under the weight of scrutiny.

“Honey, I know you came after work and all, but don’t you think you could’ve dressed up a little?” His tone was teasing and he was smiling, but the question was clearly genuine. She looked down at her red cotton flares and then back at his baby blue leisure suit with the racquetball court logo on the chest. That was the moment the cushiony awe and anxiety wore through; she could almost hear the -pop- of the bubble and then it was just her.

“Watch your damn mouth,” he laughed. “Remember who pays all the bills around this goddamn place. Keep on and I’ll take that fucking trailer and give it to the dogs, man. Edmund’ll be pissing up the walls by next week!”

“You were the one who told me not to wear a dress!” she returned spiritedly, looking him square in the face for the first time. “You said we were going out for a ride and not to get too dressed up.” He paused, his expression uncharacteristically blank, and she almost started questioning herself, until Billy, who she had forgotten was still standing there by the organ, put in:

“Oh, hell, you don’t listen to what he says. There’s a reason we all call him Crazy, you know.” He had a soft, slightly country, soothing kind of voice and almost like magic, Elvis’ cloudy expression burst into radiant sunshine again as he feinted an attack on Billy.

Aurora stood stock still as Billy darted around her, jerking out of the way of a reckless and, judging by the way that Elvis grunted as he did it, forceful karate chop that cut through the air so close to the side of her head that her hair ruffled.

“Boys, no roughhousing in the house!” she said with forced playfulness.

They were all playing along, Aurora realized. Even she was acting out a script that she had not glimpsed, but had immediately started reading her lines and hitting her marks just as readily as Billy with his teasing words that masked worried eyes, and Charlie with the wide easy smile that tried to outshine something slightly twisted and angry beneath the surface. And Elvis? Either he was one of the greatest actors of all time, or this was him. It unnerved her the way that she couldn’t read him like she read most people, that he had no tell she could easily discern.

Billy edged backwards towards the door and Elvis slowly advanced on him. Aurora decided to choose self-preservation and step out of the way, but Elvis moved too and scooped her up against him, suddenly losing all interest in Billy. Aurora found herself with her face pressed against his shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist to stop herself from flailing backwards and one of his palms hard between her shoulder blades, while the fingers of his other hand gripped her hip.

“Oh, what do we have here,” he murmured in a soft little boy’s voice that should not have caused her to shiver and break out in goosebumps as his mouth brushed the shell of her ear. “Got myself a tiger by the tail.” His hands slid slowly down over the curve of her ass, thumbs kneading into the muscle and she took a sharp inhale, but then he started patting around frantically, practically spanking her. “Uh oh, no tail.”

Aurora threw back her head, almost choking on a laugh as his sideburns tickled against the line of her throat and he buried his face into the crook of her neck. When he pulled back, pink-faced with his hair all rumpled, she found herself reaching up to smooth it without hesitation, only pausing when her fingers were tangled in his inky black locks. They stared at each other in a freeze frame, her, wide-eyed and panicked at her over familiarity; him with his eyes sparkling and his cheeks brimming as his lips twisted into a little smirk. She dropped her hand awkwardly, though her other arm was still gripping his waist as she remained draped across his chest and stomach. To stop herself from falling, she reminded herself.

“I brought a dress,” she blurted. “For after we went for a ride.” His smile spread wider and she could almost feel it cracking her wide open even as all her defenses battened down the hatches.

“Well, we ain’t going for a ride right now, honey,” he informed her. After taking a momentary study of her face with his head tilted pensively, he added, “I’m gonna give you the tour.” He nodded to someone behind her and she twisted slightly to see Billy still leaning in the doorway. Elvis, it seemed, needed an audience to his flirting just as much as he needed one for his singing.

It would have seemed impossible to her a couple of weeks earlier, the thought of her being led by the hand around Elvis’ mansion by Elvis himself, listening and laughing as he swung between genuine pride and mocking himself.

“And this here is the whore house,” he announced as they stood in the archway looking over the living room. She took in the overabundance of red, gold and white, feathers, velvet and shag, glad that he had said that first. She was beginning to notice that about him, his ability to predict reactions and pre-empt them with a joke or a sly comment, like he was somehow with you as you viewed him, making it impossible to feel enough distance to gain proper perspective, or really any distance at all.

“Where are they?” she asked, since feeling predictable didn’t quite sit right with her. “All the ‘ladies’?” She made a show of looking around.

“Oh, honey, we don’t talk about that,” he replied, moving ahead and tugging her through the living room towards another doorway curtained in chintzy red and being guarded by glass peacocks. “All of this was white before that fateful night.”

The unexpected laugh exploded out of her and she yanked her hand away from the loose grip of his fingers to slap both of her hands across her mouth. Smirking again, that naughty little smile made her stomach try and wrench itself into ringlets, he glanced over at Billy, who was laughing. “Little Billy here still has nightmares.”

“You’re…” She scrambled for the words, silly, naughty, crude, funny, amazing, unpredictable, so much better than I would have thought. “Crazy. You’re just crazy.”

Through the music room, they passed through a hallway into what Elvis called the ‘Trophy Room’. Aurora was overwhelmed by all the items to look at. There were toys, clothing, paintings, ornaments, photos, plaques, citations, actual trophies and then the records, endless shiny metal discs with little plaques recording unimaginable achievements. Aurora slowly traversed the long room, peering into cases, lips moving as she read so many declarations of admiration and adoration.

Glancing up from a trophy that recognised him as ‘The World’s Greatest Entertainer of All Time’ from ‘The Loving You Fan Club of Murcia and Alicante’, she looked over to where he was talking quietly to Billy by the door. He glanced over too and winked as they locked eyes, so she had to turn and stare very intently at a creepy doll thankfully encased in a glass cabinet until she could feel the blush cooling from her cheeks.

“It’s like a whole museum of you,” she marveled, finally wandering back in their direction.

Elvis seemed to misunderstand, mumbling awkwardly about needing to have somewhere to store everything because someone took the time to give it to him, so she risked interrupting him.

“I mean, having this solid proof of everything you’ve done and how much you’re loved. It’s amazing, it must make you smile just walking in here. It’s unreal!”

The clouds that threatened to beset his mood drifted back and he shrugged diffidently, this little smile diametrically opposed to his naughty smirk. He looked positively bashful.

“It is unreal, man,” he murmured. “I keep waiting to wake up and find out this Elvis fella wants his life back.” He shrugged again and absently grabbed her chin with his fingers. “Well, we gotta make the most of it before he does.” He moved her head up and down, a strange little mime reflecting him back.

Aurora tried to ooh and aah in the right places as she was led through Elvis’ plush, sleek racquetball court. Having never even heard of the game before, Aurora mentioned that she had never played and he squinted at her cryptically and assured her that she would, sounding like a fortune teller who could foresee oddly specific destinies.

“I’m pretty good at pinball though,” she offered, eyeing up the machine with all its shiny chrome and flashing lights. No greasy fingerprints and rust to be seen, unlike the one at the bowling alley that she used to feed her lunch money when she was hiding out from spelling tests or book reports.

“Maybe later, Tiger,” Elvis murmured, ushering her past Billy and back out into the darkening night.

Aurora looked around as the inky shadows started to claim the white fences and golden fieldstone and let out an awed breath. Imagine having all of this at your fingertips, so much to look at, to entertain you, to enjoy just right there for the taking. It was just so titillating that she couldn’t even bring herself to feel any envy. It seemed an impossibly perfect existence, something too good to even yearn for.

“Over there’s the barn and the horses and so on,” Elvis said, waving his hand flippantly. “I’ll show you some time.” That, at least, she was glad to postpone since horses had frightened her since she was a kid. Her head was still on a swivel as they walked back along the little walkway to the house, her eyes desperately trying to drink everything in.

Ending up in the kitchen made Aurora smile, thinking back to her last visit. During the past couple of weeks she had been regretting how fast it had all happened and how little she had taken in. The next morning, she could barely answer the breathless, demanding questions of her customers as they quizzed her on what colors the carpets were and how many cars were in the carport. This time, she was determined that she was going to take note of everything, just in case it was her last opportunity.

“You got eyes as big as this ‘un here,” Elvis remarked, jerking a thumb at Billy, who shrugged and smiled good naturedly. “You've seen all this before.”

“No, you were distracting me too much before,” she returned. “I didn’t take it in.”

“Me distracting you?! That’s rich when you- you showed up in your little shorts with your legs and everything.”

“Oh, the shorts did it for you?” she smirked.

To her surprise, Elvis gave her an almost stern shake of his head, and she hesitated, finding herself on unstable ground. Brusquely, he informed Billy he would call him later, told the cook to send up some drinks, and then headed towards the stairs Aurora now knew led up to his bedroom. It was only when he turned and flashed her an impatient look that she realized he expected her to follow him.

As she trailed after his broad back, trying not to look at the way the chains hanging from the belt peeking from beneath the hem of his jacket were swaying and bouncing as he slowly climbed the staircase, she replayed their exchange in the kitchen, trying to understand what had made him switch so suddenly. He had started it with his comment about her shorts, she had only been repeating what he said.

They stepped back into the office and then through into the bedroom, where Elvis whirled round and kissed her. It happened so fast that she didn’t have time to prepare, nor get flustered. Instead, her body did what came naturally and melted like ice in a furnace. It was as if he enveloped her, the warmth of him, the smell of him, the feel of him all around her and, as his tongue lapped tentatively against her pliant lips, within her. Her forearms were just beginning to slide up his chest, hands scrambling to touch and grip, when he stepped back. It took her a while to register that he was talking, her eyes fixated on the sheen of his puffy, wet lips as he spoke.

“Been waiting to do that again for, what is it now, a month, two months?”

“Two weeks,” she corrected cautiously.

“Two weeks, shit. Every time I close my damn eyes, I keep seeing those itty bitty shorts and thinking-” He cut off as his eyes fell upon her mouth and his lips curled slightly. Leaning forward to nibble on her lower lip, he let out a small grunt at the back of his throat as he pushed in to deepen it. Aurora didn’t react. A long second passed.

“What’s the matter, honey?” He was so close that she could count individual eyelashes and examine the crease between his brows as he frowned. Her heart gave a weird flutter at the concern she saw in his face. “Are you okay? Did I-”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just… Did I do something? Before in the kitchen?”

He shook his head, trying to jostle away her confusion along with his own awkwardness as he replied:

“I don’t like to do that kind of thing in front of the staff, especially the ladies in the kitchen. It ain’t respectful.”

Aurora swallowed a giggle upon seeing the sincerity in his face, but somehow, again, he read her mind and gave her side a poke with a long finger.

“You think that’s kinda old fashioned and silly, huh,” he remarked, teeth clenched in a playful show of irritation. She jerked at the painful poke, but let out the laughter she had been trying to suppress.

“Not silly,” she soothed. “It’s cute.”

“I ain’t cute, goddamn it!” he snapped. “Get on the damn bed, woman! I’ll show you how cute I am!”

Aurora raised her eyebrows, but before she could scoop together the words, he clutched her waist and kissed her hard to the point where her lips were almost painfully jammed against her teeth. He could only seem to bear to do this for so long however before he adjusted, and his soft pillowy lips kneaded hers. His breath fell light upon her cheek as his hands reached up to cradle the sides of her face.

“Get up on the bed, baby,” he murmured gently this time. “Please.”

“Since you asked nicely.”

She used her feet to pry off her shoes and clambered up onto the center of the expansive bed, where she dropped onto her back with her arms and legs spread like a starfish. She noticed the two television screens mounted in the ceiling and rolled instinctively, hit by sudden claustrophobic dread that they were pushing down on her.

The roll was just in time to meet Elvis joining her on the bed, and he caught hold of her by the shoulder and hip and slid her closer to him with practiced ease.

How many girls had lay in this bed, she wondered, even as she succumbed to his embrace and flexed her fingers up into the fine, silky hair at the back of his head. Did he ever wake up and not remember who his companion was until he pulled back the blankets? Did his memory ever shuffle through them all like flicking the pages of a photo album?

She was thinking too much, she was definitely thinking too much. Here she was, laying pressed up against Elvis Presley, his tongue caressing hers while his fingertips stroked a path down her neck and into the opening of her shirt and she was imagining other more beautiful women spread out in her place.

WIth effort, she emptied her mind and smeared her lips across his round cheek and down to his jaw, scrunching up her nose at the tickling from his sideburn. She tasted the salt from his skin as her mouth journeyed down his warm neck, pressing kisses against the rough, burgeoning stubble and flickering pulse beneath.

He growled a little at the back of his throat and submitted. No, submitted was not the right word, because he was practically pushing his neck against her mouth, hungry for more, reveling in the caressing care of her lips and the teasing of her teeth nibbling beneath.

Aurora could feel sweat beginning to bead at the small of her back and across her chest pressed beneath the weighty, hot pressure of his torso still covered in layers of clothing.

Blind and dumb with eagerness, she pulled back slightly and reached for the zipper of his jacket, already halfway down, trying to gain further access and salivating at the thought of his chest that she had glimpsed through the deep open vee of his shirt, adorned with damp, curls of hair. He grabbed her bicep wordlessly and pushed it back, pressing it up onto the pillows at the side of her head. The weight of him followed and she felt her legs forced apart by the pressure of a solid thigh slotting between them and pushing against the tingling, eager nexus where she was nudging her hips to meet him.

Swollen and tingling, her lips nonetheless widened into a smile as she felt him pressing his neck and his cheek against her mouth, demanding her kisses, caresses and attention even as his hands grazed over her breasts, the edge of his thumb teasing over her cotton covered nipple.

Aurora clenched her jaw, biting down on a whining sigh as he thrust his hip with celebrated skill and nudged all the right places, sending a spidery web of tingling electricity deep down and along the inside of her thighs. Her toes curled appreciatively as she hooked her leg over the back of his, squeezing them both together to a duet of moaning.

“That’s it, let me hear you, baby,” he whispered in a direct line from her ear down to her aching, tingly core. She tried to wrap her arms around his shoulders, to pull him closer to cover the shivery coolness of her exposed decolletage, but he held fast to her arm, pinning the other down beneath his side.

Aurora’s brain was too foggy with pleasure and yearning to be embarrassed or self-conscious about the noises she was making, or was trying to make, since he kept forcing her lips to perform supplication and worship different parts of him. Her whines were muffled by the soft, fullness of his bottom lip as he tasted and teased her, then the salty, slightly metallic tang of the broad pad of his thumb as he pushed it against the flat of her tongue, and his body, heavy and hot, thrusting against every willing, needy inch of her.

Like an opera singer sliding up the scale, the way her body answered his nudging and rubbing began to heighten. A thousand icy vibrations resonated through her, building and building until all her nerves sang in the same, piercing crescendo, threatening to shatter her as she tensed, squeezed, curled into herself and then broke apart.

With a weary but satisfied sigh, he sank back onto his side, leaving her shivering and exposed despite the fact that she was still fully clothed. Listening to her own slightly labored breaths, she was finally able to lift up her arm from the pillow and she tugged at her rumpled, damp clothes, trying to make herself more comfortable and presentable.

Rolling onto her side, she let herself bathe in the warm, affectionate glow of his eyes as he smiled at her, reaching up to smooth her hair. She leant down and kissed him chastely on the lips, still delighted at the way he pushed back, eagerly taking what she was giving.

“Can I? Could I… Do you need me to-” Unable to bring herself to say it, she let her hand slide down his chest, over the curve of his stomach, past the hem of his jacket, where he hastily caught it and tugged it back up.

“Whoa, let’s hold fire on that, Tiger,” he said, lifting her fingers to his lips. “I wanna take my time with you.” She tried to hide her uncertainty as she smiled and nodded in response. “I- I tell you what we’ll do. How about you go put on that dress you wanna show me and we’ll get some food sent up. You want to watch a movie? You know who Peter Sellers is, honey?”

Floating on a cloud while still immersed in mists of uncertainty, Aurora took her bag into Elvis’ adjoining bathroom and marveled at the gold fixtures and the shine of everything. It took a lot of money to make everything look so effortlessly shiny.

When she caught sight of her hair reflected in the long mirror framed in lights, she gasped and brushed it vigorously. She considered rooting around in the cabinets for a hair dryer, but got distracted by all the products on the counter. It was as if a drug store had exploded; every minor ailment from indigestion to dry eyes to, oddly, nappy rash could have been cured with items on the counter.

There were quite a few amber pill bottles too, she noticed, though she didn’t recognise any of the long names nor know how to pronounce them. She could read, however, that some of the patient names were not Elvis. It struck her as odd that so many different people would keep their medicine in Elvis’ bathroom, but her brain stretched to understand it by wondering if maybe all these people worked at the mansion and needed it be kept somewhere safe while they were working.

When she finally emerged, now clad in a floaty, pale pink peasant dress with a bardot neckline that showed off her tanned shoulders and back, Billy was back and accompanied by a woman with dark hair parted in winged curtains, apparently his wife Jo.

“Yeah, that’s more like it,” Elvis nodded as Aurora stood awkwardly in front of the bed. “Turn around, honey, let us get a good look at you.”

“It’s the same at the back as it is in front,” she replied tightly.

Goosebumps were breaking out across her shoulders, both because of the icy air conditioning and the discomfort of being stared at by so many people. For some reason, having a woman sitting there looking at her, sizing her up, made her enthusiasm circle the drain.

“No, really, give us a twirl, baby,” Elvis instructed with a tone that did not encourage refusal.

Billy grinned and looked to his wife like he was trying to lessen some of the pressure, but Jo continued to watch her. Women were not fooled by hair and make-up tricks and they saw through the illusion of a good dress bought on sale. Jo likely knew exactly how much of an impostor Aurora was, and her knowing made it impossible to continue the charade. Aurora turned in place with all the grace and enthusiasm of a zombie, helplessly watching Elvis’ eyes narrow with annoyance.

He didn’t even look her way as she perched on the other side of the bed to the rest of them, instead talking to Billy about the pizza they had apparently ordered while she was in the bathroom. Elvis was complaining that he was hungry and it had better not take too long or he was going to take away someone’s new car. BIlly suggested they start the movie to help take their minds off being hungry while they waited.

It was while Aurora was watching Billy set up the betamax that she had a moment of clarity that it did not matter whether she was good enough to be there, the fact was that she had evidently tricked someone into thinking she was and that might not happen again, so she had to make the most of it. Besides, she thought back to the taste of him in her mouth, his touch on her skin and realized that acting like a sulky teenager was not going to get that back. She knew that she wanted, no, needed to get that back.

Leaning on the little information she had picked up about what Elvis liked, Aurora shuffled across the bed to where he was half-reclined against his pillows and tried to kiss him in apology. She timed it badly because he was taking a swig of water when she hurriedly smushed her lips into his cheek and he instinctively turned towards her, the water pouring onto him instead.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” She clasped her hands over her mouth, mentally preparing herself to be frogmarched to her car and escorted to the gate.

There was a pause, the other two people in the room seemed to go very quiet and even the sound of the television was muted, but eventually Elvis forced a weak chuckle and made a comment about being given a warning next time she wanted to start a water fight. He placed his glass down with a decisive bang on the nightstand and went into his bathroom to get changed.

Aurora cringed and shrugged sheepishly at Billy and Jo, already mentally editing all of this out of the story she would tell everyone of her one and only date with Elvis Presley.

The arrival of the pizza coincided with Elvis’ reappearance, now clad in navy blue pajamas and a gray robe, both of which were monogrammed in white. There was a beat when she reflected on how he had just made her dress up for him while he had decidedly dressed down for her and she wondered if this was a signal on how the date was going.

Thankfully, his mood picked up considerably as he ate his food and spoke along with most of the dialogue of the movie. He and Billy joined together in unison on their favorite lines and sometimes even Jo joined in. She tried not to feel too left out, smiling appreciatively whenever Elvis slipped her a sideways glance, his eyebrow slightly raised, like he was trying to be sneaky.

The appreciation dimmed when Elvis ordered the movie be started over from the beginning again once it was done. Aurora scanned the room for signs of a clock and cursed her poor decision making for removing her watch. Instead, she had to exaggeratedly stretch and fake a yawn.

“Gee, it must be getting pretty late,” she remarked. “I guess I should be going soon.”

If it had been a movie there would have been a loud record scratch, but she didn’t need a sound effect to know that she had messed up yet again. After a minute or two of loud silence, Elvis asked if he could speak to her in the bathroom and he retreated to find more privacy than he could get in his own bedroom.

At his request, Aurora closed the door behind her and watched him glare at himself in the mirror, before smoothing his hand down the lapel of his robe and turning to face her.

“How was your food?” he asked, glancing away again, this time out the window.

“It was good.” It had been a little greasy, but the view more than made up for it.

“Good… good.” He inhaled deeply and also quickly. “Well, you’re right, it’s getting real late and the streets can be dangerous, especially for a sweet little girl like you. I- I don’t like the thought of you driving around, sweetheart, you never know who could be traveling those roads at night, all kinds of weirdos and sick motherfuckers. I think you should stay here.”

“And how’d you like the movie?”

“It was great, really funny.” Especially the first time round, what little of the dialogue she could hear. Again, she couldn’t fault the view and the company.

“Stay?” The word yes surged into her brain, whizzing around her body like a pinball before finally emerging through her mouth as something completely different. “I don’t know.”

It was the old song and dance, sounding like the good girl she was supposed to be while acting like the girl she really was. She had to argue that she didn’t have anything to wear to bed or toiletries. He countered this by promising to find her everything she needed. She considered that her mother might worry if she didn't show up after her date, and Elvis volleyed this back by saying that she was welcome to call Mama to let her know what was happening. He even offered to speak to her mother himself. She finished the back and forth by reminding Elvis that she was a good girl that didn’t do this sort of thing normally, but she would make a reluctant exception.

And with that they went back to watch the rest of the movie, Aurora now nestled up against his chest, listening to the forceful thump of his heart caged up beneath. His voice rumbled through his body and into her ear, a steady stream of movie quotes, innuendo and cheeky, foul-mouthed asides about the film.

In what seemed like a blink of an eye later, she was sitting upright in bed with the bed covers draped across her legs. Elvis had already pulled the blankets back twice, a boyish little grin on his face as he peeked at her long, tanned legs. The silky pajama jacket he had tossed to her after she had brushed her teeth using a brand new toothbrush from the seemingly endless stock in his bathroom cabinet barely covered anything, the sleeves hanging limping from her hands while the hem brushed her ass.

Steve had brought Elvis a package about twenty minutes before, an awkward reunion, and Aurora had watched Elvis carefully take the pills that were contained within. He smiled at her, and for the first time, she spotted the charade, recognising a script. He explained that he took lots of vitamins and health supplements to keep him fit and healthy for all the touring he had to do and that accounted for most of the pills, but he also took a little sleeping medication because he found it difficult to get to sleep. Aurora had nodded, but it was not an Oscar worthy performance.

The medicine kicked in with a surprisingly sudden punch not long later when he was reading aloud from one of his books and pausing to check she understood and to clarify words. Both his breathing and his voice abruptly deepened as well as slowing down. She frowned as she watched his usually animated and expressive face fall slack and blank

“Elvis?” He took a long time to register her voice, even longer to respond, his slow smile following on after. “Are you okay?”

“Just tired,” he managed. Adorably, he pursed his lips and she realized that he was waiting for her to kiss him. She dipped down and pushed her lips against his, and she missed the way he pushed forward to meet her. He was too groggy for that. Instead, he mumbled:

“... Been looking for you for so long…” She didn’t know if he meant in the past two weeks or more generally. It was sweet either way.

With her mama far away and Elvis’ soft, pouting face restful and beautiful right next to her, Aurora sank down and lay her head against his chest, pretending that maybe, just maybe, she might be different. She might be special.

As his thick lashes dropped down onto his lower lids and he released a big sigh of an exhale, Aurora thought of her mama’s words:

“... Memphis is chock full of girls that Elvis used to call at 3AM.”

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