#and like. what man does not base a girls worth on her looks

[king-sassy08]

People will be like "she looks just like you" "she reminds me so much of you" and she's like a prettier skinnier version who wears makeup and conforms to afab gender standards and she's nice and funny. Meanwhile I'm out here like a pressurized blobfish with a disability and a fragment of a will to live and its like. I can preach not to base your worth on looks all I want but. Let's be real. Who doesn't do that.

[ryozakidesu]

Yours, Inevitably - l.jn

2/4 diary of the heartbreakers

summary: ➸ ♡ To say that Lee Jeno is pretty would be an understatement. The man's gorgeous. One thing he uses to his advantage, going through college getting girls he spots his eyes on. But there's one he just couldn't get. His brother's bestfriend. You can continue and avoid your feelings for each other, but eventually, it'll happen. You were someone that stayed, a constant in his life. You might not know it, but for the years you've known Lee Jeno, he slowly became yours, inevitably.

"I should've known it was you, because no one else made sense."

GENRE: Angst, Fluff, Humour, Smut

WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Explicit Sexual Content, Language, Slight Alcoholism, Mentions of Drugs/Weed, fuckboy!Jeno, brothersbsf!reader AUTHOR's NOTE: Holy shit, it's done! I was about to pull all my hairs off for this one :// but i can finally say that it's all worth it! I hope y'all are still here. And I really wish y'all would like this story. Enjoy reading!

WC: 18 k (I tried my best)

DISCLAIMER: This story is purely fanfiction. Only the names of the Idols are used, and does not reflect on them in real life. There's no way in any shape of form that they are like this in person, because I MADE IT UP. I don't personally know them. DO NOT STEAL / TRANSLATE / MODIFY. This is my work and I don't appreciate people stealing it. Thank you.

Enjoy reading! -ryo

Lee Jeno is a phenomenon.

Jeno, on the other hand, likes to think he’s just a pretty boy who kinda knows how to dribble.

Maybe he’s not bad in the actual learning part too, maybe he did get an award for the research paper he did on Biochemistry last year. Maybe he won MVP on three consecutive basketball tournaments, making history in his school as the only player to excel in both the sports and academics.

So yeah. He’s a textbook definition of an A-list student that you would totally see in one of the frames along the halls of this very school in about thirty years, with the trophies and accolades he made during his time here.

You wanna hear what��s even more annoying?

He’s hot. And he knows it. Please, he’s so undeniably gorgeous it's starting to hurt.

Unlike his friends, Jeno keeps it on the down-low. Which was surprising because he had every right to be cocky and brag about all of his achievements but he’s the least show-y among his friends.

In Jeno’s defense, he likes to let his performance do all the talking.

Words on the street says he fucks like an incubus, but talks like an angel. He’s proven to be hung, emphasizing the word proven, based on the girls he had walking side to side after he spent a good, long night with them.

But despite all of that, he’s pretty cool and quiet most of the time.

Which is even more attractive. According to a study based on no-actual-facts, girls tend to like the quiet ones more. Especially when they look like a greek god that managed to escape mythology and then learned to be a legend in basketball instead. In simplified terms, girls like Lee Jeno.

Naturally, of course, girls are all over him. That's something really common between the four of his friends, and you're not shocked that Jeno sleeps around-- because he just can. Girls will literally faint in front of him if they could, just to get his attention.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, desperately trying to finish while a girl, known as Jennie, was bent over the counter. His hands covered her mouth, and to be frank, he just want this to be over with.

And of course, in typical fashion, Jennie is also a name most of the students are familiar with. Cheerleading captain, arguably a girl that’s expected to be with him. What makes it so easy, is that this girl is obsessed with Jeno.

Meanwhile Jeno, had no indication of being tied down. He likes hanging out with her sometimes, sure, but the girl’s way too much for him. Jeno likes being lowkey, despite being one of the most famous guy in campus, Jeno preferred to be outside the spotlight.

A couple more thrust, his eyes closed, mind far from the girl bent over in front of him who’s just desperately wanting to pleasure him, Jeno finishes. He murmured a curse, and as soon as the feeling of cumming washes off, guilt starts creeping in his veins as Jennie smiled in satisfaction as she fixes her uniform.

“God, you’re still so fucking good,” Jennie put her hands around Jeno’s neck, biting her lips in hopes to seduce the cold man in front of her.

“Come on, my brother’s gonna be here soon,” Jeno shrugged her hands off, fixing his shirt. He did not even get the chance to take it off, Jennie just went and got what she wanted as soon as she enters the apartment.

Don’t be mistaken tho, Jeno liked having sex, more so with a girl like Jennie. But Jeno’s consciousness can’t help and tell him that he’s stringing along this girl, knowing full well he’s not even one bit interested in pursuing a relationship with her.

Jennie never really cared about what he thinks tho, so that kinds of shaves a bit off of his guilt.

“Call me, okay?” Jennie tried to give him a kiss, but he’s fast enough to dodge it.

Jeno sighed as he walked the girl to the door. And in some wicked timing, his brother opened it, his step stuttering as he saw Jennie, but never minded the fact that the girl is walking side to side. Jisung, his brother, have seen this situation way too much before that it doesn’t shock him anymore.

Another footstep followed behind Jisung, You, not even sparing a glance over him, walking behind his brother. You looked bored, giving absolutely no interest over him or Jennie. He never really got bothered about it before. He’s just wondering when you started ignoring his existence like this.

You were nothing like the girl he witnessed growing up all these years.

The sweet smiles you used to offer him were all gone. The once cute little y/n that he knew were long gone. But what can he do, that’s just how it goes. Right?

People change. And you weren't an exception. But deep inside, Jeno has this unsettling sensation that hunts him at night. This isn’t you. You used to light up the room whenever you walked in. You used to make him believe in butterflies and rainbows and shit, but now, you’re just… there.

Jeno often wonders. But that’s about it. He’s way too much of a pussy to actually read through your chapters that led into this character you have now. So Jeno, the ever so nonchalant, settles in being curious– not concerned in finding answers.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

You were twelve, when you met Jisung.

At first, you’re confused. There’s a new family that moved in next door. It was a common occurrence in your neighborhood, really. In your very-long life experience of twelve years, you’ve seen countless families moving in and out. So you question in your pretty little head why your Mom is way too excited about this next one.

Turns out, the family that will be moving in is your Mom’s best friend. You were twelve, you did not care about your Moms friends like that. Apparently, they’ve been best friends ever since they were five. They just kept in touch all these years.

“I'm Jisung,” the little boy, an inch taller than you, reached out his peculiarly large hands at you.

You felt your Mom nudge you a little bit, so in annoyance, you accepted his hand. “Y/n.”

Both mothers shrieked in excitement, but you were busy trying to examine this boy's hands.

Little did you know, that handshake would lead to years of friendship that you’d forever cherish, no matter how annoying this boy with freakishly large hands is.

“Who’s that?” You ask, still helping Jisung to count all his pokemon cards. You point outside their house, by the courtside next to their pool.

Jisung looks, but rolls his eyes after. “That’s my big brother, Jeno-hyung. He’s obsessed with basketballs.”

Your little twelve year old eyes sparkle, watching the boy shoot hoops around the court.

“Ew, you like boys?!” Jisung, disgusted.

“Your brother isn’t a boy, You’re a boy. He’s a man.” You sigh dreamily in sight of Jeno, making Jisung gag.

“He’s old, like, fourteen. Please, he’s a loser! Playing with balls all day,” Jisung says as he waves his hands in an attempt to distract you from his brother.

“Oh well…” you didn’t let it falter your adoration towards Jeno.

And before you could even watch him longer than you wished, Jisung’s mother called you two in for clubhouse sandwiches, and she made banger sandwiches so you really had to follow up to the kitchen.

You were fourteen, when you realized you had a crush on Jisung’s big brother.

“That’s bullshit, the paranormal movie is full of crap!” Chenle, your new found friend, complains as soon as the movie ends. His high pitched voice woke you up, not even realizing you had slept halfway through the movie.

“Dude, it’s from CCTV footage. It’s definitely true!” Jisung counters, and you just want to go back to sleep again.

The Paranormal Movie was mediocre, and maybe you were just a sceptic, but ghosts just doesn’t do it for you. “Most of these horror films really just depend on jumpscares to be scary.”

“Oh, coming from Miss Little poopy pants over here,”

The room went silence over Jisung’s attempt at a clapback, you and Chenle looking at each other before breaking into a laughing pit.

“Poopy pants? Really?” You say, refusing to believe that Jisung still used that term as an insult.

Jisung, obviously flustered, resorted in grabbing two cushions, one at each hands and started throwing them at the both of you.

“Just get the freaking potato chips downstairs.” Jisung says, specifically to you.

“What? No! I’m not going down there!” You say, as you bury yourself further on Jisung’s bed.

“Because you’re scared?” Chenle, in a mocking tone. You flip him off, to try and cover the fact that you are scared because it’s night time and the lights are off.

“No, ghosts aren’t real. Why can’t Chenle go?” You whine even more.

“He already got the drinks, and this is my house so what I say goes!” Jisung grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the bed.

And because you like proving your point that ghosts aren’t real, you let out a grunt, stomping your way out of Jisung's room.

Your way down the stairs goes smoothly, the light still being on. But as soon as you turn to the dark kitchen, that’s when it creeps in. Yes, you do not believe in ghosts, but you’d be fooling yourself if you say that being alone in the large empty kitchen didn’t scare you.

“Oh, god.” You whisper to yourself, as you desperately find the chips cabinet. Rummaging through as quiet as possible, but also trying to find it as soon as possible.

But when a noise from the table interrupts the creepy silence, you can’t help but yelp out a scream.

“Oh my gosh!”

You turn your head towards the table, just to find a cute little cat that had lost its way through the big surface.

“Thank God it was just a little cat,” you say in relief, but as soon as you try and step closer to it, a name being called from the stairs can be heard.

“Bongsik-ah!”

So it has a name. Bongsik.

A figure walks down the stairs, obviously, being Jeno.

You immediately fold into yourself, biting your lip as soon as he enters the kitchen.

“What are you doing down here?” He says as he carries the cat off the table and on his chest. It took a couple of seconds for him to look at you, and he smiles.

“Y/n-ie. Do you need something from the kitchen?” His soft voice snaps you from the trance, as he helps you with the chips you were trying to get from the upper cabinet. His body was so close to you as he did so, that you swear you can feel his heart beating.

“Y-yeah.. Just those chips. Thanks.” Your entire demeanor changes when it comes to him.

“Here you go,” He says softly, you wonder if he intentionally talks to you like that, or it’s just how he talks. A little bit inside you likes to believe you’re special and that he does this only to you.

“Thanks, uh– new cat?” You say in the most casual tone you could ever produce.

“Yep, a rescue. Mom brought it home the other day. Jisung freaked,” He chuckles as he looks at the cat, snuggling in his chest.

You awe in sight, wanting to pet the cat but you hesitated at first.

“You can pet it,” Jeno moves his body to yours, to allow you to pet Bongsik. You did so, and when the cat purrs at your touch, you gasp in awe.

“Hi Bongsik,” you say in a whisper, intended for the cat only. But you can feel Jeno smile at you.

“You can visit her everyday, not that you’re not here everyday, but she’s gonna be here starting now..”

“She’s adorable,” you say, still petting the cat in his arms.

“I love cats, any pet really. But cats just really bring out the inner softness in me, y’know?” Him being this close to you feels weird and intimate, but it's not like you hate it. Your heart is practically doing jumping-jacks right now.

You use him focusing on Bongsik as an excuse to look at him, even just a glance.

You get a closer look on his face, the mole he has under his left eye, the thin lips and his perfect nose. In the two seconds you allow yourself to take a peek, you convince yourself that you had his features memorized now.

You can just feel that it’s just gonna live with you forever.

Because as he takes Bongsik away and starts walking back up the stairs, you make a big-girl realization that you do have a crush on Lee Jeno.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Jeno was woken up by the sound of his phone ringing. It was his brother, Jisung, calling in the middle of the night asking for his keys.

“What do you need my car for?” Jeno, frustrated as he grabs his keys from the night stand.

“My car broke down and Y/N really needs to get home.” Jisung on the other line also sounded like he just woke up. Jeno curses under his breath.

This wasn’t the first time he heard his brother in trouble with you being the main source of chaos. It’s always the same thing. Either you’re black-out drunk, or one of your boyfriends has dumped you on the side of the street.

Over the years, you had changed so drastically it almost gave him a whiplash. You used to be so careful and so paranoid about drinking, waiting until you turn 18 to get a sip of alcohol. And when you did, it’s like you never stopped.

So despite Jeno’s interrupted slumber, he gets up and leaves his shared apartment with his friends, just to wait outside his building for his brother. And surely, just like every other time this has happened before, he finds Jisung standing there in the cold.

“I need my car tomorrow, in pristine condition. One scratch and you’re done,” Jeno, tossing the car keys to his brother.

Jisung didn’t bother to answer, depicting the reality of brotherhood. But before Jisung could leave, Jeno turns to him.

“What happened this time?”

“She’s really–”

“Drunk?” Jeno finishes his sentence, as if he had seen this before. Jisung sighs in agreement.

“--yeah, and Chenle’s drunk too so he can’t drive her back to the apartment.”

“What happened to her? She isn’t really like this, at all.” Jeno dared to indulge in one of his curiosities.

“I’ve been asking the same question, hyung.” Jisung ends the conversation without really answering Jeno’s question, which frustrated him more.

Because of course, nobody really knows what happened. It’s a question he needs to ask you, directly. Only if you didn’t spend the last few years avoiding being on the same vicinity as him, then maybe he could actually talk to you.

“Three seconds left on the clock, Lee, for the three.. He shoots… and bang! Lee Jeno has done it again!”

Jeno thinks it’s getting way too easy for him. Winning at this point just felt like a routine for him. The new normal, it’s just how it goes around him now. Everytime the other team makes a mistake of letting him have the ball, the game ends with Jeno taking home the win.

Honestly, it’s getting pretty boring and predictable.

“That’s my fuckin’ man!” Yangyang, one of his teammates, excitedly hugs Jeno as he entered yet again another victory party for his team. It’s his second one this semester.

“Okay, dude, chill.” Jeno pushes the very drunk Yangyang away, afraid of getting thrown up on.

As he sinks his feet deeper into the party, he starts getting loose. The alcohol hitting the tense spot in his body, reminding him that fuck it, he’s the man of the evening. This party is for him. So why not have fun, right?

The music starts to sound less chaotic and more tolerable, and the people start to get blurry. Weed and alcohol really does the trick, Jeno thinks.

“Jeno, the man of the hour! That game was lit!” Jeno’s not sure who’s this man, but nevertheless, he still smiled at him and let him dap him up. He blabbers more and more about Jeno’s career path in professional basketball but just like always, Jeno just dismiss it.

It’s too early to plan for the future. He’s enjoying what he has now and content on just thinking about what happens today.Tomorrow is tomorrow’s problem, and he can’t be bothered to be bothered about what his future brings.

Some people likes to think they know what’s best for Jeno, and sometimes it does make sense, Jeno getting to the professional basketball league, in tune to what he does best now. But fuck that. Jeno doesn’t want to be in a box full of other people’s expectation of him.

“Jaemin’s not here?” Jeno finds relief to hear Renjun’s voice, one of his very few trusted people. In some way, knowing Renjun was here by his side, it made him feel that he’s okay.

“Yeah.. he’s still locking himself out.” Jeno answers.

Jaemin was his best friend first, and he knows Jaemin well. And for the first time, he knows Jaemin really do need time for himself. This isn’t something Jeno could fix, he knows when to step away. So he lets Jaemin be.

“Haechan?”

Jeno saw Haechan earlier but he’s not sure where he is now. That’s just how he is. He’s probably in one of the rooms upstairs, on his way to ‘pound town’ in Haechan’s terms.

In typical Jeno fashion, he tolerates some annoying congratulations for a bit, give fake smiles and forced handshakes before finding his way to escape the crowd. Although it’s difficult because again, this party is thrown for him and his team, he still finds a way.

And that way has a name. Yunjin.

“Ah, Jeno,”

At the back of the party, there's a huge backyard, large enough that if he’s with this girl fucking around at the very end of it, he’s sure no one will notice. His hands roam freely against the girl, letting her know his full intention. Not like she has no clue, the hands up her skirt gave her enough hints.

“Hmm,” Jeno hums, just to satisfy the girl’s pleas.

But before it gets further, a rustle of the grass made him stop his tracks.

Someone’s here.

“Wh–what happened,” Yunjin was confused as to why he suddenly stopped.

Jeno furrows his brows, and tries to look at whoever was on the back of the big oak tree.

“Sorry! Sorry– fuck, carry on, please!”

The familiar pitch of voice made Jeno move away from Yunjin. He knows who it is behind the tree. And he suddenly has no interest in going home with Yunjin.

You stumbled out of your hiding with a bottle of alcohol on your right hand, your left trying to pathetically cover your eyes as you tried to walk.

Jeno hates it. He fucking hates how drunk you are right now.

“Oh shit, Jeno!” You peek at the gap in your fingers that was covering your eyes, to see him looking at you with a mix of emotion you can’t make out. He’s not angry, but he’s definitely not amused.

“I–,” you burped, “I’m not here..” you followed with a laugh, finding all these hilarious.

“Don’t mind me!” you laugh again.

Jeno murmured a curse. “Yejin, I’m sorry but I need to go,” he says in finality, not even waiting for the girl to answer as he walks straight in your direction.

“It’s Yunjin! Ugh!” The last words he hears from the girl before she stomps away.

He shakes his head as tried grabbing your arm, to help you at least find a stable balance. He grabs the alcohol out of your grasp harshly.

“Hey, what the fuck!” You whined. You tried to chase the bottle, but with his hold on your arms, you failed to do so.

“Y/n, please, fucking stay still. You’re very drunk!” He says in a strict but stable voice, not wanting to rile you up even more.

“Give me it,” You whined again, much softer this time, and with no attempt at grabbing the bottle.

He looks at your struggling figure, eyes almost closing as you stumble against his hold.

“Ah, fuck it,” he curse one more time before propping you off your feet, carrying you in a bridal style.

“Hey, get me– Oh my gosh! Help!” You yell, but followed with a giggle, which made the people around you think that the situation is not something to be worried about. And they know you and Jeno, so him carrying you just makes sense.

He hates this version of you. He hates how this character you have is so far from what he knew you from. He hates that you find comfort in drinking, partying and sleeping with other men. He hates that whatever happened, it completely changed you. He hates that he cares.

“What the fuck are you staring at?” Jeno can’t help but to lash out at some people who gives him and you a judgemental look. He despises people who judge you.

He finds an empty room upstairs, and he puts you down gently. You dress is up to your waist now, so Jeno pulled it down. He opened his phone to text his brother to let him know you’re with him. He knows Jisung will be worried at your whereabouts. He also texted Chenle, to make sure that they know you’re safe.

He grabs a clean washcloth out the bathroom, and soaks it with cold water.

“I’m not… I am drunk.” You say, swaying your head left to right as you lay in the bed, trying to grab at whatever’s the softest around you.

He sat a foot away from you, but still reached his hands to your face to gently caress you with the soaked towel. This might help sober you up.

Speaking of being sober, Jeno entirely forgets that he’s also intoxicated. For some reason, he sobered up. Seeing you in this state made him think that he needed to straighten up and get you out of here.

“What the fuck are you doing to yourself, y/n..” he says under his breath, as he gently brushes the towel on your face. Seeing you deep in sleep now, he sighed.

You used to be so bubbly. You were sweet as honey, as bright as the sun. He still remembers how your eyes lit up every time you would talk to him. As he looks at you right now, it’s still the same features, the soft ones he grew to know, but he knows that once you wake up, you’d be a stranger again.

He sighed in defeat, and stood up. He was about to get water for you, before the door opened.

“Jeno,” It revealed Qian Kun, a man he heard is your boyfriend. Not sure about the boyfriend part, but he’s sure that he hangs out with you a lot these days.

Kun was his senior, basically the smartest man on this campus. Famous for his 5.0 GPA, this Kun guy really is a genius. He used to get notes from him, back when he was writing for his research paper. He had no idea how you two met, but it’s really not his business.

“She was in the backyard, drunk as fuck.” Jeno says, looking at your peaceful figure.

“Alright. I’ll take it from here,” Kun says, walking past him, around the bed to get to your side.

He can hear Kun murmur a pet name as he caresses your hair. Jeno felt the need to roll his eyes.

“Next time, keep an eye on her. If you can’t handle her, maybe you shouldn’t be with her at all.” Jeno didn’t care if he sounded harsh. He needs to let Kun know that you need to be taken care of properly.

“You don’t know her, Lee. So I suggest, keep your mouth shut and mind your own business.” Kun snapped back, standing up to look back at Jeno.

“Oh, I knew her long before you did. But I agree, she’s your business. I just hate to fucking deal with it because you can’t fucking seem to do it yourself.” With that, Jeno walks out the room.

And even if Jeno sounded secure, he can’t lie and say that leaving you with another man didn’t affect him, even just one bit.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Looks from other people don't budge you at all.

They can stare at you, even whisper some bullshit about you, you really don’t give a shit. There’s nothing they can say that you’ve not said to yourself.

“You really should take it slow with the alcohol, y/n.” The first thing Jisung said as you sat down beside him. You rolled your eyes, and looked at him.

“Not you too,” You say rather exhaustedly.

“Especially me too. I’m your bestfriend and I’m just worried.” Jisung wasn’t the type to give out unsolicited advice, a serious one at that, therefore you sighed.

“It’s college, Jisung. We’re supposed to have fun.”

“Not to a point where other people have to take care of you.” That came out rather harsher than what Jisung had intended, but you really need it. You know it too. You just refuse to believe it.

“You don’t have to take care of me.”

“If not me, then who? You’ve been passed out drunk for the third time this week, y/n. I don’t know what definition of fun you have, but I think it’s not this.” Jisung was scarily serious now. You blink to try and process the seriousness of the situation.

You gulp, realizing that Jisung isn’t in the mood for your snarky comments right now. “Alright, damn. I’ll take it down a notch..” you say and look away from him.

You can’t blame Jisung for acting like this. You know that you’re spiraling down, you just refuse to accept it. In your head, this is just how college life goes. You get drunk, have sex and maybe a little bit of homework here and there. In your head, this is how it should be.

In a fucked up world, it is. But your world is already fucked up. So in a way, it just makes sense. To you.

“You have to get better,” Kun’s words rang in your head.

“This is the best I can, Kun. Chemistry isn’t really my thing,” you turn your homework down at Kun’s table. You were here after class, hoping to get help from Kun.

Despite popular belief, Kun isn’t your boyfriend. You’re too fucked up to commit into a relationship, no matter how good Kun is. Matter of fact, Kun is just the perfect man for that role. You can see yourself going straight with him, like your life might just take a turn for the better.

However, no matter how evil you see yourself as, you’re not that evil to give Kun the burden to have you as a girlfriend. You can’t do that to him.

And you did clarify that to him before sleeping with him. That whatever you have, just had to stay that way. He can’t expect something more. Surprisingly, he agreed. Qian Kun, the guy that has so much credentials because of his undeniable intelligence, the guy who rejected Harvard and Stanford, agreed to have a stupid set-up with a girl that’s one step away from actually losing it. Why?

You have absolutely no idea.

“I’m not talking about your homework, my love.” He says, sighing. You know that sigh very well.

You look at him, your eyes stoic as they can be. “We’re not having this conversation.”

Kun closed his eyes as he let out a deep breath. “You need to have this conversation. Lee Jeno had to carry you upstairs, in front of everyone last night. You were so drunk that you threw up all over yourself and you think that’s okay?”

Oh, so that’s what happened. He had to rescue you. Out of all people, of course it had to be him.

“Look, Kun, I didn’t come here to be judged. I was stupid for drinking that much, I know. But it’s not gonna happen again.” You say matter-of-factly. This is the second time this day that you had to promise to someone that you’ll be drinking responsibly. You feel like everyone is ganging up on you.

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay, calm down.” You didn’t know you were standing up until Kun pulled you from your wrist to sit back down.

Kun smiled at you and kissed your forehead, before sliding your homework back in front of you again and clicking his pen. “Let me see your answers…”

You’re glad he decided to drop the topic, but before you could even say thank you, an aggressive knock on Kun’s office got both of you to look up.

“Y/N! I know you’re in there! Qian, open your fucking door!”

You widen your eyes. “Fuck, it’s Yeonjun!” you say, standing up and grabbing your purse.

Kun looks at you, before looking back at the door. You can tell he had a very concerned face, but as soon as another man’s name fell out of your lips, he knew right away what situation you’re in. He pinched the bridge of his nose due to stress, and stood up.

“What is it this time?” He asks, not that he needed to.

“He’s just… Ugh, I told him we were over!” You say, feeling bad that this situation is happening in front of Kun. The knocks are turning more aggressive.

“Y/N, you slut!” Another loud bang from the door.

“I’ll deal with him.” Kun says. You immediately shake your head in disagreement.

“No! I’ll go. You don’t need to–”

“I’m not letting that man harass you, y/n—”

“No, Kun. I’m not letting you deal with my problems anymore.” Before Kun could even say anything, you opened up the door to see a very angry Yeonjun.

Kun rushed to your side, but you didn’t let him get in contact with Yeonjun and slammed the door shut.

“You’re gonna ghost me and you think that’s funny?” Yeonjun seemed to calm down, seeing you in front of him.

There’s quite a crowd that’s forming in the hallway, some have their phones out, some whispering whilst looking at you two. Not that you care.

“Let’s talk outside—”

“Yes, you’re coming with me after I punch that–” Before Yeonjun could even finish saying it, you looked him straight in the eyes, pointing at him.

“You’re not touching Kun,” you say, full of conviction. If there’s anything you could do for Kun, its that you will protect him from getting tangled with your mess.

You pulled his wrist to get him out of the building.

At the end of the day, there’s one thing that could shut these kinds of men up. It’s getting real easy, one thing you do for them and they’ll behave like a dog. It’s getting laughable, really.

So you shut them up. By doing what you do best.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

You were sixteen, when you got your heart broken for the first time.

“Stop looking at my brother, you weirdo.” Jisung threw a pillow towards your position on the couch.

The soft object hit you right in the noggin, earning a grunt as you pulled your eyes off of him.

“Bitch. It’s not my fault he’s getting hotter by the day. Damn,”

You were busy staring out the pool area, where Jeno and his friends are hanging out. You were at Jisung’s place, spending your summer in the most boring ways.

Good thing Jeno’s gorgeous self is here, entertaining you. He’s so pretty, you could just eat him up.

“No he’s not. He’s a nerd!” Jisung fights back, earning a smirk from you.

“Says the one who's summer plans are to play league of legends until he becomes a ‘Challenger’ .” You retort, cranking your neck back to where Jeno was.

You recognize his friends, of course. They’re starting to gain popularity in the school, especially when Jeno got on the basketball team.He’s been working out a lot, gaining extra muscles, toning his body to get even hotter. If that’s even possible.

“Eugh, Jisung, y/n’s drooling over Jeno-hyung again.” Chenle enters the conversation, with a soda in his hand and plops himself on the couch.

“I am not drooling!”

“I got something you can drool on.” Chenle’s awful snark earns a hefty punch on his shoulder from you, the boy laughing in a high-pitch tone that makes it even more annoying than it is.

“Anyways, I think he likes me too.” You sigh dreamily, remembering the things Jeno does to you specifically.

He always carries your bags for you. He’s always the first person to welcome you into their house, and the first person to ask if you’ve had breakfast yet. He offers you rides to school when he sees you walking, and he always asks how your day has been. He’s so charming, so nice and you just can’t help but give at least a little bit of malice into it.

I mean, there has to be something, right?

“Oh she’s crazy. She’s fucking insane!” Chenle dramatically gasps, and points at you like you’ve committed a crime.

“That is seriously concerning, y/n. The level of delusion– my god.” Jisung joins in, as he pauses his game to look back and judge you.

“You two are just haters. Get off my ass!” You flip them off, with two hands, each one gets a middle finger from you.

“Look, y/n, we’re just sparing you from getting your little heart broken. Jeno-hyung does not like you.” Chenle’s tone becomes more serious this time, but in your head, he’s wrong. If Jeno didn’t like you, then why would he get out his way just to walk you home whenever you leave their house way too late?

“Seriously. You guys, I really think he’s the one for me. I mean, I can’t really think of any other reason as to why he’s so kind to me, y’know?”

Jisung looked at Chenle as if he really cannot believe what he’s hearing from you. Chenle shakes his head left to right, disappointment spread all over his face.

A set of laughter broke your conversation as you three faced out the pool side, to see Jeno and his friends now actually playing in the pool. Jeno then went on the edge, the ones in front of the back door where you were looking from, and pulled himself out of the water.

The trinkets of water dripping in his hair was one thing, but his wet body being revealed in front of you, the perfect curve of his shoulders down to his small waist, and the veins in his arms definitely woke something up in you.

“Yeah… I’ll confess to him tonight.” your voice almost sounded strange, like you were in a hypnotic state, still mesmerized by Jeno.

“Jesus christ, y/n–” before Jisung finishes, Chenle interrupts.

“Dude, let her. This is her canon event.”

You had no idea what that means, and you’re not interested to know. One thing’s in your mind, Jeno will be yours by midnight.

9:56pm

It’s like the heavens planned it all out for you.

Jeno’s friends all left, as to your surprise, because you thought they’d at least spend the night. Jeno had always offered to let his friends stay, but this time, he asked them to leave before 6. Which is odd, yes, but this all favors you in a way.

Chenle and Jisung still visibly opposed to your idea, and you’re sure they had reason to think its not gonna work out, but it’s not like it matters to you.

Whilst the three of you are in Jisung’s room, you can hear the TV on the lounge area. Their parents are out of town this summer, something about a cruise, so that means, it has to be Jeno.

In your mind, it’s the perfect timing. It’s deep in the evening, the moon’s out, and there’s never been an opportunity where you’re brave enough to actually confess.

Your heartbeat notches another tempo, as you leave Jisung’s room, much to the two’s dismay.

Before you could get to the lounge area, you’d have to pass the kitchen first.

A couple more steps, your feet turning cold, but you still managed. But before you can get a glimpse on the couch, your name was called.

“Y/n?” It’s him. Fuck, it’s him!

Okay, so he’s in the kitchen. That’s fine. Take a deep breath, You just gotta talk to him!

“Jeno,”

You took a step closer to where he was, and he’s looking extra delectable with his white shirt and grey sweatpants. Not that there’s been a moment where he didn’t look good.

“Are you going home? Ask Jisung to walk you home, I kinda—“

“Jeno, I want to talk to you, actually.” Now your voice trembles, and you’re starting to feel nervous.

“Oh, okay. Sure, what’s up?” Jeno looks to be still oblivious to your anxious state. He puts down the wine that he was holding, and turned to you completely.

You gulped, finally looking up to his eyes. He had a shadow of smile on them, but was still curious on what you had to say. You're mere two feet away from him, yet his musky scent still invades your nose.

God, all of that can be yours.

“But you’d have to say it fast because I have—”

“I like you. Very much.”

The deafening silence engulfs you, and only the sound of your heartbeat was prominent. Him, on the other hand, eyes wide, mouth ajar.

“—and I know this is so sudden but I’ve liked you ever since we were kids. I’ve always thought you were cute and nice to me!” You tried to fill in the silence, because every second that passed with him not saying anything kills you.

Another second passed, and your nervousness is long gone, because it was replaced by an impending doom.

“Y/n, look, I really appreciate it but… I-I’m just being nice.. I have to be nice. You’re my brother’s best friend—”

Fuck, shit, fuck! This cannot be happening!

“Oh, my, god!”

A high pitched voice behind you tores the tension in the air, and when you looked back, you saw Eunmi, with an amused look in her face, then covering her mouth with her hands.

She let out a laugh, as if he finds all of this ridiculous.

All of a sudden, you can’t breathe. Your heart was about to explode as you looked back at where Jeno was, seeing two wine glasses behind him. The movie in the background, still playing.

And it all just stops.

“That’s so cute!” Eunmi screeched, before walking towards Jeno and snaking her arms around him.

“Babe, I was wondering why it’s taking so long, you didn’t tell me this girl is pouring her heart out to you! Awe,”

You can feel your eyes warming up. You had so much left to say. But your voice can’t be found. The heart ache was too loud for you to even utter a word.

And in the end, all you could say was, “I’ll.. go home.”

Then you were gone, every step with every tear drop, and although you expected it to hurt, it still surprises you how painful it was.

You’re glad he didn’t run after you. You can’t be more pathetic than this, but it would kill you for him to witness your vulnerability.

Jeno was your first love.

And then Jeno became your first heartbreak.

With all the smiles he brought you, you never thought he could cause you so many tears.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Is it wrong to be this young and this tired?

You look at yourself in the mirror, analyzing every inch of your body. On the contrary, you don’t hate what you see. You’ve worked so hard to attain the body that you have now, and you’re satisfied where you’re at.

But there’s an empty feeling in your stomach that never left, and you can’t seem to figure out what it is. It’s always been there.

“Get back to bed,” You hear a disgruntled sound from the bed, and immediately your smile fades. You’re pulled back to reality, one that you hated to be in.

“I’m going home,” you say, before grabbing your clothes and putting them back on.

You don’t know why you do this, but you wait before walking out the door, for a sliver of a second to see if the man on the bed even attempts to ask you to stay. And just what you expected, he didn’t.

Sometimes you wish you’re worthy of being asked to stay, but who were you kidding.

There’s a deep routed scar that you’ve been trying so hard to cover. You like to think that the antidote that you have for it works, but the way you’ve been stuck in the same situation all over again says otherwise.

You thought you were healing, but the truth is, you just stopped feeling.

All your life is ahead of you, they say. But yours feels far behind.

You don’t really know where you went wrong, you thought if you became pretty, everybody would like you. You thought that if you agreed to sleep with them, they’d appreciate you. You thought that if you change your entire personality, they would start to see you.

Where did you go wrong? You dyed your hair blonde, you worked your body to achieve the hourglass figure and you even went ahead and let every man that looks your way to have you. Isn’t that enough?

See, this is why you hate being sober. You hate being alone with your thoughts, because it drowns you. You start thinking of things that overwhelms you to the point of tears, and you hate crying. You’ve already done too much of that before.

So why does everybody hate you for drinking? If that’s the only escape you know? It isn’t fair.

“I’m losing my mind,” you say, biting your nails and jerking your knees in frustration.

“Jesus, you’re like a crack addict without crack for a day.” Chenle says as he looks at you.

“She hasn’t had alcohol in a week,” Jisung says as if he’s proud, smiling at you.

You roll your eyes. You’ve been trying to stray off alcohol ever since Jisung and Kun asked you to. You ought to at least try, because you owe them that. On the latter part, if it didn’t work, and you spiral out, you can at least say that you tried.

“Ah, fuck it.” You say, but before Jisung freaks, you clarify, “I’m just gonna smoke for a bit, grandpa.” You say and dashed out of his dorm, down to the parking lot.

It’s winter, and the snow has already covered the streets. The cold was always your favorite season, it gives you reason to just stay inside and cuddle up in your cozy room.

You open up a new packet of cigarettes as you stand outside basking in winter air. It’s especially windy today, you thought.

The heat of the smoke traveling through your lungs was refreshing. It rivals the coldness of the wind, creating a balance that hits you just right. A perfect combination of sensation to combat the numbness in you.

Before the light hits the filter of the cigarette, you hear a screeching sound to your left.

It was a car, no, it was his car.

You mentally curse, throwing the unfinished stick to your feet and stomping on it. You frantically try to walk back up the building, but as you hear the car door slamming, you take a deep breath.

“Smoking’s really bad for you,” Jeno says, walking towards your direction.

“You basically run off of weed and gatorade, Jeno.”

Although you did try your best to keep walking, Jeno catched up in a couple of steps. You stood together waiting for the elevator.

“Is Chenle upstairs, too?” He starts.

“Yeah. Congrats on the game, Jeno. Sorry I had to ruin your night,” you followed it with a slight laugh, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Nah, it’s fine. Didn’t wanna stay in that party anyways,”

The elevator finally dings open, you hesitate to move at first, but when Jeno enters the lift and looks at you, you take this as a sign to walk in with him. So walk in you did.

“Kun took care of you, right?” He asks. You badly wanted to look at him, but you chose not to.

“Yeah.. he’s a great guy.” You silently say, not feeling good about the conversation.

“Hm,” he paused. The suspicious tone made you look at him, anticipating what comes out of his mouth next.

“I saw you walking out of Yeojun's dorm last night tho.” He says as if it was nothing, as if it was a little detail he had to tell you. But the underlying idea behind his statement was obvious.

You hitched your breath. No, y/n. Fight back.

“What can I say, I’m booked and busy.”

“You’re— that’s not something to be proud of, y/n.” He states as if he’s running out of patience, now looking back at you.

You smirked wider, “Oh don’t be a hypocrite, Jeno. You do the same damn thing,”

He grunts in frustration. “Yes but you’re different, y/n!”

8… 9….

“Different in what way? Because I’m a woman? And this isn’t what women do? Don’t give me that bullshit,”

“Fuck that, you know that’s not what I meant. I’m just protecting you from what people think about you.”

10… 11… 12…

“Jeno, I want you to listen to me carefully.” You took another step closer to him, looking up to level your face with his. “—whatever you heard about me, I want you to times it by a million, and when you think it’s bad, make it worse.” You whispered.

You tilt your head to hover your lips on his ear, “And guess what, who knows, maybe they’re telling the truth.”

And as soon as the elevator hits the 15th floor, you walk out without looking back.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

You were a lost cause.

Jeno thought he just needed to accept the fact that you’re just never gonna be the same.

He doesn’t know why it bothered him so much, the fact that you’re not letting anyone help you. It never bothered him before, and so, it shouldn’t bother him now.

It’s not his fault that you turned out to be this way. It’s not his fault.

So he distracts himself. Both in ways of basketball and women.

He tried to go back to his old ways, back to where he’s safe. He was doing fine, before you plagued his system. Plus, it’s not like he didn’t try, he damn did try.

Maybe this version of you is the real you. Maybe this is what’s meant to be.

“Holy fuck,” Haechan eyes the woman who walks out of Jeno’s room, obviously checking her out. Jeno just rolled his eyes and spread his arms around the back of the couch. Dragging a long hit of the weed he seemed to never get run out of.

“That’s the third girl this week, Jeno. Are you trying to break my record?” Haechan scoffed, as if proud of his friend.

“I’m not trying to break anything, but if you want, I’d gladly break your nose.”

Haechan put both his hands up, taking a step back because out of all of them, Jeno’s the one who could really do it. And he’s not trying to risk his beautiful face.

“Dude, this is bad.” Renjun was the second one to comment, following Haechan. He looked at Jeno’s state, and he can tell something’s not right. There’s something bothering Jeno, and Renjun can’t exactly tell what.

He had an idea, but he’s sure as hell won’t tell it to Jeno’s face.

“What? I have two weeks before the game. I need to relax.” Jeno says, ignoring the concern in Renjun’s face.

“And this is relaxing to you?” Renjun grabs an empty bottle of beer, one of the many that’s scattered all over the place.

Jeno didn’t answer, letting a sigh out of his lips and closing his eyes. He can’t think straight right now, or in the past week. He had been sleeping with different girls, to the point where he ran out of bed sheets to use. His room stinks of sweat and axe body spray, and he can’t seem to be satisfied, at all.

“I don’t know, Junnie. Just… leave me alone.” At this moment, Renjun can’t help but sigh. It's these kinds of moments where he knows that Jeno needs someone. Where the one month gap in their age really shines and Jeno needs his older brother, Renjun.

He puts down the plastic bag of trash and sat beside Jeno. “Look, Jeno. I’m not gonna sit here and ask you what this is about, but this is starting to look really sad. Jaemin is already down, and I don’t need you broken too. I can’t handle Haechan by myself,” Renjun, in an attempt to lighten up the mood.

“Junnie, just let me be, okay? I swear.. this will pass.”

“I sure hope it would. Because you can’t fix someone if you’re broken yourself. That’s just plain dumb.”

He grunts, and cursed deeply because he know’s Renjun’s right. But how can he, when it feels like he’s stuck? When has everything, but he feels like he’s got nothing? He has a great future ahead of him, he knows that, but why does it feel like something’s missing?

Girls, money, fame. What more could he want?

In a split second, Jeno regrets asking himself that question. Because he feel like he knows the answer, but he really doesn’t like it.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

“Lee Jeno, what the fuck was that?!”

Yangyang pushed Jeno, but instead of fighting back, Jeno just shook his head. He raked his fingers across his hair as he sat at the bleachers.

Thank fuck this isn’t the actual university game. Because if it was, they’d for sure lose the first quarter and Jeno will have his first ever loss written on his otherwise squeaky clean reputation.

“Don’t fucking yell at my face.” Jeno’s voice thundered.

“Five hundred dollars are at stake, and Minho would not let us live if you lose against him, Jeno.” Yangyang’s voice was a lot more controlled, but still angry, nonetheless.

“Man, I don’t really care.” Jeno let out an unenthusiastic chuckle, drinking out of his tumbler.

“What?” Yangyang feels like he’s mistaken. Lee Jeno doesn’t care if he loses? In a basketball game, that is? Oh he truly thinks the world has turned upside down.

Before he could even ask his friend again, Minho starts shouting from the other side of the court.

“What, Lee Jeno? The magic doesn’t work now, doesn’t it?” Minho yells, earning a laugh from his teammates.

“Fuck you! Games not over, bitch!” Yangyang yells back, full of confidence but looked back at Jeno, worry splattered in his face.

“Dude, I swear, we need to put that son of a bitch back in his place!” Yangyang angrily whispers.

“I’m gonna sit this one out, Yang–”

“How about we bet on that y/n girl?! Your brother’s friend, right? Heard she spreads it open to just about anyone who looks at her funny!”

Without even thinking, Jeno’s fast on his feet, and his vision turns red. His fist curled up and his logical thinking was out of the window. His vision is straight at Minho, and his only thought is to knock this bitch out.

Yangyang couldn’t even process anything, as he watches Jeno’s eyes darkens and before any of his teammates could even try and stop Jeno, his fist already connects with Minho’s face. The boy fell down, immediately knocked out, and chaos between both teams ensues. But Jeno didn’t stop.

He’s not letting Minho get up.

“Jeno, slow the fuck down.” He heard a concerned voice at the corner of the nearby club he went to. His feet dragged him here after the incident, wanting to drown himself with anything that could take away his mind from everything.

One shot, two shots, three shots, four.

“I’m paying you, Doyoung, aren’t I?” Jeno says, rolling his eyes at the older man in front of him.

Doyoung was another person Jeno trusts. Besides the three idiots back in his apartment, Doyoung is also the one Jeno’s comfortable with.

“Yes, but I don’t want to report an alcohol poisoning inside my bar, Jeno.” Doyoung can tell Jeno’s done for the night. Slumped over his counter, he forces the shot glass out of Jeno’s hold.

He signals one of his co-bartenders to take over the bar for a bit, before dragging Jeno’s body out of the bar. He notices the bruising at the boy’s hand but he didn’t say anything and drove Jeno home.

“I don’t want to go back to my apartment, Haechan’s there with a girl,” Jeno mumbled, slowly getting more and more sober as the fresh air wakes him up.

“Where’d you want me to bring you then?” Doyoung asked.

“I don’t know… fuck.. just, bring me back to my brother’s.”

Thankfully, Doyoung knew Jisung’s apartment. He’s close with both of the brothers, often being mistaken as a brother as well. But after graduating, he just naturally went off and did other things.

Doyoung huffs as soon as he successfully brought Jeno in front of Jisung’s apartment, however, another problem was that Jisung isn’t answering the phone.

“Jeno, I really can’t stay here with you, I just sneaked out of my shift,” he explains, but Jeno just dismissed him and nods. Doyoung knocks at the door before he left, making sure that if there was a person inside, they’d open the door for Jeno.

Jeno wasn’t as drunk as earlier, that’s for sure. What’s left is the pounding headache plus the fact that no one’s opening the door for him.

Out of sheer frustration, he kicks the door, strong enough to make a banging sound but not hard enough to damage it.

“Fucking Jisung,” he murmured to himself, almost turning his heels to walk out, but before he could, rattling on the other side of the door can be heard.

Jeno sighs in relief, but seconds after it opened, what greets him almost knocks the breath out of his lungs.

“Shit, Jeno.” Your soft voice matched your soft expression as you look at him with obvious shock.

Jeno, on the other hand, didn’t want to extend the painful awkward silence.

“I-Is my brother there?” Stuttering was never Jeno’s thing. Until this moment, he thinks.

“He’s… he’s like, I think at a girls place somewhere… fuck, I think her name’s Jieun or some shit..” Your eyes take turns in blinking, but still standing straight— conflicting the idea that you’re drunk. Well, at least not y/n drunk.

“Then why are you here?” He didn’t know why, but his hands automatically grabs the door knob to swing the door more open to see if you’re inside with somebody.

He just needs to know you’re alone.

“I crash here sometimes… when I’m locked out of my apartment.” You shoulders where slumped, words were coming out slow. Jeno can tell you’re not sober.

He can’t say shit because he’s not in an exactly sober state as well. So he just proceeds to walk past you to enter the dorm.

Technically, Jisung’s place is his place too. Their parents fixed it up for the two of them but Jeno chose to stay over at his shared apartment with the other boys. So he can do whatever he wants to do.

The entire place reeks of weed, and the floor has two empty bottles of Soju. He almost threw up, he hates Soju.

“Jesus fucking christ, Jisung.” He murmured as he picks up the trash, forgetting that you were standing behind him baffled.

“I’m sorry about that…” Of course it’s yours. Of course you’ve been drinking again. Fuck him for thinking that it’s his brother’s fault. Because it’s would always be you.

Jeno stays quiet. He’s not in the best mood to even look at you. Everything that’s been happening to him recently is because of you. He hates that he blames you, but he can’t just think of someone else.

“Jeno...” Your soft voice calls for him again. It took everything from him to ignore you, and walk back to the kitchen and throw all the trash away.

He’s hanging by a thread, and he starts to realize it’s a bad idea to stay here for long.

He takes a deep breath and walks towards the door, but before that, he felt a tight grip in his arms.

“Jeno.. talk to me.” The sultry voice you had did not go unnoticed, and Jeno couldn’t help but stop his tracks.

Don’t break, Jeno.

“Jeno.. please look at me.”

He forces your grip out of his arms. It kills him, so much to hear you like this.

“I’m leaving,” He managed to say, however, his feet says otherwise. He’s standing still, not even another step out the door.

“You’re not, please. Just… just look at me.” Jeno heaves, his hands turning into fists as he tries and compose himself.

Just this once.

He turns his heel and immediately surrendered. The moment he let his eyes on you, he already lost the game.

“Why don’t you want me?”

He gulps. He bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything, because he doesn’t trust that he’s not going to say something he’s not ready to say.

“You’ve had so many girls.. Jeno, why not me? I’m…” You paused, you look left to right as if you’re finding words to say. “..I’m better than all of them.”

“Y/n—“

“No! Fuck it, Jeno! There’s no fucking reason why you won’t fuck me! It doesn’t make any fucking sense!” Jeno hears ringing in his head, the string of patience threatening to snap.

“Why? Explain to me fucking why you would fuck all those bitches and not me? I swear.. Jeno, I’m good— fuck that, I’m the best—”

“I’m so—”

“Ask half of your team.”

In that note, the last thread he was hanging on to snapped. You want him? Fine. Take it.

He grips your arms and drags you inside of the room, and in his peripheral view, he can see your demeanor changes. Now, your eyes are mischievous, and your lips turning into a smirk.

“You want to fucking play that game? Fine, I’ll fucking play with you.” Jeno almost growls, letting you sit on the bed as he slams the door shut.

“Strip.” He orders, in the most dominant voice he has.

You bit your lip as you look up at him. Slowly discarding your clothes one by one, but not breaking eye contact with him.

His eyes were dark. So dark that you can’t tell anything that’s on his mind. His jaw tightens at the sight of you almost stripped off of your dress.

“I’ve been so fucking patient with you,”

The dim lights shone at his back, as he craned his body down, standing before you. Nearing his face unto yours, the mirror on the side of the bed depicted something out of a dark fairytale, a silhouette of a beast trying to tempt an angel.

But in reality, the angel had already fallen. Deep and hard. The beast didn't even have to do anything.

"Tell me you want me," he says.

"I do, Jeno. I really want you," And as of this moment, you lost the battle you've fought for all these years.

"All this time, huh? You're still lusting over your best friend's brother?" Now, his tone was slightly teasing. His once gentle hands on your cheeks turned possessive, his grip getting tighter.

"Dirty, dirty, dirty little girl. Bet when you fuck those boys, you think of me, don't you?" His thumb on your lower lip, parting it softly.

"This is your chance, y/n. Tonight, I'm yours. Just tell me the words," his whispers turned deadly, as his own lips are almost touching yours.

"J-jeno.."

"Pretty, pretty, pretty..." His words spit like venom. Every movement of his lips gave you a tease, your entire body burning with desire.

Your mind was under his control, and you completely and utterly surrendered to him. He's not yours— you're his.

"—Please," you finally choked out, and like a green light, Jeno kissed you with hunger, pushing his entire body weight onto you forcing you to lay down on the bed.

“I thought you won’t beg anymore?” The cockiness in his voice would usually prompt a reaction from you but you don’t care anymore.

This time, his hips close the distance between your bodies, maneuvering his knees to position between your legs. Careful not to crush you, he kept balance of his weight as he pushed his hip further, creating a slight friction between your clothed core.

After what it seemed like forever, his lips traveled down your neck, and almost immediately you can feel that he's gonna leave a mark. You'll definitely leave with a painted neck.

His hands expertly went under your dress, grabbing your breast, squeezing them ever so slightly. It doesn't take a full minute when his hands went around your back and unclasped your bra like it was nothing. All while he was focused on kissing every part of your skin.

Of course he's good at this.

Just then, he pulled away but only to pull your dress up and completely undress you. He took his time looking at your exposed body.

"You're so fuckin' perfect," he mumbled more so to himself as he admired you. He leaned in again but this time his mouth landed on one of your breasts, sucking them deftly.

"Shit, Jeno," you can't help but moan his name, grab the back of his head to level yourself. You pulled his hair, and you didn't know if he likes it, but with the way he groaned gave you a hint that he does.

As he keeps himself busy, his hands go down to your clothed core. Goosebumps ran down your body as his middle finger traced your slit, already feeling the wetness you've desperately hid before.

"So fuckin' wet, and all for me. Am I right, baby?" He whispered, you answered with a whiny 'yes' that it almost sounded like a stranger.

"Lemme' take this off," he quickly pulled down your panties, only to be welcomed by your soaking wet core. Jeno was ravenous, like he's been starved all his life.

The room was dark, only a dim lamp providing some light, but the wetness in your pussy glistens and reflects, that Jeno swore he's never seen something so beautiful. You're beautiful, and he's gonna make you feel just exactly that.

You can hear his belt buckle, him swiftly taking all his clothes off.

"God, I can never get used to how fucking pretty you are, my pretty little baby," he mumbled again, to himself.

"Who was the last guy you fucked, baby?" Jeno asked, catching you off guard. He was pumping himself as he looks at you, and you never thought he would ask such question.

"Wha-- why? I don't kn- probably—" Your speech cut off when you looked down at his moving arms, to see all of him.

You've heard rumors. You knew he was packing. But good God, he's so fucking big. Almost knocking the breath out of your lungs. You're starting to get worried if it would fit.

"Doesn't even matter.. everyone else doesn't count. Just me.”

He then pressed his finger down in your core, finding the clit right away. Rapidly circling his finger, and a wave of pleasure started to form. "Oh fuck--," you moaned.

He dove down to kiss you, this time passionately. Much softer than before. Only for you to feel his finger entering you that you went crazy. Not long before he added another,pumping it swiftly in and out. He moved away from your face to watch your expression. And he fucking loved it.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum-" you whispered.

"Go on, baby." Jeno, encouraging you even more, fingers going faster.

"Shit.. oh my go-" and then it hit you, your first orgasm of the night. Jeno's face was all you can see, and his fingers was all you can feel. Your brows furrowed, mouth agape, you felt like you can't control your body. Jeno's lips was also parted, as if he gains pleasure from watching you reach your climax.

"Good girl," he groaned.

"Need more, Jen. Please," begging was never on your vocabulary, until now.

"Shh, no need to beg, baby. I'm more than willing to give you all," his sweet words acted as an aphrodisiac, igniting the fire in you. As if you needed him to be even more sexier.

Because it was dark in the room, your sense of touch is heightened. Every touch lingered, and its as if you were touch deprived your entire life. Jeno brings out your true colors, and you're not mad about it.

"Make you feel good," he whispered more praises, and you can hear him pump himself as he aligned his length onto your aching core.

"Oh my god," you can't help but gasp, the stretch overwhelming you. You've never taken someone this big before, and it fucking felt like its your first time. Not in a painful way, but because you've felt a whole new sensation.

"S' wet, baby, fuck, you're choking me," in a low groan, Jeno slowly bottomed out. He sits fully inside you, and you can feel every single inch, every single vein. It felt so raw, and so right.

"Hmm, fuck, fuck you feel.. fucking hell. S' good." You never expected Jeno to be this vocal, and you weren't complaining. You always thought he didn't like being vocal, but damn, were you so wrong.

"Jeno.." you moaned, and you can already feel your impending orgasm. Its just that good.

Before Jeno could even find a pace with his thrust,, he pulled out. Your eyes opened in confusion, from the abrupt emptiness.

"Fuck this," Jeno was fast on his feet, you wondered where he was going, but before your mind settles on a conclusion, you were blinded by bright lights.

"Need to see you properly," he reasoned, before he went back to the position he was before.

With the lights on, you can now see his perfectly lean body, toned abs and the sweat beading on his sideburns. He looked so hot that you could cum right there and then.

"So fucking beautiful," Jeno never failed to compliment you, as he stares at you before sliding it in again. For the second time you gasp, but because he slid it in so swift that you didn't even get a second to breathe before he pounds.

"Oh, fuck, Jeno!" you squealed, your entire body rocking back and forth with how rough he was.

His hands grabbed your left leg and hooked it in his shoulder, all the while he kept the fast pace of his thrusts. You can see his face twist, him biting his lips and looking up. His expert thrusts made his abs flex everytime. The sight was stunning, and for a second there you were lost. You can't believe other girls had seen this before you.

The orgasm you fought so hard was out of your control now, and you knew you weren't gonna last.

"Jeno, I'm gonna cum," you tell him, and he switched his position in no time. "Together. Cum with me," he muttered.

"Come inside, Jeno. I need it so bad," you were slurring words at this point, so barbaric with the feeling.

He unhooked your leg and leaned forward. Your body now pressed together as he wrapped your legs onto his waist, his hands finding your neck, holding it steady as he touched his forehead with yours. His piercing eyes were hyper focused on yours.

"Eyes on me, baby. Fuck, please," he moaned, his tempo going even more rapid and desperate. Both of your mouths was wide open at this point.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck!" he stilled, as you both reached climax. He emptied himself inside you. You can't help but moan in a high pitch as orgasm washes over your entire body, an intense wave brought you to euphoria, and you never wanna leave.

"Damn," he whispered, almost in disbelief on how it felt to be with you. Still giving you everything he had, every single drop.

"Jeno," you called out once you relaxed, hoping to get him back to his senses.

"Wait- just.. shit." he managed to mutter despite his weak state. He's still wrapped around you, tight as if you were disappearing. Not to mention he's still balls deep.

A solid minute has passed when he decided to pull out, both of you hissing at the feeling. You felt so empty, and he felt so bare.

And when Jeno closes his eyes, he accepts defeat. You’ve successfully broken him.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Sooyoung, Minnie, Hoyeon, Yoonah.

So far, those are the names that you gathered.

It doesn’t take a long time to figure out what Jeno likes, based on the girls he’s been with. They’re all hot, popular with the boys, and if not the same age as him, they’re older.

The other common denominator is that they all have experience. When Jeno started sleeping around, you would only see him with women who’s expected to be with him. Like those women who knows how pretty they are, who’s aware how to handle a man like Jeno.

So when you finally turn eighteen, you did not waste time.

“Do you think I look hot in this, Ji?” You ask innocently, looking at your best friend through the mirror you’re standing in front of.

He barely looks up from his nintendo switch, and when you make eye contact, the look of disgust on his face makes you roll your eyes.

“Your freakin’ ass is hanging off that skirt. You look like a…” Jisung turns his head towards Chenle on the other side of the room, playing on his playstation.

“…hooker.” Chenle finished the sentence for him. You hide a smirk.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you!” You did a curtsy, before grabbing your purse.

“Wait, where are you going?” Chenle asked as soon as he paused the game to see you walk towards the door.

“NCU is throwing this party for the new basketball team, got an invite from Jungwoo.” You gave Chenle a wink, knowing it would annoy the heck out of him.

“What?! Why do I not know about this?!” You flinched when Chenle says the first word in the highest octave possible.

“Probably because we’re not in NCU’s college department yet? The party’s exclusive for college students, dumbass.” Jisung says boredly, bringing his attention back to his nintendo.

“Except I got an invite, you losers didn’t!” And just for extra annoyance, you stick your tongue out to mock them.

Chenle only huffs, but takes his phone out of his pocket.

“Invited or not, I’m going. I’m sure your broke ass would take up a free ride to the party,” He says as he waits for someone on his phone.

“And how do you plan to enter the party, dimwit? You don’t have an invite,” Jisung asks.

“I’m Zhong fucking Chenle. That’s my invite.” He smirks, grabs his keys and your wrist. You flew a kiss towards Jisung and left his apartment.

Booming music, strobe lights. The bass vibrates through the wall and honestly, this is way too extreme from what you expected. This is the first real party you had attended, where you’re specifically invited.

Jungwoo was someone you knew, from one of your girlfriends. He’s three years ahead of you, making him a year older than Jeno. And to be frank, Jungwoo didn’t peak your interest at first. But when you knew that he’s in Jeno’s friend circle, you figured that maybe, you do like Jungwoo.

“Hey,” Someone from behind you whispers on your ear, making you whip your head. You saw Jungwoo, head hangs low just to whisper. He displays a playful smile as he hugs you.

But before you could even tighten his embrace, Chenle took a protective stance, putting his arms in between. “Woah dude, chill out.”

Jungwoo chuckled, putting his hands up. “Zhong, calm down,”

You immediately give Chenle a look of confirmation, “I’m good, Le.”

“Just making sure.” He says and steps back. He patted Jungwoo’s shoulder in a sense that he’s good. Chenle has always been protective, in literal terms. Jisung however, is protective in a motherly kind of way. In short, Chenle’s fights, Jisung nags.

“Why don’t you talk to Jaehyun? Heard he’s interested in taking you in the team.” Jungwoo says making Chenle widen his eyes, a breathless ‘really?’ coming out of his lips and Jungwoo nods. You pushed Chenle to go find the Jaehyun guy and before you know it, you’re alone with Jungwoo.

“He’s really into basketball, huh?” Jungwoo, sounding amused.

You on the other hand, start roaming your eyes around the room. You’re here for someone, and you need to know if they’re in this party, or else this would be a huge waste of time if he’s not here.

“Yeah, he basically worships Stephen Curry.” You looks at him, to at least try to entertain the boy.

“Mm-hm.” The way his hands crawl into your waist so naturally was a shock to you, but you don’t say anything at all. He starts walking and with his hands attached on your body, you can’t help but walk with him.

“So.. where’s the team?” You really did try to prolong the moment you’re with Jungwoo, but you just can’t stay still without confirming if he’s here.

“They’re upstairs. Some of my teammates doesn’t really like hanging out with too many people.”

“How about you?”

“I was waiting for you, pretty.” Jungwoo flashes a smile, someone could argue his most defining feature but then again, you have your sights on someone else.

True to his words, Jungwoo brought you upstairs, where it’s more intimate with a few people. There’s a lounge area in front of a bar and that's where you spot the certain someone you’ve been looking for.

And as expected, he has a girl with him.

“Hey, guys, uh– this is y/n.” Jungwoo awkwardly introduces you to everyone, including Jeno who at first was shocked at your presence, but soon enough replaced with a certain tension in his eyes.

You did a small wave, still shy at the amount of eyes on you. These people are legends on campus. They’re basically the school’s pride and seeing them acknowledging you was amusing. And Jeno, like the perfect man that he is, just fits right in.

“Hi, I’m Juyeon,” He extends his hands, so you, a person who doesn’t like leaving people hanging, gladly accepts it.

And everyone else follows suit, except Jeno. He was looking at something else, not even the girl he’s with. He’s fixated at his beer can, looking at it very seriously.

“Jeno?” Jungwoo asks, questioning why the boy didn’t acknowledge you.

He looked at Jungwoo, and he was about to answer but you did it for him.

“We know each other. I’m friends with his brother.” You smile at Jungwoo, and he seemed to understand it so he just lead you to the empty spot on the lounge.

They started talking, but your attention was on Jeno. You realized that this is his crowd, quickly you found that he’s very different in front of other people. He’s more talkative, that’s for sure.

But your eyes also catch the soft touches he graces the girl beside him. The whispers he gave, the smiles and subtle kisses on the side of her head. His arms around her and the jokes he tells just for the two of them.

It has been years since he rejected you, yet the pain still stings.

You took your eyes somewhere else, made easy as Jungwoo starts to caress your shoulder. He leaned below, matching your face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled at him. You weren’t, but you’re obviously not gonna tell that.

He hands you a shot of what you assume alcohol, with his eyes anticipating your next move. This is the first time you’re drinking without Chenle or Jisung around, and you’re unsure if this was okay.

But with everybody starting to look at Jungwoo’s waiting hand, the shot clearly for you, you start to panic. There’s no way you’re gonna embarrass yourself in front of these seniors.

So you suck it up and took the shot. You’re not sure, but you got a glance from Jeno that tells he’s not happy with your action.

The taste of the alcohol was strong, but somehow your throat didn’t burn. Yes, you definitely felt it heat up your taste buds but not bad enough for you to hate it. It’s like a sensation that hypes up your system.

And so, with your new found information, you were more confident in taking shots now. And exactly that you do.

But with the amount of liquid going in, it has to come out. So you excused yourself to the bathroom to pee. You assured Jungwoo you were okay, because heck yeah, you’re fine.

Not until you actually stood up. Good thing you didn’t stumble, but shit, your world is spinning.

You bee line straight to the bathroom and relieve yourself. It took a couple minutes before you finished washing your hands, and as you walk out of the restroom, you were met by a figure clearly waiting for you to finish up.

“J-Jeno,” you muttered, moreso in surprise.

“Y/n what the hell are you doing here?” He whispers, angrily of course.

“Jungwoo invited me!” You whisper back, leaning on the door behind you to balance yourself.

“Where’s my brother? Chenle?” He looms over you, and all you can think about is his luscious lips, mere inches to yours.

“They.. Chenle came with me, Ji stayed home..” You answer, despite being in a trance. The entire place is spinning, but not Jeno’s face. It’s there, in front of you.

“I need you to find Chenle and go home.” He says in finality, expecting you to follow. You knit your brows, as you take in offense over what he’s doing.

“What? I’m invited here!” You whined.

“Find Chenle. Now.” The growl in his last words made you slightly intimidated, not to mention his eyes burning holes into your own.

God, he’s so handsome.

You don’t know if its the vodka, or just plain recklessness that gave you the idea of just tipping on your toes and try kissing Jeno.

It made perfect sense in your head. Your hands cupping his cheeks obviously caught him off guard, but before your lips touch his, his reflex of pushing you off was unfortunately faster.

He shoved you harsh, causing you to stumble and almost losing your balance.

“What the fuck?!” He yells.

Your heartbeat went quicker. Everything started to process. Jeno looks so mad, he huffs and wiping his palm against the part of his face that your lips had touched.

“I-I’m s-sorr—”

“I have a fucking girlfriend, y/n!” He spits, words felt like daggers through your chest.

“Jeno, I’m sorry. I was out of—” Your eyes start to burn.

“Are you that desperate? I rejected you already, didn’t I? I will never look at you different than being my brother’s best friend, y/n! So stop this fucking delusion while I’m being nice.” Jeno points his fingers at you, making you flinch a little bit.

“Jeno, please.” Your tears are now slowly flowing. You attempted to grab his wrist to make him stay and listen to your apologies but he swiped it off like he’s disgusted to be touched by you.

“No, y/n. You’re like a sister to me. It disgusts me to even think of being with you romantically. So please, know your fucking place.”

With that, he walks out and leaves you broken.

You don’t understand. You did everything by the book. You looked pretty, you knew how he liked girls. You made yourself into his fantasies and he still can’t see past the fact that you’re just his brother’s bestfriend.

You take a deep breath between the sobs, calming yourself down. You felt horrible. You felt so sick and embarrassed. You felt so fucking desperate and pathetic that you just want to numb yourself of the pain.

You grab your chest, having difficulty breathing from crying too hard.

This is way more than a broken heart.

You’re no longer consolable, and there’s just no way you’re going back there with your makeup now ruined.

Are you that hard to want?

Are you that hard to need?

The tears don't stop as you walk out of the party. Gladly, everybody’s wasted so nobody noticed you ugly-crying.

As you turn to an alleyway, you shoot Jungwoo a text saying you got sick, and Chenle saying you got an uber home.

With your 7-inch heels on your hand, in the cold street, you walk in shame.

Bare feet on the sidewalk, shivering, that's when you noticed a bar.

Your feet prompted to enter, so that you did. You were going to drown the pain, and there’s nothing in your mind except alcohol.

You hoped that it would ease the pain.

And it did, the effects of it giving you a temporary memory loss. This was the numbing you needed.

The sensation of alcohol gave you solace, and for a while, your thoughts melted into nothingness.

Staring at the shot glass in front of you, you made a promise to your eighteen year old self.

That if Jeno doesn’t want you, you’ll make it your life’s mission to make everyone else crave you. You don’t need Jeno.

You’ll never be rejected again.

And just as soon as you felt like you can breathe again, your phone buzzed.

[2:34am] jisung: y/n, come home, quickly. it’s your mom.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

It was odd to say the least.

This has been what you’ve wanted for so many years. You prayed— and begged the heavens for Jeno to finally take you, to prove that you can get him.

And now, you’ve proven your point.

But why does it feel… strange?

Yes, it was the best sex you’ve had, and it might be the only one that could make you feel that way. It was mindblowing, it was everything and more.

Isn’t this the goal? For him to actually step over that line of being your best friend’s brother?

What else did you want?

Honestly, you don’t know anymore. Hence, you sneak out of the apartment in the middle of the night. Jeno was laying on his stomach, the comforter covering his lower half. His back muscles spread across the sheets and you take the art in. He really is sculptured to perfection.

You managed to put on your clothes and walk out of the apartment building. You find yourself in a nearby convenience store, walking through the isle finding something you didn’t know. Your mind is blank and empty.

These are the times where you wished there was someone to guide you to what you should do next. Because you have no idea. You’re confused, and you need direction.

These are the moments where you wished your mom was here. She would know what to do.

For a while, when you were with Jeno, you felt warmth you’ve always been trying to find from somebody else. With Jeno, you actually felt like sex wasn’t only about pleasure, but it’s also about being able to express unspoken feelings.

Sex wasn’t something you just needed to get over with. It felt amazing, It was perfect.

But it clicked too, that you know yourself was the only one who really appreciated it. Jeno— was in for the satisfaction. He never needed you like you needed him. You talked him into sleeping with you. You were begging for his touch.

You pushed him to a point where he just snapped and gave you what you’ve been desperately chasing him for.

And for what? Probably for you to stop. He was throwing scraps at you because he’s tired of that one girl who keeps chasing his tail. He just gave in, expecting you to finally give up.

Then it hit you. Your fourteen year old self, your eighteen year old self and your twenty-two year old self still has something in common.

You realize, that all the hard work, the wall you desperately tried to build was a fraud. Because at the end of the day, you never lost feelings for Jeno.

No matter how many people you’ve been with, it’s still gonna be Jeno for you.

That makes you laugh. In both ridiculousness and despair. Hopelessness felt eerily familiar.

Silly you, for thinking you’ve moved on.

Jeno is inevitable. And you’ll learn to accept it too.

As you reach up the isle and grab a bottle of Soju, a hand stops you.

“My love, are you okay?” A soft voice that you haven't heard in a while.

“Kun,”

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Jeno knows he’s royally fucked.

He gave into your trap, and you’ve successfully defeated him. All his morals, his beliefs, and the logic he stands on was out the window.

He knows you planned it out too. This was your way of taking revenge on him, when he repeatedly rejected you years ago.

He tried to keep his distance, because he promised.

And he takes his promises seriously, especially when it involves you. And he felt like he broke the one thing that’s keeping the promise he made a couple years ago.

You weren’t supposed to end up in his bed. You weren’t supposed to still want him after everything he’s done. You weren’t supposed to even be involved with him. He’s supposed to stay wherever he is, on the sidelines, silently protecting you.

But it’s all been done. You and Jeno did it, and it cannot be reversed. And now that its happened, there’s not much he can do. He has to hash things out, he has to fix everything.

Because no matter how many women he had before, no matter how many times he tricks himself, he had always felt like it wasn’t what he’s been searching for.

And when he finally had a taste of you, he’s afraid he’s gonna want more. And he’s afraid that he’ll never feel the way it felt with you. He’s horrified that what happened opened his eyes with what’s the truth.

And when he felt the other side of the bed cold, he opens his eyes and you’re gone.

Yeah, this is just a game for you.

But for him? Oh, he’s eternally fucked. The shame, the guilt, and everything in between creeps up. And not of you, he’ll never—ever be ashamed of you. He’s guilty about the fact that he let himself get carried away.

Out of frustration, he hits his steering wheel as he drove. He can’t believe he just did that.

He was drunk, you were clearly not in the right state of mind. Even if you were, he was still drunk. What happened was fucked up, both for him and for you.

He takes a deep breath before pulling out his phone.

He carefully types, calculating everything he needs to say.

[7:35am] to: y/n

hey. dont say anything to my brother. it was a mistake, i was drunk. i don’t really like you like that.

He sent it quick, afraid he’d delete it if he hesitated longer. And just as he did, he felt his whole chest stiffen.

Because once again, he lied. Both to you, and to himself.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

You woke up through the sounds of your phone ringing. It was the next week after the whole thing happened with Jeno, and you’ve not craved anything but sleep.

Kun never asked questions. Which you’re thankful for, but you can’t help but feel bad.

You ghosted the guy, again, but he welcomed you into his apartment with open arms like nothing happened. His smile was there, the warmth of his embrace still the same.

Before you could even say anything about your guilt, he’s quick to tell you that it’s okay. He’s with you because he wants to. Although you can’t give him what he wants the most.

In a perfect world, if you weren’t so fucked up, you’d be with Kun, no questions asked.

You were lucky it was the weekend, and you’ve got no class. So you just laid on Kun’s couch, binging away, rotting in the cushions. Kun doesn’t mind, he says its better than you going out and drinking.

Which is true, plus you just can’t physically get yourself back up and doing what you do before, after what happened with Jeno.

Jeno, Jeno, Jeno. Fucking Lee Jeno.

It’s like a curse, following you all throughout your existence. He’s like a ghost stuck in your hip, a burden you’d beg to get off of you. There’s just no way you’d have to carry these feelings towards him until your seventy, right? Jesus.

Your head whips at the door when you hear it open, not expecting Kun to come home so early.

He’s not here ‘til 7, right?

“Oh, you’re still here.”

Well, you’re right. It’s not Kun. It’s his lovely roommate Ten. Note the sarcasm on the lovely part.

“Yeah.” You backed down to the couch.

If there’s anyone annoyed at your presence, it’s definitely Ten. You think he harbored the anger and disappointment Kun should’ve had with you— like some sort of anger translator.

“Your roommate must be overjoyed having your place for her own.” He says, with feign casualness in his tone.

“She’s doing fine,”

“I mean, at this point, you’re gonna have to pay your share with the rent.” He scoffs as he puts down his bag harshly on the counter.

You let out a deep breath, reminding yourself that this is also his place. You’re not in a position to return his attitude because you, in your own thoughts, are aware that you’ve overstayed your welcome.

“Kun says its okay–”

“That’s–” Ten’s voice in a high pitch, but quickly calming himself down. “--that’s because Kun can’t say shit to you. I don’t know if you noticed but my friend is literally insane for you. And of course, you like the attention.”

You can’t help but look at him, your mouth slacking due to disbelief of what he just said. You bit your lip and paused, not wanting to say things without thinking about it first. Again, you're not in a position where you’re purely innocent in this situation.

“What do you want me to do? Tell me. I’ll leave right now.” You managed to calm your tone, avoiding any more discussion.

“What I want you to do is to be straight with Kun, y/n. I know you’re used to being a player, but Kun isn’t. He agreed to your situationship because you weren’t ready. You ghosted him for a few weeks and still he took you in even tho I fucking knew it was a dumb decision because he’s just hoping to be with you again. If you’re not planning to be with my friend, then just fucking make your decision. I know you’re not that cruel to string him along. He’s a good person, y/n.”

His sudden outburst caught you off guard, but every word he said was like a slap to you. Every sentence was nothing but facts, and you knew deep inside that you were in the wrong. That Ten was right. Kun is way too good for you. He does not deserve this.

You felt your eyes starting to warm, for a hundredth time. You nod in agreement. However, you can tell he wasn’t finished.

“He’s not your back burner, y/n. And I’m not saying this to you because I have a problem with you, but I’m saying this because he’s my friend. At first it was fine, but when you treat him lesser than what he deserves, I just feel like you’re being.. really selfish. It’s clear that you have your eyes on someone else. But please, Kun doesn’t do this type of shit. He’s way too naive. Poor guy thought he did something wrong.” The last sentence hits you the most, thinking about Kun probably did think that he’s the one to blame.

You sniff, nodding along Ten’s statement. “I will… I’ll talk to him.” You quietly say. Ten just looks at you before sighing, walking towards his door. As soon as his door closes, the front door opened.

“Sweet cheeks, what’re you doing?” Kun asks, seeing you standing on the doorway staring at nothingness.

You immediately wiped your tears and looked at him with a smile. “Really sad netflix movie,” you excused. Kun doubts, but chooses to stay silent. He walks two steps in front of you before giving you a warm hug like he does everytime he sees you at his apartment.

You gulp, gathering courage to actually start the conversation.

“Uh, Can we talk?” you nip at the bottom of your shirt.

“Of course, princess,” The old nickname he had somewhat felt like an assurance that he’s still the same. It lifted a bit of weight in your chest.

You sat in one of the chairs, not knowing what to do. This place was once your safe haven, now it just feels strange knowing what kind of situation you are in.

“So, uhm, I want to apologize for.. essentially cutting you off. It’s just that, uh, I’ve been–”

“You’ve been with Lee Jeno, right?” he asks, a ghost of a smile still present in his face.

“Well, yeah, but also, I didn’t know that I had that much of a relevance in your life so...” you say, honestly.

“Darling, you were everything.” he pauses. “--but I know that I’m not what you need, or what you wanted. And that’s fine. You don’t need to feel bad, it’s just how it goes.”

“But I’m here, and I promise you, that you don’t need to feel responsible about how I feel. I’ll be fine.” He smiles, like he used to, but this time you know it’s fake.

“Kun, you’re too good for me. You deserve more than me.” Your eyes start to water, but Kun never lets it drop. He caresses your cheeks for what it feels like the last time, before nodding at you.

“I know, baby.” He leaned closer, lips slowly grazing yours. As you felt it, the instinct of kissing back was swift, but Kun did not give you the chance of doing so as he pulled away.

“Don’t kiss me back, please,” he mumbled, before caressing your face for what it felt like the last time before turning away.

And just like that, you lost the man who was ready to give you everything for a man who can’t even spare you a glance.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Jeno is still out of his mind.

He had flunked out of practice, only attending a couple times out of the two weeks that he needed to attend. Barely even there, just standing and basically lifeless in the court.

His coach and his teammates already feel less secure because of Jeno’s state of mind, especially when he’s supposed to be the team’s captain. He feels like shit, truly, and he knows he should be focusing on the game. But how can he, when all he can think of is you?

His coach gave him a hard talking but even that can’t seem to shake him up. His willingness to play disappeared like it was nothing.

He’s pretty sure the entire team hates him now, and if only there’s time to replace him, they’d definitely do it, but finding a replacement, with his skills, is basically impossible. Moreso in limited time.

As soon as he enters his apartment, he throws his bag on the floor and tunnels through his room to lock himself in there. But as soon as he entered it, he was shocked to find his brother laying in his bed.

“What’re you doing here?” He asks, confused.

“Just want to know something,” Jisung says, slowly sitting up. He looks up his brother, standing in the door frame. Jeno couldn’t read his expression, but its pretty clear that he’s not happy.

“Did you sleep with y/n?”

Jeno didn’t know how to react, his eyes widened and for a while, he had nothing to say. But in the end, he knew this was bound to happen. If not you, it would be him spilling the information to his brother.

He didn’t need to say anything, and he knew the silence is more than enough for Jisung to conclude.

“She really likes you, you know? I just–” Jisung paused, “--I just don’t know why you’d sleep with her when you don’t like her back. You know she likes you, hyung. What, is this like an ego thing? She’s y/n, hyung. You know she’s different.” Jisung honestly just sounded confused and tired. He’s not angry, not upset, he comes off like he just wanted proper answers from his brother.

“Dude, just get out.” Jeno dismissed, which pissed off his younger brother more.

“Oh fuck you. You can’t even hold a conversation with your own brother? And if only it’s not y/n, I wouldn’t even waste my time. But it’s her. You know her,”

Jeno took a deep breath. “I like her too, Jisung. No, fuck, scratch that. I fucking love her.”

For a minute, it was silence. Jisung then took the initiative to talk,

“Talk to mom, hyung.”

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Jeno was sixteen, when he realized that he likes the way you smile at him.

He saw you run down the stairs and straight to the kitchen. You were at his brother’s room, for a sleepover with his brother and Chenle. He was lounging on the couch, and he didn’t bother to turn on the lights. He likes to lay in here at night, cuddling with his cat, Bongsik. He can’t let the cat into his room because of his allergies, so he just settled on the couch.

Because Bongsik was alerted of your presence, the cat follows you to the kitchen. Jeno, of course, followed in pursuit. He can still remember the cute expression you had when you discovered Bongsik on the table.

He smiles at you, struggling to get chips from the cabinet. Naturally, he grabbed it for you. You had asked if Bongsik was new, and he answered yes.

“Yep, a rescue. Mom brought it home the other day. Jisung freaked,” He chuckles as he looks at the cat, snuggling in his chest.

He can see you almost begging with your eyes, wanting to pet the cat. So he let you. Surprisingly, Bongsik, who’s usually grumpy, purrs as soon as your hands come in contact with it.

You were so careful, and Jeno almost wants to chuckle at your meek attempt at staring at him.

A slight smile on your face was something Jeno noticed, from a close distance. He surely did not expect you to be this soft and angelic, but he thought to himself, that your smile is something he’d like to get used to.

Jeno was eighteen when he made his first mistake.

He had invited his friends over at his house. He had made some really cool friends, and he even got this girl he’s been trying to get with to tag along. Jeno feels nervous, of course, he wants to impress them.

Besides Jaemin, Haechan and Renjun, he also invites some people from the basketball team he’s trying to get into, and some girls that are part of the circle. And of course, the girl he had liked, Eunmi.

His friends encouraged him to make a move tonight, and for some dumb reason, he thought it would be romantic to bring out wine. So he went to the kitchen to do so, but got surprised when a soft voice called his name.

It was you. Your shy demeanor, and your avoiding gaze startles him but he can’t help but smile. You’re so cute.

He clears that with whatever you were gonna tell him, make it quick because someone’s waiting for him. But as soon as you open your mouth to say the next words,

“I like you. Very much.”

He feels like his feet are frozen. His heart starts to race and if only he wasn’t leaning on the counter behind him, he would definitely stumble. His grip on the wine glass tightens. He doesn’t know what to do.

The next words just came out, and he instantly regrets it.

“...I-I’m just being nice.. I have to be nice. You’re my brother’s best friend.” In a split second before Eumi interrupts the conversation, he can clearly see the pain in your eyes. The initial shock of the fact that he’s rejecting you was prominent in your face and he just wanted to take every word back at that point.

But before he could even utter another word, Eunmi decided to take over. You then quickly walked out, but before you can turn around, he sees a teardrop, and by then, he’s sure he’s made a mistake. He can’t believe he just broke your innocent heart.

Eunmi is no longer in his mind, his friends no longer his priority, the entirety of the night, you plagued his mind. He wanted to run after you, and apologize. But what exactly is it for? It’s not like he was rude. He was calm, but still, you were visibly upset.

Jeno blames himself, until the night ends, he shoots his brother a message to ask you if you were okay. He needs to know.

Jeno was twenty when he breaks his own heart for the first time.

He can’t believe his eyes. He doesn’t know which emotion he should feel, the anger that slowly builds up upon seeing you entering the party with Jungwoo, or the adoration to seeing you looking that good in your mini dress.

You had walked in with the confidence he failed to notice before, with Jungwoo’s arm around your waist. He clenches his fist, but soon he gets caught in his own mind when his girlfriend of two weeks leans over to him.

The train of thought he had was still there, however, he was forced to pretend like everything’s fine. Although he can’t look at you in the eye, when he can certainly feel your gaze time to time.

What he can’t absolutely avoid tho, is his eyes on Jungwoo’s touches. Since when did you let a random man touch you like that?

More so, a man like Jungwoo? Much older than you, and he doesn’t remember Jungwoo and you ever be in the same vicinity as each other. Why are you so comfortable with him already?

Green doesn’t suit Jeno. So he tries to focus on the girl beside him. But mentally, he counts the shots that was given to you. Too many, and if the situation is different, he’d take those shots and shove it up Jungwoo’s ass.

But as soon as you stood up, his quick reaction was to follow you.

All he can think about is you getting out of here.

“Find Chenle. Now.” He groaned, despite his anger, he doesn’t like yelling at you.

What you did next was unexpectable.

You had tried to kiss him.

His reflex was to push you, and that, he did. His demeanor changes, and everything that falls from his lips after that was a blur to him.

One thing’s clear, the look in your eyes. You were so defeated, but Jeno didn’t let it affect him. He was blinded by anger, and the fact that you’re so drunk that you’d kiss just anyone. Not to mention a man that has a girl! What has gotten into you?

“Are you that desperate? I rejected you already, didn’t I? I will never look at you different than being my brother’s best friend, y/n! So stop this fucking delusion while I’m being nice.” Lies after lies after lies.

He was completely out of his mind when he said that to you.

And when you cried in front of him, he felt his own heart break. Every tear is equivalent to a stab right through his chest.

Right there and then, he wanted to beg for your forgiveness. Say that everything wasn’t true, that he doesn’t think you were desperate. Hell, he would kiss you back if you’d let him.

But all those hope was thrown away when you left. Because what’s left was this strange, terrifying feeling that somehow, this was the last straw for you.

And Jeno despises himself for causing you pain, over and over. He curses at his own self for being so coward.

“Hey Jen, how are you?” His mom’s voice was enthusiastic as ever. Even over the phone, he can hear the smile in her face.

He thinks he should be honest. “Not good,”

“Aw, is it your practice? Don’t worry darling, just a few more months and you’ll be graduating!” He smiles at his mother’s sweet voice of anticipation, he can just imagine the tiny claps she does.

“No, mom. I—“ He closes his eyes in frustration. “I have to talk to you about something,”

“What is it? Is it your brother? About y/n?” Her tone changes, now sounding concerned.

Jeno curses mentally, because of how quick his mom mentioned you.

“It’s about y/n,” he says lowly, testing the waters for a bit.

He hears a deep sigh, “I called her a week ago and she’s been real distant from me, Jen. Anything I should know?”

“Mom,” He almost whines. He just wants to spill it out.

“What? You’re worrying me. Is our y/n okay? God, she’s been out of control, hasn’t she?” The concern is now intensified, and Jeno thinks he should just spit it out. But his tongue can’t seem to say it.

“She.. she’s fine.”

“Good gracious, okay. I thought something had happened. Her mother must be frowning at me from heaven right now. Still remember your promise to your Auntie, right?”

Bingo. The very reason as to why he can’t just say it. Why he can’t just be with you already. It’s because of this god forsaken promise that he made.

“You need to be a big brother to her, treat her as your sister. She has nothing but us now, Jeno.”

He almost cries, he just wanted to yell. He felt as though he failed his mother, your mother and you. He shouldn’t be feeling this emotion towards you. This harbored feelings are forbidden. He can’t. He just… can’t.

He lets his eyes get warmer, gripping in his phone harshly. He takes a huge, deep breath.

“Mom, I love her. So much. I- I can’t… I can’t keep on hurting her and pretending that I only look at her as a sister.” He pleads, finally letting it known. There’s no turning back.

Silence was deafening on the other line. Every millisecond, he can feel his heartbeat race.

“Jeno, we’ve talked about this.”

“I love her, mom. I do, I really do.” He cries, for the first time in a long time.

“She’s your sis—“

“She’s not! God, she’s your best friend’s daughter, I know that but I’m not her older brother. I’m a person that truly loves her. I have loved her for so many years but I keep on h—“

“Jeno, hush, darling. I understand… but she’s our family. If all these feelings get old and you decide you don’t love her anymore, who will she turn to? Not us, darling because at the end of the day, we’re your family. I’m just… worried about her, she has… no one to turn to if this all blows up.” His mother’s response, despite the rise of emotion, was still calm and soft.

“I won’t, mom. Please, just let me love her. I can’t keep hurting her, mom, It kills me.” Jeno never begged this much. Just for you. His only exception.

His mother pauses, way too long, before finally breathing out again. “Okay, darling. I trust you. But please. I beg you, not to hurt her. We’re all that she’s got.”

Jeno whips his head up, baffled as to how easy she agreed to him. A little to no persuasion, and it didn’t even take ten minutes.

“What? J-just like that?” Jeno questions in disbelief. Years of yearning, years of hurting you, when Jeno could just do this early on?

His mom, regardless of the moment, managed to let out a breathy chuckle.

“Darling, you’ve proven yourself over the years. Me and your Dad had an inkling that you have a special admiration for Y/n ever since before. Its just unfortunate that her mother had to pass, and had asked us a favor— more to you, to look after Y/N like your own sibling. And when you agreed, I felt like it’s just how it goes. But years of seeing you pretend to not care about her, and seeing you struggle to cope with your feelings, I knew then that you were serious.”

“Me and your Dad realized that our eldest, really, has grown up to be a man. And seeing you still have the same passion and the same feelings towards her until now, says that you’d stop at nothing at this point. So what’s the use of preventing you?”

And with that, Jeno was free. Free of constraint, of guilt and control over his own will and feelings.

Like a baby, Jeno falls asleep with tears in his eyes. In complete satisfaction on how things went. Now, his only problem is getting to you, and begging for your forgiveness. Wishing by then, you’d still want him.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Jeno didn’t waste his time. As soon as the morning comes, he’s fast on his feet. He wants to talk to you, he wants to clear everything up. He had tried to text and call, but he quickly realized you blocked his number.

He called his brother next, but Jisung also has not heard from you since yesterday.

It wasn’t until 5pm that he couldn’t find you, he started to worry. None of your friends know where you are, and you’re not in your apartment either.

He contacted every possible soul that could even have a hint on where you’re at, but none of them knows.

He feels like he’s running out of time, running out of momentum.

And just as soon as he was about to call for help, he received a message.

[5:32pm] unknown number

she’s at dreamscape hill. she likes going there to ease her mind. take care of her, please. -k

He didn’t care to ask who it was, he just prayed that whoever sent him this message was right.

And off to dreamscape hill, Jeno goes.

He can barely catch his breath when he arrived, heart pounding at his chest. It was past sundown when he found you sitting at the bench, on top of the hill.

It’s you. He’s sure it’s you. To the curves of your shoulder, to the waves of your hair. Call it creepy, but he spent years looking at your back, from afar, forbidden to even glance at you when you’re close. So yes, he’s a hundred percent sure that it’s you.

He’s a few feet behind you, when he noticed the earphones you had on. Probably why you didn’t hear the ruffling of the twigs and leaves as he walked closer.

And in divine timing, you look back at your shoulder, looking straight at Jeno’s eyes, as if it made sense why he’s here.

Slowly, you pull the earphones out.

“What’re you doing here?” You ask, almost a whisper. But the city in front of you gave him enough silence to hear every breath you take.

“Finding you,” he answers. He struggles to keep his words straight, the thumping in his chest causing him to stutter.

You blink thrice, seems like you’re still processing Jeno’s answer.

“Why?”

Jeno took a couple step, and finally he sat beside you. he looked forward at the cityscape. He took note of your body language, it seems to him that you’re starting to get nervous.

“To tell you I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took this long for me to find you. I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry for making you cry. I’m sorry that I wasted years, and I’m so sorry I lied.” Jeno says every word with great diction, in perfect pace and clear voice. He wants you to understand every word that he says.

He hears you let out a huff, as if in disbelief. His heart went even more faster, scared on what you might say.

He’s never anticipated an answer like this before. He never had to grip at his own knees in nervousness before. He can’t even look at your expression.

“I think we’re past that, Jeno.”

This is what he’s afraid of. He might be too late, he might fuck this up. Nevertheless, he’ll never regret trying.

“I know that I’m years too late but you need to understand—“

“I don’t need to understand nothing. What I need is to just live my life, love my life. I have spent years yearning for you, let me love myself too. I think I’ve loved you since I met you, Jeno. I just mistook it for curiosity. Everyone else isn’t you, and turns out that’s a huge problem for me.” Jeno can hear you smile, and when he finally let himself take a look, he softens.

You’re smiling like you used to smile. You’re smiling like you again.

“That’s because we thought we could alter fate, and tell me I’m batshit crazy for believing but I can prove to you that we’re just… soulmates, y/n. Y-you’re meant for me as much as I am for you.” These are some words Jeno never thought he would use. The things you make him do.

You chuckle again, while shaking your head. Do you find it ridiculous? Do you think Jeno is joking? Are you finding all of these insufferable? God, Jeno wished he could read you.

“We are not soulmates, Jeno. This is not some divine intervention, and shit, this is not fate. I wanted this. I knit the threads of my destiny until it spelled your name. I love you intentionally, Jeno. It’s not the stars and the heavens that brought us together. I did.”

Jeno was speechless. He could not utter a single word, he felt like he had no right to dictate you about what you feel. He’s ashamed, because what you said was right. You made him feel this, because of your desire for him, you made him fall. And damn it, he fell hard.

“It’s like you filled my lungs with flowers, although they are pretty, it made it hard for me to breathe. That's how much I wanted you.”

“Y/n, I will apologize to you forever if you wanted me to. Just… just please, let me have my chance.” Jeno begged like he never did before. He let his emotions out, and all for you. Because you deserve it. You deserve the real him.

Slowly, he felt your hand on his clenched fist, instantly letting it loose. He took the opportunity to lace your fingers together. It felt right, like your hand always belonged intertwined with his.

“If I took this chance with you, that would be the knife that would slit my own fucking throat, Jeno. And you know what’s funny? I’d probably apologize for bleeding in your shirt.”

“So let me have this time for myself, Jeno. And just like the old saying, time will tell. And if we find each other without even looking, then that’s when I’ll believe in that fate you were talking about.”

As your grip in his hand loosens, he felt like this was the first and last time he’ll get to hold your hand. He wanted to be selfish and not let you go, but he knows he’d be cruel to do that.

So he didn’t move. “I’ll see you around,” you say.

“I’ll find you,” he whispered, to you, to himself, and to whoever who’s listening. Let it be the heavens, or the devil in hell. He whispered to anybody, because he knows he’ll do it, and he wants everyone to stand witness to this promise.

“Sure you will,”

And in every step you made, as your body slowly walks away, you took his heart with you. Its yours, anyway. He’ll just have to find you to have it back.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

“Lee Jeno! Lee Jeno! Lee Jeno!”

The screams from the bleachers never seemed to falter, only getting louder each time.

The band is on full blast, people running around down the court as soon as the last whistle of the game went off.

Jeno had won the much awaited game against the SKU, with a whopping 73 points under his belt, making it the first time in his school’s history to earn that many points, by a single player, in one game.

This just solidified his reputation, being named the greatest player that had ever stepped foot on this campus.

And to make this game, even more legendary than it already is, it’s the last game of the season before Jeno graduates. So he’s literally going out with a bang with this one.

His teammates celebrated the win, begging Jeno to go the the victory party. For the first time, Jeno refused to attend a victory party. Much more, a victory he made happen.

He walked past the girls that’s lining up to take a picture with him, immediately walking straight back to the lockers.

He shoots a text at Renjun, informing his friend that he’ll head home, instead of attending the party.

He was about to turn to his locker, when his name was called by a familiar voice.

Jeno looked back, and to his disappointment, it’s Jennie.

“Why haven’t you answered my calls? It’s been months, Jeno! You can’t just..” Jennie couldn’t even finish her sentence, stomping her feet like a toddler.

Yes. It has been months since he blocked every girl that he had ever slept with.

Three months, thirteen days, and twenty-one hours, to be exact.

“My team’s gonna be here soon. You don’t want me to embarrass you in front of them, trust me.” Jeno’s threat was casual, but he’s serious enough for Jennie to take the hint.

“B-but, Jen, it's me.” Jennie’s voice turns softer, making Jeno cringe at the tone. She then tried to touch his shoulder, but Jeno was quick to dodge.

“Exactly. You’re you, Jennie. And I don’t like you.”

The girl was aghast, to say the least. Her mouth wide open in disbelief. Taking Jeno’s advice, albeit with offense, she stomps her way out of the lockers.

Just as he said, his teammates started flocking in, with his coach holding the trophy. He lost count on how many pats in the back he received after the game. The repetitive congratulatory messages are starting to grow old.

“Are you really not coming? You’re literally the man of the year, dude. Everybody’s gonna be looking for you!” Sungchan, one of his teammates says.

“Nope,” Jeno says with a pop.

“Come on, this’ll probably the last victory party you’ll ever have!” Yangyang joins in, but Jeno just shrugged his shoulders.

“Sorry, dude. I got a thesis paper due in two days.”

A plethora of complains, grunts and ‘what?!’s came pouring in after his statement, but Jeno stood his ground.

Jeno was serious. He needs to study for his thesis paper, and pass it on time. His professor expects him to match his academics to his basketball career, and he doesn’t want to disappoint.

Before the commotion gets even more wild, and before Jeno gets kidnapped into attending the party, he swiftly bids farewell to his coach, the only person that mattered to him. His coach just shook his head and gave him a nod, before letting him go.

“You did well, kid.”

Jeno heads through the parking lot. He had been stopped by students every ten seconds therefore his usual 4 minute walk to his car ended up being 30 minutes.

He starts up the engine, but before taking off, he checks some of his messages.

[8:43pm] dong(yuck!): congratulations, lebron ‘lee jeno’ james! the game was so cool dude u look good throwing balls lol btw im staying at my girls hauz. also ur welcome. also enjoy. lolz

[8:54pm] jaemjaem: dude that game!!! ur on FIRE my guy!! pls pls apply for nba so i can watch courtside with kanye west :D im out rn and i wont be home til tmrw. ur welcome ;)

[8:59] jisung: great game couldve been better tho… anyways… wrap it b4 u tap it!!!

[9:02pm] injunnie <3: game was lit. didnt understand shit abt the game but u did good. im spending the night @ my moms so u better make it worth it, lee jeno.

Jeno’s breath hitches, and before he could even question the hints his roommates are giving him, another ping notifies his phone.

[9:04pm] unknown number: hi. im at urs. can we talk?

Jeno knows not to speed, but tonight, he swears his tires didn’t even touch the concrete. He is flying off the highway.

With sweaty palms, he enters the security code to his door. Hands shaking, he opens it up and with the sight of a woman’s shoes on his doorstep, he takes a deep breath.

“I hope you don’t mind, it was Jaemin’s idea to let me in without telling you. Uh, so if you’re not—“

“Y/n,” he gulps as he takes in your figure, standing in the middle of his kitchen.

“Yeah.. it’s me.” You smile tightly, shrugging your shoulders.

Even though Jeno was ready to leap and drown you in his embrace, he stood his ground. He’s still not sure why you’re here, and until you say so, he’s not moving. The last thing he wants to do is push your boundaries.

“What’re— what are you—” He feels stupid. Stuttering like a five year old in front of you.

“Figured we could talk. Jisung and Chenle got sick of me moping around so they made me—“

“I hope you’re not being forced to talk to me. I told you, I’ll wait. No matter how long,” The sincerity laced in his voice was prominent.

“I promise you, I went here in my own will. Two idiots just talked some sense into me, and Jisung told me about the promise you made my mom years ago.”

Then there was silence. But this time, it wasn’t deafening. It was peaceful. Its as if you two are finding serenity in each others presence and just the way you stare at each other already says the words your mouth couldn’t speak.

But Jeno cut it short. “Does this mean..”

“I want to try, Jeno. I want to experience this with you. Slowly, at our own pace. I want to go on dates. Carnivals. Watch netflix. Everything, with you.” There's a tinge of shyness in your voice, and Jeno just wants you to scream it out. You don’t need to shy away from him.

“Everything, with me. At your own pace. I’ll accept everything you can offer,” He assured your worried mind.

You nod gently. “I want to feel loved without feeling like I’m begging for it,”

Jeno shakes his head vigorously, “No, baby, you’ll never beg to be loved, ever again. I swear in my grave.” He takes one step closer.

“I’ll trust you and risk getting my heart broken again, but I really hope you won’t.”

One more step closer “I will never. Baby, you’re it for me. I didn’t know it before, but I should’ve known it was you, because no one else made sense.”

You nod again, biting your lip. “When I visited my mom, I told her about you,”

“Yeah?” Jeno asks, in a sweet tone, taking another step closer.

You smiled at him. “I bet she would trust you too,”

“I will not break her trust. Not again,”

He watches carefully as you raise your hand to cup his cheeks, his reaction was to lean into your touch. He takes your initiative as a signal, but still takes his movement slowly.

You gulp, looking up at him. “Can you love me now?”

“Oh, baby. I have loved you since forever. It just took me time to realize it.”

And then, as you tiptoe to match his height, he feels your lips on him and he swears that you taste like heaven.

Jeno didn’t remember how long you talked that night, but somewhere in the midst of your laughter and smiles, he decided that he would destroy the world for you.

Because you might not know it, but in every universe, in every lifetime, and in every story, Jeno has always been completely, madly, and inevitably yours.

A/N: From the bottom of my heart, I apologize for making you guys wait this long. I promise, it just happened to be my worst year ever :'(( but at least she's here! I just wish this could at least be worth it. Tune in for the next part (I promise, it would NOT take this long lmao)

taglist: @cutiepeas @legbouk @hyuckissed @bockhyun @hibernatinghamster @shookyungsoo @sundamariis @sharkipoonis @ohmykwonsoonyoung @carelessshootanonymous @glamourizz

[inkskinned]

she says he won't let her get a dog, which is fine, because they're in an apartment, and that's the kind of thing people say about their partners. he won't let me get a dog. and you're at a dinner party and you tilt your head a little to the side just like that dog he won't let her get, because is this the thing that's going to upset you? you don't know every corner of their relationship, she could be joking, they could have had so many healthy conversations about the dog, right, and maybe she's not letting herself get the dog because of money and time and whatever. but, like, she did say let

and she wants to move away from his hometown and he wants to stay and then he tells you with a wink and a conspiratorial stage whisper don't worry i'll convince her and she laughs about it - so clearly this is something they laugh about. but you do just stand there and stare at him like what the fuck, man. you can't say what you want to say which is why do you get the final say on everything because they're both obviously aware of the other person's stance on this and have obviously had private conversations about it and what are you going to do about it except make a scene and then he'll be mad at you and call you one of those bitches behind your back and she'll cut you off, which is a loss that doesn't feel worth it just because he makes you a little skeeved out every 3rd comment

and they both agree he just isn't the type to get flowers which is fine because everyone shows love differently, and are you really gonna judge someone based on their sense of individual relationship responsibility? maybe he's constantly cleaning her car and writing her poems and making her furniture or something. maybe she doesn't even like flowers and this is perfect, actually. and no you couldn't date him, obviously, ew; but like, she tells you she's happy. you almost send her a tiktok that says don't be 25 and the cool girl that doesn't need anything, you'll hate not getting flowers at 30, but that's like, starting drama & you shouldn't start drama needlessly.

and you're a little older than her but not so much older you can pull the whole trust me on this one babe thing and besides that wouldn't have worked anyway (when does it ever) and besides you have trauma so you and your therapist both agree that you're always looking for a problem even when there isn't one. and you tell yourself that just because you see them for 15 minutes every month does not mean you can identify every single red flag based on a single shitty half-joking(?) comment

and besides, what are you going to do? she says i actually wanted another stand mixer but thankfully he stops me when i'm about to spend too much money and you're standing there like are you okay? is this normal? is this just something people say? and again - what are you going to do?

to your therapist you try to language it - it's not, like, any of my business. but sometimes, doesn't it feel like - you should do something. there's got to be something, right? you've tried dropping little hints but they sail right through and you've tried having a single serious conversation and she got upset because why does it matter to you, yes it's different but we're happy, it doesn't need to make sense to you and you're like. really unwilling to push a boundary about it anymore; because the truth is that you know logically it shouldn't matter to you, as long as both parties are happy.

and besides, you've been wrong before. it's just... like, every time you see them both, something else happens, some kind of shiver down your spine like do you even hear each other when you talk. it's their strange, bickering orbit. just the way he's on his phone through dinner or watching sports instead of helping in the kitchen or, fuck, another one of these little throwaway comments he makes about we'll see about that, babe. she laughs when he calls her passions stupid shit and meanwhile she gets him tickets to see the knicks and he tells you well at least she's smart about something and still! it's none of your business.

you say get the dog anyway and she laughs. like, this is is you being funny. and not you saying - no really. get the dog. get the dog and get out of here. pack up and start running.

[the-raindeer-king]

You're well aware that your status as the only woman amongst the 141 gets you lots of stares. Plenty of people jeering with jealousy over one thing or another. You've learned to live with it. You've got bigger things to worry about.

But this was definitely a first.

You had been working on some documents, putting together some last minute intel, when your concentration was broken by giggling. Two of the recruits, whose names currently evade your mind, approach where you're sitting, giggling amongst themselves.

“Sargent, we were wondering if you could help us,” one of them, blonde, pipes up.

The other, brunette, giggles again, her cheeks flushed pink. “It's just a quick question, ma'am.”

You stare blankly at them. Don't they have better shit to do than bother you? You let out a loud sigh, annoyed. You certainly have better shit to do than entertain them. But you offer them a tight lipped smile anyway, and reply, “Sure, ask away.”

“How do you get any work done with Sargent MacTavish and Lieutenant Riley around?”

Another blank stare. How do you get work done around Ghost and Soap? You raise an eyebrow, waiting for them to elaborate.

“I mean, MacTavish is so charming -”

“And funny!”

“- and he's so handsome. And the Lieutenant is so mysterious under that mask. And his voice is so…” she trails off, her cheeks darker than before.

All you can think of is this morning, at breakfast, when Ghost forgot to take his mask off and tried to drink his tea, nearly waterboarding himself. And how, in response, Johnny laughed so hard he shot milk from his nose. So, at the moment, charming and mysterious are not words you would use to describe them.

Charming is a word strictly used to describe another member of your team. One with pretty brown eyes that shine like amber in the sunlight. One with a honeyed voice that makes you a little weak in the knees. One that these Privates are not asking about.

You blink, breaking yourself out of your thoughts. There must be a look on your face, because the rookies giggle like they've caught you red handed.

“You'll learn that all men are dogs,” you reply sternly. “No amount of pretty words is worth dying for.”

Hypocrite, you think. You'd throw yourself in the line of fire, if it meant hearing Gaz laugh. You'd dragged yourself out of the pits of hell, just for a chance to see him smile once more. Just to hear him call your name, always so fond when he does.

“Oh my god!” One of the girls squeals. “You've got a crush!”

“Is it MacTavish? Because he's so dreamy!” The other giggles.

Just your luck. These recruits think you've got a crush on the wrong guy, and knowing rookies, the rumor will be halfway through the base before dinner.

“Don't you ladies have better shit to do than bother my Sargent?” Ghost's voice cuts through their incessant questions.

Both girls squeak out a “Yes, Lieutenant,” before they're scrambling away. But you know the damage is done. Everyone's going to think you have a crush on Soap, of all people.

You glance up at Ghost, who's still watching the recruits run off. “So… how much of that did you hear?”

He snorts, something like amusement in his voice as he replies. “Enough, but I know you don't like Johnny. Have'ta be stupid not to see the way you look at Gaz.”

You feel your face immediately heat up. “Hey! It's not that obvious!” You argue, playfully punching Ghost's shoulder.

His eyes crinkle at the sides, your sign that he's smiling under the mask. His shoulders shake with silent laughter. “S’ that what you tell yourself? We've all seen the way you soften up around ‘im.”

You let out a sigh of defeat, knowing damn well there's no point arguing with him. But it's the next thing Ghost says, that makes your eyes widen and your jaw drop.

“He just needs to man up and ask you out. Tired o’ watching you two pine like school kids.”

[xo-codbby]

something about the big burly men of the 141 braiding their daughter's hair even if they have no idea what they're doing :")

price: "goddamn it, not again" lowkey getting very frustrated with himself because it wasn't turning out the way he wants it to be and he was ready to quit, to put a headband on and call it a day. but one look from her little face had him rewinding the video, sighing softly as he tried again. he's already run the brush through her hair gently for the umpteenth time, causing her to grumble and wanting to go play instead. but he holds her back carefully, determined to make her braids the prettiest anyone has ever seen. the hair band between his lips, brows furrowed looking to and fro from the video and then back at the hair between his hands

"just a second, honey" it's loose and he doesn't know how to tighten it but he's determined. absolutely nobody is moving an inch until he perfects that braid. his back is curved uncomfortably and he's definitely going to get neck pain from craning down to get the best access to her head but he does finally manage to get it accurate. it only took ages but he's very proud of himself :") takes a sweet little selfie with her in his arms to send to you and makes it his lockscreen. he mightve conquered many enemies but his biggest one till date was tackling his daughter's hair, all completely worth it for how happy she is

simon: "this bit.... goes underneath right? over the top, underneath the side, down back under.... piece of cake, sweetheart" simon is a dedicated man, his tongue peeking out from his lips as he tried his very hardest to memorise what he had learnt from a youtube video. his daughter sat between his thighs, his big fingers working her hair very delicately in order not to pull on any strands. he has the hair grips secured between his lips, eyes narrowed very carefully as he braids her hair trying to get all of the hair. he is a man on a mission and he will carry out the task to the best of his ability. the stares from his little girl didn't help either, was positive he felt sweat beading down his forehead and back. she really was his child with that judgemental look

"bloody hell, that took it out of me" he finally lets out a relieved sigh at his masterpiece, there might be a few strands sticking out and the braid might look a little lopsided but it's unique 🤭 he didn't even have time to grab his phone, to send you a picture only to have his daughter shake her head once, causing the braid to tumble down and his face like 👁👄👁

gaz: "keep your head straight okay, honey?" this mans should def open a hair place, he's already mastered the technique of braiding from his mum especially because his hair type is different and requires a certain amount of care. so he knows exactly how to braid, call it his secret talent ;) lowkey finds it therapeutic and will 100% decorates his girl's hair with different clips and grips, whatever her little heart desires. he loves brushing his fingers through her locks and he always manages to get the parting accurate on the first time. which saves a ton of tantrums on her end. absolutely gets matching braids with his girl, she gets to stick the cute little clips and he loves how happy she gets

"my beautiful girl" best believe he's whipping out the camera to take pictures of her hair and send it to you, marvelling at how gorgeous she looks. he's all smug when she wants to come to him for her hair but it definitely bites him back in the ass when he's half dressed needing to leave the house in five minutes to head to base. only to be tugged by his child by his wrist to have her hair braided in that specific way she loves and she's two seconds away from a meltdown

soap: "christ sake, why would they add so many pieces?" johnny definitely underestimated himself, he didn't mean to blow his own horn but now that he has, he doesn't not accept defeat easily at all. will memorise that youtube video back to front, his daughter seated in his lap both of the criss crossed as he works delicately. his face set intently, eyes slightly narrowed as he braids. he's confused by the movement but gets the hang of it after a while and then it's like second nature, he's so happy with himself.

"look at you, my little lass. such a beauty" his little girl perched in his lap as he tightens the braided pony tails, gushing at how cute she is and how perfect the braids he had done on her hair came out. will 100% parade her around so everyone can see how perfect his braids are but no touching his little girl or her hair at all, under any circumstances <3

[mrsmandalorian]

please please please

-- pedro pascal x singer! f!reader

a/n: hello loves! happy (belated by an hour but i promise it's worth it!) daddy's day to our daddy, pedrito! this is based on the song please please please by sabriana carpenter!! i was going to change the plot from the music video, but i rewatched it with pedro in mind and couldn't change it. these new pictures from the esquire shoot were some real inspriation for badboy! pedro for the music video. i highly suggest viewing the video before watching and imaging pedro in it for the whole pleasure of the story. i hope you all enjoy it! please please please (😘) leave a like or comment if you did! much love to all -maddie 🫶🏼

main masterlist/ nonsense / espresso / word count: 4.0k

summary: you and pedro are finally offical and it's time to hard launch your romance. what better way than to show off your fine ass man than a music video with you.

warnings: 18+ mdni, reader is able-bodied,established relationship, smut!!!, and fluff!, drinking, switch sex 🥵, p in v, fingering, oral ( f recieving), titty fuck, sexual teasing, pet names (mi amor, princesa, daddy, mommy, baby, baby girl, puppy, angel)

“That’s a wrap, Pedro! Nice work,” the director hollered from the camera to Pedro as he sat in a beach chair on a beautiful beach in Mexico. You watched as you stood with Coco, and he finished with whatever he had to work on. He approached you, embracing you sweetly and playfully talking to Coco. She tells you that she will catch up with you as soon as she walks off to clean up her station for the day. 

“You’re in a Corona commercial, P,” you beam up at Pedro as he meets your gaze. Your comment makes him grin wide as you do the same. His large hands grip your hips as he pulls in closer to his chest. Through the months, your connection has developed into a more substantial relationship than friends with benefits. 

“I am, princess,” he whispers down to you as he lets his lips gently press onto yours for a few seconds until he quickly pulls his body away. He gently squeezes your hip as he winks at you, “Let’s go get ready to hit the road,” he says as his thick fingers entangle among yours as he starts towards his trailer. 

You adored watching him interact with production staff as he is personable and appreciative to each one of them. The staff helps him prepare to leave, and his eyes keep finding yours throughout his conversations. Every glance sends butterflies through your whole body. 

Pedro had extended a special invitation for you to join him for the commercial shoot and spend two extra vacation days at a luxurious rental house he had arranged on the beach. The thought of the upcoming weekend, just the two of you, filled you with thrilling anticipation. It was a rare opportunity to get to know him better, away from the hustle and bustle of your jobs and others' presence. 

He finally finished up, changing his attire into his regular t-shirt and shorts and walking up with a warm smile. “Ready to go, princess?” he asks, giving you a hand to help you up from the couch in his trailer. You nod as you take his hand and follow him outside after saying short farewells. 

“What is the itinerary, honey?” you ask as he holds your door to the rental car. You settle inside the luxury car and glance at him with a questioning look. Watching him 

“I'm Going back to the bungalow to relax for a bit, and then I made a nice reservation for us for dinner,” he says with a broad smile and a wink as he closes the door. Once inside the car, you question him about the attire for dinner and where it is, but he stays silent and gives you no details besides “It’s a surprise, Princesa.” 

You roll your eyes at his refusal but start congratulating him on his shoot and hyping him up. His large hand does find its way over to your thigh as it plays the line of teasing. You watch it from the corner of your eye as you try to hide, biting your lip. 

Once at the rental home, he helps you inside with a big smirk. An extensive package on your shared bed from your stylist made you raise an eyebrow at Pedro, “What’s this all about, P?” 

The smirk on his face and hidden chuckles as he buried his face into your shoulder after he wrapped himself around from behind gave you a feeling that he was up to no good. His gentle grip on your hip gave you goosebumps as they slowly moved toward your chest, causing you to giggle. He unburies his head from your shoulder with a fake straight face, “As I said, it’s a surprise, and I asked your stylist to help me so you won’t have to stress. I am going to step out to go get dressed as well. Holler if you need any help,” he quickly professed as he pressed his lips to your head and gave your breast a gentle teasing squeeze. He runs out of the room with a loud, mischievous laugh. 

You shake your head as you stare down at the large package addressed to you. Once opened, you find a handwritten note from your sweet stylist saying they hope you have a great night without worrying about your outfit. They chose a beautiful outfit that fit your body wonderfully and made you feel confident. You are afraid it might be too much for whatever Pedro had been planning, but you felt better once he walked out in his dress pants and a nice top. 

“Holy shit, baby,” he exclaimed, exiting the bathroom while his eyes feasted on your whole body until they met yours, “you look ravishing.” As your cheeks heat up, you take in his appearance as well. You try to pinch yourself as you take him because you got so lucky with this man, and the same thoughts go through his head. Pedro walks closer to you and cups your face delicately as he leans in to give you a passionate kiss that takes your nerves away. 

Before you both get carried away with the kiss, you reach to give his bum a teasing squeeze that causes you both to smile through the kiss. He pulls away and gives you a dramatically surprised face before he busts out laughing, pecking your cheek. “Sorry, I couldn't resist. You look very handsome, honey. Now I’m interested in what you have planned for tonight,” you muttered as you tried to pry his plan out of him one last time. 

Pedro chuckles at your words as he fakes, zips his mouth shut, and throws it over his shoulder. This man could not be serious for two seconds sometimes. His actions and unseriousness always keep you smiling and laughing as you should be. 

Once you both finished getting ready, he took your hand, led you to the car, and opened your door. You couldn’t help but already fantasize about what would happen when the two of you would be back here a little later with a big smirk. The car ride to the restaurant was full of laughter and singing to the radio as you tried to calm your nerves. Pedro himself even seemed a bit nervous, which made you anxious. 

The restaurant was lovely, and you had heard great reviews of it. Pedro was very romantic as he helped you out of the car into the restaurant, where he pulled out his car. He was making a significant purpose to be a gentleman tonight and make you feel like royalty (as he should and usually does). It was your first time going to this lovely restaurant with Pedro by yourselves. You secretly snap a cute photo or two of him as he looks too good, not to which he does the same for you. You spend the whole dinner flirting and catching up with Pedro from work to learning new details about one another.

After dessert was served, you both relaxed a little bit more as the wine was soothing your nerves. He gently reached out his hand across the table for yours, which you happily gave him as you sweetly smiled at him. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he flirts with you and gives you a toothy grin. The wine makes your face light up more than you thought. 

“Just a few,” you joked as his thumb ran over your soft hand, “but keep doing it.”  

“I have something I want to talk about,” he shared as you see him chew at his lip in nervousness. Your eyes met as you nervously sat up straighter and anxiously thought of everything he could say. He gives your hand a light squeeze and a smile. ‘“It’s okay, princess. Nothing to worry about; I can see the thoughts spiraling through your cute head.” 

“Okay,” you mutter as you anxiously sit there, gripping his hand in a beautiful restaurant. “You have about two seconds before the panic attack.” You joke with him as he chuckles under his breath. 

“Well, I have been thinking recently how pleasurable and exciting our time together is always,” he speaks and holds eye contact, “I know we are pretty serious for one another, but.” He pauses, making you hold your breath until he speaks again. “I was wanting to ask you to be my girlfriend officially. Private or however you want it, I want you to be mine officially.” 

The rush of emotions that overcome you at his confession makes your heart swell with love. “Of course, P!” you reply quickly and louder than you thought. The grip on his hand squeezes tight from excitement. 

You started the relationship as a proximity friendship that blossomed into more than friends. Your feelings for one another are always out in the open, but making it official with each other felt more than extraordinary. 

The rest of your night was spent on a romantic walk down the beach, where Pedro had shot his commercial earlier in the day. You were touched because you had mentioned how you wondered how it looked when the sun was setting whenever you were there earlier. Pedro seemed a little more comfortable with a title to your relationship as he held your hand or kissed you more often than usual. You both were pleased as well. The night (and the rest of the weekend)  was complete with superb passionate and freaky sex, along with sweet memories that you will remember forever. 

The last three months have been the best for you and Pedro. You were both more comfortable with one another in every aspect of your relationship. Most of your friends were excited for you, while some were not.  You stood up to the negative ones for your relationship and tried to ignore what they said, but it was hard. Pedro always supported you and did the same for your relationship, but neither of you tried not to give the haters any attention unless they overstepped the line. 

After subtly posting and spending time in public with one another, both of your fanbases understood that you guys had finally made things official. Everyone, for the most part, loved the idea of you guys together. With much communication of boundaries and going more public with your relationship, Pedro knew not to let any of your issues into the light or make each other look bad, even if something happens in their lives. 

You were working on your new album, which you should release soon. It was time to let out a single to get your fans excited about the album. You had written your new single about your newly established relationship with Pedro. It was called “Please, Please, Please,” and you planned to launch your ties in the music video.

“So, it’s like a criminal mafia love story where they locked eyes in prison?” Pedro asks you as you talked over the phone a few days before your music video shoot. And there was no better explanation of the music video than that description. 

It was finally the day of the shoot, and you were more than excited to shoot it because it was quite a spicy video. Early in your career, you did take some action classes while you started your music career to help more in music videos to seem more natural. Now is the time for them to pay off because your fantastic partner in the video was Pedro, one of the most incredible actors in the modern era. 

Pedro and you both got into your first outfits in the shoot, which happened to be in the prison scenes today. You dressed in a sexy tight-fitting outfit, and he wore a darker fit to make him seem more mysterious and bad, mafia energy. You both complimented each other as you got into your positions. The scene only took three shots, and it was only because Pedro would get too flirty or you once forgot your lyrics from staring at him too long and giggling. 

“I think you chose these outfits to distract me, baby girl,” he whispers against your lips after finding each other between changing breaks. His statement was very true because you did get them to design these outfits just for him. His large hands pulled into him as he kissed you gently so as not to mess up your makeup.  

Through the final shots with the car outside the prison and inside, Pedro devised an idea to make his character a protective mafia husband where his wife runs the show, but he still gets in trouble. Little submissive Pedro came out through the day, which you both loved. He was like a lost puppy to you anyway, so it didn’t even act when he would open your door for you to drive or beg for your attention. 

His acting impressed you more with every scene, as you both got caught up in the moment. The final scene you two-shot was an initial one you had thoroughly planned. 

It was set at night with Pedro sitting in only a white shirt and slim trousers as someone held down the brake lights that shadowed your face. You sing as you make your way to him. You sway your hips to tease him and handcuff him, pulling out the duct tape. Placing a piece of tape on his lips, you gave him a quick kiss, which made him let out a verbal moan, which caused you to work the teasing aspect of your acting.

 The scene was probably the most passionate of the evening and only had to be shot twice. You felt that was all because of Pedro’s motivation to take all those teasing, sexy outfits off you all day. The director hollered ‘scene’ and walked over to Pedro as everyone worked around you, closing up shop for the end of the shoot. You smirked as you sat in his lap, wrapping your legs around him. You made sure that no one was paying attention as you kissed from his lips up to his ear. “You did so well today, puppy,” you whispered into his ear as you moved your hips against him, which made him moan lowly. 

You smirk as you gently get off of him, not without running your fingers through his hair and down your chest, which makes him throw back his head in desperation. You teasingly walk behind him and untape and uncuff him. Pedro groans to you and meets your eyes with his dark eyes, begging you to meet him in the dressing room. 

Both of you completed the necessary actions to complete the day. You quickly went to your dressing room, removed your jewelry, and waited for Pedro to change your outfit. 

Less than five minutes later, the door opens quickly, and you are met with the brown curls of your lover. “Hello, baby,” he greeted you, quickly pulling you into your chest. He gives you a passionate kiss as his wandering hands work against your outfit and body. “You look so fucking sexy. I think I’ll worship you all night after today,” he practically begged you. 

The moment you are changed from light making out to getting on top of Pedro, you take control of it. You both lay on the nice-sized couch inside your dressing room as you run your hands under his shirt and rock your hips. As you rub yourself against him, you feel his hardening member. He lets out a groan as he holds onto your hips to support you, letting you take control, and he loves it. 

“Fuck, puppy. You were so fucking fine today,” you moan against his lips as you run your hands through his hair. “You deserve many rewards for being a good boy today,” you praise him as you grind against his hard-on. 

The passion and love that you both feel for each other come out whenever you start to get sexual. He gives you many praises and complaints even if you were in control because you smite him. “I believe you need a lot of praise too, miss,” he desperately lets out as his hands roam their way down to your ass which he gives a nice squeeze. 

“Oh really?” you ask as you raise your eyebrow and lick your lips at him. You give a little bit of your control as you let him flip you over. He runs his hands down your thighs and lifts your dress to go over your ass. 

“Were you not wearing underwear the whole day, baby?” He asks with a raised eyebrow as a stern, jealous voice emerges. You let out a giggle and bite your lip, challenging him. 

“And what if I was, puppy?” You teasingly ask as you spread your legs apart in front of his face and gently smack his hands as they try to touch you. You silently think of a plan that makes you grab your props from the little clutch you had earlier. You pull out the handcuffs with an evil laugh, cuffing Pedro’s hands together. “I dare you to try to eat me out with no hands. All that beautiful tongue has to do the work.” 

He took the challenge very, very seriously. His tongue worked vigorously against your slit as you let out sweet moans. You ran your fingers through his curls and spread your legs around his face, resting your legs on his broad shoulders. 

The feeling of his tongue was overwhelming you in pleasure as the sensitivity of your clit was tested by him. The scruff on his face was tickling you in the best way possible. He continues to feast on you like he had been thinking about all day. 

“Stop, puppy,��� you whined as you almost could see white, but you weren't ready yet. He immediately pulls away from you as you say something. “ lay back on your back, honey,” you order with a proud smirk. You pull the rest of your outfit off as you sit naked in front of him. His eyes wouldn't move off your beautiful body, almost drooling and pre-cum leaking from his imagination running wild. 

He does as he’s told and lays on his back. “Good, puppy,” you say as you reach down to his pants. You make eye contact and ask for consent non-verbal as you motion to his pants. He groans and says, “God, yes, please.” 

You indulge and pull his pants off as his giant hardened cock hits against his stomach with a whimper. You run your hands up leg and to his upper thigh as he lets out another desperate moan and throws his head back. 

Teasingly, you spit into your hand and play with your breast as you let out a whimper from the pleasure you gave yourself. You hear him trying to calm his breath as he watches you proudly, but frustrated that it’s not him touching your beautiful body. Feeling tortured but so horny to watch you worship yourself. 

After lubing up your breast enough, you run your fingers around his thick cock and moisten it up as well. You work his cock a little to get him more desperate for you. He lets out all kinds of moans and whimpers for you as you do. You glide his cock in between your breast as you hold them together. 

“Fuck, mommy,” he lets out loudly from the contact of your soft breast. You can feel him try to thrust against your delicate skin which makes you smirk harder, but you don’t punish him. He has worked hard enough for this today. You work your tits against his shaft as he turns into putty against them with whimpers of pleasure. 

“Such a good boy,” you whisper and watch him become pleased.  “You can come on my tits, baby,” you allow him as it doesn’t take long for him to thrust along with your motion until he turns into a moaning mess and squirts himself all over your breast and some hitting your face. You let out a fun giggle as he checks on you which you learn up and kiss him. 

The kiss was very steamy as you were ready to feel his hands on your body again. Quickly finding the key to the cuffs, you unlocked your toy from his restraints. His hands hovered above your hips as he frantically locked eyes with you. “May I kiss and touch you, miss?” he asks and you gave him a wicked grin. 

“You’re going to have to beg a little more than that, baby” yous state with a firm voice. 

“Please, please, please, miss, may I have permission to touch and love on your beautiful body?” he pleads with hopeful eyes, to which you give him a big smirk and nod your head yes. 

“Yes you may,” His hands were on you so quick as he gripped your hips. His wandering hands worshipped you as they gently caressed your breast. You let out a sharp moan from the contact especially as his lips met your nipples. “I want you to fuck me, puppy,” you deserpately let out as your pussy was begging for more contact from him. 

He gives you a smirk and nods his head, gripping onto your hips. You position yourself on your knees for him to hit it from the back doggy style. Pedro was quickly ready again to perform to pleasure you. He lines himself up to your slick slit and gently inserts his large cock into you while you both let out a sound of pleasure. “So fucking fit, miss,” he lets out and runs his hands down your ass to where your back arches which cause goosebumps down your back. 

“You fill me up so nicely, puppy,” you compliment him as he starts to thrust into you. The rhythm of your hips grind against one another so swiftly and passionately. The sound of your pleasure sounds the whole room from your bodies to the sounds coming from your mouths. Pedro was loosing control of himself as his thick fingers found their way to stimaute your clit as his thrust became rougher. “Fuck, baby, I’m going to cum soon,” you barely let out between your moans. 

“Youre so fucking sexy,” he grunts out as he takes you in like this as he tries to give you a pleasurable release. He works his magic as you throw your head forward and let him have full control of your body as he continues to fuck you. 

Soon, you both are trying to catch your breath from the intensity of your releases. “That was incredible, baby girl,” he says as he quickly gets up to find something to clean each other off. You agree and shower together, not without giving him plenty of kisses and praises. Between the video shoot and the intensity of the aftermath, once you guys made it back to Pedro’s house that night. You both found yourself passed out earlier than normal and late to rise the next morning. 

The music video came out a few weeks after being edited, giving you and Pedro plenty of time to prepare for your relationship to go public. 

The internet nearly broke once it was released. You were very proud of your work but relieved to have your relationship out in the open. Pedro posted on his Instagram a post about the video with a few behind-the-scenes photos and the caption “ Hard Launch,” which had a two-way meaning. 

Sharing some behind-the-scenes photos from the shoot and relationship to promote the video and your relationship was bittersweet, including a few candid photos of Pedro from your trip to Mexico. You could freely share a good fan edit of Pedro like you had always wished. 

You knew Pedro wouldn’t intentionally embarras or hurt you, but you had to remind him just in case. 

thank you so much for reading! dividers and mood board by myself!

[thatbitchery]

Unlearn the dumb idea that inflicted pain justifies your reaction to it. It doesn't. Ladies elite women make it because we have a level of stoicism that borders on sociopathic apathy, exhibit A: we don't react to triggers we mimosa, sleep, see if it's worth it then logically make decisions. The idea that when someone does you dirty you have the right to react based on emotions so you're angry mad throwing names & hands sending texts talking sheet & other loser girl things is dumb dumb. You're not justified to react. 'They did me wrong' . So? Sit down, watch Netflix, wait for the emotions to pass then use the head God so generously gave you + that pretty face bonus.

When you react to people doing you wrong you give them the permission to bypass their actions & focus on your reaction so if your bf cheats on you & you start screaming sending 1b texts making titktoks he can bypass his cheating & focus on you're immature you're abusive why did you hit me you're mentally unstable you throw things around bla bla & will never face what he did. When we say be non reactive we aren't asking you to be a stone we are asking you to be smart. Do you want to get manipulated? Abused? Sit down get a manicure & go for brunch. Run to your room scream cry anhiliate your pillow but when they're watching its Elsa Lite, froooozen ice queen don't let them in don't let them see, ever.

One tactic m3n use in divorce court is to get the lady so triggered she loses her cool then it's look at her could you live with that? I'm taking my child this is an abusive woman & men don't leave relationships they just trigger you into irrational behavior and use that as an excuse & crying is worse what did we say about public vulnerability? Go cry to your bestie and God in your house out here tears are a sign to bully you. When you're not reactive you throw THEM out of balance and you hold the cards, once you go 'right to my opinion I'm the victim' we'll find you a grave bc that's called social suicideeee.

Two friends. Real life story here, ladies. Ah high-school back in the good old days.

We call them Allie and Sara. High school circles were tight so you're friends with someone you're also friends with their bfs, right? Alice & Sara both got cheated on (by m3n looking like area 9 failed experiment Shrek cosplayers but that's not thepoint). The bfs know that they were discovered. Allie, Allie is that girl. Drama girl. Find him in cafeteria & make a scene girl. How could you cheat on me you suck your pp is short anyway bla bla watch me devalue myself. Allie feels good in the moment, her bf leaves and tell his friends of course i cheated that girl is crazy. Would you date someone like her? So immature. Women are so ovarical I can't handle it. Evening the story is- she was abusive. She hit him & threw words in public imagine in private? He's been protecting her in silence, you know women can be abusive too.

Sara, Sara my love. Sara sits next to her Shrek Lite boy and says hey so that girl you kissed, Jane was it? She's pretty. You have taste. End of story. After lunch her Human experiment failure boy says let's talk she says sure abd listens with 'mhm' and nods. She meant nothing babe she seduced me I'm an adolescent what can I do bla bla. She nods says okay and goes to class. Days goes as usual. Evening we get dinner , Weekend we do research for our papers & talk college. Is she talking to him? Yes. Painfully polite, painfully. No emojis no nothing just shallow dry polite texts. Let's talk about this babe- is left on blue ticks. Monday morning her factory reject lookalike is losing his mind, she's being painfully polite, in a shallow way, so he resorts to triggering. It's because you're like this you are like a man and I'm straight I need a woman bla bla. She says OK then turns to the next person & did you hear about the trip to the beach? Of course I'm going. Boy realizes that's not working & resorts to Allie behavior- throw a tantrum in public make yourself the victim why won't you give me the pleasure of being the one to push you to your edge? Sara says babe pull yourself together you're embarrassing your family. Do you need your anxiety meds? My therapist is good she can treat hysteria are you okay? No this isn't like you, this is hysteria babe do you need psychological help? No this isn't normal , hey do you guys think it's normal to do this? I'm calling your mom babe we are getting you a mental check hold up-

Heres a little secret. In private? In our dorms? Sara was BAWLING her eyes out. Chocolates & Styrofoam cups. We are talking 3am on the bathroom floor. In public?

Guess who won.

Unlearn the idea that you're entitled to reacting to others actions to you, you're not. Learn to hold your tongue and tears and smile and Elsa don't let then in don't let them see then call mom and spend the rest of the week in her arms crying. The amount of women I've seen triggered out of their jobs, marriages, houses, parenting &c when they were 10000% the victim from lack of emotional intelligence is unforgivable.

Dont, be dumb. Don't let yourself think you have the freedom of expression, you don't. Not in the way you want to. Go write a poem but remember everything you say can and will, in fact, be used against you.

Non reaction is the highest level of power in existence. Mind over body. Logic over emotion.

[majinbangus]

I saw this on ig and all I can think about is how undeniably this is soap

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C_vTWFlMxuI/?igsh=MW84M2Z2NmJweWhrNA==

I beg you to write smth based on this video 🙏

loosely based on the video, but no horsies, sorry

It's cute that you think you're slick, but he's a sniper for a reason.

They're at a park, attending a ceremony for something, it's not really important, but Soap and Gaz's presence was 'required' because the host needed the two sergeants- among a few others- there. Lucky Ghost and Price got out of it under the excuse that they had other responsibilities they needed to attend to because of their higher ranks. Soap and Gaz knows that's bullshit. The two pulled strings so that they wouldn't have to be here.

Bastards.

"Fucking hell," Gaz groans, pulling at the collar of his dress uniform. "How long do we have to be here again?"

"Another hour." Soap rolls his eyes. "At least the dobber finally stopped talkin'."

"Think the captain would be upset if we came back early?" Gaz asks rhetorically. They both know they'd get in trouble if they skipped, even though it's just the reception now. He scans the crowd, lips curving up at the demographic. "Lots of civvies here."

A lot of women, is what he's really pointing out.

Soap smirks. "Oh, aye? Noticed that too, did you?"

"Hard not to." Gaz shares a similarly smug look. His eyes sweep over to the side of Soap. "Looks like you have an admirer."

He knows. Soap clocked you the instant you entered his peripheral vision. "Bonnie lass that's been trying to get a picture of me? Using her friend to get the shot?"

Gaz chuckles, confirming, "That's the one."

He grins. "Watch this."

Gaz hangs back as he quietly strolls up behind you, keeping his gait casual. Your friend suspects nothing, and you're still adorably ignorant. It's only when he's right behind you, does he look at the phone, winking, and give you a light tap to your mid back. The cutest little squeal slips out of you, nearly jumping in the air.

"What-?" You turn around and freeze when you see that it's him. A sheepish laugh escapes you. "Oh. Hi... Officer?"

"Sergeant John MacTavish." Soap offers a hand, a lopsided smile on his face. "You know, if you wanted a picture, you could have asked."

You take his hand with an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry, Sergeant, I uh... thought you were cute..?" As soon as the sentence leaves you, your hand tenses in his, and you do your best to avoid looking at him, finding the sky suddenly very interesting. Behind you, your friend facepalms. "I, I mean-"

"You like a man in uniform is what you're sayin'?" Soap gently tugs you a little closer, holding in a chuckle when you gasp, placing a palm on his chest.

You gulp, but don't remove your hand from his chest. "Uh... yes?"

"Are you askin' me or tellin' me?" Soap puts on his sergeant voice, the one that gets subordinates sweating.

It works with you, too, though he thinks you're sweating in a different way. "T-telling." You bite your lip and tack on, "Sergeant."

He likes how it sounds coming from you.

"Atta girl," Soap praises, relishing your shy squeak, and maneuvers you so you're facing your friend again. He throws an arm around your shoulder, tucking you close to his side. "Now how 'bout that picture?"

And if he and Gaz happen to leave early on a double date with you and your friend, well, it would be worth the trouble they get in with Price.

[doberbutts]

I can't understand the idea that someone outside of an oppressed group cannot be victims of violence towards that oppressed group. That anon you deleted, the one who got mad and went "so cis people can experience transphobia!?!" Have you not read the news lately? What? What is happening to Imane Khalif right now? When you are past some arbitrary "acceptable range" of looks, behavior, etc., you become a target. As a cis woman who grew up in a conservative area, having "boyish interests" was enough for me to be subject to slurs and abuse. And it stuck around past that, because I have a small chest and broad shoulders, a long face. Whatever. Systems of oppression effect everyone under them because they all rely on "passing". You are required to reach a bar and to look and perform in certain ways and that bar is ever changing.

Well, that's why when someone was in my replies being upset that I asked how Khelif could be considered TME when transmisogyny was actively happening to her, one of the things I responded to said person was:

I don't understand how discussion the widespread effect of a systemic form of oppression and how it affects other things or is used as a weapon in other things, at all damages or erases the conversation that said systemic form of oppression is a problem. If anything, it's spreading further awareness.

I understand if the concern is that not enough people are caring about the trans women to whom transmisogyny happens on a regular basis, and are instead only ever caring about non trans fems and their relationship with being on the receiving end of transmisogyny. That is a problem, and it's one that does need to be talked about more often.

However I don't think any other form of oppression is specifically locked to only the people who identify as that oppressed demographic. Men experience misogyny. White people experience racism. Abled people experience ableism. "You throw like a girl" "you're not my daughter if you marry that black man" "what are you, deaf?" these are all things that are experienced by the "wrong" demographic, because in truth? The demographic doesn't matter.

These are systems we're talking about- the system of misogyny is what leads boys who fail to be masculine enough to be compared to girls as a way to state they are inferior, because the point is that with the system of misogyny, girls are inherently inferior to boys. Therefore, calling a boy a girl is calling him weaker, lesser, and not good enough.

The system of racism is what leads white parents to disown their children if their children date outside of their race. The point is that under the system of racism, interracial dating is seen as an aberration, and these racist parents then reject their own children for daring to love someone who is not white.

The system of ableism is what leads people to make comparisons to disability when bringing up someone's shortcomings. Disabled people are largely seen as failures in abled society, so by pointing to disability whenever faced with what is perceived as inadequacy, the system of ableism operates to continue to associate being disabled with worthlessness, and being abled with having worth.

Hell, it was not that long ago that "gay" and "retarded" were used as synonyms for "bad" and "stupid". Some people still use these words that way. It was a fucking Rick and Morty joke a few years ago, this isn't ancient history.

So when I'm told that I don't experience a system of oppression based solely on my labeled demographic and not on my actual lived experience, my immediate first thought is "that's not how systems of oppression work, literally everyone experiences these things in different ways, because that's what is meant when we call something systemic, it means the entire fucking system is built around this as a crux of logic"

Which is very weird to me then when someone tells me that by saying Khelif is/was experiencing transmisogyny, I'm erasing trans women. How? I genuinely don't understand how that's possible when I'm saying that the explicit hatred and fear of the trans woman boogeyman is what led us here in the first place. I am saying "this comes directly from people pushing transmisogynistic rulings for years and was always going to be the end result when they finally excluded all the actual trans women". I'm saying "it was bad logic when applied to trans women and it's bad logic even now, being applied to a [self-identified] perisex cisgender 'biological' woman and we should have put our foot down about it years ago when trans women and intersex women were actually competing".

Transmisogyny is a system of oppression. The system is functioning normally even when it fires at targets it's "not supposed to". That's what happens under systemic oppression. That's a feature, not a bug.

[leejenowrld]

hello there!!! im not sure if you do this kind of ask, but you seem to have a good understanding of what jeno is like as a person (as much as a fan would be able to know!) so i was curious to know what you think jeno falling in love and dating would look like in reality!!! where/how he'd meet her, the things he'll (sub)consciously do when he likes her/realises he likes her, how he'd confess, what he'd be like as a boyfriend and what their rs will look like in the honeymoon phase and even after.

hey! thank you so much. i just want to preface by saying that even though i love jeno and he’s probably the only idol i truly care about, i don’t know him or what he’s really like, and i never will. everything i write is just based on ideas, fantasies, and my own portrayals of him. it’s all in good fun and shouldn’t be taken seriously! <3 (i know you touched on this in your ask, but i just wanted to say it myself as well). that being said, i’m excited to dive into this! i base jeno off my own boyfriend and our relationship in a lot of ways (that’s why i find writing jeno easy, the jeno you see in my fics is a exact copy of how my man is and how he is to me) so it’ll be personal and, as always, focused on how i want to portray him. this is going to be long, detailed, and maybe a bit scattered—that’s just how i am when talking about jeno :)

the way i picture jeno, he needs to have a solid foundation and friendship with the person before he fully commits and falls in love, sure, he has tendencies to fuck around and have mindless sex but when he meets you? it’s like everything clicks into place. you’re different, and he knows it right away. he’s not used to feeling like this, so he treads carefully. no rushing, no overwhelming you with his feelings. instead, he takes his time, building that connection slowly, making sure there’s something real between you. it’s never about the chase for him—it’s about finding something worth staying for. you're gonna see the perfect balance between someone who's possessive but also fucking sweet and gentle at the same time. he applies the right amount of pressure (hehe like how he does during sex) and flirting to the point where it can never feel like he's doing too much. his timing is just always immaculate.

the moment he realizes he wants you, it’s like flipping a switch. he feels the intense emotional and sexual chemistry from the start, something warm and magnetic, but you don’t yet. you’re still timid, unsure of what this pull is, and he loves that. every word, every glance, every touch from him is intentional, smooth in a way that’s almost effortless. it’s the way his fingers casually brush against yours, the way his voice dips low when he teases you, and how his eyes linger on you just a little too long, sending a jolt through you each time. he never overdoes it, keeping you right on the edge with the perfect balance of possessiveness and sweetness. the smiles and the eye contact from across the room, the soft touches on your lower back, his breath warm against your ear when he whispers—it all builds this palpable tension, electric yet controlled. he flirts just enough to make you blush, to make your pulse race, but never so much that you feel overwhelmed. he’s patient, knowing exactly when to push, applying just the right amount of pressure, making it impossible for you not to think about him. before you even realize it, you’re hooked, falling for him harder with each teasing glance, each deliberate move, wondering how he manages to unravel you so effortlessly while keeping you wanting more.

the thing about jeno is that he’s intense mixed with possessiveness (the hot kind). in your eyes you’re his, his girl, the one he’s fully committed too. this is before you even realise this. it’s not difficult for jeno to want to commit, that’s the thing, even if he’s used to the lifestyle of moving from bed to bed and not being tied down by a single woman, it doesn’t mean that he’s a jerk or a bad person, therefore doesn’t mean that it’s difficult for him to use his entire energy and commitment to that one person who he believes he really has a future with. when he realises “yeah, i want you, i see myself marrying you” phew the way his priorities shift into one direction and the way the lover boy comes out of him

but at the end of the day he stays respectful and he’ll always put your priorities first. if you say you want him to stop? he will, no questions asked. he’ll be upset about it but he puts your wishes before what he wants. he’s incredibly patient, especially if you’re shy or hesitant at first. he’s not in a rush to push you into anything, but he’s not holding back either. you notice how his intensity builds over time. it’s gradual, but it’s unmistakable. you might try to keep your guard up, unsure of how to handle someone like jeno being so into you. but he’s got that way about him—gentle and understanding, but persistent. he’s so genuine that you can’t help but let your defenses fall, bit by bit. and when you do? that’s when everything shifts.

once you fall, you fall hard, just like he did. suddenly, it’s not just him making the moves—you’re meeting his intensity with your own. there’s this undeniable chemistry between you, and it’s like fireworks going off. you spend hours together, talking about everything and nothing, getting closer with every passing day. the emotional connection grows deeper, and before you know it, you’re as down bad as he is.

the shift into something physical is just as natural. one minute, you’re out with jeno on one of those ‘not-a-date’ dates, sharing casual glances and smiles, and the next, the tension between you has reached its breaking point. he’s got you pressed against the wall, his lips on yours, hands gripping your waist with just enough force to remind you who’s in control. it’s like all the flirting, the teasing, the playful touches were leading up to this. and when you finally give in to the pull between you, it’s intense.

jeno’s the type who knows exactly how to take charge in bed. there’s no hesitation in the way he touches you, no second-guessing. when he’s got you where he wants you, he’s hard, dominant, and rough in all the best ways. he knows how to push you to your limits, how to make you feel completely at his mercy, but there’s always that underlying sweetness, that care in the way he makes sure you’re enjoying every second. his hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, pulling you closer, fingers digging into your skin just enough to leave a reminder of what he’s doing to you.

he’s vocal too, not afraid to let you know exactly what you’re doing to him, how good you feel, how much he’s wanted this. you feel it in every thrust, every grip, the way his breath hitches when you moan his name. he’s rough, but it’s controlled. he knows when to hold back, when to go harder, when to whisper dirty things in your ear just to hear you gasp. it’s like he knows your body better than you do, every touch, every move, calculated to drive you wild.

and the sex? it’s not just a physical thing. jeno makes it feel like more. there’s this connection, this intensity that goes beyond just bodies colliding. it’s the way he looks at you, his eyes dark and focused, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him in that moment. even when he’s rough, there’s this underlying affection that makes you feel completely safe, like he’s never going to let anything bad happen to you. his dominance isn’t about control—it’s about trust.

afterward, the dynamic between you shifts even more. you’re not just spending time together; you’re practically inseparable. the emotional intimacy is just as intense as the physical. you talk for hours, confide in each other about things you’ve never shared with anyone else. and then, when the time comes to get physical again, it’s like you can’t keep your hands off each other. the dates blend into nights spent tangled up in each other, the connection between you getting stronger with every passing day.

jeno, as a boyfriend, is the perfect mix of sweet and possessive. he’s always got his arm around you, always making sure you know you’re his. but he’s not overbearing. there’s no jealousy or insecurity, just a quiet, steady confidence that comes from knowing you’re as into him as he is into you. he doesn’t have to say it, but you can tell by the way he looks at you, the way he touches you in public, how much he cares.

he’s constantly whispering “mine mine mine mine mine” against your skin during sex. because you are his, and he’s yours. you’re his person and he’s your person, it’s a tie that’s deeper than the runes of the earth. tbh people assume that he’s the possessive one in the relationship but surprisingly… it’s you :) that’s where i’m gonna leave you with that one. jeno will definitely do anything you ask him to do. there’s no limit in his mind when it comes to you.

and it’s not just about the sex or the intense chemistry. jeno is there for you in every way that matters. he listens, he supports, he’s the first person you want to talk to when something happens, good or bad. he’s protective, but not in a way that makes you feel suffocated. he respects your independence, but you know he’ll be there the second you need him.

as time goes on, the relationship doesn’t lose its intensity. if anything, it deepens. you both settle into this rhythm, where the emotional and physical intimacy are perfectly balanced. even after the honeymoon phase, things between you stay exciting, because jeno is always finding new ways to keep you on your toes. one day he’s surprising you with a thoughtful gift, the next he’s pulling you into a heated kiss in the middle of a crowded room, making you forget everything except him.

in essence, jeno’s love is consuming, but in the best way. he’s the kind of person who, once he decides you’re the one, will give you all of him—his attention, his loyalty, his affection. he’s possessive, but in a way that makes you feel cherished. and once the two of you fall for each other, there’s no going back. it’s all in, both emotionally and physically, and the intensity between you never fades.

[libraryofgage]

Life in Miniature (One)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedediah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One (you're here!)

There will be more Jedtavius in the next parts I promise, I just thought this would be a funner introduction to the AU lmao

I just love those little guy dudes from the museum so much hfjdks and now we get two pairs of them

Also, fun fact, I took Steve's Roman name from, like, an actual king of Rome. The actual sixth king. He seemed like a chill dude.

Anyway, there's a meme at the end and as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

---------

When Robin took this job as a night guard, she didn't think the previous guard's words about history coming to life at night was, you know, real. She thought it was a joke, a predictable and corny joke, but a joke nonetheless.

But now, after being chased by a T-Rex, getting saved by Theodore Roosevelt, and almost being taken captive by fucking Attila the Hun, Robin thinks this job definitely isn't worth $16.50 an hour. Then again, this is the best paying job she's had in a while, and she was living a nocturnal life anyway.

Robin groans, leaning against a wall in the diorama exhibit, and slides down to the floor. She lets her head fall back against the wall, her eyes slipping shut as she slides. "This is crazy. This is insane. I need to find a fucking weapon or something," she mutters.

"Pardon me," comes a voice close to her head, "but might you be the goddess Diana?"

As pick-up lines go, it's not the worst one she's heard. And, based on what she knows of Greek and Roman deities, it wouldn't be too far off. Still, she does not want to be hit on by whatever weird historical thing is trying to flirt with her.

Robin takes a deep breath, opens her eyes, and says, "Do I look like a goddess to you?"

She looks to her left where the voice came from, blinking when her gaze falls on a figurine that would barely reach her ankle. He's dressed in a toga with a chest plate, wrist guards, a sword on his waist, and a deep purple cape over his shoulders. His hair is, honestly, the most impressive thing Robin has ever seen, made only more impressive by the golden laurels resting perfectly against his temples.

He's looking at her with wide eyes, more awed than anything else. "Yes," he says. "I have heard the gods are larger than life."

Okay. Fair.

"Why Diana, man?" Robin asks.

He tilts his head, studying her for a moment, looking her up and down. "You give me the same feeling as statues of Noble Diana with her Huntresses," he explains, pausing for a moment before adding, "A feeling of kinship, perhaps?"

Oh. This...this is like ancient Roman gaydar, right? Robin snorts and turns, resting her elbow on her knee. "I'm definitely not Diana. My name is Robin. I'm the new night guard."

His eyes brighten some, his smile growing wider and certainly charming enough to make the hearts of a few girls and guys flutter. "I am Servius Tullius, Sixth King of Rome, son of Vulcan, weapons master of the gods, and adopted son of Jedediah, Cowboy King of the Wild West, and Octavius, general of the Roman army."

Robin nods, letting all of the those words process in her head before saying, "Mind if I call you Steve? You look like a Steve."

The Sixth King of Rome blinks, looking slightly confused before his eyes light up with understanding. "Ah! A nickname! Yes, I am familiar with this concept. You may call me Steve, Lady Robin, as a show of our newfound friendship."

"Yeah, don't call me Lady Robin. Just Robin is fine," she says, hesitating before offering her hand to Steve.

"As you wish, Just Robin," he says, stepping carefully onto her hand and remaining steady as she raises him higher.

Robin blinks, frowning slightly and about to correct him again when she sees his smile and realizes it's a joke. "Okay, very funny, dingus," she says, carefully poking his side.

"Is dingus another nickname? It sounds like an insult."

"It usually is, but it's affectionate when I say it."

"Oh! Yes, like when Ockie calls Jed a philistine."

"Uh, sure," Robin says, nodding once as she lets Steve move to stand on her shoulder. He quickly sits, holding onto the collar of her jacket as she carefully stands up. "Hey, you know what I'm supposed to do about the dinosaur bones?"

"Rexy? Yes, he enjoys a game of fetch."

"Fetch. Of course."

----------

"What's going on in that head of yours, little man?"

Steve blinks, looks over at Jedediah, and raises an eyebrow at him. "I'm taller than you," he says, gesturing to the good inch he has on Jedediah.

"As long as you're my son, you're a little man."

Doing his best to not laugh, Steve nods once and points to the new diorama set up in the middle of the room. It's a circular diorama, centered on an equally circular stage divided into sections. A cacophony of noise echoes from it, clashing as each slice of the stage fights for dominance. "I'm trying to figure out what in Jupiter's name they're doing over there," he says.

"Well, most of it sounds like music," Jedediah says, "I think."

"It's not any music I've heard before," Octavius says, coming to a stop next to Jedediah and frowning at the diorama. "I would have assumed it the unholy shrieking of the damned."

"Perhaps it would be nicer if they weren't all playing at once," Steve suggests, hands on his hips as he tilts his head.

"Oh, boy, there it is," Jedediah says, his grin audible in his tone. "He's got the King Face."

"What are your intentions, my boy?" Octavius asks.

Before Steve can answer, Robin strolls into the room, grinning when she sees the raving diorama in the middle. She walks over to Steve, Jedediah, and Octavius, crouches down, and says, "Hey, guys. I see you're checking out the History of Rock display."

"History of Rock?" Steve asks.

"What in the sweet hell do rocks have to do with that mess?" Jedediah asks, gesturing to the noisy stage.

Robin rolls her eyes. "No, like, rock music. It's a genre. Anyway, it was sponsored by some musician, so it's a permanent display now."

"And they will be...playing every night?" Octavius asks.

"Probably."

Steve frowns a little more and nods, rolling his shoulders back. "If they are a permanent fixture in our hallowed hall, they must be welcomed. As Sixth King of Rome, this duty falls upon my shoulders. Fathers, I shall return shortly."

"Woah, woah, hold your horses there, little man," Jedediah says, moving to stand in front of Steve. "You're not going anywhere near that snake pit without some back up."

"A few centurions, at least," Octavius agrees.

"I will have Robin. What better protection is there?"

Jedediah and Octavius glance at each other before looking at Robin. She grins and offers them a two finger salute. "I'll guard him with my life," she says, "It's literally my job."

With that reassurance, Jedediah and Octavius move out of the way. Steve steps onto Robin's hand and settles on her shoulder with practiced ease, ignoring the nervous flutter in his stomach at greeting the new museum residents. He hopes they'll get along, but he also knows the might of his Roman army and the railroad workers can crush any who stand in their way.

Robin stops next to the diorama, tilting her head as she studies it. This close, Steve can see the bands playing on each slice of stage, the instruments and fashion shifting as his gaze travels around it. "Uh, excuse me," Robin says, raising her voice.

The raucous noise from the diorama screeches to a halt, the feedback making Robin and Steve grimace slightly. "Uh, hi. We're the official welcome crew for the Hall of Miniatures here. So, I'll need someone to represent your, like, whole display," Robin says, glancing over the bands until she finds one she recognizes. "Okay, I know you guys, so I'll be designating you the spokesband. Now, could the lead singer step forward?"

Steve watches as someone on the "Corroded Coffin" (what an odd name for a band) slice of the stage steps forward. Robin offers her hand to them, carefully lifting it away once they step on. "Great, uh, carry on, I guess. But, like, maybe play some of your quieter stuff for a bit," she says, her words barely out before the music starts up and the crowds start screaming once more.

She sighs and just walks over to the bench, letting off the person on her hand before letting Steve slide down her arm in a move they spent nearly three weeks practicing if only because they knew it would look cool.

When he hops onto the bench, Steve walks up to the other miniature, a man his age with long hair and odd clothes with tears that Robin once said were fashionable. His instrument is still slung over his shoulders, resting casually against his hips much like Steve's sword. Steve suddenly finds himself thinking that the man looks a little like a warrior. An odd one, to be sure, but a handsome one nonetheless.

He flashes his most charming smile, lets his shoulders relax, and says, "My friend here is Robin, Guardian of Brooklyn. I am Servius Tullius, Sixth King of Rome, son of Vulcan, weapons master of the gods, and adopted son of Jedediah, Cowboy King of the Wild West, and Octavius, general of the Roman army. You, however, may call me Steve."

-----

As far as Eddie was concerned, nothing mattered so long as Corroded Coffin got to keep rocking in an endless concert. The energy never waned, the set list never grew boring, and the music never stopped. He was ready to inform this welcoming crew of just that and promise Hell on Earth if they tried to disrupt the music (angry concert goers are a force of nature), when the words just died in his throat.

Because the most gorgeous man he's ever seen slides down that giant lady's arm, easily and smoothly landing on the bench. Somehow, his hair is perfectly windswept, the golden laurels glinting in the lights above them. His purple cape flutters softly as he walks closer, his toned thighs on full display with the toga hem that falls to the middle of them. There's a sword on the guy's hip, a chest plate that Eddie wants to pull off, a smile he wants to taste, and a pair of freckles right next to each other on the guy's cheek he wants to drag his tongue across.

He misses most of the introduction because he's too busy staring. He gets the important bits, though: Robin, a king, son of a god, adopted son of two dads. Eddie licks his lips nervously, a grin of his own tugging at his lips as he steps forward and playfully bows. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty," he says.

It's supposed to come out joking, a little poke at the guy's authority to see if he can be riled up. It actually comes out way too genuine, and Eddie has a sudden realization that he meant it. He absolutely will accept this guy as his king, actually. He'll fall to his knees before him right now if asked, and not just because it might give him a little peek under the dude's toga.

"Please, just call me Steve. There's no need to be so formal."

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, hoping Steve doesn't realize that the things Eddie is thinking about (the things he wants to do to and with Steve) are just about the least formal things on this earth. "Good to know," he says, relieved his voice sounds normal as he stands up straight and offers his hand. "Name's Eddie Munson, uh, lead singer of Corroded Coffin."

Steve blinks, and his smile becomes a bit more genuine as he steps closer and clasps Eddie's forearm. "A fellow leader," he says, squeezing Eddie's arm. "Welcome to our museum."

"Y-yeah," Eddie says, his arm still tingling when Steve lets go. He clears his throat, idly tugging on a few strands of hair. "So, uh, what's the deal around here? I mean, giant women...Roman kings...cowboys, it looks like."

"Our noble museum is home to Pharoah Ahkmenrah and his tablet, which brings the exhibits to life each night," Steve explains.

"There's a few rules, though," Robin says, sitting down on the bench behind Steve. "One, no getting into fights. Two, be back in your display by sunrise. Three, no leaving the museum at night."

"What? Why not?"

"We have lost good exhibits to Sol Invictus's morning rays," Steve says, frowning slightly. "So, be careful."

Eddie stares at Steve with wide eyes as he nods, amazed at the fact that Steve seems to talk like that so genuinely. And the fact that Eddie is...kinda into it. Holy shit, that's not helping with Eddie's whole "fall to his knees" thing. He wouldn't mind some good old-fashioned worship if Steve would just smile at him again.

Maybe his prayers are heard, because Steve smiles at him again. "Wonderful," he says. "Now, Eddie, could I interest you in a tour of the museum tonight?"

"Oh, you could interest me in a lot of things, sweetheart," Eddie blurts out, his mouth running faster than his brain.

He snaps his jaw shut, relieved and horrified at Steve's slightly confused expression and Robin's "I know what you are" thousand-yard stare from over his shoulder. Before he can try to backtrack, Steve snaps, understanding in his eyes. "Ah! Sweetheart is a nickname, yes? I accept your offer of friendship."

Eddie clenches his jaw, stopping himself from saying that it's more than friendships he's offering, and smiles. "Yeah. A nickname. That's all. I'm just...a nickname kinda guy. I'll probably think of more, too, Stevie. Like that."

Steve practically beams, and Eddie feels his knees go weak. "I look forward to it," he says, turning on his heel to look at Robin, who thankfully schools her expression. "Robin, this is where we leave you for the night. You have my word that Eddie will be back in place before sunrise."

"Well, you two kids have fun," she says, grinning in a way that immediately puts Eddie on edge. "I'd better not hear about any funny business, though. Absolutely no bases should be reached tonight, and you'd better not do any conquering or pillaging."

She definitely looks at Eddie when she says that last bit. Eddie stiffens, doing his best to hold back a blush when Steve glances over at his, the confusion clear on his face. "Conquering requires more planning than this, Robin. I've told you before."

"Don't worry about it, dingus. Just have fun. Here, I'll even call a ride for you," she says, winking at them before turning, holding her fingers to her mouth, and whistling sharply.

Steve walks over to Eddie right as the ground starts to shake, easily catching him around the waist before he can lose his balance. "The shaking does take some getting used to," he says, his tone full of sympathy and obliviousness to the crisis Eddie is experiencing.

When his brain finally catches up enough to ask what he's talking about, a dinosaur skeleton slides into the room, its body wiggling excitedly as it growls. Eddie jerks back, the arm around his waist tightening some. "What the fuck?!" he shouts.

"Worry not," Steve says, leaning closer. His voice is a little softer now, his breath fanning over Eddie's ear. "This is Rexy, our steed for the evening. He's very friendly."

"Friendly," Eddie mumbles, letting himself be dragged over to Rexy and placed on the dinosaur's head by Robin. "The dinosaur is friendly."

"Many of the exhibits are," Steve tells him, grinning brightly as Rexy begins moving after a pet on the snout from Robin.

Eddie looks at him, feeling blinded by Steve's smile once more, and completely forgets about the living dinosaur skeleton.

--------

Lemme know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

(Also I know there are like one or two upcoming parent AUs that people have asked to be tagged in and I tried to see if this was one of them but couldn't find anyone for the life of me hfjdks so I'm sorry if you asked on another post and I missed you orz)

And, finally, a meme for you

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 6

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw.

one. two. three. four. five.

Six. 六

Your dark mood lasts for days. You do not shirk your duties, but you definitely brood, hating everything, most of all yourself. A part of you hopes that Donaka decides you’re not worth the trouble after a glimpse of this other side of you. He does not prod you further, seemingly steering clear of you. He had his fun taking you down a peg–what more could he want with you? Surely he has better things to do… The more time goes on, the more certain you are that his proposition was mostly in your head.

Amusingly, it’s little Mrs. Wong who gets you out of your funk, yelling at you in Cantonese and smacking you with a wooden spoon when (maybe?) you didn’t move out of her way fast enough in the kitchen. You are determined that someday she’s going to let you call her Auntie, but apparently you still have some distance to cover. Her temper is like a firecracker, loud but shortlived. She’s adorable and terrifying, and it’s all so ridiculous that you cannot stop laughing as you flee, and the shroud of your depression lifts again like the sun penetrating through the clouds.

The absurdity of life has always saved you in times like this. What do you have to be sad about, anyway? You are healthy, you are housed, and you are fed in this beautiful place. You are having an adventure. So what, if your diabolically handsome employer does not approve of you? You’re just here to clean his floors, for fuck’s sake. 

Maybe Donaka Mark is rich, but that doesn’t mean he has all the answers to the mysteries of life. You find your mental state improves, when it seems like he’s ignoring you. 

Flirting with the cute gardener’s assistant doesn’t hurt your state of mind either. His name is Jun, he has an infectious laugh, and he offers to show you around the city on your next day off. Thinking some down time with someone your age will do you good, you are set to meet him at the bus stop down the hill from Mr. Mark’s house. 

However, he never shows. You try not to take it too hard, but it still bums you out. 

He does not return with the gardener the next week either, and then you start to worry. The kind old man who tends Donaka Mark’s plants just shrugged at your inquiry and said, “He quit.” 

It seems odd, but you brush it off. You suppose you’ll just have to explore the city on your own. You ask for the day off for your birthday, wanting to go do the touristy things, like ride the historic ferry and take the tram up to Victoria Peak. Maybe visit a temple, do some shopping at the Night Market, and definitely indulge in some local eats. Something about living in Hong Kong has you dreaming about noodles. It’s an affliction. You want to try them all. 

On your day there is a little carved wooden box on the table where you usually partake your breakfast in the common area of the servants’ quarters. You’re not sure why your heart falls to your feet with something like dread, but somehow you just know that Mr. Mark has not forgotten about you after all. 

With a forbidden thrill you flip the lid carefully, finding a domed-link silver filigree and enamel bracelet set with dreamy jade cabochons. The little details are exquisite, and you’re instantly enchanted. When you look carefully at the bauble, you realize the stylized blue designs aren’t flowers–they’re bats.

He remembered that conversation you’d had, that very first day. It warms you to your toes, and maybe scares you too. He's good to the staff, but you don't think he usually buys them jewelry.

Goddammit.

You just know, deep down, that you shouldn’t accept it. You even set it back down in the box again, just looking at it with hands on your hips. 

But therein lies the crux of temptation: you want it. It’s pretty and well made, not cheap tourist junk, and…he’d put thought into this gift for you. 

This bait for you, you remind yourself. It’s still hard for you to believe that he’s propositioning you, if for anything, because a man like him could have a supermodel on each arm if he wanted. What the fuck would he want with a girl like you?

Maybe…it’s just an apology?

Not likely, but surely he’s not going to expect you to sleep with him for a silver bracelet??

You have a problem, and possibly, a screw loose. You know this is a flame you should not play with. You are toeing the line, dangerously close to falling in.

What if…you just wear it today, then give it back? It’s not like he’ll know. You doubt you’ll even see him today.

It feels like a guilty secret, as you pick it up again, clasp it on your wrist, and set out for your big day. You like the weight of the heavy silver on your skin–worse yet, you like knowing that Mr. Mark selected this bauble just for you. It feels…like a badge of honor, and you know it’s stupid, to feel proud of yourself for catching the attention of a man like him–but you can’t help it.

You are smart, but sometimes? Your heart is really really stupid.

You do not return to the house until well past after dusk, nearly midnight. You made a day of it, actually able to enjoy the city since Mr. Mark pays so well. You will remember the hand pulled noodles with beef you had for dinner in the Night Market for the rest of your life, they were so delicious. Watching the chef stretch them out from a lump of dough was like a religious experience. 

Having your fortune told in the Night Market was memorable too, but maybe a little unsettling. Squatted on a stool in the older woman’s stall, you paid 100HK dollars for her to look at your right hand and frown. She told you that money would never be a problem for you, but the men in your life would always cause you difficulty. Looking at your relationship with your father and every man after that, you reckon she was probably right. You know you should take it with a grain of salt, but you can’t quite shake the hum of unease in the back of your mind.

On tired feet you walk through the garden, around to the entrance to the servant’s quarters. 

"Did you have a nice day?" asks a voice from the shadows. You start, then realize Mr. Mark is sitting on the carved stone bench, on the path to the servants' wing of the house, tucked back in the manicured trees. 

Fuck.

Immediately you tuck your wrist behind your back.

“Mr. Mark?”

“Come here.”

His voice is deliberately neutral–you can’t quite gauge his mood as you approach, feeling like a teenager caught staying out past her curfew. You have no way of knowing he has been waiting for hours, growing more and more annoyed that you are away from him, not under his watchful gaze, where you belong.

He knows where you were, if not exactly what you did. Unbeknownst to you, there is a tiny tracker inserted in your new bracelet you wear with such foolish avarice. 

“Well?”

“Yes, I had a wonderful day,” you confirm, coming to stand before him, committed now even if you are walking into the lion’s den. You find it odd he’s waiting up for you, but it is a beautiful night to be out in the garden. A cool breeze is coming off the water, lifting your hair.

“Let’s see it then.” He points at your hand so casually held behind you, and you know you are caught out.

Almost guiltily, you extend your arm to show off your new acquisition in situ. 

He props your hand with just the tips of his fingers, his touch maddeningly light on your sensitive palm as he turns your wrist to inspect the bracelet, sending a thrill down your arm. He likes seeing the gift that he selected upon you.

“It suits you,” he finally assesses, though you still can’t tell if he’s displeased. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” you answer, barely above a whisper, feeling as though you are sealing something between you as you admit it. 

“Well, that’s convincing.”

Your heart feels like a sea urchin lodging in your throat. You’re not sure what it is about this man that makes you want to please him–and tell him to fuck off–all in the same breath. 

Then he gets to the fun part–for him. “You shouldn’t have stayed out so late alone,” he scolds you. 

You cant your head and press your lips, holding in the smart remark that burns on your tongue as his coal-black eyes bore into you, settling for, "I didn't mean to worry you…but it is my day off. I think I'm free to do what I want." You just can't stop yourself from adding the last bit, and you wonder from his darkening expression if it will be your undoing.

He imagines in that moment what it would be like to reach out and put you over his knee. Instead, he stands abruptly, startling you into taking a step backwards. 

He likes that. 

It irks him, that you dare defy him, like he doesn’t know what’s best for you. If you insist on acting so tough, he’s tempted to throw you over his shoulder and show you just how little it would take to actually break you. 

"Were you drinking?" he asks darkly, hating the thought of you out in a bar, with other men, enjoying yourself. Laughing, like you were with the young gardener not so long ago. The moment he saw that on his camera feed that he constantly watches of you, Donaka saw red. You should not give your joy to others so freely. You sprinkle it around everywhere you go, and he covets it all for himself.

That boy had to go.

"No," you defend, and you’re telling the truth. "I just...walked around." There was plenty to see in Kowloon district. 

Donaka takes another step closer, his body almost pressing against yours, the heat of it warming you. He watches your reaction as he speaks, his voice low and firm. “You should have let me arrange a driver for you.”

This again. It feels as though he wants to cloister you away from experiencing the world, by shoving you in a car. "Donaka..." you sigh, slipping into using his first name for the first time ever, because you’re tired, and your feet hurt, and he is standing very close, talking to you like he has a say in what you do…

It’s maddening and arousing all at once, rubbing with a velvet touch against some long long cavewoman instinct in your brain, and if you’re not careful this just might be the night he outmaneuvers you. 

Donaka’s eyes narrow at hearing you dare to be so familiar with him, even if deep down he secretly loves it. He takes another step into you, crowding you against the stone wall, caging you in with an arm. He’s blocking your path to a quick exit into the servants’ quarters, you can’t help but notice. Your heart pounds in your ears–but you’re not half as afraid as you should be of this man. 

“Hong Kong is pretty safe, as it goes…” you continue to protest around the sound of your heart drumming in your ears, earning a scoff. 

“You have no idea, the sorts of things that could happen to a girl like you in this city.”

You can’t help but think you’re not sure if you feel safe here at home now. 

“If something happened…I would have called you,” you offer up, appealing to his ego as protector, the role he’s apparently decided to take on for himself without asking you. 

However, he sees right through you, rolling those beautiful dark eyes. “You should have let me take you out,” he suggests in a low tone that curls your toes in your sandals. He says it like it had been some option on your menu that you’d rejected. Never in a million years would it have even occurred to you to ask. 

You find yourself doing your best impression of a fish out of water, like the ones you’d seen stacked like cord wood in the market. His other hand lifts to touch your chin lightly, closing your mouth. “Would you have liked that?” 

You honestly don't know the answer to that. 

This man fascinates you and repulses you. He's handsome and commanding and oh so forbidding. He scares you, but he draws you like a moth to a flame. Having these little flirtatious interactions around the house are one thing. Going out with him would be...something else entirely. The thought of what it could mean to socialize with a man like him, where you are so far from being equals, makes you uneasy. It's much safer to just...write about what might have been in your journal, later. 

"I'm not sure that would be appropriate," you finally answer breathily.

His smile for you is nothing less than the wolf baring its teeth. “Why not?”

"You're my boss..." you try to defend. You scare the shit out of me is the real answer you don't dare say aloud.

Donaka can’t help the dark laugh that falls from his lips at your answer, the way you flounder as you grasp for a defense, utterly drowning. A part of him wants to claim you right here and now, for being such a sweet, soft, naive little thing in his claws. 

He leans down closer to you, his head dipping down to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Is that the best excuse you’ve got?”

For a moment, you think your soul might evacuate from your body. 

"Pretty sure it's a good one," you barely manage to reply above a whisper.

“You still don’t understand what I’m offering you, do you?” he asks, his voice deceptively gentle, a dagger clothed in velvet.

You love it how he makes you out to be the obtuse one, when he is the one who has spoken so cryptically.

“I…might,” you answer. You’re not a complete innocent, or a total philistine.

What would a VIP experience on the arm of Donaka Mark be like? Although he can be charming when he wants to be, it makes you feel more anxious than intrigued. You imagine a dinner at some high-end restaurant you could never afford. Somewhere people go to be seen, more than to eat, though the food would undoubtedly be amazing. Somewhere you would feel incredibly out of place. Then what? A ride in one of his ugly but wicked fast sports cars? A night of hedonism at some exclusive club for millionaires only? And what would he expect as payment for all this? You can’t even say you wouldn’t be willing to give it. You want this man with a voracity that is–frankly–terrifying to you. 

You’ve never felt anything like it. 

What you wouldn’t like is the inevitable aftermath of later: he's offering you the opportunity to give yourself up–then get thrown away, with the enjoyment of some perks in between. You could repeat your mother’s history all over again, a thing you always swore up, down, and sideways you would never do.

Donaka watches all these thoughts play across your face, without a word aloud to accompany them. You just stare, unable to speak, and he narrows his eyes at you.

“Say one sentence of the novel you just wrote in your head out loud,” he challenges.

You open your mouth to try, but nothing comes out. All you can do is look up at him with what you are sure is a pathetic expression on your face, paralyzed. He is so close, and your eyes fixate for a long, damning moment on his mouth. In the end you have to close your eyes against that laser-like stare, shaking your head.

“You know something I find interesting about you,” he goes on. You open your eyes, though your tongue is still tied. “I think if I made you choose between an Hermès purse or that cheap bauble on your wrist this morning, you still would have chosen the bracelet, wouldn't you?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, maybe not to your advantage. Then you feel a little relieved, glad it didn’t cost a fortune.

“Comparatively cheap,” he clarifies, as though he doesn't want you to feel too at ease. How did he know? 

You narrow your eyes, lifting your wrist towards him. “Maybe…you should take it back.”

You think you might die of a heart attack, when he folds your smaller hand in his, and kisses your knuckles lightly. “It’s too late for that.”

You’re not sure what that means, but as he strokes your thumb lightly with his, you start to tremble.

“Sir…” 

He pins you with his stare, looming over you, but makes no move, waiting. 

“It’s getting late…and I have to work tomorrow.”

He lifts an eyebrow, smirking down at you. “And whose fault is that?”

“Mine…though it’s starting to be yours.”

He snorts. “Then ask me for the day off again,” he dares you. When you answer him with yet more paralyzed silence he gets frustrated, tilting your face up with his huge hand engulfing your jaw. For a man who works in tech…his fingers are calloused, and strong, and your legs just might go out from underneath you.  “Ask me. Say it out loud, y/n. Tell me what’s going on, behind those big eyes.”

You, however, just shake your head against his masterful grip. “You don’t want to know.” 

“I like secrets, y/n. I want to know everything.” You suppose that is his bread and butter, with his security business and all his cameras…you don’t know why it never occurred to you before now, that it could be a personal obsession, as much as professional. 

You’re tempted. God, are you tempted, with this beast of a man looming over you, touching you, looking through you with those piercing dark eyes. Like he wants to eat you as much as he wants to fuck you… 

Somehow you know if you dare go down that path…there will be no turning back. 

You choose the coward’s road.

“Please…I think…it would be best…to call it a night.”

He weighs you with a heavy gaze for so long that you start to doubt he will let you go–in the darkest dungeon of your heart, you know that a part of you doesn’t want him to. It would be convenient, if he would make the choice for you. Let you taste the forbidden fruit with none of the blame…

You are losing your goddamned mind over this man. You need to stop.  

You never really know why in the end he releases you, pushing back from the wall to give you space. You side-step towards the door of the servant’s quarters, afraid for the predatory look he’s paying you, that he might change his mind.

 "Good night, Mr. Mark," you say quietly, before disappearing into the little building where you sleep. A rush of frustration flares inside him as you scamper away–again. He narrowly resists the urge to kick down your door and show you who you belong to.

“Good night,” he answers back through gritted teeth, only the crickets left to hear him. He’ll have your secrets, one way or another. He can genuinely say he tried–a first, in so long he can’t remember when. For what happens next…you will only have yourself to blame.

[platinumshawnn]

A Union of Ice and Stone (blurb) | Cregan Stark

A/N: I am struggling to find muse to write my fics recently but guess who has random blurbs in the drafts 🤺 enjoy some cregan smut that was based on auois while I work through the next chapters

TW: Smut, implications of prior SA, triggering themes that may be upsetting for some readers — please do not hesitate to reach out should you find the themes lightly touched on triggering, I am more than open to supporting readers who are affected by my content and creating a safe space in which I am either a direct source of support OR I can direct you to the appropriate resources. Please read at your own discretion.

“I’m not going to force you to consummate a marriage you did not even want in the first place,” He grumbled from the settee, “That is not the kind of marriage I want— where you feel you have no choice in the matter.”

“And you actually value that? My willingness to participate in this marriage?” She asked from where she stood over the writing table, a trinket in her hands that she fidgeted with while she watched him. His back faced her, not looking at her as he watched the fire.

“Yes,” He answered.

“And what if I choose never to?”

His head turned slightly, looking at her from the corner of his eye as he then looked down, “Then I suppose that is what your choice to make, my lady,” he said, turning to look again at the fire. A silence befell them, her fingernails picking at the paint of the miniature horse that had been gifted to her as a child; an anxious habit she hated — she did not trust his word, or trust his sincerity that he meant it. No man in their right mind would mean it, that they cared not for bedding their wife — she had heard the horror stories as a girl of men who forced themselves on their wives, regardless of their pleas — a thought that made her shudder. She let out a quiet sigh, setting the wooden horse down back on the table and approaching him, circling the settee he had found respite in, his eyes briefly lifting to look up at her as she stood to his left.

“And does it upset you that I am unable to offer to you my maidenhead, as a husband expects of his new wife?” She asked suddenly.

He lifted his cup, taking a slow sip of wine and looking away again — he was not a man of eye contact she had come to learn, unless it was deemed necessary. Cregan paused, the weight of her words settling between them. He placed his cup down carefully, then finally turned to face her fully. His voice was low, steady, but filled with a sincerity she had rarely heard from a man.

"Then I would expect nothing from you that you do not willingly offer," he said, his gaze meeting hers, unflinching. "I am not like those men you’ve heard of. If all you can give is your companionship and trust, that is more than enough for me."

He let the words linger, his expression softening, "Your worth is not tied to that. I want a partner, not a prisoner."

She warily eyed him, eyes narrowing as she processed the reply — she followed where his eyes had previously turned to, watching the flames lick and stained the stone walls with soot, her chest rising and falling with a deep sigh of air, “You are a kinder man than most, Cregan Stark,” Lysara stated, her voice soft as she moved to take a seat in the small space that remained in the settee; her bare shoulder brushing his as she folded her hands in her lap. She could feel his eyes still bearing into the side of her face, warmed by the intensity of his gaze and fidgeting with her fingers — she twisted the bracket that remained around her right wrist, hold and glimmering in the light; she turned just enough to angle her head towards him and find his eyes.

“I wouldn’t consider it to be about kindness, my lady,” he replied, his eyes searching her face.

Her mouth twitched upwards in a small hint of a smile, “Then what might you call it?”

“Decency, I suppose.”

It was a simple reply, but there was no hesitation behind it; unwavering as he looked forward. She took the angle to eye him up close, her eyes following the outline of his face and drifting down every feature — she followed the strong structure of his brow and nose, his cheeks — past his mouth and stopping at his jawline; soft but masculine in a way that could have made any man envious and any woman lustful. His hair had loosened from its pulled back style, the long strands falling into his face as he drummed his fingers against his thigh. She could have fared worse — her father had tried to match her with men twice her age in her youth, old enough to be her father, aged and scarred and mangled by battle. She sucked in another breath, finding his eyes as he turned to look at her again, his eyebrows twitching curiously. It scared her half to death, the idea of approaching him — but she felt emboldened by his words as she unfolded her hands and moved towards his lap; his eyes following her. Her thighs straddled his hips, hands finding his shoulders and nudging him back to allow her more space while resting his hands on her hips as though it was a reflex.

She smoothed her hands along the fabric of his undershirt, the cotton rustling under her touch as she slowly dipped her hands to his chest and found the base of his throat; stopped at his collarbones, her face hovering over his. Despite the gnawing anxiety in the back of her head, threatening to let out a panicked cry, she found herself able to swallow down that fear and trust him fully.

His head had tilted to look up at her from his position, eyes on hers as she paused, unsure how to proceed — suddenly she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, the kiss something slow and exploratory, gauging his response to her as she leaned forward and into him. His mouth was hot against hers, skilled and confident as she felt his teeth gently drag along her bottom lip; her right hand coming to his nape as she shifted forward in his lap to press flush against him until his back was forced against the back of the chair, broad shoulders being traced by her hands.

His head tipped, forcing her chin up with his nose in order to press her throat with searing hot kisses that elicited a soft sigh of pleasure, fisting handfuls of his shirt between her fingers. His hands crept underneath her nightgown atop her thighs and stopped at her hips, leaving her partially exposed to him — her back arched into him, head lolling back as he pushed a hand up along the expanse of her backside and up her spine until it pressed to the small of her back as her hips pressed into his. His mouth ceased, withdrawing from her and letting out a sharp breath of air as she cupped his face and held it between her hands, his lips parted as he looked at her, “Tell me to stop…you do not have to welcome me into your bed if you do not wish it,” he quietly said, “tell me to leave and I will go.”

She hesitated, her thumb brushing across his lips, “I cannot.”

The words seemed to spur him on, his arm wrapping around her and pinning her against his chest as he maintained that restraint she had come to know him for; his nose brushing hers in the little space she was allowed, “Then tell me to stay,” he said, his voice short and breathless, “please,” He begged.

She didn’t have to hesitate, “Stay,” she echoed.

“Thank the Gods…” he breathed out, a smile coming to her face as his lips brushed up along her neck to reclaim her mouth. Cregan’s hands quickly bunched her down around her hips — she reached down fumbling to put enough space between them and undo the laces of his breeches; shoving them down was the hardest feat of the task, proving difficult as she had to lift enough for them to be pushed down his thighs. Eager hands grabbed the front strings of her shift, yanking to undo them and undo the fabric enough that more skin was exposed to his mouth, teeth and tongue tracing the skin as he cupped her breast in his palm through the fabric, her hand right instantly coming to her mouth and licking her palm before she reached again between them; her hand gently wrapping around the base of him and moving up and down the length of him with a slow steady pace that forced a low moan from his mouth. His eyes found her, mouth agape as she pressed her forehead to his.

He was already breathless, panting against her mouth as he stilled and paused his movements. With all the restraint he could muster, wanting nothing more than to go as slow as he could in case there lingered any trace of doubt or hesitance to have him; he pressed forward and slowly slid his hands up her sides, the fabric bunching around her waist with the movement until his hands cradled her ribs; his firm hold sliding around to her spine — he itched to discard the fabric but halted himself from bunching the fabric further. Lysara seemed to sense his hesitation in undressing her more than was necessary, her hands withdrawing from him and earning a discontented sigh that could have swelled her ego — to see the internal battle between his pride and restraint that held him in place, his hips subtly shifting under her at the loss of contact; she took the fabric of her shift from his hands and stripped it over her head, allowing it to fall to the floor by his feet that planted flat against the marble floors. The room was filled by a soft rustle of fabric, her back warmed now by the heat of the fire behind her, the shape of her hovering over the mountain of a man who sucked in a deep breath and watched her with desperate eyes — it was a subtle change, his usually stoic, reserved facade dropping just a smidge and softening as his eyes scanned down her body; his eyes lingering on her chest and down her abdomen, his right hand tentatively lifting to tenderly brush up along the underside of her breast. His palm enveloped her chest with ease, cupping her and brushing a curious thumb over her nipple, every nerve in her body standing at attention to his touch — it felt pathetic, really, to lean into such a simple gesture; a soft sigh leaving her mouth and closing her eyes — but it felt like it had been forever since she’d known the touch of a man and she hadn’t realized how much she’d craved it.

She allowed herself to relish in the feeling of his hands of her husband, tantalizingly slow and curious like a boy who’d never bedded a woman before — but she knew better. Knew there’d been others, a first and last before her — a wife who had bearded him a beautiful son before — a woman who had known these touches much better than herself. She envied what that would have been like to have been his first.

His fingers traced up her chest, mouth leaning into and pressing to the base of her throat and drawing her back to reality when his mouth found the raised scar between her collarbones. The movement startled her, gasping as her eyes shot open to look at him — she froze, a hand flinging up to his chest as she saw the realization dawn on him, a look flickering in his eyes. Her pulse quickened, holding her breath as it felt suddenly like she could feel his hands on her again — the boy knight’s breath against her neck as he held her in place, threatened by the knife at her throat; feel the weight of him resting heavy between her thighs as he shoved them open, forcing her ankles apart. The feeling nauseated and panicked her, wanting to crawl out of her skin and shove him away.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean…” Cregan said, his voice low. He paused, allowing a beat of silence to pass, his hands on her waist, “I am sorry.”

The only thing that grounded her was the sincere look of remorse in his eyes, his voice a low, soft mumble as he seemed unsure what to do next. She swallowed and sucked in a deep breath that lifted her shoulders, shakily exhaling as she withdrew her hand from his chest, “It’s okay…it’s okay,” she said, voice quiet, “just please…please don’t touch me.”

She wanted to cringe.

Cregan held her gaze, nodding after a moment and withdrawing his hands to his sides, allowing them to find respite against the seat beneath them and its plush cushions. He was quiet and still, letting out a breath that felt relieved, but his eyes held an edge of uncertainty as though he was expecting her to flee from his lap any moment. She hesitated, her hands coming to the hem of his shirt finally and gently pulling the fabric up — he kept his word, hands moving to raise his arms and cautious not to touch her with the movement, his hands falling back to their spot against the settee once the fabric was placed on the chair beside him; her hands gently finding his chest.

Her eyes lowered, fixating on the several little scars that painted his skin — a reminder of the battles and fights he had endured in his short life, ruining the porcelain skin that laid over taut muscles that rippled with movement. She could feel him watching her every move, too timid to find his eye yet as her fingers gently traced each mark, mapping out every ridge and dip, outlining his collarbones and sliding up to his shoulders — there, she found hold, stabilizing herself and keeping her grounded to him. She sucked in another deep breath, finally daring to look him in the eye as she lowered her left hand between them — his jaw clenched, blinking but not moving.

She admired the restraint it took for him not to writhe or flinch as she took him in her hand again, guiding the blushing head of his cock to her slit and lifting on her knees. She caught a flinch then, brushing him through her folds and gathering the slick of her arousal along the tip of him, in his brow; his chest expanding with a deep breath. She slowly sank onto him, the warmth of her walls welcoming him eagerly as she pressed on — inch by tantalizing inch, swallowing him whole until her hips rested flush against his. Her mouth opened in a soft gasp, full to the brink of discomfort and causing a slight stretch that she embraced, his features finally relaxing. His eyelids fluttered, blinking rapidly twice and clenching his teeth as his eyes lowered for a moment, his hands fisting the cushions beneath him as he waited for her to move — a low moan left him, head lolling back against the back of the seat, and withdrawing a sharp breath of air through his nose.

The hand between them lifted, coming to his nape as her hips slowly lifted, sinking slowly again to begin undulating against his — a hot flush spread throughout her, pooling itself in her belly and between her thighs as she pulsated around him, earning another soft sigh. His head lifted from the couch, her hand bringing his forehead to hers with a parted mouth, short pants leaving her mouth. The laces of his breeches pressed into the back of her thighs and rump, a harsh contrast to the smooth brush of his skin, but all the more exhilarating. Chest-to-chest, she thrust herself against him, his chin lifting just enough to catch her lips with his in a sweet kiss that pressed against her bottom lip; she released a soft moan, high-pitched and lewd as it bounced off the walls and reached her ears, her nose brushing his with each movement. A light sheen of sweat broke across her skin, her hips grinding down into his as her eyebrows tugged into a frown of concentration, “Oh gods…” she softly breathed.

He pressed another sweet kiss to the corner of her mouth, a guttural moan rumbling from behind plush lips, an animalistic sound that could have made her eyes roll back. Her hips stuttered, picking up in pace and eagerly using the position to roll her hips against his in a way that caused friction between his pelvis and her bud — she let out a soft cry of pleasure. Her thighs tightened around his hips, holding him in place and attempting to repeat the movement, desperate to once again experience the sensation whilst digging her fingernails into his scalp when she succeeded. Her movements were frantic from that point on, sloppy and enthusiastically chasing that blissful end, her chest heaving with each deep breath she struggled to squeeze in, her moans increasing in volume and frequency with each passing moment as her body grew taut with anticipation.

Her peak washed over her, blinding and searing hot as she let out a sudden cry, her walls squeezing around him as she tumbled forward and into his chest, “Cregan,” she whined.

“Fuck,” He grunted, his breathing heavy and frowning as he slowly worked her throat the tail end of her peak. His hips lifted, thrusting into hers and milking her of every last ounce left within her body.

She blindly grabbed his left wrist, desperate and too dazed by the pleasure to even concentrate on anything more than the desire to once again experience some sort of touch of his. His hand was guided behind her, his palm finding repute against her backside and using the flesh to grip and guide her against him, forcing her hips to continue the roll against his with a mantra of his name leaving her mouth like a prayer. The welcome of his hand emboldened him, sitting upright and away from the back of the chair as his arm wrapped around her waist, his face pressing against her shoulder as he pulled her against him — her hand released his hair to bring her arm around his neck. His hips snapped up, eager and relentless, drawing her close to the brink of insanity as it seemed there was no end in sight, sensitive and screwing up her face. He rutted against her, her nails biting into his shoulder as the heat between her thighs spread like wildfires, her thighs trembling around him, “Fuck- wait…” he muttered.

His face drew back to hers, forehead pressed to hers and closing his eyes. She felt him lift her, attempting to pull her from him, his body tensing under hers, “Nonono…” she breathlessly pleaded.

“I won’t if you do not wish me to,” he muttered.

She forced herself back down against him, his hips hesitating to resume their previous pace as she ground against him, “I want it- I want you,” She replied, “please. I want all of you.”

The simple plea was his undoing, his mouth open in a low groan, snapping up into her with such fervor it sucked the air right from her lungs, clutching to him. Her voice was a high pitched whine, her fingers fisting his undershirt and tensing so hard, every joint in her body ached — her thighs burned, his fingernails biting into her flesh as he flung his right hand back and gripped her backside; Cregan released a sharp grunt, low and carnal as his mouth dropped open with the sound — it was the first time since their first encounter that she saw his resolve break, his stoic facade slipping as he spilled his seed into her.

[bakugotrashpanda]

Late Night Games (18+)

Bakugou x F!Reader Pro hero, angst if you squint?

Word Count: 1.7k

Bakugou gets you a sex toy and can't stop thinking about it. Will his favorite cam girl be able to get you off his mind?

Bakugou scrolls through your shopping app lazily. His vision swims slightly as pictures of dildos and vibrators fly up the screen. It’s all part of the game — you landed on space to give someone else your phone and let them purchase a toy for you using your credit card, leaving the definition of ‘toy’ up to the buyer, all under a certain price of course. What wasn’t part of the game was him imagining what you would look like fucking yourself with it; the glow flushing your cheeks as your back arches, the wanton moan that would leave your lips.

“Bakugou, hurry up,” you pout and tip some more of Kaminari’s electric purple concoction — his signature drink for the evening — into your mouth. “How hard is it?”

Hard enough. He ignores the slight tightening in his pants. Shifting, he hopes you didn’t notice the ever-growing bulge. “All this shit’s expensive. Does it have to be $20?”

“That’s what it says, man,” Kirishima smirks. His thumb and forefinger harden long enough to pop the top off his beer. 

“This game is stupid,” Bakugou grumbles. He scrolls faster. To be honest, he hadn’t been looking at the prices — he’d been too busy thinking of you; someone he wants but can’t have. Someone who only visits him in the quiet hours of the night as he drifts off to sleep, your phantom hand wrapped around his own as he tries to envision you jacking him off. Someone he won’t let himself have.

No, you’re not meant for his life. The lights, the scrutiny, the questions he’s learned to block out. You’re a sweet thing and he won’t ruin you that way. 

His attention returns to your phone in his hand. A bright orange vibrator with a black X at the base. His own product. He’d hated the thought of selling out and slapping his name on a fucking sex toy, but it’d taken off and made it possible for him to put a down payment on a penthouse near his work. Now though, he thinks of you pumping his product in and out of yourself. And that makes it all worth it.

It’s a little more than the game says — $80 more to be precise, but he can cover this purchase. No one will know.

“It’s done,” he says and closes your phone. “No peeking.”

“You’re no fun,” you playfully pout, but you tuck your phone away. “Who’s next? Ochako?”

Bakugou sinks back into the couch, the rush of you wearing off. He half watches as Ochako rolls and lands on a space saying she has to give the person to her right, Kirishima, a ten second lap dance. Both their cheeks are brighter by the end of it, but Bakugou can’t find it in himself to join Mina and Sero in heckling them.

He lasts another half hour before abruptly standing and excusing himself.

In his stupor, he goes through the motions of getting himself home, not really paying attention to anyone around him. His penthouse is cool and quiet — everything he needs after a day of loud action. 

Bakugou sits in front of his computer and stares at the monitor. You’re still on his mind, and as much as he tries, he can’t get the fantasy of you writhing around his cock out of his head. His fingers fly to a website he’s visited countless times before. A site where he found an angel of a cam girl whose voice reminds him of yours if he doesn’t focus on it too hard and he can pretend that it’s you on the other side of the screen in lingerie teasing him.

Disappointment greets him as her schedule says she’s away for the next couple of days. 

He sits there for a moment, fatigue from the day settling in around him like a wet blanket. Maybe it’s for the best that he goes to bed instead of shelling out money to be the top contributor on yet another stream.

Three days later

Bakugou steps out of the bathroom, steam pouring out around him. A few droplets of water roll down his chest. Today had been a shitshow. Not only did he accidentally destroy a load bearing wall of a building that housed a law firm, his patrol partner called out sick and he was stuck with some rando rookie. The boss called it a ‘mentorship’ opportunity. The only thing he managed to mentor the rookie in was how to piss off your boss and the most powerful law firm in the city, and how to stand tall while everyone yelled at him.

He needs to relax and he needs to relax now.

Pulling on a comfy pair of sweats, he sits at his computer and opens the desk drawer. With all the reverence of a religious ceremony, he sets a bottle of lube and tissues on his desk, and pulls on his top-of-the-line headset. He’d paid a premium once he’d found his favorite cam girl so he could all but inject her voice into his body.

With her show about to start, and Bakugou preps himself.

“Hey everyone,” her sultry voice caresses his ears, “Sorry I was gone for so long.” Soft black lace cups her breasts and hangs low on her hips. She runs her hands up and down her sides, nails dragging on the fragile fabric.

New lingerie Angel? Bakugou types out and attaches a generous donation. Time to put the fucking extras watching in their place. Her red lips curl into a smile. Only he gets to call her Angel.

“Good to see you Number One,” she says. Hearing his screen name and nickname as her top contributor for over two years fall from her lips shoots right to his cock. “I did get some new pieces I can’t wait to show off over the next couple shows. And that’s not the only thing.” She leans over, giving the camera a close up shot of her cleavage.

Bakugou slowly pumps his cock at the sight. If he let his mind wander enough, he could pretend it was your chest. He’d tear the lace off effortlessly and run his hands over you, coaxing your nipples into stiff peaks and leave you wanting – begging – for more.

Settling back on her pale pink blanket, she brings a slim box up to her microphone and taps manicured nails against it.

“I recently came into possession of a new toy as well,” she says sweetly. “Haven’t even unboxed it yet, but I don’t know if we’re ready for that yet.” Her smile falls into a practiced pout as she sets the box down out of view. Donations flood in, all begging her to show it off and use it.

He gets it. This is how she makes money. But their small voices aren’t going to be the ones to get her to do it. 

C’mon Angel, show us what ya got? He doubles his previous donation. The corner of her mouth ticks up.

“Since you asked so nicely,” she says and holds the box up to the camera, “I got the latest Dynamight vibrator. I heard this is modeled after the man himself.” She continues talking while she unboxes it, but Bakugou can’t hear her over the ringing in his ears. 

What were the chances that you and his favorite cam girl got the same vibrator he had bought you? Yours should’ve arrived today, and if… No. No, there’s no way… But…

His fingers fly across the keyboard. Get that today Angel?

She stops running her fingers up the bright orange shaft and smiles. “I did! It arrived an hour ago and I knew I needed to bring it tonight.”

No.

With shaky hands, he picks up his phone and types a message. All he needs to do is hit send. If he’s mistaken, he can play it off. But if he’s right… fuck.

[Bakugou]    >> Angel?

He watches his computer monitor. His favorite cam girl, the one he chose for her voice and the fantasy she could give him, the one who was a replacement for the girl he really wants, freezes. Her playful smile turns brittle.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry loves,” she says quickly, “There’s an emergency, but I’ll be back tomorrow, and maybe I’ll stay on extra late, just for you.” Her camera goes dark. Donations fly in, all begging her to come back, asking what happened. 

Bakugou stares, icy dread slithering down his spine.

[Private Audience Requested from Angel]

He shouldn’t have said anything. He could have pretended not to have noticed the similarities. He could’ve been halfway to heaven with his fist wrapped around his cock.

Nevertheless, he accepts the incoming call, well aware that his account is getting charged for what would no doubt be an unpleasant conversation. 

His Angel sits in front of the camera, covered up in a gray hoodie.

“Number One,” she says, all sexy energy gone from her voice. “Turn on your camera.”

Don’t have it He types back.

“Bullshit,” she crosses her arms, “I know you do. You’ve bought enough private shows from me. I’ve seen your cock as you jack yourself off. Turn on your fucking camera.”

Reluctantly, Bakugou does. He keeps it angled to show below his neck. 

“Show me your face.” It’s not a request. 

Show me yours.

“You know I don’t show more than my mouth.”

Then I’m not showing mine

Her mouth, the one Bakugou has imagined wrapped around his length, thins into a disapproving frown. “Well, Number One, then you’ll have to find someone else to shower with your donations.”

Block. She means to block. And she’ll block any other account he makes too. She’d know it’s him — he’s incapable of not being first, being the most prominent person in a room, throwing his money around.

WAIT

He leans forward and scrambles for his camera. Tilting it to his face, he almost feels embarrassed for how he looks in the preview on his end. Panicked. Fearful. Shame.

“Bakugou.” His Angel’s camera tilts up too to see a black and gold mask he’s caught glimpses of before. She removes the mask, and Bakugou watches your face stare back at him, just as pained as he is. 

Silence.

There’s too much silence as you stare at each other. 

He shakily types what could very well be his final message and sends it. So what now?

A/N: no part 2 bb

[blingblong55]

Nothing -Simon "Ghost" Riley

Photo credits: @ave661

Based on a request:

Hey kasper!! >__< i hope this request finds you in good health, i'm that anon who asked earlier if your reqs are open and dont worry! Im willing to wait <33 just take your time and no rush.. Anyways- May I request a fluff fic on konig (or ghost) where they come home from a very long mission to see that their darling is baking something delicious? (Can be any pastry dish you want WAAHH) Maybe a pastry chef reader and shes on her day off and used the time to bake something! The house smelled definitely like heaven and I bet that Konig (or ghost 😭) was immediately the taste tester for the day!! TEEEHEEEE >3< jus some domestic fluff cause i've been reading way too much angst lately BAAAHHHHAHSHAHAH -🍰 anon :3 ---- F!Reader, fluff, domestic, established!relationship, baker!reader ----

A/N: König version here

It's been hours since he left base, the drive home was long but worth it because at least you are safe and at the end of the road, you wait for him.

After the small home appears, he sighs.

As Simon pushes the door to his home, he was immediately greeted by the comforting aroma of something sweet baking in the oven. The familiar scent wraps around him like a warm embrace, easing the tension that had been coiled tight within him after a gruelling mission.

As he tosses his gear aside with a tired sigh, he makes his way further into the home, following the tantalising scent to the kitchen where he found you, his beautiful wife. You hum a familiar tune as you work diligently at the counter. A soft smile spreads on his face. How much more sweet can this quiet life of his be? "Daddy!" His sweet baby girl runs when she sees the siholette of her dad. "Hi sweet girl," he picks her up. That bright smile of hers only earning him that beautiful heartache, the one that screams, I made it.

"Behaved good?" he asks and his little girl nods. "Good," he kisses her forehead and walks to you. A knowing smile on you as you see your two loves. Simon puts his daughter down, "Welcome home, Si," you greet him, wiping your hnads on the apron before crossing the room to envelop him in a tight hug.

All he can do is melt into your embrace, your little girl giggling as she usually does when her parents hug. He lets out a content sigh as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in that familair scent mingled with the delicious aroma of whatever you were baking. "I missed you, lovie," he kisses your neck before pulling away and picking his daughter back up.

"How was it?" You ask.

"Long," he admits but doesn't let his weary soul show, not when he has his precious girls in the room. His daughter runs her small and sticky hands on his tousled hair. "But seeing you both and smelling this…" he trails off as his daughter plays with his hair. She'll definitely be a hairstylist like he predicts. "It's all worth it, you know," he adds.

You smile as you cup his face, yor touch warm and reassuring. "Well, dinner with be ready soon," you nod at the oven.

It's beautiful, isn't it? How a man like him is someone completely different out there in that cruel world and once he steps into his property his a husband and a dad. Is it magic? Maybe it's change. It's a dream.

After much begging by your daugter and him, they finally got their taste test.

The three of you laugh at the nonsense your sweet daughter says, the shit jokes he makes and even let casual teasing comments pass by.

Simon leans in to steal a kiss from you, and your daughter pushes you both away from the other. "No kisses before dinner, daddy," she reminds him of the weird negotiation they made a while ago and he groans.

If he looks around, he'll find himself in the cosy kitchen of his home…home…hm, what a poetic word must that be if it has his heart aching in a good way.

"Love you both," he kisses yours and his daughters forehead. "Love you too," his sweet girls say at the same time.

A/N: look I don't want kids but a life with him...I might let it slip

Tags: @liyanahelena @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @Krinoid24 @iruzias @night-mare-owl-79 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @Juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @defnotlpuluvyou @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @willowaftxn83-87 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @pbcartii @Llelannie @Macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @kaoyamamegami @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @sleepyycatt

[crash-and-cure]

Been a Thorn in the Side of Man (Yandere!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: In her twenty years of the business, Jimena’s seen just about the worst Hollywood has to offer. However all of that failed to prepare her for the likes of Elvis Presley. 

A/N: Yikes on bikes, this took alot longer than I was expecting. I would like to personally thank @stylespresleyhearted ​ for keeping me motivated to write and allowing me to bounce ideas off her and on top of all of that making the beautiful mood board above. I was just able to release this on my birthday so there's that lol. Based off of this request.

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior. Dubious Consent in regards to coersion being involved. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f.recieving), doggy style and mating press, and not to mention huge breeding kink on his part. BIG TRIGGER Warning for some suicidal ideation on his part. Loss of family members. Drug overdose. Mentions of Pregnancy. Self-loathing. Probably more that I am blanking on. Please do not interact if you are under 18. 

Word Count: I’m gonna be honest, stopped counting  after 30K (don’t judge me)

Then 

There’s an odd sense of calm once one officially accepts that they’re alone in the world. It’s easier in a way to accept that no one will ever truly look out for her, than it is to have to face the earth-shattering disappointment that is having believed for a moment that someone would. 

These are the thoughts going through her head as Jimi slowly folded her daily copy of the Excelsior. 

Most women would be violently mad after having read what she just did, but it was almost a relief to finally have an answer to why he has really been so absent in her life these last few months. It’s not like it should be surprising to her really, this town having shown her for years what it thinks about women like her: Seductive, temptress, exotic, temperamental, alluring… disposable.

It’s a story told time and time again in Los Angeles. Orson Welles and Dolores Huerta, Gary Cooper and Lupe Velez, and now Elvis Presely and Jimena Perez can be added to those ranks of doomed romances. 

I’d rather kiss three black women than a single Mexican woman, those are the words that ring within Jimenas head as she sits at her little breakfast table, though for what it’s worth it is nothing less than a deliberate action. As masochistic as it sounds she truly believes it’s for the better should she ever get to thinking this situation is in any way fixable. 

But even still as she stares unblinkingly at the plain wall of her just recently occupied home, she is a little confused as to why her vision gets cloudy. It takes her a moment to comprehend that she’s crying, something that she so rarely does these days anymore. 

And to think this is all over some musician.

She’ll never forget the first time she met him in person, all the standard camera and makeup testing that comes from early production. She’s far from the most experienced makeup assistant at Paramount, but in their words she’s the only makeup girl they trust to “behave” around him. Having grown up in the business, Jimena’s all but lost her ability to be starstruck by anybody really, so they’re not too far off in this notion. 

As they were explaining the whole purpose of this to the relatively green actor, she looked at him with a critical eye, examining his features, comparing it to other actors she had already worked on in the past, and trying to recall how best to highlight them on screen. 

He catches her looking at him and he shoots her a wicked smile, but where other girls would’ve gotten embarrassed at being caught staring she only redoubles her efforts now that she’s got a better look at his face, arguably staring even harder at him. In a funny turn of events he’s the one that looks away bashfully as though she were the one that caught him looking. 

While her official production title is as the resident makeup artist, she’s personally worked almost every job there is to have on a set save for actually sitting in the big chair and directing. Lights, costuming, talent wrangling, she’s seen and done just about all of it. She had been working behind the scenes since she was 14, where with a little bit of makeup trickery, she was not only able to convince everybody that she was an adult, but that she was the new hire. This would eventually give way to getting actually hired, as they simply trusted the fact given she was already on the lot. 

And somewhere between watching Dorothy Gale throw up in her own purse and seeing Rhett Butler remove his own teeth, did the whole concept of Hollywood movie magic well and truly die in her mind. 

Drugs, drinks, boys, girls, and every other vice to be had, Jimena’s seen even the most clean cut of stars fall into at least one category or another. So when she got the news she was gonna be on a project with him of all people, she had thought she had well and truly prepared for anything this man could throw her way. 

But when she actually gets a good up-close look at him, she starts to get that sinking feeling in her stomach. Not for anything he did or how he looked, but the way he acted. She heard his stuttering words and felt his soft cheeks in her hands, and there was only one thought in her head throughout the whole process. 

Pobrecito they’re gonna eat you alive.

All her years in this business, she’s got a pretty good grasp when people are being genuine or not. And he’s perhaps the most genuine person she had ever encountered. Wide-eyed bumpkin from down south was hardly new, but there was just something about Elvis Presley that made it a tinge more tragic than it would be normally. 

She barely spoke that first meeting, the higher ups weren’t that interested in her words these days, nor did he really try to initiate anymore conversation with the way his mouth was gaping at her. Hardly a new experience, but admittedly a little less unwelcome coming from him. 

So it took her by surprise the first day of shooting when he said “I didn’t get the pleasure of catchin’ your name last time,” he said with a grin as she set down her make-up kit. 

She’s quick to recover with a “Because I didn’t give it.” 

He gives a short huff at that before insisting once again since after all, she’s gonna be around him for the next ten or so weeks. 

“You can call me Jimi,” she says, barely sparing him a glance in favor of looking over the notes of what today’s scene will call for. 

“That really your name sweetheart?” which is not unfair to ask. It wasn’t her first choice, but it is the one that distanced her the most from her old stage name. 

“White people can’t pronounce it,” she justified as she tied her hair up with her favorite red bandana. “So I don’t bother with it here.” It’s sort of the truth, and that’s usually enough to get even the more obnoxiously “nice” ones off her back. 

“Well I’m willing to give it a shot,” he says amiably, apparently up for the challenge that she presents. 

She takes his chin in her hands and with a soft smile on her lips, and while he’s blushing up a storm she looks down at him and says a simple “No.”

He’s taken aback both by her words and the sudden spray of water from the bottle in her hand. She could’ve given a cursory warning to him but she has to remind herself that this entire situation works best when actors are indifferent towards her. 

It’s for the best, she tells herself. The less you say about yourself, the better, she wants nothing more than to keep her Mena and Nena days far in the past. 

Though it soon became clear that it wasn’t meant to be. 

“Y’know…” he starts off as he’s looking at her in the mirror. “Ya kinda look like that one girl, uhh what’s her name.” He says snapping his fingers trying to force him to remember even though you know for a fact who he’s talking about. “Elena Somethin’.” 

“Elena Leon?” she sighs, knowing already where this is going.

“That’s the one,” he would say, snapping his fingers in recognition. “Though, ‘tween the two of ya’, I think you’re the prettier one.”

“Hmm…” she answers, pursing her lips and practically shutting down as he quickly changes the subject to how excited he is to be working on another movie set. She didn’t engage much after that outside of the occasional hum of acknowledgement, until he eventually gave-up and would forlornly read his script. 

That wouldn’t stop him the next day from telling her about how his dumbass cousin made him late this morning and all the antics they get up to back in Memphis.

Or the next when he asked if Pink’s was actually any good or if it’s all just hype.

So on and so forth for the next few days as he would try to get her to talk to him again. 

She had been determined to just treat him like any other actor she had worked with, and just do her job, but then she saw him getting really cozy with a certain girl on set. Now on-set flings are par for the course on any production, and literally anyone else she wouldn’t have batted an eye, but she knows for a fact that that one is known to be dangerous. Well she’s not so dangerous, but her husband is. 

“Stay away from her,” she would whisper to him one day as she applied some eyeshadow trying to imitate a black eye.

“So you do speak,” he says, cracking an eye open, a triumphant smile on his face as though he’s won some great victory over her. 

“Yes, so listen to me,” she counters, her eyes boring into his to show him how serious she is. 

“Why do you care so much darlin’?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow, a small smile on his lips, still apparently not taking her seriously.

“My job is to keep you pretty for the cameras,” she states, in as matter of fact as she can manage. “You’re going to make that a lot harder if you don’t listen to me, and her husband beats the shit out of you.” 

“She’s married?” he asked, astonished that he could miss such a thing. “M-my manager said she could get me some good roles, that her Daddy is some big-time producer” he argues back. 

“Yes,” Jimena clarifies. “Her husband, who she calls daddy, can get you one very high paying role, and that’s only if you let him watch. If your manager didn’t know this, he’s a dumbass.” 

“Let him watch what?” he asks, confused. Her pursed lips, refusal to meet his eyes, and following silence speaks volumes, as his own cobalt eyes go comically wide as to what she was implying. “Her husband?” he says, and she gives him a small affirmative nod. “And he watches?” A raise of her brows as her eyes slide away from him just reaffirms this unorthodox situation. “So… Wait a second… does he or does he not like it when she’s with other men?” 

“Both,” she states, adding the finishing touches to her work. “He likes to watch and after that he beats the shit out of the boy in question.” And even though she’s pretty secure in the fact that no one is listening in, she still gets close to him to whisper this last part into his ear. “It’s apparently the only way he can get it up anymore.”

The fact that she sees his ears go bright red from just that little tidbit of information just really goes to show how green he still is in regards to how things work in this town. 

“How d’ya know all this?” he asks, more than a little disturbed now.

Not to brag but she regards herself as a wealth of information on the comings and goings of the Hollywood elite. Close enough to the action to overhear everything but low enough in the pecking order that most assume she’s incapable of doing anything about it. 

But this is basic information that even the lowliest of extras were privy to, so you can’t fathom how a man with a near meteoric rise to stardom wouldn’t know this. 

“Are you kidding?” she would in turn ask him. “Everybody knows.”

“Wait if everybody knows then why doesn’t anyone put a stop to it?” he asks, trying to find logic in a city not exactly known for it. 

“Because the only thing more powerful than secrets in this town is money, and he’s got a lot to keep everyone quiet.” 

Besides it’s only a matter of time before something gives in that tragedy waiting to happen. From all the whisperings Jimena’s been hearing, the girl in question has been keeping some rendezvous’ secret from her husband and more or less bragging that there’s no prenup in place. While he in turn has turned his eyes to some pretty little barely legal extra, he’s also very Catholic, doesn’t believe in divorce, and has rumored connections to the mob. 

Not even a week later did she hear whisperings that the very same producer had quickly sold all his stock in Paramount and decided to retire to the French Riviera with his wife seemingly overnight though there are conflicting reports as to whether or not she was seen at the airport. Coincidentally no one has seen hide nor hair from the last lowly actor she was seen running around with. 

Usually she kept her mouth shut about the dirtier details of an incident of this magnitude, but she couldn't help herself when she let him know the full extent as to the bullet he had dodged. 

“That's why you don’t get involved with fixers wives,” she says simply as she grabs the spray bottle for his hair, a little more secure in the knowledge that he isn’t so green anymore.

“Fixers?” he asks, and she laughs initially thinking he’s pretending to not know as is the custom when somebody on the outside asks about them. But then she sees he’s not laughing along with her, and his confusion is genuine.

“You are not kidding are you?” she asks incredulously, truly hoping that this man is not so naive. 

“Can’t say that I am,” he replies.  

Now she has two options, mind her own business and let this boy sink or swim on his own, or enlighten him to the dark underbelly of what it takes to make it in this town. Jimena had spent the last few years keeping her ear to the ground and gathering as much information as she could to one day be able to leverage it to help one person specifically… but that person hasn’t wanted much to do with her lately. 

Still she finds herself leaning more into the staying in her lane option, that is until his wide ocean blue eyes turn towards her, and she feels like a monster for the thought. 

“Well everybody around here has a job, and it’s to make movies that make money. Your job is to make the studio look good on and off screen so people spend money to see these movies,” she says as she runs a comb through his hair. “And when you fuck that up, it’s the fixers job to cover it up.” 

“When?” he repeated, clearly a little offended. 

“Yes, when,” she clarified. “Get caught with a boy, get caught holding something you’re not supposed to, get a mistress pregnant, get a ‘social’ disease, or hell, even find yourself with a dead body on your hands, you just gotta call the right producer and they make it all disappear.” She knows she’s being pretty blunt with the subject but she has been in the business pretty much right out of the womb, so she’s seen some of the worst shit this town has to offer. 

Over the next few weeks she does her best to let him in on the need to know knowledge that is necessary to survive not just in Paramount, but in Hollywood as a whole. 

“If you work with John, he’ll call you a communist for stirring your coffee the wrong way so I would avoid him. Canter’s is actually the place you want to go to for great food, Pink’s is just okay. Gable’s breath smells like death, but he will bury you if you ever mention it. Umm…” she says trying to recall any other helpful advice, though stops when she sees his overwhelmed expression. “Am I going too fast?”

He quickly schools his expression, back into one a more affable look, “Nothin’ you gotta worry ‘bout darlin’”

She is not buying it though.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, unwilling to believe his dismissal. He clammed up even more and looked straight into the mirror until she sat herself right in front of him, crossed your arms, raised an eyebrow, and gave him a look telling him she wasn't about to drop this. 

It’s a bit of a standoff until he eventually lets out a long breath and looks out the window to the awaiting set outside of his trailer, “I don’t know Jimi…” he sighs. “Guess I’m just feelin’ some type a way doin’ all this.”

“Why?” she asks, not really thinking. 

“I don’t think I’m cut out for acting.”

She simply gives a sympathetic shrug of her shoulders, and simply states, “You could be better.” 

He blinks, apparently caught off guard by her bluntness. “You just get right to the point, don'tcha darlin’,” he says with a smile. 

“Hey if you want someone to kiss your ass, you would’ve been better off asking literally anyone else.”

He gives a snort but the tight smile tells her she’s hit the nail on the head. “Alright then sweetheart, what’dya think I’m doin’ wrong?” he asks genuinely. 

Part of her wants to give a very pithy “everything,” but the other part of her is a little thrown for the fact that he is not only listening but actively asking for her advice on the matter. Granted she’s far from an expert considering she hasn’t done it in years, but she’s worked with some of the “greats’ to be confident enough in her ability to know good acting from bad. Besides she’s already going out of her way to let him in on the secrets of this town, so what’s an acting lesson or two. 

“Well for one thing, it’s called acting,” she emphasizes, “Not Wording.” 

“I-I don’t follow.” 

“Look… anybody can simply say the lines, but it’s an actor that can bring a character to life. You gotta be able to get comfortable with the fact that you’re not only being heard, but you’re being seen.” 

“Sweetheart everybody sees me.” 

“Yeah and you’re in charge of how you want to be seen,” she says. “Do you know why I wear the same red bandana everyday?”

“I was thinkin’ cuz you were tryin’ ta hide a bald spot,” he answers, which earns him a swift punch to the nipple.

“I wear it because my options are to be known as the mexican girl or as the bandana girl,” 

“So right now they’re seeing you Elvis, not Deke,” she sighs. “Say what you want about Brando and his annoying refusal to learn his goddamn lines, but he makes you believe every word that comes out of his mouth, because he believes what he’s saying at that moment…Speaking of Brando,” she pivots hard before she gets too passionate about the topic of acting and gives herself away. “Never get into a pissing contest with him. That’s how Anthony Quinn lost out on being a leading man… and I do mean a pissing contest in the most literal sense.”

“I’ll take ya word for it Jimi, but you sure do know alot ‘bout bein’ an actor,” he says giving her a once over that she can’t quite read. “You eva try bein’ one before?”

“You could say that,” she remarks, silently praying he doesn’t ask why she does have these skills. He’d already noticed over the past few weeks how she would be roped into fixing problems that were well beyond the paygrade of the average make-up girl like jumpstarting golf cars or fixing light fixtures. His attention is a bit infuriating, considering she feels she does her best work unnoticed. “When you've been in the business as long as I have, you learn a thing or two.”

“So how long you been in the business?”

Without missing a beat. “50 years.”

He gives a double take at that, and she’s pretty sure he’s trying to discern whether she’s lying or not. She’s not helping whatsoever with her usual neutral demeanor, until for the first time in years she does crack a bit of a smile at him, as she snipes with a, “I’m a very good make-up girl.”

He laughs at that “So you’ll tell me you’re real age but not your real name darlin’?

“Never.”

He gives an amused snort at that but the nice moment is interrupted when one of the PA’s pulls her away so she can help restart Gleason’s heart after his partner apparently got a little too enthusiastic about choking him mid-orgasm. 

After that the relationship between the two seemed to ease up a bit. He no longer felt the need to posture in front of her and they developed something of a -dare she say it- friendship with one another. For her, it’s a pretty novel experience to actually be heard on set for once, and the closer they got she got the sense that he may understand that feeling more than he would like to let on. 

“Any news?” he would ask, knowing full well that she always has the best stories on set. She doesn’t really talk to any of the other actors on set, and they in turn don’t really notice her, so they are a lot freer with their words when they speak with one another in front of her. 

“So… you didn’t hear it from me,” you say as you begin to wet his hair. “But apparently a certain Superman is on his way out and was seen with a younger girl in New York, and Toni is not taking it well.”

“And Toni’s husband?” 

“Taking it worse,” she says simply as she readies the eyeliner. “This was always going to happen, but I don’t think it’s the end of it.” she promises, which would be proven right a few years down the line when George “mysteriously” ended up with a bullet in his head. 

“You’re the reason I don't even bother with them papers no more,” he remarks. 

“They’re not all trash,” you defend. “There’s almost always a little bit of truth in them.” 

“Speakin’ a rumors,” he continues. “I think I finally figured out why you look like Elena Leon so much?” he says, oh-so casually trying to maintain his innocence. 

She stops combing through his hair, knowing that the jig was up. 

“Who told you?” she asks, trying to mentally prepare herself for the same three things everyone said when they did find out. It’s always an awkward subject to bring up especially as it brings up some painful memories of long hours and relationships that have yet to recover. 

“Y’know me and my mama used to watch your movies,” he says with an annoyingly charming smile.

1, 

“I’m glad,” she says in the most neutral tone. 

“Lord I never could’ve expected to meet you here, workin’ behind the scenes. You ever think about actin’ again?” 

2. 

“Oh my sister is the actress now,” she said affably. Something well-rehearsed and practically scorched into her brain since Jimena started working on sets when she was fifteen was to always talk up Elena to anybody who would listen. 

“Well thas a cryin’ shame sweetheart,” he says with a rakish grin on his face. “You were always my favorite.”

That’s new, she thought. Usually they ask her to do the old catchphrase. That or men tend to get weird around the idea of women who look almost exactly the same. 

But the idea of being the favorite is… different. Like every other relationship, she has a complicated one with the idea of being seen. But the idea of Elvis being the one to look at her is somewhere between exciting and terrifying, and it has her heart beating just a little bit faster. 

“Why didn’tcha go back?” he continues. She kind of understands where his curiosity comes from, as someone who so desperately wanted to break into the Hollywood scene it would probably be hard to comprehend someone who knew it and rejected it. 

The Leon Twins were the biggest little things since Shirley Temple. With their indistinguishable looks and charming, if slightly demeaning, premise of one sister only able to speak Spanish with the other, only English, MGM was able to pump out over thirty various movies and shorts starring the adorable little Mena and Nena and their hijinx. 

How is she supposed to explain how her mother made the unilateral decision that her sister was the “good” one and thus the one she decided would have the solo career after Jimena had the gall to go into puberty first and become slightly more distinguishable than her younger sister. Or how she hasn't talked to her sister in months despite the fact they both still live with their mother, and neither of them have acknowledged this. Or how the reason she took this job in the first place was to better lookout for said sister who isn’t talking to her.

How she sees fame as a beast of madness and obsession that will consume her given half a chance as it did with her mother and now her sister. But movies are all she’s ever known and the idea of leaving seems scarier than it is to stay. 

How the thought of having so many eyes on her once again makes her practically want to claw her skin off and she’d rather die than ever willingly step back into that arena. 

She doesn't say any of that, instead she simply says, “Got tired of it,” as she puts the finishing touches on his hair. “I had my time in front of the camera,” and hated every second of it, she thought. “And I think I’m better suited behind it,” and you give a dramatic turn of his chair so that he could face the mirror. “As you can see.”

“Yeah,” he says, taking the hand you placed on his shoulder and looking back up at you. “I don’t know what’d I do without ya sweetheart.”

Seeing his cobalt blue eyes bore into her own, Jimena feels her face heat up, though mercifully it’s hidden under her darker complexion. If Elvis notices her change, he doesn't acknowledge it, and mercifully that is when one of the PA’s calls him to the sound stage. 

Once he’s out she sprays her own face with a bottle to get herself under control. 

In spite of her typically neutral regard for actors there’s just simply something about Elvis Presley that just made her want to throw that all away. 

She had sworn to herself to never get involved with actors, she had seen this song and dance play out many a times before. It comes in different flavors, but the final scene is always the same at the end of the day: the famous white man never chooses the latin girl to be his wife. Arm-candy? Definitely. Date? Yes. Long-time Girlfriend? Sure. Fiance with a wedding date never set? Maybe. Mistress? Obviously. But never the wife. 

Besides, it was the tail-end of shooting and it’s unlikely she was ever gonna work with him again so she decided to just stamp these feelings down and hope they went away. She was afterall an actress once, she can act like he doesn’t have an affect on her now. 

Though this was blown out of the water on the last day of shooting and he would not only pull her next to him for the cast wrap-up picture, but he would also slip an invitation to the wrap-party in her purse. She had gone home hoping to take a nap and forget about Elvis Presley, only for the next curveball of her day to occur. 

“Should we match for the party?” Elena would ask, holding up said invitation. 

“...did… did you look through my purse to find that?”

“We better start getting ready,” her sister would say, completely bypassing the question. “After all it’s not everyday that Hollywood gets a Leon Twins reunion.”

“...yeah, I-I don’t think going would be…” 

“Meeeennnnnaaaa…” she whines, completely abusing the fact that she is the only one allowed to use that name and not catch a fist to the face. “We need to go together, because why else would they just invite a makeup girl to a wrap party?”

Why else indeed? She thinks and she actively has to scrub the way he looked at her out of her mind lest she get any other ideas. 

“Besides,” she says, giving Jimena a light shove on the shoulder. “You still owe me for never introducing me to James Dean.”

“I barely knew him,” she argues back, which is the truth. He only vaguely knew her as “Snake girl” when she was working as a PA for one of his movies. The closest she ever got to him was after she managed to save him, Rock, and Liz from a snake that had trapped them in his trailer and their subsequent thank-you’s being signed photos of each of them that they had their assistants bring to her. There’s a certain irony in the fact that of the few movies to depict the plight of Mexican-Americans in the US, they had no problem giving her, one of the few Mexican crew members, the most dangerous task because everybody else was too valuable to lose.

Looking at her sister, her reflection in many ways, she feels her resolve begin to waiver a bit. Nena was her first job in a sense, as being the older sister it was Jimena’s responsibility to look out for her first and foremost. She took it so seriously that she’s still doing it to this day. 

They have always been so intrinsically entwined as an act. Their tiny hand prints immortalized in front of Grauman’s and the child-sized oscar with both of their names somewhere around here prove that much. But Elena now struggles to find that same level of fame as before, and secretly Jimena doubts that this will ever be possible. 

She couldn’t understand it but Jimena could see the reason as clear as day. 

There’s an unspoken rule about being a latin or black actress in Hollywood when you’re not the star of the show: Never outshine the white leading ladies, because it has to be believable that the white leading man chooses the leading lady. 

Joan Crawford was bad enough with actresses who had the gall to be simply younger than her, but she was especially vicious toward the ones who had skin tone darker than ivory. Jimena remembers one harrowing set where this one little Cuban extra had made the awful mistake of approaching Joan and saying how she wanted to be as big a star as her one day. 

They never did find her ear, and Jimena had made it a point to stop wearing hoop earrings on set altogether. The whole incident was swept under the rug after “someone” accused the poor girl of being a communist, and they did who knows what with her. But that just confirmed her and other girls like her are unlikely to be protected on set no matter how valuable you make yourself.  

Jimena told her sister this story, warning her to dull herself down a bit during auditions, if only to get her foot in the door and get more consistent work as secondary characters. And it was working for a time, but she wasn’t seeing the kind of work she wanted and she largely blamed Jimena for it because of her warnings to play it safe. 

In fact the source of their recent falling out was when Jimena had tried to convince her to try out cinema in Italy or Mexico or literally anywhere else in the world and use that as a branching off point to get an in in Hollywood. She flat out refused saying how she “doesn’t want to die in obscurity like you.” They didn’t talk for a solid month after that and since then it was only the barest of communication between them.  

“Imagine if I was seen with Elvis Presley,” she said now, with stars in her eyes. “The roles would come pouring in after that.”

For all that it left a sour taste in her mouth, Jimena could understand the logic of wanting to latch on to someone who's already getting up there in terms of fame. Fuck the studios themselves sometimes set up these types of arrangements, all for the sake of promoting up and comers. 

And the fact he invited her in the first place, probably means he had something else on his mind for the evening. Besides he’s apparently been a fan of theirs for a long time, it probably wouldn’t matter too much to him to which sister he was handed at the end of the day. 

So really everybody wins with this arrangement; Elena gets a bump to her star power, Elvis gets to fuck one of the Leon twins, Jimena gets to stay in her lane. And it’s with a heavy heart that she agrees to go. 

The evening was apparently so special that their mother decided to make one of her rare appearances before sunset. 

Once after finding out that not only was she one of the famous Leon Twins, but that her mother was THE Gloria Leon-Sanchez from the silent film days, he of course asked what it was like to grow up with a famous mother.

“You ever seen Sunset Boulevard?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve met my mother.” 

Harsh as it may sound, that was the most generous interpretation of her mother that she could afford these days. What with her practically living in nightgowns and sheer robes, to her constant bemoaning of actresses that apparently stole her career trajectory the likes of which included practically everyone from Rita Hayworth to even her own daughters, the comparison wasn’t too far off.  

Though her mother had largely checked out once the twins had turned eighteen. Elena alone hadn’t been able to reach the same level of fame that the two of them once managed together as the “Firecracker twins.” 

It was a simple gimmick really but had just enough gas to make over 30 movies and short movies about. Adorable twin girls who get up to mischief due to their near indistinguishable looks, Mena the spanish-speaking, spitfire twin that always had a skip in her step to dance with her little, english-speaking, soft-spoken and shyer twin, Nena, who could occasionally be emboldened enough to sing. 

The two of them were a lightning rod for box office draw, having been likened to Shirley Temple levels of fame, but due to their background that hardly granted them Shirley Temple levels of treatment or pay for that matter. 

Her and her sister weren’t seen as people, they were moving props that could sing and dance, and on occasion say their famous “Ayy, No Bueno!” catchphrase. Props that didn’t need to rest, props that didn’t need to eat, props that the less scrupulous producers would occasionally try to lure into an empty room with them. 

Not to pat their mother too hard on the back, but she at the very least helped them avoid the most obvious pitfalls that come from childhood stardom, but made them arguably worse. Like refusing to let the doctor give them “vitamin shots” but would ask if they could just IV Line coffee to their veins. Or never letting either of them out of her sight on sets, but couldn’t really be bothered with them outside of it leaving them with nannies so she could go “audition” for them. Or how she never left either of them alone with any of the men, but did teach them how to mix drinks at the age of nine so they could charm them with their “maturity.” So on and so forth. All of these bad, but after encountering other mothers who wanted to make their kids stars regardless of the cost, it really put things into perspective as to the type of person she could’ve been. 

What happened to her as a kid may have been more palatable to Jimena, if it were a case of that being the only way to keep them afloat. But it wasn’t and the older she gets, the better she understands as to what was stolen from her in their childhood. Their “father” Victor, had the decency to slip into a coma after marrying the formerly famous silent film-actress, and 10 Months later out popped Jimena and her sister, so as to properly claim her cut of his fortune. 

No, it was never about the money for her mother. It was always the fame that she was seeking, even if she had to begrudgingly share it with her daughters. 

Back in those days the Coogan act was more of a suggestion in the studios, especially when they had her mothers implicit permission for whatever they wanted. The long hours, the uncomfortable costumes and the mean men were all things she had done your very best in the last few years to forget about. 

One thing she undoubtedly won’t forget was her mother’s favorite threat when she was a kid and acting up. “¿Quieres que consiga los fijadores?” Gloria would say with a sickly sweet smile on her face, knowing full well no one but her daughter understood her words. Where other Mexican kids were scared of El Cucuy, she was scared of Los Fijadores or the fixers who would take away bad little girls that didn’t listen to the directors, so that their mothers could go back to acting and not have to care for those ungrateful little girls. That would always shut her up for the day, and she would listen until the next time she got fed up and the cycle would repeat all over again. Little did she realize at the time that her mother didn’t have much in the way of influence in the business, not anymore at least, but she took full advantage over the influence she had over her daughters. 

Ironically enough it was rare that Jimena would ever get to that point, but because her sister was the “good one” she would never dare to kick up a fuss, so most of the time the older sister would do it for her. She took her role as a big sister very seriously back then and didn’t mind being the difficult one who held up production if it meant that her little sister got a break.

It was always the two of them against the world. It’s why she even stayed in the business. She couldn’t imagine where she’d be if it was just her alone, as for all the shit her mother put her through, she could at least take comfort knowing that she wasn’t alone. Even when they were angry at each other, even when they wouldn’t speak to each other for weeks, even when she felt like she just wanted to choke her, she could take comfort knowing that they would always be there for one another. 

For the occasion, her sister would choose a bold red dress that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Marilyn or Jayne. It felt a little too much for just a simple wrap party, but it was clear her intent was to draw as much attention as possible.

By the time Jimena made her way downstairs it was clear that it was already working, with the way their mother was cooing over her. 

“So you’re going with Elena to the party,” her mother would remark as Jimena stepped down the stairs.

“Actually she’s going with me.” 

“And you’re going to wear that?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” she says in the way only a mother intent on cutting down her daughters self-esteem could.

Jimena would self-consciously look down at her own understated blue dress, “What’s wrong with it?” 

“It’s just…” she would say, fingering the fabric on her shoulder. “This is Elena’s big night, and we need to do everything in our power to help her stand out.” 

A distraction goes unsaid, something she used to be called for wearing any slightly flattering clothing onset. Even when she did start dressing down, she could hardly say it helped anything but this is an argument she’s heard a lot over the years, and she’s too tired to fight it tonight. “Of course mama,” Jimena would say dejectedly before going back to her room to change into something a little less flattering. A simple black dress, something that is both complementary to Elena’s red dress, but will also hopefully help her fade into the background so that all focus will be given to her sister. 

“Ayy thank you Mija,” she would say, planting a kiss on her eldest’s cheek before they left. “You’ve always been so good at looking out for your sister.”

Jimena had long since accepted that between the two of them, she would always be the second choice. It happened with their mother, it happened with the studios, it happened with every single boy she had been interested in, hell she had even chosen her sister before herself most times. Why would Elvis be different?

That night when he did end up picking her, Jimena could hardly be blamed for indulging in the sensation of the first time in her life someone had chosen her over her sister. 

It was the worst mistake of her life that she would struggle to forgive herself for. Elvis would distract her almost the entire night, and as a result an awful man had sunken his claws into Elena when she hadn’t been looking. Those last few months of her sister's life would be fraught with anger, drugs, and heartache from one Tim Parsons. 

He had been claiming to be related to one of the studio big-wigs and could get her some higher profile auditions. What scared Jimi is that she could not find a goddamn thing about him in all of her little networks. Anywhere else this would mean that he’s a perfectly normal person with nothing so scandalous as to be worth talking about. In this town it meant that someone was just very good at hiding whatever the hell is wrong with them.  

Yet all the evidence that he was bad news came in the form of all the drastic changes she was seeing in her sister. Since puberty, Elena had always been slimmer than her (their mother made sure of that) as a result, she wasn’t quite as gifted in the chest and hips as Jimena. But it was impossible not to notice the fact that she dropped a few dress sizes in a matter of weeks. When Elena begged her sister to take in a few dresses for her, Jimena could practically see her ribcage. Not to mention the fact that she was unusually full of energy even late into the night when she would pace around the house only to make a call to him and then after a quick handoff from his car she would be dead asleep, until he would let himself in and the cycle would begin all over again.  

Jimena knows what these all mean. She’s seen the signs in hundreds of actors before, and she’s never bothered to intervene before. Now it feels like a karmic punishment for her previous inaction, as she can only watch helplessly as her sister goes down the same road. 

It all came to a head the day she finally heard the first thing about this man, and it was truly terrifying: that not only was he not a doctor, but that that wasn’t even his name. He had been forced to change it once his claim to fame in this town became how he was denied an apprenticeship under Dr. Feelgood because his concoctions were in the doctors words “unhinged.” The man who regularly shoots up his patients that have a blend of human placenta and ground up horse bones called another man’s “vitamin” mixture insane. 

She dropped everything the moment she heard that and begged Elena to stop seeing this man. But it was in one ear out the other, and it seems it was hard for her to believe Jimena when for a time she was actually getting her foot in the door for major roles she actually wanted all because of him. However these also came with a price as evidenced by the late nights and vacant looks in Elena’s eyes after coming back from these auditions. The more she did this the more she felt her sister slipping away.

Her mother is no help whatsoever seeing only the results of this shift, and not the consequences. 

“Mija,” she would say to her in one of her rare moments of lucidness. “This is what it really takes. I tried to protect you both from it when you were younger, but she understands now what has to be done to make it in this town.”

Jimena has to bite her tongue, when all she wants to do is scream at her mother and yell at her to look in a mirror and ask if that was the image of someone who made it.

It all came to a head when Elena would beg Jimena to help her “entertain” a casting producer who not only had a thing for latinas, but twins as well. She was practically on her knees pleading for her sister's help with this, promising her twin that this would be the break in her career that she needed. Jimena tried to reason with her that there is no role worth what they’re asking for her, especially since even sleeping with them wasn’t a guarantee for her roles.

Up until this point she’s tried to be gentle about this, but it becomes clear as day that that is no help.

“You watch!” She yelled. “He’s gonna suck you dry and spit you back out when there’s nothing left!”

“At least he’s getting me work! You’ve always done nothing but drag me down!” she sobs, angry tears streaming down her face. “The one time I ask you to do something for me-”

“The one time? Who’s the one that did all the stunts you were too afraid of? Who’s the one who dropped out of school so you wouldn’t be alone on sets? Who’s been talking you up to every producer she’s ever worked with?”

“The same bitch who ruined my life when she fucked Elvis Presley!” Her little sister would snapback. 

That has Jimena clamp her mouth shut, not wanting to own up to what she did that set her sister on this course. But that’s all the confirmation Elena needed before she turned her back on her. 

It was the ugliest fight they had ever had, and it resolved nothing, as they just stormed into their respective rooms. Those days were less Little Women and more Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Jimi knew that if one didn’t get out soon there would be blood. So when she was offered a project that would be shooting mostly on location in New Orleans she practically jumped at the opportunity, hardly even registering the fact that Elvis was gonna be there as well.

It was only landing in Louisiana and seeing room assignments did she remember why exactly she hated On-location shoots, when “mysteriously” the other seven white women she was sharing a room with all unanimously decided that of all of them, Jimena would be the one that had to take the floor. 

But remembering who exactly was starring in this production, she decided to take a chance and made her way to his room. Though upon arriving at his door, she does hesitate for a moment remembering what her sister said and probably what he will expect if they do share a room. But then just thinking of her sister infuriates her and she finds herself finally knocking on his door. 

Being in New Orleans, all her problems back home would seem so far away, and she could focus on herself for a change. In an odd way it felt like he was the only one who understood her in those days. Of all the people on set, he is the only one who knows how to put on a brave face when it feels like everything you have is slipping through your fingers. 

Him also knowing who exactly she was came with the unexpected consequence of him constantly trying to finagle stories out of her. Really talking to him about her childhood did help put into perspective how wild her formative years were as not everybody can say they got in a fist fight with Wendy Darling or that Shirley Temple taught them how to roll a cigarette. 

He seemed to just understand what she needed in a way no one has ever. It was usually simple arguably unremarkable things really, like anticipating when she was hungry or tired, even before she would admit it to herself, or when she almost lost a finger or when he stepped so this would be the first time she wouldn’t be the one to have to chase rabid animals out after a small alligator somehow got onto the set. He took care of her in a way that nobody had ever done before. 

She wouldn’t define what they had as a full scale relationship, but whatever they had, it was nice just to have something private and out of the public eye. Only later would she realize he had his own reasons to keep everything as discreet as possible. 

They were together almost every night in New Orleans, as it was easy to fall into each other like that. They were both at an uncomfortable crossroad in their life and it felt like he understood her in a way nobody else had. 

She thought she understood him as well, but it was only when she read the article did she realize she never knew him at all. 

They were a week away from wrapping up production, when Jimena got the devastating news. In a newspaper somebody else had been reading on set that day of all things. 

That was the way she learned that her sister was dead. 

She remembers saying to no one in particular that she was gonna call it a day and simply wandered off set, into the unfamiliar city. She walked for hours just trying to wrap her head around the news.

It felt like the worst sort of betrayal to learn that her sister had been dead for days, and not only had no one contacted her, but that she didn’t automatically feel it. Aren’t other twins supposed to just know when the other is hurt? So why didn’t she? Elena came into this world with Jimena, why did she leave without her? 

As a kid her mother told her that she was not a pretty crier, so she’s done everything in her power to never cry, especially in front of other people. So walking around and being surrounded by strangers at the very least did prevent her from devolving into a blubbering mess. But as the day goes on she knows there is no outrunning the inevitable, and that as tempting as it may be to simply walk until she couldn't anymore, she would have to go home soon. 

She would eventually make her way back to the hotel room only to be met with Elvis worriedly pacing around his room. He would throw his arms around her the moment he saw her and start with the condolences, and even the tears. 

She didn’t really want any of that; she just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. But she lets him pull her close and she breaks for the first time in years in front of somebody else. True to her mothers words, it is not a pretty picture.

Full body wracking sobs, snot pouring out of her nose, her screaming and cursing until her voice goes hoarse, the works. Even still he holds her all the same. For all that she’s glad he was there she can’t help but feel so humiliated, but that’s simply one of the many emotions that run through her head along with guilt and anger and regret and just about every other awful feeling under the sun. 

But who else could she turn to that would know even a fraction of what she’s going through right now. Not just to lose a sister, but to lose a part of yourself. 

In a sick way she kind of blamed him. Maybe if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in him these last few weeks she would’ve known earlier, or maybe she wouldn’t have even taken this job, or hell, if she hadn’t even gone to that party, Elena wouldn’t have even met that man in the first place. 

“The same bitch who ruined my life when she fucked Elvis Presley!” Plays over and over again in her head. But it’s easier to be mad at him because he’s actually here to take that anger. 

Though she begins to feel no small amount of guilt for this when she wakes up the next morning to find that he’s cleared everything with the producers, and arranged for her trip back home all on his dime. 

He personally escorts her to the private train room he rented for her and leaves her with a kiss and a promise to see her in a few days. But by this point she’s numb to everything and she simply wants to close her eyes forever.

She barely registered coming home and only that was due to the fact that it’s now on her to arrange everything for the funeral, as it becomes apparent that her mother in her grief is off on another world.  The biggest clue being when her mother greets her at the front door with a hug and a kiss, and calls her Elena. 

“Mena’s still not back yet,” her mother would say with her arms still wrapped around her in the threshold of their home. “So it’s just gonna be us today.”

“Ama…” Jimena whispers, unwilling to believe what she���s hearing. 

“Let's get you to the kitchen,” she tugs at her now lone daughter's arm. “You look like a skeleton these days. They’re not going to hire you if you don’t have a little meat on your bones.” She’s quickly whisked away to the kitchen where she finds a veritable feast, and her mothers hired cook nowhere in sight. Her mother can’t cook, a fact known to both sisters, but between the two of them, Elena never had the heart to tell her. 

“You should listen to your sister more Nena,” she says brushing some hair out of her face after putting down a full plate of food in front of her. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this and I think she’s right on the money with the idea of trying to make it somewhere else and then coming back.” 

“Ama… please listen to me,” she pleads softly with the older woman, wanting to be gentle with her.

“You should really consider Italy,” she would say, not even acknowledging her daughter had said something. “Or France if you want to get a slightly better chance at 

It’s then she realizes that her mother is simply parroting back to her what she had been saying to her sister. All the rage and grief that’s been building up inside her bubbles over by that point. Now is when her mother decides to back her up, when it’s far too late to do anything about it?

“She’s gone!” she shouts. “She’s not here anymore, I’m Jimena!”

Her mother doesn’t look shocked, more resolved as she places her head in her hands. “Quiero estar con Elena,” she whispers through her tears. 

It occurred to Jimena that this was the first time she had heard her mother speak Spanish in years. Alot of her mother these days is very… performative. 

She’s seen it throughout the years how much her mother puts on a show, even simply for her daughters. It’s most apparent when she talks, as rather than using her natural voice, the one that made it impossible for her to break into the “talkies” as she still insists on calling them, she’s instead adopted the mid-atlantic, but the result sounds like if Katherine Hepburn was mocking someone with a Spanish accent. 

But hearing her now, Jimena realizes that this is the most honest her mother has been with her in years. The truth doesn’t make it sting any less. Her mother is gone, she just needs to resolve this one last piece of business to go in peace. 

Just like she played mother to her own sister for years, she could pretend to be the daughter that her mother needed at that moment. And so she unflinchingly took a bite out of ceviche that only tasted like raw non-marinated shrimp and talked about whether or not to go the Josephine Baker route and start off as a showgirl.

The rest of the day is spent trying to ease her mothers guilt, only to pile it onto Jimena. Her mother would not so subtly explain why Jimena has been right this whole time and why ELena should listen to her. She suspects this is some fucked up way for her mother to tell her it’s not her fault, but all Jimena can hear is how if she had pushed harder her sister would still be here.

At one point her mother would “subtly” hint that she called in a favor with an old friend to take “Tim” down to Mexico so that he can retire. Jimena can’t even find joy in the fact that he’s gone now, because what does that leave her with, if she can’t be the one to kill the man who killed a part of her? 

“One more thing Mija,” Gloria says as she runs her nails through Jimena’s hair while they were both laying down in her sister's bed. “Thank your sister for me.”

Jimena hesitates before she asks, that distinct sense of trouble churning her stomach, “For what?”

“For being the mother I could never be for you,” she says, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Mena’s the one I never had to worry about.” And with those final words, her mother settles in behind her and goes to sleep. 

The coroner would later say that the fact that she was able to sleep and not be disturbed by whatever took her, she at the very least went without pain. 

This is fundamentally untrue as she left all her pain to Jimena.

This event had taken the story from simply sad to a tragedy. A young, beautiful starlet dying of an accidental overdose, is one thing, but add in her bereaved former silent film star mother to the mix, and that’s front-page news worthy. And before Jimena knew it, her loss was now the hottest ticket in town, because all of the cameras were not gonna dare miss such an event, and no star was gonna dare miss the cameras. 

It felt that every relatively famous person who vaguely knew either her mother or sister came out of the woodwork to tell some sort of story about them at the funeral. Jimena doesn't really have much to say other than there were definitely some who pulled off the bereaved friend act better than others. 

When it finally comes time for her eulogy, she was not as prepared as she thought. In an odd way it would have been better to look out in a sea of strangers, because looking out and seeing a hoard of famous faces who don’t know a single goddamn thing about her, all blank as there is not a single camera trained on them at the moment is far worse than anything imaginable. 

She ends up bolting to a backroom before she could make a fool of herself and scream at them all for being here when they’re not. She gives a futile effort to calm herself down by looking at all the gifts from well-wishers.

It was almost funny as it seemed everyone's publicist went to the same gift basket guy as there were maybe a dozen of the same arrangements, and she briefly wondered if they were bought in bulk by the studio and sent in different stars names. But one name in particular gave her pause, and she ripped the card off of the basket, unwilling to believe her own eyes that he could be so callous. 

Sorry for your loss

It was hard to comprehend at that moment, and she stupidly turned the little card back and forth unwilling to believe that the man who claimed to care so much for her would only send her an assortment of fruits and cheeses and not even five words. 

It’s all too much at that point, her dress is too tight, she’s all alone, her head is spinning, she’s all alone, her tits hurt for some reason, she’s all alone, she wants to throw up, she’s all alone, she’s all alone, she’s all alone… 

Jimena’s next conscious thought is realizing she’s in a hospital bed, but not in a hospital. The sound stage she’s on does a good enough job of looking like an actual hospital, save for the fact that an entire wall is missing and what looks to be a couple dozen cameras trained on her prone form. She can’t move anything save for blinking but that simply seems to make her situation worse as the cameras proceed to multiply each and every time. 

What does eventually make her accept that this is in fact a dream is when her rotting and decaying mother and sister enter stage left and proceed to rip off the thin hospital blankets. Before she can make any move to protest, she’s quieted with a wave of pain in her lower belly as they both take one of her legs in hand and proceed to spread them wide open for the cameras, each flash searing into her skin like a brand.

She can feel the way her mother and sister dig their fingers into her limbs to keep her in place and helpless as wave after wave of agony seems to flow throughout her entire body. She’s begging for them to let her go, she’s begging the cameras to stop, most of all she’s begging for someone who's not there.

She came to, maybe a day later, this time in an actual hospital with a mild concussion, a baby in her belly, and a broken heart, though they can only officially diagnose the first two. 

She had options for this situation. Every woman, famous or not, in the business knew she had options, it was practically part of orientation that they got a list of ten approved doctors by the studio for this very sickness. It was almost treated as a rite of passage for the backstage girls to have to eventually visit a doctor, it’s simply that common.

Jimena’s never had any reason to utilize this option, having 1. Avoided anybody relatively important to necessitate this, and 2. She had always been careful when it came to something like this. And yet somehow Elvis proved to be an exception to these rules. She had admittedly gotten sloppy after the first time he spilled inside her in New Orleans, as after that first time she figured that if anything came from this she could always just visit one of the studio doctors when she got back to LA. 

But sitting in a hospital bed, that once hypothetical scenario now a reality, it no longer feels as simple as it once did. She’s near catatonic in her indecisiveness until one of the nurses idly asks if she would be open to visitors should anybody arrive. 

And just like that, the prospect of going through with any other option other than keeping the baby made her sick. Because if she did go through with it… then she would well and truly have no one.

It had always been her and Elena against their mother, against the studio, against the world even, but now… she’s gone and it feels like she took a part of Jimena with her. 

Jimena’s good at a lot of things, not great, simply good. Jack of all trades they would call her, able to make quick fixes to a golf cart in a pinch, mix the perfect hangover cure, fix a few busted stitches on a dress or person alike, and practically anything else the studio demanded of her. 

Maybe in another life her wide-ranging skill set would have made her the greatest actress of her generation, able to play whatever role thrown at her. But in this life it just made her feel hollow. As though she herself is empty and without a part to play save for caring for her sister. 

Perhaps it’s true and that’s why she latched onto Elvis for a time, desperately needing to care for someone if only to outrun those fears of inadequacy. But there’s no outrunning anything when half of her is gone. 

As for Elvis, she doesn’t exactly know what to do about him just yet. She knew that telling anyone but him first would result in it getting back to the studio and at best she would be “lightly” pressured to go see a doctor, at worst anybody who asks will be told she decided to “retire” in Mexico. So her best bet was to wait it out and hope he contacts her.

Then one fateful morning as she was contemplating how best to ask the studio for bereavement leave, did she get a copy of Excelsior and she read about an exclusive interview Federico de León got with the father of her child. 

I would rather kiss three black women than one Mexican. 

She thinks she stares at that sentence for a good ten minutes trying to convince herself that she’s somehow misinterpreting this. But the inner smartass has to creep in and force her to face her new reality.

Well… he did more than kiss, she thought spitefully looking down at her belly, now far more prominent than it had been at the funeral months ago. She burns with humiliation and shame as those words run over and over in her head. 

She knows personally that there is almost always a grain of truth to stories like these, having had the scoop on many of them months before they got to print. And the fact of the matter is that it’s hard to believe the studio would allow for these to stand if they weren’t true with the movie coming out soon. 

As far as she knows, the studio has no idea about the affair between her and Elvis, and she’s going to keep it that way. 

What burns her the most is how wrong she was about him, not just as a person but as an actor. That she could’ve ever believed all his sweet words about this grand connection they had and how they were destined to be together. He’s perhaps the best actor she’s ever encountered if he got her of all people to believe all of that shit.  

It’s better this way, she tries to tell herself. In a way it is, as this was always an inevitability because regardless of whether he said it or not, there is no world where they ended up together. That’s not how this town works.

Her job makes her the first one to see actors on a given day, and she’s been forced to think on her feet as to how best to make them not only look but be presentable in front of the camera. 

She’s had to quickly sober up hundreds of actors and she’s had to figure out just the right amount of drink for each of them that will make them functional but not incoherent. Had to cover up twice as many bruises on actresses' faces so no one will speculate what goes on behind closed doors of their producers husbands. She’s even been the one to diagnose more than a few “social” diseases on set and steer them to the right doctors, so as to prevent a veritable epidemic on set. As haughty as it may sound, productions would fall apart without her. 

Low-level she may be, she’s a fixer in this town. She’s not a problem that needs to be fixed. 

And she decides neither will her baby. 

She’s not gonna beg like a fucking dog to be acknowledged by him, nor will she allow for her child to be forced into the spotlight. It destroyed her sister, it ruined her mother, and it almost claimed her once more. 

Elvis may have taken her pride but he won’t have her and he sure as hell will never have her baby.

Now

Elvis will never be used to California weather with its ability to both be hot and dry in the tail end of winter. But he hopes it’ll do him some good of defrosting his bones from the near-year round cold of Germany. Once upon a time he never thought he would enjoy it as much as he does right now.

But he’s found a lot to love and miss about California since he’s been gone so long. 

Not to brag but he’s been with his fair share of women, between actual girlfriends, publicity girlfriends and all the girls he knew at best for only a few hours. None of them can claim to have instilled in him this sense of longing the way she did. 

Nor can any of them claim to have caused as much heartache as she did. 

Bittersweet as they may be, those days filming King Creole he missed the most. It was those days that kept him sane in the lead up to boot camp, and even then some. Though of all the things Hollywood had to offer him, there is only one thing he coveted these last few years.

“You see her over there Billy,” he said to his cousin one day on set as he took a breather from the lights while she fixed up Carolyn’s makeup. “That’s the girl that’s gonna be my wife.” No words have ever felt more right to him. 

It was all the more heartbreaking and humiliating when he had sent Billy to find her and figure out why none of the letters he’d been giving to the Colonel to give to her had been answered while he was in boot camp. Billy would return to Texas unable to meet his eyes as he sheepishly handed him a single note in her handwriting. 

Three black women huh?

That sinking feeling that settled in his stomach as he remembered those words are something he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. He recognized those words, how could he not? Afterall those are supposedly the ones he said that got him and his movies banned from an entire goddamn country he ain’t ever been to. 

It would be one thing for her to be mad at him for something he did do, but it felt like the worst sort of injustice that Jimi may never want to see him again for words that he never said from a man he never met for some unforgivable slight he never committed. 

Worst of all was how he was surrounded by his entourage who gathered around and were now owlishly looking at him, expecting a certain reaction from him, and simply waiting for him so they could properly react. 

It’s near paralyzing in that moment that he recognizes that his closest friends aren’t expecting him to react, they’re expecting Elvis Presley to react. 

“Her loss,” he remembers saying, feeling every single eye on him in that moment, trying to literally shrug off that scratchy feeling in his throat. He’s supposed to be the biggest heartthrob of America, unfazed when a girl said no because there are no less than a hundred girls that would say yes. 

They all follow suit, and quickly take to promising him a night out and reassuring him that he’ll practically be drowning in pussy before midnight. Though with one look he does put an end to that little episode when their support for him turned into disparaging her. 

He knows that there is no use in even trying to reason with her over letters. Because what can he really say to her in writing if she’s not gonna even bother reading? 

If she already has it in his head that he’s the type of man to say something like that, then no amount of letters will make her believe otherwise. 

He would spend the next year trying unsuccessfully to fall out of love with her. Indulged -perhaps too much- in all that bachelorhood had to offer. All the girls he could pull, all the pills he could handle, but none of it could even match a fraction of the euphoric feeling of being complete when Jimena was around.

She loves him. Or at least she used to. She never said it but he certainly felt loved in a way he’s not used to anymore. It’s not the fanatical worship from his fans, nor the sycophantic adoration of his buddies. Her love is something purer, less selfish, something he doesn’t think he’s experienced outside of his mama since the fame started rolling in. 

He needs her in his life. Because nobody is going to look out for him or try to protect him the same way she would. 

He’s had nothing but time to figure out ways to get her to at the very least hear him out. From there he could start rebuilding the foundation of the relationship and work his way back to her good graces. 

His first obstacle to this plan comes in the form of finding out she is no longer doing makeup anymore, and is now in fact part of the wardrobe department. This is a wrench in his plans considering he attributes her fall for him due to the fact that she practically saw him everyday while shooting. But he tries to look at the bright side of this, knowing that it at least guarantees that Brando and Newman haven’t been getting the same treatment from her. 

The next obstacle to seeing her again is her initial refusal to be a part of the new production, as now with her new title as Costume designer she’s in a better position to pick and choose what she works on. But enough pressure on the director to push for her specifically does eventually have her signing on to the project. 

The final wrench in his plans came the day he had been anticipating for almost two years. 

He’s thought about her non-stop for the past two years, so he almost immediately notices the changes in her appearance. No less beautiful (arguably even more so with her bigger tits and rounder hips, and better fitting clothes), she’s different nonetheless, yet none of that prevents him from wanting to gather her in his arms and promise to never let go. 

But a single look from her his way, stops him in his tracks. And suddenly he’s brought back to the first time he ever met her, mistaking her for his would be co-star, and wondering how he’s gonna get through this shoot when he feels like he’s two inches tall under this gorgeous creature's gaze.

He was prepared for her hatred, he wasn’t prepared for her complete and utter indifference. She had that glazed over look in her eyes, like he wasn’t even there. It reminds him of one of the few times that he dared to question why she does that whenever he asked what it was like to grow up in Hollywood. 

In a rare instance of vulnerability, she would solemnly whisper “It makes it easier to pretend it happened to someone else.” Only minutes after that would she claim to urgently need to go back to her assigned room for the night, the only time she ever did so during production. Next day she would pretend as though nothing happened, and he would follow suit all too willing to indulge her so she wouldn't run off again.

He knows he’s hurt her beyond measure, but to be put in the same categories of things she would rather pretend never happened is gut-wrenching. 

If she hated him, he could’ve worked with that, because at the very least she still felt something when she looked at him. But as the whole session went on it became clear she at the very least wanted him to believe she felt nothing for him. 

He would’ve taken any sort of reaction by that point: an “accidental” pin prick from the needle, a passive-aggressive tightening of the measuring tape around his neck, hell he would’ve settled for so much as a hateful glare his way. But nothing, stone cold professional she is, she simply takes his measurements only to then give her only acknowledgment that he was even there by giving him a simple “all done.” She then moves on to his co-star with all the eagerness of someone about to brush their teeth, just so painfully indifferent to everything in this room.

Regret is a constant companion these days, always whispering in his ear about his shortcomings, but now it feels like it’s practically screaming in his ear what a failure he is to let a woman like this slip through his fingers. 

He’s practically kicking his younger and dumber self for being so cowardly as to miss the chance to tell her how he felt. Not a day has passed since they parted had he not thought about every touch he didn’t follow with I love you, every embrace he didn’t whisper how much she meant to him, every kiss he didn’t beg for her to always stay by his side. 

He had been gearing up to try to broach the subject of something more happening, ideally ending up with a courthouse wedding before he had to be sworn in, though he was willing to accept whatever form of a relationship she would offer him so long as she would still be in his life. 

But then just a week before wrap-up, when everything was as close to perfect as it could be, that is of course when things went to shit. 

Elena Perez, of the famous little firecracker twins, found dead, age 21

It hit him like a punch to the gut when he first saw that. Even though he had never met her, it was devastating all the same, knowing how affected Jimi was gonna be.  

The closest he ever did come to meeting her was when Jimi had brought her to the wrap party for Loving You. 

He was still pretty new to the art of schmoozing, so his night was almost entirely devoted to an ever present smirk that had begun to hurt his cheeks and laughing a little more than necessary at every joke the studio heads made. He was tired but he knew he would find no rest anywhere. But his tune quickly changed when he saw a familiar figure within the crowd. 

He felt his heart go all a flutter when he saw her from behind but then when she turned around there was just something about her that didn’t sit right with him. It was like looking at a funhouse mirror of Jimi, her posture almost ridiculously upright to further push her ample breasts out, her smile a little too tight, but most of all her eyes were a little too hungry, a little too eager to please. The features were nearly entirely the same but he was so used to the casual nature of his makeup girl, it felt so unnatural to see this. 

In another life he may have been all over her by this point, taken her home, maybe if he was feeling generous, been seen out in public with her a few times before ultimately moving on. There were beautiful and eager to please women everywhere he looked, there wasn’t really anything special about Elena Leon. 

But having met Jimi first, he can’t really fathom having much to do with her.

He spent the better part of two hours ducking and weaving her approach, practically sending out his boys as human shields, to keep her away, because he doesn’t exactly trust himself not to give in to her advances, if only for the consolation prize of getting to be with someone who looked liked the one he actually wanted. 

He eventually made his way upstairs after a while no longer wanting to be surrounded by people, as there was only one person he wanted to be with at the moment, and she had apparently decided not to come. 

It becomes apparent that he’s been rewarded for his self- restraint when he finds a backside he would know anywhere on the third floor balcony. Swathed in a pretty if non-descript black dress,  bottle of champagne in hand, she was looking down on the party like an ever-judging guardian angel. 

“Y’know I don’t think they wanted anyone up here,” he would say casually. 

He could see the way she practically lit up as she saw him, a soft smile on her gorgeous face and her eyes warm, probably the first person of the night that was genuinely glad to see him. It’s a novel experience for people to see him and not the star, and it’s something he never thought he would miss. 

“Well you better get outta here before they see you,” she snarked back. 

He laughs for the first time since he got there, and it feels so easy to just settle right next to her and look down on everyone else. He finds himself relaxing for the first time since he’s gotten there.

“So what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ up here all by your lonesome?”

Around a tight smile she says, “There’s already a pretty girl like me down at the party.” He can’t help that he flinches slightly as he thinks about her sister. “I see you met Elena,” she sighs, before plastering a tight-lipped sardonic grin on her face. “So what’d ya think?”

Elvis has the good sense to know a trap when he sees one with women, so rather than using words he just lets out a long breath. 

She gives a short mirthful huff. “Yeah that’s fair,” she taps the neck of the bottle trying to undoubtedly figure out a way to change the subject. “If you say some corny ass shit like ‘I think I’m seein’ double’,” she says in a piss poor impression of his own voice. “I will push you off this balcony.” 

“You sound like ya done it before sweetheart” he smirks, swiping the bottle from her hand, before taking a swig. 

“How else do you think I avoided becoming Charlie Chaplin’s 5th wife?” The simple statement catches him off guard that champagne threatens to come back up his nose. 

“... ya serious?” He closes his eyes in relief when she snorts.

“No,” she chuckles, with a hand wave. “I pushed him off because of something else.” Her eyes slide away from him and zero in on one of the partygoers below, before he could dare ask for any further elaboration. “Oh hey… Brody’s here and… uh-oh so is Frank.” 

He follows her eyeline to find that she’s wearily looking at ol’ blue eyes himself who has decided to make an appearance. “Ya’ got a story ‘bout Frank?”

“I got a story about everyone here.” With a slight smirk, she would hold two fingers up and ask, “Wanna know how I got these scars?” 

She regales him with not just that story but others of what she’s been asked to do on set. Some were funny like having to fish a toupee out of an oscar winner's mouth to more harrowing ones of being asked to check the pulse of particularly heavy drinking stars. Anybody else, he doubts he would have humored such tales, but it’s when he started hearing other people tell even wilder stories of her that ranged from snake-wrangling to resetting famous stars' bones after some sexual misadventure, did he learn early on never to doubt her stories. 

“So you come to these things often?” he asks after her giggles had settled down.  

“Never,” you answer. “But Elena convinced me we had to come to this one especially,” a bit more solemnly as she looked down at the familiar figure down below at the party. “You know when we were little, we used to climb up onto the roof and watch the parties from up there to tell funny stories and avoid the adults, saying how we were never gonna be like them.” There’s warmth in her voice, but sadness in her eyes as she gazed down at her mirror image at the party below. 

Being a twin is not something Elvis liked to dwell on. His Mama had always talked about Jesse watching over him since he was little, but rarely if ever did he really contemplate what it meant to have a brother who wasn’t there with him. 

It feels as though he was supposed to have someone that was meant to always be with him and look out for him, but now they’re not here and now he’s doomed to a life of loneliness. This thought is only further reinforced by the way you look at your sister, and something almost akin to jealousy shoots through his being, that she can have you and not value you. 

Not like he could, a voice whispers in his head. 

“What’s it like being a twin?” he would ask before he could lose his nerve. Though he does immediately clamp up at not just the suddenness of the question but the ease he was able to ask it. He’s tried to broach the subject of Jesse a few times throughout his life only to chicken out at the last minute in fear of upsetting someone, namely his mama. 

Though the regret is instant as he watches her mood drop immediately and face him with a disgusted expression, that he can’t quite understand until she says with no amount of venom missing, “No I’m not gonna ask her if she’d be interested in a threesome,” she says, far too quick to have him not believe that this isn’t the first time she’s heard this. 

He feels his face immediately go up in flames as to how grossly his words have been misinterpreted. “N-no I-I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly trying to salvage the situation and gets a hold of her before she can fully turn around. 

“Mmhmm,” she hums dismissively, looking down at the hand that holds her wrist and looking down on him as though he’s the scum of the Earth. 

“Darlin’ I-I swear it ain’t nothin’ like that, I just… I…” he stutters out wondering if there’s anyway he can truly explain his interest in her status as a twin without coming off as creepy, but one look at the full moon shining behind you is all the signal he needs to be honest. “Ain’t too many people know this,” he starts, taking a steadying breath trying to find that courage of two men he’s supposed to have. “But I-I had a brother, and…” he swallows hard at this one, always a sensitive subject in the Presley household. “And he-he didn’t make it…” 

She looks at him with a critical eye, undoubtedly searching for any sign of falsehoods on his face, only for the hard look to melt when she realizes he spoke nothing but the truth. 

“Oh, umm…” she says. “I-I’m sorry to hear that,” her voice dripping with guilt at the assumption. 

“It’s fine,” he reassured you. “He was gone ‘fore I even got here.”

It’s hard to talk about Jesse with anyone, because what more can anyone say about him other than he should be here but he isn’t. He has no memories to reflect sadly on, just wishful thinking about who Jesse could’ve been or even who he would’ve been if had him in his life. 

“I really don’t know how to describe it,” she says, putting down the bottle she had in her hand. “Because she’s always just… been there, and I’ve always been the one to look out for her.” 

“You’re the older one?” he asks with a bit of a laugh.

“Yeah,” she affirmed. “I’ve been doing it my whole life. Stayed up and held her hand when she was too scared to sleep. Did all the stunts she was too afraid to do and broke a couple bones. Threw tantrums when we were filming so she could get a break that she was too nervous to ask for. Dropped out of school so I could get a job on set, so she wasn’t alone. Hell, the only reason I’m here at this stupid party is because she thought she could get in touch with someone who could help her career.” Each admission is met with a more resentful tone, only for her to then try to chase away the taste the words are leaving in your mouth, by taking back the bottle.

“O-oh,” is all he really has to say to that. 

“She’s awful,” she admits, but a sardonic smile begins to creep up on her face. “I love her so much.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes,” she asserts. “There’s no one else in the whole world I would’ve done those things for. I guess that’s what it’s like to be a twin, take care of the person who's been here since you were born. It’s like… having to take care of any other part of your body, but this one is just constantly away from you and you can do nothing but worry.”

Elvis is stunned into silence for a moment as he looks at her, because she is able to finally put into words that anxiousness that has been eating at him his whole life. Even with all the love and reassurance he felt as a kid, there’s always just been that missing part of him that no one has ever been able to understand. 

But there’s one part that eats at him still.

“And does she take care of you?” he asks, more curious than anything at this point. 

That question catches her off-guard as she rips her eyes away from him and furiously looks down at the party, before she smiles and looks back at him to ask “Wanna hear who Clark Gable had a secret child with?”

Another time he would’ve been very interested in the topic, but seeing her obvious panic as she tried to avoid the very subject keeps him focus. “Don’t do that,” he pleads softly, brushing a few errant curls out of her face. “Don’t shut me out.”

She leans into his hand a little bit and he feels her jaw clench as she tries to get a handle on herself. “I must sound like a crazy person to you,” she says. Granted anyone else, he might’ve thought that, but this is Jimi, the girl who is never bothered by anything. He was witness to how she nonchalantly filed her nails before putting out a camera fire. Watched as she hardly broke her stride when some yahoo tried to scare her with a halloween mask. Hell he’s seen her put out a match with just her fingertips, and only to stare him down to get back onto set. 

She’s seen the worst this town has to offer, and yet it’s her seemingly one-sided relationship with her sister that has her on the verge of collapse. 

Not if Elvis had any say about that.

He takes it as a good sign when the normally touch-averse Jimi doesn’t immediately pull away from the hand on her shoulder, so he decides to take a chance and fully envelope her in his arms. She stiffens somewhat but otherwise accepts it, and he feels his heartbreak over the unspoken truth that she looks out for Elena, but no one looks out for her.  

“I think it sounds like…” he says, taking her chin in his hands, “ya care a lot darlin’, and it don’t sound like she appreciates it as much as she should.” 

The ever present indifferent shell she had built over the years cracks with that simple statement of understanding. She has such beautiful doe eyes hidden behind a hard stare, and for only having known her for a few weeks Elvis can appreciate even the chance to see behind the mask. 

But he wants to know more. He wants to know all of her.

It feels almost magnetic, the sudden pull he felt towards her in that moment. Nothing could stop him as he leaned down to kiss her full lips. Everything else in the world seems to fall by the wayside, the party, the people, even the city itself no longer existed to him as he held her in his arms. 

Their first time with her was nothing short of magic. It felt like the first breath of air after being held underwater for so long. 

They just seemed to fit together so well, a fact that couldn’t be denied even as their first time was a quick and dirty session on a balcony under the light of the moon. Like they had been so desperate for each other years even before they met, and now it all culminates to this. 

They don’t even really remove their clothes, he just unbuckled his pants on the deck chair while she sat astride him, moving her skirt up her waist and move her panties to the side. Her moans as she slowly impaled herself on his length sound like music to his ears and he can’t help the low groans as he tries to prevent himself from closing his eyes too much wanting to burn the image of her taking his cock while the full moon gives her a truly angelic look behind her. 

He wants so badly to hold her but even now she denies him that as she puts a hand over his chest and rides him like she’s trying to tame a bucking stallion. He’s just as enthusiastic for this as he grips her thighs in his hands and 

The whole encounter is over and done within a matter of minutes after that, but he’s just glad that she came to and now he didn’t have to feel the shame of finishing before her. She collapses on top of him trying to hold herself upright while he holds her close to his chest as he gives a few lazy thrusts to ride out the rest of his orgasm. He’s never felt more connected to anybody than her in this moment and he wants to truly seal this perfect night when he raises her chin to try to capture her lips.

But she pulls away slightly at the motion, “... I… I should go…” she whispers, and he’s not too sure if she’s saying that more to him or herself. 

“...I-if that’s wh-whatcha want baby…” he says, not having the heart to deny her anything, no matter how much every single other part of him is screaming at him to make her stay. The inner conflict practically paralyzes him where he layed and he could only watch as she quickly fixed herself up. It’s mesmerizing to watch, as with only a few quick adjustments, Jimi looks good as new, save for the kiss-swollen lips and the slight uneasiness in her stance, it’s as though nothing had ever happened. 

That hurts in a way he can’t explain with words. The idea that the relationship they’ve built in the last few weeks will amount to a one time thing that they go their separate ways from. 

But what can he do to stop her if she doesn’t want to be here anymore?

So with all the boldness he’s learned to fake over the last few years, he grabs a hold of her wrist, and tries to give some type of meaning to this whole thing. “Wait darlin’.” He makes a conscious effort not to grip too tight lest he scare her off, but just enough to let her know he’s serious. “What’s your real name?”

Bathed in light of the full moon right behind her, a soft smile on her face as she looks at him though not without that twinge of sadness in her eyes. “Jimena Gabriella Perez.” she said as though it were a good bye.

And with the way she walks away without even a glance back, it’s clear that it was. 

He sits there for he doesn’t even know how long just in his head and staring up at the moon. He knows realistically he should be making his way back downstairs, but all desire to mingle with other people seemed to dissipate as he stared up at the full moon. Besides there’s only one person he really wanted to be with at the moment and she apparently could hardly wait to get outta there. 

He stared up at the night sky for the longest time trying to gather his thoughts about the situation, trying to figure out why it felt like every nerve in his body was screaming at him not to let her leave. It was all kinds of backwards yet somehow still fitting that he learned her name only after sleeping together. 

But try as he might, he can't justify keeping her here when she clearly wants to go. 

It felt as though he had known her for years rather than months. In a way it was sort of the truth due to having seen her movies as a kid, but never in his worst nightmares could he imagine the near debilitating feeling that rests in his chest at the prospect of never seeing her again. So he closes his eyes and tries to make peace with the fact he’ll never see Jimena Perez again.

Jimena Perez… JP… Elena Perez… EP… 

His eyes shot open at that realization, and as he hurried to make himself somewhat presentable, he berated himself for missing something like that. He has never believed in coincidences and this was far too specific to be anything other than some sort of sign. 

But to his chagrin, it’s as though she had dropped off the face of the Earth. 

The next day, all anybody could talk about was the scene that the Leon girl made of herself standing on tables and practically flashing the studio head with an impromptu can-can dance, until her sister pulled her off and quickly escorted her out. 

It would be another year before he would see her in person again, and that was only because he specifically requested to have her on-set for what he thought would potentially be his last movie. But even then he’s able to find a modicum of peace with that, if only that he will have her in the end, and this whole ride has been worth something. 

He doesn’t know what’s more terrifying, the idea that he’ll never be able to communicate how he feels about her or the prospect that he will and she’ll reject him all the same. He even at one point resorted to trying to write them down in order to sort them out. 

But each time he tried to put pen to paper it felt like his mind went blank, because how can he explain that it feels like she’s the piece that’s been missing his whole life. That the only time he’s felt whole were the few weeks they spent together. That it can be no coincidence that their names and family names match so perfectly, and it’s gotta be a sign that something else is at play here. 

But he realizes that he’s gotta put in the legwork to make fate happen too.

Requesting to have her be In New Orleans, and he planned on working his way to slowly form a friendship into something more permanent. Of course she did throw a wrench into that plan almost immediately the first night when she showed up at his hotel room and declared the couch for herself because she refuses to stay where she was assigned. He wouldn’t have her anyother way. 

It’s easy to fall into each other once more, as though it hadn’t been almost a year since they last saw one another. He hopes that maybe this time around he would be able to show her even a fraction of what he feels. In an ideal world they would already be on their way to a courthouse to make it all official so that no one would bat an eye when he brought her to Germany, but even he realizes what a tall order that would be. He’s not one to plan ahead, but he figures it’s gonna be a longer process than he anticipated with her, but Jimi’s worth every moment.  

But just like that it all seemed to fall apart.

As sad as it makes him to wake up without her, he’s used to it by this point, but what does worry him is why she wasn’t  in his trailer when he arrived on set. It ate at him that seemingly no one cared beyond the grumblings from the other makeup girls who were now having to work more because she’s missing in action. He knows he’s gonna get an earful for this alone from her considering how much she wants to keep their involvement a secret, he does blatantly ask about her by name. 

It becomes clear what exactly happened when he notices a discarded newspaper on the director's chair. He immediately calls for a halt to the production so he could go out and look for her, fearing the worst. But due to the already tight schedule practically everyone refuses to do so, even after hearing why exactly she was gone.

At that point he just walks off set and swiftly dispatches every one of his boys to go search the city. He even gets in on it and drives around for a few hours all in an effort to find her, but he returns to his suite so he can pray and pace and worry and hope she comes back before sunset. 

When she does get back, the faraway look in her eyes tells him she hasn’t been crying, but the way she’s all clenched up like she’s actively fighting herself from doing so in front of him. He’s having none of it and he brings her into his arms.

It’s only then that she seems to collapse in her grief, and he holds her still knowing that there’s nothing else he could do right now. He’s never seen her like this and immediately he recognizes that he will only ever know a fraction of what she’s going through in that moment. 

Elena was a real person whom she’s known all her life, Jimi had confided in him how she’s put her through the absolute wringer with their mama favoring her and her inability to recognize what her sister has been doing for her sake. Jesse has always just been gone, and Elvis could imagine him in whatever way he liked as an older brother. Jimi knew her through all of the ugliest bits of their lives and loved her all the same, even as she slowly spiraled downwards. 

“Jimi…” he whispers at a loss for words. He knows that nothing he says could possibly fix this situation and it makes him feel all new sorts of helplessness to the situation. 

“Why didn’t I feel it when it happened?” she asked out loud though he gets the sense she isn’t asking looking for an answer from him. 

He could hold her tighter so that she wouldn’t feel so alone right now. The rest of the night, and well into the next day, is a blur as he as he waivers between trying to comfort her and arranging for her return to California. He wants to go with her but despite the already tight schedule for filming and the looming date of his induction he’s hoping to be able to at least see her one last time before boot camp. 

He remembers finding her red bandana as she was packing everything up, and contemplating telling her. But he selfishly wants a small piece to hold onto until the next time he sees her so he slyly slips it under his pillow, and he promises to himself he would give it back once he saw her again.

But of course the lord himself seemed to laugh in his face as his stunt apparently cost a few extra days of filming and between everything else going on in the lead up to his induction, he couldn’t be there for her. The Colonel had a few of his own men physically hold him to prevent him from getting on the next train to LA after he heard about her mama passing, the only thing swaying him was the Colonel’s promise that it would only be one more day of shooting. One day turned into three and before he knew it he was whisked back home to wait out until his induction, with the only acknowledgement from the Colonel being that he made sure to send condolences to the surviving Leon daughter. 

He can only imagine what she went through losing her sister and mother so close together, difficult relationship and all. He would lose his mama only a few months later, and it felt as though every breath threatened to be his last one. Knowing she went through all of this alone, it’s little wonder why all of the letters and invitations he sent at Fort Hood went unanswered.

Sitting in his mothers closet, not wanting to have his grief turned into a photo-op for the press. He now understands why Jimi left the business in the first place. It was as though he was trapped in a fish bowl, drowning and everybody was fighting to be the one to witness his last breath. It makes him feel all the worse for letting her go through that alone.

His biggest regret is that she had to go through all of this alone. He had tried his hardest to try to head back West to see her only to be thwarted each and every time. No amount of Love was gonna thwart Uncle Sam from getting his dues. And before he knew it he was on a ship headed to Europe.

He almost had to relegate himself to the fact that the relationship is unsalvageable after all of it. Truly after experiencing loss himself, he can’t imagine any scenario where she could forgive him, as he could hardly forgive himself. 

But for the sake of making tomorrow seem even the minimum amount of bearable he forces himself to dream that things can be fixed and they would eventually be happier than ever. 

Because if they don’t… then what’s the point?

After all they had gone through separately he knew in his heart that there would never be anyone who could understand him like she could. A twin without a twin, and a child without a mother, a lonely soul surrounded by others, and most of all a person in desperate need of love beyond simple admiration. 

There had always been an ever-present hollow feeling in his life, something he never even recognized until she was no longer present to relieve him from that emptiness. She understands him more than anyone ever will, and the idea of letting her go without a fight is something he simply can’t do.

The almighty himself has tied them together unlike anything he’s ever seen before and to choose another path would be blasphemous at this point. 

All his thoughts on who Jesse would’ve been have been answered when he pointed Elvis in her direction. He has to believe that he wouldn’t do him dirty by bringing him to his soulmate only for fate to snatch her away all the same. He has to believe that things will get better, otherwise what’s the point of continuing on?

But he has to grin and bear the hell that will be trying to live without her in Germany. But if his time in Hollywood taught him anything, it’s how to pretend to be someone he’s not.

It’s easy to pretend to be the good Sergeant Preseley in Germany, charm the pants off a couple girls, do whatever he’s assigned to do by the higher-ups, take whatever the doctors give him so that he can do both, abstain from playing music, act like it’s not killing him, etc,. Behind the scenes he becomes needier than ever, truly fearing being alone now of all times, because he doubts he could keep this up without an audience presence. 

Everybody has seemed to become the audience regardless of how close they previously were to him, it’s hard to think of them as anything else considering that he’s playing a part for them all so they could believe that he’s fine. 

This all adds to his longing for Jimi, knowing that she saw through him easily and he never had to worry about being anything less than himself around her. 

But playing his role helps ease the ache that stems from every thought that she brings to his heart, as then it can be somebody else experiencing that devastation. So he bides his time and plays his part in Germany. Trying to fill that sinking feeling he got in his chest every time he thought about Jimi with more partying, more drugs, more women, just more everything. Even with all that, that sinkhole in his chest seemingly grew bigger and bigger every morning he woke up and she wasn't with him. 

His heart has been broken since the day he was born, and it has been a mad scramble for the pieces for everyone ever since. His brother took a piece with him when he left, as did his mama, and everybody else who had a piece had been doing jackshit to appreciate it. 

He had only one piece of it left really, and he had spent his entire life trying to find someone who he could trust to take care of it. And like a goddamn miracle his brother was able to answer for him, and pointed him in her direction. And finally he found the person he could give that final piece of his heart to. 

But she hurt him in a way that no one has ever been able to do so. She didn’t take advantage of his heart, or reject it, or even betray it. Worse yet, she couldn’t recognize what he was giving her. The life Jimi had been living had turned her cynical to his intentions for her. And every fear she may have ever had about him had been proven true with just that one little article. 

He can’t even blame her for being angry, as he doubts he would’ve been able to keep a lid on something like this in her shoes. But he can’t dwell on it, he can only move forward and try his best to fix this. 

It had truly felt like the world was conspiring against him in that year, as he had to watch as everything he loved slipped through his fingers, all for what. All for a dream that he wasn’t even sure was worth it anymore, nor something he could actually be a part of. 

Being enlisted and overseas already, there was always the lingering threat that if anything happens with the Reds, he’s already here to fight the good fight and all that. Be the good soldier, who would gladly lay down his life for his country. 

Really he just wants to lay down. 

Sometimes forever. 

In the worst days he was so sure he was gonna die there, whether by an enemy hand or by his own, he couldn’t decide. Really the only thing that kept him going was the slim chance that she would be willing to hear him out if he ever came back stateside. Those nights he would hold onto that small piece of her trying to convince himself of the illusion that she’s waiting for him, and dying here would only mean he would lose any chance of seeing her again. 

At one point it stopped smelling like her and he resorted to ordering a bottle of her perfume just to preserve the illusion that she was still waiting for him. He probably doused the cloth with a quarter of the bottle, and inhaled half of that all to maintain the illusion of her still willing to come back to him eventually. He’s sure if that hadn’t worked in easing his nerves he would’ve downed everything in his medicine cabinet and called it a night.

He’s put everything he is into this hope that he could possibly get a second chance, full well knowing he’s undeserving of one. 

So he’s not about to let her go so easily.

Jimi’s actually not that hard to find on the lot, especially now that she has a door with her name on it. She’s certainly made her way up, having turned her previous doodles in the margins of production notes and discarded scripts into a new position complete with a title and an office.  

He knocks at the door with her name on it, and waits a moment, what sounds like the dumbo soundtrack quickly being drowned out by the heart-pounding in his ears. She doesn’t keep him waiting long, as she opens up the door only to immediately close it just enough so that only her head is sticking out. “Fittings are next week,” she says neutrally before she then proceeds to try to close the door in his face. He is too fast though as he shoves his foot in the crack and pushes it open. 

“Jimi, please,” he pushes the door further, but stops once he sees the panicked look on her face. He holds his hands up in surrender but makes no move to remove the foot.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in annoyance, before she opens her mouth again. “If I promise to talk, will you leave me alone after this?”

So sure of himself he nods, truly believing that he just needs to explain and then they can go back to the way they used to be. 

She puts a hand on his chest to motion him to step away from the door before she herself comes out. She does so in the oddest way possible, by sliding herself between the door and the frame, as though she was trying to prevent him from seeing inside her office. She looks back inside and tells who he presumes to be the others she shares the office with that she’s gonna get lunch, and to hold everything down. 

“So you want to talk? Talk then,” she states, breaking that line of thought as she leans against the bulletin board.

He figures she would have such a no nonsense reaction like this, and takes a steadying breath in order to deliver what 

“Jimi… I know why you’re mad,” he starts off slowly. “Believe me I would be hoppin’ mad if i read that…”

“I forgive you,” she cuts in. “We done here?”  

“Wh-what?”

“Are we done here?” She repeats slower this time to really emphasize her words. 

“N-no Jimi,” he begs. “The things the papers said are just lies. I ain’t ever said that”

She gives a short mirthful laugh when she hears that, “Elvis if I had a fucking dime everytime I heard that line,” she rolls her eyes. “But it’s fine. I don’t care anymore. I’m not in the business of telling the papers anything, so you don’t gotta worry about everyone figuring out you’re a hypocrite.” 

“But… I’m not…”

She pats his cheek and gives a thin smile as she pushes herself off the wall, and gives a dry, “Of course you’re not.”

“Jimi listen to me,” he begs, briefly wondering why Jesse had to pick the most stubborn woman alive for him. “I never said any of that.”

“Mhmm,” she hums, the thin line of her mouth and the way she’s checking her nails for dirt, telling him she has no faith in his words. 

“Jimi,” he pleads with her, taking her hand and placing it on his chest. “You gotta believe that I would never say somethin’ like that. I love you so goddamn much and I especially ain’t never wanted to hurt you.”

She may not be able to rely on her knowledge of him, but he knows her well enough to know that she recognizes good acting from bad acting. Watching as her eyes soften from their previous hard stare, he knows that she understands that this is far from an act. This is by far the most honest he’s been with anyone since his mama passed, and the doubt in her own assumptions of him shows all over her face.

He thinks he’s finally getting through to her, until she glances behind him and he watches as her dark eyes harden once more. “You don’t love me, and it doesn’t matter what I believe Elvis,” she snatches her hand out of his, and walks back towards her office before slamming the door.

He stands there for he doesn’t even know how long, trying to justify why he should even keep breathing at this point, his catatonic state only helping to prevent him from doing something stupid in the face of the worst rejection he’s ever had. This isn’t a girl laughing in his face over being asked to the school dance or a stuffy actress looking down her nose at his hillbilly ways, this is a part of his soul refusing to come back to him. 

This can’t be the end, a voice in his head whispers. He tries to repeat these words in his head if only to make the hope he has a little more real. He knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as him returning, and she would automatically throw herself into his arms. He already knew it was going to be an uphill battle for her love once again, but the flat-out rejections and refusal of his declaration just made everything so real in that moment.

When Jimi cares, she does so with all her being, and he knows at some point she cared enough about him to befriend him, and there’s no way that all disappeared in the last two years. To some extent she still cares about Elvis, and that’s why he refuses to give up on her so easily. 

But she’s not one to be swayed so easily. 

Gifts and letters and songs for her, are all met with the same stony indifference that has marked her status as near untouchable. Her schedule is next to unpredictable as it seems that everytime he does try to send someone over for her she’s conveniently out of the office. 

Each rejection further drove him closer and closer towards that edge he’d been resisting since he landed in Germany. He would toss and turn at night, not wanting to be alone but at the same time wanting no one but Jimi with him. It’s even worse than it was before considering the fact that she’s so close that he could almost touch her, but she’s like smoke, he can see her there but never truly grab a hold of her.

Something that only intensifies once shooting actually begins and he knows just how close she is day in and day out on the lot. It’s nothing short of torture to have all that he needs in life so close, yet just out of reach. 

Off camera and out of the studio he’s barely keeping it together, the years of pretending to be okay in front of people only barely enough to sustain the image he’s made for himself as well as doing the job he was tasked with. Everybody wants a piece of him now that he’s back, and he doesn’t know if he has any left to give anymore.

It all came to a head one day when he walks into the wardrobe building and sees one of the girls holding a small toddler girl. It strikes him how similar the little girl looked to Jimi back in her firecracker days, even down to the ribbon tying her hair back. He muses for half a second that that’s what their daughter would look like, and then it hits him like a ton of bricks that may never come to pass. 

He’s trying to make her not hate his guts, and with how little success he’s been having, he’ll be lucky if she even looks at him again before he’s Dodgers age. He’s closer to never having her love him again than he is to someday. 

He had come with the intention of showing her the bandana he had been holding onto all of these years, to show how devoted he’s been to her. Now holding it in his hands and remembering that initial promise to give it back to her, he realizes what a fool he’s been. He’s been selfishly holding onto something that’s not there anymore, because he was too much of a coward to actually do what he needed to get what he wanted. 

He didn’t want to believe it was too late for them, but seeing that little girl, he realized how much time he’s lost. Where he’s spent the last two years nurturing his love for her, she's been feeding her hatred for him. If he’s gonna be in love with her for the rest of his life, she’ll hate him for the rest of hers. 

She’s made it clear that she wants nothing to do with him anymore, and he can’t blame her for it. He should’ve been there for her, damn the consequences, but he wasn’t and now he has to live with what he did. 

Though once he gives it back, jury's out on how much longer he will live.

Resolved in his need to do right by her, he solemnly walks to the costume department with about the same enthusiasm as he would the gallows. Perhaps there is no coming back from this, and perhaps he wouldn’t deserve one either way. He was a coward who let what he wanted walk away time and time again, not having enough will to hold on to her. 

And he doesn’t have the strength to try to hold on any longer. 

Finally as he’s just about to turn the corner to where he knows her office is, only to stop in his tracks, and realize that once he gives it back… it’s all over. He’s strangely okay with that once he reconciles he won’t be feeling that way for much longer.

Turning the corner he sees a familiar figure looking at a bulletin board, and standing right beside her was a significantly smaller figure.

It takes him a moment to realize what he’s looking at, but the second he does it feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. 

He’s tempted to look down at his own feet to reassure himself he's still on solid ground, and that the floor hadn’t been taken out from under him, but truly no force on Earth could make him look away from the little one at her feet. 

The boy is standing barely taller than her knee, wearing light green overalls with what looks to be a little yellow duck on the front pocket. His honey hair - a few shades darker than Elvis’ own natural locks- is slicked back on the sides allowing for some bronze curls to hang over his forehead but it’s really his face that comes like a punch to the gut to Elvis.

Vain as it may sound, Elvis knows his own face, even when it’s softened with baby fat and slightly darkened from the California sun, and that’s all he sees when he looks down at the brown-eyed little boy that’s clutching onto a woman’s skirt and idly sucking his thumb. 

It’s as he’s wondering what happened to his eye color when the eyes in question finally take notice of him, and the little boy rapidly tugs at the pencil skirt he’d had a tight grip on. In his head he’s still trying to justify any other way someone could have a little clone of himself that isn’t the most obvious answer, until he watches Jimi crouch down in her heels as she gently strokes the little boy's plump cheek. 

“¿Que paso Papi?” she asks, adoration in her voice as she brings him close to her face, before planting a kiss on his cheek. 

The boy, too shy or too young, to answer only points a chubby little finger his way, his dark eyes wide in wonder. As her eyes follow, Elvis sees her jaw clench and most of her previous warmth seemed to sap out of her at the very sight of him. It truly feels like the first time she’s actually looked at him in a long time without her eyes immediately sweeping over him dismissively, so he can’t help but welcome it. 

In one fluid motion, she competently scoops up the small boy up in her arms and begins to make her way towards him, her heels clacking ominously as though she were an oncoming vengeful mother goddess set to rain down fire upon him. 

Elvis is usually quicker on his feet but it feels as though they had been replaced by cement as he’s frozen in place with no sign of escape. But he doesn’t think he really wants that anymore as it now gives him a better look at the boy.

“Can I help you?” she asks, painfully neutral, as though she’s simply asking what he wants for lunch and not in fact holding a mini version of himself in her arms. 

“Wh-” he starts but has to swallow before he can get too choked up. “What the hell is this?” 

“It looks like,” she answers and he perks up at that both eager and fearful of what she has to say. “My old bandana,” she states, much to his confusion, until he follows her dark eyes to the fabric still within his grasp. 

Her flippancy just enrages him, “You know damn well what I mean!” pointing a finger in the direction of the small boy in her arms. Guilt quickly eats at his belly as the boy turns from him and buries his face in her neck out of fear, as she continues to look at him with the disdain in her eyes only growing.

“Oh…” she says dryly as though she only now remembers the boy in her arms, even though she had been consistently rubbing soothing circles on his tiny back since he got scared. “This is my son.” A simple no-nonsense answer, but he doesn’t miss the way she neglects to mention a name. “You can go ahead and throw it away, I don’t need it anymore.” 

He wants to say something about that. He wants to be mad at her for being so goddamn stubborn about this as though his whole world isn’t being rocked right now. But he can’t muster any of that as he just finds himself just wanting to look at the boy in her arms some more. The little one looks back and forth between the two of them, but he does seem to settle after gauging that his mama is not in the least bit shaken by the man before them, and adopts her bored looking expression, though the boy does keep a wary eye on him even as his mother turns them both away from him.

“Wait,” he says as he quickly grabs her elbow. Her hackles rise at just that little bit of contact, like a rattlesnake coiled up and ready to strike, but he won’t be stopped from knowing the truth. “Is… is he-”

“No,” she cuts him off, before looking over his shoulder and closing her eyes- seemingly in annoyance- only to then plaster a wide phony smile on her face as she looks at him. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” saccharine sweet, as though she had been in a completely different conversation before ripping her arm out of his grasp and walking past him. “I’ll be sure to add those notes into the costume.” Without even a goodbye she rushes past him.

He turns around to see the second most gut-wrenching thing of the day as a woman approaches Jimi and hands over to her another child,and he realizes it’s that same little girl from earlier. The love of his life expertly balances the additional toddler on her other hip as she plants a swift kiss to her cheek before exchanging a few words with the woman in front of her and walks back down the hall, not even bothering to look back at him.

That woman quickly approaches and stands in front of him, obviously trying to run interference between the two of them. Trying to keep the two of them apart like everybody else has seemingly made their mission. 

He honestly hears nothing of it as he starts to tail Jimi down the hall, his entire focus is on the little girl, heart-breakingly sweet with her little cherubic face, her dark curls held at bay with the red ribbon, as she opens and closes her tiny hand at him as though to once again say good-bye. Meanwhile the little boy, whose face is still firmly in his mama’s collar, risks a quick peek back at him before quickly burying himself back in place as the echo of yherour heels on the linoleum floors lessens as she gets further and further away. 

He’s able to catch her before she can get out of the building, quickly blocking her from the exiting door. She still has that infuriating cool expression on her face, looking at him as though he were a mere inconvenience on her way out the door. 

“Jimi…” he pleads, taking her shoulders in his hands forcing her to look at him. “Jimi, look me in the eye, and tell me they ain’t mine.”

She gives him such a cold stare that he can feel a shiver travel down his spine, the dread of her words tying his stomach in knots, as he anticipates her answer. Somehow she’s able to make it all the crueler, even as her (his?) son starts to suckle on the collar of her blouse, while her (their?) daughter has managed to dislodge a chunk of her thick dark locks from her braid and begin to play with it. 

“Why would I want them to be yours?” 

A punch to the gut, a kick to his face, a knife to his heart, those are all the things he would have preferred she had done over saying that. For a second, even she seems taken aback by the cruelty of her own words, until that hard look returns to her eyes as the little boy begins to pat her cheek for attention. 

She looks down at him with a soft smile on her face before giving them both a kiss to the forehead and sidestepping him in order to get out the door, not even bothering to acknowledge him.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in that spot but by the time Joe (or was it Charlie?) finds him and he’s practically stiff as a board, and just about as responsive. Nobody fights him on it when he just declares that he has to call it for the day, so it’s not too long before he’s kicking off his shoes and crawling underneath the covers still fully clothed. His mind raced, doing its best to put together what the hell he had seen today. Trying to comprehend how much of himself he had left behind with her. 

When he started making waves he had to have the most awkward talk of his life with the Colonel to always wrap it or at least become proficient in never finishing inside of a woman, because the last thing he needed was a baby. And he was for it completely, nowhere ready to settle down yet, and with everything looking so vibrant and new to him, he saw no end in sight. 

He can think of one night in particular back in New Orleans, after almost twenty hours on set, Jimi had excused herself from any of the usual get-togethers and headed straight to his room. After she had declared that her room situation is unmanageable she had set up shop initially on his hotel room couch, though lately they hadn’t even been bothering with that pretext. So it wasn’t too shocking to find her in his bed, spread out on her front like a starfish in nothing but a simple slip. 

What was shocking was the wave of contentment that washes over him seeing her there, just the utter feeling of rightness that the image brings. The powdery blue slip gorgeous on her dark skin tone, and he has to hold back a groan when he sees how high it’s ridden in her sleep giving him a tantalizing view of the back of her thighs, just effortlessly sensual, even in her sleep. He can’t imagine anything better to come home to. What he found even more tempting was her defenseless pert nose, and remembering the way it would scrunch up when she smiled. He knows he’s either going to get that reaction or swift punch to the chest for what he does next.

She still manages to keep him on his toes when she simply does both after he peppers her face in kisses. He reels a bit from the blow, playing up the injury just a little as he sees her shoulders bounce a little in poorly held in laughter.

“They gotchu workin’ to the bone sweetheart,” he remarks, as he rubs the spot between her shoulder blades that has her giving a euphoric groan. He is genuinely offended that the studio would make her have to work like a dog, all for a single line in the credits. 

“This whole production would fall apart without me,” she sighs, while he lets out a laugh in agreement. 

“You ever think about quittin’?” He asks a bit off the cuff, but he can’t help it seeing the woman he loves running herself ragged for people who sure as hell don’t care for her. 

“Maybe,” she answers through her drowsy state, turning to face him directly. “I don’t think I would leave, but maybe if I get married I would probably do something with less hours, like costumes.” 

He felt his heart speed up a little when she mentioned the word “married” but not in the way it used to do when other girls brought up the idea. No, rather than having that sour feeling in his belly, he’s practically giddy over the prospect with her. “So I guess ya just waitin’ for the right actor to sweep you off ya feet darlin’?” he brings her close, smiling into her hair and absentmindedly stoking the hand she lays on his chest. 

But this happiness is ripped away by a simple snort from her, only to then be further crushed into dust as she has a full-on laughing fit at the mere prospect.

“No,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes, trying to get a hold of her laughter, unknowing of how soul-crushing her words are. “I’d never marry an actor.”

It feels like every ounce of hope for the future saps out of him at that moment. 

“O-oh wh-why’s that?” fighting to keep his face from showing the devastation he feels inside. A knife in his heart would have been preferable at that point, because then she would have at least acknowledged he had one to break. 

She gives a mere shrug, of her shoulders, “I don’t really know how to explain it other than it wouldn't work.”

If he were a braver man, he would have had the balls to ask her “If that’s true… then what’s all this been about?” But he's a goddamn coward and this question dies on the tip of his tongue, far too afraid of what she may answer. 

As these nights usually talking leads to kissing and while she is willing she offers first to use her mouth, and while he doesn’t hold back the groan when he hears this, he knows that that won’t be enough for him even if he can’t pinpoint why. 

“Okay,” she yawns, as she lifts her hips up, presenting her ass in the air while she wraps her arms around a pillow and sleepily buries her face in it. “But you gotta do all the work.” 

She’s done this before, tried to feign indifference toward the act, and tried to play it off that she didn’t absolutely enjoy it each and every time. This is a game that Elvis has yet to lose. 

He knows her well enough to know how to get her going even when she insists she’s not in the mood. How a light touch up her spine as her perk her ass up, while a nibble to her ear has her making the most adorable little noises. And still it feels like he learns something new about her everyday, with today’s new lesson that she loses all of her carefully crafted composure when he sits on his knees and raises her thighs over his shoulders.

She lets out a surprised gasp as she barely catches herself on her hands, only for it to turn into a low moan when he takes a long lick up her slit. Nothing tastes sweeter on his tongue than the evidence that she wasn’t as disinterested as she claims, and with her so nicely open for him now he plunges his tongue as deep as he could go. 

Any semblance of composure is gone the moment he had almost entirely upside down, her arms shaking with the effort to try to keep herself up. 

“You like that sweetheart?” he whispers, only slightly muffled by her flesh. 

“Yes,” she moans enthusiastically as he feels her small hand palm at his still clothed length, and he gives a little chaste kiss of appreciation on her clit that has her gasping for air. While any other night he would’ve gladly indulged her need to taste him, he did promise to do all of the work. So as he delves his tongue as deep as it could go he knows she’s good and ready as he feels her slick drip down to his wrist as he rubs that button of hers. 

She lets out a devastating sob as she comes, and before she’s had a chance to recover barely had time to recover before he’s flipping her over and pressing her knees to her chest as he thrusts inside all in one motion. Her back arches and her mouth opens and closes repeatedly, gasping for air as though she could feel him all the way in her throat. 

Entering her is always such an indescribable feeling, somewhere between euphoric and comforting. And there have even been days when the only thing on his mind on set was how best to get her alone so that he could get her like this once again. As he crams his cock at a steady rhythm, he imagines it’s the same way everyone else who goes to work on a regular job pictures being home at the end of the day. 

If he was a little rougher that night, it was only so that she could feel a fraction of his anguish that she caused. He both envies and resents her ability to be able to picture a life without him, when no future of his would be complete without her. 

He had spilled in her before that point, but it had always been an accident as something about her made him slower on the draw than he was with anybody else. But in that moment before he knew he was gonna cum, seeing her thrash and arch her back and push even further into him, time seemed to slow for a second and there was a moment where he saw quick as lightning just the image of her heavy and glowing with a baby.

His baby.

He can’t remember a time he came so hard, and with the way she collapsed back in the pillow he knew she was just as affected by it too. The way she’s quaking with every breath before peaking out at him through the curtain of her hair is something he doubts he’ll ever forget as places light kisses on her shoulders to add some tenderness to the rough act. 

With great reluctance and curiosity getting the better of him he pulls out his softened member, and he’s treated to the most erotic thing he’s ever seen in his life as he watches his seed slowly drip out of her folds. If he wasn’t absolutely sure that that last one had taken everything out of him he would be ready to go again from the sight of this alone. 

Something in the back of his head whispers to find something to plug her up to really make sure it takes this time. But before he can act on this he sees her get her bearings on her, and she reaches between her legs. She gives a soft curse as she sees his spend on her fingers, before making a move to roll out of bed towards the bathroom. But he was quick to snatch her back and tell her to just lay with him until he fell asleep. She would only give an annoyed little huff, and give sleepy demands for beignets for breakfast in return for this favor.

He slept easier that night with his hand on her belly, believing that he would be able to find a way to keep her with him. 

This would be far from the last time he would spill in her during production, but it would be the last time he could call it an accident. If he’s being honest with himself he thinks he fully intended to get her pregnant in some sort of convoluted plot to get her to settle down with him. That once she had a baby in her, she would have no choice but to marry him and leave it all behind. No more ungrateful sister or disparaging mother, Jimi could finally focus all of her attention on a family that would take care of her back. 

But then everything happened all at once, and suddenly she was beyond his reach, and soon she took with her all of his hopes of having a life worth living. 

Since his career had taken off, more than a few women had already accused him of fathering their babies. Of the few of them that weren’t talking outta their ass, he had seen a few of the kids, and while there were some that may have had a few features similar to him, none had come close to the little clone boy he had seen of himself in Jimi’s arms. 

Others woulda chalked it up to just him getting older and wanting to settle down and any baby with a passing resemblance woulda done this to him. But there was something even beyond longing, it was that sense of rightness that has been missing from his life for a long time, something he wouldn’t’ve gotten with just any baby. 

On the day they were shooting with the babies he tried to test this theory. But even holding a few of the kids, not a single one of them was able to stir anything close to that fatherly warmth that just looking or even thinking about the two little ones she held that day. 

It’s not like he felt nothing holding these babies, like he wished them any harm, but he more or less cared about them the same way he would care about a random puppy: fun to play with in the moment, but didn’t really mean he cared enough for the hard or messy parts of taking care of it. 

As he’s holding probably the biggest one of the lot, he realized this one is still smaller than either of his babies. Someone off-handedly asked how old this one was, he feels his throat close up at the answer. 

A Year, he thinks to himself as he hands the slobbering infant back to its mother. How much did I miss? Can they walk? Can they talk? 

Even as their mamas were packing them up to leave for the day, all of them would wave goodbye to him, but none of it compared to the heart-wrenching feeling remembering those two little ones she held in her arms. 

In his heart he knew they were his, he didn't care what she had to say about it. 

Two people, both from a set of twins, get together and create the two most beautiful and perfect babies he’s ever seen, and she thinks that means nothing? That she can just step away from him and deny him his rights as a father?

What did he miss all this time away? The boy was standing on his own, so did he already take his first shaky steps? The little girl was babbling nonsense to him, has she been able to actually make words?

Lord, he doesn't even know their names. He has so many questions and next to no answers.

But even for all the anguish it’s causing him, he can feel it in his chest how their existence has reinvigorated him beyond what he thought he was capable of anymore. He had been on the cusp of hopelessness, fully believing that without he wouldn’t be long for this world without Jimi. 

But seeing them was like seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, now knowing that Jimi couldn’t get rid of a piece of him, proves it’s not too late for them.

So he went about getting answers the same way she taught him to: ask the crew. To his luck everybody seemed to know something or another about what Jimi had been up to the last few years. Through the various tidbits here and there he was slowly able to piece together a story. 

How some asshole had taken advantage of her grief after losing her entire family with promises to take care of her in her time of need, and how he didn’t even wait till the ink was dry on the marriage certificate before scurrying his ass back to Mexico leaving her with less than half of her inheritance and a couple of babies in her belly. She came back to Paramount as a costume designer a couple months back after calling in a few favors with some of the higher-ups, and has been flagrantly breaking the rules by bringing the babies on to set. 

Jimi wasn’t lying when she said that make-up girls hear everything there is to know in this town. Unfortunately he finds out the hard way that that goes for all of them, even those that now work in the costume department. 

“I hear you’ve been asking about me,” a familiar voice would coldly say as she wrapped the cape around his neck. 

He doesn’t have to look up to know who it is, but he does look around to make sure the other make-up girl was gone. This at the very least confirms that she’s keeping her cards as close to her chest as possible, and trying to prevent anybody from figuring it out. 

“I had a right to know Jimi,” he answers, not looking directly at her face but through the mirror. A trick he learned when he first met her when he wanted to get her genuine reaction on something, he could only do so when she thought she wasn’t being looked at directly. It still proves to be true when he sees her jaw clench the slightest bit at his comment. 

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says apathetically but immediately contradicts herself when she gives a firm yank to his hair so that he’s looking right up at her. 

He gives a small grunt, though he does smile a bit at finally being able to get a reaction out of her. “Well now, last time I saw you like this-”

“Elvis,” she cuts off sharply before she grits out, “Leave. It. Alone.”

Now it’s his turn to react as his jaw clenches in frustration at the audacity. “Why should I?”

“Elvis…” she says slowly like he’s a child. “What do you think is going to happen if you are the father?”

He opens his mouth to argue with her, only to come up short. He hadn’t really thought farther ahead other than being able to have them all in his life. But what would that mean for them?  How would people react to him not only having kids now, but having them this whole time and only now stepping up? 

“That’s what I thought,” she says, placing down the comb. “Don’t worry,” she pats his cheek, maybe a little harder than necessary, “Nobody’s gonna believe they’re yours after what you said.”

He explodes hearing this, “How many times do I gotta tell ya?! I didn’t say that shit!” He stands to his full height to tower over her.

“It doesn’t matter Elvis!” she says, raising her voice for the first time since he’s known her, not in the least bit intimidated by him. “Do you really think they’re gonna just accept that you had two kids out of wedlock, and especially with a Mexican woman? Especially now that they’re trying to sell you off as this wholesome family act, do you think the studio is gonna stand for that shit.” Her eyes begin to go a bit glassy as she says the next part. “Your career might be in danger, but my literal life is at stake if they even think I could be a threat to the comeback they’re trying so hard to make happen for you.” 

She squeezes her eyes shut at this point like she’s trying to will the tears back into her eyes, and her chest seems just a step away from being considered heaving, making it clear to Elvis she is trying so hard to keep the image she’s crafted for herself intact. Elvis can appreciate how yet again he’s the only one able to look past the curtain and see her for who she is. 

Finally after taking a deep breath her bloodshot eyes open and she gives a somber, “Do you know how my last movie ended?” Her voice severe and distant, her hands placed on the hinges of the trailer door. 

He’s a little stumped by the heel-turn of this conversation, but he plays along if only to convince himself he still has a chance to convince her otherwise. “You got your folks back together didn’tcha?

“No,” she says bitterly. “That last movie ended with the worst box office turnout of the year, because it was banned in most southern states -including yours- because the white man ended up with the mexican mother,” there the sardonic smirk on her face tells him she finds little humor in what she’s saying. “The studios forced us to tell that story and blamed us when nobody wanted to see it…” 

“Jimi,” he starts placing a hand on her shoulder before she rips it away. “Baby, it’s a different time now,” though even he realizes how hollow those words are. 

“Let me finish!” she shouts, tears trailing down her face as she looks back at him. “This isn’t a movie,” she declares. “There is no happy ending for anybody if you keep digging. Not for you, not for me, and especially not for my babies.” 

Our babies, is on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back.

“I’m not gonna have my babies a part of that life Elvis,” she glares at him. “They don’t need you. I don’t need you.” She turns her head and he can see the tears that threaten to fall in the corners of her eyes. “So just… leave it.”

And with seemingly the final word, she walks out of his trailer and he falls back heavy into his chair, utterly exhausted by the encounter. His chest feels tight, the shallow breathes he’s able to take doing little to remedy the feeling, his hands shaking out of fury and grief for the life that’s been stolen from him. On top of all of that his vision starts to blur with the tears clouding them, but that doesn’t stop him from noticing the movement in the mirror. 

He quickly gathers himself as best he could and turns to face whoever just entered his trailer, but he finds himself alone. That is until he looks at the mirror again.

He knows he must look a mess right now, but the mirror doesn’t reflect that whatsoever with the stony features he sees looking back at him. Elvis knows his face, and he knows when he’s not looking at his face. But Elvis knows who this is even before he opens his mouth with the only words he’ll speak to him.

“Go getcha girl,” Jesse whispers. 

And just like that he’s gone, and Elvis looks at his own reflection once again. With that little bit of brotherly guidance, Elvis comes to one startling realization: She’s right.

She’s right, this isn’t a movie.

So that means he doesn't gotta be nice about getting her back. 

He’s spent the last nearly two years planning how he was going to apologize to her over something he didn’t even do. Where is the justice in that? It’s as though she’s only capable of seeing him in the worst possible light. 

If she want’s a villain so goddamn bad then he’ll give her one. 

What a cruel power did God give to women. To take a piece of man, to mold and create something so wonderful and joyful, only to be able to deny him that if she felt so inclined. Usually the duplicitous ones will take from one man and claim it to be from another, all for gain, but Jimi is far more sadistic with this power, to hold two little mirrors in her arms and deny him his very own image. 

It’s enough to drive a lesser man insane.

No.

She’s not gonna deny him this. 

Jesse may have gotten him started on this path, but he can no longer just rely on fate to bring them together. He will take matters into his own hands, and they will be together. 

He remembers the first time he had seen one of her films as a kid. It was his 8th birthday and he had begged his Mama to let him go to the movies to see literally anything that day, and it so happened to be that one where the two sisters unintentionally thwarted some robbers in their house. 

He remembers laughing as Nena was sent into one room only for Mena to rip down the hallways as soon as the door was closed much to the confusion of the would-be criminals. He remembers the fear he felt when Mena seemingly fell out a window with the next shot being one of them lying on their stomach on the ground only for the next scene to reveal they had pulled the old switcheroo. He remembers the end when their parents finally came home and were glad that them burglars didn’t get their most precious treasures- their daughters. 

Most of all he remembers glancing over at the empty seat next to him and wondering if these were the sort of antics him and Jesse were meant to get up to. His mama never kept his brother a secret from him, always telling him how he’d have the strength of two, but he always knew on some level she would have preferred two regularly strong boys rather than just one really strong one. 

That feeling he got when looking at the vacant seat next to him is the same feeling he gets everytime he looks at his Hillcrest home now. The realization as to how fundamentally empty a home is without a family to fill it. 

Fate denied him his brother before he even entered the world. Death had snatched his mother out from under him. And that horrible Stanley woman was working double time to take his daddy away from him too. He’s not about to let Jimi keep him away from any more of his family, just because she wants to be stubborn.

Now, knowing of their existence he knows he needs them in his life. He needs her in his life. 

The PI didn’t disappoint, when you got enough money and notoriety in this town, they tend not to. He hardly batted an eye when Elvis had mentioned that there were kids out there that were potentially his, though he did give a funny look when Elvis told him he actually wanted him to dig up proof that he was the father, which is apparently rather novel in this town. 

Though what the PI brings back is painful in its own way. He mostly focused on what could be dug up through paper records both legally and illegally obtained: house deeds, birth certificates, medical records, wills etc.

That’s how he finally learns the names of his children.

Alejandro and Mireya.

Big names for babies that are so little, he thinks to himself. Only to realize that they will one day grow into them, and he’s wasting time not being with them. 

By all accounts, Jimi’s doing just fine: house is paid off, bills get paid on time, food is plenty, and she’s apparently in the market for a nanny. But a deeper look revealed that she’s pissing through her savings right now and with the way things are going she’ll be out of money in maybe another ten years, something she must have realized if she came back to work at all. Elvis finds himself exasperated that her stubbornness will cause her and the little ones to sink before she ever thinks to ask for help.

But it's the few and far between snapshots of the little family that threaten to do Elvis in. He has to fight the urge to frame them as they are all so wonderfully domestic. Strolls through the park, trips to ice cream shop, stops at the grocery store, and everything else that would paint the perfect family portrait of a young, beautiful mother and her two adorable babies. 

Everything except for a father. 

Though some of the most painful ones to look at were the ones from her day at the beach with them. He can almost pretend that he is the one behind the camera, that he took these pictures of her and the little ones on a family outing and not in fact a shameless voyeur of the life that should by all rights be his. In one of them, they were facing the camera as they looked out to the vast ocean before them, Jimi crouched down by the shore line as she held their little hands so they could properly get their feet wet. She wears a wrap around her one piece bathing suit in a facsimile of modesty and he already knows she turned a few heads that day. Little Alejandro is wearing a swim ring and practically wrapped around Jimi’s leg while Mireya’s wearing little floaties and pulling on her mama’s hand to try to go deeper.

So wholesome and idyllic, he can practically picture the entire day in his head. 

How he would come up behind her and swing them back and forth on the shore line as though he were about to toss them in while they squealed in delight.

How he would play with them in the sand until she insisted on them taking a nap under the umbrella while their parents could have a breather to have lunch. 

How she would lay beside them and from his position he could shamelessly leer at their mothers figure. 

How the day would knock them out on the car ride home and they would both quietly bring the little ones in the house and place them in their cribs and how she would wrap herself around his arm as they both gazed down at the two little miracles before them.

How he would bend her over right outside the hallway and fuck her raw so that they would never have a day at the beach without babies. 

If that wasn't what Norman Rockwell pictured for the ideal family life, he doesn’t know what is.

Those last few weeks of shooting, he could hardly function knowing they were all out there, the few who knew what he was going through were unsure how to approach him. Some learned quickly that he wasn’t about to be questioned on this, others had to learn the hard way. 

After the last day of shooting, Elvis would only idly register the fact that he had been sitting on a lounge chair staring vacantly at the pool. He hadn’t meant to, he just remembers after breakfast wondering how he’ll probably teach them how to swim there, and then all of a sudden the sun had already set for the day. 

His buddies had apparently gotten so worried, they had ended up calling in reinforcements. 

“Now my boy,” a familiar voice would say behind him. “I hear we been losin’ focus lately.”

As though on reflex Elvis feels his jaw clench in distaste. In a way the colonel was the best and worst choice to be the one to come talk to him. The worst because after learning what he knows, he wants little to do with the man anymore and the best because he needs someone to take out all this anger on before he can see the mother of his children again.

So Elvis really has to put all of his acting abilities to work at this moment, as he plasters on a phony grin and grits the teeth he’s liable to start gnashing at any moment. “I reckon I been more focused now than I been in a long time, Colonel.”

Bypassing what he just said, the man sits down on the lounge chair right next to him. “That’s not what I been hearin’ ‘from your buddies.” Elvis can see he has the clown head cane, which he adds to the list of things he’s finding infuriating about the man. 

“And what they been sayin’?” 

“How an old flame reared her head recently and has been getting in your head with some foolish notions of slowing down now of all times,” he says. “My boy, I warned you ‘bout women like this before. They can’t appreciate the hard work we been doin’ to make this life here, and simply will take from men ike us.”

As sour of a taste as that statement leaves in his mouth, that at the very least confirms that Parker doesn’t know dogshit about the sitation. He’s reminded of that time how she complained she never has time to take a cigarette break or something will catch on fire. Something that was proven true only moments after she put one in her mouth and then ten men were screaming fire. She would casually stroll up to it, extinguisher in hand, and use the inferno from the stagelight to light her cigarette before putting it out. 

“You don’t gotta worry no more, my boy,” he starts patting around his jacket, only to pull out two cigars and a set of matches. This and the story gives him an idea as to how to prove his own convictions.

“Why’s that Colonel?” Suspecting what he’s getting at, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“I had a word with the young lady you were so fond of back in New Orleans,” he started, every word of his making Elvis want to scratch his own skin off. “And rest assured we came to an agreement after a few words from yours truly,” he says as though that will somehow placate him. “She wants nothing more than for us to leave her and her little ones alone, and of course we can accommodate that,” he lights up a celebratory cigar and hands his client one as well as though they were in some anti stork club.  

He once made the mistake of calling the Colonel something of a father figure to him, and he’s never been more disgusted with himself than right now. But he stays silent as he lets the “Colonel” before him dig his own grave. 

“Trust me son, I get the urge to want to settle down,” he reassures him. “But you’re young and it ain’t like you don’t got all the options in the world. Next time ‘round you can have some babies with a proper American girl”

The Colonel doesn’t know it yet, but this statement truly solidifies his fate. 

He doesn’t get it. None of these assholes get it. How can they? They ain’t ever lost someone like he did, like she did. They can’t see the value of family because they think that he can just make more of them with someone else? As though forces of a higher power hadn’t gone out of their way to bring them together. 

Elvis can do nothing more than kiss his teeth at the older man’s ignorance, as he slowly but deliberately grabs the cigar from his mouth and looks him dead in the eye as he slowly stamps out the cigar on the unvarnished wooden side table. 

Jimi was right. Words are nothing at the end of the day and it’ll be actions that will show them all how fucking serious he is about this.

“Those are my babies, and she’s my girl. And I ain’t gonna hear nothin’ more ‘bout it.” Elvis gets the pleasure of watching the Colonel gape like a fish only to then go red in the face as he goes back and forth between him and the small flames that are now beginning to dance on the table. He cuts him off before he can get another word in edgewise. “‘Sides I think marryin’ her would do wonders for my reputation down south.”

The portly man is surprised by his clients words and tries to quickly recover from the shock. “Son, I-I don’t think there’s notin’ down there we need to worry ‘bout,” he scolds as though Elvis were a child, trying desperately to reign him in.

“I used to think the same thing, ‘till I hired that PI to look into Jimi…” Elvis starts as he cuts the cigar, not even bothering to acknowledge the man’s concerns, “... and a few other things.”

“...what other things?”

“Funny you mention that Colonel. I had him look into where the hell those quotes came from. Y’know the ones that got me banned from Mexico. And boy did he have a story to tell,” his words are comically gleeful as he brings the cigar to his mouth. “One with high up there politicians, birthday parties, and blank checks. A story… my manager apparently knew all too well, but ain’t ever bothered to tell me.”

The only thing that could be heard in the moment was the light crackling from the flames between the two of them, and from it’s light Elvis can see the way that the sweat seems to pour off of the man in front of him. They both know that it has nothing to do with the fire.

“So-son, this is… it’s-it’s more complicated than you think,” Parker stutters, trying to desperately wrench back control of the situation. But Elvis already knows that the next chance he gets, he’s gonna cut ties with him… but Parker certainly doesn’t. And so for the time being he still has a role to play in this production. 

“Now there’s two ways to take this,” Elvis says leaning back on the wicker chair as the flames begin to get higher and higher, attracting the attention of his boys outside, and they rush to try to do something about it. One single hand gesture from him has them all frozen in place, awaiting his command. 

Good, these motherfuckers needed to be reminded who exactly is in charge here, even if he had to burn this whole place to the ground. 

“One, a simple mistake that my manager made and will now do anythin’ to fix if he wants even a chance at his contract bein’ renewed pretty soon… or two…” he brings the still unlit cigar to the now three foot flames on the table beside him, the closest thing he’s done to acknowledge them. He even briefly blows out the flame on his cigar, really trying to draw it out, enjoying the way it makes the older man squirm in his seat. It’s only right considering how much grief he caused trying to hide his secret so long. But if Jimi had taught him anything about Hollywood, is that shit like this don’t stay buried forever. “My manager for some reason can’t leave the country and didn’t want me leavin’ it neither.” 

It's an interesting experience to watch a man go from red in the face to completely white in horror. He opens and closes his mouth in disbelief more than a few times as though god himself will put the words in his mouth to smooth over this misstep. Any doubts Elvis had about the PI’s story melted away with each little tick the man before him made. 

Jimi had taught him what makes for a good and bad actor, and boy oh boy did Parker make for a shitty one: the shifty beady eyes, the nervous tapping on his cane, the constant swallowing and clearing of his throat. 

“So Colonel,” he states with a smoky breath, and no amount of venom missing from his voice for the man that- albeit unintentionally- cost him so much time with his family. “What’s it gonna be?”

The flames are by now as tall as a full grown man, and the fire has now fully engulfed the low table that was once there. All the boys are nervously shifting and shuffling about, wanting to put it out before it can get out of hand, but the hand that Elvis holds toward them keeps them in place, not a single one of them willing to go against him. 

The message is clear to everyone though: give him what he wants or he will burn them all, and not just metaphorically. 

“I-I,” the old man stutters looking down at his feet undoubtedly looking for help even from Hades himself, only to see as an ember finds a new home on his lone client’s pant leg. 

Elvis does not acknowledge this. 

Parker looks back up at him, only now comprehending who the hell he is dealing with. 

“I’ll see what I can do my boy,” he finally answers breathlessly.

“Now that’s what I like to hear, Parker,” he gives an amiable clap to his shoulder before gesturing to the rest to take care of the inferno before them. They’re all in a dead sprint to deal with the fire and Elvis gives his foot a cursory dip in the pool to extinguish the flames creeping up his ankle, before walking away without another word to any of them. 

With the Colonel and everyone else willing to do anything to get back in his good graces, things seem to run a lot smoother now. 

Finding a lawyer willing to handle paternity suits is easy enough in this town, finding one that is willing to fight to establish his status as their father however… practically every lawyer that was consulted said it was near impossible for them to do so without the mother’s consent. Without even knowing who exactly they were meant to be representing they said the whole thing would be a wash if at the end of the day the mother remains obstinate against it, and regardless of any blood tests, no judge would believe that a woman would willingly say no to the support a man like Elvis could offer if it wasn’t the absolute truth that he wasn’t the father. 

Needless to say that Elvis could only rely on the legal route so much. Though he did learn a few interesting things as to what would happen to children if the mother is deemed unfit.

And from there, he begins to cook up a truly awful and perhaps downright evil plan but he knows that the prize is worth the risk.

It’s gonna rely on all of his skills as an actor, and she’s been in the business too long to not know an act when she sees one. But he has one major advantage over Jimi in this department: She already expects the worst from him, so him doing this wouldn’t be a stretch in her eyes.  

Even threatening to dig a little deeper into whether or not they were his, made her pull back even more, she’s not gonna make this easy for him, and part of him doubts he would want it to be so. He knows he’s not without options, and that women would practically tear down the door to be the one to give him babies.

But how can he just let her go? 

Jesse couldn’t be here with him, that’s why he sent her his way. Elvis needed someone who would look out for him no matter what. And with Elena gone, Jimi needed someone to look out for. The two of them fit together like puzzle pieces really.

So he has to be smart about this. Nothing gradual because she will bolt the second she even gets a hint as to what he’s planning. So he takes a step back and allows the PI to learn all he can about her new schedule and what she’s got in the works. 

She’s still working for Paramount, though only barely, as she now apparently only comes in once a week to talk with directors and drop off designs. Though it’s clear this is not for much longer as she’s apparently been tapped by some production company down in Mexico to come work for their wardrobe department. 

It becomes apparent that he needs to work quickly if he wants to pull off his plan, when his request to have her work on his next movie is denied for the simple fact that she is apparently only sticking around Paramount long enough to finish off a few other productions. He’s honestly a little glad for this change, it just means he can put his plan to action a little earlier and they can be together sooner. 

So it’s not even a week after the end of production does he find himself standing in front of her small, new house in East LA. 

Elvis knows his influence on women, and despite what the papers say, he’s tried to use this for good. So when he walks up to Jimi’s door and knock, he does admittedly ham it up with the hand to lean on the door frame and the slightly unkempt hair falling over his forehead, a look he knows would make any woman weak in the knees. Especially a 13 year old babysitter.

The girl (Letty, he’s pretty sure the PI said), seems to be confused more than anything else, uncomprehending as to who stands before her. She’s far from the first or last to have this reaction but it shows that Jimi is playing her cards far too close to her chest that she wouldn’t know why he’s here.  

“This here’s Jimena’s place?” He asks though he already knows the answer from the PI that’s getting paid hourly. 

“Ye-yes,” she stutters, reaching a hand out only to quickly snatch it back as she confirmed he was really here. 

“Perfect,” he grins, and he sees her look down bashfully. “I’m here to pick up the babies.”

This confuses the poor girl even more. “She… didn’t mention that.” Elvis has to hold himself back from telling her she couldn’t keep a father away from his children, but honeys and flies and all that. 

“It’s a bit of a surprise for her.” He answers.

She’s still apparently unsure of herself, as she gives a weak point back inside the house as she says,“I-I think I sh-should ma-maybe call her.”

“How much you gettin’ paid by her?” he asks affably, though a little annoyed at the girl continuing to keep him from his babies.

“Five dollars a day and an autographed picture of Marlon Brando,” she answers, though she looks back down at her feet, as though embarrassed to be talking about another star she preferred in front of him. He doesn’t take it to heart, remembering Jimi complaining how she had more autographs than she knew what to do with.

“How ‘bout this,” he pulls out his wallet. “I’ll give you 50 and get you a personal meeting with Marlon, if you get the lil’ ones ready to come with me for the day and don’t say nothin’ to no one ‘bout whatcha saw today.” 

The teen gapes like a fish at the offer and though Elvis knows it’s good for his plan that she didn’t automatically refuse his proposition, it is nonetheless disheartening that this is the girl Jimi had entrusted his babies to. 

“I-I-I,” she looks at her feet, as though they’ll have the answers for the dilemma. “I don’t think I can let them g-go with a stranger.” she puts a bit more of her weight onto the door fully intending to close it. 

“That’s the best part kid,” he pressed a palm to the door. “I ain’t a stranger to her.” The girl has no idea what kind of danger she’s in, and Elvis attributes that almost solely to Jimi’s influence. What’s a few lies when he knows he would do far worse if she dares to keep him away from his children any longer. 

“Don’t let them papers know this,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper, full well-knowing that’s exactly who she’s gonna go straight to the moment she gets the chance to do so. “Y’see their mama and I… well we been seein’ each other for awhile, and now stubborn women she is, she don’t wanna go no further ‘til I can prove I’m ‘father material’ so I came down here to prove her wrong.” 

She furrows her brow in confusion until her eyes go wide. “Wait… go further? As in…” 

He takes a page out of Jimi’s book and gives a pursed grin while his eyes slide away from her, not even trying to deny her assumptions. Seeing her hold a hand to her mouth to cover her dramatic gasp, Elvis would like to think Jimi would be proud as to see how far his acting abilities have come. 

The girl is apparently all too eager to play cupid as she quickly invites him in with a big grin on her face and ushers him towards a sitting room. Despite how cool he’s playing it he’s a nervous wreck on the inside, feeling like he’s about to walk into a test he knew he didn’t study well enough for. 

But that all disappears the moment he lays eyes on them. 

They can already do so much, he thinks as he watches them play though they don’t notice him,  Mireya holding a whole baby conversation with her stuffed animals in between trying to feed them dry cheerios while Alejandro is making little humming noises around the pacifier in his mouth as he crawls to drive his little fire truck around. Eventually the tiny boy drove the toy straight into Elvis’ foot. 

The small boy looks up at the new figure, and with the way he looks at him, Elvis doubts he remembers him. So he tries not to take it too personally when the boy silently gets up and scrambles behind one of the couches, only to then peek over the corner, as though to make sure he’s still there. 

“Ale, Mimi, come say hi,” the young teen says in a soft voice before she turns around and leaves him alone with them. Those names feel much more fitting of the small babies he’s pictured in his head, and even more fitting as he leans against the door frame of the little sitting room.

Mimi almost immediately begins to toddle over to him with a little stuffed doggy tucked underneath her arm. She looks at him and again there is not an ounce of recognition in her eyes as she merely approaches him wraps her arms around one of his shins before immediately going back to her toys. 

So much for the instant connection he was hoping to have with them, but he tries not to get too discouraged with this as he approaches. He crouches down next to his daughter and picks up a stuffed monkey and uses it to tickle her neck a little, and that has her shrieking in delight.

This does seem to settle Ale somewhat as he slowly comes from behind the couch to watch the two of them. Though he plops down right between them with his engine in tow and gives a wary look toward Elvis as though he means to act as her protector. He didn’t know it was possible to have a skeptical look while sucking on a pacifier, but his son somehow manages to do just that.

Elvis notices something in the boy's front overall pocket and when he reaches a hand to investigate it, his son is quick to react with an overhead swat to the intruding hand. Elvis can’t help but laugh at how very Jimi that reaction is. 

Before he knows it the bags are all packed and it’s time to go. Ale looks more confused than scared as Elvis picks him up with his wide brown eyes, while Mimi on the other hand is in awe of being so high up and she immediately starts trying to reach for things that he thinks would usually be out of reach when held by her mama. 

In the last few days he’s had ample time to imagine what exactly it would feel like to hold them in his arms, but all of it pales in comparison to the phenomena of the experience. Elvis is a man that has dabbled in many pleasures over the years yet all of that pales in comparison to just the utter rightness of this moment. 

It’s an indescribable, euphoric feeling that makes him never want to let go of either of them, even if one is seeming indifferent to him while the other tries to squirm out of his grasp.

He had been prepared to sneak out the back with them or pass them out the window to Jerry before sneaking to the car, hell he contemplated that he would even have to simply grab them and run. He never in a million years would’ve imagined it was as easy as scooping them both up in his arms and taking a brisk walk out the front door to the car while the babysitter hands over a baby bag to him. 

The fact that it was so easy was just further proof that he needed to get them out of there. What if it had been some crazy man that came in today and not him that took them? 

“E.P. What the fuck?” Jerry asks, more tired than confused. 

“Let’s get goin’ already.” 

The car ride gives him some time to truly appreciate how beautiful his babies are.  

Mimi has Jimi’s thick dark hair and her pouty lips, and those coupled with the cornflower blue gaze that came from him, he can already hear the heart's (and the kneecaps, Elvis will personally see to it) breaking across the country. And where Ale seems almost his exact copy, he can see Jimena’s touches here and there with the way his hair curls or the slight upturn of his nose. Truly it would be a crime to deprive the world of more pretty children like these two. 

Mimi in turn seems to also be fascinated by his face, and he takes a few playful nibbles that has her squealing in delight. Though she does lose a bit of interest in him as the car starts and she gets to see the world around her rush past her. She makes sure to point out every animal she sees whether it be a dog, a cat, or even a squirrel, and Elvis finds himself enjoying every moment of it as it feels like he’s looking at this whole city through a new lens.

“Mida, mida,” she squeals in her tiny voice as she points to a bird. “pajado!”

Ale on the other hand is just looking up at him owl-eyed, too in shock as to what’s going on around to look at anything but at his father. He clutches on to his little firetruck like a shield still unsure of this whole thing but Elvis takes it as a small victory that he isn’t balling his eyes out. Elvis resorts to trying to make faces at him to get him to crack even a little though it becomes apparent that what this kid lacks in looks from his mother, he more than makes up for by having her personality, as he barely twitches at any face. Granted it is hard to tell around the pacifier he refuses to part with. 

Jerry remains blessedly quiet for the rest of the car trip though Elvis doesn’t miss the occasional stolen glance from his young friend. The man -boy, really- had initially been on the side of letting sleeping dogs lie, and now Elvis pushes down the petty urge to hold up his own son to his face and have him try to deny his own image. 

Elvis’ living room could honestly give Santa's workshop a run for his money with the sheer amount of toys and playthings that occupy it now. All his boys had apparently been working overtime trying to make Elvis forget how skeptical they had been in his beliefs, and trying to worm their way back into his good graces. 

His daughter practically dives headfirst into the large pile of stuffed animals to be had, meanwhile his son stands in the middle of a treasure trove of toys, his red engine hanging limply from his hand, practically overwhelmed by choice. He eventually does settle on a set of blocks that he takes to stacking up only to ram his truck into the makeshift tower. Elvis can’t help the chest swelling contentment he feels in that moment seeing his babies love their new home so much.

He hardly sees anybody else all day, and he’s glad for it. He didn’t want any of them sticking around too long, as this was his chance to bond with his babies properly, and he didn’t need any of them to distract them. Aside from the occasional maid coming in to bring snacks or to change a dirty diaper, he gets an entire uninterrupted afternoon with the two. 

Mimi was so eager to play with him and show him all of her little toys, with her favorites being the little stuffed dog she hadn’t let go of, it’s neck floppy as she clutched it in her tiny baby hand. 

Ale thinks he’s subtle as he eyeballs Elvis most of the afternoon. He is not. He all but gapes at him when he thinks he’s not looking, only to turn around and try his darndest to look very busy with his blocks or cars when Elvis looks over to him. 

He tries to approach the toddler, only for the boy to rebuff him each and every time by shuffling to the opposite end of the room, and setting up shop there. Elvis has to remind himself to be patient, knowing that his son is handling being in a new strange place with a man he only barely knows better than most kids would so he has to let the boy approach him first. 

He could tell just by the way he watched Mimi like a hawk, that he was the older of the two, the same way Jimi always said she was with her sister. His weary attitude towards him only began to thaw out when Mimi stumbled over a block, somewhat able to catch herself on her hands but that doesn’t prevent her from still hitting her little forehead on the carpeted floor. Immediately father and son are at her side to comfort the wailing girl, Elvis crouching down to pick her up and rubbing her back, trying to imitate the few times he’d seen mothers do this, while Ale not fully understanding what’s wrong with her, only to tries to climb his father to try to take the girl in his own little arms and rest his head on her back. 

After a few more tears and she had been allowed to thoroughly ruin his shirt, Mimi was able to calm down and go back to playing as usual. Ale seems to only then realize that he had gotten close to his father, and nothing bad had happened, so blessedly he doesn’t seem entirely too opposed to his presence anymore. 

The only major hiccup of the entire evening was when Ale had entrusted Elvis with his most treasured toy. Elvis almost burst into tears when his son had reached into the front pocket of his overalls to pull out a small matchbox car, one that appeared to have been red at one point but had since faded into a light pink. 

This coupled with Mimi’s favorite stuffed toy being a stuffed beagle… Elvis is not one to just name anything as signs from God, but those two together had to mean something.

And it’s frustrating to say the least that Jimi refuses to see this. 

The twins begin to wind down around the evening, with full bellies and comfy pajamas on it’s not too long before Mimi practically falls asleep where she was playing, her little bottom in the air as she drooled all over her little blue doggy that now acts as a pillow.

Ale is far more stubborn about the whole thing, refusing to sleep even as he jealously looks over to his sister before stubbornly rubbing at his dark eyes and continuing to play with his toy cars. 

“Don’t go down so easy now do ya’ son?” Elvis says as though he’s actually commiserating over his miserable sleep with a friend and not his toddler son. “You get that from me,” The boy at the very least now tolerates him being so close, but Elvis isn’t going to try to push it by picking him up. Instead he would gently pick up his daughter and hold her in one arm, while offering the other to his son, a clear invitation to the boy.

In spite of all his mulishness, Ale does eventually give in and makes little grabby hands signaling he wants to be picked up, and Elvis does admittedly melt a little at the sight. He’s quick to accept the invitation and picks the little boy up and takes them upstairs. 

The nursery room as of right now is pretty barebones, having had to rearrange many things in the house, so as to make it a home for his family. But he thinks his boys managed to at least get the essentials with a crib and a rocking chair, and he figures that they can build from there. 

The experience of not just holding his children at the same time but of actually getting to do the fatherly thing of singing them to sleep is incomparable to anything he’s ever had the chance to experience. Something so new, yet at the same time feeling like his whole life was leading up to this point. Mimi’s already asleep and he knows better than to wake a sleeping baby, so he sets her down in the crib first before sitting down in the rocking chair with his son in tow. Elvis admittedly doesn’t have a wide knowledge of lullabies, and he briefly panics for a moment until remembering the one he’s performed maybe a dozen times in the last few months.

They call your daddy Big Boots

And Big Boots is his name

It takes a big man to wear big boots

That's your daddy's claim to fame

It feels only appropriate to sing this to his own son, and in a way he’s glad that he performed this before meeting either of them. He doubted he would’ve been able to keep it together singing this to any other child now, knowing they were out there. Much to his relief, Ale eases up a little on his chest, resting his chin on his arms to better look at his father, not so defensive anymore. 

Gonna tell you a little secret

You won't believe it's true

Did you know your daddy, Big Boots

Once wore little boots like you

Ale for the first time today removes his pacifier from his mouth and presses his tiny hand to Elvis mouth, seemingly entranced by the music leaving it and unbelieving that this is coming from a man and not a radio. 

But where he was barely keeping it together while singing, Elvis can’t help his reaction when Ale lets out a soft little “daaa…” 

His throat seems to close up and he has to blink away a few tears, but that doesn’t lessen the grin on his face. “Th-that’s right son,” he breathes, through quivering lips, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m your daddy.”

Something about that statement seems to settle something in the boy, as he finally puts his head on his chest and his breathing seems to even out. It’s as though he had been the ever vigilant man of the house. But now knowing that his daddy was home, he can finally lay his head down and rest. 

Eventually he has to put him down once he sees Mimi start to fuss in her sleep, waving an arm around and grasping for something, but she quickly relaxes once her brother is within her grasp. 

Elvis sits to watch them for a time, they’re simply so hypnotic to observe. The way they breathe in tandem and seem to gravitate toward each other, in a world of their own right now. It makes him wistful for the brother he never got to know. But wherever his brother may be right now, he feels joy that he can carry out his will and finally have a whole family once more.  

One look out at the sun setting and the clouds rolling outside his windows, he knows it won’t be too long before she arrives. He wants to be able to relax but he knows he won’t be able to until all of his family is under his roof. But he knows her well enough, to know she’ll be home soon. 

Finally he sees an unfamiliar pair of headlights shine behind the gates, before coming to a screeching halt and a familiar silhouette stands in front of the lights, to give a futile shake at the front gate. He can imagine she’s yelling to be let in, even muffled through the patter of the rain starting to really come down and the thunder rolling in the distance, he can just barely make out her voice. 

He sees Lamar unlock the gate for her, but the moment his guard is let down she takes off running towards the front, which is when Elvis takes this as his cue to start heading down to meet her. 

She was in no way prepared for this weather if her near see-through white blouse was anything to go by. Her makeup is running slightly, streaking down her cheeks making it impossible to figure out if it was rain or tears running down her face. All fury and passion, just like he loves her. 

She angrily stomps past him, still trying to ignore him only for him to block her with his full body.

“How many times?” she grits out. “How many times must I turn you away?”

“I don’t know darlin’,” he whispers in a just as low voice. “As many times as it takes ‘til you figure out I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Cut the crap Elvis!” she shouts. “Where are they!?”

He responds with a single finger to his smirking lips. “If you wake ‘em, you gotta put ‘em down again.”

This immediately has her try to run past him towards the bedrooms, but he catches her in one arm over her waist and he sits her on the dining room table, sure to plant his hands on her knees so she doesn’t get any ideas. 

“That’s enough Elvis,” she tries to rip his hands away from her. The way she’s all clenched up, lets him know that she would scream at him if it were an option. “You’ve had your fun, now just let us go.” 

He just further smirks. “Y’know after all the things I learned ‘bout the last two years for you, I kept askin’ myself one thang,” he says pushing himself off the table to stalk towards her. “‘Why the hell is she still here?’”

Her jaw clenches tight at this, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I had to do what I had to do to support My babies.”

“Considerin’ what my guy dug up,” he starts making his way towards the table that has had her whole life laid out upon it. “You coulda worked anywhere else and left Hollywood behind a long time ago.” The heavy clench of her jaw and the daggers in her eyes tell him he’s getting close to the bullseye. “No,” he says, holding her chin between his fingers. “You stayed cuz you was waitin’ for me to get back.”

This infuriates her and she gives him a good shove, but he’s no longer in the mood to indulge her little tantrum so he stays put. 

“Is that what you wanna fucking hear Elvis, then fine! They’re yours!” she shouts, a bit of a tremble in her voice. “Are you happy now? Will it help you sleep better at night knowing they’re yours? ”

“I’ll sleep better knowin’ they’re under my roof.”

She freezes at this admission. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout the fact that you and the little ones are gonna be movin’ in with me.”

The silence that passes is near deafening and he gets the pleasure of seeing the reality of the situation set in in her face. She gives a short mirthless but undoubtedly forced laugh but there’s no denying the fear in her eyes. 

Good.

After all, she was the one that wanted this when she wanted so badly to make him a villain in this. He’s not, he’s a father. 

“All this time, I thought you were stupid,” she says, that sardonic, slightly scared, laugh still laced in her tone. “Turns out you’re just fucking crazy.” Anybody else he would’ve been offended, but he lets her barbs slide right off his back, because truly words are all that she has left anymore. He’ll let her have them. “In what world do you think this is gonna play out like you want it?”

He gives a soft smile and raises a hand to take her chin, only for her to quickly smack it away. 

“The world the studio pays for.” 

She gives a derisive snort, “And you think they’re gonna pay for you to ruin your image.”

He simply smirks at her, finding her ignorance cute. For all that she knows how to work the system, he understands how the system works. More importantly he understands that the system works for him. His only direct response is to slide her the papers his people drafted up for him.

“What the fuck are these?” she asks, her voice lower, trying to mask her genuine confusion.

“That there is the copy of the marriage license ‘you’” he uses air quotes, “signed six hours ago, and an officiant from the studio officially signed off on these.”

“I-I don’t understand,” she says, her voice smaller than he’s ever heard from her.

“Now Jimi let me tell you two stories, only one of ‘em’s gonna be in tomorrow’s paper,” he says, gently rubbing her cheek that she quickly slaps away. He retaliates just as swiftly with his hand splayed across her collarbone to lay her back on to the large dining table, just below the neck, not enough to choke her, but just enough to remind her who the fucking man of this house is. “One is how I went and got married to a single-mother of twins and I adopted them as my own.”

“I would neve-”

“Or…” he cuts in as he puts a little more pressure on her neck. “And this one is the one the studio prefers… I marry some random girl they pick out for me and we end up adopting two poor little orphans, ‘cause their mama decided to run off to Mexico in the middle of the night.”

Almost like he planned it, he can hear the thunder roll in the distance as the threat hangs in the air. In his heart he knows he would never go through with this, but Jimi doesn’t have to know. 

All the anger drops from her face at that moment, in its place he sees something he’s never seen in her eyes: bold-faced fear. She showed her hand the other day when she told him why she wanted to keep the secret. He didn’t want to have to do this to her, but if it’s between having her fear him and staying with him vs not and her walking away, he will pick fear every single time. 

He needs them in his life.

He needs her in his life. 

“So you choose darlin’, which ones it gonna be,” he takes her chin between his fingers. She flinches slightly but knows she’s in no position to turn away from him now. “Either way… they’re comin’ with me.” 

Elvis is not a gambling man, and he wouldn’t do this unless he knew what her answer was gonna be. She’s just as crazy for family as he is, she wouldn’t be able to handle not being able to have them. She’s probably the only one who is capable of understanding what he would do for those two as he has no doubt that she wouldn’t do the same in his shoes. 

But between the two of them, only one of them had an entire studio willing to do whatever it takes to protect his image, no matter the expense. 

And for all her worldliness and experience, she knows full well what happens when you get on the wrong side of the studios. She spent the better part of two years trying to prevent them from learning this, because making her disappear and having her babies get lost in the system would have been nothing to them. 

He’s proud of her ability to successfully keep her and their babies alive in his absence, but he’s over her needlessly defiant nature to insist that they’ll never need him again.

He wouldn’t say he’s proud to see that defeated look in her eyes, but he does get the sense of relief knowing that he’s not going to lose anymore family today. 

“Let me see them,” she whispers, barely audible over the rainfall just outside the window. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and he’s practically giddy that she didn’t try to stop him. 

He finds them just where he left them, sleeping soundly knowing that their father is here to protect them, even from their mothers stubbornness. Ale is spread out like a starfish, one foot continually nudging his sister, while one hand is tightly balled up and a thumb in his mouth. Mimi on the other hand is squirming a bit, her little sock covered feet restlessly kicking at the blanket and her brow furrowed in her sleep. On pure instinct alone Elvis rubs a soothing hand on her belly until she’s calmed down enough and he quickly tucks her back in. 

The look of surprise on her face wasn’t part of the plan but is welcome nonetheless. “Y’see how important a daddy is sweetheart?” he whispers into her ear. 

He doesn’t exactly love the tears now freely falling out of her eyes, but he 

“I’ll stay,” she whispers, through her tears. “I’m staying for them.” She asserts but the words feel so hollow now. Even still he rewards her acquiescence with a kiss, more for himself and having been so patient for her. 

Even with her promises to stay now he knows that this is far from over. He knows that the next time she has them both in her arms is gonna be the next time she makes a break for it. He’s already let everybody know to never leave her alone with them, and he’s got some things in the works to make sure to make her face as recognizable as his own so she doesn’t get any ideas of trying to disappear. He’s even got a hail mary plan in his back pocket to deal with that doctor just in case he ever needs something big to keep her at his side.

But one thing he can absolutely do right now is work to get another baby in her so running won’t be so easy next time. A message she gets loud and clear the moment he works the zipper of her skirt down the mouth-watering curve of her ass. 

“Elvis please,” she half-heartedly bats away his hands. “Not tonight…” 

He’s been on a winning streak of getting exactly what he wants lately, and he’s not about to let her break that. He backs her against the wall of the hallway only to then nestle himself between her legs.

“C’mon baby,” he whispers in her ear, and he’s glad he can still get that same shuddering reaction from her, he remembers all too well. “It’s our weddin’ night and we gotta get to work makin’ it all official. ‘Sides you owe me more babies for keepin’ ‘em away so long.” 

He can’t help but be reminded of that beach fantasy he had not too long ago and while he would love to make that into a reality, he figures that he at the very least owes her more than a dirty quickie in the hallway for their wedding night. 

Besides, they'll have all the time for that in Hawaii.

So instead he opts for the classic groom move of lifting her up in his arms and carrying her into his -now their- bedroom. He doesn’t care none to be gentle with her clothes, she’ll be lucky if he cares to be gentle with her tonight after all the shit she’s put him through. 

Ever the contrarian, she obstinately looks out the window and looks as though she wishes to be anywhere else right now as he peels the wet clothes off of her body. He’s been half-hard since she walked through his door, but little Elvis stands at full attention now that he can behold his wife fully. He finds the cosmetic differences that having his children has caused her body, with the near invisible stripes he feels on her belly and her temptingly darker nipples, but what he sees first and foremost in her body is his future. 

That world-shattering knowledge that she will be where all of his seed is planted and he will never have to suffer being alone again. He has to push these thoughts aside lest he spill all over her belly like a green boy, and he has to remind himself that there’s no need to rush anymore now that he has her beneath him. 

He has to temper himself before he gets ahead of himself so he spreads her legs to dive head first for her pussy. 

He knows he has her when a simple kiss to her clit has her clenching her thighs over his ears. While it’s with reluctant acceptance does he acknowledge he wasn’t her first, he takes great pleasure knowing that he’ll be her last. It was frankly insane to believe that no one had ever done this to her before, as after he had gotten his first taste of her there was little else he wanted to do more than this. 

He remembers joking with her that he now understood where her womanly sweetness went given the lack of it in her personality. It’s true nonetheless, arguably she tastes even better than he remembers. Though he imagines it’s the same way a man dying of thirst calling his first sip of water the sweetest taste, considering how much he’s pined for her. 

Now that he’s been able to ensure she’s sufficiently wet enough he lets her hips fall back on to the bed, as he unbuckles himself, unwilling to waste another moment to undress himself, so that he can once more feel that connection he almost lost.  

Finally being able to slip into her feels like finally coming home, there’s truly no other way to describe it. He didn’t even get this feeling when he walked through the threshold of Graceland. 

“Elvis,” she sobs into his shoulder. For all the love she claims to have lost for him, her body has certainly not forgotten as he feels her thighs clench tightly around his hips, trying to keep him as close as possible. 

He quickly grabs a hold of the back of her knees and he forces them all the way back practically to her ribs. Her pleasured and shocked cries ring out though the room as her new position gives him a new angle to work with. He’s a man on a mission to ensure that he leaves a mark so deep that she’ll never be able to leave again. 

Forever, and just that thought alone has him frantically bucking into her over and over ripping her away from one orgasm to yet another as he chases his peak. One of the many he would have in that night alone, to try to make up for all the lost time. 

Once it’s all said and done and he’s sufficiently satisfied that her sleepiness isn’t being feigned, he carries her back to the bed properly so that she can rest and be ready to be the perfect mother for their two (hopefully more) little ones tomorrow. He wraps an arm around her, knowing how slippery she can be, and he rests easy knowing she’ll be there come morning.

Taglist

@venus-haze​​ @djsjs13949​​ @ilovehobi101​​ @butlerslut​​ @richardslady121​​ @giabelia​​ @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051​​ @myradiaz​​  @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale​​ 

@j-v-9-2  @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates  @immi547 @thatbanditqueen   @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno @itlover8000  @isthlsfate  @mgparker  @thatbanditqueen   @softsatnin  @literally-just-elvis-fics @adaydreamaway08 @airyx0x0 @domoron​ @artlover8992 @divxnee