#and only just recently have i really gotten into interacting with more than a few select people

[trannydean-moved]

nature (me) is healing (i am being given human interaction and am coming back to my original state as an extrovert)

[bunnys-kisses]

bubble tea and mocha coffee george russell serving blueberry bars and sticky toffee pudding please

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu, there is tons of items to choose from! i've even added new items recently so please, check it out! thank you to this lovely anon for sending this prompt, i have FINALLY gotten around to george russell (and i'm sorry)!! i hope you love this! thank you!

blueberry bars (“gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.”) + sticky toffee pudding ("the only way this is ending is you getting pregnant.") + bubble tea (daddy kink) + mocha coffee (breeding kink) served by george russell (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, breeding kink, daddy kink, wife!reader, pregnancy

this started because george saw you with some kids. it was a collaboration between a child's hospital and formula one. while the kids got to meet some of the drivers, the kids took a liking to you after the excitement of meeting an formula driver worn off.

throughout the event, you had at least two or three of the kids following you close behind. george thought it was so sweet. you did so well with them! george had a dumb smile on his face as he watched you interact with them, he stayed close to you. but by the end of the event, they were more interested in mrs. russell's ability to draw cows and cats than the famous driver.

made his heart skip a little bit. but, it stirred something else in him beside joy that you were having a good time. a deep urge to his beautiful wife pregnant with his child.

you should've known something was up when george's hand lingered on your back for a little bit. and that his thumb hooked into the waistband on your skirt from the back near the tag. he also kept you close to him and kissed your face every so often.

when you drove back to your hotel room for the weekend, his hand was on your thigh as he drove the rental car. occasionally his hand around dip between your legs for a brief moment that made you laugh.

"george!"

"sorry, i just can't help myself tonight. i've been thinking." he said as he kept his eyes on the road, "we've been married for a few years now, and maybe it was time we... had a baby."

you felt your cheeks heat up as you replied, "really? i mean, i know we talked about it a little. but, i was worried about your career. being away from us."

george held onto your knee and gave you a quick smile, "don't worry. i'm just worried we'll miss our chance to have a child, so if you're ready... then i'm ready."

in the hotel room, george unwrapped you like a present and you felt warm all over. his careful hands against you as he undid the zipper of your skirt while you got off your blouse.

you then in turn helped him get out of his slacks while he undid his shirt. you soon kissed, left in nothing but your underwear. you whimpered against the kiss when he got you onto your back.

“gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.” he said, his voice turned you on. you loved your husband's voice, but this edge of a promise that he'd get you pregnant made something curl in your gut. it was erotic and made you rub your thighs together.

he took off your bra and got his face in between your breasts and kissed at them. you groaned and got your fingers into his hair

"you taste so good." he groaned, "knowing that you're mine. my beautiful wife. about to be the mother of my children." he rubbed himself up against you and groaned, "the only way this is ending tonight is you getting pregnant."

you chuckled, "someone wants to be a daddy, huh." you gripped onto his hair further as he continued to pepper kisses along your soft breasts.

he made a small noise, "i like when you call me that." he helped you get him out of his briefs. with his cock freed, he quickly got off your panties. he licked his lips at the sight of his wife's pretty pussy.

he was gentle as he got one of the hotel pillows under your hips, allowing him to have a bit of leverage to get you at the right angle. he licked his lips once more. he slowly sank into you, mindful of every movement you made or didn't make. when he hit all the way to the base, he felt comfortable in the knowledge that he was inside of you.

your pussy felt like a dream as he started to move his hips. those pretty eyes of his gazed your body. it was heated on you, he was hungry. he said, "i love you."

you held onto him, your prince charming of a husband, "i love you." and smiled at him. the smile dropped when you felt the twist of pleasure in your gut at his movements.

"you're beautiful under me." he said, "you are so beautiful." he leaned in to kiss you on the lips and neck. feeling you squirm a little bit at how ticklish it felt.

"please, george. you're going to make me explode."

he chuckled and moved you a little bit to get a better angle. your legs on either side of his waist as he moved against you. his thrusts against you were steady, he made sure to get as deep as he could go.

the heat between you two was felt all over. your core throbbed at the feeling of being close to you. while his cock was painfully big, it was a good size to get a little stretch and deep it in all the right places. you whimpered a little bit and he held onto you a little tighter.

his heart pitter-pattered in his chest as he moved. he loved the feeling of you around him, being so intimate with you. it was romantic, if in a hot kind of way. eventually he took your hands in his and he pinned them down onto the soft covers.

you tightened your legs around his waist as you tried to meet his pace. it slowly picked up and he felt the heat across his cheeks. the sight of you, from that pretty mole on your stomach, to the lust in your eyes to the way your breasts moved when he moved against you.

he said, "beautiful."

"stop!" you whined but george only pushed you further into the bed. his pace picked up a little bit. he knew you weren't telling him to stop the sex, only the soft compliments. he knew you had a hard time accepting them.

"never. not for my wife." he said as he kissed you once more.

your face wound up as you felt the urge to climax. you felt your heart heavy in your chest as george's cock hit all the right places. you came around his cock with your hands on his shoulders once more. your short nails dug into the muscle of his arm as you arched your back.

your orgasm made his heart skip as he continued to move. his pace was a little rougher, but the blissed out expression you carried made it hard for him to go slower. the sight of you underneath him was just too much for him. his beautiful wife.

with a few more heavy strokes, he pushed himself up inside of you and finished. he let out a shudder as he kept himself balls deep inside of you. he made sure every last drop stuck to the deepest parts of you. he slowed to a stop and took you in his arms. his cock slipped out of you and he curled up against you on his side.

he peppered your face with kisses, "thank you, thank you."

you wrapped your arms around him and tangled your legs up with his. you beamed at one another, it felt nice. being so close. you two would make a perfect little family.

-

"you come here, eleanor. come to daddy." george was currently sitting on the grass behind the house you both owned. in front of him was his young daugther. eleanor russell was a little over one now and had been teetering on the edge

while it wasn't the easiest arrangement, with george often away for racing. but, even if he could spend a day or two with you, he always came back home anyway he could to see his two favourite girls.

it was a running joke now that he was the ultimate girl's dad. if people thought verstappen's car yapping was a lot. it was paled in comparison to how george spoke about you and your daughter.

the toddler tried to get up on her chubby little legs, but before she could tip over. george reached out and grabbed her gently. he helped her back onto her bum and said softly, "we'll get there." he smiled.

you were out for the day with some friends, and while george anticipated your return. he enjoyed sitting in the backyard with his daughter.

he chuckled down at the little girl and asked, "how would you feel about a little brother? if you're anything like your mother, you'll be a real monster to him." he picked up the little girl and smiled at her, "i know she's raising you to be a stubborn little thing. don't let anyone tell you that stubborn isn't a bad thing. you have the heart of a driver and the soul of the most wonderful in the world." he kissed his daughter on her chubby little cheek.

she just giggled. <3

[wosola]

French kisses .1 - Lucy Bronze x French!Reader

Hey everyone! I’m J. I used to write fanfiction on Wattpad for another fandom, but for a while now, I’ve mostly just been reading. Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time on AO3, where I started reading WoSo fanfics and fell into @bruhnze’s incredible works. After reading everything she’d published, I found her on Tumblr.

Recently, @bruhnze announced she was taking a break from writing. We connected, and I had the absolute honor of reading through her WIPs. One of them really inspired me, so I asked if I could finish it—and she said yes!

Originally planned as a single fic, this story grew into a 3-parter as I worked on it 🫣😅 Long story short: WIP by @bruhnze, finished by me, and proofread by her.

Summary: This is during Lucy Bronze’s time playing for Lyon, she's just gotten into a relationship with R, a 22-year-old student. For R it is the first time sleeping with someone. Based on this request, from the☀️anon over on @bruhnze.

Warnings: This is an 18+ fanfic with explicit content, so minors do not interact.

You had grown up in Lyon, lived there all your life. It had never been particularly eventful—your life was great, really. You loved your studies, had a close-knit group of friends, and there wasn’t much more to it.

The only thing that seemed to be missing, or at least it was something that was out of sync with your friends, was your love life. At 22, you had never really had one. While everyone around you seemed to be hooking up left, right and center, it never quite worked out that way for you. Not that you didn’t want to; you did.

It was just that you had never met anyone who stirred something in you in your everyday life. Sure, you’d kissed people now and then, but whenever things started to go further, you found yourself pulling back.

As time passed, being a virgin at your big age started to feel a bit strange. You were well past the point where a one-night stand felt like the right way to lose your virginity. Maybe it was because you didn’t know how to navigate all of that, or maybe you were worried that whoever you were with wouldn’t expect it and you’d feel awkward.

But in the blessed year 2017, as fate would have it, everything changed when you met a cute English girl in the local supermarché.

She had been struggling to find something on the shelves, her expression a mix of confusion and determination, when you decided to offer her a hand. The girl, who introduced herself as Lucy, explained in broken French that she had just moved to Lyon.

You helped her find what she was looking for, and as a thank you, Lucy asked for your number. You laughed and teased her, asking what she planned to do with it.

She had grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and in her charmingly imperfect French, she replied, "the least I can do is buy the pretty girl who helped me a dinner." That made you laugh harder, and when you joked about her not knowing any good restaurants yet, she just shrugged and said, "then you can decide where we go."

She had this boldness that was as charming as it was disarming—and, okay, maybe her being absurdly good-looking didn’t hurt in swaying your answer either. It was a yes without doubt, however towards Lucy you stayed a bit more unfazed.

That was a few months ago. Now, Lucy was much more comfortable with her French, picking it up quicker than you’d expected.

And not only was the woman smart, she was also incredibly athletic, which you'd noticed from the start. But on your fifth date, when you two had gone swimming, you couldn’t help but be floored by how fit she really was.

It wasn’t just her body, though—Lucy was thoughtful, kind, funny and so much more. You saw that side of her when she came with you to visit your grandpa in the hospital, bringing him a Lyon shirt signed by a player as a gift. You almost cried, you’d only mentioned that your grandpa was a life long fan of the club and here she was, gifting a signed shirt to him?!

That’s how you found out she was a footballer. Lucy had handed the signed jersey to your grandfather, grinning with that mischievous spark in her eye. “Hope you don’t mind it’s from a pretty new signing,” she’d teased. Then, with a playful glint, she added, “But I’ve heard she’s world-class. Do you know any players from Olympique Lyonnais Féminin? I can get another autograph if this one doesn’t impress you.”

Without skipping a beat, your grandfather, his face lighting up, assured her he did, mentioning that he always tried to catch matches, even if he mostly had to listen rather than watch due to his eyesight. “This is number 22, Bronze. She’s a great defender,” he said with pride. “I was thrilled when they signed her. Do you know her from England, or how did you manage to get this autograph?”

Your jaw nearly dropped as you glanced over at Lucy, who was barely holding back a smile.

“Yeah, you could say I’m close with her. Some say we’re practically twins,” she joked before reaching out to shake his hand. “But actually, I am Lucy Bronze. Nice to meet you, sir.”

Your grandfather’s laughter was as genuine as you’d heard in ages, his disbelief quickly turning into a delighted grin. It was as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

“I won’t let you down,” she told him, her voice softer, promising. “We’ll bring home the Champions League for Lyon.”

-

You’d been dating for three months now, and things were going great. Lucy had met your friends, and they adored her. You told her early on that you wanted to take things slow, and she had been nothing but understanding. She didn’t want to rush things either, but she wasn’t afraid to show you how much she liked you. Everything felt so natural with her, as if it was meant to be.

There was a dinner planned with your parents this Sunday, tomorrow she had a match, but today was one of her rest days after a Champions League game.

After a relaxed afternoon strolling around the city, shopping for a birthday gift for a friend, Lucy insisted on stopping by the supermarket. She wanted to cook at home, saying she wanted a romantic night with you. You agreed, and soon, you were back at your apartment, where you spent more time kissing than actually cooking.

It had been happening more and more recently—lingering touches, playful kisses that turned into longer, deeper ones. Every time, though, it stopped before it could go too far. Sometimes it felt natural, like you both were happy to just be together, but other times it felt more abrupt, leaving your heart racing. You wanted her, of course—how could you not?—but there was still that one thing you hadn’t told her yet, and it held you back.

Lucy had noticed. She’d asked a few times, worried that you might’ve had bad experiences in the past, but you assured her that wasn’t the case. You just wanted to take your time, and she had been so patient with you, always respecting your boundaries. Sometimes recently, it was even Lucy who would pull back, smiling at you sweetly, her eyes filled with desire but also understanding.

You loved her. You wanted to share everything with her, every part of yourself.

Twice now, she had stayed the night at your place. She had offered to sleep in separate beds, but you had waved that away, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep cuddled up next to her.

And now, after watching her play last night and lying awake, tossing and turning, you had decided that you were ready to tell her what had been holding you back.

You wanted, ached, to explore this part of your relationship, and tonight, with the romantic dinner she planned, felt like the perfect moment.

Now you were here, a lovely dinner behind your belt.. fidgeting with your wine glass, noticing that strangely enough, Lucy seemed a bit nervous too.

You both spoke up at the same time.

“Y/N—” “Luce—”

Breathy laughter filled the air, easing some of the tension you both seemed to be holding. “You go,” you said in unison again, which only made you laugh harder.

You gently took her hands in yours. “No, you go, baby.”

“Baby..,” Lucy repeated slowly, as if she was rolling the word around in her mouth, trying to make up if she liked the taste of it, her eyes searching your face.

Your heart skipped a beat. Shit. Did she not like that? You had been using the term more and more recently, thinking you were both building toward something more, maybe even thinking of her as your girlfriend already. Panic crept in until Lucy's voice broke through your spiraling thoughts.

“I thought,” she began, tightening her grip on your hands, “that it was about time… that I asked you to be my girlfriend.” Her words tumbled out quickly, like she was nervous. “I know you want to take things really slow,” she added, rambling a little, “but I just really, really, really like you. More than that even.” She let out a breathy laugh, glancing away for a second, before her gaze settled back on yours. “But I won’t scare you with that just yet. What I’m trying to say is... I want to call you my girlfriend. So, um… if you—”

“Oui!” you cut her off, the word bursting from you with so much enthusiasm that it took you both by surprise. You felt your face flush with heat as you quickly added, “Uh, yes, Lucy, I love you too—” You stopped mid-sentence, blushing furiously. “I-I mean, I’d love to be your girlfriend,” you corrected, your voice softer but no less sincere.

Lucy’s smile stretched from ear to ear as she stood up from her seat, and you rose to meet her. The moment felt so perfect, so right.

She kissed you, a kiss filled with warmth and love, and you returned it with all the affection you’d been building up for this woman for months now. God, you were in love.

After a few long moments, you pulled back, your heart pounding. You knew you still had to tell her the other thing. But Lucy was looking at you with such softness in her eyes, her face lit with joy. You couldn’t help but brush your thumbs along her cheeks, feeling the heat of her skin under your touch.

“Love me huh?” Lucy teased at your little slip of the tongue earlier, her voice low and playful.

You chuckled, your nerves easing slightly. “Yes, I love you, Luce, je t'aime” you admitted, voicing the words felt like lifting a weight off your chest.

“Hmmm…” Lucy hummed, her grin widening as she buried her face in the crook of your neck. “That makes me really happy. I love you too,” she whispered, her breath warm against your skin.

Before you knew it, Lucy’s hands had moved to cup your ass, lifting you up effortlessly. You squealed in surprise, even though she had done this before—it caught you off guard. Maybe because you still had to tell that other thing. But you couldn’t help but laugh as she carried you over to the couch, sitting down with you perched on her lap.

Both of you dissolved into giggles as you peppered each other’s faces with kisses, one after another. “I am so in love with you,” you murmured between kisses, your forehead resting gently against hers as you gazed into her eyes.

Lucy laughed, her nose brushing against yours. “It’s funny that we both wanted to tell each other that tonight,” she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Your cheeks flushed again, this time not just from the affection but from what you knew you had to say next. “I… I also…” you stammered, trying to find the right words. Lucy tilted her head, a curious smile tugging at her lips as she waited patiently.

“I also wanted.. uh no.. needed.. to tell you something else,” you finally managed, your voice a little shaky.

“Oh?” Lucy’s eyebrows lifted slightly, her expression soft. “Is it… a good thing?”

You bit your lip, unsure. “I’d…uh.. I’d say it’s more of a neutral thing?” you said, trying to ease into it.

Lucy smiled, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze as she leaned back against the couch. “Okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yes, I know. It’s just… hard for me to say, I guess.” You could feel your nerves bubbling up again. “I’m sorry for keeping it from you, but I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Lucy’s gaze was steady, encouraging. “Hey, there’s nothing to apologize for,” she said softly. “Take your time.”

“I… I have never…” You struggled to find the right words, but they just wouldn’t come. “I mean, I know how everything works, of course, but I’ve just… never actually… done it.” The words tumbled out awkwardly, and you quickly looked down, embarrassed.

Lucy was quiet for a long moment, so long that you finally forced yourself to glance up at her. To your surprise, her expression hadn’t changed—she was still looking at you with warmth and understanding.

“Hey,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over your lower lip, gently freeing it from between your teeth where you’d been nervously biting it. “Thank you for telling me.”

You groaned, your forehead dropping against her collarbone. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and relief.

Lucy chuckled softly, her hand smoothing over your back. “Sorry for what? Like you said, it’s a neutral thing. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” She tilted your chin up so you could meet her eyes again. “I’m just happy you told me. Now I understand why we always stopped when we did.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and smiled shyly. Lucy’s hands found their way to your cheeks again, cupping your face with such tenderness that you couldn’t help but feel safe.

The two of you stared at each other, the weight of the moment sinking in before both of you burst into soft, breathy giggles, the tension dissolving.

You both had ended up lying down on the couch, nestled against each other in a comfortable silence. Lucy’s arm was around your waist, your head resting on her chest as you listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing. The warmth of her body and the way her fingers absentmindedly traced small circles on your arm made you feel calm, safe.

It must have been at least half an hour before you finally worked up the courage to speak.

“So… how do you, uh, want to do things?” you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

Lucy tilted her head slightly, meeting your gaze with a curious look. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she responded, her voice gentle, as if she were afraid of pressuring you. “I mean… I want to do whatever you want, however you want, and when you want it.”

Her words made you smile, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. She was always so thoughtful, so patient. But the truth was, you had been thinking about this for a while now. You swallowed hard, trying to push past the embarrassment rising in your chest. “I feel like I’m ready,” you began, but the words felt heavy in your throat.

Lucy’s expression softened even more, her hand rubbing soothingly along your back, waiting for you to continue.

“That’s… I…” Your face flushed bright red as you tried to find the right words. You couldn’t tell her just how ready you were without blushing even harder.

The truth was, ever since you and Lucy had started dating, you had never felt this kind of desire before. In the past few weeks, your own body had been betraying you, and the thought of Lucy, had been invading your mind, especially when you were alone. You had never been so… wanting. It was like something in you had awakened. It wasn’t just the emotional connection—you physically craved her.

“Uhm… it’s been hard,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “not going further than kissing with you.” Your cheeks burned even more as you confessed, “But I felt like I needed to tell you this first before we went further… it was hard for me to confess.. I feel a bit.. uhm.. behind?”

Lucy’s thumb gently stroked your cheek, silently urging you to continue, her face calm and open.

“I’ve been thinking about… you,” you admitted, your voice faltering slightly. The vulnerability of the statement hung between you, the air thick with it. “A lot.”

Lucy’s lips curved into a small, tender smile as she listened. She didn’t laugh or tease you like you might’ve feared. Instead, she looked at you with a warmth that made your heart flutter in your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” she said quietly, her voice sincere. “But I didn’t want to push you, and I didn’t want to rush into anything until you felt ready. I wanted to respect your boundaries and I am really happy you told me this before we went further, and you’re not behind at all by the way, everyone does things at their own pace.”

You nodded, appreciating her patience but feeling the need for honesty. “But really I… I’ve been more than ready,” you repeated, the words rushing out now that you had started. “It’s been hard for me to hold back. I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t want to… you know, go further with you. I’ve just never… done it before.” You didn’t know why you were repeating yourself, maybe to bring over to Lucy how much you meant it.

Lucy nodded, her hand moving to intertwine with yours. “I get it,” she said softly. “I’m really glad you told me. I want you to feel comfortable with whatever we do, and I don’t want you to feel like there’s any pressure.” She paused for a moment, searching your face. “But when you’re ready, whenever that is, I’m here. We’ll take it slow, together.”

You smiled, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you,” you whispered, resting your forehead against hers.

Lucy sighed contentedly as she lay beneath you on the couch, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm. After a moment, she cleared her throat, breaking the comfortable silence.

“So, um… your parents,” she started, her voice tentative. “Sunday dinner, huh? What’s that going to be like?”

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the shift in conversation. “What about it?” you asked, propping yourself up slightly to look at her.

Lucy gave a small, nervous laugh. “I don’t know, like… have you told them anything about me? Do they know we’re dating, or is this going to be a complete surprise?” She bit her lip, clearly a little anxious. “I just want to make sure I don’t mess this up.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “Why are you thinking about that right now?” you asked, your tone playful as you began trailing soft kisses along her neck, nuzzling into the warmth of her skin.

Lucy let out a breathy laugh, though her body tensed slightly under your touch. “I—uh… I just don’t want to screw it up. Are you sure you really want to do this right now?” she asked, her voice hesitant.

She turned her head to look at you, concern flickering in her eyes. “I don’t want to rush you, y/n.”

You giggled against her neck, pressing a kiss just below her ear. “Three months isn’t enough of a wait for you?” you teased, a smile tugging at your lips.

Lucy chuckled, her body relaxing slightly as she looked up at you, her nerves fading a little. “Okay… so the dams have really broken now, haven’t they?” She raised her eyebrows, amused.

“Well, now that I’ve told you, and you didn’t get scared away... I have to admit, I’m kind of excited. I mean…” you grinned sheepishly. “I find you really attractive.”

She smiled as you moved your hand under her shirt, your fingertips brushing against her warm skin, you whispered, “I’m in love with you, Luce. I want to share that part of myself with you, too. And you know…” You paused, leaning down to kiss her collarbone. “Je sais à quel point tu es bon au football, alors je ne peux qu’imaginer que tes talents athlétiques s’étendent au-delà de ce jeu…’’ You whispered.  

Lucy giggled, swatting at you playfully. “Oh, you’re cheeky,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. But she glanced up at the ceiling with a grin and added, “Are you sure you’ve got no experience at all? It feels like I’m more out of it than you are right now.”

You sat up a little, shifting so that you were straddling her hips, your hands resting lightly on her stomach. You raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh?” you asked, smirking slightly. “Has it been long for you?”

Lucy bit her lip, her gaze dropping for a moment before she admitted, “Maybe… half a year? I don’t know.”

“Versus 22 years,” you teased, rolling your eyes giggling. “I think I win.”

Lucy grinned, sitting up to face you, her hands resting on your waist. “Mmm, no. I think I win.” She leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with affection. “I’ve got the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life sitting on my lap right now.”

You felt your cheeks grow warm, your heart swelled in your chest. But instead of letting yourself get lost in the emotion, you smirked, leaning in close until your lips hovered just inches from hers. “Mmm, really?” you teased softly. “Tell me more…”

Lucy’s expression turned serious, though her eyes were still playful. “I mean it, y/n. Now that I know how much this means to you, I want it to be special… really special. I always wanted that for us, but now it feels even more important.”

You rolled your eyes in playful disbelief, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Mon chéri,” you whispered, brushing a kiss over her cheek, “we just had the most romantic dinner, confessed our love—I'd say that’s pretty perfect already, wouldn’t you? Besides, it’s already special because it’s with you, my love, you are the only person I could think of doing this with.”

Lucy’s smile deepened, and she reached up to brush her thumb along your cheek. “Perfect, sure,” she mused. “But… candles, flowers, fresh sheets…” She bit her lip, ‘’in my head I was going all out for you, I am not even wearing my good underwear, amour.’’

You chuckled, thinking of your preparations for today. ‘’I am.’’

You watched her pupils dilate, her eyes widening in surprise, and she swallowed hard, clearly taken aback. “Oh,” she said in a breathy tone, as if she had just forgotten how to speak.

You chuckled, watching her shift, almost flustered. “Are you getting shy, Luce?”

“No! It’s just that… I don’t know,” she stammered, running a hand through her hair, clearly struggling to keep her composure. “I really want to keep things slow, to be respectful and everything, but when you say things like that…” She scratched her neck, her voice barely a whisper, “it’s… hard to...”

“Hard to what?” you asked, delighted to see her cheeks flush, a sight you didn’t often get to see from her.

Lucy groaned, leaning back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s hard for me not to think about… taking things a little faster than planned.” Her voice came out all at once, as if she’d been holding it back.

You leaned in, your lips just grazing hers. “Well, what’s wrong with those thoughts, then?” you asked, teasingly brushing your fingers along her neck.

She exhaled softly, biting her lip as she hesitated. “Let’s… wait until after I’ve met your parents,” she finally managed, pulling back slightly, though it was clear that it took effort.

Your smile faltered, confusion and a hint of disappointment washing over you. “Oh… I thought…” You shifted off her, sitting up and moving to your own spot on the couch, feeling uncertain.

Lucy’s hand instinctively reached for yours, her expression tinged with a hint of panic. “No, no—y/n, it’s not that I don’t want to! I do, more than you know.” She looked down, as if gathering her thoughts. “I just thought, well, when you mentioned meeting your parents on Sunday, I figured it was important to you to wait until after that step.” She paused, glancing up at you with earnest eyes. “I actually had… this plan in my head for next week. Thursday, to be exact.”

You blinked, intrigued and slightly amused by her meticulousness. “You have… a plan?”

“Yeah,” she said, scratching her neck in that adorable way that always made you smile. “I even talked to your housemate to make sure she’d be out for the night. I thought, you know, after we’re official and all…” She laughed softly, glancing down shyly. “I was going to surprise you with candles, flowers, everything. It’d be in your own bed, so you’d be comfortable.” She pressed a hand to her chest, her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t want to pressure you, of course, but I wanted it to be right for you—like, um… create a perfect moment for us.”

Your heart melted as you listened, and you could hardly contain the adoration shining in your eyes. Here was this amazing, thoughtful woman who loved you so deeply, wanting everything to be perfect.

“Luce, you’re… adorable,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss her, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude for such an incredible girlfriend.

You could feel the heat and intensity building between you, like two magnets drawn together. Your mouths met in a deep, fervent kiss, a silent conversation of everything you hadn’t said and all the things you were both holding back. It was a kiss full of promises, anticipation crackling in the air around you.

As the kiss deepened, Lucy’s hand slipped to your waist, and you let yourself sink into her warmth, into her presence.

After a moment, you pulled back just slightly, a small smirk crossing your face. “Are we sure we want to wait until next week?” you whispered, your voice low. “Today is a Thursday too.”

She took a deep breath, nervous laughter lighting up the room. “Well, I don’t know if I want that, but I think it would be best, so yes, I think I want that.”

“Thursday can’t come soon enough,” you groaned.

You both laughed, the intensity giving way to a moment of lightheartedness as you laid together, feeling secure, knowing that when the time was right, it would be everything you both had been waiting for.

After a while Lucy scooped you up into her arms effortlessly, grinning as you let out a surprised laugh. She headed toward the bedroom, ignoring your glance back at the kitchen.

“We really should clean up first,” you protested lightly, glancing over her shoulder at the table still set with empty plates and a bottle of wine.

Lucy shook her head, a smirk playing on her lips. “Nope,” she said, nudging the bedroom door open with her hip. “Tonight we can cuddle, tomorrow we’ll worry about that again.”

Once in the bedroom, Lucy set you down at the edge of the bed.

You felt your cheeks warm as you began to undress, carefully slipping out of your top, suddenly hyperaware of her eyes on you. You hesitated, noticing she’d turned her head away slightly, as if trying to give you privacy, even now.

“No, you can look,” you murmured softly, smiling as her gaze shifted back to you, her eyes meeting yours with such warmth that your heart fluttered. “You’re my girlfriend,” you added, the last word feeling new and sweet on your lips.

Lucy’s gaze traveled over you slowly, and you felt a blush rising to your cheeks as you slipped out of your top and bra, letting them fall softly to the floor. For the first time, her eyes settled on the bare skin of your chest, and you could see her breath catch for a moment, her lips parting as she took you in.

You felt a mix of warmth and shyness under her gaze, but her expression was so open, so purely admiring, that you felt at ease. When her gaze lifted to yours, her eyes held a soft awe that made your heart skip. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

You smiled, feeling both vulnerable and cherished in that moment, before turning to her closet and reaching for one of her oversized shirts to slip on. As you lifted it over your head, Lucy let out a little chuckle, recovering herself, and as she undressed down to her boxers and sports bra, her cheeks were pink.

Once undressed, you both climbed into bed, buried under the comforter as you found each other in the dim light, legs tangling together. She pulled you close, and her mouth met yours again, warm and gentle.

The kiss deepened, lips moving slowly, savoring each touch, each taste. Lucy’s hand rested on the small of your back, sliding upward with a feather-light touch that sent soft tingles across your skin. You felt a pleasant, fluttering warmth in your stomach as her fingers brushed over you.

Your own hands explored her too, grazing the line of her jaw, the smooth skin of her shoulder, and then down to her waist, lingering as you took in every detail. With every kiss, your heart raced faster, your body responding to her closeness, feeling both electric and calm at once.

But just as things were growing more intense, you felt a faint pulse of nerves, next Thursday was maybe not so bad. “Wait,” you whispered, smiling softly, though your cheeks were warm. “We haven’t brushed our teeth yet.”

Lucy paused, her eyes immediately searching yours, understanding lighting up in her gaze. She brushed a gentle hand over your cheek, offering a reassuring smile. “Totally forgot,” she said softly. Her hand found yours as she guided you to the bathroom, fingers intertwined as you both stood side by side at the sink.

You shared smiles as you brushed your teeth together, Lucy’s shoulder bumping lightly against yours, and even things like this simple routine felt special in her presence.

As you finished, you turned to find her already smiling, her hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Back in bed, Lucy wrapped her arm around you as you nestled close, her hand resting comfortably over your hip. You let yourself settle, your head on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart, your own hand resting on her stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

In the quiet, with Lucy’s arm wrapped around you and her hand softly resting on you, sleep came easily, and the last thing you heard before drifting off was the sound of her breathing, steady and warm, and the quiet, whispered words she murmured just before you both faded into dreams; “Goodnight, my love.”

-

I hope you guys like this, I felt a bit rusty writing again, but I think in the future I might be writing more woso fics.

Part 2 of this will follow soon!

-J.

[uravitypng]

I loved it!!

But what would Bully!Tsukishima would do if his beloved starts dating someone that isn’t him.

I feel like he’d destroy the guy and then go claim her saying shit like “you’re fucking mine understand?”

I love Tsuki and I love Bully!Tsuki

~ Anon ❄️

-( i'm glad you loved it!! <33 i love him so much too! i had a dream about him last night asdfghjk ) (i had to put this under a cut because it is slightly longer than all my other parts)

i think tsukishima would say he had nothing to do with it, even though you both know the truth. i think he'd be like, "i don't know what happened but whatever did happen to him was his own fault"

it would be very rare for you to actively pursue someone or date someone not knowing the kind of wrath tsukishima would have towards you but recently you've just started a new relationship and it's going so well, you've never had one since starting uni and they're so nice to you. they help you study, insist on paying whenever you both visit the cafe just outside of campus before classes and wait for you outside of your classes to walk you home. they're amazing and whenever you think about them your heart flutters but it was only a matter of time until tsukishima found out.

when class ends he leaves just behind you ready to pull you somewhere quiet but instead he finds you and your partner, he sees them kiss your cheek and take your bag from you to start slinging it over his shoulder, "hey! stop doing that. i can carry it."

"i could never allow that babe. you're far to pretty to carry it," he grins and holds your hand before you both walk off.

tsukishima's jaw clenches. who the hell is holding your hand? who is kisses your cheek? complimenting you? how dare they, how dare you for thinking you could do that.

he's never even seen the guy around before, boring and dull looking, someone punching above their weight and it pisses him off however he doesn't do anything, he just watches you leave, seething. if you looked around for just a second you would realise how angry he is by his expressions that you've gotten so good at identifying since he first started terrorising you.

he doesn't do anything, at least for a few days. whenever you pass each other in corridors he'll still make sneering comments and sit behind you in classes. it still makes you tear up and cry but you hide it all from your partner.

when tsukishima realises they're still there walking you home and making you smile after a few days he knows he has to do something. he's gotten good at cornering people by now with how much he does it to you. tsukishima is tall and can be very intimidating when he wants to and right now he does want to.

he throws them against the wall and grabs hold of their collar, glaring at them. your partner is in complete shock. he knows of tsukishima, everyone does, he's popular and his friends are even more popular, all the girls like his cool demeanour and he's been playing volleyball for years even before he joined uni back when he was still just a teenager but he's never interacted with your partner before and they have no idea why he's so furious at them.

the shocked expression just pisses tsukishima off even more and he holds them tighter, not in any fear that they'll try and leave but because he can and he wants to scare them. he wants to hurt them. it's only fair for laying their hands on you.

your partner tries to sort through their thoughts to say something but tsukki won't allow for that. "you've got some nerve."

"what?" they're completely confused, having not one clue about what he's talking about.

"did you really think you could get away with touching my girl?" he spits.

"what?" they repeat themselves. "your girl? i promise you i haven't been talking to anyone. i have a girlfriend."

"your girlfriend?" he glares. "she was mine before she was yours and she'll always be mine." your partner still looks confused but then whispers your name. tsukki smirks and leans closer, "that's her. touch her again and you'll see what'll happen." he pushes them harder against the wall and then lets go, causing them to fall. he thinks about the consequences but does it anyway as he punches the side of their face, definitely leaving a heavy bruise by tomorrow morning.

that night you get a phone call after not hearing from your partner all day, you didn't have any classes so you've been studying at home, you grin as you pick up.

your partner cares about you a lot, they really do but they had no idea you knew tsukishima and you had told them you never dated in university before. your partner believes you, you'd never lie to them but obviously there is something you haven't told them about tsukishima. they want to stay with you. they want to ask you about it. they really do like you and they don't want to break up with you but then they feel the bruise on their cheek and remember the threat.

your partner stays silent and you wonder if they accidentally called you. you ask if they're okay. they start talking so quietly you have to turn the television off so you can hear them. "hi, babe. i don't really know how to say this but i think we should break up." as soon as the words left their mouth they felt immediate regret.

all the warmth left your body, "what?" you say just as quietly.

he gets a flashback of tsukishima cornering them as they kept repeating 'what'. "...yeah. let's break up." he hangs up the phone and you sit in silence crying all night.

the next day you go to and seek them out in campus, wanting to talk to them face to face. you can't just end a relationship like that, you don't even know why he broke up with you. if you've done something wrong you want to try and apologise, you want to work it out, even if them breaking up with you hurt and over the phone hurt even more, you want to try and make it work.

you see a huge bruise on his face. you gasp loudly. "are you okay? what happened?" you ask worried. all thoughts about your relationship leaving your brain just concerned about them.

"nothing happened i'm fine."

"you're not fine. it looks like you were punched."

they get frustrated, they like you a lot but you're the reason that they're ended up like this. "it's because of you that this happened."

"what?" they turn around, leaving you confused and mostly upset blaming you for something you had no control of and no knowledge of.

you walk aimlessly away, not wanting to be left next to them. you find yourself on a bench and you can't stop the tears from streaming down your face.

tsukishima fortuitously finds you while he was walking back from practise. he sees you looking down at the floor and he can tell why, your partner is now your ex. he smirks and walks up to you, before he announces himself he hides the smirk and crosses his arms. "what's wrong with you princess?"

still looking down you reply, "go away tsukishima."

"don't be like that. i just want to know what happened."

"i got dumped."

without misses a beat tsukishima responds, "it's for the best. you two don't work together. it's wrong that you were with them."

when hearing this you look up with watery eyes, still sniffling, "did you have something to do with this kei?"

you've gotten use to what his slight change of expressions and body language really mean but there wasn't any indication this time even though this might be the biggest reaction he's ever had to you before. you called him kei. he always hated when people called him nicknames growing up, only really letting yamaguchi get away with it but you, you calling him by his given name? he wants to hear you say it everyday, it sounds so beautiful coming out your mouth. what would it sound like if you were moaning his name?

he has no physical reaction at you saying his given name, staying collected, as he lies to you, "i don't know what you mean princess."

"it looked like he was punched. he has a huge bruise on his face."

"nothing to do with me. i'm sure whatever it was he deserved it though."

"i don't believe you." and you don't, the way he knew you were even dating someone in the first place is suspicious and it does seem to you that it is something tsukishima would do, punching someone, breaking up your relationship, and then not admitting to it.

tsukishima tilts up your chin making you keep eye contact with him and then squeezes your chubby cheeks, not hard enough to hurt you though. "that's fine by me princess. just know you're fucking mine."

you start crying again and you're not even sure why, maybe it's because tsukki tilted your head up so carefully or maybe it's because he called you princess. maybe it's because he said you're his. maybe it's because of him that you got dumped. maybe it's because he looks really attractive in that purple shirt he's wearing. you don't know. tsukki kisses your forehead. "i've got to go and meet kuroo but i'll see you soon alright. make sure you go inside soon, it's going to get cold and it might rain," he murmurs gently. he squeezes your chubby cheeks one more time and wipes your eyes before getting up and leaving to go meet kuroo.

you hold your hand on your cheek to where tsukki's hand was and take a deep breath to calm down. you hurry to take cover inside before it rains.

bully tsukishima masterlist

[gliphyartfan]

@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @eternadreeblissa

So thank you love @lovanmari for dragging me away from my humble ditch to finish this wip that I have not looked at for over a year (maybe more I don’t even remember.)

Plus my recent rewrite for Hyrule really made me wanna write more about him and his interactions with his Fae Fam~

Yandy! You may recall the start of this wip!

Anywho, enjoy folks!

.

.

.

At first, it seemed like she was merely under the weather.

There was nothing to suggest it was anything more serious. She brushed off any concerns, always giving them a reassuring smile that never quite reached her eyes.

Days passed, and her condition worsened. Her skin grew clammy, and she started to withdraw more often.

She tried to push through, to hide her growing discomfort.

Her fever spiked suddenly one evening while she was helping Wind gather wood. She stumbled, her breath coming in shallow gasps, before collapsing against a tree with a pained whimper. She curled into herself, tears spilling down her cheeks as her body shook from the fever's relentless assault.

It was Twilight who reached her first, gathering her up in his arms and holding her close as the others rushed to make camp.

His heart pounded with fear as she trembled in his arms, her body so limp it was terrifying. Warriors and Time raced into the nearby town for medicine, while Four and Wind stayed behind with Twilight, trying to bring her some relief.

Hyrule had been the first to try and heal her, pouring every ounce of magic he had into her weakened body. But the illness that plagued her was stubborn, festering in a way his magic couldn’t entirely purge.

His hands soon trembled with exhaustion as he continued to try, his magic flickering like a dying flame. When he finally collapsed, drained and pale, Warriors and Time forced him to sleep, both men looking shaken by how serious things had gotten.

The camp was quiet now, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the occasional murmur of wind through the trees. Four sat beside her, watching the sweat bead across her brow, his own fear tightening around his chest. Her skin burned to the touch, and her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps.

His fingers carded through her damp hair in an attempt to soothe her when she suddenly stirred, blinking up at him with glassy, fever-bright eyes.

“You... guys… always do everything... for nothing,” she muttered weakly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Shh,” Four hushed her gently, adjusting her so she could sit up and drink some water. He raised the bottle to her lips, helping her take a few slow sips. “Don’t talk. You need to rest.”

“No...” she slurred, her words thick with exhaustion and fever, her gaze unfocused. “You... you do so much. Get hurt. Fight... And no one ever thanks you.”

Four swallowed hard, wiping her forehead with a damp cloth. “That’s not true. We’ve been thanked plenty of times.”

“No...” She shook her head, her movements sluggish. “No one sees you... they see the hero... just the hero.” Her breath hitched as more tears spilled down her cheeks. “You get hurt for people... and they don’t see how much it costs.”

Four’s brow furrowed, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He tried to brush it off, to deflect with his usual gentle humor, but the raw pain in her voice made it impossible. She wasn’t thinking straight, delirium clouded her mind, but there was truth buried in her fevered rambling. He stayed silent, not sure what to say.

“It’s not fair...” she whispered, her voice cracking as her tears began to fall faster. “It’s not fair what you’ve been through. It’s not right...”

“(Y/n)...” Four’s voice was soft, barely audible over her quiet sobs. He rested his hand on her arm, trying to ground her.

“I don’t want you to do this if it’s just because you have to,” she whimpered, her fingers curling weakly into the fabric of his tunic. “I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”

Four’s heart twisted painfully in his chest, her words hitting him harder than any enemy ever could. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off with a trembling sob.

“I hate it... I hate that no one ever told you... it’s unfair. What happened to you... to all of you. It’s not right.”

Her grip on his tunic tightened, her fevered mind pushing her emotions to the surface. She was breaking down in front of him, unraveling at the seams, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

“Don’t cry...” Four whispered, his voice cracking. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry...” she whimpered, her voice barely more than a broken whisper. “I’m so sorry you gave up so much... for a world that only wants you to fight their battles for them.”

Her words hung in the air like a heavy fog, and Four felt something inside him shift, like the walls he kept around his heart were starting to crack.

Suddenly, her hand reached out, and she brought his fingers to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. The small gesture nearly shattered him.

“I can’t... fix this...” she whispered, her voice so faint he barely heard it.

"It’s alright, please understand that," Four said softly, his voice trembling, his control over his emotions slipping.

Vio’s presence immediately took over as the rest of the colors allowed him full control, he gently laid her back down.

She weakly protested, trying to stay awake, but Vio’s gentle assertiveness soothed her into submission.

He tucked her under the blankets, his eyes watching her every move, noting the way her body still shivered from the fever.

"It’s not fair..." she mumbled one last time before finally slipping into a fitful sleep.

Vio stood, expression unreadable as he watched over her. "No," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "It’s not fair."

——

——

They had all promised her it would pass soon, and she believed them, trying to put on a brave face and push through. But as the days stretched on, her strength slipped away bit by bit.

Despite their reassurances, she grew weaker. Then, she needed help just to stand up after resting, and eventually, even sipping water became impossible without assistance.

They would guide the cup to her lips, murmuring words of encouragement, but her hands shook too much to hold it herself. She could barely swallow without wincing, each small action taking all of her energy. The cold bite of the world touching her skin was nothing compared to the fire in her veins.

And still, they kept their promises. They told her she would get better, that they’d find a way.

But no matter how brave a face they put on when she was awake, when her eyes closed, their masks slipped. Desperation took hold.

And she could sense it, the fraying edges of their composure, the way their voices wavered when they thought she wasn’t listening. When they thought she was fully asleep.

Hyrule was the worst of them. He was burning through his magic faster than anyone could stop him, draining potions to the last drop to restore his strength.

He would kneel at her side, whispering incantations, hands glowing as he tried to heal her. Every time, the warmth of his magic brought a brief flicker of relief.

The pain would ebb just for a moment, and she could breathe easier, but the reprieve never lasted. As soon as the magic faded, the agony crashed back into her, harsher than before.

She didn’t blame him. How could she? She could see the way his eyes dimmed with every failed attempt, the way his hands shook as he poured every last ounce of himself into trying to save her.

Even when she weakly begged him to stop to not drain himself so harshly, Warriors pulling him back to rest and Time stepping in with stern words, Hyrule fought to stay awake, refusing to give up.

He looked at her with such sorrow, as if he were the one hurting her.

But it wasn’t his fault. She wanted to tell him, to tell all of them, that none of this was their fault.

Even if they were blaming themselves for her suffering, she didn’t hold any of it against them. How could she, when they were trying so hard? When every one of them was wearing themselves thin just to keep her alive?

They didn’t sleep. Not really. Twilight kept watch over her when she drifted off, his eyes never leaving her face.

Wild hovered nearby, fingers itching to fix something, anything, even though there was nothing for him to do. Time and Warriors were constant pillars of the group, keeping the busy so they didn’t stew in their anxiety, but she could feel the weight of their worry pressing down like a storm cloud about to burst.

The only time they ever showed how close they were to breaking was when they thought she couldn’t see, when they thought she was lost in the haze of fever or unconscious from exhaustion.

But she saw it. She saw the way Four clenched his fists, the way Wind paced, muttering curses under his breath.

Even Legend, normally so composed, had moments where he faltered.

And Hyrule... Hyrule’s guilt was eating him alive.

He would sit by her side, barely holding back his frustration, his despair. His magic, the one thing that had always brought hope, couldn’t heal her, and he couldn’t bear it.

But even in her haze, even as the pain throbbed in every corner of her body, she didn’t blame them. Not for a second.

They had done everything they could.

——

——

The days stretched into a blur of desperation, punctuated by moments of gut-wrenching fear and fleeting hope. It had been nearly a week since her illness took a turn for the worse. A week since they’d been scrambling to keep her alive. Despite their best efforts, (y/n) was slipping further from them each day.

The nearby village’s only doctor was useless, simply stating that it was like nothing he had ever seen, and that chances of recovery were most certainly slim to none.

Her condition deteriorated quickly. What started as extreme exhaustion had now left her bedridden, her body trembling fiercely and her skin becoming pale as wax.

Every breath seemed like a struggle, every movement too much for her body to bear. The fever raged, unrelenting, burning her from the inside. And as her strength faded, so did the light in their eyes.

Hyrule had become a shadow of himself. He hadn’t slept in days unless it was from passing out, his magic reserves draining back to empty the moment he woke up and crawled back to her.

Each time he used his healing magic, it took more out of him, the toll becoming increasingly visible. His skin was drawn, dark circles etched under his eyes, and his hands trembled as he worked tirelessly over her. His breathing was shallow, his body aching from the strain, but still, he refused to stop.

They all knew he was pushing himself too far, but no one could bring themselves to intervene. Not when the fear that they would lose her loomed over them all like a dark cloud.

Twilight, Wind, Four and Legend had taken on the task of gathering supplies, disappearing to the nearby town almost every day.

They were the fastest, the ones who could sneak in and out with ease. At first, they had relied on buying potions and medicine, but as time wore on, the merchant began to see their desperation, raising his prices to absurd levels.

It didn’t take long for the group to abandon any notion of paying fairly.

Twilight would distract the merchant with a pleasant smile, while Four split up to keep watch as Wind and Legend slipped behind the stalls, taking what they needed without hesitation. It wasn’t theft, not really. Not when the merchant had already tried to scam them.

It was necessary. They couldn’t afford to waste time arguing over prices when every second mattered.

But despite their efforts, the potions barely made a difference. At best, they gave (y/n) temporary relief, literal moments where her breathing eased and the pain receded, but it returned worse than before. The illness had taken a vicious hold, tightening its grip with every passing day.

Warriors and Time kept watch over Hyrule, though neither could hide their growing frustration.

They’d tried to reason with him, tried to force him to rest, if only so he had the strength to continue later, but Hyrule wouldn’t listen.

His stubbornness had reached a new height, fueled by the guilt eating away at him. He couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t.

“She’ll get better,” he insisted through chapped lips, his voice hoarse and trembling with exhaustion. “I just need... I need more time. Please, just... give me more time.”

But even as he said it, they could see the cracks forming. He was running on empty, his body barely holding up under the strain. And still, (y/n)’s condition worsened.

She couldn’t even open her eyes anymore, her body too weak to respond to their voices. She drifted in and out of consciousness, her fevered mind lost in a haze of pain.

When she was awake, she tried to smile at them, tried to offer some kind of comfort despite her suffering. But they could see the truth, she was fading. Her brightness was slipping away, and no matter how hard they fought, it felt like they were losing her.

At night, when they thought she was too far gone to notice, they let their masks drop completely.

Twilight paced restlessly by the fire, his fists clenched as he stared into the flames, guilt gnawing at him for not being able to protect her.

Wind and Four sat beside her, their usually carefree demeanor replaced with silent, tear-filled eyes as they held her hand and brushed her hair back, whispering to her with voices so soft it barely reached the others.

Warriors stood guard, his jaw set, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep as he stared out into the night, waiting for the moment when everything would crumble.

And Time... Time sat at her side, his calloused hand holding hers, as if he could anchor her to the world with his presence alone. He was silent, his expression unreadable, but the tightness in his grip betrayed his fear.

Legend wasn’t any better. He sat farther away from the rest but still close to her, his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes never left her. His hands were clenched into tight fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his composure. He couldn’t lose her. None of them could.

But with each passing day, that fear became more real. More suffocating.

One evening, when the others had gone to town again, Hyrule collapsed beside her, his magic finally failing him.

He was unconscious before they could reach him, his body giving out from the constant use of his power. Warriors was the one to scoop him up and lay him beside her, his expression grim.

“We can’t keep this up,” he muttered, his voice tight with emotion. “We’re losing her and with the rate the Traveler is going, we’ll lose both of them.”

Twilight, who had been silent for hours, finally spoke. His voice was rough, filled with raw, unfiltered fear.

“Then we find another way. I won’t let her die.”

No one argued, but the despair was written on all their faces.

They had to find another way. But what? How long could they keep running to town, stealing potions, praying for a miracle that never seemed to come?

How long could they keep up the façade that everything would be okay when every moment felt like she was slipping further away from them?

——

——

The atmosphere around the camp had become oppressive, a heavy, choking tension that none of them could shake.

The sound of their own thoughts was deafening, and yet, no one dared to speak much. Not anymore. Not when every word felt like a countdown to the inevitable.

(y/n) was still hanging on, barely, her shallow breaths echoing through the campsite. But the fear that she could slip away at any moment had taken its toll on all of them.

Their once seamless movements now seemed jagged and unnatural.

Twilight’s steps, once so sure and steady, had grown erratic, his pacing more frantic as the days passed. He muttered under his breath, words lost to the wind as his gaze flitted between the dying fire and (y/n)’s prone form.

The others weren’t much better. Four’s usual sharp, observant eyes had grown wild, darting to every shadow as if waiting for something, anything, to happen. He often caught himself muttering to himself, strange fragmented thoughts that would normally never see the light of day.

Warriors sat apart from the rest, fingers twitching as though he wanted to reach for his sword at every sound. His jaw clenched and unclenched, a subtle but constant reminder of his fraying patience.

Legend, normally quick with his sarcasm or a biting comment, was eerily silent, his hands wringing the edge of his tunic over and over again. His eyes were dark, haunted, as if he were seeing something none of the others could.

Even Time, ever the rock of the group, had begun to slip. His movements were mechanical, too precise to be natural, his expression cold and distant.

But it was his eyes that gave him away, those sharp, calculating eyes now flickered with something wild, something desperate.

And then there was Hyrule.

Hyrule, who had been the most drained, the most exhausted, suddenly seemed to be... different.

He was still pale, his face hollowed from the constant exertion of his magic, but something about him had changed. He was oddly focused, his gaze distant but intensely sharp, as if picking up on something the others couldn’t see.

He sat by (y/n)’s side more often now, his eyes narrowing as he stared out into the distance, as though something was calling to him. The others noticed it too. the way he seemed unsettled, the way his fingers twitched as if itching to reach for something just out of his grasp. Sometimes, he would mutter to himself, low enough that only those closest could hear.

“This place... I swear there’s something familiar here,” he whispered one night, his voice barely above a breath. “Something I’ve seen before... felt before... but I don’t know why.”

The others exchanged glances, but were too focused on (y/n) to dwell on it.

Still, there was something about the way Hyrule had begun to withdraw, something in his eyes that made them uneasy.

He was debating something in his mind, that much was clear. But no one dared to ask.

Then, one night, (y/n)’s breathing had faltered. Just for a moment. Just long enough to send them all into a spiral of panic.

Hyrule had rushed to her side, using what little magic he had recovered to try and stabilize her. She’d slipped back into unconsciousness, her body colder than before.

The scare left them shaken to their core, but it was Hyrule who seemed the most affected.

That night, he hadn’t spoken. He’d sat silently by the fire, staring into the flames, his expression tight, his eyes distant. The others tried to talk to him, to see if he was alright, but he gave nothing away. No one pressed further.

The next morning, he was gone.

It was Twilight who noticed first, his eyes scanning the camp as he called out for Hyrule, his voice laced with frustration. But there was no answer. He wasn’t there. His bag, his supplies, everything was gone, as if he had vanished into thin air.

It didn’t take long for the others to realize what had happened, and soon the camp was filled with the sounds of heated whispers, their voices low but tense.

“Where the hell did he go?” Legend hissed, his hands shaking as he raked them through his hair. “He wouldn’t just leave, not without saying something.”

“He was acting weird,” Wind muttered, pacing again, his movements jerky. “He was muttering about something being familiar. Maybe he went to find it.”

“Find what?” Warriors snapped, his voice sharp. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, the village is useless cause it’s so small it doesn’t even have a doctor, and (y/n) could die any second. He knows that!”

“I don’t know!” Wild shot back, his voice strained. “But something’s not right. He’s been pushing himself too hard.”

“We all have,” Time said quietly, his voice calm, though his knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping his sword. “But abandoning us? Abandoning her? There’s no excuse.”

Twilight growled under his breath, his hands clenched into fists. “We need him. We can’t—"

“Maybe he found something,” Sky interrupted, his voice quieter but no less tense. “Something he didn’t want to say in front of us.”

“Or maybe he’s finally lost it,” Warriors muttered darkly. “We all know how much he’s been using his magic. It could’ve driven him over the edge.”

The argument continued, their voices rising and falling as they debated what to do. But underneath it all, the fact was clear.

Hyrule was gone by his own free will.

And if they couldn’t find him, or if he didn’t come back soon, (y/n) might be gone too.

——

——

Without Hyrule, (y/n)‘s moments of respite were non-existent.

The group fell deeper into despair. Every breath (y/n) took sounded weaker, raspier, her skin pale and cold to the touch. They tried to stay strong, but the strain showed.

Time and Warriors rarely spoke now, their grim expressions enough to convey the gravity of the situation.

Twilight remained as Wolfie, using his heightened senses in an attempt to monitor (y/m)’s withering condition.

Four kept snapping at anyone who hesitated too long to do something for her, and Legend, normally so composed, spent hours quietly sitting by (y/n)'s side, holding her hand as if sheer will alone could keep her with them.

One evening, as the group huddled in the camp’s dim light, Wild finally whispered what they all dreaded to hear.

"I can’t give her any more potions or elixirs," he murmured, his voice thick with frustration. "They aren’t working anymore."

His words hung in the air like a death sentence. No one wanted to acknowledge it, but they all knew. The potions weren’t helping. Nothing was helping. Yet even so, they whispered to her in the dark, their voices shaky and tearful.

"Just a little longer, okay?" Twilight would plead softly. "You’re strong. You can fight this."

Legend would gently press his forehead against (y/n)’s, his voice breaking. "Don’t leave us. Please. We need you."

But deep down, they all feared it was too late.

——

——

Hyrule returned.

He stumbled into the camp just as the group braced themselves for the possibility of that (y/n) wouldn’t survive that night.

His sudden appearance should have brought relief, but instead, it ignited anger. The others turned on him, their eyes wild with rage and fear.

"Where were you?" Legend hissed, storming up to him, grabbing him by the collar of his tunic, his voice shaking with rage and betrayal.

"How could you abandoned her!" Four cried out, fists balled up tightly.

"How could you leave?" Warriors snarled. "We needed you, SHE needed you!"

Hyrule, however, was too exhausted to flinch from their words. He stood before them, pale and bloodied, his eyes heavy with sleeplessness. But despite his worn appearance, his gaze was resolute.

"I didn’t want to leave," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "But… I’m glad I did."

Before anyone could respond viciously to that, Hyrule raised his hands, and with a pulse of his magic, rejuvenated and contrary to his physical condition, the air around them filled with soft, melodic chimes.

Time, Legend, and Warrior’s eyes widened, immediately recognizing the sound for what it was.

A moment later, the area around them lit up, as the sly was filled with a swarm of fairies, their wings shimmering like tiny stars as they descended upon (y/n), surrounding her with gentle light.

The fairies whispered soothing words, their voices like the rustle of leaves in a breeze, comforting both the group and (y/n), even though she remained unconscious.

The warmth of their magic radiated outward, the oppressive weight of the situation lifting as they began to work.

"It was a curse disguising itself as an illness," Hyrule explained, his voice faint from exhaustion. " and I could feel something off since we arrived here. Something... familiar. I didn’t understand it at first. But it clicked eventually.“

He looked up at the sky for a moment, “This place... it’s MY Hyrule, but so far into the future that I didn’t recognize it. But the pulse of magic... that, I knew."

He swayed slightly, catching himself before he fell. "I gambled. Left to investigate, and I was right. I found the Great Fairy Fountain in the same place it’s always been."

His lips curved into a small, weary smile. "To this land, it had been so long. But to her, I was only gone for a short while, despite the centuries that have passed between our time jumps. She agreed to help me... to help her." He glanced at (y/n), whose skin now glowed faintly beneath the soft light of the fairies. "Her daughters came with me, but the Great Mother has requested we bring (y/n) to the fountain so she can personally aid in her recovery."

The group stared in stunned silence, their emotions torn between anger, relief, and disbelief. The sight of the fairies working on (y/n), their gentle magic already combating the curse, was a miracle they had barely dared to hope for.

"I’m sorry," Hyrule said desperately as Legend’s hand let go of his tunic, his voice breaking from the tears he was holding back, barely above a whisper. "I did what I had to do... but I…I just couldn’t keep add it without searching for an actual solution. To actually make sure she pulls through."

As the fairies continued to work, a glimmer of hope returned to the now silent group.

——

——

Twilight and Warriors had barely exchanged words as they approached the merchant's stall. The merchant, initially wary but hopeful for a profitable exchange, quickly realized his mistake when Twilight’s eyes narrowed and Warriors' grip tightened on the hilt of his sword.

"We’re borrowing your cart," Warriors had stated coldly, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. Twilight’s hand hovered threateningly near his own blade, the intent clear. There would be no payment, no bargaining. They would be taking the cart, and the merchant wouldn’t stop them.

The merchant, pale and trembling, simply nodded, backing away as the two heroes secured the cart to Epona, ignoring the man's feeble protests.

When they returned to the camp, Twilight, with Hyrule’s careful guidance, gently placed (y/n) inside the cart. Her fragile body was carefully cushioned by blankets, and even then, she barely stirred.

The fairies flitted around her constantly, their magic a steady hum as they continued to combat the curse.

With everyone in place, Epona began to pull them toward the Great Fairy’s fountain.

Twilight, walking beside his loyal steed, murmured soothing words to the horse as they made their way through the winding paths, Hyrule sitting in the cart with (y/n), his focus entirely on her, the weight of his exhaustion finally showing but his resolve never faltering.

At the Great Fairy’s fountain, the air shimmered with an otherworldly light. As they arrived, the Great Fairy emerged from the glimmering waters, her presence overwhelming yet comforting.

Without a word, she extended her arms toward (y/n), and with a soft pulse of magic, (y/n)’s body floated from the cart, suspended in a gentle glow. She was carefully placed in the pool of water and magic, her limp form cradled by the shimmering light as the curse continued to be fought off.

Days passed. The Chain set up camp near the fountain, watching anxiously as the fairies and the Great Fairy worked tirelessly to heal (y/n).

Slowly, ever so slowly, the signs of improvement became visible. Her once pale complexion began to warm, her breathing grew steadier, and the oppressive weight of the curse lessened.

But exhaustion took its toll on the group. One by one, the others succumbed to sleep, their bodies and minds drained from days of fear and desperation.

Only Hyrule remained awake, too restless, too vigilant to allow himself the luxury of sleep. He sat near the water’s edge, watching over (y/n) as she floated peacefully in the glowing pool.

Then, in the stillness of the night, (y/n) stirred.

Hyrule’s eyes widened as he saw her eyelids flutter weakly.

For a brief, fleeting moment, her eyes opened, just a sliver, as if she was struggling to take in her surroundings. Hyrule’s breath caught in his throat as he knelt closer, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Shhhhh…” He gently hushed, as if trying to calm whatever unease she may currently feel, his voice barely audible, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the moment. "You’re safe now. Everything is going to be alright."

Her eyes, though heavy with fatigue, seemed to register his words. A faint glimmer of recognition passed through them before they fluttered shut again, her body relaxing as though she had accepted his promise.

Hyrule let out a shaky breath, a wave of relief washing over him. She was still with them. She was fighting, and now, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, it seemed like she might win.

——

——

The Great Fairy watched (y/n) in her pool of magic and water, her ethereal face softening with a sense of quiet awe. "I must say, her will is extraordinary," she murmured, her voice like the chime of delicate bells. "The curse was designed to break the will of its victim, to erode their strength of spirit until nothing remained. But this one... she fought it. Every moment. Impressive."

Hyrule, still weary and bloodied from his desperate journey, glanced down at (y/n) with a tender smile. "That’s just who she is," he replied quietly. "She’s always surprising us. Always pushing through the impossible." His voice softened, a note of fondness threading through it. "It’s one of the things I love about her."

The Great Fairy tilted her head, her knowing eyes gleaming with amusement, but she said nothing, turning instead to watch her daughters as they continued to flutter around (y/n), their magic mingling with her own. Though the power they offered was unnecessary now, their presence was comforting, both to (y/n) and the Chain. The fairies worked with gentle grace, their whispered words soft like a lullaby.

Hyrule glanced at the others, still slumbering deeply by the fountain, drained from days of anxiety and fear. He didn’t tell them about (y/n)’s brief moment of consciousness earlier. He knew it would only upset them that they hadn’t been there to witness it, to share in the small flicker of hope.

And so, he kept it to himself, watching over her as she grew stronger with each passing day. The curse slowly unraveled, her body regaining warmth and color, her breathing steadying until, one day, her eyes opened again.

It was brief, just a few minutes, but enough to soothe the raw edges of their hearts. She was weak, her voice barely above a whisper, but the warmth in her eyes as she looked at each of them melted the tension that had kept them on edge.

"I'm okay," she whispered, her words fragile but filled with reassurance. "I’m alright now." Her hand trembled as she reached out, and Wild was the first to take it, tears threatening to spill over as he squeezed her hand tightly.

"We were so scared..." Warriors muttered, voice rough with emotion as he knelt beside her, his mask of stoic composure cracked. "You had us worried, Dear Heart."

She offered them a faint, tired smile. "I’m sorry... but it’s alright now, right? You’re all safe. I’m safe."

They all gathered around her, voices gentle but urgent as they reassured her it was alright now, that she was safe, and they would never let something like this happen again.

As days passed, her strength gradually returned, and the nights became less suffocating as she was slowly tugged away from death’s door.

One evening, while the others slept, (y/n) remained awake, her body finally strong enough to allow her more moments of clarity. Hyrule was keeping watch, sitting quietly by the edge of the campfire, when her soft voice broke the stillness.

"Hyrule..." she murmured, her eyes half-lidded but focused on him.

He quickly moved to her side, concern flashing across his face. "What is it? Are you alright?"

She smiled, small but genuine, and it reached her eyes, softening the tired lines etched into her face. "I just... I wanted to thank you. Even when I didn’t know where I was, when it felt like everything was trying to pull me away, I always had this sense of…you. Of you right by my side."

….what..?

Hyrule’s breath caught in his throat, his heart clenching at her words.

She…had felt him?

“I didn’t know how I knew it was you. But I knew. You have no idea how much that helped.”

She had known he had been there? That he had fought the curse every step of the way?

She chuckled weakly, though it was more of a breathy laugh than anything, but there was joy in it. "Now I know how Twilight felt when he was bedridden. It’s not fun being the one to almost die."

Hyrule couldn’t help but smile back, a quiet chuckle escaping him despite the weight of the past days. He gently took her hand, holding it between his own as he replied, "You were never alone. Not for a second. Never."

She squeezed his hand, her strength fragile but there.

As (y/n)’s eyes grew heavier, she gave Hyrule a weak but sincere smile. “Thank you... for never giving up on me...” she whispered, her voice barely audible, each word a fragile breath. “Not once…”

Hyrule’s heart clenched as the words hit him, the gratitude and warmth in her tone making his chest tighten painfully. He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. The emotion swelling within him was too strong, and he could only manage a soft, shaky breath.

“Rest,” he whispered instead, his voice tender, barely holding back his tears. “I’ll watch over you. You’re safe now.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, her stamina finally spent, and her breathing evened out into the quiet rhythm of sleep. Hyrule stayed there, staring at her for a long moment, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. He blinked rapidly, willing the tears not to fall.

After a few moments, he slowly lifted his head, his gaze shifting to the Great Fairy who had been watching the exchange with a gentle, knowing smile. Her eyes glimmered with warmth, and the soft chime of her magic hummed in the air, as comforting as a lullaby.

“She... she thanked me,” Hyrule whispered, his voice breaking slightly as he sniffled. “I... I did a good job. I helped...”

His voice was fragile, raw with relief and exhaustion, and as he spoke, he let the weight of everything he had been holding in finally settle. He had helped. He had made a difference.

The Great Fairy’s soft, melodic chime filled the air, and with it, a pulse of magic swept gently over him, a warm wave of love and affection that radiated through his entire being.

The sensation was so soothing, so full of comfort, that even the other sleeping heroes unconsciously relaxed, their bodies softening in their sleep as if the magic had touched them too.

Hyrule sniffled again, wiping at his eyes as he gave the Great Fairy a grateful, tearful smile. He had helped. He had done his part to save her, and now, she was going to be alright.

Everything was going to be okay.

[biblio-smia]

I’ve never requested before so I’m sorry if I don’t make sense at all lol I’m nervous

But can I make a request for a Peter Parker x Reader? In which they’re classmates at school and he’s always had the biggest crush on reader (I’m talking years, since grade school probably!), and for whatever reason only recently had a burst of courage to ask the reader out? Preferably female!reader, but gn is fine too :)

i am so so honored that this is your first request!! thank you so much for it, this is so cute <3

everything happens for a reason.

to break or to build character, to test a person, to gauge a reaction. there's something expected from each choice made; there's something to learn from everything that happens.

there's been something like pulling in peter's chest for years now, when he really thinks about it. he was hooked from the very first time he saw you, wanting nothing more than to run up and introduce himself. his shy demeanor was in full-swing even back then, at the ripe age of seven; it took being seated together for the year for him to even wave.

peter parker can count the amount of interactions between the two of you on two hands (maybe three, if he includes eye contact made from across classrooms. and if he had three hands.) despite your proximity. your constant proximity. somehow, always at peter's worst.

like, for example, when you had asked peter for a copy of some notes when he had gotten caught in the rain the day before, thoroughly soaking his backpack and smudging the ink on every paper inside.

or the time when your family had moved into one of the houses down the street and you had watched peter's skateboard catch on a stray rock, sending him flying into the pavement and igniting aunt may's hatred for his board.

peter was always so constantly aware of you - which classes you shared, where your seat for the year was, how close your locker was to his.

despite his unwavering acknowledgement of your presence, you were practically a stranger.

sure, the two of you have talked. but the conversation has never really gotten past a "huh?" or a "sorry, i don't" from peter.

every single time, he's spent the rest of his day imagining different words coming out of his mouth, wondering if there was a certain string that would make you something more than acquaintances.

it was a code he couldn't crack.

10 years, six half-conversations, and a few smiles. that's all he's managed to accomplish.

but there's something that draws peter to you. your smile, your laugh overheard in the halls, the glimpses he catches of you leaving in a friend's car when he takes the trash out.

he can't get you out of his mind, especially not when you seem to be around every corner.

peter craves what he knows he can never have. the churn of his stomach and the signals in his brain telling him to run whenever you're around have made sure of that. you've taught peter parker that between fight or flight, he chooses flight.

but when peter wakes up with too much strength and a buzz in his body, something has changed - not just the ability to take out the faucet of his sink with a swipe of his hand.

he doesn't walk with his hood up in the hallways anymore, doesn't hunch to make himself seem smaller. he stands tall, back straightened, the air of something strange that he's never felt before surrounding him. peter thinks it may be confidence.

he hasn't been dosed with enough to go up to your door with flowers and movie tickets but he's at least able to work up the nerve to catch you after class.

there's clear surprise on your face as your eyes flicker to your friends, waiting for you, to peter - he's never been one to strike up a conversation with you.

"hey," peter begins a little breathlessly.

"hi, pete," you start, surprising yourself with the nickname. "peter. hello, peter."

to your relief, peter laughs. it's soft. it suits him. "hi. uh, how are you?"

the question takes you by surprise. you're not sure what you were expecting, but anything peter could've said would've taken you by surprise. you start to wonder if there's supposed to be something wrong. an answer peter is expecting.

"i'm... good!" you're laughing through your words. turns out, peter's wide smile is contagious. "how are you?" you're well aware of the t-minus six minutes you have to get to your next class but your legs don't make any move to walk away from peter.

"yeah, i'm also... good." adrenaline is coursing through peter, just like when he did impossible tricks and jumps in an empty lot. "i was... i wanted to ask you something."

"you already did," you joke.

"oh- yeah, well i mean... other than that," peter laughs. "i was gonna ask... if you wanted to hang out. i mean, not now. you have class. i have class."

"yes, we have class," you laugh. "so some other time."

"some other time," peter repeats.

"here." you tear out a piece of paper from a stray notebook in your bag and a pen, scribbling down your phone number as best you could before handing it to peter. "it's about time you asked, peter."

the warning bell rings and you're off, leaving peter stuck in his spot with a dumb grin on his face.

peter gets to class late but it's not enough to diminish the feeling that he's on top of the world, your words ringing in his ears. it's about time. have you noticed how long he's been on the bench, wishing he could make a move? his mind buzzes, wondering shyly if you've been thinking about him for as long as he's thought about you.

peter's only really brought back down when he accidentally shatters the back of the basketball hoop after taunting flash. who's idea was it to make it out of glass, anyway?

he's dragged by the ear when uncle ben completely embarrasses him in front of you - but at least his punishment is over. well, it'll be over after the suspension ends.

but peter feels like the world has it out for him as he holds his dying uncle in his arms, gunshot wound leaking warm blood onto him. he's crashing now, sobs racking his body as uncle ben goes still.

everything falls apart when the police hand over the sketch of the man suspected to have killed uncle ben and peter realizes it's his fault.

everything happens for a reason.

peter has gained something. but what did he lose?

read part two here! | masterlist

buy me a ko-fi!

[ideas-live-forever]

hi!! i love your ken imagines and was wondering if you might be interested in writing something for maybeee a pining ken and an oblivious reader? 👉👈🥺 reader has totally convinced themselves that ken is just being super nice bc they've been showing him the ropes for living in the real world but he's actually just super smitten with them

Pining Ken With Oblivious Reader

hi!! thank you so much for requesting! sorry about the wait, i got a little stuck in the middle of writing this. i hope this is what you meant! if not, feel free to send another ask :)

i’m working on my other request right now, so i should be able to get it out soon. in the mean time, i’m open to other ken requests as well!

Ever since you met, you’ve been all Ken can think about

You’ve always been so kind to him, helping him figure out the real world and everything

And he is nothing if not head over heels in love with you 

He can’t help but admire you from afar

And the care and caution he uses when interacting with you is far beyond what he uses with other people

In fact, he gets teased by your guys’ friends all the time about it

As much as he wants to tell you, he just can’t find the courage to do it straight out

You two are just friends

What if it’s too much too fast? Or you don’t love him back? Or you never even liked him in the first place and were just putting up with him because you’re just that good of a person?

You love him too, obviously 

But you don’t seem to pick up on any of the hints he drops, no matter how blatant they are

It started about a month ago, when Ken decided to start being more obvious with his affection for you

His hints were pretty tame at first: an extra compliment here, a few more texts here

“You’re looking extra nice today, did you do something new with your hair?”

‘Goodnight! Have the sweetest of dreams :)’

You were flattered, sure, but in your head he was just being nice in return

He kept that pace up for a while until he couldn’t deal with it anymore

This was going agonizingly slow

So, recently, he’s been more obvious about it

He’ll bring you gifts all the time, hoping they’re meaningful enough to get his point across

It gets to the lost where you have to be more assertive with how many presents he gives you a week

“Ken, you really need to stop buying me so many things.” You scold him, though your tone is undermined by the warmth of your gaze as you look at what must be the 3rd gift box you’ve gotten in 5 days. 

“Why?” He asks, a dejected kind of look falling over his face. “Do you not like them?”

His expression and cautious words catch your attention and you let out a little smile. He’s really just the sweetest guy. ‘If only he liked me..’

“No, of course I do!” You reply, setting the present down and placing one of your (shaky) hands on his. “I’m just worried that you’re spending too much money on me.”

Miraculously, you don’t notice the way the blush rises to his cheeks or his eyes widen at your touch. Ken takes a deep breath to steady himself before stumbling through his next words.

“That’s like, impossible. You’re worth more than all my money.” He says, cringing as soon as it leaves his mouth.

A part of you, a small and repressed part of you, swoons at his statement. However, the reason i’m your mind decides that this is just another example of Ken being Ken.

You don’t see the little frown that falls back over his face when you don’t seem to get the hint.

Ken, driven by newfound motivation, starts jumping at any opportunity to hint how smitten he is with you

He’ll remember the smallest things you say and bring them up later

“The aquarium?” You inquire, looking at the building you two had just arrived at. 

Ken smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He thinks for a moment, debating whether or not to tell the truth. He decides to be totally blunt.

“Yeah. I, uh-“ He clears his throat. “You told me about that time when you were like 6 when your birthday at the aquarium got cancelled and you never really got to go back. So I just figured it could be fun or something-“

“You remembered that?” You ask again, in slight disbelief.

Ken’s a really sentimental person, you know that. But he remembers that dumb story? You must’ve told him that months ago. A blush creeps onto your cheeks.

“Of course.” He shrugs.

Obviously, you end up having a great time at the aquarium (although he got scared in the shark tunnel and you had to hold his hand)

Your one-on-one hangouts evolve from casual outings to fancy restaurants quickly

The line between hanging out and going on a date is so blurred that neither of you are quite sure which it is

Not that you’re going to bring it up

One day you go out for a walk after dinner and end up sitting on a park bench, just talking

Ken looks over at you and noticed how perfect you look in the moonlight

He’s tempted to tell you how he feels right then and there

But of course it doesn’t work out like that

“Thanks for hanging out today,” You say, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

Ken smiles in acknowledgment before clearing his throat a bit. He shifts his gaze from you, to the stars, back to you again. You can practically see his brain racing.

“No problem. It’s nice to feel so wanted.” He says softly. “I really appreciate this, by the way. That you’re willing to put so much time and care into, uh, this.”

You take a deep breath. ‘He’s just being nice. Don’t look for implications that aren’t there.’ You think to yourself. But you have to respond somehow. He’s looking at you like you handed him the world. It’s really cute.

“Of course, Ken. You know I love you,” You realize what you said quickly, eyes widening. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Ken’s never felt so disappointed in his life

He really thought that was it

He’s pretty stiff for the rest of the evening

Like everything he says is scripted

It’s really just so that he can keep it together until he gets home to think out what to do next

As soon as he drops you off, his mind starts racing

What was that?

Was he friendzoned? Was that last part a coverup? 

Regardless, he cares about you too much to potentially hurt you in any way

Even if that means backing off a little bit

So he distances himself abbot, not knowing what else to do

You realize something is off pretty quickly and walk over to his usual spot on the beach

Sure enough, he’s sitting on the sand alone, his head cradled in his hands

You approach him slowly, sitting next to him on the ground

Ken glances up as your shadow casts over him. You sit next to him, not saying anything at first. He looks… confused. There’s a glint of relief at your presence, but also a slightly guarded look that Ken never usually carries.

“Hey,” You say softly, meeting his gaze. “You okay?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes betraying that he’s weighing whatever options he has in this situation in his head. Eventually, he sighs, shifting his gaze to his hands.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He says vaguely, fidgeting with his fingers. “Just trying to think I guess.”

“About?” You don’t want to press, but Ken’s almost never closed off like this. 

“You?” He says, blushing intensely. 

The two of you just sit there for a second, trying to process what effect that little comment had on the future of this conversation

He eventually works up the courage to tell you everything. From the very beginning.

He tells you what a great friend you are, and how he never wants to mess up what you already have

He starts rambling in his nervousness, trapped beneath your intense gaze

“I know you love me as a friend, and I obviously also love you as a friend. But I think I might also love you a little bit more than that, if I’m making any sense. But I totally get it if you don’t feel like that as well. I might be moving too fast. I’m sorry-“

You have to kiss him to shut him up (i know it’s cliche i’m sorry 😭)

He just stares at you after you part, his eyes wide as saucers, until a small grin sneaks onto his face

“So, is that like, an, uh-“

“An ‘I love you too’? Yes.”

You’ve never seen him smile to big

You two spend the rest of the day sitting on the beach and talking

About how you covered up your confession that day at the park

About how he thought he had to avoid you 

Hesitantly, he reaches for your hand

When you grab it back he smiles a little, turning away to hide the blush in his cheeks

[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

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[askchilchuck]

Hey, how can I help you?

(Please read below before interacting)

Hi! My name is Sophie! This blog has gotten enough traction that I feel the need to lay some ground rules for it.

1) This blog is intended to be PG13 so I don’t have to exclude younger fans from participating. I will not be answering anything that wouldn’t fly in canon, or is adjacent to it. Anything explicitly sexual, or can be construed that way will not be answered. This decision was made a couple months in, so do be advised there is some more suggestive content on the earlier posts on this blog. If you don't want to see that kind of content, stick to the newer posts.

2) Nothing related to suicide please. I tried playing it off the first time but between myself and some people around me, even the “KYS 🥰🥰🥰” jokes really aren’t funny, especially recently. Asks including it will not be answered.

3) No firearms. Related to rule 2.

4) Please no spammy asks. I’m honestly not sure how to answer them, and they clog up both the blog itself and the main tags.

5) No political asks. I understand how terrifying the results of the US election are, but I really need this place to be a break from all that. For my sake and yours. We both need spaces where we can recharge from this. Chilchuck doesn’t know what’s going on anyway, he deserves to live in ignorance from it. I love you.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s fun to bully him, but these things cross a line for me. Thank you for understanding.

If you’re an RP blog, you’re more than welcome to interact! Even if you’re not a Dunmeshi blog! I don’t always have the time to do reblog chains, though, so please don’t feel bad if I miss you there. It’s easiest for me if you submit RP as an ask when the box is open. Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause. If you’re 18+ and interested, I also do private RP on my Discord, linked on my Dunmeshi side blog.

IN LIGHT OF DUPLICATE CHARACTERS:

I think that’s awesome and also really funny. I encourage it. We’ve already got a loose MCU/multiverse plot line going on so we can totally make it work, too. Hell yeah. Hilarious. Love that. /gen

Blog lore:

This blog takes place loosely post canon. I try to avoid spoilers, but little things here and there are inevitable. Chilchuck has made up with his wife and they’re currently working on their relationship. Chilchuck is also in therapy. This is for a few reasons.

1) I don’t think he’d actually answer any of these if he wasn’t.

2) He doesn’t talk about it a lot, but it was one of his wife’s conditions before giving the relationship another go.

3) He just. Should be in general and I have control of it so it’s happening lol

My Chil is bi, but in the middle-aged “everyone’s had gay thoughts before” kinda way, cause I think it’s funnier that way. He also gets high from time-to-time now that he’s not dungeneering anymore.

Folks kept turning him into different things/animals, so goldstar/⭐️ anon gave him an amulet to put a stop to that. "Marcus" also altered the spell on the amulet to encompass all transformations, since inanimate objects weren't initially included.

Squeaker also used a device to prevent any crab transformations specifically from occurring, as well as ejecting all crabs within a 20 mile radius.

There’s also a cult stalking him for some reason. (This is an ongoing problem. They haven't hurt anyone, and they seem to only be targeting Chilchuck.)

The TVA (Marvel) is loosely involved as well as previously mentioned. Squeak fixed it (or so she thought. There's now a DMCU situation going on.)

Also, Chil’s knowledge of the blog/Tumblr varies depending on what would be funnier, but generally he’s aware of the internet. He only uses his phone to answer your asks, though. He has no idea how to do anything else and has no desire to. This means he doesn’t fact check people or knows anything about the greater internet experience. No one knows how he got the phone, or how it’s holding a charge. Don’t worry about it.

ADDENDUM:

Chilchuck has recently started googling slang, and anything else that might be confusing or annoying to him. However, he hates the search feature and trying to find answers on individual websites, and will take the AI generated answers without question.

I myself don’t talk in the main posts, unless it’s tagged #ooc. Otherwise, I’ll always talk in the tags if I’ve got something to say. Or replies. Or DMs. Main post is the only place I’m in character unless specified otherwise.

Emoji anons:

•⭐️/goldstar anon

•🦉/owl anon

•👻/ghost anon

•♡/heart anon

•🐭/mouse anon

•🍬/candy anon

•🥣/bowl (cereal?) anon

•🐻🏀/bear basket ball anon

•🃏/joker anon

•🟣/Gojo Satoru

No other heart variants have been claimed. Also, heads up to all emoji anons, I’m going to start using just one tag for your asks going forward to make tagging easier! So I’ll just be using the emoji variant from here 💖

If you want to hang out with me in a less censored environment, I also run @chilfucked and @askchilchucknsfw which are 18+ only. I will ban all minors who so much as breathe on those blogs. I’m not joking.

I also reserve the right to update these rules as time goes on, so please check them again before submitting when the ask box is open again. Thank you!

[squiddy-god]

Task force T4T

Jhonny "soap" McTavish

Ok so apparently this needs to be a series (: anyway some people are really weird about trans!Soap and really fetishize it. So I would like to re-state that I AM A TRANS MAN. Also if you fetishize trans!Soap or any other trans people you are weird and I wish you the worst <3 also this is meant for trans men specifically, I don't care who interacts but keep in mind this is for trans men. I will probably make a x transfem version! 

Tw : dysphoria, nsfw under cut, tooth rotting fluff, transphobia, t4t, mlm, trans soap x trans masc reader, periods, pre bottom surgery implied, period sex. 

God gives the fattest tits to his most trans masc of soldiers 

Soap has recently gotten top surgery and he loves it 

His scars aren't very noticeable but he really doesn't care, he's just glad to have them gone. 

Soap still wears his binders sometimes tho they don't really bind any more for him it's more to feel connected to that part of himself

Soap isn't concerned about passing as Cis, he's very proud that he's trans 

Has a Scottish🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 flag over his right peck and has a slightly smaller trans flag over his ribs on the left side 

It's on his ribs so he has a excuse to show off his abbs smh

A lot like ghost there are so many ways that you could meet but I'll give you a few that I really like

One is the basics, he saw you at the bar across the way, drinking or not, your hanging out with friends having a grand time and soap is just smitten

He's confident and he'll be damned if he lets such a handsome man pass him by. So he walks up and asks to buy you a drink, “can a buy ye’ a drink” you assumed that the handsome Scott was asking one of your friends till he looked right at you, beaming blue eyes locked in and laser focused “cannae let a braw man like yer’self get away” 

Johnny comes on strong and playful, just enough to make you laugh and let him buy you a pint while he sweet talks you. 

He honestly hadn't noticed your pride pin but once he does he's all smiley and pulling up his shirt to show his tattoo 

Alright number two is your his neighbor! He's not home super often but he's always really nice when he is home, and he won't like he has a bit of a puppy crush on you, talk a bunch about his handsome neighbor. Well one day he's on medical leave for a while, almost blew himself up on a mission and has a bit of nerve damage that needs to heal up. You saw him come home early in the morning when you're leaving for work and decided to do something nice! Made him some bloody good cookies 

The second he opened his door you see you, his good looking neighbor with a batch of cookies in hand he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. 

Meanwhile he was in his binder and a pair of shorts

 You knock on the door, a bit on the nervous side considering this would be the first real time you've talked to your neighbor outside of a few polite conversations checking the mail. Yet here you are with fresh cookies in your plastic tupperware container. True be told it didn't take Johnny long to Answer, undoing the latch and opening the door wide to be met with you, the guy he'd been (not so) subtly pinning after. Johnny was casual, mohawk cropped a bit lower than normal since he'd only just gotten back, and his chest covered by an ever so slightly loose fitting binder. It was plain black, coming just down his ribs almost like a crop top and showing off the hair of his stomach just below his navel. 

Soap is a hairy guy, the T really does wonders for his hair, he's also been on T for a while 

Has never liked needles and prefers to use gel or patches if he can help it. 

He also eats a diet with a lot of trace testosterone in it and that helps 

Thighs like a fur carpet smh 

He owns a few binders, a plain black one, a black tank top binder that looks more like a compression shirt, and of course, his favorite Scottish flag binder. He also has custom binders that match the tartans of the kilts he has. 

Absolutely has gotten into a bar fight with a transphobe and it will absolutely happen again. 

All of his sisters were definitely his biggest supporters growing up. 

“What're yer pronouns so I ken how to cuss ye out” type behavior 

The two of you have matching silly binders with fun patterns on them 

Soap is an irregular period haver, that shit has a schedule no man could figure out. He tries to track it, but it just happens whenever it wants and feels like it. 

Has had two periods in a month. 

Luckily they tend to be short. Unluckily they are heavy. Not really painful but just heavy. 

Gets super exhausted during his period. 

Military grade pain killers hit different 

Loves hand rubs because he has a bit of nerve damage after being a demolition expert for so long

He also has a significant amount of hearing loss on his left side so he always turns right when you're talking so he can hear better. 

Works out at the gym because he doesn't give a flying fuck. Definitely likes to be at home to work out tho because he can do pushups where your under him and he gets a lil kiss when he comes down. Sit ups get kisses too<3 

Had a transphobic bully in highschool and basically dedicated his free time to the gym. By the end of the second year he absolutely clocked the guy.

No one messed with him since. 

Soap who loves to draw you, has a notebook basically dedicated to you and every single way he could draw you (wink wonk)

Likes when you ruffle his mohawk 

Likes it more when it's after you squeeze his arms

He's a show off 💪:3💪

Soap deals with his dysphoria pretty well for the most part, although when he is dysphoric he works out a lot- and he seeks out your comfort. 

Those silly pairs of boxers make him less dysphoric, they make him feel more like the teenage boy he never really saw himself as. Has a pair that say choking hazard and he wiggles his eye brows every time he puts them on 

Literally one of the best hype men when your dysphoric he talks you up with the same energy of a frat boy psyching up his best pall

Gets oddly possessive when you wear his boxers (please do he loves it) like yeah that's right, that his man 

Nsfw//

Going off of the boxers thing it also makes his really horny 

Soap gets hard pretty easy tho, and the more comfortable he is with you the higher his sex drive. 

Absolutely worships you, especially when you're dysphoric, he loves nothing more than haveing you ride his thigh while he calls you his handsome man, his good boy. 

Soap loves to fuck you, soap “always strapped up” mactavish 

But he also likes period sex, he's kinda nasty, likes when it's messy regardless but period sex is extra messy. 

Absolutely finger blasts you till the towel looks like a war zone 💀 

Really likes to be fucked on his period too, he Letts you have a bit more control then normal but don't be fooled he's a power bottom at best. 

Likes to put his finger in your mouth and really loves when you bite em a little 

Soap dose not care about hair, he is pretty hairy himself although he is well groomed, but he honestly doesn't care. 

Will absolutely man handle you regardless of size, soap is a big man and he trains hard for those 💪💪

Really goes wild with the dirty talk

“Cannae even take my fingers? How'er ye supposed to take mah cock ey?”

The accent definitely gets thicker the more horny he gets 

Loves when you give his T-dick head because he also is shoving his fingers down your throat for the effect™

[stomach-bugg09]

summary: [y/n] has always been an angry girl. why wouldn't she be ready to fight any avatar that puts their hands in her siblings?

sully family x sully!reader

a/n: i just did this one for fun because i wanted one where she's an absolute boss and a half. love her !! remember , reqs are open and waiting. i probably won't write anymore fali x [y/n] stuff unless i get specific reqs because they're really difficult to write without direct inspo and ideas. once again , motivation is really important to keep me writing , so please comment feedback + reblog !! i would seriously appreciate it. ( also , for some odd reason my two most recent works have barely gotten any interaction -- idk if that's just bc tumblr is being a problem , or if it's because fali has lost his magic touch ( which if so , i completely get it ) , but if you guys could help me out to try and figure out what's going on ?? )

warnings: violence, guns, fighting, weapons, death, killing

tags: @rafeslovergirl @wxnderingthoughts @liyahsocorro @bonnibuckets @hjkshshjkhklhkl @itssiaaax @grierpilots @23victoria @nyotamalfoy @gcldtom @eywas-heir @historygeekqueen @missroro @sweetheart-bo

angry spirit

nobody quite understood the rage that naturally flowed through the veins of the women in the sully family. nobody quite understood the urge to protect that seemed to be carried between each and every one of the children that jake and neytiri shared and adored together. nobody quite understood… not until they experienced it themselves.

and trust me, plenty of people have experienced it, humans and na’vi alike. even from a young age, there were times where one of the kids were ( one-hundred and ten percent ) willing to fight another kid if it meant they would stop picking on their siblings.

luckily — of perhaps unluckily, depending on the perspective — that shared agreement only seemed to get stronger with age. as the relationships between each kid developed, as more seemed to join the family in general, there was a camaraderie between the five sully kids. even tuk, just a tiny thing herself, was well aware of her willingness to risk her own life if it meant she could save her sisters and brothers.

that being said, there was absolutely no way any of her older siblings would ever let that slide, but it was a sweet sentiment on its own.

even though this habitual response seemed to run through every sully’s blood, it was strongest in the eldest girl.

being neteyam’s twin — younger by just a few minutes — allowed for [y/n] to balance him out. while he had the expectations of future olo’eyktan on his shoulders from the moment he graced pandora with his birth, [y/n] was a freer spirit.

she was also a much more angry spirit.

not that she held fury against every person she interacted with, but [y/n] wasn’t scared of disliking anyone. she also wasn’t scared of letting them know that she didn’t like them; a blessing and a curse, the sully family often called it.

but it stemmed further than that. it ran stronger than that.

from a young age, jake taught his oldest daughter how to channel her anger much healthier. what did jake sully consider a healthy outlet? well, fighting, of course.

so, the sully child that’d been this close to fighting another kid in lo’ak’s honor? yeah, that was [y/n].

not to mention her iknimaya — the rite of passage that quite possibly boosted this girl’s ego far too high. she deserved it, though. not many young na’vis could complete the event in such little time, especially against the pain that her ikran was.

he was a bitter fellow, similar to his spirit sister. angry at the world for every little thing and always ready for a fight. they truly were connected in every possible way.

but, her iknimaya was physical evidence that fighting fire with fire never worked. the truth was that one flame had to overcome the other — one flame had to envelop the other. it was just a matter of which flame was stronger.

[y/n] knew from the moment she locked eyes and that joyful, adrenaline-filled grin blessed her face that she would win.

thank eywa she believed in herself, because neytiri and jake nearly lost all of their faith at the sight of the monster that towered over the young girl.

another notable moment — or perhaps a series of moments — of her oh-so optimistic and joyful personality was prompted by her very own father. if there was one thing that the oldest daughter was confident in, it was her father’s love. she knew that he loved her — loved all of them — and that made it extremely easy for her to argue with him on any topic she disagreed with.

as annoying as it happened to be to jake, neytiri loved that she was raising a strong woman. it often reminded her of herself at a young age.

but, every single one of those stories were child’s play compared to the raw anger that surged through her body when her and her siblings’ lives were held under knife and gunpoint.

[y/n], the original rebel and inspiration for lo’ak’s ‘admirable’ choices, was happy to join the crew on their adventure through the jungle. with lo’ak grounded from flying due to his choices just the other night, he’d practically begged his older sister to join them.

they were partners in crime, afterall.

once neteyam decided to become all responsible and stuff ( not that [y/n] blamed him… but it was disappointing ), [y/n] and lo’ak seemed to have magnetized toward each other, although that might be a sign to turn the other way and run as fast and as far as you can.

either way, [y/n] found herself exploring the similar jungle scene alongside all of her siblings minus neteyam and with the additional presence of spider.

as soon as the familiar scene turned not-so familiar, it seemed that [y/n] had a feeling. a feeling that something was wrong, that something else was creeping. she should have listened to her gut.

and that same thought resurfaced as soon as the stomach-dropping view of the avatars overcame her view from the bushes.

it was only once said avatars put their hands on her baby siblings that the familiar settled, bubbling beneath her thick layers of skin. it was only when [y/n] fell into an eerie silence and state of pure calm that every other sully sibling felt their own fear.

even as tuk squirmed and cried against the bruising grip of the avatar’s, even as kiri cried out at the sharp knife edge against her throat, even as spider fought his restraints, even as lo’ak stared into the terrifying eyes of the same man that had nearly killed his father…

[y/n] stayed perfectly compliant. stuck on her knees, queue throbbing at the feeling of her opponent tugging it, [y/n] merely stared straight at quaritch. silently, her urge to fight was building, and everybody that knew her was perfectly aware. and ready.

she ran her tongue smoothly against her fangs, eyes narrowed straight at the man that threatened the lives of her siblings.

a solid thirty minutes had already passed, eclipse coming quicker than [y/n] would’ve preferred. she just had to hope that, without being used to their forest and bodies, the avatar’s didn’t have the same keen night vision as she did.

“you okay there, kid?” the avatar teased, attempting to startle her with his threatening voice. he tugged her braid, nearly drawing a hiss from deep within her rib cage, but she held it back. he seemed to be bothered with the fact that her eyes hadn’t once left the body of their colonel.

but, for once, she drifted her gaze to meet her perpetrator and summoned english for his benefit. “ask again in a few minutes.”

and, almost as if [y/n] could feel the presence of her parents, a familiar bird call echoed through the nighttime breeze. her ears pressed back against her head in shock before she quickly recovered and flashed an innocent smile to the avatar.

he merely grunted, pulling her braid one last time for good measure, and looked back up at quaritch.

now, she just had to be patient. she could do that. well, as long as she got what she wanted in the end, and that was a good fight. she deserved it after letting the chains rub back and forth against her wrists, eating at her skin through the friction.

that being said, as soon as her mother’s signal became clear, she straightened up and locked eyes with lo’ak. a discreet nod was enough between them. grab tuk and go. she knew kiri and spider would handle themselves.

plus, the extra connection between spider and quaritch was just another layer of protection for her baby sister. perhaps it was a terrible way of thinking, but [y/n] wouldn’t dwindle too much on it. the urge to survive had its faults, afterall.

and finally, once neytiri’s arrow soared through the air, it was go time.

while lo’ak and tuk bit the arms of their restraining avatars, lo’ak also doubling duty and releasing whatever gas canisters had been accessible on the guy’s belt, kiri and spider were lucky enough to be given a chance to run as soon as the avatars lifted their guns.

[y/n] liked to do it the hard way, though.

she swung her legs in a swift motion, wrapping them around the avatar’s. she weighed his bottom half, keeping him from being able to move far, and in a split second, neytiri’s arrow was embedded in his chest.

[y/n] let go, scrambling to her feet and up the nearest tree, finding a moment of solace nested in the upper branches. she could see everything, and they couldn’t see her — she was a master of disguise and hiding, if anything.

and then, it seemed the world went a few clicks quieter, gunfire calming down just a tad. one scan of the scene, and [y/n] knew it was because they’d lost sight of her siblings.

“the kids are gone.” a voice crackled through the walkie strapped to a dead avatar’s chest at the base of the tree, the small noise quiet against the chaotic scene. [y/n] was merely lucky she was in little enough of a proximity to even catch the words.

“what do you mean gone?” quaritch. she could tell from his stingy accent and infuriating pronunciation of vowels.

a beat of quiet against more raining gunfire. “the boy and youngest girl ran off. tarzan and the other girl split to the opposite direction.”

“which other girl?” [y/n] felt a familiar smile on her face.

“what do you mean —”

quaritch was angry, and [y/n] couldn’t help but find pure enjoyment from the scene. little did he know that the young na’vi girl could now see him from her spot in the tree, eyes narrowed on the colonel hunched behind a fallen log.

“there are two girls. one of ‘em quiet and useless, the other looks like her devil of a mother.” the same mother that managed to kill him the first time.

[y/n]’s eyes focused on the demon in na’vi skin, watching his face contort at the familiar arrow pierced in the wood beside him. it was almost as if he’d conjured her very own “devil of a mother” into existence. “seems that very mother might be in attendance this fine evening.”

[y/n] scrunched her nose in disgust, her skin crawling at his words. she really could not stand him. but, her attention was quickly pulled back to reality when he dropped the walkie and called into the open air, all while reloading his gun, “that you, mrs. sully? i recognize your calling card.”

instantly, [y/n]’s head whipped around, locating the exact tree in which her mother hid behind. unfortunately, [y/n] was a few feet away and at the worst possible angle to help.

“why don’t you come on out, mrs. sully?” quaritch continued, and [y/n]’s eyes followed a different avatar that began to creep past the colonel. “you’n i, we got some… unfinished business.”

“demon!” neytiri’s voice caused panic to spike in the young na’vi’s heart, blood pumping with adrenaline. “i will kill you as many times as i have to.”

it was only when [y/n] looked back at quaritch that she noticed the other avatar was missing. a million different curse words rattled deep within her brain, eyes widening in fear.

meanwhile, quaritch would not be distracted from his tangent. “i guess you an’ the corporal have been pretty… busy, haven’t ya? got yourself a whole litter of… half-breeds.”

what could she do?

as quickly and as silently as she could, [y/n] scrambled through the wet tree branches, cursing herself every time her feet lost grip. nerves added up with rain never helped.

at the very last second, [y/n] reached a spot in which she could just barely see her mom. well, her mom, and the avatar that had a gun aimed right at her. just as [y/n] opened her mouth and prepared to scream a distraction, an arrow flew right through the avatar’s body.

gunfire followed almost immediately after, and her dangerous balance finally lost way, causing the girl to topple from her position and into the muddy ground below.

[y/n] was quick to stand up — she had to be — but the scene was not a pretty sight to behold.

she was surrounded. surrounded by three different avatars, each with their own weapon that could quite easily hurt her, if not kill her on the spot. she just prayed that, if they did manage to get to her, she could make them scream first.

[y/n] knew she would. it was always just a matter of mentality, right?

and so, as if the clock slowed down just for her, [y/n]’s eyes flashed around her and gauged every detail possible. the machine gun, loaded and prepared ( although she had noticed that it was already halfway empty ), in the hands of the avatar to her right, the two knives ready in the hands of the avatar to her left, and the last avatar just in front of her. nothing but his fists.

a smile surfaced.

she could deal with that.

and then, before the rest of her body returned to the consciousness of time, her feet began to move. [y/n] lifted her arms so she could see her wrists — still wrapped in chains — and she leapt upwards.

her long legs gave her a higher jump, bringing her and her hands to the perfect height to wrap her chains around the weaponless avatar’s neck. she swung herself around, legs hooking his torso as she tugged with every bit of strength she could muster.

at the chaotic sounds around her, [y/n] knew that bullets were being fired now. lucky for her, she had her very own personal shield, but that meant the tree she was choking was about to go timber.

once she felt the warm splatters of his blood against her stomach, she knew she only had a matter of time before getting squished under a dead man’s weight. [y/n] shifted her weight, unhooking her legs and placing her feet on his hips very carefully.

[y/n] kept her ears aware at all times as she leapt up and off of the now dead avatar, pushing him onto the ground with her jump. her ears moved vigilantly, picking up the sounds of the bullets just before they were shot so she could move just in time to avoid any casualties.

and then her favorite sound rang through the air. an empty cartridge.

at that, her infamous smirk surfaced as she locked eyes with the now useless avatar.

now, behind her, the third avatar with the knives thought she was being slick, creeping behind her with both weapons raised to stab her in the back.

luckily, [y/n] was far too aware and far too pissed to miss such an important detail.

just as the third avatar broke through stabbing distance, [y/n] whirled around and disarmed her in a quick movement. both knives flew into the air, and she swiftly grabbed each of them.

each blade found their own homes embedded in the chests of her enemies

and then, just like that, she’d won.

[y/n] huffed for air, three dead avatars laying around her feet. blood pooled, swirling in an overwhelming pool of maroon. and none of it was hers.

[wwereaderinserts]

Hi there- sending in a request! (thanks for answering my DM questions so I could make sure this was okay btw!)

Could I have something with Gunther and an AFAB!reader? I have this plot idea where they've known (or at least have known of) each other since before they were signed to WWE, but they never really spoke to one another before, but then reader gets signed to the main roster from NXT during the most recent draft and they slowly start to interact with each other more, until one day the romantic and sexual tension between them just reaches a boiling point and it goes into smut territory? Thank you so much! ❤️

You're very welcome, I appreciated you making sure and asking things beforehand too!! I know I've already said it like twice but I really do hope I've done this justice for you❤️

Title: Boiling Point Pairing: Gunther x AFAB!Reader Word Count: 2,024 Warnings: Smut, swears

You’ve not long made it back to your dressing room after your victory earlier tonight when a polite knock on the door postpones your post-match shower. You hesitate for a moment, your brain working overtime while you try to figure out who your visitor could possibly be.

I don’t see it being one of the other girls, you think to yourself, I’ve already seen them when I made it backsta-...oh.

You interrupt your own thought process while you’re in the midst of swinging your dressing room door open, realisation dawning on you a mere split second before you come face to face with the only other person you suspect will be standing right there with a friendly smile on his face to greet you.

Gunther.

When it fully registers that he’s standing right in front of you, waiting for you to say something, you’re quick enough to replace your look of fleeting surprise at his appearance with a soft smile. You try very best to play things cool with him exactly like you have been over the course of the past few months, but you know your attempt is falling flat on its face.

Though you’ve known of each other for a few years through other promotions and circuits, you’ve never actually gotten the chance to speak to each other properly until you both found your way to WWE. Ever since your very recent main roster callup, you’ve had more and more of a reason to speak to him in passing, and you two had clicked and grown acquainted rather quickly, much to both your respective surprises.

But as days, weeks, and months have gone by as you two have spoken to and gotten to know each other more, the tension in the air when you two are around each other has been palpable. The chemistry is undeniable, and you personally don’t think you can hide the fact that there’s definitely something brewing between you both, even if neither of you have made that leap for anything more than friendship quite yet.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Gunther drags you out of your own thoughts, and you quickly shake your head and wave a dismissive hand at the very notion. In truth, you were just about to take a shower, but since he’s turned up with intent of clearly catching you privately, you’re willing to grant him the time of day.

“No, no! Not at all,” you reassure, lingering in the doorway, “Uh…is everything okay? I wasn’t expecting you to stop by is all-”

You pull yourself away from your doorway and make the decision to stand to one side, allowing him the space to step in if he wishes to. When he notices you’re silently giving him permission, Gunther steps in and nudges the door shut behind him before he turns to face you.

“Everything is fine. I wanted to speak with you about something, that’s all.” he looks you in the eye, “About us, actually. I think you already have some kind of idea on what that means, no?”

Gunther shoots you an expectant look, and you shift under his gaze. You feel a flush begin creeping its way up your neck at the implication. You’re almost certain you know exactly what he’s hinting at, but you’re reluctant to jump the gun in case you have it all wrong. Instead, you feign innocence, crossing your arms and softly shaking your head.

“No, I…I have no idea what you mean, actually-”

“Oh, I think you do. And it’s been building up for months now, hasn’t it? All that tension, the pent-up energy.” he interrupts you, chuckling softly before leaning in closer to you, “I think it’s about time we did something about it, don’t you?”

You swallow thickly at his words, your eyes meeting his while he stands before you. He doesn’t move another inch, studying you to gauge whether you’ll take the initiative and make the first move.

When you show no signs of retreating, Gunther takes it upon himself to make the move, pulling you in for a hungry kiss. Passion begins to bleed through in the kiss, your mouths crashing together in a fusion of lust and unspoken desire which now ultimately comes to a head.

“Think it goes without saying,” you pull back from the kiss for a moment, breathless, “I agree, it’s about damn time-”

Gunther responds with another searing kiss, backing you into the surface of your dressing room door with a soft thud. You grope at each other’s bodies in what borders on desperation, your fingers tugging up the hem of his shirt while he toys with your gear as he determines exactly how to get you out of it.

Withdrawing for only a moment to tug his shirt over his head, Gunther delves back in once you’ve roughly unlaced the top half of your gear and slipped right out of it to save him the grief of figuring it out, as well as speeding things along a bit.

“Eager, are we?”

Gunther taunts you with a smirk, and you mirror his expression while playfully rolling your eyes at him. With newfound confidence, you hook your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and tug him towards you, and you don’t miss the fleeting flicker of surprise replacing his smirk for a split second.

“Oh, very,” you concur, slipping a hand between you both to palm his hardening cock through his jeans, “That’s not a problem, is it?”

You lower your voice to a purr, a triumphant grin on your face when you earn a soft grunt from him over the gesture. Gunther shakes his head and pulls his lower lip between his teeth, letting his eyes flutter shut at the contact as your movements grow firmer.

“Didn’t think so.”

You take that as your answer, but you leave him hanging after a moment while you slip away from your place between him and your dressing room door to pace your way over to the couch in the corner of the dressing room instead.

Gunther’s eyes snap open when you put everything on pause and leave him standing there, and he whirls around to face you. He’s about to call you a tease, but he stops himself when he sees you perched on the arm of the couch, unlacing your boots as fast as your deft fingers will allow you to. You manage to loosen one boot up enough to forcefully pull it off, and before you can take on the task of removing the other yourself, you gain a pair of eager, helping hands.

“Here,” Gunther kneels down before you and aids you in unlacing your boot, “I don’t think I can wait much longer to have you.”

Hungry eyes flick upwards to meet yours, and what feels like within mere seconds, he’s loosened it off enough to pull it down and haphazardly toss it to one side. He nudges you onto the seat of the couch, hands resting on the back of the couch to box you in while he dives back in to capture your lips in a passionate kiss.

You groan softly into the kiss, sinking back into the couch cushions while you part your legs for him, wrapping them around his waist to draw him in closer. Gunther takes the hint, shuffling closer and sinking his knees into the edge of the couch as he brings himself closer to you, and he grinds into you, the layers of clothing being the only thing separating you both from what you truly desire.

“Fuck, just do it already,” you breathe out, untangling your legs from around his waist to shift your hips upward, “Put us both out of our misery.”

You fight to tug your shorts and underwear down, flicking them off to one side when they reach your ankles to leave yourself bare, exposing your slick folds to him in an offer he most definitely won’t be refusing.

Gunther stands back up to his full height while he fumbles with his belt, yanking the leather through his belt loops before he unfastens his jeans and lets them drop down to his ankles with a clunk. His boxers follow suit a few seconds later, slipping down his thighs and freeing his cock, now standing at full attention.

Not wasting another second, Gunther closes the distance between you both, rubbing the head of his cock along your folds before he lines himself up with your entrance, intentionally catching your clit once or twice in the process while you bend your legs and raise your thighs up to meet your shoulders.

You gasp, quickly being muffled by him slamming his lips against yours when he slowly slips his way inside you with a low groan. He barely gives you time to adjust to the size of him before he snaps his hips forward, burying himself hilt-deep inside you and eliciting a soft moan out of you.

“What, like that?”

Gunther chuckles lowly, already knowing the answer. You’re boxed in beneath him, practically folded in half as he sets a punishing rhythm, your nails sinking into his shoulders and your pleas for more from him only aiding in spurring him on further.

He angles his hips slightly, and it’s just enough to repeatedly hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars and has your toes curling. You involuntarily clench around him, your walls fluttering around his girth as your moans increase in pitch and frequency as a result of the now brutal pace he’s set.

“Just like that, holy shit-”

You whine, and Gunther leans forward to steal your lips in a bruising kiss, greedily swallowing every moan and whimper of yours that follows. His tongue invades your mouth, dancing dominantly with yours as he continues to slam into you without abandon.

Gunther grunts with exertion, feeling himself beginning to gradually lose control. His thrusts become erratic, his movement jerky as he chases his high. When you purposefully clench around him this time, you draw a moan out of him that makes your stomach flip.

“You look so beautiful like this…under me,” he pants, his forehead pressed against yours, “Taking me so well, you feel incredible…better than I could’ve imagined, shit…”

The praise earns a whimper from you, and your eyes roll back in ecstasy when you slip a hand between you both to rub small, swift circles on your clit in a desperate attempt to send yourself over the edge.

Gunther increases his speed, his hips now relentlessly snapping forward as he chases release. With a final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and spills himself deep within you without so much as a pre-warning, his moans of ecstasy muffled when he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, I’m so close!” you cry out, your ministrations increasing, “So close, fuck-”

You cut yourself off with a sharp whine, your walls fluttering and convulsing around his cock, squeezing him deliciously as you finally hit your peak. Your legs quiver and you screw your eyes shut while you ride out your orgasm, your jaw hanging slack as pleasure completely overwhelms you.

Gunther collapses atop you, careful not to rest too heavily against you. His chest heaves, and he remains still inside you while he peppers your jawline with kisses before his lips find yours once more.

“That…that was…” he pauses if only to find the best words to describe your encounter before he settles on, “Like nothing else I’ve ever felt.”

You chuckle breathlessly with a nod, quietly groaning at the feeling of being empty when he finally pulls out of you. Eventually, he rolls off to the side, sitting beside you on the sofa to separate you both and allow you the space to stretch your still-quivering legs out.

“Mhm, you could say that again,” you agree with him, turning your head to the side to shoot him a knowing glance as the pair of you are savouring the blissful afterglow, “And something’s telling me it won’t be the first and last time this happens, either...”

[wintersettled]

Honestly the way different archons in genshin impact have such different interactions with their nation is very interesting to me, especially with how its further expanded in fontaine recently.

The archons who are closest to the way we traditionally (in the west) think of a god (ie. all-powerful and on a completely other level of existence to humans) would probably be Barbatos first, then Rex Lapis.

Barbatos/Venti having churches dedicated to him and not appearing (as far as most are aware) in society for centuries is very similar to how the christian god is seen, as someone worshipped but never directly interacted with on a level beyond the spiritual. Meanwhile Rex Lapis/Zhongli has tons of myths and stories dedicated to him across lands and made appearances for years until his "death". In this way he's somewhat comparable to Greek gods (or even Jesus, to keep the christianity analogy going). He's far more openly entrenched in humanity but still remains separate and "above".

It's more-so with the three other archons we've encountered that our understanding of what gods must be like in teyvat based on Rex Lapis and Barbatos is totally altered with Ei, Furina, and Buer, all three being the "replacement" archon for their respective nations.

Ei, the third archon we meet, takes a direct role in Inazuman government as the Shogun, a totally different approach than the previous two which i find more similar to various rulers claiming divine right of kings. Also, despite not being the original electro archon most dont actually know this because Ei took on the identity of her sister, who died during the calamity. I think Ei taking on her sisters identity definitely helped her maintain her "divine authority" where other archons (buer) failed to maintain it in their nations.

Speaking of Buer/Nahida, you'd think the whole changing the past to everyone except descenders thing would complicate our interpretation of her but it doesnt at all. I think the reason for this is that destroying the previous archon in irmunsul didnt actually change the past. I also dont think the wanderer/scaramouche actually changed the past. I think they just changed peoples memories of it. but anyway. Nahida also takes on a governmental role at the end of sumerus archon quests while still remaining a somewhat holy figure. She was obviously shut out/disregarded following the passing of the previous dendro archon, unlike Ei she wasn't able to maintain her authority. After the archon quest however, her position in government kind of reminds me of the queen of england early in her rule. There was still a democratic governing body in the prime minister and other representatives but she maintains power.

Furina/Focalors also reminds me of the queen of england but at the end of her career instead. Furina appears to be more of a mascot in fontaine than a proper ruling body. It actually seems that the machine and neuvillette hold more authority that she does. Obviously we havent really explored fontaine much yet (its only been out a few days but im loving it) and we've only gotten so much info from the archon quests but as far as i can tell, furina appears to be kind of scrambling to live up to the previous hydro archon who was seemingly so well liked that fontaines people are repenting to this day. (as am i misremembering or did they say the previous archon didnt side with celestia but her people did?? what!?). Its even actively pointed out how people in fontaine do not view their archon to even a similar level as people in other nations (i mean their archon does meet and greets and is very reckless with her accusations but-).

anyways 👍 yes.

TLDR: zhongli + venti = traditional gods ei + nahida (now) = government furina + nahida = queen of england idk also i dont think they actually changed the past, just people interpretation of it. btw whats up with the fontaine profecy and the whole "they sided with celestia" thing??

[darkfictionjude]

I definitely think there's sexism at play with Nia (although not quite as overt it was with Carmen), people are less forgiving towards female characters across all types of media. Especially ones who aren't humble/modest, morally good, supportive of or even subordinate to male characters (especially if the protagonist is male), conventionally attractive (I know Nia is, but just making the point generally), etc.

But in this specific instance, I think it's also because Nia is the only one with a prior positive relationship with the MC. I could see the MC feeling more strongly about Nia's actions than Lorcan's (who they never had a positive relationship with) and Imre (who they didn't even interact with or care about lol). With Nia, the MC has actually lost something, one of the few positive relationships they had. Maybe the only one if you consider Sally's to be “positive” but unhealthy.

Generally readers tend to feel protective over MCs against characters who hurt them. Sometimes to the extent that isn't viewing the situation fairly/logically, or giving the same grace to other characters as you do for the MC. I've seen authors receive hate over that for characters that are gender selectable too (e.g. Infamous). And this MC is an unreliable narrator and we haven't gotten an explanation from Nia yet or seen what she's seen firsthand, we didn't get a full conversation with her until recently. I think these factors make it harder to judge the situation and easier to view Nia negatively, because as the reader we're missing important pieces of the puzzle right now.

It also could be that what Nia did (distancing herself, ending their friendship, not seeming to care about them anymore (before the end of this chapter)) is something that's more relatable to real life and might even be something people have personally experienced. I see people hate bully characters more than outright murdering villains, because the latter doesn't feel real to most people, whereas there are a lot of people online who have experienced bullying at school. And whilst I understand that Nia doesn't actually like or respect any of that popular group apart from Imre, she's still willingly associating herself with people who are bullying Crown, someone they were friends with for most of their lives.

(I'm saying all this as someone who's looking forward to my MC and Nia rekindling their friendship. But I can understand why some people feel sour towards her, even if her actions are understandable and justified from her perspective. I would probably do the same thing as her tbh, probably even earlier on when she first witnessed a violent outburst. But even if you're being reasonable, your actions/words can still hurt someone else, and I don't think it's unreasonable for that person to feel negatively towards you as a result.)

Like I’ve said many times before I understand the anger over the abandonment, I think it’s extremely valid. My issue is with how the boys are given more grace in everything they do. It just seems hypocritical to be angry at Nia but then coddle the boys as if they’re little babies who don’t understand right and wrong

Imre is friends with those people too, he’s the king of the bully group and even though he doesn’t partake he associates himself with them willingly. Like I really appreciate you writing this all down, and I agree with it it’s just any form of media I’ve always hated how women are held to higher standards than men who are sanctified when all three of them aren’t that great. You want to say “fuck you” to Nia? Good. Deserved from the POV of Crowny. But like there’s no point in twisting the narrative to make it seem that anyone of them is worse than the others when all of them have issues and have not treated Crowny the best

[wayfayrr]

🦆 anon is ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!!! It’s been a minute, life been hectic for a while 😩 but I’m hoping that starting today, I’ll get a bit of free time to peruse my favorite blogs!!! So, how have you been? Busy? Have you been drinking enough water? Stay hydrated all you thirsty hoes out there!!! 😁

Anyway! Trying to catch up on stuff I’ve missed…

Agreed, sleep is for the weak. I shall sleep when I am dead. Not even the eepy meds work anymore.

*Gasp!* an anniversary? Of your first LU fic? Congrats!

A raffle? Noice! Can’t wait to see what the winners come up with.

Few sentences prompts??? Love it!!! Number 7 plz and make it hurt if possible. I like angst.

Recently saw a YT short that gave me a new idea… it’s a different kind of “self aware” ask. What if the boys in game aren’t self aware… but your drawings of them are? I’ll link the short, don’t worry. But this creator drew their characters and did an animation of them actually being alive and interacting with them and even the other drawings. Thought it was a cool idea to share with the self aware boys being actual drawings that were drawn by reader lol! Actually… that would make reader their actual creator… the ideas are turning in my head with this one~

https://youtube.com/shorts/OcGy7QwN3Lc?si=1HpoRtt_PS7Q5BAG

It's good to see you duck!!! it's been a bit and I hope you're doing well!!! Stuff's been getting better for me, Had an interview for a job just after getting this ask and I'm waiting to hear back now.

It's really funny too cause I track my sleep and just every morning when I check now the time asleep is just gradually getting less and less lol

And yeah! It's been a little over a year since I've started creating for linked universe now, and it's been an amazing time <33 met some truly wonderful people cause of it

7 (silent fury) seems to be the most popular prompt asfvdsvgsdfgv this is actually the 3rd ask I've gotten with it (but I'm gonna write another mini one anyway, wild rather than time for this one >:D)

He knew he was a failure. The first moments of his, truly his own memories and not another life half-remembered, was being told that he failed after all. That he died when the hero was supposed to prosper. That didn't make what he was going through any easier. And wallowing in his regrets wouldn't help you feel safe again. The chain all knew your boundaries, they all knew to ask you your opinions. To make sure that you were comfortable. But villagers didn't. And wild wasn't fast enough to be your hero. He was fine not being Hyrule's, as long as he could be yours that's all he could ever long for. But he failed you. Comforting you wasn't even an option with how you'd locked yourself away in your room, away from everything while you coped. Leaving the only way to take out his burning fury to find the person who dared to lay a hand on you. He couldn't fail you again.

[Prompt list]

I've been seeing that trend too!! Its one that I really like - and I've actually been sent a couple by dms lol it's a really interesting take on the au, and it's just fun in general really. Although I'll probably stay away from the creator == being treated as a deity cause it's kinda an ick for me (it's just a trope I don't like tbh, each to their own but I won't write/read it) but them thinking they have more of a right to be closer to you? the way it could cause arguments if they met the originals? oh there is so much potential for it as an idea honestly

[c0smic-d0ll]

cherry flavored kisses

robin buckley x fem!reader

summary: after moving to hawkins for your senior year, robin's been your savior in the small town. she's become your best friend, but recently you're feelings towards her have grown to be more than platonic. struggling with your crush, you've avoided spending time together in private. so when robin stops by your place for an impromptu visit, the tensions rise.

word count: 2k

author's note: hi darlings ! i'm pretty new to tumblr, and this is my first time posting my writing online, so i hope people enjoy ! also i did online school all through high school, i don't really know how public high school works so please excuse anything that seems unrealistic or if there's any inaccuracies. criticism and advice are welcome, just don't be rude !

You and Robin met at the beginning of the school year. Having just moved, it was your first day of school at Hawkins High. You’d been dreading it, not particularly happy about being the new kid during your senior year. 

Hawkins had a certain charm that you could appreciate, but sometimes the small-ness of the town made you feel cramped and claustrophobic– like an intruder trying to squeeze into an already-full elevator. And the idea of starting at Hawkins High only made the feelings worse. 

Thankfully, you were at least able to get through the majority of your first day without a hitch, going unnoticed for the most part. 

That was, until your last class before lunch. 

You’d gotten there early, only a few students in the class at that point. Choosing a seat at random, you sat down and got ready; not long before a certain brunette walked in. 

At the time, you hadn’t noticed, but when Robin saw you she became motionless. She was starstruck the moment she laid eyes on you. It took her moment for her to regain composure, but once she did she plopped herself into the seat right next to you. 

“Hi, I’m Robin,” she said, sticking out her hand to shake. You took it, and gave your name with a smile. “I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new here?”

“Yeah, my family just moved here this past summer,” you replied. 

Robin opened her mouth to say something else, but right as she did the teacher spoke up, announcing the beginning of class. 

The remainder of the period, Robin took any chance she had to whisper some quick words to you, ramble whenever she was able, and sneak in a few jokes and one-liners, to which you quietly laughed at all of them. 

Scared of getting in trouble, you didn’t respond much to Robin, but you sported a small smile that let her know you were enjoying the interaction. Plus she could very well talk enough for the both of you.

Robin didn’t even care when the teacher gave her detention for not paying attention in class. Just being able to talk to you and make you laugh was well worth the punishment she’d get after school. And when you agreed to sit with her during lunch after class, she felt like she was on top of the world. 

While the two of you ate, you talked nonstop. She asked you loads of questions about yourself, your hometown, your family. You bonded over your shared interests, and favorite movies. She gave you the ins and outs of the school and Hawkins in general. Talking to her and being with her just felt so easy and natural. Actually, you had both been so caught up in each other that you ended up having to rush to your next classes to not be late. 

That was the start of your amazing friendship with Robin Buckley. 

But now, months later, your feelings towards Robin had grown to be a lot more than “friendly”.

It’d gotten to a point where you could hardly stand being alone with her. The idea itself caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach. If you’d been given the chance to be alone with Robin, you truly felt you wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself from confessing your feelings, or even just straight up kissing her. 

Because of this, any time Robin mentioned hanging out at your house or hers, you’ve done your best to decline as nicely and unsuspiciously as possible– always offering other, public places. She’s noticed this new behavior from you, but it honestly didn’t really phase her much. She just figured that since the weather was warming up, you wanted to spend more time out and about. 

It was all totally fine, until one day after a shift at Family Video, Robin decided to spontaneously bike over to your house. The girl had been thinking about you the entire day, but she honestly hadn’t even really made up her mind to go see you until she had already been pedaling on her bike for 5 minutes. She didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal, showing up unannounced, having done it numerous times before. 

The quiet of the empty house was disturbed by the ring of the doorbell, causing you to jump and your heart race. You hadn’t been expecting anyone, but when the initial anxiety calmed down you reasoned it must be a door to door salesman or something of the like. 

Needless to say, when you opened the door to find your best friend standing right in front of you, you just about shit yourself.

Immediately your heartbeat picked up the pace once again, your hands started sweating, and your chest tightened with nerves. With eyes wide, you let out a shaky breath and shot her a smile. “Robin! What are you doing here?”

“I just got off work, wanted to hang out,” she replies, pushing past you to get into the house. To others’ this might have come off as rude, but you and Robin had grown so close that under normal circumstances you practically lived at each others’ houses. 

“Oh,” you squeak out. 

“Is anyone else home?” she asks, already heading to your bedroom. 

“No. Nope. No one’s here. Just got the house to myself today.” As you follow her, you try your best to keep your voice steady and not let any of your nervousness peak through. 

“Oh nice,” Robin says while throwing herself on your bed. “We could throw a rager if we, you know, actually had any other friends.”

You quietly laugh along with her, and your anxiety eases. Just a little. Robin’s always been able to make you feel better, even when she isn’t aware of it. 

Still, you don’t want to push it, and decide to sit at your desk instead of joining her on your bed. Honestly, you don’t trust yourself to be so close to the girl. Just her being in your room, and on your bed, causes a feeling of deep, intense longing for her to settle in your heart. 

Picking up the book you were reading before her arrival, you focus back on the pages, listening to Robin talk about her day, and ramble about whatever else came to mind. 

While talking, Robin keeps her eyes on you. She can sense the change in your demeanor. Normally you’re more… attentive. Even if you're busy doing something, you’d at least spare her a glance every now and then, and throw in a remark here and there to let her know you’re listening. 

Now, you haven’t looked at her once since you’ve sat down. Just looking at your back, she can see that your posture is stiff and tense. Plus, whenever she makes a joke or recounts something funny Steve did at work, you only let out small, breathy laughs. Like the kind when someone says something very obviously not funny, or when you’re in an uncomfortable situation. 

As time goes on, she becomes more and more worried, the anxiety building up in her. She’s very well aware that she isn’t the best at filtering herself or reading social cues. Too many times before, Robin’s unknowingly upset people. And while it hasn’t ever happened with you, what if this is just the first time it’s happening? 

The thought of upsetting you, making you feel bad or angry, makes guilt well up in her chest, until it eventually spills out her mouth as word vomit.

“Are you ok?," Robin asks, "Did I do something wrong? I mean, I am so, so, so, incredibly sorry if I said something bad. Or did anything to upset you. You know I’m not the best at self awareness, and I promise I didn’t mean to hurt you or anything like that.”

As she continues to ramble on, apologizing for anything wrong she did, and reassuring you how much she cares about you, and how bad she feels, you can’t help the tears that well in your eyes. You hate yourself for making Robin feel guilty for nothing; just because you couldn’t be mature enough to deal with your crush on her. 

This sweet girl, who has never been anything less than kind to you, is apologizing and worrying over something that she didn’t do. And you feel so bad, but you also can’t help but feel so grateful. So grateful for having this amazingly loving person in your life. 

You realize that you have to tell her how you feel. It’s been torture keeping it a secret this long, and you’ve clearly become physically unable to hide any longer. You try to push down the fear of losing her, of her rejecting you, of the insane idea that she’d out you to everyone (because of course your sweet Robin would never do that, but you just can’t help your anxiety’s irrational thoughts).

All these feelings and this realization hits you at once, and it’s so overwhelming you have to cry.

As soon as Robin sees your tears, she stops, looking at you with fearful eyes, like a deer in headlights. Her stomach drops, thinking at first that she caused this reaction, but looking into your eyes, she quickly understands that you’re not upset with her. 

“What- what’s wrong? What happened?” she asks hurriedly and rushes over to you. She tries to put a hand on your arm, but you move away from her touch. 

Taking a deep inhale, you force yourself to look at her. Though it’s actually a bit hard to see her with the tears blurring your vision. A smile makes its way to your face, and you chuckle, but it sounds almost bittersweet. 

“I- I have something to tell you… Robin. A- and I… I don’t know what will happen to us, or how you’ll react, or what will happen when I tell you but-”

“Ok, y/n, you’re kinda scaring me now,” she interrupts with a nervous chuckle. “But you know, no matter what, you’re always going to be my best friend. Even if you, like, I don’t know, murdered someone in cold blood. I’d help you bury the body, even.”

You laugh, and work to dry your eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Looking down, you take one of her hands in both of yours and start fidgeting with her fingers– a nervous habit you had developed. “You’re my best friend, Robin. And I care about you so much. But… the thing is… I don’t just want to be friends.” You wait a beat. 

“I want to be more,” you whisper. Somehow finding the courage, you look up at her to find her awestruck expression. “I’m in love with you, Robin.” 

Blood rushes in your ears, and all you can hear is your heart hammering in your chest. 

Everything seems to slow down, and the world fades away as Robin rushes in to kiss you.

Though at first shocked, you almost immediately melt into her as your lips move against her soft ones. She moves her free hand up to hold your face, and uses your joined hands to pull you in closer.

She consumes all your senses. 

The smell of her shampoo fills your nose, and the taste of her overwhelms you. She tastes like cherry, and you’re certain that if you looked, you’d find her tongue stained lollipop red. 

The two of you seem to fit so perfectly well together; your lips and bodies molding into each other, almost becoming one. 

You separate only when you absolutely have to. You’d kiss her forever if you could, but alas the both of you do, in fact, require oxygen to stay alive. 

You rest your forehead on Robin’s, the both of you panting, and staring at each other. 

Giggles erupt from the both of you, an inescapable byproduct from the intimacy and love you both are feeling in the moment. You hide your blushing face in Robin’s neck, and the girl can feel you smiling against her skin, your breath fanning her with each sound you make. 

Goosebumps rise on her arms, and she sighs dreamily, smooshing her face into your hair.

“I love you too,” she says in a low voice, “in case that wasn’t clear already.”

© c0smic-d0ll 2023