#damn this fic just went and took over my life and i'm so for it

[azaharinflames]

I fell into the deepest depression I’ve had for years when Buck and Tommy broke up. I just wanted to cry so badly but decades of trauma kept me from doing that. Add on that Trump had just been re-elected, and add in that my Dad had been admitted to hospital with a collapsed lung it just took me down.

I’ve mostly gotten over it. I spent 24 hours writing my idea of a fix it fic (won’t happen on show cause they all suck but it was cathartic). I can’t remember what caused my breakdown but I did end up crying. My eyes felt less puffy after as well.

I understand that it’s a fake relationship in a fake show but something about it spoke to me. And just watch it end hurt me worse. The last time I had actually cried hard was in 2021 when my mother-in-law passed away from COVID. So why did this stupid relationship affect me so much. I feel embarrassed for reacting this badly. I don’t even like to talk to my partner about it because he wouldn’t understand.

Hi, Nonnie! Thank you for your ask.

I am so, so sorry to read that. Listen - it's not stupid. It's not embarrassing So don't think your feelings surrounding it and your reaction to any of it is that, because I promise you: nothing about it should make you feel embarrassed.

Here is the thing: Art, in whatever form, is one of the things that move people the most, historically*. Art is a universal language that doesn't simply exist in a painting or a sculpture but in a myriad of different forms that, especially in the last few decades, have expanded immensely. Art can be a channel for our emotions, can be our choice of escapism, can be the thing we see ourselves reflected in and thus, the thing that we connect to because, hey - that's us. And if we see 'us' overcoming on screen, surely we can overcome in real life, right? That's one of the reasons why representation is so damn important.

Yeah, it was a relationship. But it shouldn't be reduced to just that. Instead of dismissing our feelings by making our issue seem nonsensical and small, let's think - my issue was because a piece of Art I connected to deeply was dealt with in a damaging way. And that carries consequences.

There is also the fact that, I think, for a lot of us, it was more than the break-up. The biggest thing to take into context was the election because it is just a matter of fact that we needed a win so bad that week, and we got the opposite of that. To get a bit more personal, I was already dealing with my town being hit with the worst natural disaster in my country this century, still had to hear from some of my friends to know if they were okay or even alive (fortunately, they're all fine), and I was seeing only tragedy whenever I went online. So this happening hit me really hard as well - but, like you, it was one of the things. Still, I spent three days barely able to take a bite and barely able to sleep, and a week with really high anxiety.

And sure, I did feel silly, but if I do love one thing, I sure do love introspection, I reached the aforementioned conclusion and reflection on Art (let me know if it helped or is a bunch of bs tho).

I think what you're doing, writing a fix-it fic, is amazing! You're channeling your feelings through Art, and I am sure it does feel very cathartic. I haven't written for 911 yet (definitely want to, I have some ideas that could work), but I have some years of writing for Marvel and Seblaine (Glee) on my back, so trust me when I say this is the better choice you could do - channel your feelings through your Art, and you will end up with something beautiful, I'm sure of it.

Sorry this was too long, but I'm here if you (or anyone else) needs to rant, vent, or discuss something (911 or whatever, something else is valid as well)

Take care, Nonnie <3 and all of you as well <3

*I have a bachelor's on this, please trust me on it lmao

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Just a cute, fluffy fic from Wayne's pov

💞

"Hey Wayne, how do you know you're in love?" Eddie asks him as they eat dinner that night. Wayne nearly choked on the pasta he was eating but covered himself by gulping down some coffee.

Shit, he needs something a little stronger for this, like when he had the talk with Eddie a few years ago, that was awkward as hell for the both of them.

Fortunately for Wayne's heart, Eddie kept his love life a secret. There were a couple people that weren't serious, but that's as far as Wayne knew. Eddie asking about love, though? This was new.

"I haven't got time for falling in love, Uncle Wayne, I have way too much shit to worry about, and it's a bunch of bullshit anyway", were the words of Eddie just a year ago.

Wayne knew his nephew craved love but at the same time viewed it cynically, so whoever this person was must be special to change his views.

"Why'd you ask boy?" Eddie's cheeks turn pink and he shrugs, gulps down the warm coffee and almost scalds his tongue. "Ahh shit!" his eyes widen when there's a knock on the trailer door, and Wayne gets up to answer it; he knows who it is even before he answers.

You're standing on the step, a D&D book tucked under your arm, smiling at Wayne with just a little bit of shyness this time which was an improvement.

You hurry inside and tell Eddie you'll set the books up in his room.

For six months, you'd been visiting the new trailer (all paid for by the government, so no questions were asked about the old one), and it took a while for you to relax around him; now that you did, it was like your second home and Wayne was used to you being here.

You had been visiting on your own, but sometimes with Harrington and Dustin, Wayne doesn't know what went on during Spring Break, just that Eddie was injured during the earthquake, and you were there for him every step of the way.

His wounds had healed but left scars, and sometimes Eddie woke up screaming after horrendous nightmares, not when you were around, though. When you were around it helped Eddie, helped the both of you work towards healing.

The fact that both of you were obviously falling head over heels in love with each other, is something that Wayne has kept quiet about, waiting until Eddie approached him about it.

Today was the day.

Wayne smiles gruffly. "This about your girl?" he nods to you as you head into Eddie's room and Eddie's cheeks darken even more.

"Yeah, yeah it is. She's amazing, isn't she, Wayne?" he enthuses; I just wanted to ask. How do you know it's love? I mean shit, I uh look at her, and she feels like home, and I don't want to be with anyone else ever; I feel like I can be myself around her, and she'd never judge me; she makes me tongue-tied and my heart races and she's so distracting and I... I'm in love with her" he sighs content then looks up at Wayne panicked.

"Shit, I don't even know if she feels the same?" Wayne sighs, he adores his nephew, but the boy is completely oblivious at times.

"Son, she looks at you like you hung the moon so why don't you quit horsing around and ask her out" Eddie looks like all of his Christmases have come at once.

"You really think so?" He asks hopefully and his eyes light up when Wayne nods. "Maybe I will talk to her then" Wayne then proceeds to watch his nephew practically melt at the sight of you; that was something that so very rarely happened with Eddie, so he was completely smitten.

Here's hoping that he did pluck up the courage to talk to you.

❤️

It's late when Wayne comes home from work; the TV is on, so Eddie is still up, and Wayne would bet that you're here too.

Wayne sees the two of you giggling together, holding hands and exchanging kisses, there's a big soppy smile on Eddie's face and he only has eyes for you.

About damn time. Also, Hopper owes him a glass of his best scotch so he will make sure to collect that too.

💞

[cvpidzcvrse]

Nah, I'm Better.

divider by @cafekitsune

✦A/N: OK! this took longer than expected but LISTEN! I'm here now and probably will be dropping more frequently (hopefully). Reader is also a slut I mean she could talk me through it and I'd let her. But I tried to eat down as much as possible for this fic so the girlies and the gays wouldn't starve. Gojo is driving my dream car, a girl can only imagine.

⋆.ೃ࿔*･Synopsis: You and Satoru have been best friends since elementary school. By the time you both made it to college he’s hated every single partner you’ve ever had. Your recent ex isn’t any different, but he’s doing something about it this time.

⋆.ೃ࿔*･wc: 2,887

⋆.ೃ࿔*Warnings: best friends to lovers, praise, car sex, arguments (ish), cowgirl, choking, handjob, p in v, no protection, finishing inside (practice safe sex)

(the reader is black)

If you had a dollar for every time you and Satoru got mistaken for a couple you’d be rich, not richer than him. He loves it when people mistake him for your boyfriend. It’s the ego boost he doesn’t need. He’s liked you for a while but you always shut him down. Either for another guy or because you see him as just a “friend”. You knew that was a lie, you didn’t want to ruin the friendship between you guys. So to buried your feelings for Satoru and used other men as a distraction. Fuck buddies, friends with benefits, sugar daddies, you name it. Nothing was ever successful; it always ended in heartbreak or fights. Satoru hated that you went for men who were lower than your standard.

He hated that you didn’t go for him. That’s part of the reason why he’s parked outside a fancy restaurant waiting for you to walk out.  

You thought this guy was the one, you’d been talking for a couple weeks, going on dates, even fucked a few times. But no people always have to ruin it, it was fun while it lasted. Mahito was a guy you met off of Tinder. He was nice, sweet, and probably the realest guy you’ve ever met. That was until date number four when he brought up his love for podcasts. Specifically a podcast by the name ‘Fresh and Fit’, you know the podcast that goes around and hates on women for a check. 

What a loser…

After learning that information you left the date immediately. Leaving him with a “Get a life, nigga.” before quickly walking out of the restaurant. The cold drizzle of rain calms your nerves as you heave out a soft sigh. Your eyes meet a familiar and sleek all-black Ford Bronco. An air of comfort travels throughout your body. You haven’t been this excited to see Satoru since…ever. He’s already looking in your direction with his cheeky smile, flashing you his pearly white teeth. He’s always been handsome, your whole life was spent watching girls and even guys swoon over him. You can’t even remember if he accepted any of the advances, you don’t even think he’s had a girlfriend that you know of.

His jagged blue eyes met your dark brown ones and it’s like a firework went off in front of you. Your waist-length knotless braids, glossy plump lips, and warm brown skin have him in a chokehold. The way your honey-glazed skin complimented your outfit made him want to rip it off right there. Luckily his windows are tinted enough to hide his very noticeable lustful gaze, but you felt his eyes burning holes into your head. With a visible frown on your face, you swiftly open the car door. You come face to face with Satoru’s fuck boy grin, you almost melt on the spot.

“When I said ‘call me for emergencies.’ It didn’t include shitty dates.”

You roll your eyes before playfully punching his arm. Satoru speeds out of the parking lot before you can even put your seatbelt on. Your back hits the seat roughly before you send a glare Satoru’s way.

“Chill out, nigga damn. You didn’t even hear how the date went and you’re already mad.”

“I’m mad because you didn’t listen to me. I told you not to trust that fucking loser, now look at where we are.”

You could hear his eyes rolling before you saw it. He’s the leader of the sassy man apocalypse and he never denies it. You grimaced at the undeniable truth that he was right, and you knew it. You cross your arms over your chest and gaze out at the widow districting yourself with the scenery. 

“Hey…look at me.”

His light-hearted voice quickly melted in your ears like honey. He softly gripped your chin and turned your face to his. He analyzed your expression for a moment. Admiring your features, planning your future, imagining his cock inside of you. He’s quickly brought out of his thoughts when you playfully push his hand away. 

“Hands off, this makeup took time.”

He scuffs at your statement before looking back at the busy road. You analyze him for a while, taking in his features. Your thoughts are more innocent than his, and you hope it stays that way. 

“Listen…I’m sorry I didn’t listen. But, niggas man you don’t understand. They’re all so annoying.”

The more you think about your past rendezvous the more it turned into torture. Satoru knew about every failed date. He was always there to be a shoulder to cry on and a dick to ride if you asked him. He knows very well about your tragic love life, he doesn’t remember a successful relationship you’ve been in. He lectured you every time he picked you up from a bad date or situationship ending in ‘So, what are we?’. He wasn’t upset with you, he was more upset that you refused to see his obvious feelings for you. 

“This is just starting to get repetitive. (✧), This is just...nevermind”

He smacked his lips at the end of his statement. A habit he picked up from you after all of the years you two have spent together. His mouth opens to say something else but nothing comes out. He huffs and runs his hand through his hair, he’s frustrated by the current events.

“Don’t get an attitude with me. You think I want to date guys like this?”

Your accusatory tone makes his attention shift slightly from the road. He scans his brain for what to say. He doesn’t want to upset you anymore but he also didn’t want to sugarcoat anything. As a wannabe lover, he wants nothing but the best for you even if it means telling you a harsh reality. 

Your taste in men is shit. 

He doesn’t have enough fingers or toes to list off the amount of guys that hurt you in the past. Nanami was too formal for you, Toji was a bum that leeched off of you, Sukuna was an asshole, and Satoru would’ve killed Suguru if he even attempted to flirt with you. 

“No, you know what I mean. You deserve better than these dumbasses you go after.”

The venom in his voice is very noticeable. Satoru’s carefree nature is cracking under the stress of your love life. Your stubborn nature refuses to let you back down to him, especially when he’s like this. 

“Toru’ I can date and fuck who I want! I don’t need to be lectured by you. I understand that you care, but let me live my life.”

Your response almost sent Satoru out of the car. His eyes twitched in annoyance and his knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel. You watch the way his jaw tightened and his muscles flexed. It turned you on, a lot. As much as you hate to admit it, you looove making him mad. It was just the way his relaxed facade melted away when you threw careless sentences at him. His foot softly pressed on the brake when coming to a red light. He slowly shifted his body to face you, if looks could fuck he’d be fucking you right now. Just the thought of him bending you over the center console had your clit aching. 

“Do not say that, I will crash this car right now and kill us both.”

He glanced at you with a smirk trying to lighten the melancholy-stricken mood. You scuff at his childish antics.

“Oh my god, be for real-”

Ring…

Your phone buzzed in your purse, and your soon-to-be lecture got cut short. Your eyes widened when you saw the caller I.D. read ‘Mahito’. You let it ring for a few seconds before finally answering it. 

“Why are you calling me? I told you we were over.”

Satoru's ears perked when he heard the hostility in your voice. There was a snarky voice on the other end and they were loudly throwing a fit. His eyes analyzed your expression and the way your calmness was replaced with annoyance. 

“You don’t think I can do better than you?…You’re one goofy ass nigga, you know that?…Whatever, fuck you!”

You harshly shoved your phone into your purse and groaned. The awkward silence was almost tangible; you would have to cut it with a chainsaw. Mahito’s words circled in your head and it pissed you off more and more. Who does he think he is? You hum slightly when a very filthy idea comes to your mind. 

“Satoru, I need you to take me somewhere.”

｡.｡:∞♡*

“Why the fuck are we here? Please don’t tell me you’re about to do something stupid.”

Satoru’s tone is laced with worry and confusion. He has no clue why he was parked outside of Mahito’s house right now and he didn’t know why you wanted to come here. You give him a cheeky smile before unbuckling your seatbelt and slowly leaning over the center console. You’re incredibly close to Satoru’s face, your nose practically touching his. All you can do is stare sensually into his ice-blue eyes, but the sense of longing is undeniably visible. 

“What are you doing?”

His voice spills out lowly like silk touching your ears. You take in a breath before crashing your lips into his. He’s caught by surprise but that’s quickly replaced with lust. His veiny hands quickly trace every curve on your body and tangle his fingers in your braids. You pull away taking in the wonderful scenery that Satoru was turned into. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is messy. You both stare at each other in awe and affection. It’s like something was unlocked in the middle of this little plan of revenge. 

“Get in the back.”

You nod before watching him walk out and around as you climb in the back. He opens the back door and stares at you for a moment, taking in the way your skirt is hiked up and your shirt tousled around. He quickly gets in and closes the door, basically pouncing on you. His mouth attacks your neck quickly, leaving several bite marks and hickeys. Without breaking the kiss you roughly pushed him onto the car door behind him. He lets out a low groan and rests his hands on your waist. You reach down and fumble with his belt buckle before finally breaking the kiss and using your hands. 

“If you need help you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up.”

He chokes out a gasp when you take his cock out of his boxers. You wrap your manicured hand around his big cock and slowly massage the length. You trace circles around his tip with your thumb. A low groan settles at the bottom of his throat as silence sighs escape his lips. He unscrewed his eyes to meet the brazen expression on your face. His chuckles and mixed moans are sending you over the edge. You reach down and caress your clit through your panties. Satoru doesn’t fall ignorant of this and quickly grabs your hand to stop the satisfying motion.

“Suck it, I want your mouth.”

He let out a low chuckle as you took his full length into your mouth. You let out a whine as the tip of his cock touched the back of your throat. Satoru’s head flew back in pleasure as his hand rested comfortably on top of your head. He can sense your greed from the way your tongue moves along his tip. He sighed out a moan and softly pushed your head down further. 

“F-fuck…you’re doing so well.”

He stifles a throaty moan with his free hand and laces his hands in your hair. You were quick to grab his wrist and yank his hand away. You trailed soft kisses up the length of his cock, from base to tip. 

“I wanna hear you, pretty boy. Let me hear you.”

Your voice was soothing and soft it probably could’ve put him to sleep if it weren’t for the current circumstances. He melted at your command and quickly left his hand to the side. You tease his leaking tip with your tongue before putting it all in your mouth again. His mouth goes agape as slutty moans spill out and his hands grip your hair tightly. The way your head is bobbing up and down on his cock has his mind going blank. His cock twitches in your mouth before he quickly shoves your head away.

“I don’t want to cum yet. C’mon get on top, ride what’s yours.”

You swiftly straddle his lap and he pushes your panties to the side. You wrap your arms around him as he slowly pushes you on his hard cock. You let a soft moan and tug at Satoru’s hair. He moans in response and pushes you down deeper.

“Shit…fuck me, c’mon.”

His mouth is hovering over your ear and his voice is low and seductive. You slowly start to rock your hips and grind on his cock. After adjusting to his size you messily start bouncing on his cock. Strings of curses spew out of his mouth and his grip on your waist gets tighter. 

“Like this baby? Mmph…you’re so big.”

The constant praise is making the blood rush to his face. He hides his blushing face in your shoulder and leaves several bite marks. The car windows turn foggy and the only thing illuminating the car is the moonlight. Satoru’s moans can probably be heard from blocks away. His hands are under your sweater groping and squeezing your plush breast. His fingers pull and twist at your nipples as your pace gets messy. 

“Give me your hand…”

His voice is carnal and vibrating in your ear. It makes your clit twitch and your tempo stagger. You untangle your hand from his hair and place your hand in his. He takes two of your fingers and places them in his mouth. He doesn’t break eye contact, he’s just looking at you like a meal waiting to be devoured. He slowly sucks them and swirls his tongue around them. The scene in front of you is so sensual and slow, you’ve never experienced something so intimate before. He slowly pulls your fingers out of his as a saliva trail is the only thing left behind.

“Play with your clit for me. I wanna watch while you bounce on my cock.”

His voice moves like velvet through your body. It’s like he’s talking right to your pussy and she’s answering very loudly. The moment your hand reaches your clit Satoru plunges his cock into you. His thrust gets more violent and his large cock attacks your cervix. Your head dips back in pleasure in the constant assault on your insides. 

He’s starting to unravel like a present. His strokes get messier, sweet liquid spilling everywhere, his moans getting louder and more frequent. His nail prints are embedded on your love handles and your thighs are a wet mess. 

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. C’mon baby you can do it.”

His pleading sends shivers down your spine. You’ve never seen him so desperate before, it was empowering that your pussy brought him down a few notches. His pussy drunk stare is intoxicating to look at. The way he’s looking at you with his eyes half-lidded with nothing but lust in them. There was something about the way he looked at you; it wasn't just lust. It was like you were a necessity to him, he needed you.

“Mmph…baby I’m ‘bouta cum!”

“Cum for me, you’d make me so proud. Cum on my cock princess.”

Satoru replaced your hand with his and traced circles on your clit. With his hand working its magic and his cock peppering kisses on your cervix sends you crazy. The car is rocking very noticeably but you could care less. Your climax crashes onto you like a ton of bricks. Your juices spill all over his thick cock and coat his length in a slippery mess. His warm and sticky ropes decorate your insides, leaving his pants soaked and a wet ring around the base of his cock.

“That’s it, I’m so proud of you baby.”

 He tenderly pulls out and holds you tight to him, taking in the moment. You rest your forehead on his shoulder, you both desperately trying to catch whatever air is left in your lungs. You hear Satoru chuckle slowly while tracing kisses on your neck. 

“What’s so funny? Did my pussy make you delirious or what?” 

He shakes his head and lifts your head softly and turns it towards the window. While swallowed by lust you didn’t notice Satoru rolled the window down. Mahito is staring in awe and anger; he looks like he is about to explode. Satoru’s chuckle turns into a full-blown cackle as he glances at Mahito, sending him that cheeky smile that you love so much. You join Satoru in his joyous laughter before reaching over and rolling up the window.

“At least my plan worked. Let’s do it again but this time with handcuffs.” 

[chaos-in-deepspace]

L&DS Sylus: Boobies | 18+ Drabble

Listen...I don't wanna hear it. I know I said I was gonna wait for him to come out so I could learn his character...BUT HIS BOOBS ARE RIGHT THERE GUYS! And I'm a whore. So anyway this is a ten minute drabble so don't expect much!

Pairing: Sylus x Reader Warning: Motorboating, Mentions of Edging Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Sylus

It absolutely wasn’t your fault…nope not in the slightest. If anything, it was his fault. Why a walking red flag had to be double caked up with boobs that you could drown in was unfair, unjust…a crime. So you couldn’t help yourself, especially not as you watched him box. His chest was literally jiggling and you were drooling.

“Hey…Sy,” you called out, finishing your own reps. Really the entire time you had been…distracted. Watching him was a workout for the eyes though. You had to concentrate hard to follow the bounce of his chest. Sylus looked over, his red eyes taking you in before he smirked. He was covered in a small sheen of sweat and he looked so damn good like this you didn’t know how to handle yourself.

He took off his gloves, tossing them to the side as he walked over with a confident gait that had you already melting. Who knows what would happen when you did this…perhaps he would show you just how good of a boxer he is by punching your gut…gods you could only dream, “You’ve been distracted,” it wasn’t a question but a statement, “Mind sharing what had your attention?”

You licked your lips, nodded your head and hummed, “I am so down to share with the class, but first can you come a little bit closer for me?” you said. Sylus could tell you were up to no good, especially with that hungry look in your eyes. His steps seemed to echo in the private workout room and you shivered as he loomed over you.

“As you wish,” his voice was like a whisper and you bit your bottom lip. You had to do it…if not now then when would you? Nobody else was gonna do it for you, so now was the time.

Your hands itched for a moment, fingers wiggling and you could see Sylus’ eyes looking down and glancing. Your hands came up, reading to grope him when he caught both your wrists with precision. His eyes were only slightly wider as it appeared he figured out what you had planned. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your lips, “Is that anyway to ask for what you want?” oh now you were in trouble.

Your gaze went from his lips to his chest, the way it clung to him was enticing and you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth before you actually started drooling, “If I ask will you let me?” you questioned, almost anticipating his rejection.

Instead you watched Sylus tilt his head, that cocky smirk was always present as he licked his lips, “Perhaps, but only if you ask nicely,”

You took a deep breath, “Sylus…” you began, steeling yourself, “May I please put my face in your boobies and go brrrrrrrrrr-” you made sure to shake your head with the motion. He stared at you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I must say…I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as straightforward as you,” he sighed, then to your surprise he backed up and let go of your wrists. He put his hands up, “Go ahead, nobody else is here and I can see just how much you want it,”

This was a trick…right? Entrapment…well it was a good thing you didn’t care about all of that. You surged forward, grabbing both sides of his boobs and smashing your face in the middle. You squeezed them until it engulfed your cheeks and you made an obnoxious noise like a motorboat. It was the happiest moment of your life as you stilled, just soaking in the moment of being squished against his bosom. 

Then be backed away, his hands roaming over your sides, “Now then,” he began, noticing how content you looked, “Since I’ve given you something you really wanted,” he began walking back towards one of the walls. You were confused, looking down at him with how he was holding you up. Your back hitting the cold wall and your eyes widened. Wait…wait.

“Now I get what I want…isn’t that fair?” His face ghosted over your thighs and you shivered.

“Wait…Sy…we can talk about this,” you began, knowing exactly what would happen if you let him. Flashbacks of him edging you for literal hours went through your mind, and it seemed he was happy you caught on.

“Fair is fair…now open up,”

I regret...nothing

[huramuna]

stoatfaced, dragonhearted - oneshot.

dark, mean prince regent aemond x wife reader

for my 200 followers poll, i've actually had this one cooking for a while so i'm happy this option won! this is absolutely filthy, i'm sorry in advance.

word count: 2.4k

i don't do taglists any more unfortunately, its mostly because i never remember and then feel bad about it so i've made a second blog just for reblogging my fics! @huramuna-fics -- follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!

content: slight dub-con, smut (specifics below cut), angst, mean aemond, toxic relationship, like in no way is this healthy, good god, smut with little plot, reader is described being from riverlands w/ auburn hair and brown eyes, no use of y/n, not beta read, i literally went into a haze writing this there are probably mistakes

tonight you belong to me - patience & prudence • vampire - olivia rodrigo

warnings: p in v, choking, breath play, dom/sub, degradation, creampie, cockwarming, orgasm denial, breeding, aemond is so mean here thats its own damn warning

Aemond knew what he wanted and the sacrifices that needed to be made to get such things. He wanted a dragon, it took an eye to get it. He wanted the Conqueror’s crown, it took his brother being burnt to get it. He wanted a legacy that would surpass his lifetime, etched into the very being of Westeros itself. The sacrifice needed for this would be to chain himself to a woman he likely wouldn’t be interested in.

That is where you came in. 

You were sweet, he supposed. Sweet in a way that made his teeth ache. Sweet in a way akin to a mouse and how it looked up at the cat just before his jaws snapped around the mouse’s head. 

He didn’t need to like you. Many marriages were forged in dislike or just plain indifference, set to a mutual goal. He supposed your mutual goal was children. All he needed was to use you as a vessel, a womb for his seed to take hold. 

You poor thing, you didn’t really understand that he didn’t truly care for you. You were nice enough looking, of course– hair that reminded him of autumn leaves, always styled in some intricate style with half a hundred braids, dozens of pins and decorative pearls. You reminded Aemond of a stoat, dark eyes against muted auburn fur, lips always pursed, sniffing the air in search for hounds on your tail. You certainly were a skittish, jittery little thing.

The marriage was a quick affair, done at the Sept two days after Aemond wore the Conqueror’s crown for the first time. You weren't a part of some major house, all of the major houses were too close, too greedy, their breaths hot against his neck as they shoved their wedable daughters at him. The last thing he wished for was to be indebted to some trivial lord who thought his name elevated him to the same stratosphere as Aemond– a paltry lady of some low house bred in the Riverlands would do just fine, he expected his Valyrian seed to dominate any of their week genes anyhow.

He had met you once before, many years ago before he lost his eye. When he was forced to tag along on some meager diplomacy meeting with his grandsire– he remembers it as being forced, but in reality, he wished to attend. What else was a second son with no dragon to do? – and you had been there, hiding behind your father’s trousers. You had been wearing a blue dress, he remembered this distinctly, as it stood out against the ruby red of the apple you had offered him. 

Aemond had tried to speak with you, but you only communicated in nods and soft noises– something you only partially grew out of. He never understood why he remembered this girl, as you were insignificant in the seas of faces he’s met over his life. Mayhaps it was your quiet nature that he remembered, something that, now at his age and state of mind, struck him as malleable, easy to mold into what he needed you to be. 

And so it shall be. 

–

It was about two and a half moons after your marriage, he returned from a late council meeting. Rubbing his eye, feeling the familiar thrum of pain right behind the socket, he was already in a particularly sour mood. The council meeting had gone south, ending in most of the lords bickering over one another like children. 

It irritated Aemond to no end, the strain of an oncoming headache ever looming. He still struggled with intense pain from his eye, or rather, his socket and severed nerves. The pain was debilitating at times and if anyone dared to test his patience when it was particularly bad, he would snap at them like a cornered animal, no matter who it was. 

Raising his head, he noticed the hearth was still going strong, multiple candles still lit in the solar, despite it being late at night. The now familiar crop of auburn hair was peeking from behind the couch— his wife was usually never up this late. 

“Why are you still awake, wife?” he asked as he took off his gloves, clenching and unclenching his fists. 

“… reading. I was waiting for you.” you murmured in your usual hushed tone, the sound of your book closing was louder than your voice. 

“I told you not to do that. It’s unnecessary.” he grunted in response, undoing the latches of his leather doublet. 

“I-I don’t mind it… I just sleep a bit easier…” you continued, no doubt twiddling the end of your braid between your fingers— an anxious habit.

“You need proper rest. I won’t have my wife looking like a sleepless, sloven mess,” Aemond chastised, discarding his shirt. “Now, what are you reading?” he was becoming increasingly irritated with you, feeling as if he had to force you to take care of yourself and unlatch you like a leech from him. When you looked upon him with your wide eyes filled with uncertainty and fear, he felt the overwhelming urge to wrap his fingers around your throat and squeeze until you passed out or mayhaps went limp, like a doll.

“Oh,” you slid the book towards him on the side table, it was a book on the history of Old Valyria and its language, usually used for children to begin speaking it. “Nyke j-jaelagon… naejot ēdrugon… va ao.” I wish to sleep next to you. 

Aemond’s brow furrowed. “What use do you have to learn High Valyrian, wife? Issa dōna ābrazȳrys mijegon nykeā notion isse zȳhon bartos, wanting naejot gūrēñagon mirros ziry daor.” My sweet wife without a thought in her head, wanting to learn something she cannot. 

You reached for the book, your comprehension not skilled enough yet to pull what Aemond was saying to you. Before you could grab it, he slammed his hand down on the book, effectively snatching it from your grasp. You pouted her bottom lip. “I want to learn… mayhaps it might bring us closer together.” 

Aemond scoffed, the sound sending a sting of pain right into the core of your chest. “We are as close as we need to be, little one. We are married in the eyes of Gods and men and we fulfill our marital duty by trying to produce heirs, hm?” He placed the book back on the shelf. “This nonsense of wanting to be closer is moot. I won’t hear of it anymore.” 

A glaze of sorrow flashed through your eyes before you got up from the couch, tightening the housecoat around your shoulders. 

“Come to bed,” he said, moreso as a command than a suggestion. “I know you are cold, ābrazȳrys.” Wife. 

You made a small noise of discernment, crawling into bed after him. 

He looped his arms around you, pressing you to his bare chest. He radiated heat like a furnace and was quick to warm you up– you were always so cold, he noted. He surely hoped that your children together would inherit his fiery blood and not the weak-willed, uninsulated Andal blood you possessed.

Aemond bounced from being indifferent to you, paying you no more mind than a maid or a whore, to needing you, every part of you. He didn’t see you as a person, moreso an extension of himself, latched onto his body until he consumed you entirely, your bones fusing together as one. To him, you were a doll or plaything to entertain him, testing the mettle of your will, to see if you were of poor craftsmanship and would break. He had always broken his toys as a child.

You could tell by the rhythm of his breathing, he wasn’t going to sleep just yet– you’d become very attuned to his moods, his small intakes of air against your neck causing your skin to prickle into goosebumps. His lips ghosted over your throat, one of his arms coming up to wrap near the base of your windpipe, not yet applying pressure, but the threat was there. 

No, it wasn’t so much as a threat than it was a promise– he quite liked applying pressure to your airways when you coupled, his lone violet eye centered intently on yours as they went from wide to half-lidded, soft whimpers of pleading to stop, sometimes for more, more. He relished in holding your very life in his hands and you let him. 

“Mayhaps I should get you a collar, wife,” he hummed, his voice husky and deep, reverberating deep within your chest as your heart pounded. “But I think you like my hands much better, don’t you?” 

“Y-yes,” you breathed, the small swallowing bob of your throat felt against the palm of his hand, causing him to grin. “... I fancy them– on my tender neck… between my legs…” you responded, feeling slightly bold at the notion you put forth. The heat of his body permeated your skin, warming your core into an ever familiar feeling.

Aemond all but growled at your comment, positioning the both of you to where you were laying with your back upon him, as if you were lazing upon him like a chair. “Feeling courageous tonight, are we? No matter, my dear, you will break all the same,” his mouth pressed to the shell of your ear, teeth nipping at your lobe. “Like every night before, and every night to come– your life is in my hands,” he enunciated this with a squeeze to your neck, eliciting a small mewl from you. “Is it not? Say it.”

“M-my life– belongs to you, husband,” you managed to squeak out.

“Not husband, not now. You know the rules.”

“M-my king, your grace,” you rephrased quickly.

He clicked his tongue in slight admonishment. “A bit slow on the take tonight, little one,” Aemond muttered, slotting his leg between yours and kicking your thighs apart. “Keep them open.” his voice was dripping with something between venom and sticky sweet honey. He felt akin to a God every time he was in the sky, every time he sat the throne with the crown on his head, and every time he rested his hand on your pretty little throat as he sheathed himself to the hilt inside of you so easily, so free of resistance. “So slick for me, just from the smallest of chokes– fucking whore.” he hissed, starting a slow, deliberate pace as his hips met against your bottom. The pair of you were like two threads, intertwined with his legs pretzeling around yours, keeping you spread open. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as he continued to bully that sensitive, spongy spot within you– but you craved so much more, feeling waves of heat emanate from your sensitive bud as it screamed at your brain, begging to be touched. You made the critical error, thinking your husband was too focused on his own pleasure to notice you going for your own, as your hand slowly descended between your legs, rubbing small circles upon your pearl.

How wrong you were.

His arm came up further, his bicep pressing to the bottom of your chin, his free palm slapping your hand away from yourself. “Are you truly fucking stupid tonight, wife?” he spat, stilling his thrusts. “When did I say you could touch yourself? Have I fucked you stupid already?” Aemond huffed in frustration. “My poor, dumb wife– you cannot do anything right, can you?” he slid you off of him, then flipped over to loom atop you, taking both of your hands within one of his, his large hand encapsulating your wrists with ease, trapping them above your head. 

You sniffed, tears welling at your lash line, threatening to spill– not just from his downright mean admonishments, but from your stolen gluttony, your pleasure stolen so close to the precipice. “‘M sorry, your grace,” you cried, “Forgive me.”

“You’re lucky you have such a sweet cunt,” Aemond mused, his immodest and downright sinful language going straight to your core as he nestled inside of you once more, menacing atop you like a darkening cloud. “I forgive you– and will even pleasure you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To come?”

You nodded fervently, your lamenting tears spilling over and running down your cheeks.

“I’m feeling quite generous, then– I’ll let you. If you beg me.”

“P-please–” you blubbered, “Please let me come, my king.”

A sickly smirk came over his face once more as he pushed forward again, not bothering with the slow and meticulous pace he had before. His hips slammed into yours as he surged into you, as if you were nothing more than a cocksleeve for his pleasure. And yet, and yet– his hand didn’t move to the apex of your legs, chasing his own high before he would give into yours.

“Aemond, please, please– please touch me, f-fuck, your grace– my k-king, please!” you were all but wailing now, half in ecstasy and half in pure beseechment, pleading for just some semblance of the lecherous, stimulating and lewd sensation that only he could give you.

He took mercy on you, the pad of his thumb zeroing in on your leaking folds, giving your clit a cheeky pinch. It was a delightful pain– that was what being with Aemond was, what it came down to. Every waking moment with him was thrilling, sublime, agonizing, unending torture– and you fucking loved it. 

Your mouth hung open, you were sobbing freely now, your lips quirked into a euphoric and maddened smile. “Thank you, tha-nk you, t-thank you, I love you, I love you,” you gasped, your lungs ballooning with air as you begged him further, “P-please, around my neck–” 

Something animalistic came out of Aemond at your request, his hand draping around your throat like a necklace. “My sweet, dumb wife– you don’t know what to do unless I tell you, unless I let you, unless I guide you to your release, hm?” he prostrated each word with a deep thrust. The combination of his ministrations on your bundle of nerves, the head of his cock callously beating into your sweet spot, and the squeeze of his hand around your neck– it was enough. 

With a garbled string of words, prayers, denotes of love, pronouncements of his prowess, his titles, his name– the coil inside of you snapped, lighting every nerve you had in your body on fire. You saw stars as your climax wracked through you like a tempest, the absolute vice grip of your core sending Aemond into his own completion, his seed painting your walls and then some.

In your fucked-out delirium, you thought you might’ve heard him say something– you didn’t decipher it until later when you were half asleep, his softened member still lodged inside of you somehow as he curled you into his chest.

“My love, my wife– I love you.”

[paleprincessturtle]

harvey fic request! :) maybe they get in a spat about harvey getting jealous or a miscommunication but then they fix it and then super fluffy

Hiiii!!! Thank you so much for the request and I'm so so so so sorry it took so long for me to continue writing here. Life been tough but here I am. Enjoy❤️

The Greenest

When Harvey received a phone call from Mike, he was happy, to say the least. But upon hearing what he had to say, Harvey sighed. There was this charity in Seattle, and both Mike and Rachel invited him. Harvey dodged the question by saying that he had to ask his wife. It wasn't that Harvey didn't want to donate his money for a good cause, but he rarely spent time with his wife now. He just wanted to stay home and do absolutely nothing with his wife in his arms. He could just write a check for it and make up some excuse later.

Harvey got home to Pink Floyd blasted through the house. He couldn't help but hum along with the song. It would be useless, he thought, to call out for his wife. He found her in their bedroom, a few dresses draped on the bed as she stood in front of her kingdom of shoes. "Are we going somewhere?" Harvey asked casually as he took off his suit. She jumped at his voice, eyes wide. "You scared the living hell out of me," she said, reaching for her phone to turn down the volume of the speaker. "Well, I suggest you shouldn't give your husband a spare key, then." Harvey rolled up his sleeves as he observed the dresses. "We're going somewhere?" Harvey asked again. "Oh yes! Mike and Rachel invited us to this charity gala. It's for abused women and children. Can you imagine?" Harvey watched as his wife's face scrunched in sadness. He swore this woman wouldn't even hurt a fly. "It's in Seattle?" Harvey asked again as she earned an eager nod. Well played, Mike, Harvey thought. Going straight to his wife. Well played. "We sure can come, yes?" Harvey looked at his wife, knowing damn well it wasn't a question. He nodded and smiled. 

Harvey's favorite thing to do whenever he went out with his wife was to watch her get ready. He watched his wife put on matching underwear in black, all lacey. He stole a glance at his watch as his brain raced at the possibility of tempting his goddess of a wife for a little fun activity. "Don't think about it, Harvey." His wife scolded him as she watched him from the unreasonably huge mirror in their hotel room. "Think about what?" Harvey asked, pretending to be clueless. "Think about taking off my underwear, bending me over, having your way with me, being late, and what excuse should you give Mike for being late?" Harvey smirked at the sultry way his wife said it. "We've been in this dance before, Harvey. I will not fall for it again. Now, why won't you be a nice gentleman and zip my dress?"

"Jeez, Harvey. Didn't you arrive at the hotel yesterday? This whole thing started an hour ago!" Mike scolded Harvey, who gave him a knowing look. "Seriously?" Mike gave him a disgusted look, and not long after, his wife came along. Mike hugged her and thanked her for coming. He then managed to explain this charity he and Rachel are now part of. He also said it would be good for the charity to know two successful New York lawyers are here, siding with the charity. It just meant more money for the charity. Which was great.

Not long after, Rachel came, and she gave them brief hugs. She managed the whole event, so Rachel was running around as she made sure that nothing went awry. The three of them were having a good time. They talked about what was going on in their lives. Harvey probably would have to admit that this wasn't an entirely bad idea to come. Mike nudged Harvey, "There, that's the city attorney. Let's put that pretty face to good use." Harvey looked back at his wife, signaling for her to come along. "I need to go to pee; I'll look for you later." Harvey smiled at her as he followed Mike.

Harvey just realized that his wife was never to find him. It had been 20 minutes; surely she didn't need that long. Harvey tried to look around. He squinted his eyes at the sight of his wife, who happened to look way too comfortable with a man he had never seen before but was somewhat familiar. A man her age. Harvey frowned as he hurriedly excused himself. He made a beeline to where his wife stood but slowed down his pace when he was near. "Oh Jackson, you know how it is in New York," Harvey heard his wife laugh not long after. "Well, then maybe you should consider moving here." Before he could hear what his wife's reply would be, Harvey stood beside her, an arm wrapped around her hip. Harvey didn't miss the way this Jackson guy's eyes followed where Harvey's hand rested. "Won't you introduce us, sweetheart?" Harvey asked a rhetorical question. She sensed something wasn't quite right with Harvey's attitude. "Jackson, this is Harvey, my husband." Harvey extended his free hand. "Harvey, this is Jackson ...." Before she could finish her sentence, he jumped in. "I'm her ex-fiance," Jackson said, shaking Harvey's hand. Harvey gave him a curt smile. "Who would have thought that Harvey Specter is your husband?" Jackson said to her, but his eyes never left Harvey's. Again, before she could say anything, Harvey said, "What can I say, Jackson? I'm immaculate, and my wife has an immaculate taste." They looked at each other for quite some time, trapped in an uncomfortable silence as the two men tried to intimidate one another. Harvey then remembered that he once went against him in court. Harvey won, of course. "Well, it was nice to meet the two of you," he was about to leave when he stopped in front of her, "especially you; I'll give you a call when I visit New York." Before he left, he touched her bare arm. And Harvey was seething. Harvey took her hand to make them face-to-face. "What the fuck was that?" Harvey said, his jaw tightening. "What the fuck was that? What the fuck was what? I was just trying to get him to donate, Harvey!" Harvey scoffed, "By flirting with your ex-fiance, who suggested you move here?" She looked at him, exasperated. "We're going back to the hotel," Harvey said quietly. He took her elbow as he guided her out of the crowd. "Harvey, we are invited here to help them raise the donation," he said, shaking his head. "We're going back to the hotel." Harvey's voice left no room for argument. Before exiting the venue, she caught a glimpse of a confused Mike. She shook her head in silence before Mike became out of view. 

The two of them were silent during the ride back to the hotel. "We're back now at the hotel, happy?" she said sharply as she took off her heels. "We could've helped more if you weren't being so childish and being all jealous!" She raised her voice, both hands on her hips. She looked at Harvey's back, and he poured himself some scotch. "If you weren't flirting like a high school girl, we would still be there." Venom laced his voice. He turned to face his wife. "Do I need to pack your things and send them here so you can get back with Jackson?" His wife shook her head in disbelief at his words. He finished the glass in seconds, opened the door, and slammed it hard. She sighed and prepared herself a bubble bath. There is no use in arguing with him now.

She woke up with the curtain open. She squinted her eyes. She was greeted with the sight of Harvey sitting in a chair just beside the bed. "Hey, sunny," Harvey said softly. She didn't say anything or react; she just stared at him. "I'm sorry," he said genuinely, she could tell. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did; I'm really working on my issues. She nodded, she knew he tried. "Did I hurt you?" he asked as he took her hand in his. He did so as if he might break her, so gently. "You did," she answered quietly. "I'm really sorry," he kissed her hand softly. "It's okay, Harvey. Just try to work on yourself harder, okay? I'm here ready to help if you need anything, but no more lashing out," she said as she caressed his cheeks. Harvey leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" Without answering, she moved over and signed for Harvey to lay beside her. 

[vixstarria]

The morning after

I felt like doing a little follow-up to the love confession fic and writing a bit of silly camp banter.

The party join forces in poking fun at Astarion.

All origin characters, Tav, humour, banter, comfort, non-explicit, no spoilers

Approximately 700 words

AO3

You left Astarion’s tent. He stayed behind to fix his hair – his bedhead was truly a sight to behold, but it was a sight reserved for your eyes only. 

You were almost surprised to see that the world just went on as normal. The magic of the night began to dissipate as you had to turn your attention to the mundane. If only you could stop time... Encapsulate the memory and all the feelings that came with it, and keep returning to it, over and over.  

“There she is!!” came a cheerful shout from Karlach, as you approached the group, already busy around the campfire before you broke for the day. You sat down next to her, on the edge of a log, as she pressed a bowl of some kind of porridge concocted by Gale into your hands. 

“Hells, did Astarion keep you up all night? You look like shit.” She took a closer look at you. “Smug, happy shit,” she continued. “What were you up to in there? Wait, NO, don’t answer that!” 

“Don’t be so envious, darling,” drawled Astarion as he emerged, sitting down to her other side, fiddling with a damaged piece of equipment he’d neglected to repair the day before.  

“Envious?! Please, what would I even do with you, I’d break you in half.” 

Karlach grabbed and held Astarion in a bear hug, just about pulling him into her lap. 

“But you - you’re always hanging around Mama K, like a cat looking for the warmest spot.” 

Anyone else would have lost an arm for such familiarity, but Karlach seemed to have special permission. You weren’t sure whether it was because Astarion sympathised with her not having been able to touch anyone for years, or if it really was as simple as him enjoying the heat radiating from her. You suspected it was both. He’d never admit it, so you’ve never asked.  

“Release me at once, you foul beast!” 

“Say the magic word, fangs!” 

Astarion looked at you and mouthed “Help”. 

“You’ll be fine, love, she’ll get bored and let go eventually,” you ruffled his hair and returned to your porridge. The word “love” tasted different on your tongue to all the other times you’d thrown it around casually, and you smiled to yourself, as though at a private joke no one else was in on. 

“You know, Astarion really is a cat. Always striving to be the centre of attention, then being offended when he actually gets it,” pondered Wyll.  

“I’ve seen him get the zoomies in the middle of the night after returning from a hunt,” added Shadowheart. 

“Licking blood off his hands after a fight is definitely a feline gesture.” Even Lae’zel was taking part in antagonising him today. 

“He’s knocked over my drink for no reason passing by before,” offered Wyll.  

“He bites,” added Lae’zel. 

“And he does play with his prey before killing it,” mused Shadowheart. “And before I get stabbed – I'm not talking about you, Tav.” 

“And he’s just SO. DAMN. CUTE. Look at his pointy ears! Aaaahhhh!” squealed Karlach.  

Astarion continued to struggle in Karlach’s grip, kicking at the air, somehow winding up basically lying in her lap, sideways, as the group giggled amongst themselves.  

“Well I’ve had cats and even a tressym my whole life, and speaking from the height of my lifelong experience, the real defining question is this,” said Gale, sitting down with his own bowl. “When he’s hungry in the morning, does he wake you by tapping on your nose, and then turn around and show you his butthole?” 

“Ugh.” 

“Gale!” 

“What the actual fuck, Gale?” 

“AHAHAHA!” 

"Still as suicidal as ever, I see,” you commented, your shoulders shaking, as Astarion finally managed to slide out of Karlach’s hold, collapsing onto the ground, as she roared.  

“You better watch what comes out of your mouth, magician, you’re already on thin ice,” said Astarion. The threat lost its edge due to Astarion’s disheveled look and the fact that he too couldn't keep his face straight. “Now if you’ll excuse me...” He got up and walked away, dusting himself off. 

“The dignity, the grace, the sense of balance...” continued Wyll.  

~~~~~

Next in series - Intimacy

Series master list

AO3

[aetherdoesthings]

hanahaki!reader x arlecchino part 2

forethoughts: i'm aetherdoesthings, of course i don't stick to my schedule. anyways, apologies if the timing of this fic seems wonky. i had specific scenarios in my head when i was planning this, with each stage of filming, which i have no clue about because that is not the path i took, so yeah :]. enjoy early upload!

notes: alocohol mentioned!!! drinking is in this!!! reader does drink!! don't be like reader this was just for plot drink responsibly guys!!! modern setting, arlecchino and reader are actresses, fem!reader, hanahaki au

“So, how’s everything? Still coughing up a storm?” You choked on your coffee when you heard that familiar voice, echoing in your head like a broken stereo. 

“I guess you still are. Wow, an entire year?” Arlecchino chuckled, pressing a few buttons on the coffee machine. “So what did the doctor say? Just a cough? Cold? Colds don’t last for a year. Doesn’t look like a fever.”

“R-Right, u-um, just a cough. Y-Yeah.” You nodded your head, mustering up a smile.

Damn it, Y/N, you’re an actress. Act. You scolded yourself on your performance. 

“Alright then.” Arlecchino gazed at your smile, one finding its way onto hers. “I hope you’ll be okay; tomorrow is all about shooting promotion videos and the day after traveling from studio to studio to do interviews.”

Your face instantly paled at Arlecchino’s words. Shit. Promo week. No rest, non stop smiling, repeating the same phrase over and over again on different networks and platforms. The worst part was that Arlecchino was right by your side the entire time during the shoot, acting all lovey dovey towards you to sell to the audience that the two of you were playing a pair of couples. Then again, you would be lying if you said you weren’t excited to read comments after comments of netizens shipping the two of you together. Your heart fluttered at the thought, the child inside you kicking their feet in the air as you held back a grin. Well, you held the grin back, but not the cough.

Your left hand shot up to your mouth, your body already letting the cough take place, letting the petal travel up your esophagus and into your palm. You didn’t like how your body was already used to the feeling of having a part of a flower regurgitate out of you, muscles immediately jumping into action and making way for the disease in your lungs. Your stomach churned as Arlecchino rubbed her hand on your back, trying to comfort you and make you feel better.

“Oh, Y/N…” Arlecchino’s hand took the hand that was on your mouth, holding it in hers as she made you look at her. It took every single willpower inside you to not blush or let any sort of heat course through your body, biting down a whine as her fingers found its way to your chin. Your bones turned into toothpicks, joints threatening to disappear. 

“Are you sure you are going to be alright? You don’t need to power through all those interviews if you physically cannot-”

“I can.” A surge of stubbornness and pride overpowered your senses. Arlecchino didn’t know you were in love with her, and Arlecchino certainly did not need to know you were in love with her, and that you were a weak little coward that let a disease run your life.

“I can.” You repeated yourself, nodding your head. “I’ll power through. I promise.”

You felt like you were telling yourself that more than you were telling Arlecchino. 

Arlecchino stared at you, those crimson eyes giving you no clue into what she felt. Arlecchino pursed her lips, before removing herself from you. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, darling.”

And just like that, Arlecchino left the room, her hands leaving your body. You let out a gasp at the missing touch, confused and baffled by her actions, cheeks flaring red at her nickname for you. All alarms in your brain all went off at once, your stomach doing a backflip and your vertical toothpicks turning horizontal. You looked at your left hand, noticing the empty palm. That’s strange. A flower petal was always there after your skin turned red and you got lightheaded. Your mind flashed back to Arlecchino’s hand around yours, how you thought her act of intertwining your fingers was supposed to be an effort to comfort you. 

Oh, how naïve you were.

Arlecchino had the petal.

Arlecchino knew.

Arlecchino was going to have the evidence she needed to confirm her suspicions.

How would she even know-

You always coughed whenever she got close or when you talked to her, you idiot, and she’s a fucking genius, so she’ll piece everything together! Your brain quarreled with each other, your body leaving the room as you stood there like a soldier made of stone, palm open and empty.

Maybe there wasn’t a petal this time. One side argued.

There always is one. 

But maybe there wasn’t.

You leaned onto that sentence, clinging onto it as if it was your lifeline. Maybe there wasn’t a petal this time when you coughed. Maybe it really was just a cough. It wasn’t a cough from your stupid crush on the beautiful, intelligent-

She definitely knows.

You stared at the bread knife on the table, stabbed into a piece of baguette. If only that baguette was your heart, perhaps you wouldn’t have to deal with the constant yes or no that battled in your head, no side willing to raise the white flag yet. 

This was Arlecchino. Hollywood star with a hundred million followers. Everybody knew her name. No haters, no drama, just an absolute queen living among peasants. And… you were one of those peasants. 

As if Arlecchino would ever love you back.

As if Arlecchino would ever want to spend time with you, a total D tier so-called actress.

But maybe there wasn’t a petal this time.

Maybe. How that word was able to make hope fill your heart and shatter it into tiny pieces.

Furina was giving a speech. You were amongst the crowd of both cast and crew, a glass of wine in your damp grip. Your finger drummed against your pants, waiting for her monologue to end so you could ditch the party. 

Somehow, you managed to survive through the whole filming process, despite having to cough up petals every day. Yes, people turned their eyes towards you, then towards the other normal people to talk about the freak you were. Coughing and disrupting every other scene where Arlecchino’s character had to be in close proximity with you. The minute Furina ended her speech, you snatched a full bottle of wine from one of the serves, disappearing into the blank hallways before anyone could start a conservation with you. You ducked into a nearby broom closet, the walls managing to drown out most of the sound of laughter and conversations. You closed the door behind you, sinking down to your knees as a sigh of relief passed through your lips instead of a petal. With the bottle of wine already opened, you wrapped your lips around the front, chugging all the wine down your throat, hoping that’ll be enough to make you forget your situation, even better end your predicament for you. If the disease wasn’t going to kill you, alcohol will. And you were a much bigger fan of the latter.

The noise did not die down for the rest of your time you spent in the closet, your head resting against the wood. Maybe no one will find you here, and leave you here to rot. Yeah. No one paid attention to you, even though you were supposed to be the co-star of the movie. After all, it was Arlecchino you were working with. Arlecchino. Everyone loved her, everyone wanted a picture with her. You? You were just there to hold her bags. That was all you were worth.

“Oh, Arlecchino.” You laughed into the darkness, head rolling against the door. “Why must you be like this?”

You despised the feeling of helplessness and dependency on another person.

You never intended to fall in love with Arlecchino. The constant need to see her and hear her voice was never desired.

And now there was a damn disease you were plagued with that forced you to confront something you wish never existed.

There were two options to get rid of hanahaki forever. Either you confess your love to Arlecchino and she says yes, or you confess your love to Arlecchino and get rejected. 

“Like she’ll ever love me back.” You laughed, bringing the glass to your mouth, even though it was empty.

Suddenly, the door swung open, causing you to fall onto the wooden ground, drunken eyes readjusting to the harsh lights, a crimson and white figure partially blocking your sight.

“Hmn. So this is what people stricken by hanahaki is like? They drink themselves out of their misery and hide in a broom closet?” Arlecchino’s voice echoed in your head, that signature snarkiness and mockery in her voice. Though there was a tint of warmth and concern in her voice as well, or maybe you were just hallucinating again. 

Yep, you’re done for.

[alienoresimagines]

can you write [knuckles] for a kiss on the hand? thank you!!

I'm sorry this took so long, I hope you're still around 🥺❤️But here it is, 1.8k long despite my best efforts at keeping it under 1k 😅 I hope you'll like it 💕 Also on AO3 My other Clegan fics here

Never Coming Down (With Your Hand In Mine) | Buck x Bucky

The radio they managed to find doesn't tell them much of interest regarding the Allies’ troops and their progress, but writing any tidbits of information down gives John something to focus on that isn't this camp, this life that isn't really a life but that isn't death either, just some in-between that John is stuck in, unable to do anything or be useful. One foot in the grave and every day wishing a bit more it was both. In the darkest corner of his mind, he thinks that perhaps his death would save Gale from tiring himself to the bone trying to keep John tethered to Earth. Maybe, at least then, he could be useful to Buck. 

The thought is squashed away almost immediately, guilt crawling in his throat. Those few days after Gale had gone down over Bremen were the worst in John's life. The certainty that he was now a piece of something that would never be whole again, with no home to fight for anymore, had been the most excruciating pain John's ever known. Over the course of just a few months, he’s lost more friends than he can count, each loss cutting deeper. But losing Gale hadn’t just felt like losing a limb. From the moment Red’s distorted voice reached his ears through the phone - “He went down swinging, John” - he was an empty shell walking, his chest hollow with no heart, some vital part of him missing. No matter how miserable this camp makes him, wishing such agony on his best friend, his better half is unbearable. If only to spare Gale any additional pain, he’ll plant both feet in the mud until they stop trying to get him closer to that barbed-wire fence. 

Yet, despite desperately wishing Gale out of harm’s way, his being chained to the dirt with him is John’s saving grace. In the darkness of the Stalag, Gale shines brighter than the North Star, and John fights every day to keep himself from the fog in his head to grasp at this soft golden light. It's easier at night, the weight of Gale in his arms a grounding presence, the distinct smell of him feeling more and more like home, but John is starting to make it through some days always there too. Listening to the radio also helps, especially when most days, it's just him and Gale at the table, the others keeping watch on the guards from outside. Soon it'll be too cold for them to do so without it being suspicious or dangerous for their own health, but for now, John is glad he gets to spend more time alone with Gale. His ma always said he fights tooth and nail for those he loves, and right now, he's desperately grasping at the fading rays of sunlight, selfishness be damned.

Today, the BBC doesn't have any interesting news to keep hold of his attention for long, so he mostly scribbles down what he hears without making sense of the words strung together, too focused on the solid presence of Buck on his right. With both of them being right-handed, it would have been too much of a hindrance to be pressed close enough for their shoulders to touch, but their knees knock together every so often, like silent banter. It sends sparks of warmth down John's spine, the focused tilt of Gale's mouth only amusing him in his boredom. In the past five minutes, he's sent his knee against Gale's in soft presses, alternating between lingering and fleeting touches until the word B-U-C-K is successfully floating in the air, though the man himself seems entirely unaware of it, tongue darting between his lips in concentration. Bucky's debating coding G-A-L-E, just to see if the rare occurrence of his given name will snap the other out of his focus when said man grunts softly as he scribbles, pencil scratching the paper as it nears the edge. John mindlessly hands him a blank piece of paper, more than attuned to all the different ways the other has to ask for something without voicing his desires, eyes trained on the stray blond curl falling on Buck’s forehead. Without lifting his eyes from his piece of paper, Gale extends a pale hand to take John's offering, the contact of their fingers sending a jolt through John's blood. He lets out a yelp, slightly jerking back before diving in to hold Gale's hands between his own, Buck's sound of confusion and protest as his pencil is thrown out of his hold swallowed by John's cursing.

"Jesus, Buck, your hands are fuckin' freezing." John doesn't feel particularly warm but the difference in temperature between both their hands is such that he half-expects the air to start hissing. How Gale can still move his fingers is a mystery to him, and his gut goes tight with worry. Trying to rub warmth back into those hands, John brings them to his face so that he can blow hot air on long fingers. He's deeply aware of how intimate the gesture is, especially in a place like this, and he can feel heat rising to his cheeks but he focuses stubbornly on his task. Keeping his eyes on those hands he’s never held so close to his face is a necessary precaution to ensure he doesn’t dismiss any inch of skin in his mission to warm them enough that he doesn’t have to worry about them falling off, and it has the additional effect of allowing John to study them without fearing being caught.

Gale's hands truly are beautiful. They've always been, and in the years he's known the other, John has spent more time than he probably should have admiring them. How they wrap in a strong grip around the yolk to wield a metal fortress effortlessly, how long, slender fingers bring a toothpick to the plump curve of his lips. Calluses on fingers and rough palms that were still so gentle and kind when they tended to John's wounds just a few months ago. Today, they look frail and dry, the knuckles angry red and cracked from the cold. It hurts to even look at them, those hands that were more suited for piano and gently guiding horses across fields now cracked by misery and cold. Acting on an urge, he presses a kiss to the knuckles of both, a silent promise to warm them and get them better, to get them far from weapons and barbed fences, and back to horses and piano and books.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Gale blinking owlishly at him, perfectly still. Between them, the radio crackles, words floating in the air but never making it to any paper. After a few more seconds, Gale's voice rises too, soft despite his usual deep southern drawl.

"I need my hands back, Bucky." John frowns, still rubbing his palms over Gale's hands to warm them. Admittedly, he knows Gale can't write with his foot, even though imagining it almost makes him smile, but really, nothing the BBC is broadcasting right now is worth the risk of Gale losing his hands to the cold. Unconsciously, he brings Gale's hands closer to his face, just shy of nuzzling them with the tip of his nose, already thinking of all the ways he could get them warm. It would be, like many things, easier at night. With the cold, everybody has taken up to sharing a bunk and no one would notice if Gale's hands were pressed to his skin, under his shirt. Even though the thought of those icicles against more sensitive skin than his palms isn't exactly a pleasant one, he'd do it in a heartbeat. For the day, when it would be too risky for John to hold Gale's hands in his pockets, maybe he could find him some gloves, at least make mittens out of socks, to soften the blow of the cold and the sting of the wind. 

"Bucky ?" Eyes snapping to Gale's, he finds him with his head slightly tilted to the side, cheeks red from the cold. It's then he realizes he still has both of Gale's hands in his. The other looks at him and then back at his paper before raising his brows in a silent question, making John huff. Reluctantly, he lets go of Gale's right hand but immediately cradles his left hand on his lap. He hopes Gale will be satisfied with this, but the other keeps looking at him insistently, a fond glint in his eyes but brows slightly furrowed, as if his left hand being held in both of John's is a math problem he can’t solve.

At the silent question, he rolls his eyes and makes a show of putting his own left hand on the upper part of Gale's paper, making sure it doesn't move from its spot on the table. The paper is smooth against his fingertips, contrasting with the rough feel of the wooden table that has given them more than their fair share of splinters on his palm. He misses the feeling of Gale’s hands in his. For a moment, he had felt whole in a way he usually only feels at night. Gale's hand is starting to get warmer in his, the skin rough from the cold, but John has never held something as delicate and precious as it, save for Gale himself.

Resting their joined hands on his lap, he intertwines their fingers and fights down the blush he can feel creeping up his neck, eyes resolutely on the paper in front of the other. There’s no reason to feel nervous, they’ve slept in each other’s arms so often by now it really shouldn’t matter, but something about the fact that this isn’t about survival forces him to take a deep breath before moving. With one slide over the bench, his side is pressed to Gale’s, shoulders rising and falling in tandem. He’s glad to notice that Buck isn’t as cold as his hands, warmth seeping from his side to John’s as rapidly as the tension leaves the set of his shoulders until he’s pressing back into John.

They'll work slower like that but Gale doesn't protest nor take his hand away, only resettling slightly so his thigh also rests against John’s. Tentatively, he risks a glance at Gale and finds him looking down at the table, face still red but from something John has an inkling isn't the cold anymore, biting his bottom lip softly but mouth nonetheless quirked upwards. It takes every ounce of strength and self-restraint in him not to kiss him, to smother the affection blooming in his chest. Instead, after a bit of silence in which he feels he might suffocate on pent-up love, John squeezes Gale's hand in his and the other seems to focus back on his task, startled. Clearing his throat, Gale starts scribbling again, pointedly avoiding looking to his left, but John doesn't mind, a smile spreading his cracked lips, fondness written plain on his face as he doesn’t look away for a second.

On his lap, Gale squeezes his hand back.

[lightsoutletsgo]

gotta go my own way — ln.4

pairing: lando norris x reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: angst to absolute crack and stupidity that makes no sense

request: Hi, can you do an angsty fic inspired by “I gotta go my own way” from HSM2. If can either be Charles or Lando or Charlando and they fuck up or something and reader leaves them? Maybe hurt/no comfort? It’s okay if you don’t want to

I fully thank @norrizzandpia for the hot mess that is the end of this fic. we couldn't stop cry laughing once we pictured the rest of the grid watching them sing the song and thus the end of the fic was born. (also credits to them bc I stole some of the dialogue lines they sent to my dm's!) happy reading! mimi 🤍 (I'm so so sorry if this isn't the request fill you were hoping for 😭)

taglist (all works): @arieslost - babe I'm so sorry I'm tagging you in this mess

“Y/N wait!!” You heard Lando call your name from the opposite side of the hotel courtyard and you turned to see him sprinting after you. You stopped and rested your suitcase next to you as he reached you, “Where are you going? Baby we can talk about this!” His hand reached for your arm and you stepped back with a sigh, “Lando… Listen…” He looked at you, pleading as he searched your face, “I guess I just need to say it straight right?” Your heart clenched, god knows this wasn’t easy, “Something about us just… doesn’t seem right these days…” You tried to speak as gently as possible, wanting Lando to understand you weren’t mad at him. “Neither one of us can help it, I know that, but it feels like whatever we try and do somehow the plan is always rearranged…” You trailed off, stepping back towards him and taking his hand gently. You didn’t look up at him, instead choosing to look at where his hand was now gently squeezing yours, his thumb rubbing back and forth in a soothing motion. Whether it was to soothe you or himself you weren’t sure but you took a deep breath to calm yourself. 

He didn’t say a thing, just gave you the space to continue talking, “I knew what I signed up for when I started dating you and if I went back and did it all over again I wouldn’t change my mind. I guess I just didn’t expect that it would affect my life so much? My job, my friends, my family?” Your eyes flitted up to his and you noticed how there were tears now pricking the corner of his eyes. “So what are you saying?” Your bottom lip trembled as you shrugged apologetically, “I’ve got to move on and be who I am…” It was so silent that you hardly dared to breathe. “Lando I’ve tried, I really really have but… Losing my privacy? Losing my time with the other people I love? Sacrificing my job? I just-” Lando scoffed and took his hand away from you “But what about us? What about everything we’ve been through?” “Well what about trust and everything that I’ve given up for you?!” You couldn’t help the way you raised your voice, Lando flinched at your words, seeming to realise how blind he’d been about your struggles, 

“You know I never wanted to hurt you…” You nodded and almost shrunk in on yourself, “I know…” Lando approached you slowly, not wanting to make you feel pressured or smothered, “I just need to know… Do you not love me anymore?” You let out a forced laugh as your eyes welled up with tears, “Do I not love you anymore? Lando I still love you so much that it’s killing me to do this but I know I have to-” “Why? If you still love me then why?!” “Because if I don’t leave you now then I’ll continue to give up everything else for you because I love you that damn much but maybe for a while I need to love myself!” You ranted, panting when you finished. 

He inhaled sharply and you couldn’t help but let the tears fall as you spoke quietly, “I’m sorry- “Don’t apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was firm,  “I have to go, my flight is in a couple of hours.” “I’ll miss you.” His voice was even softer, barely audible even though you were so close to him. “Who knows… maybe we’ll find our place in the world someday?” Lando gave a weak smile, “Yeah, maybe we will… Can I hug you? Just once more and then I swear, I’ll let you leave.” You nodded, unable to speak as you started crying harder.

Lando pulled you into his arms, as he too felt the tears start to fall, “I know you need to do this but it still really fucking hurts…” “I know Lando,” You pulled back to gently cup his face, “I gotta go my own way…” You smiled with a shrug. He pulled you closer to him and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead, your eyes closing as you inhaled deeply. “I’ll see you round?” “Yeah,” You grabbed the handle of your suitcase and started to walk towards the door, “I’ll see you around.” ✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Alex sat on the balcony of his hotel room that overlooked the courtyard, enjoying the cool night air. The door opened and out stumbled Oscar and Logan, their eyes glassy from the alcohol they’d been drinking at the afterparty. Alex chuckled, “Steady on guys.” Logan gave him a hazy half-lidded smile, “I’m okay!” Alex snorted, “Sure you are.” He turned his attention back to his laptop where his movie was paused. “Oh look! There’s Lando and Y/N!” Alex followed where Oscar was pointing to see you dragging your suitcase and Lando running after you. “Oooo I missed them! Should I call them over? HEY LA- MMPH!” Logan’s shout was muffled by Alex darting to cover his mouth, “I think they’re fighting?” Oscar looked sad as Logan tapped Alex’s arm to release him, “Surely not? They’re the perfect couple?” Alex leaned over the balcony, thankful that it was quiet enough that they could hear some of the conversation.

“What’s up guys?” The door on the balcony of the room next door slid open and out stepped George and Charles, “Lando and Y/N are fighting?” “Lando and Y/N? There’s no way! They’ll work it out.” Charles said confidently shrugging. Oscar’s brows furrowed suddenly, “Are you guys hearing that music too?” George frowned and craned his ears, “Why does that sound like High School Musical?” “Alex, is your film playing?” Logan asked innocently, “You were watching High School Musical?” Oscar snickered, “NO!” “I don’t know if I should be more concerned that we’re hearing music coming from nowhere or that George knew what it was straight away…” George scoffed at Charles, “Excuse me but the second movie has the best songs.” 

“Is no one else concerned that it’s coming from where Lando and Y/N are?” Oscar pointed out. “Oh God they’re singing.” Alex’s jaw dropped open, “Shut up they’re not?” “I promise you they are.” George and Charles paused for a moment to look at each other before scrambling out of George’s room and down the hallway to Alex’s. They burst into the room and pushed their way onto the balcony, squishing in between Oscar and Alex to lean over the railing. Charles slapped a hand over his mouth as he heard Lando sing the next line very loudly and out of tune, “Are they high?” George pondered out loud, “What exactly is going on?” “Well it can’t be a fight, there’s no way that’s a fight.” Logan spoke matter of factly, “Do you think they’re aware of what they’re doing?” Their expressions varied as you warbled out a somewhat high note, 

“More than that, do you think they know we can hear them?” Logan’s hand came up to cover his ear, “Should we stop them?” Charles asked, “Nope!” “Absolutely not.” George and Alex spoke across each other as Oscar’s phone appeared out of nowhere in his hand and he held it up to start filming. “Are they okay?” Nobody answered Logan, instead just watching you and Lando, until they heard a cough from above them. Leaning back against the balcony and tipping their heads to look up they saw Carlos looking down at them, “That, my friends, is debatable. But it is entertaining, no?” Everyone’s attention turned back to the two of you as the song came to an end and you walked away from Lando, “Oh my god guys, I think that was actually them breaking up.” Logan stated as everyone stood there in shock. Nobody spoke for a moment until Carlos’ voice filtered down from the balcony above, “Also I’ve been out here the entire time and would like to let you know that Alex was actually watching Camp Rock.” 

[lostreverb]

things never change (pt. 2)

(post-prison!warren lipka x fem!reader) in where you cross paths with an old friend

content: angst, some fluff? maybe?

a/n: this was really fun to write in the most awful way my heart is sobbing. but i've always wanted to write a post-prison!warren fic so.. yay?

part 2 requested by @tracysent!

(here's part 1 if you haven't read)

--

when warren had left your unconscious body on the couch he returned to ghosting you. you thought you'd never see him again, until about a year later when your mom called you and told you to put on the news. "4 college students arrested for attempted robbery at transylvania university" was the headline. the story dominated local channels for weeks.

ultimately, your father never pressed charges against warren for stealing his painting. the monet remained exactly where it had been, still the centerpiece of the room—though now sporting a few dings and dents on the frame. nothing you couldn't replace without him noticing.

when your father heard the news, he practically jumped for joy.

"i told you that boy was nothing but trouble!" he exclaimed, his hands planted firmly on his hips as the screen showed four figures in orange jumpsuits walking out of the courthouse. "i'm glad he got out of your life when he did. couldn't imagine what it would've been like if, god forbid, he had gotten you wrapped up in something like this."

warren had already broken your heart twice. this time, he completely shattered your sense of self. did he ever care about you? had he only gotten close because you were well-off? or was it that the painting on the wall, the dream of quick riches, was just so much more enticing and valuable to him than you were?

you had talked to him about it before... dreams. warren fantasized about a life, outside of kentucky, maybe starting on a yacht in the bahamas and then traveling the world. it seemed so outlandish from the empty parking lot you were sharing a joint in, but you admired his ambition. to think you would've followed that idiot anywhere he went. hell and back. anything he would do, anything he went through, you would've been by his side. but now the reality was clear: your relationship was a one-way street that went miles on.

even though that night he had told you that he missed you, that he loved you while you lay underneath him. it was all just a mental diversion. a way to keep you docile while he served the only person he loved: himself.

it took years to put yourself back together, to trust again, to believe that someone could love you without an ulterior motive.

then that near decade of work— therapy, long conversations with friends, countless nights of self-reflection— was put to the test in one moment.

"..y/n?"

you looked up from your laptop, startled. there, standing before you in a philadelphia café, was none other than warren lipka. his long hair, once wild and untamed, was now brushed back, though a few loose waves still escaped from behind his ears, giving him that same effortlessly disheveled look you had once found so endearing. he had grown a short beard, the kind that hinted at maturity but still carried a touch of the boyish charm you remembered. despite the years that had passed, his face was almost exactly as you remembered—those sharp, familiar features that had once been the center of your world.

especially that damn smile of his.

"mind if i sit?"

you nodded, motioning to the chair across from you. part of you wondered if you were hallucinating. after all, with work, you hadn't been getting much sleep lately.

"i almost didn't come over, you know—didn't think it was you," he admitted, taking a seat. "but you know what tipped me off? that necklace."

you looked down at the delicate silver necklace, the one your grandmother had given you on your 16th birthday. the pendant, a small locket engraved with intricate floral designs, had once been her most cherished possession. when she placed it around your neck, she had told you stories of her youth, of love lost and found, of the strength she had needed to build a life on her own. she had smiled at you, her eyes filled with pride and warmth, and said, "this is yours now. a reminder that you're never truly alone, no matter where life takes you."

after she passed, the necklace became more than just a piece of jewelry. it was a tangible connection to her, to her wisdom and her love, something that kept you grounded when the world felt too overwhelming. you took a vow to never take it off for any reason, except to clean it. to you, it was as much a part of you as your own heartbeat.

you had shared this with warren one night, during one of your midnight dates. about your grandmother, about the promise you’d made to yourself regarding the necklace. it wasn’t a story you shared with many people, and when you spoke, you did so almost absentmindedly, not expecting him to truly listen. but he did.

"when did you…?" you started to ask, unsure how to finish. no one had told you warren had been released.

"almost three years ago," he replied, looking down at the table. "did seven years and some change."

"wow…" the word slipped out before you could stop it. warren, who had valued his youth so much and feared wasting his life away, had lost the entirety of his 20's just like that. the fact that he had come out on the other side seemingly unscathed was astounding.

as the conversation continued, you found yourself slipping back into an easy rhythm with warren, the years of distance and pain seeming to fade with each exchange. he told you about how he had decided to go back to school for filmmaking. it was a surprise, but also somehow made perfect sense. warren had always been drawn to storytelling, whether it was through his wild, grandiose dreams of the future or the way he could captivate an entire room with a well-spun tale.

“it’s funny,” he said, leaning back in his chair, a spark of enthusiasm lighting up his eyes. “after everything, i realized i wanted to create something that actually mattered. something that could make people feel, you know? i guess sitting in a cell for years gives you a lot of time to think about what you really want to do with your life.”

you nodded, genuinely impressed by his determination. “filmmaking suits you, warren. i can see you doing great things with it.”

“thanks, it’s been a journey, but i’m excited to see where it leads.”

when the conversation shifted to your career, warren listened intently as you shared how you had built a successful career in business consulting. you explained how you had worked your way up, navigating the corporate world with determination and a relentless drive to succeed. you spoke of the challenges you faced, the late nights, the difficult decisions, and the satisfaction of seeing your efforts pay off. it wasn't quite what you imagined for yourself all those years ago but you were happy with what you had.

“yeah, i could tell you were a big shot,” warren grinned. “there was never a doubt in my mind that you wouldn’t be.”

“thanks…” you replied, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

there was a brief pause, and you noticed warren’s expression shift to an almost hesitant look. he leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

“can i say something?” he asked, his voice softening with a sincerity that was almost disarming. “might be crossing a line, but i have to say it… you look just as fucking beautiful as the last time i saw you.”

the world stood still, frozen, as you processed his words. you felt your breath catch, your pulse quicken as you searched his eyes for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was a raw honesty that left you momentarily speechless.

“warren…” the way he was looking at you, as if no time had passed at all, threw you for a loop.

"i know, i know," he chuckled, looking down as he fiddled with a sugar packet. "don't want to get myself in trouble with your husband—or wife… whatever…"

"i'm… actually single…"

warren stopped fiddling with the sugar packet and looked up at you, his gaze steady. he didn't move his head, just stared at you for a long moment before shifting in his chair, his eyes drifting off to the young couple seated nearby. you had noticed them too when you first walked in.

"make sense kinda... you're genuinely too good for anybody, anyway. deserve way better than what most people have to offer.."

a heavy silence settled between you and the sounds of the bustling café faded into the background, except for the laughter of the couple nearby. their easy, carefree joy was a stark contrast to the weight of the moment you were sharing with warren. each second of silence felt like an eternity, amplifying the pain and confusion swirling inside you.

finally, warren broke the silence. "i’m sorry—and i know that when i say that word, you have no reason to believe me—but i am. it haunts me, the things i've done… leaving you there…" you could see the struggle in his eyes, the guilt that had clearly been gnawing at him for years.

you wanted to brush it off, to protect yourself from the flood of emotions that his words were stirring up. "that was 10 years ago," you replied quickly. "no need to bring it up."

warren shook his head, not ready to let it go. "i just wanted you to know that i loved you...i tried to convince myself that i didn’t… that what we had wasn’t real. i hadn’t even planned on seeing you again until i got desperate for cash and wanted to skip town. my biggest mistake was leaving your bed that night."

his words hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over the walls you had so carefully built around your heart. tears began welling up in your eyes, the sting of emotions you thought you had buried long ago. you turned your head, looking away, desperately trying to compose yourself, to regain the control that was slipping through your fingers.

but then, warren's hands gently clasped around yours. the warmth of his touch was both familiar and jarring, sending a shiver through you. you had thought you were over this—over him. you had convinced yourself that seeing him again would be nothing more than a footnote in your life, a chance to hear him out and move on, finally closing that chapter for good.

but all those preparations, all the mental rehearsals of how you would remain composed, indifferent even, had crumbled the moment he smiled at you. that damn smile, the one that had always been able to disarm you, to make you forget all the reasons you should be guarded.

as he held your hands, you could feel the sincerity in his grip, the way his fingers tightened slightly, as if he was afraid to let go, afraid that you might slip away again. the flood of memories, the good and the bad, rushed back, and the tears that had been threatening to spill finally broke free. you blinked rapidly, trying to push them back. you didn’t want him to see you like this, to know just how much he still affected you.

warren’s gaze softened as he watched you, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “i know i don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “but i need you to know that i never stopped thinking about you. even when i tried to convince myself that it was over, that we were done… i couldn’t let go. i still can’t.”

part of you wanted to pull away. but another part, the part that had loved him so fiercely all those years ago, wanted to hold on, to see if maybe, just maybe, there was still something left to salvage.

"i don't know if i can do this again... i- i hear you... i believe you it's just-"

“i understand,” he said quietly. “and i don’t expect you to just forgive me, or even give me a second chance. i’ve made too many mistakes for that. but… i want to try. i want to make things right. even if that means starting over, from scratch, just as friends.”

“friends,” you repeated, testing the word on your tongue. it felt strange, almost foreign, to think of warren as anything other than the boy who had broken your heart. but maybe, just maybe, this could be a new beginning—a way to heal, to move forward without being shackled by the past. "i'd like that"

"me too."

[starlight-write]

Attention Seeker

A/N: First TADC tk fic! lmk if you have any suggestions/prompts cause my brain is about fried atp.

Summany: Ragatha's ignoring Jax for being a prick. It's only after he brings Pomni into their little spat that she decides to do something about it.

Characters: Ler!Ragatha, Switch!Pomni, Switch!Jax

Word Count: 2004

Warnings: This is a tickle fic! Scroll if that's not your thing.

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

"Raaaags! Ragathaaaaa! Rags, talk to meeeeeee!" The rabbit whined pathetically as he flopped face first to the floor to add to his dramatics.

Ragatha crossed her arms and stared blankly in front of her. She'd be damned if she gave into his theatrics after the stunt he pulled yesterday.

Pomni tip-toed her way over to the doll, careful to gauge her mood before speaking up.

"You're- uh- still not talking to Jax, huh?" The jester tried.

To no one's surprise, Jax pulled some underhanded shit during yesterday's game. Thankfully, that game was more tame than the usual as Caine decided to make all of them play a rather distorted version of 'capture the flag', only the playing field was covered in thick black tar-like substance, which made the game slower and over all less fun but Caine did say he was experimenting with ideas.

Long story short, Ragatha had gotten the other team's flag and was about to win before Jax thought it'd be clever to use poor Gangle as a lasso and trip Ragatha by her ankle. Causing her to fall face first into the gooey substance.

So yeah, Ragatha understandably ignored the purple prick for the rest of the day and supposedly the silent treatment carried onto this morning.

Ragatha scoffed at the question. "I have nothing to say to that jerk. Whatever Caine has planned for us to do today, I'm not saying a word to him." She said making direct eye contact with said jerk. Pomni swore she saw his ears go down a bit.

They both knew that wouldn't last. If there's one thing anyone knew about Jax, is that he can't survive without attention. And Lord, was he the biggest attention seeker Pomni's ever seen. Jax would just dedicate the entire day to pushing Ragatha's buttons until she snapped, earning everyone's attention as well as winning whatever sick game he'd imagined in his head.

Caine appeared not two minutes later and the cast proceeded with their little theme song as usual and afterwards, the ringmaster explained the rules of today's little adventure.

Another safe one, thank God. Pomni thought. Perhaps the man was starting to notice how strung out everyone had become and decided to cut them some slack.

Today's game was a timed scavenger hunt throughout the circus, with two separate teams taking turns in the main room to find the mising items as quick as possible while the other team waited in the hallway for their turn. They were split up into two teams. Ragatha instantly grabbed Pomni's hand and not even a split second later, Jax flung himself at the doll and screamed for Caine to team them up together.

Gangle, Kinger, and Zooble's team went first, which meant the other three were poofed into a random hallway away from the action.

Awkward.

Pomni fidgeted due to the tense atmosphere. Jax of course, took his chance to bug the shit out of the other girl. First trying to make conversation, then teasing her, then poking, shaking, singing, yelling, joking, flopping round again, but nothing seemed to break the doll's focus. Ragatha rolled her eyes at his theatrics before shooting them over to Pomni.

"Sheesh, these games have been real tame and non life-threatening lately right, Pomni? Seems like Caine's finally decided to cut us all a break!" She forced a laugh as she nudged the other girl.

Pomni looked rather taken aback by the sudden conversations but decided to play along nonetheless. "O-oh. Right. I-uh, really enjoy not being in danger for once, yknow?" She laughed nervously.

The rabbit shot up as the two continued their bland conversation, annoyed that he was being ignored completely.

Pomni felt rather proud of herself when Ragatha laughed at one of her jokes, her victory was short-lived however, letting out a yelp as she was suddenly yanked in the air by her underarms.

"HEY!-" She panicked and squirmed, having to force down a rather embarrassing noise that threatened to come out of her throat.

"Whatcha two ladies talkin' about?"Jax had that stupid smug grin on he always wore when he thought he was being smart. Ragatha, obviously, was not amused but threw in the towel anyways as it wasn't fair to Pomni to get her any more involved with their little spat any more than she already was.

"Put her down, Jax." The doll demanded.

Pomni tried to grab at the rabbit's gloved hands as she kicked her feet in the air. "Whaaaaaat? We’re just having a little fun is all! Ain’t that right, Pomni?”

The jester grunted and allowed her limbs to go limp, it was obvious she wasn’t gonna get free by herself and didn’t want to risk entertaining the rabbit any further.

“This is not fun for me. Please put me doWN!!!-“

Pomni’s entire body went rigid as soon as that prick started wriggling his fingers under her arms.

She was able to keep her laughter in for all of maybe half a second before exploding in hysterical laughter. The awful sensation causing her to thrash almost twice as hard now.

“Why laugh if you’re not having any fun, Bug Eyes?” Jax laughed along with her, pleased with the strong reaction.

Ragatha was still stone-faced, however, sighing as she moved to release the other girl.

“Jeez you really can’t go five minutes without bullying someone can you?” The doll grunted as she wrestled with the rabbits long ass arms. Jumping in the air a few times when he decided to hold Pomni straight over his head.

Ragatha was getting increasingly annoyed, Pomni was getting more hysterical by the minute, and of course Jax looked like he was having the time of his life.

But you know what? Two can play at that game.

“Gohohod! You two are hilarious. Say Rags, this almost reminds me of the time Caine had you screaming in the air for saying- OOMF!”

The wind knocked out of Jax’s throat as he was full-on tackled to the floor.

Thankfully, this gave Pomni the chance to escape but was still on top of the rabbit’s hands as she tried to compose herself.

“What the &!$@%# Rags?! I was just messing around, there’s no reason to get all pis-“

“Hold his wrists, Pomni.”

That was all the warning they got before the doll’s hands latched onto Jax’s hips and began tickling him mercilessly.

The high pitch scream that tore from his throat probably would’ve made the jester fall into another fit of laughter if she weren’t so taken aback by it herself.

Thankfully she caught up to speed in time to get a hold of the rabbit’s hands that were desperately trying to free themselves.

“WAIT!!- WAIT WAHAHAHAIT!!!- RAGAHAHAHAHAAA-“

Oh my God he’s &!$@%# losing it. Pomni thought as she observed the poor guys reactions.

It was quite a sight to see fucking Jax of all people go berserk over something as simple as tickling. It was a little unnerving to be honest.

What was even scarier was Ragatha’s face hadn’t changed from the ice cold scowl she’s had on since Jax started all this shit.

She looked kinda angry.

“pleheheheAHAHAHA!!-“ Jax wheezed. “You cahAHAHAHAN’T- You cahahahahan’t just- BWAHAHAHAHAAA!!!-“

“Oh so it’s only fair for you to pick on people huh?” Ragatha spat. “Y'know I think everyone here’s had about enough of your &!$@%#, Jax. You wanted attention that bad? Well here you go! Let’s see how you like being bullied for once.”

Her hands migrated down to his upper thighs, the doll now settling her weight on his calves. Giving the rabbit just enough leeway to twist and buck his hips like crazy.

Though he seemed to be breathing a bit easier with the change in spots, didn’t mean he still wasn’t absolutely losing his mind here.

“ahh…ahahaHAHAHAHehe- ohkahahay! Okay! I’m sohohorry! Is that what you guys wanna hear?! I’ll bahahahack ohohoff. Juhuhust- JUST!!-“

“You sure all this is okay? He’s starting to seem a bit lightheaded.” Pomni asked, more than a little concerned at the guy’s state despite what he’d pulled earlier. She knew they didn’t technically need to breathe but that only means this situation must be really messing with him.

Ragatha looked up and stilled her hands before withdrawing them completely.

“Trust me, he’s fine. We’ve put his sorry ass through a lot worse. And he would’ve kept tormenting you until Caine came in to stop him so he deserves everything he gets.” She explained as she got up from her spot on Jax’s legs and made her way over to where Pomni was stationed over their victim’s head.

The brief intermission allowed Jax to gather his bearings and a bit of his audacity too it seemed like.

“Yohohou…*huff*… You two are going to regret this. D-Dohohohon’t think for a second that you won anything. After all there’s plenty of centipedes for me to-AAAAA!!!!”

That ungodly shriek was almost worse than the first one. The jerk didn’t even get to finish his little vow for revenge before Ragatha dropped back down to scribble, squeeze, and prob rapidly over her victim’s belly.

“I know you can’t fathom the feeling, Jax, but I was going to be nice and call it quits there. But you just don’t know when to. Shut. Your. TRAP!!”

Pomni couldn’t help herself from laughing this time. With nothing pinning the poor guy’s legs down, they were flying through the air in every direction while he screamed like a little girl.

Seriously, Pomni doubted even she could reach that kind of pitch.

The whole things was just ridiculous to watch. She was sure her ears were bleeding by now but she couldn’t help the full on belly laughter that forced its way out of her.

Ragatha looked over at her friend as she doubled over in laughter. It was at that point, Ragatha truly realized how ridiculous this entire situation was and that scowl she had permanently plastered on her face finally bloomed into a smile as she too began to laugh.

Another ear-piercing screech and they were both done.

The two of them simultaneously lost their hold on their victim as they fell to the floor, rolling and clutching their stomachs as bouts of laughter poured out of them.

Jax layed there for a while, absolutely mortified at this entire ordeal. He began plotting his revenge almost immediately, if only to keep himself sane while hearing those two &!$@%# laugh at him.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t fond of all the attention he received.

Just as the girl’s laughter was starting to die down, a voice boomed through the hallway.

“Terribly sorry for the wait, friends! It appears that there’s been a rather embarrassing oversight on my part! You see, I told the others that I’ve hidden five items but instead only hid four! The fifth one was in my POCKET!-“

Caine explained as he pulled a rubber duck out of his pocket. Stopping himself abruptly seeing the state his other three guests were in.

Was it that funny? The ringmaster asked himself at hearing the two girl’s laughter finally dying down. That was before he saw Jax, still sprawled out on the floor and decided he didn’t really want to know.

“Does this mean we forfeit?” Jax slurred lazily.

“Nonsense!” Caine announced, deciding to ignore the his guest’s disappointed groans. “This just means we have to start a new game! You all seemed to LOVE playing ‘Capture the Flag’ yesterday! So I thought, why not give it another GO-“

Ragatha threw her shoe at the ringmaster before he even finished his statement. Of course, this prompted another bout of laughter from both Pomni and Jax this time.

Unfortunately, Caine took all of that as enthusiasm and prepared their little field from yesterday.

Pomni wasn’t certain if those two were gonna bring their bad energy back on the field, not to mention Jax was no doubt itching for payback right about now.

One thing was for certain, though. Pomni was staying the &!$@%# out of it this time.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Drive Safe Part 3

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

AN: Our wild ride has come to an end 🥹😘

Synopsis: You confront your best friend for what she did to you behind your back all while trying to make sense of your future with Jack. The ultimate question is, are you willing to give your ex-husband another chance?

Pairing: Ex-husband!Jack Harlow x Ex-wife!Reader

Read Part 1 and Part 2 first

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

After hearing Taylor confess what you had heard Jack tell Urban left you in a daze. So, he in fact was telling the truth, however your best friend or someone who you thought was your best friend went behind your back and betrayed you. Never did you think that in a million years that she would do something like this and try to play innocent and continue on with life as usual as if nothing happened.

“Y/N, I know you're pissed at me and for good reason and I know I shouldn't have done it and…”

You immediately cut her off.

“Let me ask you something. Did you honestly think that you could do that and ultimately get away with it? Yes, me and him have our issues but stepping out on one another because of a disagreement has never been a reality. No matter how mad at each other we are. Bottom line, you took advantage of him being in a vulnerable stage. Even if I am still very mad at him, I'm going to defend him when someone does him wrong. And in this case, you were in fact… wrong.”

“I…”

“I thought that at least you were one of the last people I could count on to have my back, but low and behold you wanted my man for yourself. Everyone has treated me like shit since this first happened and since obviously my feelings don't matter to you or anyone else, there's nothing left for me to say. We are done here and you can forget about being their godmother. Lose my number and do not call me again for as long as you live.”

“Wait, just….. we're throwing our friendship away over a mistake I made? I confessed and I apologized. I don't know what came over me to do that and deep down I knew it wasn't right. But I just….”

“A mistake you hid from me for damn near two years and it wasn't a mistake actually. I had my suspicions, but I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, thinking no, there's no way in the world that my best friend would do that to me. You were in your right mind and knew what you were doing. And to think I trusted you. I've told you things In confidence that I have never told anyone else and you just….I need to leave. And you can pick up the tab since you want to be kissing other people's husbands.”

“It’s never going to happen again, I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

“You've already lost me as a friend from the moment you tried to kiss Jack. It's not going to happen again, because you are going to stay as far away as possible from us. Did you really think that I would forgive you for doing something like that to me? You broke my trust and that is not something that cannot be repaired overnight. Oh, and one last thing, I knew what you did for months now and was just simply waiting for you to confess.”

Taylor was sitting there absolutely stunned and unable to speak. And it looked as if her eyes were starting to water.

“Didn't think it was going to take this long, but here we are. I'm taking my food to go and have the day you deserve. And you can save your tears for someone who actually cares.”

Without another word, you slid back from the table and went to the front of the restaurant to let them know that you wanted your order to go and that Taylor would be paying for it. 

Once you got outside in your rental car, the tears started to roll down your face. You were proud of yourself, but also hurting. You felt that at this point, you didn't have anyone anymore and you simply wanted to go back home to Louisville or Atlanta rather and be away from it all. Because Atlanta was the only place where you felt that your life actually made sense. Louisville held too many memories for you and every single one of them had to do with Jack. 

You had gotten back to the beach house in record time and stared at your phone contemplating if you were going to call Jack or not to let him know that you had talked to Taylor. Making your way inside, you sat everything down in the kitchen before making your way upstairs to the bedroom since your desire to eat anything was now gone. You picked up your phone and then shook your head and placed it on the dresser before the tears started falling again.

If you knew the shitstorm that would happen when Jack asked for you to marry him, you probably would have never done it. But who were you kidding? You knew deep down that you still would have said yes despite what was going on around you at the present moment. Did you see yourself marrying him again? Only time would be able to tell. The most important thing that you needed to focus on right now was trying to heal. 

Jack played with his phone in his hands contemplating calling your older sister, Danielle, but had a strong feeling that she wouldn't want to hear anything that he had to say.

But he had to try.

He was willing to do absolutely anything to get you to forgive him and get him to marry him again. Even though you told him that marriage was definitely off the table, in the back of his mind and deep down he knew that if he wasn't able to get married to you again that he wouldn't get married again at all. You were the love of his life and he ruined it.

Before he backed out, he quickly hit her number to call her as his heart was damn near beating out of his chest.

And now he was hoping she didn't answer. 

But luck wasn't on his side and she did.

“Hello?”

“Dani, it's Jack.”

“I know. I have something called caller id on my iphone.”

“Umm….”

“What do you need?”

“Um, for your little sister to stop ignoring my calls and talk to me.”

All Dani did was scoff before responding.

“And you think that you deserve to talk to her after what you did?” Dani asked and now Jack was starting to regret ever picking up the phone to call her.

“Dani, she's pregnant.”

“I am aware. I was there when she took the test. What's your point?”

“Dani, please. I just want her to talk to me so she can hopefully forgive me and we can get back together.”

“Jack, I told you to do one thing when it came to her. ONE. Do you remember what that was?”

“Take care of her.”

“Hmm, and did you do like I asked?”

“Well…”

“No. You didn't. Instead you hurt my baby girl and quite frankly, I’m surprised she stayed with you as long as she did. That girl LOVES you and would do anything for you, but instead you let your little fame get to your head. As much as she would call me crying all times of the night over you, you honestly think you deserve to be in a relationship with her again?”

“I know I've messed up and that I've hurt her, but all I want to do is make it right. I don't want anyone else or be married to anyone else. I didn't even want to sign the divorce papers!”

All Dani did was sigh before responding.

“You better listen to me and listen to me good. I will do what I can, but it is ultimately her decision. If she gets back with you, fine. I'll support it. If she doesn't, I'm also going to support it. But one thing I'm not going to tolerate is you disrespecting her. That is the mother of three of your big headed children so give her the respect she deserves. She's in Miami and I'm going to check on her so I'll do my best to see if she’ll talk to you. No promises.”

“That's literally all I ask.”

“But if she says no, unless it has to do with your unborn children, you better leave her the fuck alone.”

Not realizing that you fell asleep after confronting Taylor, you woke up to see that it was dark outside and had no clue what time it was. Grabbing your phone and wincing from the light as you put your password in, you saw that it was around nine at night.

Sighing to yourself, you threw the comforter away from your body to make your way downstairs to come face to face with your older sister who was currently sitting in the living room and scrolling away on her phone. 

Hearing your footsteps come up behind her, she quickly greeted you.

“Lil Bit, I thought you were going to sleep until next week.”

“Uh? What are you doing here?” You sleepily asked as you rubbed your eyes.

“Don't you think I know when you need me?”

“I'm fine.”

“Are you?” She asked as you came to sit across from her.

You wanted to say yes, that you were indeed in fact fine, but the words just weren't coming out. Instead, something else did.

“I miss him and I HATE myself for feeling like this.” You breathed out while wrapping your arms around yourself.

“It's not like it was a one night stand. You two were MARRIED. And have known each other since you two were fourteen. That doesn't go away overnight. There's going to be ups and downs with healing from that. It isn't linear.”

“But I'm just so MAD at him for what he did. No matter how much he tries to take it back and apologize, what's done is done. And that song felt like a legit slap to the face.”

“He's not perfect, but neither are you. He definitely could have gone about it a different way, but what's done is done and the only thing you can do is move forward from it.”

“He called you, didn't he?” You asked as you were eyeing Dani.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“DANIELLE….”

“He did and in not so many words, begged for me to convince you to talk to him and to stop ignoring his calls.”

“And? What did you tell him?”

“After I threatened him, I said that I would try to convince you, but no promises. He has a show in Miami in two days so I figured you two can talk then. If you want to, that is.”

“I don't know If I want to.” You answered being completely honest. 

“You said you missed him.”

“I miss a lot of things, but I've learned to adjust.”

“You aren't adjusting. You're avoiding it.”

“I don't remember asking for a therapy session.”

“Look, I get that you're hurting and want to take some time for yourself, but you cannot keep this bottled up because you are legit going to explode.” 

“What are people going to say if I take him back?”

“Who gives a flying fuck? That's your business and no one else's. Two people would be in that relationship and not the entire world.”

“But he legit disrespected me multiple times.” 

“Y/N, if you are looking for me to tell you what to do, it’s not going to happen. In the end, this has to be a decision that you have to live with. No one else. Just know that whatever you decide, I will support you 100%.”

Before you answered her, you simply sighed.

“What venue is he performing at on Saturday?”

—-

Saturday finally rolled around and you had been on edge for the entire day. The time for you to leave was inching closer and closer and you were seriously about to back out of it altogether. Taking a deep breath, you gave yourself a once over in the floor length mirror at your black dress that you were wearing along with a pair of your Steve Madden sandals and was satisfied with how the outfit came together. You had straightened your hair earlier in the day, so the only thing left to do was to confront him.

You had been confronting a lot of people lately and wanted for this to be the end of it.

Dani volunteered to go with you and the two of you rode in silence to the venue with her taking quick glances at you to see that you were scrolling on your phone from time to time. Once the two of you arrived and made your way inside, Jack was already on stage and Urban had quickly spotted the two of you.

“Hi Urby.” You said as he engulfed you in a bear hug.

“Hey, didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“I didn’t know either until two days ago.”

“He’ll be happy to see you. Come this way so I can take you two backstage so you can watch from the side.”

“Hmm, we’ll see if that still rings true after I talk to him.”

All Urban did was hold his hands up in defense before shrugging since he knew that you were just about at your wits end with everything that had been going on. 

You and Dani quickly followed behind Urban and since everyone recognized you, you were able to get backstage with no problem. But you also knew in the back of your mind that your so-called ex-best friends were probably there as well, right along with Neelam. And of course she had spotted you.

“Y/N?”

“The one and only unless there’s another one that I don’t know about?” You quickly said to her as Dani stifled a laugh.

“Can we…?” She started to say, but you immediately cut her off.

“No. I’m here for one person and one person only. If I wanted to talk to any of the rest of you, I would have told you. I’ll let you know when I’m ready whenever that time comes.”

“I.. fair enough. You both can come over here to watch him from the side.”

It took less than five minutes for Jack to spot you standing on the side and he got the biggest smile on his face and you simply gave him a tight lipped smile in return. You did your part of willing to open the lines of communication, but if it was something that you didn’t want to hear, you were immediately going to cut it off.

Once his set was over, he quickly jogged off the stage towards you and opened his arms for a hug which surprisingly you actually returned.

You had missed this feeling. 

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” You asked him and he quickly nodded as he led the two of you to his dressing room.

Once the door was closed, you let him have it. 

“Babe? Is everything okay? What are you doing here? And I mean that in the best way possible.”

“Don't call me that, Jackman. You lost the privilege to do so. But let’s just cut to the chase shall we? You called Dani to get me to talk to you so here I am. Now onto my most pressing question, why didn't you tell me what Taylor did?” 

Jack, obviously taken aback, cleared his throat before answering you. And all he did was rock back and forth on his heels before sighing.

“Because I didn't think you would believe me if I had told you when it originally happened.”

“But not to say anything at all? You were supposed to protect me, we're supposed to protect each other! I had the fakest person under my nose for the longest and you said NOTHING.”

“I…. I didn't know what to do. You already didn't want to be bothered with me and I didn't want to create an even bigger mess. Wait, she told you?”

“Yes and kept asking me before she did if you had said something to me first.”

“I'm sorry, and I know that I should have. I would never cheat on you no matter how mad I might be. You mean too much to me for me to do that.”

“Hmm, your actions lately say otherwise. You hurt me with that shit you pulled and should have come and talked to me.”

“I know and I don't have an excuse for it. I just wish we could start over and just forget that any of this ever happened.”

“Do you honestly think that you deserve another chance?”

“Dani legit said the same thing.” He mumbled before taking a seat next to you and grabbing your left hand which was still decorated with your wedding ring. Except it wasn’t on your ring finger.

He began to play with it as he was waiting for you to say something.

“How do I know that something like this won’t ever happen again?” You asked and that was when he finally looked up at you.

“Because we’re going to communicate better and be honest with each other about how we’re feeling. That was my biggest downfall.”

“Hmm.”

“And I need to put you first. You were the one who was with me when I had absolutely nothing and I lost sight of that. Anytime I needed you, you were there but I didn’t give you that same treatment in return.”

“I want to believe you, I really do because I miss you, but… I just don’t know.”

“Y/N, please. Things are going to be different this time.”

“Maybe, but I don’t know if I’m at that point where I want to find out or not.” You answered being completely honest.

“Well, how long do you think that will take? You know I’m willing to wait. I legit do not want anyone else.”

“Only time will tell.” You shrugged while looking at him.

When he didn’t say anything else, you simply let go of his hand and began to get up.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I did what you asked and I came and heard what you had to say, did I not?”

“Yes, but…”

“And now I’m leaving.”

“Baby girl, just…”

“Just, what, Jack? Just what? You said your piece and I’ve said mine. When I’m ready to take you back, you’ll know.” 

“I love you and I want this. I want us.” He said as he grabbed your hand and squeezed it.

“Yes, you’ve made that very clear and you’ve done it more than once.”

“At least just spend the night with me, let me take you out.”

“Maybe some other time. I’m pretty tired. I am pregnant, the last time I checked.”

“Okay, I get that. Some other time then.”

Jack then stood up and gave you another long embrace as he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

You then felt him cup your cheek and knew he wanted to kiss you. You wanted to kiss him too, but you definitely weren’t letting him back in that easily.

Instead of meeting his lips with yours, he met your cheek since you had turned your head and you heard him sigh.

“When I fully forgive you, you can give me as many kisses as your heart desires, but until then I need you to remember something for me.”

“What is it?

“Remember one thing, I'm not your girl.” You whispered against his lips before smirking and laughing to yourself as you made your way to the door of the dressing room.

“Drive Safe tonight, Jackman.” Was the last thing you said before you disappeared on the other side of the door leaving him absolutely speechless.

[therealslimshakespeare]

Let’s Fall Out of Love

Divorce Part 1

Fully co-authored with @elvisabutler 💋

Thanks: are due to so many friends on here who helped craft this timeline and concept and helped me hone the motivations into something I trust our readers will find evocative and sympathetic. Y’all know who you are, thanks for being my buddies

Warnings: 18+ for thematic and sexual material. Strong language and bitter accusations between spouses, mentions of drugs, divorce proceedings, lying to spouses (for their eventual good???) mentions of past infidelity, Colonel Parker being the worst, poor Elvis being in a bad place with his health and mentally -and dub con smut. It is in no way non con but the context, the lack of voiced or implied consent and the aggression make it dubious. It is fairly clear both parties are engaging in hysterical bonding, still the scene is dubious as is the language used by the man regarding a wife having no say in it. So please heed that.

Note: it was the attempt of the writers to craft a rather cinematic experience with this fic, one aim was to skip times and have plenty of fade to black moments. Please note the time stamps above each scene to keep track of progression. Anything that is not clarified in this chapter will either be clarified in the next part or else in others. You’re of course welcome to ask questions.

|| 10th, APRIL 1977 ||

Divorce. Lil Tink is divorcin' him. Lil Laney is gonna be his ex-wife.

The thought rattles around in his aching brain as he chases her up Graceland’s stairway, past the portraits of their children and the plaques celebrating their successes and haunting likenesses of younger selves. Both of them home for a brief stint after Vegas Showrooms and California Courtrooms.

Home -it won’t be his home much longer, she’s gonna see to that.

Divorce.

It had taken up half his year already but he was so sure, so damn sure all she needed was to make a fuss and threaten like she does and then it would cool down, smooth over. He was ready to humor all sorts of shit and then she went and pushed for more. More money, more assets, took out a damn lien. His Tink who happily chucked half of custody at him without a fight has now drug this little show on for months, all for a couple more bucks.

She’s takin' everythin' he's worked so hard for, takin’ it all, going back for more even, just to make sure she can still be taken care of in the conditions and standards he had raised her to.

Spoiled lil middle class girl grown into a spoiled, hardened rich woman.

“Till death do you part”, he hurled the promises at her over the phone, as soon as that court order had landed in his hands -but if ya ask Elaine, he's been dead more times than she can count. Maybe he's dead to her in everythin' but body. Ain't that the other joke, he feels half dead even in body.

"Elaine Presley! Turn 'round when I'm talkin' t'ya! Ya know I hate it when people do that” As if she’s required to listen to him or required to pay attention after two decades of focusing so much of her attention and time and energy on a man who has forgotten all of that. On a man who’s forgotten that he’s married to her. That’s forgotten he has children with her, a life he promised her, and not to his manager who's twisted so much of what was between them into this. Whatever this is.

"Why?" She spits still climbing stairs she's climbed a thousand times before. Faintly she hears Marie playing in her room and a surprising amount of silence from Jack's and her heart twists. They don't need to hear this. None of her children do but her youngest- oh her youngest deserve to think their father is still something resembling a good man.

"Why?" As if Elvis is some sort of parrot, he repeats the question back at her. His confusion colors his face, warring for control with his anger and frustration as he follows her through the padded master doors. "Why? The hell kinda question is that?”

“I told you come by and grab those things you said you needed so badly.” she hauls open one of his drawers and the thing squeals on its track from her violent tug. “So do that. If you wanted to chat then we coulda chatted somewhere else. Or, you know -a year ago? Ten?”

“I’m just askin’ why.“ He embraces her own wording and tries to get nearer her, hem her in against the dresser like he’s done countless times before in this very room with dazzling success.

Elaine slips away between them like water and he’s left bracing himself on the smooth wooden top.

“I’m not actively trying to be a shrew.” she murmurs as she turns away and goes to the other side of the room, opening the wardrobe, “No matter what you believe. I told you that you’ll be welcome in this house no matter what, so that’s why.’I’m not allowing you to come around -you just can, it’s your mama’s house still, for all I’m concerned.”

“No, no I mean- why’re you throwin’ this away?” He emphasizes it with his hands, a pleading gesture that sweeps the whole room and its host of sacred memories. He’s used this before but that was back when he figured it was all one big tantrum. Signing custody papers has rather shaken that hope, delusion, comfort.

Tink purses her lips and he notices her face has gone so white this summer, rarely in the sun and addicted to wearing black like some melodramatic Prima Donna. She does look stunning in the papers all decked out in veils and heels, he’ll give her that. He doesn’t know when she turned from being the heart of the operation to the glamor of it all -and he the opposite.

“What’s my favorite color these days?” she asks him instead.

He stares at the sable color he’s seen her wearing for months now and sighs in exasperation, “Shit I dunno -black?” he swings, knowing it’s a miss the second he says it.

“I can’t do this anymore.” she informs him, like color has broken up a twenty year long marriage and he grinds his teeth so hard he thinks he cracks a filling. The pain adds to his headache that matches the pounding in his chest and the roaring in his ears builds to such a degree he’s honestly terrified for them both.

“Stop this.” he warns her, quite sure she knows the red hot fit she’s stoking with her callousness and hurt that she won’t help him out of it like she used to, that she’ll let him go into a blind rage and then blame him for it, no doubt. “I know when you’re lyin’, woman, and I ain’t ever seen a more lilly livered liar than you right now.” he snarls and tries a last appeal that comes out as a barb anyways, “You wouldn’t be goin’ on so rash if your daddy were still alive,” he jabs a finger at her, “guess I can be grateful he ain’t, so he’s not breakin’ down my door for explanations ‘bout a offense you won’t admit to me!“

Elaine absorbs this blow with a wavering face before the nonchalance cloaks her features once more and Elvis would resort to smacking it off her if he were a different sorta man. “Black is practical, that’s why I wear it. It’s not my favorite though.” she simpers, clutching at the shoe she’s picked up from the floor, something for her hands to worry, to hide her own anguish at having to keep him in the dark. To lie repeatedly to him as he breaks apart, she didn’t know it would cut him up so much.

It’s a mess, this web of connections that used to prop them up, used to be a community. Now it’s a den of tattle tales and if one of them suspects she’s anything but angry at Elvis, that this this divorce and seizing of assets isn’t a scorned wife gone nuts, but rather a calculated endeavor to get at his manager once and for all -well Charlie will spill to Vernon and Vernon will spill to Elvis and Elvis will have all the fuel he needs to plead her right back into complacent heartbreak in his arms -before he goes on tour again and murders himself from the workload.

“I’m on orange kick, actually.” her voice is hoarse.

“Then I’ll buy ya some fuckin’ orange curtains and you’ll stop divorcin’ me.” he jabs a tinged finger at her and he looks like he might fall over, his face is so flushed and sweaty, from pills and passion. Elaine readies to catch him, break his fall if he tips. At least here there’s carpet, unlike the hotel hallway that busted his head last year.

“I’m rather in the mood to buy my own from now on.” she lies and sweeps past him to get to the closet.

She never gets past him. His hand darts out and engulfs her dainty wrist, tugging her back and in a spin like he practiced in his movies so many times, a romantic, gallant, possessive gesture that lands her smack against his broad chest, locked in with an arm around her shoulders.

"Buy your own, hm? Gonna sell my mama's house to do that? Gonna sell ya children's home to do that?"

“Elvis, you get your damn hands off me.” she bites back, throwing her weight on his forearm that might as well be made of steel, so little room does she gain from her effort.

"Never minded my hands on ya before. Even 'fore I married ya, it was fine for me to touch ya. To inspect that lil house of yours to make sure it could have all those lil babies ya wanted. Gave 'em to ya didn't I? Gave ya every last one and two've ‘em are even still with ya till they leave." Never mind that Jack's been bouncing between here and California in an effort to do what he's wanted to do since Elvis would play sharks in the bed with him. "But now you're wantin' my hands off. Goin' on 'bout gettin' new curtains yourself."

His words are punctuated with spit and a hissing anger Elvis doesn't normally indulge in. The bitter anger she used on the road with champagne making her head float in a sea of lies and wants and needs and a twisted sort of love till she had to call it. She can feel her jaw tensing up at his calloused fingers finding their way under her chin, tapping at first to try and have her look up at him before clenching around it and tilting it upward instead.

"Who is it, Laney? Who's the person who's gonna take care of ya? Gonna help ya buy those curtains? Get Marie those cameras? Help Jack and Rosie pay for those commie schools of theirs?" With each passing word Elvis’s voice drops lower and lower in octave until he's reaching levels Elaine's never heard. Against her will, her body shivers in his arms. A sneer crosses his lips- a twisted version of his raised lip that everyone knows and loves. That raised lip she's kissed before with laughter and jokes on how "if you keep doing that your face'll stay that way, Naughty." It shouldn't be there like this and yet it is. "That why ya dragged me to our lil Ella Bella's weddin'? Figured the Martins could spoil our daughter rotten away from you and your new caretaker? Your new piggybank? Don't get shy on me now, Laney! Who's the lucky sonuvabitch who gets to have my wife?"

Elaine's learned how to be composed in every situation with Elvis. She'll shoot at the Colonel over love handles and movies that killed her Elvis's spirit. She'll titter at army wives mocking her house and implying she couldn't keep up with being Mrs. Presley and growing a second set of twins in two years. She'll handle losing little Joesphine with a body that betrayed them all and with a smile on her face because Mrs Kennedy had just lost hers and then John died and the US can't handle their Irish Catholic and their Southern Baptist Camelots falling to pieces all at once. But this, this is too much. This is her soon to be ex husband mocking her. Like she'd have had time to find someone else who would take care of her, like taking care of Elvis and their children allowed her to seek any other comfort than in the aging movie star her husband sought to emulate once upon a time before realizing he's just a man too. The aging movie star she considers one of her nearest and dearest friends and who'd- who would be her caretaker if she let him.

Knowing her luck it'd end up worse than this.

No, this is Elvis throwing out an insult to her character, the one he'd have defended till his dying breath except for when she turns on him like Red and Sonny did. Their book's gonna be coming out sooner rather than later and- she's made it obvious he can't trust a soul any more.

It won't do either one of them any good to react. It's not going to help her escape from his grip that's a vice around her. It won't help him see what she's doing and how she’s doing it for him. But she is only human just as he's only human and her lipstick covered mouth opens in defense of her own honor.

"What makes you think you deserve to know?" He can't see through everything to see why shes doing this, so why should he get an answer. "You won't have to worry, we'll all be taken care of. And you can be rebranded! A seasoned entertainer who's free as a bird to do whoever and whatever he wants. Or oooh -maybe the colonel will pick you out a new wife. Pretty little fool to take my place, without trappings like children -or brains."

“I chose my wife.” it sounds like a beg, anger and hurt battling for the upper hand in Elvis’ heart, his hand squeezes her chin stronger, watching her lips pucker just that little bit. Such a soft mouth has no right being so stern and derisive as it’s been these past months, once upon a time he knew how to make it gasp and smile with a word, a kiss, a mere glance. “I chose you, and you promised. It ain’t me breakin’ that promise, ain’t me sayin’ I can’t do this no more -I-I-I’ve spent my goddamn career givin’ you all this, I gave up w-women for you, I gave up movies for you, when you come to me with what’s wrong I do my damndest to fix it. Now you won’t tell me nothin’ but orange curtains, and if I thought those’d fix us I’d be out the damn door right now, headed to find you the best in the country. I would, Laney, you know I would. I’ve given-“ he stops to gasp in a ragged breath, unsure of what part of himself he hasn’t poured into his Tink, entrusted to her once caring little hands, vulnerability poured like so much oil into her heart for safe keeping, his flaws and secrets tucked safely in the little nooks and crannies of her generous mind. “I’ve given-“

-So Damn Much.

“I’ve given you my life.” His Laney stares back at him entirely unmoved, her eyes hard and sharp with their ebony liner, the squish of her lips beneath his fingers barely dismantling her disdain for him, “And seven children from my body. I never said you weren’t a good man,Elvis, or that you're not generous, but we both know we don’t want to go toe to toe in measuring costs for twenty years in heaven. And I’m saying, -I can’t do it anymore.”

“Anymore?” it’s bothered him all these months, that word and he wonders what she thinks she’ll have after this, like they’re not so intertwined and connected that, like twins, they will forever feel what the other feels, want what the other wants, a string tied between them from countless, immeasurable amounts of time spent merged as one, “I ain’t ever not gonna be in you, woman, once mine -always mine. What’s there for ya after this, huh? Seven children -twenty years! -Goddamn I’m in you!” he shakes her at that and sees a spark of something he knows light up her eyes.

Elvis slides a hand from her shoulders, down over her sternum and feels her heaving intake of breath at the missed feeling of his hands on her, down past the tie at her waist, down to the planes of her firm belly, just a little swell and some soft skin that speaks of the souls they once made with their love. He presses his hand, large and warm and cupped to that precious sanctuary, kneading it, lifting it, weighing it just that little bit in his palm.

The little house is empty.

Elvis outright laughs at his mistake then, a booming, jarring laugh at having forgotten just who he’s got in his arms. He can feel Elaine’s violent shuddering along the entire length of him at the strange sound in their gloomy bedroom. Or maybe it’s from the dig of his fingertips at her womb, like he’ll claw inside it from the outside if he’s barred from plundering her the natural way.

Sweet Miss Phipps, Elvis thinks, with her hungry mind and starved body, so damn eager to be possessed, to be made good use of, to be pumped full and burdened with child again and again. He shoulda kept her swollen this past decade, prioritized her hunger over the tours and then, maybe then, she’d not have gotten notions like this.

“God gave me a remarkable woman.” he murmurs to himself in realization, his hands loosening their grip on her jaw to run the backs of his fingers against against the soft swells of her cheeks and Elaine’s heart speeds up in recognition of the shift in his demeanor, that thrumming resolution taking over his body behind her and helplessly her own responds to it.

As if she's another person, someone she would counsel to resist, to stay strong, Elaine feels her face turn towards the caress of his ringed fingers, towards the admiring touch that’s been her joy to wake to a million times, a touch that’s brought her purpose and comfort for twenty years. Her mouth falls open with a surrendering quiver and she makes no move to avert her mouth when his fingers sweep over her face and across her lips in a revenant mapping of his wife’s well known features. Her tongue darts out to taste even a sliver of his salt, she tastes metal instead as his ring glides by. It’s a heady feeling for anyone to realize Elvis Presley intends to fuck them, it’s entirely heightened by a familiar knowledge of his capabilities and a divinely witnessed right to his person.

It’s no villain staring down at Elaine, pressing himself to her -the distance has been necessary all these months to keep her anger and fear prominent, to remind her of the need for such dire action as divorce, the slightest, kindest of touches from him would dismantle that resolve, that garish image in her imagination. Now she’s close to the finish line, so close he’s fully panicking and she can feel the lightness of soon being free of her deceit. He’s no villain, he’s just a good man who has hurt her, who hurts himself more often and worse than how she’s hurting him. And soon they’ll be able to save each other. Just not today.

His hand slips to her throat and he kneads it, contemplating the give and delicacy of her pale flesh, and her responses, the languid subjugation of her body to his touches, just like he’d taught her in this very bed across from them.

She sees when his eyes flick up from her throat to their marriage bed and it’s like a million hummingbirds erupt in her belly in disbelief, in panic, in a frantic sort of hopeful missing.

“Elvis-“ she doesn’t know if she’s trying to warn him, trying to remind him of the wrongness of what he’s thinking, or if it’s a beg for him to ignore her sensibilities, to take her and make her that new little wifey with the carefree face and the mindless little head.

His face is dark and flushed like he gets when he’s aroused, his features seeming to get richer with the heightened intensity of his feelings and she can feel the sweat break out behind her through his silk shirt, slicking up her own back through the gauze of her dress. Elvis’ eyes drop back to her face, remaining there with a million intentions painted therein but not a single flicker of wavering shows.

Elaine had no reason to be as startled as she was when she felt his hands drop to her waist and spin her around, picking her up beneath the ribs with his astounding strength and tossing her like he would rag doll on his karate mats. She landed with a silly bounce amongst the bedding. It could have been romantic if he had any blue left to his irises as he looked down at her, sauntering to the foot of the bed himself and surveying her where she lay.

“Wife.” he greeted before taking hold of a footsie in each hand and spreading them apart for him to step between her legs.

"Elvis." A whisper as if saying his name any louder would unleash something they might both come to regret. As if it'd cause the dam she's locked her emotions in this entire ordeal will finally break. If she calls him husband it's over. He knows her inside and out, every crevice and dip in her body and soul has been mapped by him. The lie will come apart with a simple utterance of his title that he still has in this moment. The title he still has for three more weeks.

"Elaine." Her name comes out in a shaky breath that she can tell he's attempting to control, to rein in. Those blue eyes she's fallen in love with more and more as years had gone by are an inky void, pupils covering every inch they can and not just because of some pill he had to take or because she had watched him die right in front of her. Both their tongues dart out to wet lips and catch errant drops of sweat before she hears the *clink* of his belt.

That noise isn't new to her, the jangle and clanging of the metal a familiar sound. In the quiet of the room, in the quiet of the house? Of their home? It steals a breath from her lungs as sure as his body pressing down on her would have. The belt sounds like one of the heaviest ones he owns and a shiver unbidden rolls through her body as the cacophony of that gaudy belt gets louder and louder in her ears. Each breath takes effort, forcing air between the two of them that threatens to stifle any calming thought or action. A final puff of air- of his breath- warm and humid runs across her hair, forcing a loose strand of it to move.

Elaine doesn't. Elaine doesn't move an inch even as his belt finally comes off in a subdued flourish and a minor curse. Her eyes focus on the gaudy little harem lamp above them even as Elvis drops the belt ever so gently next to her body. It still clangs against the rings of his hand and its own golden links.

Sweaty and warm, his bejeweled hand moves to cup her cheek. "Mrs. Presley." he breathes her title into her lax mouth like it’s Holy Spirit anointed before slotting his mouth against hers with firm conviction in the rightness of his claim to her.

"Elvis."

It's not fair that all this force, all this passion, all this wanting that has -if she’s being honest- waned for her at times over the years is coming out of him only now, now when he thinks he’s lost her. Now that he’s more fool than he’s ever been. They’ve been alone too often in their marriage, if not separated by miles and oceans, separated by intent and interpretations of it.

“Still mine, for a few more months you’re still mine. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. You jus’ take it, jus’ take me, Laney”

And if she weren’t blinded herself by a heartache the proportions of which were only matched by losing a child, she might think every grip and clash of their bodies tells her he wants her every bit as bad as she wants him.

Still.

Mindless and hazy she waits for him to notice how every give and shudder of her own frame declares her want for him. He thinks he’s forcing the matter -but all he’s doing is giving her some false hope to curl around and cry over when the fissure finally splits apart.

I wanted you. But I thought I was alone in it, she thinks she hears them both saying it with every lewd squelch and pant.

It’s cruel confirmation of how entwined they’ve become, how much knowledge of the other they’ve collected over the years that he can make her writhe even under these circumstances, have her shattering beneath him effortlessly like older, kinder, gentler times. It’s made worse when she can feel him slow, stopping partway in that familiar way when he’s edging himself, intending to make her go round the loop once more, the familiarity of it makes her want sob, not from any hurt of the present, but at the notion this may be the last time she feels it -they both want this to last. And that unity is a mocking thing, all context considered.

He’s sweaty and she’s trembling, there’s so much warmth coming off his angry frame that she feels like curling inside the furnace and letting him make her forget anything beyond this physical connection that was never in doubt, the sheets are cold and dry and foreign against her back by comparison and she thinks of sleeping alone amongst them for the rest of her life. Elvis seems to sense this weakness of hers, one he wished he supported sooner, taken advantage of back when she looked so indestructible but was privately fraying at the seams, trying to hold the whole fairytale together. He shoulda done this sooner.

Old dog, new tricks, maybe, but Elvis has always been clever, opportunistic even, and he keeps his thrusts shallow and tantalizing as his wife gasps back to life beneath him and he keeps her close, his hands wound into her hair, hairy forearms beneath her shoulders, her ankle caught somewhere near his ear and his sweaty nose dripping onto her cheek.

“C’mon now Tink, you’ve thrown your fit,” he reasons to her in a coo that is underscored by the cajoling gait of his hips rocking into her, it has her clenching around those first few inches of him again, “ya made your point. Don’t -don’t do this to us baby. You c’mon back now. Ain’t anythin’ out there that’d satisfy you like us. Ain’t nobody else needs ya more dan hims does, satnin, don’t leave hims, baby.”

A good fuck, that’s all she needed, he’s sure of it. Or a couple of ‘em. He shoulda started dishing them out in Palm Springs but he’d been so angry when she filed and she’d been so cold. A couple of good fucks, that’ll solve it.

And to be heard. Which -she’s gotten that, all of America’s been hearing how he can’t keep his own wife.

Whatever bit of sentimentality he’s feeling right now, the sort that makes him wanna spill over how pretty she looks, vanishes in the angry tumult of his recalled humiliation. It fires him up instead and he snorts in his breath above her like an angry bull, perfectly capable of making her pay, making her see some sense, too. The longer she doesn’t reply the more this feeling surmounts the gentler ones and if Elvis were being honest, he knows denial had given way to rage and now bargaining and he’s full on panicking, trying to keep a woman who he shouldn’t have to chase.

She’s his wife.

“Elaine?” even to his own ears he sounds frantic and rough.

She is crying beneath him now, he thinks, that’s not all sweat making her face shine and her lips are taut like when she’s trying to hold it in and he wonders why the hell she’s the one crying. He feels like crying, he’s being left without an explanation or a pot to piss in. And all that while he’s still perfectly capable of proving he’s the best she’ll ever get. It’s like she’s agreeing with him when her hips start to move on their own accord, disagreeing with his teasing thrusts and instead she impales herself up on him, rough and sloppy to the rhythm of her fits of crying.

“I loved you.” Elaine sobs into his neck and he could wring hers for the confusion of it, for the way he just doesn’t get her after a lifetime of trying and how only this, this communion, this passion, this fucking is the only thing they make great sense at. Back when it had a purpose, back when it was to bring joy, to make a baby or five, and even now -to tie her to him somehow.

He folds her body viciously and plants his foot on the bed, thrusting so hard into her with all that wild abandon he knows she’d been jealous of him expending on his audience and not his family. “You greedy lil bitch, you love me,” he growls, “-what a revelation.”

‘Just an ounce of all that passion would go a long way, Elvis’ -he can hear the echo of her stupid little voice even now.

Passion? You want passion, Tink? He doesn’t think he’s ever been so passionately furious when he’s climaxed before ever in his life. For once it’s quite obvious he’s not ‘made love’, war maybe, but not love -and ain’t that another joke, he’d meant to make her love him again.

Elaine tears at his back with her fingernails and hears him snarling at her that he won’t stop, can’t stop, why can’t she stop this nonsense? She grips him harder, she seizes herself as he starts to slow, claws at his back with each vicious pump -seems they’ll both be shifting in their seats next time in the courtroom.

“Elaine?” he sounds so broken, like he does those times when they bring him back from heaven’s gates, it’s mumbled into her neck again like always but this time there’s no drugs to blame, not directly, not if she’s honest. She’s the one killing him. This little plan of hers to save him, just might finish him.

She prays God will be kind, prays he’ll keep her man alive long enough for her to finish this ugly business and restore his freedom, prays that maybe the hot slosh of spend coating her womb won’t be a waste. That she’ll have something of him left, just once more, please just one more. Something left of the man she married. Something to remind her of why they married and of what it was like to be happily married. Maybe just once more she wants to carry his entire world inside her.

“No, Elvis. I-I’m sorry, no.”

When he pulls away, it's not just sweat coating his lashes and his face. This plan of hers might just finish them both.

_______________________________

Every day in that courtroom is another layer of pride and image stripped away from Elvis and her and their perfect Southern Camelot. Every day is another headline for the papers with pictures of Elvis making a fool of himself in a way that can’t be smoothed over by anyone. Every day has cameras being shoved in Elaine’s face as she leaves with another hickey on her neck, bruising and blossoming in a way that looks grotesque when she sees it on the news later that night. The black outfits don’t help the contrast.

Every other day is being thrust against a bathroom stall’s wall with heels digging into Elvis’s back.

“E-Elaine-" He’ll stutter out, the feel of her clenching around his cock making it hard to focus or maybe it was the bite of her nails through his dress shirt. "You stop this. Been grovelin' 'n I deserve to have my wife listen."

"Ex. Wife." Elaine will huff out, words slurring into a quiet mewl as his cock brushes that one spot.

"Wife." An argument and a fact that he'll hammer home until the very last second he can. She never corrects him after the first time, too worried the knowledge would crush him to the point of everything finally giving out.

Jesse has taken to looking askance at her, worried and haunted little looks with fluttery hands at shoulder level that remind her of Elvis before he married her. If she had Elvis’ grit she’d ask her son if he had something to say and tell him to say it.

As it is she just pats his elegant hands, a man’s hands, she realizes, and thanks him profusely for his support, for being there at court with her day after day, missing practice and missing dates, letting a youthful spring and summer slip on by. They’ve been at this for close to a year.

“It’s nothin mama.” Jesse insists, almost offended at the idea he’d be anywhere but by her side.

________________________________

|| 5th, JUNE 1977 ||

When Ann makes her call, Elaine’s heart fills with all the old butterflies and girlish excitement of a past decade. They’ve kept in touch, of course they have, but between the touring, the marriages, and the unspoken acknowledgment of life falling apart from one and coming together for another, there’s less common ground to chat about compared to the days when Elaine used to share her husband and two little vixens named Thumper and Tink got to pick him apart in gleeful adoration like girls with their crush.

“Can I come by?” Thumper asks her, soft and kind but without the playful undercurrent that precipitated all her other visits.

“Well of course you can, you know you can.“ Elaine puzzles, finger worrying the wire in a nervous tick that has nothing to do with anticipation, dread pools in her belly instead.

There’s no children to greet Ann when she comes to the door, Marie at school and Jack away at his apprenticeship in California, Jesse has taken to spending his days in the studio when he’s not needed elsewhere, Daisy on the road and Rosalee in College, Ella married and attempting to assimilate with her in-laws. It feels like a ghost house compared to what Ann recalls. Maybe it’s just the passage of time but something terribly wrong and lonely strikes her at the lifelessness of the grand house, like it’s become haunted without a single death.

Unless it’s the death of the Presley’s as a whole. That would do it.

Elaine stands at the top of the stairs like old times, but there’s no gambit of children to wait for and so she speeds down the stairs at a breezy gait, smiling soft and subdued even as she refuses to be coy with her hug. She wraps Thumper up in a deep embrace and Ann squeezes her back, saying a million things at once by their clutching hold, murmuring little half sentences of condolences and “missed you’s”.

“What’d you come for?” Elaine asks her at the dining table after having supplied ice water and coasters for her guest. Ann turned down the saltines Elaine devoured with peculiar relish.

Always a straight shooter, Elaine. It makes Ann sigh and smooth out her skirt, clearing her voice to repay her candor with like. “I came to see what on earth was going on. To see if you were ok. And, I guess I came to see if it’s really happening. Nobody really thinks it’s happening. Or -I don’t know.”

“It’s happening.” Elaine replies with grim resignation.

“I don’t understand because Elvis says you’re the one divorcing and I always thought if one-“ Ann stops herself to scoff, “-I actually never thought either of you would ever divorce. You’re sincere?”

“It’s happening.” Elaine repeats, shielding her saltine chewing with a manicured hand. The action also flashes her still worn wedding band.

“So it’s not a threat?” Ann marvels, “When Roger insisted it was true, I thought it must be some drastic measure, something to get Elvis’ attention. His cooperation, you know, something to just-“

“-I’ve tried many drastic measures to gain that.” Elaine responds, “ all of them failed. I’d never ‘threaten’ something as horrible as this.“

“But…you’d do something…this horrible.” Ann murmurs, scared to play devil's advocate but utterly confused.

“You don’t know what I’ve been dealing with and, what you saw in the early days of residency, even the stuff on the film sets, it’s like aspirins compared to what he’s on now.”

“So it’s the drugs?” she whispers, heartsick, “You can’t handle being…around them? Around him?” she asks, then adds after careful consideration, “I have noticed you seem, seem still very tactile with him. I see the-“ she waves her finger at Elaine’s collarbones, “-I see the marks. Are you scared of him?”

It is unthinkable of Elvis. It really is, and Ann knows her face must show disbelief even when presented with her friend's mottled skin, and she hates herself for doubting a woman’s account, but if Elaine were to say she’s scared, Ann isn’t sure she’d be able to buy that. Not of Elvis. Even under the influence.

“Gosh no.” Elaine scoffs, a beat too late. “I just can’t do it anymore. All of it. Just the typical little things that build up in a marriage, I suppose.”

She tries to grin and Thumper thinks it’s the weakest acting she’s ever seen. Elaine more convincingly played a virgin in their home movies when deepthroating cucumbers for Elvis’ enjoyment.

“How’s Roger? Elaine asks, through with defending herself and Ann feels lost, adrift and unable to get near like she once did.

“Roger is fine.” Ann replies, “He sends his best. How is Ella?”

“Tell him I’m sorry they brought your name up, last week.” Elaine sighs, no apology offered to Thumper. They both know she’d be offended at an apology for being associated with them. “Ella is decidedly pregnant, that’s what she is.”

“Is she?” Thumper coos, followed by an alarmed quavering of hope and concern on her face. “Elaine, that’s-“ it is wonderful despite the circumstances but Elaine’s brittle posture suggests a to-do about it might sink her. “Congratulations, Grandma Tink.” Thumper settles for, daring to reach across the table top, seizing Elaine’s hand and squeezing its saltine dusted elegance.

“Thank you.” she whispers hoarsely, “She calls me everyday. Reminds me of you and me back when … her man he -he sounds sweet. Of course he’ll be gone awhile and so I’m all she has got to talk to about throwing up each morning and watching things swell.” None of this is how they expected or intended, Elvis and Elaine should both be hovering about and annoying their first grandchild before they’re even out in the world. Instead Ella’s perched down in Texas, no doubt terribly homesick, and Elaine’s talking about grandbabies like it’s another addition to the carport. “Tell Roger we’re sorry they brought your name up. Please tell him.”

“We don’t care.” Thumper insists and Elaine hopes that’s an accurate representation of Roger’s feelings. “He only asked-“ Ann stares out the front windows and down the drive towards the gates, summer colors brilliantly lush outside the house, she’s seen this view so many times it hurts, “-he asked that I make sure that…any…videos, and such, were disposed of.” she winces as she gets it out, once her manager, always her manager that man. “I wasn’t sure which of you to ask about them.”

Elaine stares at her intensely as if trying to read her soul. “I’ve most of them upstairs. Ruined by pregame juice mainly but the labels are sentimental so I’ve kept them.” Ann wonders if they’re ruined at all, and if they are she wonders if it’s by orange juice or by something far more lewd. Elvis never had great aim, “I’m sure Elvis has the ones we sent him under lock and key. Either way, you know neither of us would endanger you. You know that, Thumper.”

“Yes, yes I do.” Ann breathes, resting her chin in her hand, mournful at having insinuated otherwise.

“So you can tell Roger they’re not a worry.” Elaine prods with the shadow of an old smirk, “And you never know, in future it might not be so hard to track Naughty and I down at once.”

“Oh?” Ann squints at her in confusion.

“Mhmm.” Elaine just hums and shrugs her shoulders, the purple little mark on her clavicle shadowing with the movement. “Are you saying the night, Thumper?”

Ann leaves that evening more bewildered than when she arrived. “You were right, Roger,” she tells her husband as she settles beside him late that night, “she didn’t tell me a thing. Not really.”

___________________________

|| 9th, JUNE 1977 ||

“They’re gonna stop pressin’ ‘bout Thumper,” the murmur of his voice registering before the hand on her arm does as they both find themselves heading to the bathroom. It’s a flimsy sort of an excuse and one she’s beginning to think the papers and the news cameras see through.

“That’s good.” Her voice is a little too airy but today’s been a back and forth of yelling and excuses and all Elaine’s thinking about is how one of Daisy’s bandmates called her up from a payphone telling her that they almost couldn’t wake her for the show. The show she shouldn’t be doing but the show that Elaine let her do because she’s been playing being an adult for so long that who was she to argue against it?

“Told her we’d make sure it was- nothing came out. Roger was worried about it. For her image and for his, maybe.”

After all, it’s one thing to just be married to Ann-Margret, another thing entirely to be married to Thumper who’d rolled in the hay literally and figuratively with the Presleys at their lowest point. He’s never minded her continued friendship with them but that was before whispers of infidelity turned into whispers of sexual romps that were taped and stored or pictures that were taken and used as masturbatory material. He's never minded until Joe E, bless his soul, implied he might've seen copper locks in a video from Circle K that Elvis had shown a few of the members of the Mafia. Not that the court or anyone could find such a video.

The lock to the bathroom clicks behind Elvis and he turns around, raising an eyebrow. “Now hold on a minute, she- Thumper thought we’d- I’d never-”

“She didn’t. Roger was concerned. She knows us well enough, Elvis.” Still reassuring him as if they’re not going through what is turning out to be the messiest divorce the world has ever seen and likely will ever see. “I told her as much and she felt bad about asking.”

About the tapes and the photos, not so much about their divorce, Elaine reasons. As much as she wants to fault one of her oldest friends -it’s understandable. That was the purpose of the divorce. To come out of left field and appear to all concerned as if the faithful wife has finally grown unable to force herself to put up with Elvis Presley any more. The Colonel wouldn’t question that and had wanted it for years, if anyone were to ask him. Ann- their lil Thumper wouldn’t have been able to keep her plan a secret, her loyalty to Elvis and Elaine would have put her in a spot that Elaine didn’t dare want to shove her into. No, it was better for her to question the same as everyone else. Maybe if this went well they could all have a laugh about it in Hawaii. Or at the very least, Ann could forgive her.

“Don’t know why she didn’t jus’ ask me, ‘m the one who-'' Elvis's voice trails off when it hits him. Why would she ask the person who likely doesn’t hold most of them. Who’s fixin’ to lose everything in a divorce he desperately doesn’t want. “Least she knows now."

Elaine should agree with him, she should agree with him that at least Ann knows now, but she only knows part of the story. She only knows that the man she fell in love with on a movie set and his wife she maybe sometimes loves as more than a friend won’t damage her the way they’re damaging each other. How even Elaine had to joke that maybe it would be easy to run into them together in the future. Even during these hellish days in court they can’t escape each other’s orbits.

Pretending to not love and care for Elvis is an impossible task when what she’s doing is because her love and her care for a man who is sometimes brutish and stupid and selfish is so overwhelming it threatens to choke her.

At her silence, Elvis allows himself to crowd into her space, hands grasping at her hips ever so gently. "How's Rosalee?"

They're both too tired to fight in this bathroom, their energy having been spent outside of it for everything else. Asking about his favorite daughter, the one who's lived and breathed for her daddy for years feels safe.

"Not- she's not very good, Elvis. It's been- she hasn't really been the same." Since what happened. If things were different maybe she'd be taking the time to relax at home and maybe Daisy wouldn't have run off from guilt and - no. Elaine can't dwell on that even as her eyes start to water.

"It's hard on them." His tone isn't accusing, instead managing to just state a fact. This whole divorce has been hard on all of them. Even if Elaine's the one instigating everything he sees how unhealthy she looks. Feels how her body seems to be breaking down in ways that aren't as flashy as his body but the signs are there.

God knows he's not always been the most pious of men in action, that somehow all his good intentions and gospel songs haven’t managed to pull him back as he skidded down the road to hell, yet he’s got such a hankering to hide in the cleft of the rock once again. Acknowledge he’s a man, a failing man, a wayward husband, a prodigal son.

He finds himself reaching for Laney’s hand, palm up in a way she recognizes without a word. She clasps it without hesitation, in a time worn manner they’ve used before marriages, births, trips, shows, bedsides of sick and dying friends and here in this tiled little haven of the courthouse where they’re allowed to be as vulnerable and broken as their Heavenly Father knows them to be.

They bow their heads and Elvis finds himself begging his Almighty not for a return of fortunes but merely a cessation of tragedies. Elvis’ hand twitches, a pinky disentangling from Tink’s clasp and tickling her belly, like a presentment, like a benediction of nothing more than a heartbroken hunch on his part.

_____________________________

|| 29th, JULY 1977 ||

Elvis regrets answering the door to his penthouse the moment it swings open to reveal Johnny Cash with that sort of frantic and half crazed look in his eyes that Elvis thought he'd given up at the beginning of the decade. Wasn't that a hoot, the two of them swore up and down they had gotten clean for their women, the loves of their lives- the ones that God blessed them with to live out their present and future everlasting lives with- only to fall back into those old habits. What a cosmic joke.

"You're a fool, Presley." Short and to the point in a way that only Johnny can manage. Elvis exhales, wondering what exactly he's done to God to earn one of his oldest friends calling him a goddamn fool at the closest thing he's got to a home nowadays. His lil Schnucki comes to visit him, and Jesse's called once or twice but ever since that- ever since he realized how serious his Laney was about leaving him- Graceland ain't his home anymore.

"Ain't gonna say anythin'? No fight left in you?" The door to the penthouse is kicked in and if Elvis was any other person, or Johnny was any other person Elvis might've jumped. As it is, all he manages is a shrug as he pinches his nose. His head's achin' and his eyes hurt and all he wants to do is sleep. Take something to make every whisper floating in his head die down. An older brother telling him how he's ruined his life isn't remotely something he's got the patience for. Not after today's courtroom.

"Whatcha want me to say, John? Ya know everythin', so whatcha want me t'say, hm? Laney's leavin' me, takin' what she wants and leavin' me poorer than I met her."

Not monetarily, no, Elvis figures he could handle that better than the reality of his Laney, his Tink, the bjggest part of his soul other than his mama leaving him. Elaine's leaving him a man with barely any soul left in him to fight and go on. And he swears- lord he swears he felt something different about her recently. Something swelling that shouldn't.

"What I want'ya to say is that I'm gonna go back to my hotel and me and June are gonna tell each'otha that this whole thing's jus' you all been stubborn as a pair o'mules. Cause if it ain't, I gotta be real concerned June's gonna up and do the same thing on me." Johnny's always been someone who doesn't let Elvis get away with half the things everyone else does. Maybe it's because of how they started things together or how Johnny knows that half the reason he's got June is because of Elvis. Or maybe it was some misplaced need to be a brother to Elvis- to fill in a spot he figures his twin would've.

"June ain't gonna-" Elvis starts before Johnny uses the two inches he's got on Elvis to his advantage, staring the other man down as he cuts him off.

"Lane wouldn't've. Shouldn't've. Yet she is. This ain't- this ain't 'bout whatever damn excuse she's got. Can't be. There's somethin' you ain't tellin' everyone."

More and more Elvis has to laugh at his life and how everyone seems to think he's got some power over his Laney. That this whole divorce and the way he's embarrassing the both of them day after day is just another show. A snow job as the colonel would put it. This would be so much easier if that was the case. It isn't the case though, it isn't the case and Elvis feels his laughter escape him like the boom of a cannon.

"If there's anythin'- The whole damn country thinks I'm an idiot who can't keep his wife and here- I don't need you to be thinkin' 'm an idiot who don't know some grand plan his wife's cooked up. Ain't no plan. Ain't nothin' I ain't already groveled about and cried about in those hallowed halls. Laney jus' don't want me any more."

A silence settles between the two men at that revelation with Elvis breathing sounding so labored that even through the haze of his own drugs Johnny levels a look at his friend. It’s only after he’s sure that the other man won’t pass out and die on him that he actually speaks.

"You- You ain't me. She ain't Vivian. She- Elvis there ain't no way she's- that ain't it. You're both- you two can't keep your hands off each other even divorcin'. She- she still wants ya.”

“She wants my cock, John. Wants my money. Wants my house. My mama’s house. Know I said it was hers the moment we got hitched but- it wasn’t ever supposed to be hers. It’s- It’s ours.” Elvis isn’t one to break down, not in front of certain people and Johnny might be one of his friends that are near and dear to him but he doesn’t want to lose it in front of him. Doesn’t want to cry and blubber like he has been in the courtroom, pleading and begging for Elaine to just see sense. “We don’t- She don’t love me any more. T-That’s all there is to it. No grand con-spear-ah-see. Jus’ my wife wantin’ to be my ex-wife. Don’t know if I blame her. I ain’t-”

“You been a better husband than I was. Better husband than a lotta men. If- if 'Lane wanted to leave ya? She'd have done it back in the 60s. When you were carryin' on wit' what's her name- Swedish girl- fire hair. But she went 'n made friends wit' her. That woman's supposed to be yours till Kingdom Come 'n beyond. This doesn't make a single lick of sense and ya know it!"

One would think that nothing could echo in this penthouse and yet somehow Johnny's booming yell, filled with bass that Elvis is sure have made men greater than him bend and cower, echoes and reverberates in his ears. A stark reminder that Elaine and him seem to affect everyone around them for better or worse. Elvis's heart pumps a little harder as he tries to wrap his aching head around everything for what feels like the millionth time.

"I-I know it don't. This- you know these things don't take this long, John. I've-I been draggin' this out. Stickin' my damn heels in the mud. Anythin' to get her to come back, to see what- anythin' to not lose her. And she's jus'- ain't none of it workin'. Daisy up'n'ran off, Rosalee jus' wants me to be near her mama or her mama near me. Jesse's lookin'-"

"That what it is? Her doing it for the kids?” Johnny’s question has him tilting his head, not entirely unlike the millions of dogs Elvis’s children have had over the years. He ought to be offended Johnny cut him off so easily and without a care in the world and yet Johnny’s one of the few people he’d let do that. “She’s doin’ this for your kids.”

For once, Elvis has to look at Johnny and guess at what he means whether it’s because the man is too stunned to put it into words or because he doesn’t want to even entertain the idea, Elvis doesn’t know. He can hear his heartbeat going a bit too and a bit too hard in his ears as he answers.

“Ya mean- have i been failin’ them too? Have a been as bad of a father to ‘em as ‘ve been a bad husband?” The laugh that leaves Elvis sounds more like a sob than anything else. Johnny purses his lips even as he listens. "Ya mean how I found out I'm havin' a grandbaby through Laney? Or how Daisy's worse than you’n’I together on whatever she's takin'? Or how my boys acted like superheroes for their sister? How my lil Schnucki had- how I had to find that out from the Harrisons and my boys? ‘N I wasn’t there to blow those fools’ heads clean off their necks?”

Johnny realizes right then he’s made a mistake coming here. Or maybe just made a mistake pressing this point like it’s honestly any of his damn business. “You haven’t-”

Elvis cuts him off with a wave of his hand as he steps away, trying to feel less like a caged animal. “That’s right, I haven’t. I haven’t, John. Haven’t been there, haven’t given ‘em what they need. I had one job. Take care of all of ‘em and love ‘em. Failed so- I don’t blame her, John. I- I love her. Ya know I do. You know this sorta love but I can’t, I can’t make her love me again. S-she ain’t gonna love me again. Not the way she has.” His breath comes in short pants as his hand shakes and his leg jitters like he’s a man twenty years and nearly ten children younger. “I tried fixin’ this. The kids- the kids tried fixin’ this. But they can’t- can’t get through to her, these days! They’re all beggin’ and cryin’ and torn up and the Tink I know wouldn’t’ve lasted a week after causin’ such hurt to our babies. Well this new edition of her’s done made it close to a year.”

Johnny opens his mouth to speak only for Elvis to hold up a finger and force himself to take a deep breath, like Laney told him to those times after she thumped his heart back to life for him. Laney’d get what she wants if he died but he’s got a grandbaby he’s gotta see. Wants to try and see. “A year. Been nearly a year and it ain’t workin’. Nothin’- been tryin’ to remind her’ve what we had. What I give t’her. It-” Elvis starts to trail off, the fight that Johnny had put inside him slowly deflating till all he’s left with is the shell of a man who’s bone tired. Bone tired and losing everything no matter what fight he puts up. His shoulders slump.

Watching someone who’s as larger than life as Elvis Presley seemingly fold in on himself feels wrong in Johnny’s mind, but it gives him the answer he needs. It gives him the answer he’s looking for when it comes to just what’s going on with this whole divorce and what’s going on with Elaine and Elvis. His legs cross over to where Elvis is in only a few steps and without missing a beat, his arm wraps around Elvis’s shoulder. Elvis might not be his brother in blood but they’ve gone through enough that- that he wouldn’t leave him out in the cold without a hint of comfort.

“You gotta make peace wit’ it, then. Gotta- The Lord ain’t gonna want to see the two of ya fightin’ till ya keel over and die. Gotta give- If what she wants is to not be your wife any more, ya gotta give it to her. Just to make peace.” His voice isn’t much louder than a low rumble and yet Elvis can hear him clear as day.

“She won’t be my Laney any more. Won’t be my Tink.” A response as if he's a child being denied his favorite toy. Johnny doesn't stop himself from huffing out a laugh.

"But she'll still be Elaine, your children's mama. It ain't like you won't ever see her, EP." But that’s not the problem, that’s never been the problem and from the way Johnny’s looking at him, he knows that. “But ya gotta- it’s not doin’ either of ya a bit o’good to be draggin’ it on and on. Not after everythin’. Been livin’ ‘part for so long-” Johnny trails off, hand moving to rub at his eyes as he shakes his head. “Nothin’ you’ve done’s fixed it. Might not be meant to be fixed in those ways.”

“I-I- I don’t have anythin’ to fall on, John. I leave her it’s jus’ me and-” The medicine I got coursin’ through me, is what he should say. “I don’t know how to not be her husband.”

A silence settles over the two of them, punctuated only by Elvis’s heavy breaths and Johnny’s sharp and quick ones until Johnny settles himself against the wall, crossing his arms and raising his leg to press against it.

“Never said ya had to stop actin’ like you were.”

__________________________________

|| 6th, AUGUST 1977 ||

It’s a supreme irony that after a year of wishing for a cessation of that old stubbornness, that bitter pride of his, when such submission comes in the form of a mute and sullen husband opposite in the courtroom, Elaine feels her heart hammer in her chest, bewildered and terrified as he concedes one settlement after another in quick session.

Jesse gasps beside her at the change, even looks ready to beg her to reconsider her greediness as 90% gets handed over without a hint of the raging qualms her opposition has been voicing for five months.

Only Colonel Parker appears scared as shit, angrily grabbing at Elvis’ limp arm and trying to interrupt his directions with the lawyers. Each new verdict gets waved through by a lazy flick of a bejeweled hand and Elaine thinks the repetition of the gavel granting her all she wants could make for a decent backbeat in the studio.

After an agreement to give up 90% of his catalog, Elaine and Jesse both share a look, heartbroken and relieved that he’s really, truly, finally given up.

It’s obvious to all that it’s a bodily wearing out, Elvis looks awful and no amount of jewelry or eyeliner or Snow Job paraphernalia can hide the fact Elaine’s husband is a sick man. Even the papers who’ve found him easy pickings for ridicule and blame suddenly find some heart for his obvious suffering, even if the compassion is wedged between headlines about his expanding waistline and her latest money grab.

“What’s with you?” she demands and this time it’s her hand around his wrist, the unsteady clop of his boots following her heels after the click of the bathroom latch. When she drops his wrist his gold studded hand lands heavily by his thigh, he makes no move to crowd her, to grip her hair and kiss her like old times. “What was all that about?” she finds herself angry instead of relieved, mimics his lazy hand waves and scoffs in his face. She knew and planned on this day coming, but it doesn’t make it less unsettling as she takes in the victory of her spirit over his. He’s her man after all, her daddy and her provider, tough and proud and one of a kind and she’s beat him at the game of wills. She can feel her eyes pooling and angrily runs a hand under her nose as he stares at her with a blank, droopy expression.

“M’tryin’ to make peace.” Elvis shrugs, it was Johnny’s advice. Whatever it took, even if it meant giving in, he’s the man of their house and he’s here to make peace. Maybe if they end on a kind note he’ll be thought of, invited into the inner circle even even, by the time Ella pops out their grandbaby. “Never cared about the fuckin’ catalogue Tink, was only ever about buyin’ time to convince you to stay.”

The colonel’s panic at this latest settlement, one that finished the final prying open of his carefully constructed facade, one that’s exposed him to years of investigations, jail time maybe -though few outside of Elaine, Mr. Corleone and the FBI know that yet- is like sipping a mojito after a long day baking in the sun for Elaine.

Two decades of her saying he wasn’t right and Vernon telling her to go mind the carpet bill, change a diaper, redo a curl.

It should be refreshing, it should be a tonic to the way she feels shaky most mornings and ravenous in the evenings. Instead she finds herself trembling and laying an icy hand to Elvis’ burning forehead, registering the unnatural heat even in this chilled bathroom. It’s not just the stupid velvet coat, one blue eye is far more dilated than the other now she’s pulled his glasses down. He flinches from it, whether from the brightness of the bare bulbs or her touch, she isn’t sure.

“What’ve they got you on?” she sounds like a frog, throat all constricted and voice thin. She cares, she still cares so much and it could’ve been just yesterday she folded her handsome young groom into that bathtub in Germany and held him through the shakes. She wishes she could ask him ‘why do you always waste my love?’ But somehow, even after all her cruelty, that feels a little mean. “Baby, talk to me, what’s -“

Elvis grabs her hand, gently this time and he folds it with her other in both of his, a tan, sparkly little cage, she wonders how long it’ll take him before he pulls his wedding band off. Will he discard it before they make it out of the courthouse today? “Don’t you fret yourself, lil mama, those days are over.” he rumbles as he squeezes her hands and she wonders if he means days of fretting or drugs, they coincide often enough, “You jus’ take care of y’self, ok?” he sucks in a trembling breath and his glasses pinch between her fingers in his squeeze, “Without me there to nag ya bout it I-I -you take care of y’self.”

“Oh Elvis-'' she whimpers, moving closer, wanting to beg for some forgiveness, all clever plans and well timed revelations beginning to fray as she watches him rally his old magnanimity despite his grief.

_____________________________

|| 28th, SEPTEMBER 1977 || >>

He’s not alone in this concern, Elaine doesn’t know if she has Jesse or Daisy to blame for the way Marlon shows up in Memphis like that Yankee son of a bitch belongs that land bound. There’s never been a reason to see Brando except on one coast or another and it’s jarring for Elaine, seeing him take up space that’s so uniquely Elvis’ property, even if it’s under her name.

To see him in her home. Her true home.

She’s no good at hiding her nerves or the exhausted paranoia of wondering how Elvis will react when he hears of this visit. Marlon reads her like a book and leans against her kitchen counter, acting like Mary isn’t throwing them a million side eyes over the biscuit batter, and asks after her well being.

“Pretty terrible, thanks. And you?” she shrugs, wringing out a dish towel over and over. She doesn’t know when she became so fidgety, nowadays it seems she’s always betraying her nerves with restless hands and she never had that trouble before. Always a baby to hold if she needed the excuse, she guesses.

Her last baby is nine years old. And so she wrings out her dish towels and stares back at an old lover with the weary openness of a woman who doesn’t really care anymore. Elvis has been her one goal, and saving him is killing her as effectively as it is him. Those last days she wasn’t sure he was going to keep making it into the courtroom, shifting in his chair not from her nails furrows but from the repeated shots in his rump. The ones that have killed him a few times over.

Jesse made a visit to him in Vegas. Elaine doesn’t know what he said but her boy has barely spoken since. She asked her son how his father was, quite aware she doesn’t know the particulars from his fevered attentions in the handicapped bathroom of the Santa Monica courthouse. Her man would crawl out of his grave for the chance to make love one last time, it’s not a good gauge. Jesse said he keeps the curtains closed constantly. That he’s not letting anyone up. Charlie barely let Jesse up. His eyes are bad, so bad the curtains stay closed, otherwise Jesse couldn’t tell, couldn’t get a good look at him. He didn’t stay for the concert. Cissy says his voice has held up this time, at least.

“Pretty terrible.” She tells Marlon, because he’s always been more friend than lover, and that’s why he’s in Memphis when it’s a fool's errand anyway.

For all Marlon will speak his mind about this that and the other on things he cares about- yet God does he *care* about Elaine and so he bites his tongue at the first thought that pops into his head. *You've been pretty terrible for years and now you decided to care and do something about it*.

Instead: "You look terrible."

Which is a gross oversimplification of his feelings, but Elaine doesn't watch as his eyes slide over her pale and wan cheeks that look thinner than he's ever seen them. She doesn't watch how his eyes drift downward to breasts that are pressing against the dress she's wearing.

They remind him of when she was pregnant with Marie. They remind him of her breasts when she cried out beneath him against her tiki bar. If he closes his eyes he can picture them bouncing in front of his face, begging for him to bury his face in them. The boy- her oldest boy was right. Marlon doesn't even need to look at her stomach and yet some sick twisted masochistic tendency compels him to as if that'll change things.

It's small. Smaller than he figures any of her bumps have been and yet it's there. Mocking and growing at its own pace.

Proof that Elaine Phipps wants to remain Elaine Presley till one of them dies and maybe even beyond. Marlon can't help the way he exhales through his nose, unable to look away even as Elaine talks,

"Marlon, are you even listening?"

No. But he needs to.

"Mind wandered off, you know how I get, Elaine." He straightens up and tries to stay alert, “So, all this really fixed things for ya, eh?” he quips sardonically and she smiles, rolls her eyes, fully aware he’s not mocking her, he’s mocking the hopelessness of it ever working.

“Yeah. It’s all coming up roses.” she snarks.

“I uh-“ he stipples his fingers on the counter and weighs his next move, “-I heard that Colonel Parker’s recently landed in some seriously hot water. Something about the audits during the divorce and how certain things don’t match up. Got it from the papers, you know how long they stretch a few vague facts. I had to read two whole pages to get ‘fraud’ and ‘debts’ out of them. Anyways, I thought you’d find that nice -hot water, all that.”

“So hot it’ll boil his coat of lies right off with any luck.” Elaine seethes and her sudden passion takes Marlon by surprise. Stirs an old appreciation for just how much verve is always bubbling beneath her doll-like exterior. His fingers itch to let out the excess in a gush around his fingers. “Illegal alien.” She expounds, warming to her argument in the way of someone long overdue a listen, “Would you believe it? All those endless homebound tours -runing Elvis into the ground on the same circuit simply because that greedy fool couldn’t tag along. Couldn’t step outside the country. Always wondered why he never crashed our time in Germany, knew he would if could. Fake, heartless, toad.”

“Fuck him.” Marlon agrees vehemently and Elaine looks up with the same appreciative eyes of a decade past when she got no arguments from him, unlike all the menfolk surrounding her most days. Marlon abides by a simple rule: if it pisses Elaine Presley off, he needs no further research to say it ain’t shit.

“Yes, well, I’ll leave that to the Justice Department, I’ve done my bit.” Elaine sighs, her little victory crow short lived and even with his bias for the unattached Miss Phipps, Marlon can see how hollow her achievements are without Elvis to pat her pretty head for them. “It’s been weeks and I- I’m afraid he’s angry Marlon.” they’re not talking of the Colonel now, Marlon can tell by her love-sick face, “I knew he would be, with the divorce and probably with framing Parker but -he was so kind that day. So kind I thought he might’ve forgiven or just, I don’t know but now, now he won’t even answer my calls. Marie hasn’t gotten through either and -it’s not like him, Marlon, it’s not.”

“You got something pressing to tell him?” Brando asks and doesn’t even bother to hide the way his eyes flick back over her ripening form, pondering if her boy hadn’t been silly after all, going on about her not noticing. If he were a woman, a pretty woman like Elaine still is, Marlon would be weighing those growing tits each day with pride and mesmerization -but then again, Elaine’s had more on her mind than appreciating her own assets like a horny old star who never learned to aim for his own league.

“No I only wanted to-” she bites her lip as if unsure or else what she wants is unspeakably optimistic for a woman who just threw it all away. “I missed his voice.”

_______________________________

<<< || 16th, AUGUST 1977 ||

The knock at the door startled them both. Elvis pulled his back from it and faced it like he was gonna defend his wife from the mob he suspected was outside. Old habits die hard.

“Y’all?” Jesse yelled through the thick wood, “There’s half the city crowdin’ outside, there’s not gonna be a path to squeeze through soon.”

“Yeah alright son, thank you.” Elvis cleared his throat as he dropped her hands, straightening his posture fully. “You ready?” he asked dully, eager to get the worst moment of his life over.

“I gue- I- yes.” she stumbled over her meaning and smoothed out her black jacket.

"Daddy?" Jesse's voice was heard over the wood once more and both Elaine and Elvis took matching deep breaths, sweat droplets falling on Elvis’s eyes with a wince.

It's not pity that had Elaine putting the glasses back on Elvis’s eyes, her fingertips brushing against his temples in a simple gesture she's done a million times before. No, it's her last hurrah as his wife, her last action as his wife. They may have signed the papers within the past hour and legally she may be Elaine Phipps once more but until they walk out of this bathroom and this courthouse she was Elaine Presley, wife of Elvis Presley. A low hum reverbated against her chest before she pulled away, a soft smile across her lips.

"There there, Mopey, all better," she whispered in the sort of tone she only uses for the children when bandaging a hurt. "Let's- let's go face the music."

“Got me more nervous than any curtain I’ve been behind,” he joked even as it falls flat and his breath comes quicker and quicker. This was the beginning of their new life as separate entities. As an ex-husband and an ex-wife.

The door wasn’t that heavy when he shut it earlier and yet it felt as if someone had remade it out of concrete as Elvis tried to push it open once the lock clicked open. He could already see the flashing bulbs from the cameras and the press of the mass of people outside waiting for them. They were no stranger to crowds but this one was one none of them wanted to face. A look was exchanged between the three of them as their shoes clicked against the floor of the courthouse, a silent acknowledgement to try and get to their waiting cars as soon as possible.

"Jess! Mama!" Elvis and Elaine looked up through the mob of people as they pushed and pulled at each other trying to catch a glimpse of the former couple with their oldest son. They found themselves half blinded by flashes of cameras and the sun's own light, trying to find the source of the bellowed words. "We're over heyer!"

Jack then. Jack who was growing more and more into Elvis’s twin if not in bulk but in charm and whose shout sounds something like Sargent Presley’s in the army. Elaine looked at Elvis, biting her lip as she did.

"Soundin’ more like me everyday." Elvis commented as if he was commenting on the weather. It had never been hard to talk to Elaine. Yet in this moment, Elvis found himself at a loss for words. And from the way Elaine was looking at him, the feeling was mutual. Matching pink tongues darted out to wet dry lips and Elvis opened his mouth, his arm outstretched as if he was going to grab at Elaine's only for his oldest son to pop up between them, taking Elaine's arm without a second thought.

"I've got you mama. I gotcha, let's go."

The look he leveled at Elvis made every single moment in this courtroom for the past five months seem like child's play. To have his oldest son look at him like he did with any suitor that tried to come Elaine’s way, hurt. But that was his life now wasn't it? That's Elvis Presley’s life without Elaine Phipps. That's Elaine Phipps's life without Elvis Presley, protected only by her sons and her daughters from a man she once called husband. The man she once loved with every fiber of her being or so Elvis thought. Make peace with it, Johnny said. Make peace with her, Johnny said. Elvis didn't think that it would feel like this.

“I know you do, Jesse. Let me say goodbye to your father.” Elaine said as softly as she could in order to avoid the prying ears of every journalist between here and her car. “Jack and your siblings aren’t going anywhere. Not in this crowd. Even if Jack’d run them over to protect me.”

A smile unbidden crossed Elvis’s lips at the joke between their eldest and Elaine. She wasn’t wrong, but that was his boys and their love for their mother in a nutshell, wasn’t it? Capable of murder to protect her the same as him. She- she would be alright even if- even if what he suspected to be true was.

“Jack drove us here, all of us.” She explained as her eyes flitted across his form one last time to check for imperfections and for signs he might be needing anything. “I’ll make sure Ella calls you about-”

“It’s fine, Elaine. Made my bed, gotta lie in it now.” His eyes scanned across the crowd, even as he winced from the light of the sun and the flashes even through his sunglasses, finally settling on his car with Colonel Parker in the passenger seat, waiting for Elvis with a look of pure displeasure and mild panic on his face. “Gotta get him and I outta here ‘fore I give him a heart attack.”

Elaine’s face hardened at the words, and Elvis, in a fit of nostalgic responsibility for her happiness, moved to place a soft kiss against her cheek, squeezing at her hands as he did.

“S’been the joy of my life knowin’ you, Miss Phipps.”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. 🌹

@eliseinmemphis

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

@ashtag2887

@dkayfixates

@vampireindistress

@ashtag6887

@i-r-i-n-a-a

@obsessedvibee

@peskybedtime

@goth-cowgirl-03

@stephthestallion

@fav-fanficssss

@loving-elvis

@honeyorangess

@soloangel

@xenaspace3-blog

@60svintage

[aliveinacoffin]

Kinda request

hi! I just wanted to ask if u could write a fic of any fandom and character of ur choosing! I enjoy reading your fics so much and I would love to read one of your own liking! Thank you and have a great day <333

i love you guys so much i literally would eat a baby for you guys PLS 😭😭 decided to write a gta v fic with micheal because GYATT damn do I love him, also sorry this took so long, I have like, a trillion fics to write 🥲

Wedding Ring

You knew Micheal was married with a wife and kids, and that he went through hell and back to keep them safe and alive. When he goes off this crazy adventure and he has to hide from the cops, where does he go? That's right, the woman who he has been sharing a bed with the last four years.

Fem!Reader: She/Her pronouns and descriptions

TW!: NSFW, cheating, ghosting, manipulation

It was a nice and sunny day, something that was usual for a city like Los Santos. Still, you took advantage of this fact. You were lounging in your backyard with nothing but a swimsuit on, trying to suntan in peace with your music playing loud as possible, enjoying the feeling of the sun's hot rays on your skin. 

That peace was quickly disrupted.

"Why the fuck are you playing music so god damn loud?" A familiar gruff voice barked from behind you. You snapped your eyes open, quickly sitting up to see the offender who disrupted your peace and broke into your house.

"Oh Michael." You groaned, laying back down on the white pool chair. The separated plastic part of the white chair dug in a satisfying way into your back.

"Seriously, Jesus it's eleven in the morning." Michael stumbled over to your phone, angrily smashing the side buttons.

"Damn who shit in your cereal? Or maybe drink would be better." You scoffed, pissed that he was even here. The old man hadn't contacted you in months, ghosting you after he fucked you in some shitty motel near sandy shores. 

"An old friend of mine and my whole fuckin' family." Michael mumbled, and you watched him behind your black sunglasses approach the bottom of your sunbleached chair, resting his hands on your ankles. He looked down, light green eyes watching his hands trave circles in your ankles. With his motions, his gold wedding ring glittered in the California sun.

"Why are you here?" You asked, not bothering to move from your position hands resting on your stomach. Your fingers suddenly felt very bare.

"I just wanted to see you, is that such a crime?" He shrugged, but his hands started to trail higher, now rubbing on your calfs. 

"Well, aside from the fact you haven't spoken to me in months, let a lone texted me. No, I guess not." You pulled your legs away, sitting on the side of the long chair. You still watched him, hands grabbing tightly on the metal, burning the palms of your hands.

"You know how it is, life gets in the way." He tried to wave you off, shrugging his shoulders. Michael had already taken off his suit jacket, white shirt looking grey with your vision. So he expected you to just hop on his dick right away?

"Yeah, I'm sure it does. With your wife and family keeping you busy." You got up, walking over to grab your phone and speaker.

Michael didn't say anything to that, instead he just watched you. He silently followed you inside, stopping you from closing the sliding glass door on him.

"Seriously Michael, why are you here?" You growled at him, not bothering to spare a glance back at him. You stopped at your sink, resting your knuckles on the metal appliance. His heavy footsteps followed you, and through the window above the sink you saw him come up behind you, watching you.

"I just have a lot of stress, and my therapy is always telling me to get rid of it." Michael's large hands rested on your hips, still watching your face.

"Then go to your wife. I'm obviously not anybody to you." You looked down, unable to meet his watchful gaze. Instead, you regrettable made eye contact with his ring. "Go home, go to your fuckin' over priced shitty therapist and your shitty family that your always whining about." You snapped, but you made no motion to move away from his hands.

"They left me." He admitted lowly, and that made you look up. Michael was not an honest man, he was a lying hypocrite who constantly cheated on his wife. He was always the type to skirt around the truth when it harmed him and constantly complained when he could. The man had left a life of crime, that much you knew, and ever since had regretted it.

"Why?" You asked softly, making eye contact with him again in the window. It was hard to see him, with your glasses and the bright sun outside, so you opted to take them off, making the appeal of Michael much clearer. Though, you couldn't stand stand look at him.  Michael loved making eye contact with you, for a reason you never knew. But it absolutely pained you to watch his eyes fill with want and desperation. 

"I'm not a good man. I chase things that I'll never get, things I can never keep." He leaned over your back, breathing into your neck. He pushed your hips back, pulling you flush against him. His hands wormed their way under the elastic of your bottom, rubbing and pinching the fat there. He pressed gentle kisses into your neck, lightly nipping the skin that was presented to him.

"Is that right? What about the things you have?" You knew for Michael no matter what he did, no matter what he got, nothing would ever be good enough for him. The perfect life he could have in his own expensive mansion is ruined by his own self hate and incompetence. 

He just scoffed at that, like the very notion of his luxury car and permanent retirement from life was so hard, something to just be brushed off like nothing.

"What about me? When will I stop being enough? Or have I already?" You asked, stopping his movements. He had already gotten the strings halfway down your ass, reaching just the top part of your bottom. Michael stilled, unmoving against your warm body.

"No, I can never get enough of you. I had to work on my marriage, but I never stopped thinking about you." Michael admitted, and that made your head hung low. You knew he was prone to just saying whatever would get him into your pants. He always knew what to say the exact words that would make you drop to your knees.

"Or maybe because I'm some pretty young thing who won't give you crabs." You tried to lighten the mood, tried to tease to cover up the aching hole the older man had unknowingly made inside you. He had created a Michael shaped hole in your heart that made you mourn during random hours of the day, and when he would fill it in the late hours of the night it soothed your bleeding heart.

"Hah, maybe." That made you tear up, eyes fluttering while he slipped off your bottoms, groping you fully. You could feel his hard on pressing into you, demanding its way onto you.

He slipped two calloused fingers down, tracing up and down your slit, gathering the wetness that has accrued.

"You act so fucking bratty, but you're so god damn wet." He barked in your ear, mocking you as he slipped a finger in. You sighed, rocking back against his fingers, wanting, needing more. Who knows when the next time he'll come back? 

If ever.

"Come on, you know I can handle way more than that." You rushed, wanting to just get this over with and never wanting this to end.

He tugged on your hair, pulling at your scalp.

"Don't rush me, just shut up and look pretty." Michael's past actions would attest to that, he loved it when you argued, when you threw fits and pouted, he loved every minute of it. Because he knew that if he pushed you for enough, you'd beg for his cock, you'd be crying and whining for it, you'd be crying for him.

Michael never was the one to love a submissive woman, would he like to have one? Sure, any man would. But after a while it would get boring, there'd be no angry sex, no makeup sex, there'd be no back talk for him to shut up. Plus, it would be like speaking to a void, nothing important would actually be said, just a blank woman who agreed to everything and anything.

"Then fuck me silly, hey, that rhymed!" You laughed, before a moan got caught in your throat. Two more fingers shoved themselves into you, stretching you out quickly. It would've hurt more if you weren't already wet and near painfully horny. In truth, Michael was the only man you've slept with in a while. You've had flings with other people, maybe one or two serious relationships thrown in, but when you met Michael, an old depressed angry father, right up your alley might you add, at that disgusting old bar, well, everything and everyone else was thrown out the window. Then, you started seeing each other regularly, you dropped all the people you were talking to, even the sweet girl who had really taken an interest in you, and he had stopped going to cheap hookers, instead going to you solely to satisfy his sins.

He said nothing in response, merely just resuming his harsh treatment of your body, curling his fingers inside you beautifully, his memorization of your body never once faded. Your moans grew louder, curling into your counter until your stomach pressed painfully into the sharp edge.

"Just put it in me already, you old fuck." You spat, trying to push back against him. Michael pulled his fingers out, slapping your ass painfully.

"Watch your mouth when you're begging for my cock." He growled, nonetheless, he pulled down his zipper dutifully and fished himself out. He slid himself up and down your slit  wetting himself with your juices, bumbling and pressing into your clit over and over again. It drove you absolutely crazy, unable to buck and finally just put himself into you. You arched, trying to entice him as much as you could, white knuckle gripping the sink. 

Finally, finally he slowly slid into you, and you both let out a low groan. Michael must've been impatient, since he thrusted his way fully into you, filling you so fast it felt like he was in your ribs.

"Fuh-fuck Micky." You whined, and he wrapped his arms around your middle section and boobs, holding you tight while he absolutely rammed into you. Usually, because of his age and inactivity, he preferred to be on the bottom, let you do all the work. But he must've missed you, maybe he was pent up, or maybe he was taking his anger out on you. Either way, it felt heavenly, his thick cock ramming into you, feeling him drag inside you in and out at a brutal pace, not allowing you to think. 

"Of course you like that, huh? Like my cock inside you, treating you like some cheap slut." He growled in your ear, and it would've made you wetter than you already were if you couldn't feel the cool metal digging into your boob. The reminder of what it meant searing into your soul. You hummed lowly, darting your eyes away from him, finding the counter suddenly interesting. Michael seemed to sense your mood shift, and slowed down, but he never stopped. Instead taking to shallow thrusts inside you.

"What's wrong?" He asked, more annoyance in his voice than care.

"Nothing, why'd you slow down?" You lied through your teeth, trying to buck your hips and resume his pace. But he held you tight and close, even if Michael never really worked out, and was closer to fifty than forty, he still had years worth of muscles underneath.

"Because your poutin', now tell me what's wrong?" He asked again, tone sharp and asking to be tested.

"Your ring." You spat out, feeling slightly ashamed.

"What about my ring?" Michael snapped at you, fully stopping his movements.

"It's digging into me." You knew that wasn't the only thing that bothered you, it haunted you almost everyday knowing you were technically a homewrecker. He had two kids and a wife waiting at home for him, and even if he complained about them, even if both him and his wife cheated on each other constantly, it was still wrong. Usually when you complained about his ring he moved his hand, or set it down gently to the side. But not this time.

Michael groaned, and in one swift movement he threw the ring across the house, and you heard it cling! loudly behind you.

"Michael-" You started to reprimand him, but he bent you over fully on your counter, and let you go. He placed his hands on the counter, using it to slam into you again.

"Oh fuck!" You yelled, eyes nearly rolling into your skull.

"Told you." He was breathless, and you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. 

"To-told me wh-what?" You squealed when he pressed that delicate spongy spot inside you, making you see stars.

"I needed you, all I can think of is you. All your annoying remarks, the way you feel around me, how you look at me like I'm not an absolute piece of shit." Michael leaned down, pressing his head into your neck, nuzzling into you.

"Then why'd you leave?" You managed to gasp out, feeling your orgasm steadily appeared. That wave of pleasure was slowly crashing closer, it made the thoughts in your head become less coherent, nothing mattered aside from the way Michael made you feel.

"I didn't have a choice, I didn't want to. Had to. I never stopped thinking about you." He lifted one hand, and trailed it down, circling your aching clit. You keened, clamping down on him while your vision whited out. Michael grunted, fully pressing himself into you, and you could feel him filling you up, painting your soft walls white.

You both took a minute to breath, still connected while you panted. Slowly, slowly he pulled out of your over-sensitive walls, leaving you achingly empty. You and him just stood there, panting, unmoving.

“So, you gonna dip, or are you going to hang out here for a bit?” You asked, still a little breathless. There was that bitterness again because no matter what Michael said, he’d end up leaving one way or another.

“I think I’ll hang out here for a little bit.” He shrugged, and as you spared him a glance you watched him tuck himself away, not bothering to clean himself. 

You sighed, hobbling over to your bathroom to grab a wet wipe to clean yourself up.

“Whatever.” You called out. “You know where the door is.”

Michae did end up staying for a week or two, sleeping in the same bed as you and spending any time he could with you. For a second you believed he really did change, that he really did want you, instead of what you could offer.

But one day, when you came home from work and called out to no response, you realized he was gone. You sighed, split between wanting to check under the couch or living your life with as little damage to your psyche as possible. 

The former side of you won, your heart pounding in your ribcage. A new wave of sadness ushered over you, your heart aching as your stomach turned, pain overtaking your whole body.

He took the ring with him.

[otherone12]

Let's Be Alone Together

(FOB reference, 'cause couldn't think of anythig else)

Frank Iero x Reader

-> Masterlist

A/N: Hey!! I took really long to finisn this one, 'cause i needed to do the most complex a could… i was going to write it ‘bout Gerard, but I always write about him (yep, i'm kinda obsessed). Wel, I changed to Frank ‘cause I thought it would be nice. I know you don't read the fics I write about other members (who aren't Gerard) that much, but still... Hope u like it <3

(If u have some suggestion, idea, or request, just drop it! )

Summary: Your dad is one of the members of MCR staff, so you went to the reunion tour with them. You alwas has a crush on Frank, but you didn't expected that he would fall for you.

- Word Count: 4.850

- Warnings: Big age gap (legal but big), afab SMUT (a little scene, not big deal).

- Ps: I'll not use y/n…

- Ps2: I'm brazilian, so english is not my first language ... sorry if i wrote something wrong.

___________________________________________

1s Person POV

I've always been a big fan of My Chemical Romance, but unfortunately my father never took me to see them live, so this Reunion Tour will be my first time not only seeing them, but meeting the members of my favorite band.

Obviously, the moment my dad phoned me to ask if I'd like to accompany him, I was extremely excited and could hardly hold back, but I also couldn't help being nervous, considering my absurd crush on Frank.

What if I said something wrong? Something embarrassing? What if I fainted in front of him? What if I blushed too much, making it obvious that he had always been a weak point during my teenage years?

Putting my anxious thoughts aside, I went to pack my bags, as I don't like to leave things to the last minute, especially when it comes to something so important.

*** time skip ***

Finally, the day I'd been waiting for arrived. My father came to my apartment to pick me up and we went to the place where we boarded the production bus.

- Are you ready? - He asked me, while I put my things in the trunk.

- Fucking ready! - I said, and my dad chuckled, knowing that it was a MCR reference.

We got in the car and he drove us for the not too long way through the bus.

- Well, there are some things you have to know before we arrive.

- I’m all ears.

- First of all, they’re really nice, but don’t be annoying, ‘cause they’re working.

At no point did he take his eyes off the road, but I'm sure he knew exactly what my facial expression was, and he let out a chuckle.  

- I’m not annoying at all! - I protested, more in a joking tone than in protest in fact.

- I know, but fans can be a bit, so I have to warn you. - a chuckle escaped from his mouth - Another thing is that I want you to help me tidy up the equipment.

- Sure! But you’ll have to teach me how to do it. - I warned.

- Don't worry, I will!

It wasn't long before we arrived at the tour bus location. Anxiety took over me, after all I was about to meet the guys who saved my life, as well as the guy who was my teenage crush. I spent so much time waiting to meet them that it doesn't even seem real.

Soon, the four of them got off their bus, which was next to the one we were loading.

- Hey, guys! I want you to meet my kid. - my dad said, pushing me forward.

I couldn't help but let out an awkward smile. Of course I was embarrassed of my dad doing this kind of thing, but I was definitely more excited.

- Hi! - Mikey said, shaking my hand with a smile - I heard you’re a huge fan of My Chem.

- Yeah! You guys are my favorite band ever.

- Nice to finally meet you! - Gerard says, with a cute smile on his face and approaching to give me a hug .- Your dad talks a lot about you.

I panicked. Did dad mention Frank? I've never been discreet about my feelings for him. But I think he couldn't... Could he?

- Only good things, i hope - i chuckled

- Of course, and in the kindest way possible - Ray laughed a bit, giving me a hug, and, damn his arms are really strong.

Getting out of Ray’s arms, I saw Frank getting close to me and I started to shake, remembering all the edits I had of him on my phone when I was a teenager, it was only a couple years ago, so probably if I look I'll find some.

- I think it’s my turn to say ‘hi’ - He chuckled and hugged me. - How are you?

- I-i'm fine.

When his eyes met mine, I blushed, and quickly looked away, hoping it wouldn't be obvious.

Well, after the moment that was awkward for me, but normal for the others (I hope) my dad and I put our things on the bus, and he started to show me where I could find the equipment stuff.

After stowing my things and getting a quick rundown of the equipment area from my dad, I wander back toward the front of the bus. The band had already dispersed, Gerard and Mikey were outside chatting, Ray was setting up something technical near the sound system, and Frank… Well, Frank had disappeared somewhere.

Feeling a little overwhelmed, I decided to step outside for a breath of fresh air. As I rounded the corner of the bus, I spotted Frank, sitting on the back steps with a cigarette between his fingers, his face relaxed as he watched the sun dip below the horizon.

He notices me immediately.

- Hey! - He said, and I turned my attention to him, making my way towards Frank - You okay?

I soon stopped next to him, and he shifted on the step, giving me room to sit next to him, and I did so, a little shyly and awkwardly, after all it was THE Frank Iero.

- Yeah, - I let out a sigh, tired. It was just the first day - I just needed some air. It's... a lot.

- Yeah, I get it. - when he spoke, cigarette smoke came out of his mouth, a mix of the woodsy notes of his cologne and cigarette smoke hit me, and it’s impossible not to feel a little dizzy - First time meeting your favorite band and all.

- Your dad’s been hyping you up a lot. - He smiled, taking a drag and putting on a subject - He’s proud of you, y'know?

Frank laughs softly, the sound light and warm, and it makes my stomach flip.

- Yeah… - Knowing my father as I do, I already knew that there was a good chance that he had said too much, so I put my hands to my face, thinking about the possibilities. - He’s been telling embarrassing stories, hasn’t he?

- He might’ve mentioned a few. But nothing too bad.- He chuckled, but the next sentence he mocked a bit, and glanced sideways at me - Except maybe the part where you had a bit of a crush on someone in the band.

I felt my nervousness increasing, my face getting hot, soI buried my face even deeper in my hands.

- Oh my god, please tell me you’re joking

- Relax, he didn’t name names. But… - He shrugs playfully - I have a feeling I know who it was…

I looked in his direction, my eyes wide, and in a matter of seconds I realized that my reaction was very obvious. Frank noticed my state, so he laid his tattooed hand on my shoulder.

- But, hey, don’t worry this is totally normal. - My heart raced with the quick eye contact we made, but he continued trying to comfort me - I had a huge thing for Debbie Harry back in the day.

I laughed, and the conversation kept going, passing through a lot of different light subjects, and word by word I calmed down. Tour stories, the weird snacks people leave backstage, music... The longer I sit there, the more I realize that despite the years I spent idolizing him, Frank feels... real. Just a guy who likes good music, bad jokes, and late-night conversations.

The time didn’t seem to pass, but Frank got up and groaned.

- Well, I should probably get some sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow. - He smiled at me, scratching the back of his neck - It was cool hanging out with you. Maybe we can do this again sometime?

- Yeah, I’d like that - I smiled back, and he got on the bus.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened that night for days, but things went far when Frank started to ask me little favors. Help him with ideas for setlists, with the excuse that I was “a fan that they need to choose the right songs”. After all, we spent about two hours together, laughing and chatting.

I started to notice that maybe these favors were some kind of excuses, ‘cause there were no reason for me to help him to find his hoodie, go with him everywhere just because “he don’t want to go alone”, help him to choose his clothes, or just being with him to listen him practiced. 

It’s not like I wasn't enjoying it, but it turned worryingly suspicious. I really wanted to keep spending time with him, even though I knew it wouldn't lead to anything, and that it would only be during the tour, but even so, they were the moments I'd dreamed of for years.

But the thought of someone actually noticing gives me creeps. 

Everything was going fine, but one morning after a show, I was standing outside the bus when Frank pops his head out and spots me.

- Hey, we’re grabbing breakfast. You wanna come with? 

- Wouldn't I be a bother? 

- Nah, it 's cool. We’ll grab you a seat. C’mon

At first, I hesitated, but his warm smile was impossible to resist. Not thinking too much, I followed him toward the diner with butterflies in my stomach. Inside, the guys settle into a booth, squishing together on one side while leaving space for Frank and I on the other.

- So, Frank - Ray breaks the silence after the coffee arrives, with a grin on his face - didn’t know you were handing out VIP passes these days.

- Exclusive breakfast invites. - Mikey chuckled - Very on-brand.

- We’ve been in the band for years! - Gerard said, playfully, pretending to be offended - Where’s my personal breakfast date?

- Shut up, guys. - Frank rolled his eyes - I’m just being nice

- ”Nice.” Right. - Ray teased, and I held myself back to not blush, glancing sideways to Frank - That’s what we’re calling it now?

- Does the ‘VIP package’ come with a t-shirt too? - Gerard smirks, taking a sip of his coffee.

Frank groaned, his knee brushing against mine under the table. I can tell he was embarrassed by their teasing but trying not to make it worse. I shifted uncomfortably, hoping the attention doesn’t give anything away.

- You guys are idiots.

Even though the teasing eventually subsides, I couldn't help but notice how Frank keeps glancing my way, as if checking to make sure I'm okay. It looks like we were sharing some secret I haven't fully acknowledged yet.

They started talking about the concert tonight, talking about what clothes they were going to wear or something, but I think I was too distracted looking at Frank out of the corner of my eye to pay attention.

The rest of the day passed normally, with the boys rehearsing and getting ready, while I helped set up the equipment, along with the rest of the staff. 

When the show started, I didn't take my eyes off the stage for a single second. It's not as if I've never seen this show before, after all, it was the 3rd show of the tour, but every time there's something different. Each of the shows so far I've been looking at everyone's performance, but this one in particular I was hypnotized by Frank's performance, who always makes a point of being extremely hot. 

Before I knew it, the show was over and they were leaving the stage. Frank threw the pick into the audience and ran to the opposite side from where the others had gone. The side where I was.

With his guitar slung over his body, he came even closer to me, but it was so fast that I couldn't react. His hands reached for my face and his lips collided with mine, and I didn't move away. His sweaty face brushed against mine as his tongue danced with mine. At that brief moment it was just the two of us.  

He pulled out, quick, and with an awkward smile.

- Damn. Sorry… - Frank finally realized what happened, and shook his head in confusion - I... I don’t know what came over me.

- It’s okay… - i gave him a small smile, catching my breath.

After that, everything became a blur in my memory. The only thing I thought about in the last few hours before I fell asleep was how much I wanted that kiss, how much I felt that he wanted it too. The way Frank's eyes shone when he stared at me for a few seconds before apologizing. 

This tension that builded between us just grows and it becomes impossible to handle, so we start sneaking around. Brief kisses when no one was around, mid-night walks, deep conversations, cuddles in the bus when it was empty… every time he touches me, I feel the way no one has ever made me feel.  

Another show was about to begin and I was walking through the corridors near the dressing room when I felt a tug on my arm, just after I heard the sound of the door opening. Once inside the dressing room, my back hit the door, slamming it shut. Still in a bit of a daze, I looked up to meet Frank's beautiful hazel eyes. 

Without much time to understand the whole situation, I heard the door lock click shut, and just as quickly, he kissed my lips, with his hands going up to my waist.

- Are you insane?! -  mumbled, whispering in his lips, between kisses . - Show’s gonna start in less than ten minutes!

- So better we do it fast, huh. - His mouth traveled in my neck, sucking it perfectly. 

His hands grip my hips like he can’t bear to let go, thumbs brushing under the hem of my shirt, I shivered. 

- We don’t have time for this… - I moaned, laughing, with my hands on his chest, pushing him away.

- Exactly. - He whispered, with his lips on my collarbone - No time to waste.

Before I could say anything, he pulled up my shirt, taking it off. My back pressed even hard against the door, as his hand went back to my waist. I grab the front of his jacket, pulling him closer until his body molds against mine perfectly. His lips find mine again, the kiss turning deeper, hotter, all tongue and teeth, like neither of us could get enough.

His hands slide down, fingers hooking into the waistband of my jeans.

- We can be quick - He said. His voice was soft and low. making me bite my lips.

Frank unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them down. He slipped a hand between my thighs, looking up at me and liking his lips. 

- Frank, - I panted, feeling his fingers rubbing me through my panties. - we’re gonna get caught.

I let out a moan, and a smile grew in his face. 

- Then we’ll have to make it worth the risk, won’t we? - Frank teased, catching my lips again and muffled the noises coming out of my mouth.  

Not taking too long, his shirt came off, as well his jeans, showing his tattooed body. He turned me and pushed my body to the couch in the corner of the dressing room. His body on mine, and his mouth in my neck, just felt right. Frank undid my bra, moving his hands to my breasts. Again I whimpered, a bit much louder this time.

- Shh, baby - He warned, teasing - Don’t want the others hearing, do you?

I shook my head, but his tone wasn’t helping at all. With no more clothes between us, he thrusted inside of me. Wasn’t the first time we did this, but it always felt like it was. Every move he made caused a turn in my stomach. Among whimpers, messy touches and praises, we were finally reaching our climaxes. 

- Frank… I-  I was a hot mess, with my fingers tangled in his hair. - I'm so close...

- I told you we could be quick… - He grounded - do it, angel… 

Pleasures washed over my body as I felt him reaching his own pleasure. 

Just in time, we dressed up, and kissed passionately one more time before he go to the stage, and performed awesome as always.

These things became more and more frequent and I no longer knew if we were “just friends”, if we were just “hooking up” or if we were really dating. Well, another day was going normally and, as usual, I started tidying up some stuff, when Mikey showed up, a little bored and bringing up a random subject. Before long, we were laughing at some pointless joke. Some a few minutes passed, and Mikey looked at his phone, noticing a message on it. 

- Hum… - Mikey sighed, reading the text on his phone - Well, gotta go… we definitely need to talk more often, by the way. 

- Well, I'm always here - I gave him a gentle smile. as he walked by -  Bye, Mikey.

He waved at me and Frank appeared. I was surprised when I looked at his face, even though he tried to hide it, was clearly disconcerted. 

- Such a funny guy, right? - He wasn’t angry, but I never heard him talking like that. 

- What? - I was confused… Was he… jealous? - Mikey? What’s the problem? 

- I don’t know! It just…- He stops, exhaling sharply, his hands running through his hair - It drives me nuts seeing you with someone else, okay?

I raised my eyebrow, trying to understand what he was trying to say... so I followed my first hunch, this time asking, softly and a little shyly.

- Frank… Are you jealous?

- Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know - he rubbed his hands over his face, nervous.

He approached me, holding my waist, still a little exasperated, he sighed, thinking about how to speak. 

- I just... I think I love you. And it scares the hell out of me.

- I love you too… - I moved my face close to his, placing a soft kiss on his lips - and it’s okay being scared... I’m here, if you need… hm.

After that, our meetings became more and more frequent, the perfect balance between the physical, the kisses, hugs, touches... and the sentimental, long conversations, personal stories, and even comfortable moments of silence, when just the company of each other was enough.

Unfortunately, the more shows that went on, the closer it got to the moment when we would have to put an end to it, and it was obvious that neither he nor I wanted that. Even though I tried not to think about it too much, it kept haunting me whenever I wasn't near him, thinking about what it would be like to have to go on with my life pretending that none of this had happened. 

Again, I was walking past the corridor hotel when Ray asked me to call Frank to go out with them. Without hesitation, I made my way to his room. I knocked on the door, not waiting for an answer. 

- Hey... The guys said they're going out to drink or something - I said stepping into his room - they asked me to call you to go with them.

Frank was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, clearly dazed by something.

- I'm really not in the mood today... - He mumbled.

I walked up to him calmly, and placed my hand on his shoulder, caressing him. 

- looks like there's something bothering you... - My tone was gentle, with genuine intention of seeing him well.

He took his hands off his face, now looking in my direction. I gave him a weak smile, trying to comfort him. His hair fell perfectly in his face, taking my attention away from the conversation and making me admire how beautiful he is.

- I'm just... - He sighed and paused for a moment, searching for an answer. - with a lot going on in my head.

My hand rose to his face, caressing his cheek. He maintained eye contact and I was mesmerized by his hazel eyes.

- Want to talk about it? -I asked, my thumb making circles in his warm skin.  - 'cause i'm here if you want to-

- I can't stop thinking about you - He grunted, turning his face away from my hand. Not because he didn't want me to touch him, but because somehow it was a tease for him.

That being the case, I took this confession as a green light. So, feigning innocence, I sat on his lap. He didn't stop me, in fact, he put his arm around my waist.

- And is this a bad thing, hm? - my hands passed behind his neck, while I brought my lips closer to his - Am I a annoying thought?

With our noses touching, I felt Frank's hand come up under my shirt, still with a firm grip. 

- It's actually the best thing I could think about - His voice was deep and almost a whisper, making my skin crawl.

- So what's wrong? - Before he could respond, I pressed my lips against his. Exactly the same feeling and taste as last time. It wasn't long before he broke the kiss, leaving me feeling empty.

- Everything - His eyes expressed sadness and hurt as he spoke.  - Our time is getting over… This is not right… 

Of course it wasn't right, but I wasn't going to give up, knowing that he wanted me as much as I wanted him. Without any shame, I brought my lips closer to his jawline, and pressed kisses as I spoke.

- But you know as well as I do that even if it's not right, it feels so fucking good. - When I spoke, he closed his eyes, letting out a whimper.

- Don't do this to me... - Frank sighed, still running his hands over my body.

Little by little, he lay down on the bed and pulled me with him. It wasn't long before he kissed me passionately, making me melt in his arms. His tongue passed over my lips, finding mine, as I positioned myself on top of him.

It was all too good to be true, until he ruined the moment by reminding me of his moral dilemma.

- 'C'mon… You know this can’t last - he grunted, upset about what I was about to say  - you have to find guys your age.

Without getting off him, just settling myself more comfortably, I hugged him, resting my head on his chest.

- I don't want guys my age! - I whined, hugging him even tighter- they are immature, boring... and not even close to being as pretty as you.

- You’re ridiculous - He let out a chuckle, knowing I wasn't lying.

 Frank stroked my hair, getting carried away and momentarily forgetting the point of the conversation.

- I’m serious! I want you, Frank... - I said  looking in his eyes - always wanted, and I can see in your eyes that you want me too.

- You're right - Again, Frank sighed, with a sad smile on his face - But we can’t do this, angel. 

- We don't have to be public... - I tried, slipping my hand under his shirt and caressing his chest - Just gimme a chance to be yours.

Leaving all malice aside, I gave him my best doe eye. It wasn't like I needed to seduce him, but to convince him that he should be with me, regardless of the rest of the world.

- You're already mine, baby... - His confusion was obvious, while he felt the need to continue our relationship and make it something serious, he knew that everything could go wrong. -  But this... it’s going to get complicated. 

Little by little, I got up, got off Frank and sat down next to him. He did the same thing, and then I looked at him seriously.

- That's really a big deal? - It wasn't like I was arguing, but a serious question, waiting for his answer.

Frank took a deep breath, focusing on giving me the best answer he could find. 

- You're too young, and I have a career. - I opened my mouth to complain, but he was right, even if it hurt me to say - It wouldn’t just ruin me.. it’d ruin the band too.

Thinking, I couldn't find any logical thing to say, so I had to appeal to feelings. 

- It’s not even illegal! and… we can keep it a secret! - I started to beg, letting my feelings control my mouth - Please, don’t push me away... I love you, Frank, I really do.

It was not something I planned, but my desperation to continue with him spoke louder than any pride could hold back.

He moved close to me, holding my chin with his fingertips, making me look at him. Frank smiled, admiring every detail of my face. 

- you're so pretty, y'know? - He pressed his lips on mine, but too fast for me to kiss him back. With a sweet tone, he concluded - I love you too, angel.

His hand passed over the back of my neck and I was practically on his lap again. My arms wrapped around his neck and the feeling of his lips on mine simply made me think that there was no other man for me. Frank turned my body and laid me against the bed, leaving him on top of me, with our lips still glued.

- You're so perfect - He stammered, catching his breath with his forehead pressed against mine. - Shame you’re so damn manipulative, though.

He continued kissing my face, moving down to my chest, and his hands held the hem of my shirt, slowly lifting it.

- Not my fault you’re crazy about me - I giggled seeing him blush a little.

I lifted myself up enough so he could take my shirt off completely and throw it on the floor.

- Lucky for you - Frank looked at me in the eyes, while his hands went to my jeans, unbuttoning and opening the zipper, easily and quickly, in the blink of an eye my pants were on the floor too - I am indeed

He pulled away enough to pull off his shirt, revealing his tattooed body. I sighed, unable to take my eyes off him. I bit my lip impatiently as he pulled off his pants.

Falling back on top of me, he trailed kisses down my neck, sucking gently, while I moaned as lower as possible, knowing that even if the boys had left, someone from the staff could be passing by.

- I already said that, but I'm gonna say it again - he whispered with his lips on my skin - I love you.

I was about to tell him the same, but something interrupted me.

A knock on the door took our attention away from each other, without getting a response, the door that I thought I had locked opened, revealing the only person who definitely shouldn't see me in that situation.

- Hey, Frank, have you seen my- My dad was left speechless, not knowing whether to turn away or continue staring in disbelief.

We froze. Why didn't I lock the goddamn door?! (No, it's much better to face these kinds of things)

I could kill myself in front of them both. Shame took over me, both for my father seeing me in that situation and for putting Frank in it.

So there I was, lying on Frank's bed, half naked, with him on top of me. Frank's hands were positioned on my waist, while his mouth roamed my neck and collarbone. My fingers subtly tangled in the long strands of his hair, while my legs wrapped around his waist.

The scene was not ugly, quite the opposite, but my father looked shocked. I really expected him to leave, but after a few moments I realized he wasn't going to leave the room any time soon.

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard, before trying to speak.

-I-I'd like to say it's not what it seems… but i can't.

Frank seemed stunned by the situation, he didn't know whether to continue what he was doing or stop. 

- Are you two some kind of…?

I opened my mouth to try to explain the whole thing, but before I could say anything, Frank came forward.

- I love them. - He spoke confidently, and I smiled. - I know there are a lot of problems with this, but I can't deny it.

The atmosphere in the room grew heavy as everyone exchanged glances. My father sighed, and clicked his tongue.

- Do you love him back? - he asked with an arched eyebrow.

- Yes! I love him so much!

- Then I have no complaints.  - He said, in an obvious tone - You're both adults. Just… wait till I get out of the room to keep doing whatever you both are doing. And lock the door next time,yeah? 

- Thanks, dad… - I let out a little smile.

My father nodded, leaving the room and closing the door.

- Good thing your dad likes me.

We laughed and he caught my lips again. I smiled against the kiss, pulling away just enough to speak.

- How could he not? - Fast, my smile disappeared, and I couldn't help but ask the thing I most feared about.  - So… when the tour ends… will we, y’know, over? 

- No way i’ll let you go, baby. 

The soft voice that came out of his mouth gave me more pleasure than his touches at that moment. Knowing that it wasn't the end, knowing that he thought I was worth the risk. I could never have imagined such a perfect cerario

___________________________________________

~ Soooo, that's it! It ended up being much longer than I thought it would be, but I hope that if you had the patience to read this far, you enjoyed it!

let me know if u liked! <3