#he remembered his wife and how to play the piano

[chenlezip]

mark, la la land ♡

⤷ summary : when mark, a pianist, and y/n, an actress, follow their passion and achieve success in their respective fields, they find themselves torn between their love for each other and their careers.

annas note : the first movie and piece of writing for my lil fic series. i hope you all enjoy and enjoy who is next (renjun). i had a thought one night and had to write dreamies x fav movies. thank you to my wife for proof reading this first, you’re my biggest supporter 😭

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you always dreamt of being an actress, it was your biggest life goal. for the moment though - you worked as a barista at the cafe that regularly had actors come in. after a bad day at an audition, you immediately fell face first on your bed but.. you couldn’t stay in filthy clothes so you got a shower, looked at yourself in the mirror and your flatmates asked you about everything. they decided to force you out to a party, getting you dressed up prettily, saying you’ll ’find someone in the crowd.’

yet, you never found anyone in the crowd or they just didn’t find you — whatever it was, you felt very discouraged walking back in the middle of the night, groaning as you walked in your heels, gripping your purse. you let out a sigh, paying attention to the sound of a slow piano tune. you walked inside of a very nice looking restaurant, staring at who was playing. you felt like everything around you was drowned out as you paid attention to the tune and the man who was playing it.

said man — mark lee, was someone who loved jazz. he made his life around it, he had a specific route for his future but he got screwed over. he talked to his sister and never got through to her, just staring at his past due rent letter and sighing. he focused on his piano once again, relearning the chords to his favourite song. and here he was, in the restaurant once again after getting fired.

after focusing on playing christmas songs, he decided to play his favourite jazz song, a relaxing rhythm compared to how lively everything else was around him. he focused on the way his fingers slid over the right keys, immersing himself in his work.

“you’re fired.” “no- what you mean is play the setlist-“ “no, you’re fired. that’s what i mean.” “it’s christmas, come on, don’t fire me.”

“i see the decorations, you’re fired, good luck in the new year.”

mark stormed off, shoving past you. you had tried to speak to him, “i just want to say.. i heard you play and i-“ right. well. that went well.

SPRING.

a couple months had passed since that night. you’re at yet another party, your friend had invited you and you were interacting with a few people — hoping to get at least something from this one. you grabbed a drink, looking around at everyone who was around, paying attention to a band that was performing. you recognised the man in red, the man who was in the restaurant and stormed out shoving past your shoulder.

you were drinking. “alright. i remember you. i was an asshole - i can admit that- but requesting i ran from a serious musician is just too far.” “my lord- did you just say a serious musician?” you ask, tilting your head, “can i borrow what you’re wearing? just for.. an audition i have coming up, i need to play a serious firefighter.”

“what’s your name?” “yn.” “guess i’ll see you in the movies.”

after walking back from the party together, mark showed up at your work place. the warner brothers cafe. you rambled on about different things — how you worked just across from the windows that two characters from casablanca looked out of and that mark goes 5 miles toward a cafe near a jazz club.

you joined mark at the movies, seeming as you haven’t watched the movie he had referenced to you when he took you to a jazz club and rambled on about it. he was passionate.

you look over to him, your hand slowly moving over to his as you fight back a smile, feeling your hands intertwine. he leans over to you, about to kiss you before the film burns out. you both laugh, “i have an idea.” you mumble out as you find yourself on a night drive with him.

you head to an observatory, admiring the beautiful sights that were there, both in your own little worlds. there was so much to do, so much to see, and you felt comfortable having marks presence beside you. even though the two of you were so different, you both were passionate about wanting to get into your own line of work. him with jazz and you: an actress, could it possibly work? who knew but by the end of the day, you both shared a tender kiss.

you spent nearly everyday with mark, going out and about, sight seeing, going on cute dates. throughout the days though, you both shared thoughts of what you should do just to help each others projects out.

“maybe i should name it chicken on a stick?” “no no- name it mark’s.” “is that an apostrophe as a music note?” “yeah it is.”

he chuckled and shook his head, “that’s actually quite unique you know ? but i think i am going to name it chicken on a stick, and you’re going to make sure your play goes amazing.” he kissed your forehead.

fall comes and you and mark tried your best to make the relationship work, he made you a lovely dinner but he had to leave first thing in the morning. you both were getting busy, and you were terrified for your play while he was ecstatic after finding an amazing band to play in, one that he felt was great for him. he suggested for you to join him on tour.

“i have to rehearse..” “can’t you rehearse anywhere?” “anywhere you are?” you ask softly as you sigh, “it’s in two weeks and i don’t think that’ll be very good for me, i wish i could though.”

“when are you done? when are you finished with the tour?” “we finish, record and tour again..” you ask if it’s the long haul and then an argument happens between the two of you because the both of you taking each others words the wrong way. he says this is what you wanted for him and to have a steady job and of course you did want that for him, you wanted him to start his club and look after himself but he seemed like he didn’t want this sort of thing for himself.

things only took a worse turn, no one showed up to your show apart from close friends, not even mark showed up. you ended things, you got upset and went back home, where you really wanted to be just for some time away from doing what you wanted and away from mark.

five years later and winter has strolled around once again. you enter the cafe you used to work at, grabbing two coffees for yourself and your manager. the day soon ends and you suggest to your husband if he wants to grab dinner to which he complies with. you’re walking on the side of the pavement, until you hear loud jazz coming from a restaurant. “do you want to check it out?” he asked and you nodded, he lead you inside.

as soon as you enter the doorway, you recognise it as marks. the bright sign saying ‘mark’s’ with the design you had made for him one night in your eyesight. you enter further with your husband, feeling a little awkward sitting up front but you decided to get comfortable and take a sip of your drink.

mark, meanwhile, comes up on stage and introduces the males who have just performed a song. you both make eye contact in the crowd and he mutters, “welcome to mark’s.”

he stared at the piano in front of him before playing those same damn notes you’ve heard before but even slower and beautiful than you remember.. filled with such passion. it was like that day where you first met him in the restaurant he worked at, christmas decorations around the place as you walk over this time, before you can speak, mark engulfs you into a hug and a kiss. you go through the last memories you both shared together before things abruptly ended.

you thought about how different everything would be if you didn’t break up. the happy memories you could’ve shared — having a kid, going to jazz clubs together and sharing a drink, maybe just having mark by your side instead of your husband as you listen to the notes of the piano play. suddenly, you snap back to reality as everyone claps, you feel heartbroken. “we should go.” you whisper to your husband as you get up and slowly make your way out.

but before you leave, you turn around and share a soft gaze and smile with the man you had loved most.

tags : @injvns @polarisjisung @mejaemin @ayukas @hyckvr @yizhrt @blondemrk 

[petrichara]

If I were on my deathbed with enough strength to write one word it would be your name

[thetangibleghost]

Just woke up from a dream where there was a Truman show remake? sequel? Both? Where Truman was played by pre-transition Elliot Page. Started of with this overveiw of some of the set, a big hole that looked kind of like an old sink hole and The voice over was Elliot Page saying "Something young inside me has died." And it showed Elliot Page climbing down into the sink hole, right into a suburban neighborhood "Something young enough to have seen all the marvel movies. I guess."

Which made perfect sense in the dream but-

So then he's walking and he trying to get to some underground lair or something? He finds one reference but a guard is like no. So he turns around a heads down an ally where the "camera" doesn't follow. Its like pouring rain and there's huge deep puddles everywhere.

[snowvies]

Mr. Badgley

Penn Badgley x Fem!Reader

summary: you can't stop thinking about your married piano teacher, Mr. Badgley. and one day he slides under the instrument to show you how much he's been thinking about you too.

wc: 1k

cw: age gap (reader 19, Penn late thirties), cheating, piano teacher x student, pussy eating, fingering, female masturbation

Sundays are your favorite days, especially ones like this when the clouds hang low with a murky swirl in the sky. You're nineteen, and college is kicking your ass but you promised yourself you wouldn't think about the papers due when you're here, at Mr. Badgley's house.

You found his ad on craigslist, piano lessons..fifty bucks an hour you would've scrolled past it until you saw him, and his family. You felt safer in a random man's house when his wife and newborn baby were in the same room with you. So you started going there, ever since your freshman year.

Your raggedy car rolllsss to stop and you get out to see the lonely house, picked apart to be perfect, not a single thing out of place... except yourself.

His wife answers the door a few minutes after knocking, the cold biting your bare legs as you run in for warmth, completely missing her scowl at your lack of kicking the mat with your dirty boots.

Mr. Badgley offers you a warm smile, hair combed perfectly, sweater ironed and pants straight like every weekend. His eyes always look a little empty when you come. His wife jingles her keys around her finger as she readjusts the baby on her hip

"I'm going out, be done when I'm home" the same line. Every week. You smile her way but she doesn't pay mind to it, leaving you and her husband to play. you turn to Mr. Badgley but he's already walking to the connecting living room of the tiny house, sitting on the worn bench as he slides the fallboard up.

You sit next to him as he wears an excited smile, when he's like this, playing with you, it doesn't seem orchestrated by his wife. Every move he makes is analyzed by her, except this. The only reason he's allowed to do this is because they needed the extra money.

"Let's start where we left off last week, yes?" he asked and you nodded, you inhaled the mixture of musk and old books that surrounded the pianist as he began the background cords. his eyes are on you, they shine as his spine relaxes into the music and you begin your part. fingers dancing over keys as you try to remember the pattern

Your eyes squeezed shut once you messed the keys up. He smiles softly and lets a laugh out of his nose at your reaction

"Like this," his larger palm rests on top of yours as he guides your fingers, you nod and try again.

Soon enough an hour passes and you both rise from the bench and you dig into your purse for the fifty bucks you crumpled into it this morning, but, warm hands slide on top of your shoulder and the older man shakes his head.

"No need" he grins and tries to send you off but you insist, grabbing the money but he pushes you out the door.

"I will not have you pay for something that I enjoy just as much, Y/n, have a lovely week" The door softly shuts and you're left stunned.

.

You roll around your dorm bed, restless as the man's words keep ringing in your head. Why didn't he let you pay?

Maybe you're being dramatic. But it isn't like the Badgleys are set either.

You shut your eyes in a huff, suffocating yourself in the pillow under you as you replay the keys in an attempt to lull you asleep

But it isn't just the keys you're thinking about...

It's how his hand guided yours, it's how he looked at you when it was your part to play, it's his scent, it's his being. It's driving you mad.

You arch your back slowly, fingers sliding down your body until you get to your aching core. slick-filled fingers rubbing yourself at the thought of your teacher's hands touching you, grabbing you, loving you.

You moan into the pillow, legs shaking as you cream around your fingers, the thought of him drives you wild.

So just how will you act the next time you see him?

.

Before you know it, it's Sunday and you're back at the Badgleys, with his wife announcing her departure and the formal greetings of you and your teacher, you're back at that bench, side by side.

He starts the cords, and you follow trying to calm your shaking legs as you think about what fueled you that night. You couldn't even look him in the eyes this session.

His hand softly squeezes your bare thigh and you look back at the man.

"You're completely off" he informs you and you don't think your face could get redder.

"I-I'm so sorry...let's try again" you panic but his thumb rubs loving circles on your flesh.

"You usually think the world ends when you mess up, but you kept playing this time, you're mind is somewhere else Ms. Y/n."

"Sorry Mr. Badgley" you murmur

"Talk to me, get it off your chest so we can get back to playing" he smiles and you nod slowly

"...Why didn't you let me pay last time?" you ask, he stops for a moment as the hand on your thigh now rests on his face as he thinks for a moment.

"I just feel like, something so pleasurable shouldn't be bought," he says above a whisper and you feel your entire face glow, and he must have noticed with how he laughs.

"Not those pleasures, Ms. Y/n" he smiles and you don't think you've ever been so embarrassed. But when his laughter stops, his eyes swirl softly into something darker, in that moment you feel exposed to every thought as he eyes you.

He stands, hands finding your shoulders

"Keep playing"

You take a shaky breath as your thighs begin to shake once more, fingers finding the keys as you start the song

"Good," he whispers, his scents overwhelming you now as you feel almost dizzy while playing, you barely notice how he slips under the piano.

"Mr. Badgley, what are you doing?" you gasp as his dark brown eyes gaze up at you

"Keep.playing" he says sternly, and with a swallow, you keep going

He kisses your knees and you feel yourself sticking to your panties as he spreads them apart.

He has a wife. He has a kid. What are you doing?

"You're doing great" he huffs, kissing your thighs, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as his fingers dance up to your panties.

He pulls them down slowly, your wetness sticking to the fabric before they are lost in his pockets

Your bare pussy is in front of your teacher's face as he rubs up and down your thighs taking a shaky breath in

You slam the keys as his tongue licks up your pussy, he moans into you before forcing you to scoot closer into his face, his hands wrapping around your ass as he slurps and moans at your cunt.

"Mr.- fuck" you cry, hands climbing to try and stop your moans as your hips buck up to hump his face

"You taste so so good" he groans, making out with your pussy as he sucks at your clit just to tongue fuck your hole

Hot tears flow down your face as he stares up at you, watching you come undone for him.

You shake around him, orgasm approaching closer with every lick, he sucks on your slit before adding a long finger to your hole. You throw your head back as he fingers you, flicking his tongue relentlessly as his finger curls inside you.

You feel him whine and moan against your pussy, and when you look down you see him gripping and grabbing at his hard-on as he eats you out. You cry as that sends you over and you cum around his finger

You're panting as he curls his fingers a few more times before shoving it into his mouth and licking you clean, you're shaking and wide-eyed as hair sticks to your face and he crawls out from under the piano

Right, weren't you two supposed to be playing right now? Isn't his wife about to be home and he's sucking his fingers because they still taste like you?

He helps you off the bench and you stare into the stained cushion but he turns your chin to him before kissing you deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue before breaking it off with a simple

"My wife is on her way...see you in our next session Ms. Y/n"

And you can't wait for next Sunday.

an: lmk how obvious it is idk anything about pianos. This is based on a dream I had last night 😵‍💫🖤 I hope you liked it <333

[senipsenipsenip]

The Pines family sat at the table, quietly eating their breakfast, when Mabel slammed her hands on the table and shouted “KERMIT THE FROG���.

Dipper leapt forward to right his orange juice glass, gathering nearby napkins to sop up the puddle. “What?”

“Kermit the frog! He plays the banjo!”

“Yyyyes?”

Ford raised his hand. “Who’s Kermit the Frog?”

Stan snapped his head up from his plate. “Who’s Kermit the Frog? The Muppets, Pointdexter, you were around for The Muppet Show. They had a movie and everything.”

Ford frowned. “Muppets.”

“Yeah, they’re a riot! There’s this bear whose got some great puns and this pig who really know how to throw a punch. You’d love it, they’ve even got a scientist!”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were such a fan of children’s television.”

“Children?!”

Dipper stirred his cereal. “I’m just impressed you remember all that. Yesterday you forgot you were married.”

“That’s because The Muppets are forever!” Mabel exclaimed.

“Wait, Stanley you were married?”

“Yep. Twice. Actually, unless I’m forgetting a divorce, I might still be married.”

“You didn’t,” Mabel chirped. “I’d have it on my Romance Chart if you did. You’ve missed a lot of anniversaries.”

“So has he!” Stan argued. “I’m not the only bad husband here!”

Ford spluttered. “Husband?”

Dipper frowned. “I think we’re getting a little too far away from why Mabel screamed Kermit the Frog and knocked my orange juice over.”

Mabel nodded. “Right, so, I was thinking of Mr. McGucket -

“Stanley you have a husband?“

“I was thinking of Mr. McGucket,” Mabel interrupted. “And how he could maybe help around the Shack. And he plays banjo! He could play banjo and people could put money in his lil banjo case like a real musician.”

At the mention of money, Stan leaned forward.

“But like, no one knows banjo music,” Mabel continued. “So I was like, maybe pop hits banjo? But then BOOM! Kermit the Frog! People love that frog. He could play the rainbow song. He’d be a hit!”

“Interesting,” Stan muttered. “Preying on people’s nostalgia to milk them for cash. I love it!”

Ford hummed. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea, Mabel. Activities like playing musical instruments have been proven to help patients with Alzheimers and dementia. Not that Fiddleford’s condition has the same root cause, but it may prove beneficial to memory recovery.”

“Eugh, don’t ruin this for me.”

“If playing an instrument helps with memory loss, maybe Grunkle Stan should learn an instrument,” Dipper suggested.

“Ooo!” Mabel squealed. “What about guitar? Or the piano? OH!” She clutched Stan’s arm with a fervor. “The triangle!”

Ford grimaced. “Maybe not that one.”

“Sorry, kid. I’m not exactly a music guy,” Stan shrugged out of Mabel’s grasp. “Let’s leave that to the professionals.”

Mabel frowned, but let the topic go.

Ford stood from the table. “Well, I happen to be visiting Fiddleford this afternoon. I can broach the topic and see what he thinks.”

Fiddleford, as it turns out, loved the idea. To the surprise of everyone, Fiddleford admitted that he had always wanted to play in a jugband when he was younger, but could never get over his stage fright enough to audition for the local band. Then he went off to college and then…everything else.

“Maybe I zapped away that scared bit enough to play!” he had cackled, knocking at the side of his head with his knuckles.

It was settled. “Fiddlin’ Fridays at the Mystery Shack with Fiddleford McGucket”. Dipper tried to point out the title didn’t make sense since it was a banjo, not a fiddle. Stan argued that “customers are suckers for alliteration”. The set up was just Fiddleford dragging an old rocking chair onto the porch and opening up his banjo case. Mabel had made a large glittery banner, but it was quickly absconded by Fiddleford’s raccoon.

“Tell your wife to give me back my banner!” Mabel had yelled, chasing the raccoon into the bushes.

“Ex-wife,” Fiddleford sighed sadly. “Apparently I was too emotionally available.”

Ford pulled at his hair. “Did everyone get married without telling me?”

“Excuse me?” A voice piped up. Fiddleford and Ford turned to see a little boy standing at the bottom of the porch. He was dressed in hiking clothes that were obviously new. In the distance, a young woman was unstrapping a baby from its seat in an SUV. Obviously city folk coming to the “wilderness” for the first time.

“Are you a real hillbilly?” The boy asked. Suddenly the door slammed open, Mr. Mystery striding through, eyepatch in place.

“Sure is!” Stan grinned. “Our very own genuine hillbilly just waiting to play you a tune! All you gotta do is put some of your mom’s money in his case there.”

The little boy’s eyes widened, turning around to race towards his mother.

“Stanley,” Ford admonished. “Fiddleford isn’t some show monkey to throw money at.”

“During work hours he is.” Stan turned to Fiddleford. “So, did Mabel teach you that song she was so excited about?”

Fiddleford sat frozen, watching the little boy yank at his mothers pants to try and get her attention, the baby beginning to fuss.

“Well…” Fiddleford cleared his throat. “Some good news and bad news fellas.”

Ford furrowed his brows. “What is it?”

“Good news is, my mind ain’t all broken.” Fiddleford hugged his banjo and turned to look up at Ford. “Bad news is I knows it ‘cause I still got stage fright.”

Stan scoffed. “Stage fright? C’mon it’s one kid and a couple o’ city slickers who would probably think you playing three wrong notes and spitting is ‘authentic’.”

“Stanley, be supportive.”

“I am! Look I’ve been at this job forever. All you gotta do is smile and if something goes wrong, you blame a ghost or something. They eat that up.”

Fiddleford shook his head. “But this is music. If’n I mess up music, ‘specially somethin’ they know. Music is real special to people, I can’t spoil it.”

Ford knelt down next to Fiddleford’s chair. “You don’t have to play that song Fiddleford. You don’t have to play at all.”

Fiddleford looked anxiously between Ford and the family. It seemed the little boy had finally gotten his mother’s attention and was excitedly pointing toward the porch.

“I…” Fiddleford shook his head. “I can’t let the little ‘uns down. ‘Specially not those ones.” As he said this, he gestured with his chin towards the other end of the porch where Dipper and Mabel sat bickering in lawn chairs. Mabel had returned from her raccoon chase covered in twigs and holding a surprisingly docile raccoon. Dipper was leaning away from the pair while trying to convince Mabel to stop feeding it gummy worms before it developed a taste for human food and tried breaking into the Shack.

Ford's gaze drifted to the twins. "Alright," he relented. "But you still don't have to play Mabel's song."

Fiddleford bowed his head.

"Yet!" Ford offered. "Not yet. She'll understand I'm sure."

Fiddleford frowned, looking unconvinced.

"Of course not yet!" Stan interjected. "You can't go playing the grand finale right out of the gate! You gotta warm 'em up first, keep 'em wanting more." Stan slapped his hand on Fiddleford's back. "If you give 'em what they want right away, they won't come back! Hold that one off until tomorrow or...uh...next week. Tease it or something."

Stan had started rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand as he spoke, a tell Ford was quick to recognize. It was the same one he did when he would "begrudgingly" let Mabel choose the movie for movie night or let Dipper rope him into another game of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons. Covering the most vulnerable part of his body while he let his emotions go soft.

Fiddleford seemed to perk up at Stan's words.

"Well," Fiddleford offered. "I do know some proper jugband music. Only, it don't have the same ring to it without a jug."

"We've got a jug!" Mabel cheered from the other side of the porch. It seemed the raccoon argument had reached enough of a truce that the twins were once again paying attention to the concert. "I used to keep pond water in it, it's in the kitchen!" She hopped off of her chair, lugging the racoon along with her like it was a rather expensive lap cat.

Dipper followed her. "Why did you have a jug of pond water?"

"Because, dummy, if I met a frog prince he would need something in the shack to remind him of home."

"Aren't you supposed to turn him into a person though?"

Whatever Mabel's retort was to be was cut off by the door swinging shut.

"There ya go," Stan grumbled. "You're getting your jug. Just in time too." He gestured toward the SUV. The mother was walking toward the Shack, one hand holding the baby, the other gripping tightly to the little boy's hand. The little boy gripped a few dollars in his fist, eyes alight with excitement.

Fiddleford looked frantic. "I can't sing and play the jug at the same time!" He gripped at his hat, pulling it down over his ears.

Ford sighed. "Then don't play the jug."

"It won't be the same!" Fiddleford shook his head. "A jugband without a jug that's...that's like a body with no heartbeat!"

The door swung open and Mabel emerged with an old ceramic jug.

"Here it is!" she exclaimed. "And it only sort of smells like pond scum."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Ford smiled gently. "It seems Fiddleford can't play both simultaneously."

Mabel frowned. "But it's a jugband. It's in the name!"

"How about we wait another day," Ford offered, patting Fiddleford awkwardly on the back. "Maybe someone in town will join you."

"Oh for Pete's sake, give it to me." Stan snatched the jug out Mabel's hand, sniffing at the top and giving a grimace.

Fiddleford stopped pulling at his hat, peeking out from under the brim. "You'll play?"

Stan grunted. "I'm not missing out on good money just because you have a case of the heebie jeebies. Besides, how hard can it be? It's like blowing on the top of a beer...er...I mean soda bottle."

Dipper crossed his arms. "Grunkle Stan, we know what beer is."

"Not from me you don't."

Mabel squealed. "It's happening! Grunkle Stan is learning an instrument!"

"It's not an instrument, Pumpkin. It's dishware."

"It's a scrapbookortunity!"

Mabel dashed into the house once more, leaving Dipper to grin at their Grunkle Stan.

The family was only a few yards away now. Fiddleford looked between Stan, Ford, and Dipper, and straightened up in his seat.

"Alright. Alright!" He clapped his hands together. "Stanley, you get down here with me, otherwise your feet are gonna get mighty sore from standing." He yanked at Stanley's hand until he sat beside the rocking chair with a grumble.

"Now when I tap my foot," Fiddleford instructed. "You blow on the jug. One short note at a time." Fiddleford tapped his foot in demonstration. "You got that?"

Stanley rolled his eyes. "Gee, I don't know. Seems pretty complicated for the guy without a PhD."

Mabel burst through the door, camera clutched in her hands. "Got it!"

"Excuse me?"

The little boy stood on the porch, approaching the banjo case with far more trepidation than before. Eyes darting between the assembly, he dropped a few dollars in the case.

"Is this enough to play a song?"

Fiddleford didn't bother looking at the money. He turned his gaze to Stanley, who shrugged and raised the jug to his lips.

Fiddleford grinned. "You know ‘Boodle Am Shake’?"

The little boy shook his head.

"Well you're about to!" And with that he was off.

By Fiddleford's standards, it wasn't a horribly complicated tune. Ford had heard him pluck out more complex riffs while waiting for the coffee pot in their dorm room to brew. But Fiddleford was smiling. His shoulders had dropped from around his ears, and he was nodding at the little boy to tap his feet along with him. Ford hid his smile behind his hands as he watched Stanley, eyes focused on Fiddleford's bare foot with as much attention as one would give to diffusing a bomb. Next to him, Mabel was snapping pictures of the pair. Dipper stood on his other side, wearing the small smile he tended to get when feeling introspective. Ford laid his hand on Dipper's shoulder, and Dipper leaned into the touch.

The mother was smiling at her little boy, her baby having finally stopped fussing. Maybe it wasn't the grand attraction Mabel had planned, but Ford thought it was worth far more than those few dollars anyway. Nothing could be worth more than his family standing around him, his closest friend singing again.

I know this song, it don't mean a doggone thing. Just do that good old Charleston swing. When you sing...

[a-hazbin-reader]

A reader who loves singing? Does Alator let her sing his radio show?

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being petty, Alastor eating people, Vox being bullied

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor loves having an wife who can sing, any talent of yours he celebrates but singing especially is his favorite

Alastor is the type of husband to brag to a room of strangers about how good his wife sings

Even the other overlords are SICK of hearing about you and your beautiful, heavenly, mesmerizing voice

Except maybe Zestial and Rosie, the two of them actually genuinely interested in hearing you sing

Alastor is absolutely embarrassing to take anywhere that there is a live band/music

Mocks any other singer on stage just to get a reaction out of people so he can get you up there instead

He loves your voice best 👌

"They're a fine singer, sure, I'm only saying that I've heard better~"

Not him throwing you on stage

Is your biggest fan, making sure everyone claps and cheers for you because he will eat them if they don't

You're going to be blushing the entire time on stage because he's going to be giving you the most sinful look while you sing

Even if he doesn't necessarily like the song you're singing, Alastor is content to just admire your vocal talent

He won't let anybody try to make deals or contracts with you over your voice, usually just giving people a terrifying grin as he pulls you close

Vox has asked you a few times to perform for his show, but Alastor is proud to say that his wife has better taste than that

He also exaggerates the story of how you turned him down, claiming you kicked Vox in the groin and shattered his screen

"Alastor! That's not how that happened-"

"No? Funny, that's how I remember it~"

And he usually does something funny to get back at Vox for even trying

In Alastor's opinion, there are only two ways to enjoy your voice

Either in person or on his radio show

Putting you on TV would only dull your natural sparkle and talent, take away how special it is to really listen to you

That's his opinion anyway

Will ask you to sing at the hotel instead, but really what he's asking is if you'll sing for him

Because if you perform at the hotel then he's not missing a single moment of it, each performance from you is a gift

Will have brief intermissions in his broadcast so that you can sing to all his listeners

Treats you as the Lilith figure for his show, believing that your singing does have some power to it but also just so he can rub his woman in Lucifer's face

"Seems as if her majesty wasn't the only one with a pretty voice~ Aren't we all so lucky to have Y/N~?"

Alastor, maybe don't piss off Lucifer by shit talking the mother of his child?

He'll play piano as long as you promise to sing, the two of you would have the BEST DUETS

If you sing him a love song, then he can't resist singing along with you and pulling you in for a dance

"You should serenade me more often, my dear~ I think I deserve such a treat from you every now and then~"

"You ate like six people today, I think you should think again."

Little nose boop for your husband

Not him biting your finger playfully as you go to pull it away

"You two are so fucking sweet it's making me sick, I'm outta here."

Sorry Angel

Sometimes he hums along with you if you're singing while you're working, content to harmonize with you

Lowkey gets jealous when other people sing with you but gets irritated if someone who can't sing tries to sing with you

He has gone so far as to threaten them for singing badly and ruining your song

"If you're going to open your mouth, it would do you well to mind the shit that comes out of it."

"Alastor!!"

If you ask him for it, Alastor will pull all the strings he can to get you a place just for you to sing

It'll be his shrine to your voice

No Mimzy, you can't borrow Y/N for your own business

Only people with refined tastes such as his own will be allowed in, Alastor makes sure it's the proper clientele

Oh and Husk will be the bartender

"You MOTHERFUCKER!"

Alastor likes taking your voice to it's limits, likes hearing all the different sounds you can make

And that includes in bed

Even if you sing a wrong note or mess up, he'll call it an artistic choice and praise you

He still cuts in on just about every song you sing because he can't help himself, music and Y/N? It's Alastor bait

Plus, the two of you get to show off together, compliment each other, and make everyone green with envy

Y'all are just too fucking cute

It's a dream come true for Alastor to have a wife who can sing

Oops! This became another Wife!Reader one...sorry... 🫡

[crepesuzette2023]

Before I forget: Paul live in Paris, Dec 4, 2024

At some point, there was real life and having to take care of 1001 things in order to come here, but I can't remember. The Stadium is enormous, the view clear, the sound sublime. As the venue fills, a DJ creates a set of deep cuts and remixes from Paul, Beatles, & Wings that paints a broad but incomplete mural of the man's music. On the screens, an endless building scrolls past: a castle or a tower, inhabited by all these friends and lovers—only to culminate in the birthing of two Höfner basses from—flowerbuds? Star nurseries? I don't remember. Anyway, it's appropriately lusty Gemini symbolism. Earlier, my seat neighbor @i-am-the-oyster spots an angry skull in the QR code innocently leading to Sir Paul's website. Also with us are @packyourromanticmind, @s-l-martin a little further away, @crumblingcookies down on the floor, and next to me Mr. Suzette.

Can't Buy Me Love. We're underway. It's over almost before it begins. More more more. • Junior's Farm. My God, that figure down there is really him. These delicate wrists, bright white shirt, but also — these hands on the strings? Above all, a musician. • Letting Go. Red Lights, throbbing beat, sleazy bassline thrumming. I bet this is a personal favorite of his. • Drive My Car. The thrill of singing Beep Beep M Beep Beep Yeah in sync with thousands. • Got to Get You Into My Life. Damn, his voice his soaring. • Come On to Me. What? My fiction brain supplies so many "everyone comes on Paul, and Paul returns the favor"-scenarios. • Let Me Roll It. The first taste of actual ecstasy. Paul switches to guitar. Too far below me, a sea of people is swaying and singing. He gave me loving in the palm of my hand.

Getting Better. How dare he jump from the churning vortex of Let Me Roll It into the happy, skipping optimism of...this? Of course it works, and he sings it well. • My loudest scream of the night goes to Brother Michael in Let 'Em In. This one feels like a sibling of Getting Better—that relentless, easy rhythm, stripped of Lennon's edge. • My Valentine. Elle est ici. This one's for you, Nance. Dark, old, honest love song in black and red, with the voice just this side of breaking on this love of mine. • Still behind the piano, Sir Paul feels the need to bounce on it, and does so with Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five, no holds barred. • Since we're going insane, why fight it? Maybe I'm Amazed, absolutely a highlight so far—the piano, the shredding guitar. The screams and falsettos.

And then he's suddenly standing in front of the stage singing I've Just Seen A Face. Infuriating. • In Spite of All the Danger. This holds up, lifting the entire stadium with its gentle melody—until it's time to lose it when Paul plays George's guitar solo. McCartney—Harrison. • Love Me Do. George Martin name drop! No more audition nerves; this is a now a singalong tune. Excellent harmonica playing by Wix Wickens. • Michelle. In Paris! Makes me think of Ivan Vaughan's wife, who helped with the French. So much history in this room, in this work. The I Love You's are for everyone present. • Dance Tonight. That's right, get up and shake it! Palate cleanser.

Blackbird. I know: a forever song. The simplicity of him with a guitar. His hands. This is still that body. • Here Today. His voice is more firm singing this than it was in the past, not as close to tears—but if anything, it makes the line I Love You even better: strong, sure. Let's hear it for John. (Applause.) (Demanding gaze.) (More, louder applause.) That's right. • Now And Then. I miss John's voice. The vibes of this song are: It was beautiful, now it's over. Oof. Thank you, John, for giving us the beautiful song.

Enough of this. Sir Paul escapes behind the colorful piano. Lady Madonna time! • And right into Jet. Why not? A bit jarring, but hey. Triumphant fucking song, and just what we need now. • Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite! At this point you're just fucking with us, Paul, and we let you. Disturbing to discover the lyrics to this song reside in the same brain that seems to be incapable of remembering actually crucial information with real life consequences. • Something. And like that, the heart is pierced again. It's just Paul and the ukulele at first, and thousands of voices singing for George. The man was loved. And the song is genius.

Me, before the concert: I could do without Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da. Me, during the song: goes nuts. • Band on the Run is a cool song, and it makes you feel good inside. It's time we all admit this. • Ram it home Paul, we want it: Get Back. What a song to play live. Gift of the gods.

Another change of pace as Paul sings Let It Be, surrounded by glowing wish balloons and the stars of the audience phone lights. Incredibly gorgeous and cathartic. My mother's second name was Mary and she died much too young; don't expect me to be normal about this song. • Live and Let Die. Okay then. Time to just surrender to the insanity of it all. I had *heard* of the fire show, seen it on small screens. I am not prepared. Not to mention the musical...orgy. • Hey Jude. This is my chance to come down a bit. What a peaceful melody. And then he screams and hollers during the ad lib section like the One Hand Clapping sprite he is...!

Encore: I've Got A Feeling. Paul and John sound crisp together. John looks so, so beautiful. Also, Paul still has the energy to almost scream in tune at this point. • Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band Reprise. Nooo, don't go! Also, Sgt. MF Pepper's exists because of this man and his bandmates. And it's just one song of the encore. Have to make choices, right. • Time to pull all the stops, and there's so much left. Helter Skelter. No, we will not take it down a notch. • Golden Slumbers. Damn you, Paul. • Carry That Weight. The first signs of the voice possibly being done for the night, but who cares when everyone sings along? • The End. The guitar solos! All this man wants to do is make music, either alone or in a good band. Both are fine with him, really.

When he's done, he's pretending to be humbled by the applause while actually soaking it up, and leaves the stage with a spring in his step, waving coquettishly at the camera that follows him for a bit. Is he kissing the camera? I forget. I think I remember the end. We see it all on the big screens: that lithe, white-haired figure, weaving past others until he's truly gone. Touch Me. Not a chance.

[manias-wordcount]

Hi! I am once again requesting more Tamaki Suou/reader content because I love the way you write him. ♡

Prompt: Tamaki and his spouse (wife or husband or gender neutral, whichever you feel like writing) decide to roleplay while staying at one of the hotels owned by his family. They pretend not to know each other as they flirt endlessly. You can write this full nsfw or just have it be suggestive, but I'll love any playful flirting and teasing.

I hope you like this prompt. Thank you so much for your time and effort! ♡♡♡

Strangers at the Bar (Tamaki Suoh x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗺! 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂! 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 !! 𝘀𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘇𝘆

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

By the time he slides into the stool right beside you, your giddiness almost can’t be contained.

You feel like a little kid again. One with secrets in their heart that are longing to be shared. But you know there’s no fun in that. Especially telling this secret. Not after all the trouble your husband went through to plan all this out for you. Still, very little stops you from buzzing in your seat with a smile that’s too big to be contained for more than a few seconds. Still, you try. It’s the least you could do.

It was your idea at first. Something originally mentioned in passing. The romance between the two of you was alive and well and both your staff and your inner circles could attest to the sickly sweet adoration the two of you shared for each other. But life has always kept you both busy. And being busy often meant being kept apart. So much so that when the two of you finally reunited after long, long periods away, those days together would be spent mostly between the sheets. Cuddled together and glued to each other’s side as if one would disappear if the other were to leave. And as nice as it was, you missed the excitement you both once had. The excitement that came with being young and filled with free time and longing for a certain handsome, blonde stranger you saw staring at you across the room.

So over a phone call across timezones one day, you mentioned how if you had the chance, you’d go back in time to relive the first time the two of you met. Not to do it better. But rather, to soak in all of the fun and excitement that came with being courted by him. By your now husband, Tamaki Suoh. And you remember him getting quiet for a while after you said that. You couldn’t help but wonder if you had unintentionally hurt his feelings in some way due to your statement.

But then you received an itinerary forwarded to your personal email for a week-long stay at one of his family’s nicest, most private hotels in all of Japan. Flights and rooms and spa treatments are included in the package deal, plus a request for you to take the entire time off (and then some) too. But perhaps what made this surprise really special was the little note placed at the bottom of his email instead of an automated signature.

Meet in the lounge on the first night. When you first see me, pretend you don’t know who I am. Let’s start over- I’d like the chance to fall in love with you again.

That was weeks ago. Now? You’re glancing almost shyly at your husband- or rather, the stranger your husband is pretending to be- and sipping at the cocktail you ordered while he very casually gives the bartender his order. There’s a jazz group playing a few light melodies in the background and you swear, the piano player almost draws his attention completely away from you for the night. But then he looks at you. Really looks at you. And so, you look at him. Locking gazes and laying eyes on each other for the first time in what must have been a month and a half of business travel and work keeping the two of you apart.

And at that moment, you can’t help but feel deep down inside that this is exactly like the first time the two of you met. A different place. A different time. A different almost everything. But you’re still you. And he’s still him. So naturally, you know in your heart that he must feel it too.

“Tamaki Suoh,” He (re)introduces himself after a few moments of silence. He ignores the quiet clink of a lowball glass being placed in front of him in favor of reaching a hand out in your direction. You reach out to take his hand with a smile- one that hopefully appears more charming than giddy- but he doesn’t shake it. Instead, he’s quick to scoop up your hand and bring the back to his lips. Bright violet eyes refuse to break eye contact with you as he places a few kisses on the back of your hand, and is struck with the thought that he could truly have anyone in the world if he wanted to. But he doesn’t want just anyone. “And you must be one I’ve been looking for~”

He just wants you.

Admittedly, you couldn’t help but let a few snorts of laughter slip. Immediately, Tamaki goes wide-eyed and alarmed and red in the face as he realizes that after years of not being a host, he’s way out of practice and not so good at the cheesy line thing anymore. But you’re nice enough not to tease him too much. After all, you’ve been breaking character all night despite knowing practically everything he wanted to do to you before sunrise. In your eyes, he’s still your prince charming. And that’s all he’ll ever be. But for right now, you could at least do one thing in his favor.

Pretend he doesn’t have you just yet.

“Hmmm,” You try to cover up the rest of your laughter with a light hum as you start to calm down. At the same time, you reach out your fingers and brush the tops of your nails against the sleeve of his suit jacket. His eyes watch your fingers with a careful, yet heated look. Almost as if a simple action such as that was enough to bring him back into the spirit of things. So you continued, putting on your most sultry voice and matching the intensity of his gaze with a seductive look of your own. “I sure hope you haven’t been looking very long.”

He gives a huff of laughter. His blush is just barely noticeable at this point as he takes the earlier embarrassment in stride. He has changed much over the years. He’s still your Tamaki after all. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t grown. He’s not the boy you met in high school at a party thrown by your parents. He’s a man now. Your husband now. But it’s getting a little too hard to remember that he’s supposed to be a stranger to you at the moment. A little too hard. 

“Only all my life,” He responds smoothly, eyes peering at yours with a knowing half-smile. The sincerity in his voice was enough to get you to draw in a sharp breath. Even after all these years of dating and marriage and spending all the time that you possibly could together, he still manages to say a little something sweet to knock you off your feet every once in a while. And although you knew you shouldn’t be surprised, you just didn’t expect to feel your heart beat this fast at such a simple line during such a simple time.

Perhaps he has held on to a few more of his skills than you previously thought. Hmmm…

“Well, I’m sorry for the wait, Mister Suoh. It won’t happen again,” You apologize with a faux frown tugging at your lips, almost as if there was truly something to apologize for. At that, his smile grows just a big, almost triumph. Although he’s quick to tense up the moment your fingers start to trail up his jacket sleeve. And as you draw small shapes in the fabric and climb higher and higher up his shoulder, you lean in a bit closer to him. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his fingers twitching and flexing in his lap. Looking eager and desperate to reach out towards and grab you. You suppose you should make this easier on him. He was never able to keep his hands off of you for long. “How about I make it up to you?”

At the sound of you whispering in his ear, you can tell that his interest was more than piqued. He had frozen, just for a moment, before leaning into your space as well and tilting his head close to your ear.

“Oh yeah?” His murmur was low, and his breath felt warm as it brushed against your ear. You shivered at the feeling, and you could tell he took delight in it with the way he let out a pleased-sounding hum. At least he had the decency to hide his smile. Though you’re sure that if you looked into his eyes right now, all you would see is the look of a cat who had finally caught the canary after many, many tries. “How?”

That single word felt like a challenge to you. 

“Well…”

And in some ways, it was. It was his money and connections and careful planning that flew you out here to this hotel so the two of you could finally meet after a long, long time apart. It was due to his smooth tongue that the two of you were guaranteed to meet up in a bar that was nearly empty and drinks that were to die for while light jazz filled the room with something more pleasant than silence. It was he who did all this for you. Because of a passing comment. Or perhaps simply, because he wanted and felt this way too. But it was your moment to shine now. Your moment to make it up to him. Your moment to show him what he was missing. And to show him that time and distance and playing pretend…

“We could start in your room? Or mine”

…could never change the way you truly feel about him.

[kimingyuslover]

Wedding vows

synopsis : mingyu is in awe when he sees you walking down the aisle with the dress you've been dreaming about for years, your favorite flowers bouquet, and white veil as the cherry on top.

word count : 544 & some change

pairing : mingyu x fem!reader & wonwoo x reader

genre : angst

warning : fem!reader, angst, bad grammar (i'm not a native speaker), wonwoo makes appearances, minhee is your bestfriend, tears, minimal dialogue.

★ feel the ending kinda rushed.. but it's already half past 1 here. my first time writing a oneshot.

☆ check out my other works > main masterlist

this is the day that you've been waiting for the most of your life. The white gown that you dreamed of getting is draped over your body, the white veil that's going to cover a major upper body of yours with a bouquet of flowers in your hands, and you are ready to walk down the aisle.

"so, how's you feeling?" minhee asks while she holds her camera to your face, "i'm feeling ridiculously nervous and excited, i'm seeing him in the next five minutes after not seeing him this morning and last night," you said while you're getting your dress to get fixed so you're not going to trip while walking down the aisle.

one of the wedding organizers staff called you to stand in front of the door, because soon you'll be out of the room and chanting your vows with your soon-to-be husband.

on the other hand, mingyu is definitely nervous and scared to see you walk in the aisle with your father. he's always fixing his tie every now and then, feeling choked by the air and his tie.

the piano and violin start to play your wedding entrance song, which means you can come out of the door anytime soon.

and there you are. a beautiful white gown that you've been telling him years ago is now droop over your body. the bouquet of your favorite flowers is now on your hands, and the white veil that covers your upper body is like the cherry on top.

mingyu eyes are getting wetter by any seconds pass. he just wants to spill all his tears while he sees you walk down the aisle with your father. the sound of the music feels the air, making this moment's more precious to him.

you are now delivering your vows, and mingyu's tears began to spill all over his cheeks.

he has dreamed of this moment everytime he fell asleep while thinking about you. except, this one is real, but he's not the groom, wonwoo is.

he broke things up with you 2 years ago. he can still vividly remember how your face morphed into a horror when he tells you that he wants a breakup because he has lost his feelings towards you. the unspoken truth, he's not losing his feelings towards you. he just had a bad day and lashes it out on you.

That was his biggest regret. you two already planned your wedding, and that 5 years old relationship was gone because of his selfishness.

mingyu's always thinking about your relationship in the past. What would your relationship turn if he's not breaking up with you that time? Will you get married to him instead? having a child? hell, you both are even already talking about having 3 children, 2 boys, and a girl.

When you're finished delivering your vows, "you may kiss the bride," said priest, and that's when mingyu get out of his 'what ifs' images, to see you locking your lips with your now husband– Jeon Wonwoo, mingyu's best friend & roommate.

it's impossible to get your girl back when she's already someone else's wife, all that 'what ifs' are thrown out of the window, he can't be selfish for one more time, because for fuck sake, that's his bestfriend! but when he sees you smile at wonwoo, his heart breaks a thousand times.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 5 - The man I used to be

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate class.

Word Count: 5.6K

TWs: Angst, crying, angry!Elvis, self-esteem issues all-round, erectile dysfunction, body worship, praise kink, some smutty bits.

A/N: This is a difficult chapter for a number of reasons - there's a lot going on and a lot of complex emotions. Thanks to everyone who has commented and re-blogged so far, comments are life so the more I get the happier I am! And I know if you're enjoying it.

Elvis spends the next day wondering what he’s doing with Tegan. He sits at the piano, mid-afternoon, running through some scales and a few snatches of songs. He looks around the empty living room. It’s harder to get a house full of people nowadays. The guys are older and they spend more time with their families than they used to. He can get plenty of people round for an event - the barbeque the other weekend proved that - but there’s not the constant presence of guys and fans and family like back in the seventies or even the eighties. The divorce had coincided with a slow drift of people out of his life and into their own. Lisa doesn’t even stay in Graceland when she’s back in Memphis, even though he’d tried asking her to. She’s working on her new relationship, and she wants to spend time with her boyfriend when she’s in Memphis, not with her dad.

For the first time in a long time, Elvis realises he’s lonely. He’s been keeping himself busy for years now with the karate schools, but he can’t stay in Memphis for more than a month at a time. It’s hard to persuade someone to come round for dinner every night; sometimes he has to eat alone. He’s kept moving so he barely notices, but sitting in the living room at Graceland, silent save for his absent-minded piano tinkling, he realises how much he craves company. Last night had gone by so quickly, Tegan was so easy to talk to and her skin was so soft. He’s missed more than just conversation and company. He’s missed sex too. He had liked playing with her and finding out what turns her on, and he had liked watching her lose herself to pleasure too. 

He puts the lid down on the piano and rests his elbows on it, head in his hands. He remembers calling her a needy thing because she wanted to see him before Tuesday. He groans. He wants to see her right now, and he wants to keep her here with him forever. It hurts, being here alone, being without her, wanting her so badly. The loneliness that he’d been holding at bay for so long comes crashing through his defences, hitting him like a tidal wave. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes and run down his nose, splashing on the piano lid. Fuck. 

“Daddy?”

He’d been so wrapped up in his own sadness he hadn’t noticed the sound of the door closing and when he looks up he sees Lisa standing there, with Riley and Ben. He quickly wipes his eyes and stands up.

“Hey! How are my two favourite grandkids, hm?”

Riley rolls her eyes, letting him hug her. “We’re your only grandkids, Elvis.”

He looks up at Lisa. “She got this from you, y’know. Callin’ me Elvis.”

Lisa laughs and tells both kids to go and raid the kitchen for lunch. 

Riley runs off towards the kitchen immediately but Ben pauses, unsure. He tugs Elvis’ sleeve. Elvis bends down and picks him up easily, cuddling the little boy to him and kissing the top of his head. 

“What’s up, punk?”

Lisa snorts at her dad calling her son “punk”. 

“Have you been crying?” Ben puts a little hand against Elvis’ face and stares into his eyes with grave concern. 

“Little bit.”

“Why?”

Elvis lets out a huff of air. Why had he been crying? “Jus’ felt a little sad, s’all.” He brushes Ben’s hair back off his forehead. “Much happier now you’re here.” He squeezes the little boy tightly and then looks at him again to see how that statement fell. 

Ben’s big eyes still look worried. Lisa thinks he’s way too worried, always, for a five year old. 

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure I’m better now you and Riley are here? Of course I’m sure. Why dontcha go help ya sister find some lunch, hm? Mary’ll help ya. Ya must be hungry, growin’ little fella like you?”

Ben nods solemnly and allows himself to be put down, walking slowly and purposefully to the kitchen. Elvis frowns a little. “Are ya sure he’s five and not fifty five, Yis?”

She sighs and puts an arm around her dad, laying her head on his shoulder. “Well he’s very perceptive for a five year old, I’ll give him that. You ok?”

“Think anyone coulda seen me cryin’ back there. Even a little kid.”

His arm goes around her too, pulling her close. 

“You okay?” She asks again. 

Elvis makes a sort of grumbling noise and moves to sit on the sofa. Lisa sits next to him and waits patiently for a response. Or, as patiently as she can. When another two minutes of strange silence have passed she huffs and pokes him in the side. 

“You gonna tell me?”

“Not gonna get away without, am I?” He mutters. “Lonely here, Yis. On my own a lot.”

“What about Tegan?”

“Saw her last night.” His face breaks into a smile. “She came for dinner.”

Lisa sits up and grins. “And?”

The smile continues to play on his lips as he thinks about her on his lap all night, talking to him about her tattoos. “It was good.”

“Good? Is that it?!”

“I like her, Yis. I really like her. But she’s so much younger, I jus’... I dunno.”

Lisa shakes her head. “Don’t see what difference that makes. She’s not Stella, or mom. She’s her own person. You have to give it a try on its own terms.”

“‘M tryin’.”

“Why don’t you invite her round for lunch now?”

He shakes his head. “‘M try’na take it slow.”

Lisa falls back against the sofa cushions with a bump, sighing loudly. “Why?”

Elvis pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Because I don’t wanna fuck it up, okay?” He stands up and starts to move towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna get somethin’ to eat if the locusts haven’t got ta everythin’ already.”

Lisa watches him go, and then realises she’s hungry too and gets up herself. She’s surprised at her dad taking anything slowly, but perhaps he knows what he’s doing. She supposes she’ll have to wait and see.

***

“Ya need to really protect yourself with yer arms. No. C’mere.” Elvis stands in front of Tegan, a forearm in each hand, and manoeuvres them around as she steps back. “Y’see?”

She tries hard to keep a straight face but she can’t help giggling. “Yeah… kinda.”

Elvis puts on a mock-serious face. “No laughin’ at karate. ‘Sa serious sport.”

Still trying not to laugh, she attempts the block again, but when he grabs one of her arms and moves it where it’s supposed to go she fails and starts giggling.

“C’mon. Again. On yer own.”

Letting out a breath, she tries to compose herself. “O-okay. So, like… this?” 

He shrugs a little and gives his head a little shake. “Better than it was before. Practise at home. Now, step forward and snap punch. No… mid-chest. C’mon. Really try an’ punch me. That’s better.”

He makes her go through the two step move a few more times and then tells her and the rest of the group that they can go and get another drink. She gulps down some water and then passes the bottle to Maria. 

“You two are getting on well,” Maria observes with a wry smile. 

Tegan can’t help smiling back. “Yeah. I went to Graceland for dinner at the weekend.”

“You did?” Maria’s eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. “You didn’t mention it!”

“Well, I know you’re not keen.”

“Oh T, it’s not that. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Tegan nods slowly. “I know.” She’s about to continue when Elvis calls them back to class. “I’ll tell you later.”

When the class finishes the rest of the students file out and Elvis realises only Tegan and Maria are left. Maria realises too, telling her friend she’ll see her in the car and giving Elvis a quick wave. Tegan picks up her bag as he makes his way towards her, a broad smile on his face. 

“Ya need ta practice more at home,” he tells her, forefinger under her chin, tipping her face towards his so he can press a soft kiss to her lips. 

“Maybe I need some private tuition?” 

He takes his sunglasses off and holds her face firmly in his hand, kissing her deeply. Her hands make their way around his neck as she presses her body against his. 

“Ya can come home with me right now an’ I’ll teach ya some things…” he mumbles against her lips, intoxicated by the feel of her, the way she smells. 

“Yes please.”

He pulls back, resting his forehead against hers, panting a little. “I shouldna said that.”

She pouts a little. “Why?”

“I’m tryna take this slow.”

She groans. “Well don’t kiss me like that then!” 

“Sorry, honey. Got carried away. Yer always makin’ me get carried away…” he strokes her cheek gently with his finger. 

“Maybe that means something? Maybe you should just… get carried away.”

He giggles, his apple cheeks prominent as he looks down at her. “Temptin’. But ya should go home, sure ya have work in the mornin’…”

“Well, yeah. You still coming for dinner at the weekend?”

He nods. “Sure am.”

“Okay, see you then.”

***

Elvis enjoys dinner at Tegan’s apartment. She cooks him a roast and he teases her about nearly all of the components, but he gobbles down the whole plate and asks for seconds. She even manages to persuade him to try a gin and tonic, although he doesn’t ask for a second one of those. They talk and joke around and at some point the teasing turns to touching and he’s making her cum on her sofa this time. She asks again, but he’s still not interested in getting anything in return. Their relationship continues like this for weeks - they see one another on Saturday nights and at karate, they get closer, but not too close. He gives her an orgasm every time he sees her, but he won’t even take his shirt off, never mind let her touch his dick. He brings her flowers and trinkets, but he’s afraid to take her out in public in case they’re hounded by the press. She loves being with him, but she feels like he keeps her at arm’s length. She’s fully in this, but it’s like he’s just standing in the shallow end, watching her. 

She doesn’t feel like she can tell Maria, so when her friend asks she just says everything’s going well, they’re taking it slowly, getting to know each other. But she’s not sure how much longer she can keep waiting for him to feel more comfortable with her, or want to dive right in the deep end and lose control. She can’t understand what’s holding him back, and is trying to work out how to broach the subject with him at Graceland that evening, when the phone rings unexpectedly and it's Elvis inviting her to the zoo. First of all she thinks he’s joking, and then when she realises he’s not she agrees enthusiastically. She does love animals, and they will actually be seen together in person. Perhaps she’s been patient enough, and she doesn’t need to talk to him at all. Things have just worked out on their own. He tells her he’ll pick her up in half an hour and she hurries to get ready. 

***

“Honey, ya need ta know somethin’,” Elvis tells her as she gets into the car and he kisses her hello. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Ya might be in the papers tomorrow. If someone spots us an’ takes a photo…”

She shrugs. How bad could it be? “Okay, cool.”

He stares at her intensely for a moment. “They could say all kindsa things about ya. Jus’ want ya ta be prepared.”

She nods. “Okay.”

Elvis doesn’t think she’s taking him seriously enough but he’s not sure what else he can say. 

She sees him frowning a little and kisses his cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Take me to the zoo!”

***

Tegan enjoys the zoo until the paparazzi arrive. She’d thought that because there was hardly anyone outside Graceland anymore and people in the karate classes treated him mostly as if his being there was completely normal, that the press wasn’t bothered about Elvis Presley anymore. Boy was she wrong. Someone had obviously tipped them off, and from the penguin enclosure onwards they were harassed by men with cameras and reporters shouting questions. Wanting to know who she was, how they met, how long they’d been together, did they plan to get married? Had she met his daughter, was she the same age as his daughter, what were they doing at the zoo? And another million intrusive questions that Elvis starts off answering politely and eventually instructs Sonny to answer “no comment” to, on his behalf. 

“Goddamnit,” he hisses, as they finally get back into the car. He pulls the curtains so that no-one can see in through the windows and Sonny drives them this time. “I knew it’d be bad. Didn’t think it’d be that bad.”

Tegan feels a little overwhelmed herself but Elvis is her main concern. He’s gripping one of her hands tightly and sweat is running down his face as he mumbles about the paparazzi and the damn reporters. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his thigh. 

He huffs air out of his nose like a furious bull. “None of their goddamn business. Any of it.”

“Shhhh. It’s okay. I’m okay. Don’t get upset.”

He abruptly lets go of her hand and springs back from her. “Don’t get upset!” He exclaims, eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “Don’t get upset! Goddamn.”

Tegan isn’t going to be put off that easily. “I just mean, don’t let them get to you like this. I don’t like to see you so upset.”

She rubs his arm now, in the same gentle but firm way. 

“Well it doesn’t matter what ya like, does it?” He spits. “I’m fucking upset.”

It’s Tegan’s turn to spring back now, eyes flaming. “Don’t fucking take it out on me!”

Sonny looks at the curtain in the rearview mirror, not that it reveals anything. He’d warned Elvis about going to the zoo in the middle of the day, but to be fair not even he had thought it would be this bad. Both of them were unused to the ferocity of the paparazzi, even in Memphis. He’s surprised that Tegan bit back though. He had thought of her as a little timid for some reason. 

They stare at one another for a while, both furious but neither able to decide the next move. Elvis can’t remember the last time a woman yelled at him and he’s shocked into silence, and Tegan is furious about the way he spoke to her, and isn’t about to back down. She didn’t like his tone just then and it was making her want to tell Sonny to pull the car over so she could get out. 

Eventually Elvis huffs loudly and turns away from her, staring straight ahead at the curtain, realises that it’s still closed and opens it with a grunt. Daylight pours into the back of the car and Tegan squints and looks around for her sunglasses. 

“Sorry,” Elvis mutters sheepishly, when he thinks she’s suitably occupied digging about in her handbag. 

She pauses, then looks over at him. “It’s okay.”

He takes a few steadying breaths and then looks at her properly. “Ya were right, I was takin’ it out on ya. Ya were only tryna calm me down.”

Sliding her sunglasses on, she looks over at him. “I know. You were being an arse.”

Sonny catches Elvis’ eye in the mirror and all three of them burst out laughing. Elvis doesn’t think anyone has ever called him an arse before, but he has to admire her for doing it. 

“Yer lucky I’m lettin’ ya get away with that,” he replies, winking behind his glasses. 

They drive back to Graceland, and Sonny and his wife join them for dinner. Tegan has met Sonny’s wife a couple of times and is getting to like her, and Judy is fond of the younger woman too. Her and Sonny had both remarked to each other, and Elvis himself, how much happier he seems lately, and Judy wants to make sure he stays that way almost as much as her husband does. They all watch a little TV together and play some cards, and Tegan is happy to spend some time with people who’ll actually drink with her. Although, as she watches Sonny finish off his fourth bourbon rocks, she wonders who is going to drive her home. 

Judy yawns delicately and then gives Sonny a sharp elbow in the side. He looks around a little slowly, his reactions dulled by all the bourbon. 

“Huh? Oh…” he looks over at Elvis and Tegan, who are cuddled up on the sofa at this point. “I uh… think we should be getting home.”

“Oh.” Elvis suddenly clocks that Sonny is drunk and he doesn’t know how he’s going to get Tegan home. “Yeah, sure. Thanks fer comin’.”

They get up and say their goodbyes, and once they’ve left Elvis turns to Tegan. “I spose I better drive ya, honey.”

She puts her hands on his shoulders and then slides them down over his chest. “Or… I could stay over?”

He can feel his face getting red thinking about her seeing him naked. It had been a very long time since a woman had seen him naked. 

“I…um…”

She starts to slowly unbutton his shirt, moving to press soft kisses to the skin she uncovers there. His chest hair is white like the hair on his head, and she’s seen it before underneath his gi. But she hasn’t ever got to touch it, and she can’t help running her fingers through it as she continues to unbutton his shirt. He feels like he’s completely frozen on the spot, just watching her as she carries on with her little touches and kisses until his shirt is hanging open. 

“Please?” She puts her head to one side and tries to look cute. 

His breathing is uneven as he stares down at her, still unable to formulate a response. She gently pushes his shirt off his shoulders and encourages his arms out of the sleeves. He stands in front of her, topless, watching as she presses yet more kisses up his arms and across his chest. His eyes flick uneasily down to his belly, which isn’t exactly small these days, but that gets kisses too, and gentle touches, and he can feel himself melting. 

“C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”

“Okay,” he finally replies, trying to get some of the upper hand back by sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her up the stairs.

She giggles, her arms around his neck, pleased at being literally swept off her feet. He manages to open the door to his bedroom without putting her down, and she stares around it in wonder, squinting into the darkness. 

“I’ll put a lamp on,” he mumbles, putting her down carefully and moving over to the side of the bed, flicking a switch. 

It doesn’t get much lighter in the room, but she can see the size of the bed which is almost unreal. She shivers a little. It’s not exactly warm; it seems like he has the AC on full blast. He looks over at her nervously, but she’s still occupied looking around, so he moves over to one of the sets of drawers and searches for some pyjamas. He’d be more comfortable in them and probably so would she. It takes him a few minutes to locate a couple of sets and when he turns back his mouth actually drops open looking at her. She’s standing there, completely naked, looking over at him. 

“H-honey… I… yer…” he can’t make the words come out of his mouth. He’s seen everything before but not all at once, and it’s kind of overwhelming. “Yer naked,” he finally manages. 

She giggles. “Yeah I know. This is how I sleep. And walk around the apartment sometimes too.”

His eyes somehow get even wider. “Ya walk around like that? I don’t think ya should…”

She shrugs and then rubs her arms with her hands, melodramatically. “I’m getting cold. Why don’t you come over here and warm me up?”

“Well if ya were wearin’ clothes…” he starts, but he’s walking towards her anyway, and she cuts him off with a kiss, pressing her naked body up against his. He moans into her mouth. Her skin feels so good against his, he can even feel those little metal bars in her nipples, a tiny touch of cold. His hand spreads across her back, pulling her in even closer, but somehow he doesn’t stop her wandering hands. One skates down his back but the other sneaks between them and before he can do anything, she’s squeezing his still soft dick. She barely reacts when she doesn’t find what she was expecting, but he almost leaps backwards like he’s been burnt. 

“Ah…uh… I’m s-sorry baby… it’s not you… I-I-I…”

“Hey. It’s okay,” she tries to reply but he darts off into the ensuite, pyjamas in hand. 

Tegan sits on the bed for a moment, looking at the closed door and wondering if he plans on hiding out in the bathroom all night. She supposes he won’t, but honestly she can’t tell. The coldness of the room persuades her under the covers, and she wonders what he’s going to say when he eventually comes back into the room again. She was only a little surprised to find him so soft when she touched him. It made sense really, when she thought back over the past few weeks that they’d been together. He never wanted her to return the favour when he gave her an orgasm, he was so awkward about the relationship in the first place, and he never wanted to let her take his clothes off. The look on his face after she’d touched him, the way he’d jumped away from her… it hurts her heart. She just wants to give him pleasure like he’s been giving her for all these weeks, but he seems so damaged about the whole thing. She frowns. It’s not as if he’s the first guy she’s been with who hasn’t been able to get it up sometimes. 

Elvis gets changed shakily, then stands in his pyjamas, gripping the sink with both hands and staring into the mirror. Stupid old man, he thinks. She’ll never be interested now she knows your dick doesn’t work. For a while he seriously considers sleeping on the bathroom floor, but then he realises he can’t get around going back into the bedroom and facing Tegan. He opens the door slowly, walking into the room almost sheepishly. 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles. This is turning into a day of apologies. 

She pulls the covers back, exposing her naked body to him. He can’t help but look at it hungrily, despite what had just happened. “C’mere.” She pats the mattress next to her. 

“I hope you’re sorry about running off, not anything else?” She asks as he gets in cautiously. 

“Sure I disappointed ya.”

Lying on his back, unable to look at her. 

“I’m not disappointed,” she replies, curling her body around his. “I’ve been looking forward to waking up with you.”

“Thought ya might’ve wanted somethin’ else,” he mutters. 

Her hand rubs his chest, then moves to his belly. She feels him tense and starts to kiss his neck as her hand keeps touching him. 

“I want to make you feel good, ‘raur. I’m not in a rush to do anything else.”

He sighs. “Don’t think that’s really possible.”

“Sure you’re not just out of practice?”

Elvis groans and closes his eyes, willing the conversation away. This is not something he wants to be talking about with anyone, let alone a girl twenty years his junior. 

“Jus’ leave it.”

Tegan doesn’t really want to just leave it, she wants to understand it and find a way to fix it. But Elvis clearly isn’t in the headspace for that kind of conversation right now, so she decides to try a different tack. 

“God, you smell so good.” Burying her face in his chest, she breathes him in. 

He can’t help his lips curling into a half-smile. “Really, Queenie?”

She flicks the top button of his pyjamas open and presses kisses to the exposed skin there, her hand running over his nipple through the shirt. 

“You haven’t called me that in a while. And yes, really.”

He hums with pleasure, his hand running through her hair as she keeps kissing and praising him. 

“You’re so strong, it’s so sexy.”

“Huh?” He’s blushing a little but he doesn’t want her to stop. 

“Carrying me up the stairs.” She looks up at him as she deftly undoes another button. “Very sexy.”

He feels her hand inside his shirt now, rubbing and touching. She pinches a nipple between her thumb and forefinger and gets a low moan in response. 

“Q-Queenie…”

“I can’t believe how gorgeous you are.” 

She quickly undoes all of the rest of the buttons, and for the second time that evening his shirt is hanging open and her hands and mouth are all over his torso. He lets out a soft sigh and when her hand moves down under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms he doesn’t stop it. She slowly slides his foreskin back and forth, squeezing a little and feeling him start to respond. Her mouth and other hand continue their ministrations on his belly and chest, hoping to distract him from worrying about what his dick might be doing. She feels him getting harder and pushes his pants down so she can get at him more easily, sliding her mouth over the head and giving him little kitten licks. He moans, looking down at her for a moment and then looking away, disgusted by his own body again. His erection starts to fade and he screws his eyes shut and huffs in frustration. She tries to stimulate him for a little longer, but it’s clear it’s not coming back, so she stops, pulling his pyjama bottoms up carefully and leaning her head back on his chest. 

He can’t speak. He doesn’t know whether not being able to get it up at all, or having half an erection that went away when he thought about it too much was worse. Both things were horribly embarrassing, and he can only imagine she’ll leave at the first opportunity, and not want to see him again. 

“We should sleep,” he says, turning over and dislodging her. 

He switches the light off and she stares, confused, into the dark from her position on her back. 

“We can try again in the morning,” she suggests, quietly. 

“Hmmm.”

She still wants to push it, but she knows she shouldn’t. This is too delicate. She wishes she could tell him that she doesn’t care, even if he never gets another erection she’d still want him more than she’s ever wanted anyone, but that seems too much. The intensity of her feelings for him seems like too much, considering how long they’ve known one another. She hasn’t told anyone how she feels; she’s convinced Maria would try and get her committed if she knew. She rolls onto her other side and tries to get to sleep. They can try again in the morning. 

***

Neither of them sleep that well. Even though the bed is huge, they’ve both got used to sleeping on their own and someone else being there is disturbing. Elvis sleeps particularly badly, unable to stop himself wondering what Tegan must think and whether she’ll ever want to see him again. He looks at her as she lies there, peacefully, and wonders what on earth she’s doing in his bed. She could do a lot better. 

“Oh, hi there, gorgeous,” she murmurs as she opens her eyes and sees him leaning over, looking at her. 

He carefully moves her hair out of her eyes. “Mornin’ beautiful.”

Her face breaks into a smile. “Mmmmm. Come here.” Pulling his face towards hers, kissing him deeply. 

He shifts, rolling on top of her and relishing the feeling of her hands underneath his unbuttoned shirt, running up and down his back. She lets one trail a little lower, grabbing a handful of his ass and pushing her hips up into his. He can feel himself getting harder, his dick is always a little more cooperative in the morning and something about her body and his drowsy state is turning him on. The thoughts that had plagued him during the night drift away and his head feels pleasantly empty. He finds himself starting to kiss and nip at her neck as she pushes his pyjama bottoms down, feeling him now too. She moves her legs to wrap them around his waist, and as his dick rubs against her pussy she feels delicious pleasure building between her legs. Drowsy too and not caring how she gets there, she moans softly at the feeling. He closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying rolling his hips against her, feeling like a teenager again. But he wants more. Moving back a little, he lines himself up with her entrance, teasing her with the tip before starting to push inside. 

But it’s not just Elvis who hasn’t done this in a long time, and Tegan almost yelps at the intrusion. She’s tight at the best of times, and with no warm up and no lube it’s almost impossible. 

“Oh!” She cries out, shifting back from him instinctively. 

The moment it happens, his erection fades. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. 

“Elvis, I’m sorry…” she begins, but he just covers himself up again and rolls off her and then out of the bed. 

“Ya want breakfast? Mary’ll make ya eggs. Or… whatever ya want. Come down when yer ready.”

She stares as he takes a robe off the door and wraps it around himself and then just walks out of the room. She feels humiliated and confused. Okay, yeah, he’d gone soft. Embarrassing. But she’d been too small for him, or too tight, or not turned on enough… she gets up slowly, putting on her clothes from the day before. She wouldn’t have minded if he’d stayed in bed and held her for a while. In fact, she’d have liked it. She wishes that’s what he’d done, rather than leaving her like this. Checking her hair in the bathroom mirror, she sighs at her reflection. Maybe if she was more attractive this would all have been easier. 

Walking slowly down the stairs, she looks around again. So opulent. But so quiet. So lonely. When she gets to the kitchen she finds Elvis staring at the Sunday papers. 

Has-been Presley dating woman half his age.

The headline is big, and as she gets nearer she can see a lot of unflattering photos of both of them. Then she sees some of the text of the article. 

Washed up King of Rock n Roll, Elvis Presley, was seen today at Memphis Zoo with a woman young enough to be his daughter. A far cry from the attractive starlets he used to be seen with, the unknown female is hardly a looker.

“Oh wow,” Tegan says, quietly. It’s one thing to know you’re not Helen of Troy, and it’s another thing to see it written there in black and white. 

Elvis had been staring at the paper for a while now, and every so often some of the words had gone in. He knew there would be a nasty story about them, but he’s unused to the reality of it after so long. And he didn’t expect them to be quite this cruel about Tegan. Hearing her voice he’s suddenly spurred into action, tearing out the pages and screwing them up, hurling them across the room. 

“Fucking assholes,” he shouts. 

She puts a hand on his arm. “Elvis, it’s okay.” She doesn’t even really believe herself at this point, after everything that’s already happened this morning, but she feels she has to say something.

“The things they wrote about ya… it’s my fault.” He turns to her and shakes his head sorrowfully. “Ya better go.”

“What?”

“Ya better go. I’m no good for ya. Jus’ go.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

“I do.”

Tegan tries begging and pleading with him, tries rationalising the situation, tries to ask why and persuade him to talk. But none of it works. He just keeps repeating that she ought to go and she’d be better off without him. It's like he's shut down completely. Despite his previous pronouncement that cabs don’t come to Graceland, he calls her one and sends her off in it. He won’t even kiss her goodbye. She sits there on the backseat trying to figure out exactly what the fuck had just happened, how she’d gone from him rutting against her in the bed one minute to throwing her out the next. And then she gets home and just cries. And cries. And wonders how the fuck she’s going to get her life back.

***

Part 6

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss

[iridescentxstars]

hello, ayla. can i request a Minho fic? okay so i know it's not on the list. but if possible, royalty!au + forbidden love + “let’s commit some sins.” thank you very much and i hope this gets considered <3

omg i forgot to add the kink afshsajasfh pls (for the previous ask) kink can be oral, ty!

royalty!minho x fem!reader || trope: forbidden love || dialogue: "let's commit some sins" || kinks: oral || wc: 510

please remember this is all fictional. this work is NSFW and contains SMUT, if you are under 18+ DO NOT INTERACT

Minho pulls you into a corner of the castle, kissing you with a smile while you clutch his shirt in your hands. “We shouldn’t be doing this here, your Highness. We might be seen.”

“Then let us not be seen.” He mutters against your lips before pulling away and dragging you down a quiet corridor. You hide your face, knowing that if someone saw you running down the hallway with the prince then they’d report you to the Queen and you’d be thrown out. “I cannot keep my hands off you any longer, my lady.” You’re in the library, the flutter of birds rushing away from the two forbidden lovers echoes around the quiet space.

“What do you intend to do with me?” You giggle, kissing him while Minho lifts you to sit on the table. “Are you wanting me to read for you?”

He rolls his eyes as if you don’t know exactly what he wants, exactly what he’s been wanting ever since he saw you enter the castle. “I intend on doing all the things that a husband and wife would do.”

“Your Highness, it is a sin for a man and woman to lay without being wed.” He gets down on his knees, lifting your dress up and exposing your clothed core.

“Then,” Minho removes the cloth hiding your cunt from his hungry eyes – and mouth. “Let’s commit some sins.” You lean back while Minho pulls you closer to the edge so he can taste the sweet nectar that’s promised between your thighs. A soft gasp leaves your lips, fingers tangle in his hair as your lover’s tongue gives languid licks to help you get used to the feeling.

As Minho devours you, you look up at the ceiling, unseeing of anything that is actually around you because your entire being is focused on the pleasure that is coursing through your veins. You have been told about sex, about how it is and sure, you know the theory of it but you have not been told about how good it can feel. Always informed about how it is a duty one performs for their spouse, cold and detached which is the opposite of what you are feeling. You jolt, gasping for air when Minho’s thumb brushes against your clit, eyes widening and the man looks at you, realising that what he did – you liked.

“You’re exquisite,” Minho brushes his lips against the inside of your thigh while his fingers play you like the piano he once spent hours practising, pulling sounds from your bitten lips that will certainly get you caught. “I can see why men go to war over women because I would fight to live out my days between your legs.”

You are about to respond, to tell him not to be so crude, but you are at a loss for words when two fingers penetrate your core and curl to press against your sweet spot. You’re at his mercy, until the gracious prince decides that he’s had his fill of you – you are simply his supper.

A tasty one at that.

[neeksparksg]

A Moonlit Memory

On 0001 Cemetery Lane stood the Addams mansion, looming in eerie grandeur against the dim light of a misty morning.

Y/n, stepped into the living room. "Ghoulheart, my love," she purred, wrapping her arms around Gomez, who was engrossed in his model trains. "are we letting the locomotives roam free today?"

Gomez chuckled, his mustache twitching with excitement. "Absolutely, Amore mio! All aboard the Addams Express!" He turned to face her, planting a kiss on her lips.

Just then, Morticia entered, her elegant gown flowing as gracefully as ever, her presence enough to capture everyone’s attention. "Beautiful as always, my beloved Nightshade," Y/n greeted her, giving a subtle but intimate kiss on Morticia's cheek.

Morticia’s lips curved into a smile. "And a lovely morning to you too, my love." She reached for Gomez, pulling him into their embrace.

Their moment was interrupted by Uncle Fester, bursting into the room. "Gomez! Y/n! Morticia! Guess what I've invented? A train track that changes its form automatically!" he declared, dragging in a desk covered with a blanket.

Gomez’s eyes lit up like a child’s on Halloween. "Fester, you’ve outdone yourself! Let’s give it a whirl!"

"Boys and their trains," Y/n whispered with a smile as she watched Gomez and Fester excitedly pull the blanket off the table to reveal an built-in train track.

As Fester and Gomez fiddled with the setup, Morticia turned to Y/n. "There will be a beautiful full moon tonight, my dear. Perfect for a moonlit stroll."

A smile crept across Y/n’s face at her wife’s suggestion. "Absolutely perfect, my love. Let's ask Lurch and the kids if they’d like to join." She pulled on the rope hanging from the ceiling, ringing the large bell that echoed through the house.

Lurch’s tall, looming figure appeared silently from the shadows. "You rang?"

Y/n looked at him with a grin. "Lurch, my dear, ominous friend, would you accompany us on a moonlit stroll tonight?" Lurch answer was just to give a solemnly nod.

Just then, Grandmama shuffled in from the kitchen. "A stroll, eh? Just remember to watch out for werewolves!"

"Don’t worry, Mamá," Y/n replied. "I’ll be sure to pack a snack for them."

The sound of scampering feet announced the arrival of Wednesday and Pugsley. "Morning, Mother, Mom," Wednesday greeted, looking up at Morticia and Y/n. "We've been working on a potion to turn vegetables into bats."

Pugsley added, "It’s not working yet, but it makes great slime!" He held up his hands, covered in a gooey mess.

Y/n chuckled. "Still that is Impressive work, you two."

As the morning melted into afternoon, the family went about their usual activities. Morticia tended her garden; Y/n rested in the living room, listening as Lurch played the piano; Gomez and Fester tried to outdo each other with in a explosives battle, and Wednesday and Pugsley enjoyed their break in the playroom after finishing Grandmama’s lessons.

As night fell, the family gathered in the garden, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. Before setting off, Y/n turned to the kids. “Did you remember to leave food for Aristotle and Homer?”

“Yes, we fed them earlier,” Pugsley replied. Fester chimed in, “And I gave Kitty Kat some meat. You know how much that cat eats—wouldn’t want him sneaking out to hunt.”

“Good thinking,” Y/n nodded approvingly. “Poor thing wouldn’t last a second out there.” With everyone ready, they began their moonlit stroll, arms linked.

“It truly is a remarkable night,” Morticia murmured, resting her head on Y/n’s shoulder.

Gomez grinned. “Absolutely. A brilliant idea to come out tonight!”

The stars twinkled above, casting long, shifting shadows across the garden. Pugsley and Wednesday glanced up at their parents, curiosity lighting their faces.

“Mom, Dad… Mother,” Pugsley began, “how did you three meet?”

Morticia’s lips curled into a nostalgic smile. “Ah, well then, gather ’round, and we’ll share a tale from the days of our youth.”

Gomez leaned in, his eyes gleaming. “It was a night much like this, many moons ago. Your mother and I were young.”

Morticia continued, her voice soft and melodic. “We’d heard whispers of a peculiar circus in town, one promising oddities beyond imagination. Naturally, we thought it would make for an unforgettable date.”

Gomez chuckled, his enthusiasm infectious. “The circus was like no other—a strange blend of performances and macabre wonders. But amid it all, we spotted something special.”

Morticia gently brushed a stray lock of Wednesday’s hair. “A curious sign caught our attention: ‘Gaze into the Spirit Veil and Communicate with the Beyond.’ We were intrigued, drawn in by the mysteries it promised.”

Y/n’s eyes sparkled as Morticia spoke. “We entered a tent adorned with mystic symbols and deep velvet curtains. In the center, a figure cloaked in shadow awaited. She stepped into the light, revealing the most captivating girl I’d ever seen.”

Pugsley leaned forward, wide-eyed. “You were part of the circus?!”

Y/n chuckled softly. “Yes. I had a gift—connecting with spirits—and the circus… well, they exploited it. People would come to speak to the beyond through me.”

Wednesday’s curiosity deepened. “What happened next?”

Gomez’s gaze softened, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face. “As I looked into Y/n’s eyes, it felt like the world around us disappeared. We were drawn to each other like moths to a flame.”

Morticia’s voice held a touch of mystery. “It was love at first sight.”

Y/n’s smile was tender. “We spoke without words; it was as if our souls connected in that single moment.”

Gomez’s tone turned mischievous. “We knew we had to help Y/n escape the circus and its clutches.”

Morticia nodded, her eyes reflecting a boldness from her younger years. “With a plan as daring as it was risky, we orchestrated a grand escape. Beneath the watchful gaze of the moon, we whisked Y/n away into the warmth of our love.”

Pugsley’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “And then you got married?”

Gomez laughed, ruffling Pugsley’s hair. “Exactly, my boy!”

Y/n let out a soft laugh, watching her family fondly. “Well, it wasn’t quite that simple, but yes, that’s how it all started.”

[gallilovesf1]

Title: Into You

Number of Episodes: N/A

Themes/Warnings: Slowburn, light smut (Kissing, teasing, sexual tensions) angst, fluff, mentions of death,Daddy kink, Neglections.

─────── ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ─────────꒰ ♡ ꒱ ─────

Cover

─────── ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ─────────꒰ ♡ ꒱ ─────

Character Descriptions:

MAIN CHARACTERS:

Y/N Horner (femHorner! READER)

- 5’2 ,British, 22 years old, fresh graduate from Harvard University under the course of Mechanical engineering.

- Likes to draw and paint, can play a few instruments like electric guitar and piano.

- Forced to take the course of mechanical engineering because of her mother who’s a mechanical engineer at formula one who recently passed due to cancer (lung).

- Smart and hardworking person who thinks that everything is a competition because of the household that she grew up in, But doesn't want to compete with his brother because they get a long way to well.

- Younger daughter of Christian Horner the team principal of red bull racing oracle formula one team.

- Has prior knowledge to FORMULA ONE, but doesn’t take that much interest in it.

- Neglected by his father

- Sergio’s Bestfriend

- Has Big problem of having a daddy issues.

- Sebastian Vettel is her favorite driver, because she remembers how Seb treats her as a kid, Seb likes to give her hugs, candies and even tells her how would she help the environment as a kid or even when she grows up.

Christian Horner (Team Principal of RedBul Racing Oracle Formula One Team)

- 50 years old

- 5’10

- british

- Father of Y/N Horner and Jonathan Horner

- Pressuring his daughter to take her job as the one of the engineers in Redbull.

- Hates Mercedes team so much.

- Ignoring her daughter's talents in arts and not letting her take another course or study under a fine arts program.

Jonathan Horner (Redbull Driver)

- 5’8

- 26 years old

- british

- Son of Christian Horner

- Older brother of Y/N Horner

- One of the Driver for Redbull racing

- Loved by his father

- Protective to his younger sister

- Hates his own father because of neglecting his own daughter (you).

- Supportive to his younger sister, thinks that it’s cool that Y/N can draw and is a mechanic for the red bull

Sergio “Checo” Pérez (Red Bull racing driver)

- Mexican

- 5’8

- 34 years old

- Driving alongside Jonathan Horner.

- Has a crush on Y/N Horner, but doesn’t tell her because he thinks that y/n will not like her.

- Best friend of Y/N

- A shy and introverted person but talks a lot when he’s with Y/N

- Likes it when Y/n is telling him about how she likes art so much, sometimes takes Y/N in art museum whenever it’s race week.

- Y/n’s biggest fan when it comes to art.

- Treats y/n whenever he can, because he thinks that y/n deserves so much more.

- A ray of sunshine to Red bull

- Is Confused all the time

Toto Wolff (CEO and The Team Principal of Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS Formula One Team)

- 52 years old

- Austrian

- 6’5 (🧎🏻‍♀️)

- Has a big problem with anger issues.

- Hates Horner and Redbull.

- Thinks that Y/N is too good for redbull

- Has a soft spot for y/n, but hides it because he doesn’t want y/n to think that he’s weak, given that he looks intimidating and tall ( well he is…)

- Divorced, has 1 kid with his Ex-Wife. (Not canon Toto:( )

- Jealous of Sergio, because Sergio's very close with y/n and he isn’t. In fact Y/N doesn’t even know him, she just knew that he’s the team principal of Mercedes, nothing else.

- Likes Y/N

- Brat tamer toto (RAAAAAAHHHHHH)

- Manipulative, He thinks that he can get anything, buy everything because he's toto Wolff, the team principal and the CEO of Mercedes formula one team.

Lewis Hamilton (Driver for Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS Formula One Team)

- British

- 39 years old

- 5’9

- A very close friend of toto

- Helping Y/N to know more about F1

- Thinks that Y/N deserves so much more and not just a engineer.

- Y/N's friend in Mercedes, he likes it when y/n runs to his garage to catch up and congratulate him about the race, win or lose y/n always do that.

Supporting Characters:

F1 Grid (Drivers to be mentioned later on the story)

F1 Retired drivers (Appearance in the race, paddock and outside)

MASTERLIST

[roosterbruiser]

𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

The sandy stone patio outside The Hard Deck is quiet. 

Well, it’s quieter than it was inside. Rowdy Navymen and their rowdy friends a few too many draft beers deep jamming out with the jukebox on high, Penny overwhelmed by the amount of men in Uncle Sam beards and patriotic paper top-hats, peanut shells on the floor, ice clinking in whiskey glasses, fireworks going off every few minutes. 

It’s all a bit overwhelming for you, which is why you slid out and quietly settled in one of the metal bistro chairs, breathing in the sweet ocean and sulfuric air. It’s foggy outside from the fireworks, which are bursting into the night sky in fantastic sparks of yellow and pink and red and blue. 

Finally--you can take a deep breath, inflate your lungs, tune in with your daughter just beneath the taut skin of your swollen belly. She’s fluttering around like she always is when you’re finally still. Sometimes, you like to imagine that she’s mimicking you: taking a deep breath, tilting her head towards the sky, lashes fluttering as she watches the fireworks. 

Bradley is still sitting at the piano, playing a jaunty version of Born in the USA on the piano, a little tipsy and the kind of happy that makes his cheeks bright pink. The usual crowd is around him, much drunker and much blearier, sloshing their drinks and mussing each other’s faux beards. 

“Where’s that wife of mine?” Bradley asks suddenly--he scans the crowd around the piano and doesn’t find you in the sea of red, white, and blue. “Jake, did you scare her off?” 

“She wakes up to you every morning, Bradshaw,” Jake retorts, grinning. “How could I scare her off?” 

Bradley stills--everyone groans when the live music stops. 

“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river!” Bradley says as everyone boo’s him. He stands up, stretches, glances around the bar again. He doesn't see you still. “Respect your countryman!” 

And then he’s fielding pats on the backs as he navigates the bar, heading for the patio doors. He’s sure you’re out there--you like to sneak away when you can get away with it to dip your toes in the water or sit in the patio chairs. 

He’s right--you’re right where he knew you would be: sitting in the patio chair, head tilted back as you watch the smoke drift across the star-dotted sky, shoes thrown aside and feet buried in the sand, eyes shining as you stroke your belly with both hands. 

“Hey, mama,” he greets softly. 

You turn, a soft smile on your face. All the noise of the bar fades whenever Rooster closes the door behind him, grinning at you something fierce.

“Hey, daddy,” you respond, face warm with love.  

He stalls right where he is, hands on the hips of his true-blue Levi’s. Pink sprouts across the exposed part of his chest, his Hawaiian shirt long unbuttoned after his fourth drink and second song on the piano. He just beholds you, a lip tucked between his teeth, his smile growing wider when you wrinkle your nose at him. 

“What?” You ask, but you have a feeling that you already know. 

“You’re a fucking vision,” he sighs, earnest and yearning. “How’d I land a bombshell like you?” 

“Trapped me,” you tease, gesturing to your bump. “Remember?” 

He grins, laughing. He starts to toe his Chuck Taylors off, peeling his socks off while you rest your cheek on your shoulder to gaze at him. 

“It’s quiet out here,” he says softly, sauntering over to you and wrapping his arms around your neck. He peppers your sweet-smelling hair with a few kisses before tucking his nose into your neck. “Didn’t realize my ears were ringing in there.” 

You smile. 

“Poor baby,” you mutter mockingly, curling your fingers in his sandy locks. “You alright?”

“Respect your countryman,” Bradley insists softly, muffled from the silky skin of your neck. “And the father of your daughter.” 

He moves his hand to your belly and your daughter kicks softly, stretching and turning. You can feel his grin when it spreads across his face. He’s so delighted in the thought of becoming a father that his joy is genuinely palpable. You can feel it at all times like the sun on your cheeks or the wind in your hair. 

His hand is warm, covering the front of your rounded belly. Bradley sighs softly, eyes fluttering shut as he feels your daughter move inside of you, imagining what she’ll be like. 

But then a firework goes off--pops right beside the both of you. And you both feel it: your daughter jolting in your belly, startled. 

Before Bradley can respond, you’re laughing. Laughing a big and loud laugh with your mouth wide open and your eyes teary.

“Oh,” you giggle, grinning at Bradley. “Our poor baby!” 

Bradley, frowning good-naturedly, tuts and moves so he’s kneeling before you. You’re still fighting your laughter, biting your lip and stroking your belly. But Bradley’s tucking himself between your legs, moving your shirt up until the curve of your belly is exposed to the cool night air. 

“Poor thing,” Bradley said, pressing a few kisses to your skin. “S’okay, bird. Just some fireworks, huh? You’re gonna have to get used to ‘em, aren’t you? Fourth of July is…big in this family, to say the least.” 

You nod as if she can see you, combing your fingers through his hair as he peppers your belly in affection. You can almost see it now: Bradley holding your tiny daughter, pressing his nose into her little shoulder, making her shudder when his mustache tickles her delicate skin. 

“We’ll get her some headphones,” you tell him, biting a grin. “That oughta do the trick, huh?” Another firework pops and she jolts again, more than before. Your belly flutters, tenses. “She really doesn’t like those,” you tell Bradley, gasping softly. 

With his brows furrowed, Bradley peers over his shoulder at the small group of mens setting them off on the beach. 

“I’m gonna go give ‘em a piece of my mind,” he mutters. 

“Bradley,” you laugh. “What’re you gonna say? You’re scaring my unborn daughter?”

He pauses--glares at you. 

“And if that is what I’m gonna say?” 

Grinning, feeling like you’re about to burst with all this love for this goofy man on his knees before you, you shake your head. 

“Oh, boy, do I love you,” you say softly. “And so does our daughter.” 

He grins. 

“Our American girl,” he laughs. “Who doesn’t like fireworks.”

You hope, with everything in your heart, that she has his laugh. Big, loud, hearty. You want people to hear her laugh and know who her father is. Oh, that’s gotta be a Bradshaw. 

“She’ll learn,” you tell him, stroking your belly. “Her daddy’s a Navyman.” 

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 <𝟑

[bingwriterxo]

the shakespeare exhibit -- drabble 3

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: in which tara meets more of your family and learns another secret

warnings: none

word count: 700+

previous part | next part

Cordelia had been put to bed hours ago. You had been given the task by your parents, with the claim that you could get her to fall asleep the fastest, and Tara had watched as you rocked your sister gently in your arms, whispering sweet words to her until her babbles and giggles faded into a peaceful silence.

Maybe, Tara had thought while she stood in the doorway, committing the sight to memory, a baby wouldn’t be so bad right now.

Though the reason for the party was sleeping in her crib upstairs, there were still plenty of people crowded in your ballroom, though you had told Tara that they were all close friends or extended family by that point.

You had been whisked away by a cousin, which left Tara vulnerable to whomever decided to strike up a conversation. And, just as she watched Nate and Eddie begin to march toward her, her line of vision was blocked by your grandparents, who had finally emerged from the wine cellar.

“Hello, deary,” your grandmother said, smiling. “You must be our Y/N’s dear girlfriend.”

Your grandfather stood by his wife’s side silently, and Tara remembered you telling her that he was not too fond of people. She offered him a smile but kept her attention on your grandmother.

“Yes, hi! I’m Tara.” She stuck her hand out, slightly thankful that your grandma decided to shake it rather than pull her into a hug. As nice as they are, I think I’ve had enough hugs for one day.

“It’s lovely to meet you, sweetheart. Y/N has spoken so much about you.” Your grandmother winked. Tara felt herself blush up to her ears.

“She talks about you guys a lot, too! She holds both of you in very high esteem.”

Your grandmother chuckled, and Tara’s ears perked up, realizing that she was who you had gotten your laugh from. “I’m sure she speaks of her grandfather plenty.” She patted her husband on the forearm. “He is, after all, the writer of the two of us, and we all know how much Y/N loves literature.”

Tara turned to your grandfather. “Right, of course. She’s mentioned that you’re a poet.”

Your grandfather’s eyes seemed to light up at the mention of his work. “Talks about her old man, does she? Yes, yes. In my day, I could write poem upon poem.” He looked at your grandmother. “Most of them were for Jane, of course.”

Tara smiled as your grandmother scoffed lightly. This will be us one day, she thought. I just know it. “I’ve read a few of them,” Tara said, and your grandfather grinned. “They’re beautiful.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He stood a little taller and puffed his chest out a bit. “Makes an old man like me feel good, hearing a youngster like you say that.”

“Well, I’m just being honest--” Tara was interrupted by your appearance at her side. You took her hand in yours, beaming at your grandparents.

“Hope these two oldies aren’t boring you, Tar,” you giggled, and your grandmother reached out, swatting you on the shoulder.

“Go on, child,” your grandma said, her tone light. “Go play us a song. Make yourself useful while we speak to your dear girl.”

Play us a song? Tara wondered, her eyebrows furrowing.

You hummed and nodded. “Any requests, my lovely grandmother?”

“Play that one song she likes,” your grandpa answered. “You know…that one song.”

“Ah, yes. ‘That one song’,” you teased. You pulled away from Tara. “Just a moment.” She watched as you crossed the room, settling down on the bench in front of the grand piano that stood in the corner of the room.

Her eyes widened. No way. How many things is this woman hiding from me?

A somber melody filled the room, and all conversations quieted, everyone turning to watch you as you played, your fingers dancing along the keys of the piano like they belonged there.

Tara gulped, her heart beginning to race, a shiver running along her back. Jesus, I’m so in love with her, she thought.

The song began to pick up a bit, and her eyes glanced around the room, seeing your parents sway together and Nate and Eddie sitting still for once, entranced by the tune.

Your eyes closed, your fingers playing faster. You became one with the music, one with the piano, and Tara tried to bite back the smile that pulled at her lips. You looked at home there, on that bench--almost as much as you did when you were explaining literature.

“Oh, I know that look,” your grandfather whispered, and Tara glanced at him. He grinned, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. “Welcome to the family, dear girl.” Softly, he patted her on the back. “Welcome to the family.”

[graceisinthelibrary]

How about #2 from the prompt list.

Sorry, but this took a while and it's too long... It's set between the episodes 5.5 and 5.6.

“You’re burning up! Like a match!” 

“Nonsense! Bugger off!” The mere idea was preposterous. Siegfried stared at his brother, the smug beggar, and wished him to the moon or at least back to Doncaster. He did his best to ignore the heat in his cheeks and hoped his beard would sufficiently cover his unease, before anyone else noticed it. 

Tristan chuckled and picked up the manuscript, the tome, as Siegfried had baptised it and gave the title a closer look. “Ancient Persia, eh? A memoir… anything racy?” With another giggle he dropped the volume to the desk. Dust exploded, dancing in the sunlight of the late spring morning. 

Siegfried wished his embarrassment about his feeble attempts at dating were less distinctive. It rubbed him the wrong way that everyone thought he was a lonely old man without any prospects in love. Well, he was getting older, no doubt about that. His aching bones spoke volumes about his age and so did his reading glasses, but none of this meant he wasn’t interesting to women. He was rusty, admittedly. But he wasn’t past his prime. Mrs Hall had said so, Carmody had reminded him about it, but Tristan had a field day with it. 

Somewhere behind him, he heard Mrs Hall moving about. She was giving the dining room a thorough dusting and although she would never say anything to embarrass him, he knew she was well aware of his interest in Miss Grantley. There was nothing happening in this household that she wasn’t aware of. He felt the heat in his cheeks intensifying as he tried to fathom whether she had an opinion about the matter or not. 

Did she think of him as a fool for trying his luck? 

Did she find him pathetic by getting into Miss Grantley’s good graces by reading her book? 

Tristan apparently did and he knew Helen good enough to know, she was thinking the same. James was perhaps the only one who didn’t bother to phrase his opinion and he was glad for his partner’s discretion. 

He had read his way half through the manuscript by now and didn’t know what to make of it. Catherine Grantley’s grammar lacked some things to be desired, and the story of her life seemed indeed racy. A bit too racy for his taste, but then what did he know about life and love in Persia? He wasn’t stuffy, but he wasn’t sure he enjoyed various descriptions of liaisons in the desert. 

In the corner of his eyes he watched Mrs Hall as she picked up Evelyn’s picture and cautiously cleaned it. She placed it gently back on the piano before she moved on to the next object, a small clock. The almost loving way with which Audrey Hall looked after Evelyn’s memory touched him and made him wonder about Miss Grantley and the late husband she barely remembered. 

The phone rang and sensing this was the opportunity to get rid of Tris, he barked at his brother to answer ‘the bloody phone’. Tris’ refusal, rooting in his amusement, vanished when Mrs Hall used her feather duster and her stern gaze on him. Once again she had saved him, but he didn’t want to show her how much Tristan’s teasing bothered him. 

“Just ignore him,” she said softly. “You know how he is.” 

“You mean he’s an annoying busybody. Worse than the vicar’s wife!” 

“He means well. He wants you to be happy.” 

“Well, I would be a lot happier if people stopped bothering me!” He snapped. Mrs Hall was the last person who deserved his gruff, but he didn’t know how to cope. He stared at the manuscript and sighed, annoyed with himself. “Is it that bad?” She asked, leaving it open if she was referring to the book or the woman herself. 

“Bosworth was right, you know.” He shoved the book into his drawer and shut it forcefully. “I’m all played out. Maybe I should join him for some bingo session on Friday night in the church hall.” 

Now it was her turn to chuckle. “You better not. You have no idea how the widows long for an eligible widower who’s still in possession of his own teeth and hair.” Despite his wish to be grumpy she just made him laugh. He looked at her and realised how cute she looked. The duster was stuck under her armpit and one of the feathers had come loose and was entangled with her hair. He longed to pull it out, but that would perhaps be considered overstepping. There was a roguishness about the way she smiled at him, that restored his good mood though and so he let her go without mentioning the feather. 

His eyes followed her trail down the hall. Suddenly he thought that he maybe should tell Miss Grantley about her grammar mistakes and some minor content-related improvements for her literary work. 

On her way into the kitchen Audrey thought about Siegfried and his sudden wish to impress that archeologist or whatever that lady did for a living. She couldn’t help but feel that she had put the bug in his ear when she had told him not to compare himself to Bosworth and that there was plenty in life ahead of him. And she had meant it. Their temper aside, the men didn’t have much in common. 

So, why did it bother her that he was trying to get into the good graces of this exotic stranger? From what Carmody had told her, Miss Grantley was an alien figure to begin with. Nice, but also… aloof? If Richard Carmody noticed as much she must be a handful. 

Lost in her thoughts, she entered her pantry and listlessly collected the ingredients she needed to prepare lunch. As she put the pan on the stove, Siegfried entered the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. 

“I can do that,” she offered and looked at him. 

He just smiled and shook his head. “Mrs Hall… May I?” 

Confused, she blinked, as he raised his hand and pointed at her head. 

“Course…” 

He slowly pulled out the feather and showed it to her. “A bit rogue that one,” he said. She took it and smiled at him. “Thank you for restoring me dignity.” 

“Thank you, Mrs Hall,” he said and when she crooked her eyebrow, puzzled, he added, “For being you.”