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orions-choker · 2 months ago

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Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Serial Killers, Murder, Obsessions, Yandere tendencies, Gore, more to be added.

Chapter Fourteen

A/N: This is it! This is the end! Thank you to everyone who read this and put up with my horribly inconsistent updates I really appreciate it. I believe this is my longest fic to date and it was quite the undertaking so i hope it paid off in the end! <3 Love you all.

There was only a certain amount of comfort to be garnered from the return to her familiar dorm room. A considerable distance was put between her and her hometown that now haunted her dreams. Still she had foolishly brought it back with her. Pinched between her bed and box spring was the crumpled fabric that still smelled faintly of cinnamon, smoke mostly now. Sitting in the top compartment of her jewelry box was a lone earring that didn’t belong to her, nor did it belong to anyone still breathing. Tarnished and foggy from the persistent rubbing over her thumb over the metal. There was only so much solace she could find when she had purposefully brought back with her mementos of her fucked up summer. Yet still the guilt faded to a dull ache in the back of her mind, the pressure only worsening when she was alone in the dead of night, which thankfully was not very often. She was comforted mostly by the presence of her roommates' heavy breathing in the middle of the night. It did well to stave off the feeling of her guilt gripping at her. Left only were ghosts of cold fingers pressed into her skin, shadows dancing in the corners of her eyes. She was sure in time those would fade as well. In time.

Winter rolled in with a wet cold typical of San Francisco that left her feeling even more empty. She had told her parents she wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas. She didn’t have many intentions to ever return back home. She cited a rough breakup with Kirk as the reason, too fresh and painful to bear accidentally seeing him. As expected her parents were fraught with disappointment but pressed the issue no further, promising to send something of a Christmas care package her way instead and murmuring that they and her dog missed her. She hoped Mavey was taking full advantage of her bed being free for the taking, the old girl deserved it.

Kirk had come home the same night she had arrived safely back in her dorm room. She had politely asked her parents not to tell her anything, though they had mentioned that any possible charges towards him had been dropped. Nothing tied him to the crime, he wasn't even so much as a suspect. The cases have gone cold. Kirk was innocent, more importantly he was a free man. Though it had been months and Y/N hoped that the fact she hadn’t heard from him was a good sign. On good days the whole thing seemed like nothing more than a distant bad dream.

With long lithe limbs she bent her body in half, hair threatening to brush against the pavement as her fingers deftly worked at untying her off white shoelaces. With a tight tug she pulled the canvas of her shoes snug around her foot before quickly knotting the lace once more, once, twice. Wiggling her foot she smiled in satisfaction. As she moved to sit back up she couldn't help but overhear the soft flittering voices of two girls in her biology 211 course as they passed by her.

“No but he’s like, really cute right?”

“You think, he’s kind of weird, plus have you seen him smile his teeth are fucked up beyond belief.”

“God you’re such a shallow bitch.”

Giggling ensued but for some odd reason a deep pit had formed in Y/N’s stomach. She was being paranoid, of course. There were probably a million and one boys in the world who could be described with those two traits that weren’t Kirk. She swallowed hard and sat up straight, raking her fingers through her hair to push it back into place. Her body heaved under the weight of her bag as she slung it across her back once more. She entered through the top door of the lecture theatre of her first year English and Writing course. The second semester was about to be a bitch for her, she had already known this professor from taking this course the first time around. She was still convinced the old hag failed her on purpose.

Maybe she was naturally more perceptive now or maybe she was more on edge, but as she walked around the top of the theatre and slid into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs her eyes landed on a sight that made her heart drop. How in a room of three hundred students did she manage to pick out the one head of dark wild curly hair. Sitting two rows from the front and about six rows down from her. She could only see the back of their head. She only realized she was paralyzed by fear when there was a not so gentle nudge into her side.

“Dude you're blocking the walkway.”

Quickly Y/N jumped from her stasis, finishing her movement to get into her seat and tugging her bag down to the floor between her feet. “Sorry!” She squeaked out a breathless apology to the student who simply huffed in response to her. Her eyes flicked back down but her view of the offending row was blocked from the broad shoulders in front of her. She worried her bottom lip between her lips, catching a piece of chapped skin and tugging until it ripped. She hissed and smeared the blood away with the pad of her thumb. She rubbed it against her index until the red smeared into her skin and disappeared.

She wasted her money for that lecture, her eyes remaining unfocused and ears fuzzy with static instead of paying attention to the material delivered. A great start to the winter semester, she was already dooming herself to fail this course again . All because she saw someone who maybe could have looked like her crazy ex-boyfriend. Decidedly she thought she would swing by the campus therapists office after class, it was probably worth it to utilize those five free counselling sessions. Not that five sessions could do much to fix whatever the fuck was going on in her head.

When the hall cleared out Y/N took a moment to sit, allowing the rows to empty out from front to back. It was better than trying to push her way through the herd of people cramming themselves through too small doorways. It was some sort of miracle that she didn’t see that head of curls again, saving her from another sight that would send her into a deep spiral. It was nothing, she had to remind herself that. Would Kirk go through the trouble of university applications just to get close to her after months of no contact. Yes actually, yes he would, she shouldn't put it past him the dude murdered people for Christ sakes. Even still, she was sure her parents would have mentioned something of him moving out. They would have mentioned it off hand right? Even breakups aside, Kirk and his family had lived beside them for as long as she could remember so his leaving would be noteworthy enough to mention. She would have to call her parents today. Finally as the last of the straggling students shuffled out of the room Y/N pushed herself up onto her feet, her legs more unsteady than she would like, knees knocking together like a newborn fawn.

The cafe’s on campus were always needlessly busy, long lines and coffee less than mediocre. However it was routine that she met up with her roommate here every free afternoon they had together, Y/N had approximately forty-five minutes until her lab and that was enough time to engage in a productive gossip session and stale danish. With a huff she tossed herself down across the table from her roommate. “Doctor Plemons is a bitch.” Was the first complaint Y/N was met with.

Raising her eyebrow she bit down into her pastry, uncaring of the way flaky dough clung to the corners of her lips as she spoke, words muffled by her mouthful. “Any professor who insists they be referred to as a doctor is gonna be a bitch dude.” She retorted, her hand resting in front of her mouth in a faux attempt to be polite and spare anyone from seeing her chewing. “Didn’t I tell you to take Psych with Pardall?”

Her roommate groaned and sank further into her chair, hands clutched around the flimsy paper cup holding her tea. “Man you totally did, they’re both p names I thought they were the same.” She whined. Y/N felt a foot gently tap her leg in a petulant kick and it made Y/N smile softly. She took a sip of her own drink to wash down the dry danish, tongue flicking out to swipe away the remnants of the liquid. “Anyways, how did your first lecture go?”

Y/N frowned at that and sighed. A shiver ran through her as one of the doors opened bringing with it a wave of slightly cooler air. She pulled her hoodie around her tighter. “Sucked man.” She said simply. “I think I’m going fucking crazy, I could have sworn I saw my ex in class with me.” She grumbled. Her roommate was nowhere near the truth on just how crazy Kirk was but she was vaguely aware of Y/N’s summer fling.

“Really?” The girl across from her mused, brows pulled tight in concern. “Did he ever talk about coming to Uni?” She cocked her head to the side, her long well manicured nail picking at the cardboard sleeve around the cup. Y/N looked down at her own fingers, nails long since bitten down to the flesh, always raw red and peeling. Anxiety was a bitch. “There's like no way in hell you know that right, there's like ten thousand students here.” She shook her head reassuring Y/N. “Plus if he was here I wouldn’t let him anywhere near you.” Playfully she flexed her arms.

The laugh that came from Y/N was forced. If only she knew just how wrong she would be. If only she knew that Y/N’s crazy Ex had a special interest in killing pretty girls just like her. Poor girl wouldn’t stand a chance. A feeling of cold dread washed through her at the thought, if Kirk was here would he hurt more people just to get to her. There hadn’t been any more murders back home and she hadn’t heard anything here. The campus would be in a frenzy otherwise. She smiled tight at her roommate. “Yeah, no you’re right, like I said I'm just being crazy.”

With a sympathetic nod she grasped Y/N’s hand across the table. “Dude I get it…well I don’t and that's why I think you probably have every reason to be freaked out.” She squeezed and Y/N squeezed back, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “I have no idea what happened over the break but you came back a completely different person, whatever that fucker put you through you didn’t deserve.”

I did deserve it, I deserve it all, it’s my fault I didn’t do anything more. Y/N thought to herself bitterly. She slipped her hand gently from beneath her roommates comforting touch and nodded. “Thanks babe.” She laughed softly and shrugged. “I’m getting through it though. I’ll be okay.” They dropped the conversation after that, it was clear Y/N didn’t feel like discussing it further and she was thankful the topic wasn’t pushed further. She was well aware how fucked up she had been when she returned. Stress induced hallucinations, waking up in a cold sweat screaming at the top of her lungs. They had more than their share of noise complaints from the other dorms. The constant anxious fiddling. She had tried to hide it all under a mask of normalcy, pretending to be the girl she used to be before the summer break. She didn’t think she would ever be that girl again. But it was getting better, it was. Which is exactly why she didn’t need to be worrying suddenly about seeing Kirk here.

Just for peace of mind she found herself pressed against the inside of a phone booth after her last class of the day. Pay phones were safe for her to use, they felt different to their regular home-phones. She was comforted with the shield that came with the anonymity of a payphone, no one could contact her through a payphone. She pushed her quarters into the slot and punched the numbers of her home phone. It only rang a few times, she had made sure both her parents were home from work and it was before dinner time. At the sound of her dads voice she sighed in relief. “Hey Daddy, how are you doing?” She asked sweetly. She engaged in casual pleasantries and warm wishes of missing each other before she dug her hands into the flesh of it all. She swallowed hard, and leaned back against the flimsy plastic walls, her fingers tapping idly on top of the machine. “How is…uh how’s next door?” She asked as gently as she could, it was the most casual way she could think of broaching the topic with out directly sayings “How is Kirk, have you seen him, any possible chance he packed up and came to my school?”

There was a pause and she could hear the hesitance in her dads voice as he spoke, he knew all things Hammett had been a sore spot for her, he just didn’t know why. “It's been good, quiet.” Quiet, she didn’t like the sound of that. If there was one thing that her parents always complained about it was Kirks parties or the strum of loud guitar flowing through an amp turned up too high. She waited silently for him to continue. “We’re pretty sure Kirk moved out, just his mom there now, haven't seen him for a couple weeks now.”

There it was, that feeling of falling again. Her throat closing up and her heart hammering so hard she was sure it was going to break her ribs, rip from her chest and crush against the pavement beneath her. She sucked in a sharp breath and forced her voice out. “Oh.” She said, The cold fingers of death clawed up her spine and she shivered violently. In an instant she felt it, heavy eyes on her, watching her. She spun around the phone booth, looking out into the streets that were painted in a fiery sunset glow. Nothing stood out amongst the throngs of people walking to and from class. She needed to get home before it got dark. “Any idea where?”

“No, why? Is everything okay?”

Bless her dad sweet concern, no it wasn't fucking okay. She wasn’t okay. She knew, knew he had to be here. If not here then where else? She wanted to scream, sob into the phone for her dad to come pick her up, pack her in the car and drive her somewhere far away from here, maybe up north in Canada. She had a sinking feeling he would somehow still find her there. “Yeah everything's fine!” She forced out, she plastered a smile on her face because even if her dad couldn’t see it he could hear it in her voice. “Was just curious I guess, look dad I gotta' get going, just wanted to talk to you for a bit!”

She could hear the disbelief and concern in his voice as he responded, she wondered just how fucked up she had to sound to cause any sort of emotion out of that man. “You sure?” He asked and when he received her soft hum in response he sighed heavily into the phone. “Okay, talk to later sweetheart, me and your mom love you.”

The phone rattled with the force in which she slammed it down onto its holder. She scrambled to pick her bag off the ground beneath her and stumbled from the small phone booth. Her eyes were wide and wild as they danced across the streets before her, looking for any sign of him, that pretty tanned skin or wild curls, even a ghost of his sticky-sweet voice and boyish laugh. God she was going insane. She felt her fair share of unnerved stares from the people passing by her. It was enough to get her legs working properly once more.

Her dorm never felt further than it had in that moment. A ten minute walk felt like years, the shaking and panic had caused such exertion that she was heaving and panting, by the time she reached the front doors she was fully exhausted. She readjusted her bag as she pushed her finger into the sticky elevator button. The whole rickety metal box shook as she stepped on. Her eyes trained on the old carpet as she pressed the button to her floor. She followed the pattern of a dark old stain, watching the way it trickled like little drops before ending in a large splatter. It had been here since she started school, coffee. Blood her brain helpfully supplied. She shook the thought from her head with a grimace. The heavy creaking of rusty metal alerted her to her arrival and she stepped off quickly, eager to get to the safety of her dorm room.

As she rounded the corner down the hall to sanctuary the wind was knocked from her lungs. She saw the dark shoes first, worn down sneakers, followed by lean legs covered in dark stretch denim that may as well have been painted on with how tight they were. Softly tanned arms, with pretty familiar veins running beneath the skin, all on glorious display with the dark cut off misfits shirt.

She looked at his face last, too worried he would be staring back at her. She took a soft step backwards with every intention to run down the hall in the other direction. Every hope that he hadn’t seen her died in the all consuming void that had replaced her stomach. Her eyes flicked up only to immediately drown in the big dark sea of his gaze. Wide and soft, the never ending adoration she had grown accustomed to.

He was leaning with all the casualness in the world, like it was his god given right to be standing outside of her door. His face brightened into a smile that practically split him from ear to ear. Sweet crooked teeth on display excited like an overeager puppy dog. “Y/N,” He breathed out, pushing himself off the wall taking a hesitant step towards her. It felt like it had been years since she heard him speak her name.

Every sound of protest died strangled within her throat. Her eyes focused on him with a striking clarity like she really hadn’t been seeing anything clearly since she left. “Kirk,” She choked out in response. The straps of her bag slipped down her arms until it hit the floor with a heavy thud. He took another step closer and Y/N couldn’t bring herself to move back. “Why are you here?”

It was a dumb question and he knew as much, the way he laughed, tossing his head back slightly, hair falling back over his shoulders. The tips of their shoes touched and he leaned down, crowding her with his oh-so familiar scent. She shivered. “I missed you.” He said simply, it was as good a reason as any he decided. His lips met hers gently and she whimpered. Soft plush flesh meeting her own chapped skin. His teeth tugged hard on her bottom lip, splitting open the wound she had caused earlier forcing a harsh hiss from her. His tongue flicked out to gather the blood just as she pushed him back.

Kirk didn’t budge, gave her a sweet laugh and stood up straight again. “You can’t be here, you have to leave, I don't want to see you.” Y/N insisted in a soft panic. She took a step back and breathed in relief when he didn’t follow her. She shook her head at him, feeling that uncomfortable sick feeling in her stomach once more at how easy he grinned at her. “Leave me alone.”

She took a step to the side to move past him towards her dorm room. The door was just out of reach, a few feet to safety. Foolish to think she could skirt around him so easily. His gentle hand came down on her shoulder, tugging her into his chest with one arm wrapped around her shoulders. “You don’t want to go in there, baby girl.” He hummed into the side of her head, lips pressed against her temple. A sharp strike of fear ran through her.

Having been too distracted by his very presence, Y/N hadn’t noticed the dripping blade held just out of view from her, not until she felt the warm wooden handle being pressed into the flat of her palm, Kirk's fingers guiding hers to wrap around it tightly. She looked between him and the blade in her hands in mortification. She could still feel the warmth of the blood that coated the silver, glossy and sticky. “What have you done?” She croaked, voice giving out to nothing more than a raspy whisper. Shock had its grip on her and she couldn’t move.

Kirk clicked his tongue and shook his head. “No no, what have we done?” He corrected her with an easy smile, his hand not removing itself from around hers, forcing her grip tight on the blade. “Both our prints are on there now, love.” He hummed, pleased with himself. The fucking bastard, of course, always one step ahead of her. How could he do this, oh god.

“She didn’t do anything you bastard,” She cried out, tears bubbling over the rims of her eyes. The scent of hot iron filled her nose as she looked down at the blade once more. Coated in innocent blood, her roommate didn't deserve this. Another victim of Y/N’s inaction. Kirk had been right, this was all her fault. She had caused this, she needed to fix this. Y/N twisted her wrist, aiming the blade in their shared grasp towards Kirk.

The instance she had made her move Kirk's grip on her tightened, so hard he was rubbing the bones in her hands together, crushing them. Y/N cried out in pain, her knees buckling. He yanked her wrist backwards at a near unnatural angle, forcing the point towards her, stepping forward slightly he pushed it against her skin, just enough to Knick the fabric of her shirt. “She threatened to get in the way of me seeing you.” He sighed like he was annoyed. Of course he had heard that, of course he had been that close to her. She would be foolish to think otherwise.

He pushed in a little closer and the tip dug into the flesh of her stomach. She choked out another sob of pain. Warmth spread across her stomach and through her shirt. It was just a surface wound, just enough to make her bleed, because he would never really hurt her. He couldn’t, he promised her as much. “Stop,” She cried. “Stop, make it stop.” She begged and he relented. The warm metal no longer digging into her skin as he pulled her close to his chest. She could feel the wet warmth from the knife against her back where he was holding her in a tight hug.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” He shushed her gently, peppering soft kisses to the top of her head. “Just, never try to hurt me again, okay? I already let your little stunt with the police go.” He chided her like a small child. She couldn’t do anything but nod in resignation. How dumb had she been to think she could ever really get away from him, that he would let her just leave without incident. He would do anything to keep her tied to him. It was either accept him or die trying to escape her fate. “Now I’m gonna help you clean up the mess you made okay?”

The words curled around her brain. She wanted to protest that this wasn’t her mess, she didn’t do this. But she did, didn’t she? One measly phone call was enough to erase her complicity, not enough to scrub her clean from his sins she indulged. That much was clear from the shiny earring sitting in the most valued spot of her jewelry box. She was destined to forgive his crimes, more graceful than any god and all the more wicked. “Okay,” She mumbled into his chest.

His arms tightened around her, not comfortingly, a soft threat wrapped up in the warmth that came from being surrounded by him. “When someone helps you, don't you think that deserves some kind of acknowledgment?” He whined into her ear. Always so eager for praise. “C’mon Y/N.”

Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat she nodded again. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Thank you, thank you for helping me.” Her words were watery and wet, muffled by her own hot tears. Cautiously she wrapped her arms underneath his, her hands tangling tight into the fabric of his shirt. Heavy sobs course through her body, all her weight being held up by him. His soft hums and sweet mumblings into her ear doing little to soothe her.

“Good girl.” She could hear the saccharine smile in his voice. “Stay right here and I'm gonna take care of it all okay?” He pulled back and carefully pulled her hoodie around her, zipping it up with a tender care as he concealed the blood that had stained the front of her shirt. His hands smoothing over her shoulders lovingly. His face was just a little too soft, too sweet. “Then, why don't we take a trip somewhere?” He cocked his head with a closed lipped smile. Y/N found herself returning it too easily, nodding her head gently in agreement.

As her cries quieted down, leaving nothing more than soft wet sniffles and reddened cheeks Kirk finally stepped back. She instantly missed the warmth and the grounding feeling of his hands heavy on her body. “I’ll be quick,” He told her as he wrapped his hand around the handle of her dorm. As the door creaked open she swore she heard the soft gurgling sounds of her roommate still choking on her own thick blood. Still alive. Y/N turned her head quickly and closed her eyes like it could drown out the noise.

“I love you,”

“I love you too.”

#metallica #metallica fanfiction #metallica/reader #kirk hammett #kirk hammett x reader #kirk hammett/reader

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97keanu · 1 year ago

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Valentine’s Day with the Keanuverse <3

John Wick: John would def start your day with breakfast in bed, and he is a wonderful cook, making everything you like and presenting it perfectly. He may take this time to give you a back massage while you enjoy your morning coffee, anything he can do to make you feel relaxed. Depending on the vibes of the day, he may have a lot planned out, like a surprise trip to your favorite destination, a spa day, dinner reservations, buying out a movie theatre just for the two of you(he loves if he can have you all to himself!). He may also opt for staying in, making you lunch, dinner, anything he can do to make your life perfect today(my boy’s love language is acts of service!). He will likely end the night with you in a bubble bath, enjoying each other’s company over an expensive glass of champagne, he’s not even afraid to do a face mask with you and really find some time to relax after everything. He is not letting ANYTHING come between you and him enjoying yourselves today. You end the night in bed with John lavishing your body with his hands, mouth, and whatever else he can to completely please you.

Types of presents include: Trips, cars, anything you want that he could ‘know a guy’ and make happen(remember that concert you really wanted that sold out?), spa day packages, handcrafted(but John is like, really good at it. Perhaps he tracks down one of your favorite childhood stories and restores the book for you!), shopping trips, homemade meals, anything you ask him for!

John Constantine: Let’s be honest, he probably forgot about Valentine’s Day, and is trying to work something out last minute. He’s running to the store to try to get flowers, but they’re already out, so he’s out doing something crazy like stealing from some poor soul’s grave. He’s trying to remember any hints you gave for what you wanted and barely remembering what your favorite candy is, which he luckily obtains. He calls up every restaurant in the city but all he gets is laughs when he tries. To make a reservation. Constantine is sooo disorganized for this, but the pressure hits him last minute because as much as he can be a callous asshole, he can’t have you thinking he thought you don’t deserve anything for Valentine’s Day. He finally finds somewhere that will let him buy takeout, and he takes home a bounty of last minute gifts and decor to his apartment where he quickly tries to plate the food and pass it off as his own.

In the end, after he picks you up and takes you back to his place, you enter to find his apartment set a glow with candles, soft music playing on his old busted CD player, and the smell of your favorite takeout. You are certain when you see the scene that he scrounged all this together, but at the same time, he looks at you with those dark puppy eyes, and you can’t help but be glad he remembered at all and tried. He gives you his slightly wilting bouquet of yellow and white flowers (claiming they were all out of red, but you suspect differently.) and you two have a lovely meal and a night in with some of your favorite feel good movies that Constantine would typically never sit down to watch with you. Even if it all seems small, you enjoy having some genuine time with him, and even getting to see him laugh and claim not to be teary eyed at some of the sappy scenes of the movie.

Types of presents include: Handmade, experience style gifts (perhaps taking you to his favorite secret spots!), flowers, all your favorite candies(that he could remember), maybe a chance to finally get to see his softer side.

Kevin Lomax: He’s going all out, he’s starting your day by sending breakfast to your door (all of your favorites of course!), sending dozens of flowers to your office just to make all the other girls jealous, sending a private car to pick you up too and from work, and leaving designer dress options and shoes in our bedroom for when you come home from work. You choose the dress you want to wear for the occasion, and your driver is taking you across town now to the fanciest restaurant in town. You meet him there, and Kevin looks absolutely dashing in his black suit and tie. He greets you with your first real gift for the night, a stunning piece of jewelry he knows you’ve been eyeing, then you two have a lovely dinner before going back to his apartment where you walk in to find the largest teddy bear you’ve ever seen holding more presents. He totally love bombs you for Valentine’s Day because giving gifts is on the top of his love languages, and you aren’t complaining. You two end the day in bed trying out some of the new toys he bought for the occasion.

Types of presents include: Perfumes, high end makeup, designer lingerie (for later of course), bondage gear (he loves making you his rope bunny <3), and anything you desire that money can buy. He may even surprise you with some heartfelt pillow talk when all is said and done.

Neo: Like Constantine, he is a bit forgetful of Valentine’s Day, but more in the sense of he has no idea what to get you and is absolutely horrible at deciding on a gift. He keeps trying to figure it out until it’s a week or two out and he’s found out he’s too late for reservations at all your favorite spots and on top of it there’s no way what he wanted to get you will ship in time, so he improvises. He sends flowers to your door and a note on where to meet him tonight. He doesn’t have much money so he hacks into wine and paint class via their online booking and you two end up having a great time trying to draw each other, despite his looking quite crude in form. He then takes you to a hotel reservation (that he also hacked his way into…) in the presidential suite, enjoying champagne and room service that is being charged to a card that doesn’t exist. You wonder how he got all this done, but you also know he has his ways, and don’t want to ruin the moment. You enjoy the room’s hot tub together while getting a little dirty trying to get clean. You have no idea how down to the wire he really was for making Valentine’s Day happen. He ends the night by gifting you a computer program that he made for you, and it’s awesome because it helps you with a daily task you’ve been irritated with. You two end up spending lovely quality time together, enjoying your time together and each other’s bodies no doubt!

Types of presents include: Handmade gifts, handcrafted technology (think: my boyfriend built me a computer!), hacked tech that would help in your everyday life, and he may even surprise you with something that you mentioned a long time ago(that he totally didn’t hack your search history to know about.)

Ted Logan: Ted is super sweet and caring for Valentine’s Day, surprisingly not forgetting that it exists in the first place. He ends up making you a handcrafted card and leaving it at your place of work with some hand picked daisies, all while saying it’s from a ‘secret admirer’ but Ted is the only person you know who would misspell ‘admirer’ in the first place. He doesn’t have a lot of money to get you anything fancy, but everything he does get you is heartfelt and well thought out. He picks you up after work and takes you to your favorite diner, then he finds the best spot in San Dimas to watch the stars together, tell jokes, and maybe even have a smoke sesh. You two end the night with munches being fulfilled by the nearby Circle K and a movie night at his apartment where he serenades you on his guitar between films. He buys all your favorite snacks for you and tries his best to make you feel really special. He is a words of affirmation guy so expect lots of sweet talk in your ear! He ends the night with his surprise gift, a locket with a picture of you two in it that he spent the last of his money on. He also gives you a handmade little notebook with all his favorite moments written in it with Polaroids of you two since you started dating!

Types of presents include: Handmade gifts(extremely arts and crafts, pink glitter glue ‘Will You Be My Valentine?’ Styled cards), your favorite candies, a small plush of some sort, picking wildflowers because he can’t afford the outrageous store prices, a song he wrote for you (performed alongside bill as his back up player), anything music related like making you a mixtape of your favorite tunes.

#john wick x reader #john Constantine x reader #neo x reader #Kevin lomax x reader #ted Logan x reader #my writing #my imagines

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myaudiovisuals-blog · 1 year ago

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#home cinema theatre #home theatre package #Lcd projector #Laser projector #portable screens

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whumblr · 1 year ago

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They are here for me

Crossed out - Prologue

“Dead men don’t just pop out to stretch their legs, Ava!”

“Don’t you shout at me! God, I came here to watch a movie, not to you ambushing us with conspiracy theories!”

Lucas opened his mouth to retort, but had none. Okay, yeah, he had kind of ambushed them on their weekend outing. But he had no other choice. Barging in on her at home was too dangerous. And she wouldn’t have taken that well, either. Hell, staying at his own home was too dangerous. But he needed someone to confide in. Either he was going paranoid, or he really was being watched. And neither was good.

He sat back and, to avoid Ava’s accusing glance, let his gaze roam over to the little girl now happily scurrying along the candy lane. She had been easier to pacify than her aunt; a promise of a later movie with a bag of candy to go with and she was happy to give them some time to discuss things.

A trait she probably hadn’t inherited from her aunt, or well, maybe she had… Always make a good deal. That was Ava’s motto, pounded into him ever since he started working with her. Ava wasn’t easily bought. Even at the office, if he’d try to get her in a good mood, seeing her favourite coffee drink waiting for her on her desk was only met with suspicion. Like it wasn’t just coffee but a bribe.

She was on his side here, but god, he needed something to convince her. Without sounding paranoid.

Ava followed his gaze, the girl now intensely focused, finger running over the containers trying to decide. “You owe me for this. That girl ain't stopping until that bag is full.”

“Yeah, fine, okay. Here’s ten bucks.” He slapped a bill on the side table. “And take this as well.” He carefully but deliberately placed a thumb drive on top of the bill.

Despite her anger and doubt, Ava didn't hesitate. She folded the bill over the drive, neatly packaging it, and tucked it away in her wallet. Only her voice carried her suspicion. “What is this?”

“Everything I have on that man. Files show he should have been released years ago, yet his body was brought in to the morgue directly from the prison. And now he’s gone. Nothing adds up here.”

“You couldn’t wait ‘til Monday—" Ava started, but a voice over the speakers interrupted her.

“Ladies and gentleman, at the request of the police we have to ask you to please evacuate the building through the main exit. We are deeply sorry for the inco—"

Lucas ignored the announcement at first, thinking they were just calling for the next movie to start, but at the word ‘police’ he jumped up. He flew towards the railing of the second floor, overlooking the main lobby of the movie theatre, nearly crashing right into it and leaning over.

At the floor below, people were already making their way out, flanked by a troop of military police who checked everyone leaving the building. A smaller group made their way inside, pushing through the confused crowd. Lucas watched it all unfold, equally confused by the spectacle yet also in total disbelief, ignoring the alarm bells blaring in his head.

A tall man in a long black coat who appeared to be the leader effortlessly made his way through, following his men. He oozed authority, striding his way past the crowd, his manner relaxed and calm, determined, and signalled with a single gesture of his hand for the men to split up and take the surrounding staircases up.

Lucas glanced back towards Ava, who quickly called her niece back to her and stood, ready to leave. He shook his head, gesturing for her to wait just a bit. Because this couldn’t be happening. This was proof he was just paranoid.

When he looked down again, his breath caught.

The tall man, the leader, was looking up. Straight at him. Eyes met. Narrowed. Widened, in Lucas’ case. And he knew.

The man called something out to his troopers but Lucas already pushed himself away from the railing and shot back to Ava.

“They’re here for me—” he started.

“Oh, Lucas, don’t be so dramati—”

“No. Listen. They are here for me!” he said, emphasizing each word. “I don’t have time. Take that drive and get out! You can go through the main entrance. I need you on this, Ava, please!”

And before she could even protest any further, he ran off towards the back, hoping to find an unguarded back entrance.

Useless, really. The building was probably completely surrounded by now, all escape routes cut off. But he had to try. He wasn’t going to surrender himself to them and attempt to talk this out. If they were willing to go to such lengths, in public… there wouldn’t be much to talk about.

He ran through the long hallway connecting the theatres, stomping over the red plush carpet, trying the doors to make for the emergency exit inside, but the doors had already been locked. He cursed a desperate note, continued running. His only way of escape was probably through the double doors. The main entrance, guarded by men who hopefully wouldn’t recognise him if he could just blend in with the crowd and get out, meet up with Ava.

He screeched to a halt as a rumble of heavy footsteps sounded from the end of the hallway, getting louder, getting closer. He turned on his heels and shot the other way. Heard shouts of recognition behind him. Panic seared through him and he nearly stumbled over himself in his haste to get away. Came to an abrupt halt again as two more men blocked his path from the other side.

They were armed… but they didn’t even bother reaching for their guns.

He froze for a second, fell a step back. Nearly tore his neck as he looked back; the other group now slowly closing him in. This couldn’t be happening. Right?! He glanced back and forth at the two groups of men not letting up, advancing on him as if he was a wild animal, as if he was the one who carried a weapon.

He was trapped. Completely trapped. The only option left was…

Fight! His body screamed, adrenaline bracing him, tensing his muscles. Push through!

Surrender! His mind countered instead, turning his limbs to lead with paralyzing fear as if it was already prepping to make him sink to his knees. Don’t make things worse.

Torn, he shot another glance back and forth. And made up his mind.

With a desperate scream he launched himself at the two men, hoping to bulldozer through.

They didn’t even blink.

He crashed right into them. Like crashing into a solid wall. Not giving him one inch.

One caught him by the elbow. An arm slid around his torso. A sharp pain exploded in his knee and he collapsed at their feet, half held up by his arm that was now twisted to his back. He hissed. Pain shot through his shoulder, forcing him face-down to the ground. Where he saw more combat boots drawing nearer.

“N—Get off, get—!”

He struggled with all his might, knowing full well he couldn’t throw off two trained men with their full weight on him. He flailed, begged, screamed. Bucked and twisted to get free. Managed to pull one hand free and driven by this small success, he doubled his efforts.

He vaguely registered slower footsteps drawing nearer, but with another knee forced onto his back he couldn’t look up. His chest pressed into the soft carpet. He trashed again, a final attempt—

When suddenly a harsh grip snared in his hair. His head was pulled up and before he could even realise what was going on, everything exploded in pain as his forehead slammed into the floor.

He couldn’t move a muscle for a few agonising seconds. Heard a distinct click. Made to try and bring his hands to press against his head, but something stopped him. He couldn’t see a thing, nothing but a white flash slowly fading to red, the red of the carpet that scratched his forehead as he stuttered back to life and slowly shook his head with a moan.

Two pairs of strong hands grabbed him by the upper arms, pulled him up. He followed with a groan, slouching in their grip, half bend-over, legs protesting against the weight forced on them. Blood gushed from his nose, dripped over his chin and splattered onto the carpet. His vision was still blurry. He blinked hard, trying to focus, his gaze stuttering over to the man still towering over him even now that they’d scraped him from the floor.

He barely had the strength to raise his head, merely stared straight ahead, eyes at chest height. He tried very hard to focus on one of the shiny buttons of the man’s long black coat until he was pulled upright. His gaze followed up, searching for the man’s eyes. They were the same cold eyes that had looked up at him from the lobby, now looking down with a certain cold condescension.

The man’s hard stare snapped to his subordinates.

“Take him away.” And with an equally cold harsh nod, Lucas was half carried along, down the stairs, the toes of his shoes scraping over the carpet every now and then as he struggled to keep up.

There was no mercy of a quiet exit by the stage door. The unit marched him right down the lobby, through the double doors of the main entrance, clearing a perplexed crowd to carry a bloody, half-conscious man to a police car.

He spotted Ava outside, hand in front of her mouth, eyes wide and fixed on his face. He tried to smile at her, but it probably came out as a twisted grimace. With bloodied teeth, perhaps. Not the reassurance he had in mind.

They deposited him like a limp rag in the back of the police car. The door slammed shut and he sagged against it, taking the pressure off his bound hands. The man getting in the front turned in his seat to look back at him. He could barely make out his face, but it was the man who had smashed his head in. His lips moved. Did he just say something? There was no concern in those eyes whatsoever, so Lucas doubted he asked an ‘are you okay?’.

The car blurred, the world turned to silence. And as the car rumbled to life, his vision joined gave in, everything turning black.

Continued here

Still untitled prison whump project tag list :) @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop

#whump #whump writing #failed escape #public whump #manhandling #stoic whumper #captured #chase scene #restrained whumpee #my writing

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brighter-by-the-daly · 11 months ago

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Rachel Daly x Reader

Back to the Start

AN: Another follow on fic to my original RD x R series - a look at where the couple is now.

*Part of this story mentions neurodivergence, this is based on my own diagnosis and for the sake of the story, Rachel or Millie have never said that they are*

Laying on the sofa in the house you have recently moved into with Rachel felt like bliss – a full circle moment. Your head rested on her lap while the TV glowed in the background as you both scrolled on your phones after a long day at work. Rach had recently stepped down from international duties which meant she had more time to build a life with you but you didn’t let her make the decision lightly. Watching her last game in the stands when nobody knew it would be the end made you sad but the pictures and shirts hung up around the house reminded you both that it happened. You had chatted over tonights dinner so the silence and unwinding was welcomed as you let go of all the workplace drama.

“I’ve been offered tickets to a show tonight, do you wanna go?” Rachel broke the silence making you drop your phone and look up at her, you had been looking forward to relaxing since the start of your shift this morning. You were finally getting over the stress of moving and was enjoying spending time in your first home with your fiancée so your reply wasn’t encouraging. “Err..what is it?” your tone of voice already telling her that you weren’t keen on moving from the sofa anytime soon. Running her fingers through your hair she knew how tired you were. “Something called Six in London?” she said, moving the phone away from her face and gazing down at you to see your reaction,“Six?!” your demeanor quickly changed, sitting upright suddenly in excitement. “I’ve wanted to see that for ages!” your eyes glowed with enthusiasm that wasn’t there a few moments ago. “They’ve said we can meet them beforehand if we get there early enough too?” Suddenly filled with a whole truck load of energy you started bouncing around the room gathering your make up, mirror and hair brush while ticking over outfits in your mind. “Oh, I do like being your girlfriend, you know that right?” you gushed, leaning over the back of the sofa to kiss her but she pulled away before you could. “Excuse me! You’re my fiancée remember!” she screeched cheekily and waved your own hand in your face to remind you of the ring on your finger. “How could I forget” you blushed, admiring your ring, “I can’t wait to marry you” holding both her cheeks you brought her in for the kiss she’d backed away from a few moments earlier. “I can’t wait to call you my wife” she breathed in between your lips stroking together. “Say that again” your words mumbled seductively into her mouth, leading her to snap her head away from yours and start to dramatically perform to an invisible audience. “What? My wife? Oh yes this is my wife (y/n), Mrs (y/n) Daly, that’s her, the love of my life!” You giggled as the goosebumps trickled up your arms when she grabbed you and pulled you back onto the sofa with her.

The instructions in the email Rach had received told you to get dropped at the stage door which allowed you to enter the theatre in secret. Since coming back from the World Cup you were lucky if you made it around the local supermarket without being stopped 3 times - your whole life had changed and now you’d become Rachel’s personal photographer when it came to the fans. Sometimes they asked for a picture with you too but that was a rare occasion so you revelled in the days where you could sneak into somewhere without being spotted and try to live a normal life like before. You met the actresses and took photos together that would be used as promo on the show’s socials (this always seemed to be part of the package when you’re invited somewhere for free, you didn’t mind if it saved you money though!) then was shown the way to your box. You’ve been in boxes for shows before but this was like another world, it had a door for a start and the normal seats had been replaced with a sofa, allowing you to snuggle close together away from everyone to enjoy the show. It was amazing and you both really enjoyed it, the songs had you up and clapping at the end wishing you could watch it all over again.

You let most of the crowds leave before you did then took a stroll down to Trafalga Square, you’d never seen it at night before. “Is this bringing back memories?” you asked flicking your eyes around the vast empty space and wrapping your arms around your lady. Remembering the Euros celebration and Rach singing her Rag Doll in front of thousands of fans. You were one of them, smitten with her brave and carefree attitude how she did that without a care in the world. “I was… stood right around here, I think” you said slowly, waiting for her to catch on. Rachel who was watching the traffic looked at you stunned - “this is when my crush started, you singing in front of everyone, being so happy and just not giving a shit about anything, I loved it, made me want to care less about what people think, it was brave.. and sexy” you said fiddling with her hair between your fingertips. “I still can’t believe I did that to be honest, I think I was still drunk and thought fuck it” she laughed. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.. still can’t” winking at her, “and now you’re marrying me” she gushed.. “and now, I’m marrying you” confirming what she’d said your eyes sparkled looking up at her. Walking over towards the fountain Rach quizzed you on why you hadn’t told her you were at the celebration before, you said that you were waiting for a cute time and this seemed like it.

Perching on the ridge of the fountain wall you positioned yourselves to be looking at each other, London had never seemed so peaceful and calm. “Do you think our lives are planned out for us when we’re born?” Rachel asked, making you take a minute to think; you had studied philosophy and ethics in school and this was something you had written countless essays on, it’s typically a Christian view and being agnostic you allow yourself to believe in anything you want. “Not necessarily, but our story makes me think fate exists. Like my life wasn’t planned for me, I’ve made all of this happen, nothing is taking away my own achievements. But was it fate that lead me to you?” you paused in thought, stroking her leg. “Maybe.. seems to be more and more coincidences as time goes on. But then, can it be called coincidences because I was here celebrating your win? Because so was a lot of people. So who knows” you shrugged, leaving her to put forward her thoughts. “I believe in fate, I believe you were and are my fate and everything that’s happened has lead me to you. If I didn’t sing that, would you have fancied me? Would you have been front row, would you have taken my shirt? Then slept with me, come home with me and never left? Because if I didn’t sing that song you wouldn’t have started fancying me, no?” she projected. “You could be right there, your personality shone that day and that is what I fall for so..” you drifted off. “I’ve always been told by girlfriends that I’m too much, I’m a lot to handle. Then I was diagnosed with ADHD and everything just made sense. Millie has it too, must be why we became best friends” she drifted off. “You’re neurodivergent?” you interrupted with a hint of surprise in your voice. “Yeahhh?” her reply seemed coy, trying to gauge your reaction and whether it was good or bad. “Me too! I’ve read that we gravitate towards each other! Okay. It’s official. I do believe in fate!” you exclaimed excitedly, shaking her lightly with a huge smile on your face. “Woah, I was so worried to tell you in case it scared you off” her voice became more high pitched with every admission, “me too! I can’t believe it!” You hugged happily knowing neither of you have to hide that side of yourselves anymore but stopped suddenly when your excitement nearly landed you in the cold and murky fountain water. “Baby, nothing will scare me off. I’m marrying you for you, you’ll never be too much for me. The more the better!” you reassured her, both smiling with deep knowledge that you were both absolutely meant for each other. Sitting side by side on the fountain wall you talked for what seemed like hours, the cool evening breeze gently tousling your hair, you began reminiscing about the start of your relationship and how far you’d had come.

“We should probably go catch our train” Rach said glancing at her watch. You smiled and kissed her one last time before leaving, basking in the glow of the city lights and the warmth of each other's love, you knew that your story was far from over. But one thing was certain - you were in it together, forever and always.

#rachel daly x reader #rachel daly #lionesses #woso x reader #woso masterlist #lionessss x reader #woso series #woso fic #woso community #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso imagine

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fangirlingfromdownunder · 7 months ago

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A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 21

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. This chapter is a little heavier (as is the story going forward, but I'll include potential triggers for each chapter as relevant), so please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.

Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts, domestic violence

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The days blend together in a whirlwind of rehearsals, work, and studying. The excitement for the upcoming show is palpable, but underneath it all, a sense of exhaustion lingers. I push through each long day with determination. Then one night, I stumble home after a long day, late at night. I check my mail before going up to my apartment and find a large box with my name and address on it, on the floor infront of my mailbox. Knowing the date I can only imagine what it might be. Suddenly I’m wide awake. I rush up to my apartment and dump the box on the coffee table. Knowing it could only be one person, I send him a text.

Can I open it or should I wait until tomorrow?

I wait awhile but don’t get a response. I figure he’s either asleep or in the middle of filming. I force myself to leave the box and go for a shower. Feeling warmed up and relaxed, the package falls out of my mind as I collapse into bed and fall asleep.

As I drag myself out of bed the following morning and get dressed for my shift I remember the box. I check my phone and there’s still nothing. Knowing that it’s later in the day in Vancouver, I decide to try to call him while I finish getting ready. It goes straight to his voicemail and I start to get anxious. I doublecheck the sending address on the box and it has a Vancouver address with his name, so I know at least it hasn’t even come through his management, this was all him. This makes me a little more excited, but I can’t figure out why then he’d all of a sudden be ignoring me. I try to keep a level head and tell myself he’s just busy with work. I don’t have time to dwell on it anyway. Regardless, I can’t help but dread serving loved up couples their caffeine hits for the next few hours.

I force a smile and throw on my apron as I find my rhythm. Despite my initial anxiety, I find myself getting lost in the familiar routine, the busy atmosphere providing a temporary distraction from the unanswered questions swirling in my mind. I push through and then go to my classes as usual, while avoiding checking my phone to keep myself from spiralling further unreasonably.

As I walk home alone from the theatre, through the streets filled with loved-up couples, I try to feel happy for them while I hope that maybe next year I’ll have someone to share it with. As I approach my building I see someone sitting on the ground infront of the glass doors with their head on their knees. My heart races a little as I worry it could be someone looking for a way to sneak into the complex; I’ve seen stranger things happen in the city, unfortunately. The scene also reminds me of the time I sat in that exact position when Tyler first kicked me out of the apartment. I can’t imagine someone going through those same emotions on Valentines of all days, but for my own safety and the safety of others in the building I hope it’s the latter.

As I get closer, I can tell it’s a young girl. I think about walking past, but then I think about the immense difference it would have made if someone stopped when I was in her position. I clasp my keys in my palm as I crouch down beside her.

“Hey, are you alright?” I ask, but she just shakes her head. “I know Valentines Day can be rough. Do you at least have somewhere to go? It’s too cold to stay out here.” She shakes her head again as her whole body shakes as she lets out a small sob. “I obviously don’t know you or what happened, but I’ve sat where you’re sitting…If you want to talk about it or just be around someone and not talk about it…” She shakes her head again. “You should at least come into the lobby, out of the cold night air.” When she still refuses to move I shrug off my jacket and wrap it around her. I feel my phone vibrate in my bag, but ignore it. While she’s refusing to talk, I know from experience that she shouldn’t be alone.

I sit on the pavement beside her under the dim streetlights in silence. When I start to shiver involuntarily she offers my jacket back. “You should go inside and stay warm. Don’t stay out here because of me. I’m obviously not worth it.”

Hearing words so similar to ones I’ve said myself breaks my heart. “Only if you’ll let me call you a ride or bring you in. You won’t believe me, but I’ve had those exact thoughts. I don’t think you should be alone tonight.” I know it must be extremely hard for her to trust a stranger but I hope I can at least get her somewhere safe and warm.

My phone vibrates again, this time with a call. I ignore it. I don’t want this girl to think anyone or anything is more important than her.

After a while, when she realises I’m not going anywhere, she says, “There’s no one to call…I-I was stupid.”

“I’m sure you weren’t. I’m sure you are just young and optimistic and caught in terrible circumstances beyond your control. But you likely won’t believe me, because I know I wouldn’t have. I haven’t got much to offer, but I do have an apartment with a fireplace and a comfortable couch and bed, you can have whichever.”

“I don’t-”

“It’s no problem. I just want to get you off the street for the night and I don’t imagine you can afford a hotel in the city, not to make assumptions, I just know how expensive it can be out here.”

My phone starts to buzz again and she sinks back. “You should get that.”

“They can wait. It’s probably just my mom checking because she knows how hard Valentines can be for me.” I don’t want to push too hard but I know it’s only getting later and colder and neither of us are making the most of my jacket now. I stand up and swipe my keyfob over the scanner. “At least come into the lobby, I’m happy to stay down here with you or bring you a blanket. Just come out of the cold.”

She hesitantly nods and pushes herself off the cold concrete. I lead her into the lobby. “You can come up with me or I can bring you down a blanket. It’s up to you. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, I just want you to be warm and safe. And know that you’re not alone.”

“She looks around the bare, unhomely lobby and quietly asks, “C-Can I come up with you?”

“Of course.” I press the button for the lift and step back. When we get in, I notice she doesn’t even have a bag with her, just a phone that appears to be flat. I lead her into my apartment and quickly turn the lights on and start the fireplace. “The bathroom’s through there,” I motion towards my room, “If you want to have a warm shower or wash your face. The bedroom’s also in there if you’d prefer, or the couch.” I do my best to make her feel comfortable as I kick off my shoes and put down my bag. I also toss the now wilted roses in the bin, after pocketing the card.

“They from your boyfriend? Does that mean it gets better?” she asks.

“It’s complicated, but yes, it does get better. It may take a while, but this moment doesn’t define you. Your life is so much more than your worst nights.”

She hesitantly takes a seat on the couch to warm up by the fire and I pull over a stool. “Y-You said you sat were I sat…C-Can I ask what happened?”

I nod. “My boyfriend at the time cheated on me in this very apartment. I came home from work and caught him in our bed with some girl her met at a bar. Same way he met me, ironically. He was a few years older. There were plenty of red flags I ignored. But it hurt for a long time. I am just lucky to have a great friend that helped me pull through the worst of it and keep putting one foot in front of the other.”

“He cheated with you here? And you stayed?”

“Yeah, crazy, right? I had a job here and classes and a friend and dreams. All of which were more important than a guy I moved across the country with on a whim. He went back to our home state and left me the apartment…and all the bills. I thought about trying to leave, but the location was perfect and the rent was cheaper than other places. I did get a new bed though. I threw out the bedding and sold the frame; there was nothing wrong with it, just that I couldn’t get the image of her gripping the headboard while he took her from behind, out of my head.”

“I’m sorry…”

I shake my head and shrug. “He was a dick. I’m just glad I didn’t let it break me. I almost did, and those thoughts resurface now and again, but I’m stronger for it. I know that now. I only realized that recently, actually…It’s these experiences that will eventually help you realize your worth.”

“He-He still has all my stuff. He begged me to forgive him…He-He wouldn’t let me…” I look her over as she speaks and notice she’s still cold. I reach over and pull the blanket off the back of the couch and offer it to her. She wraps it around herself and cuddles it close to her chest. That’s when I notice light purple bruises on her wrists.

“Did he?” I nod at her wrists and she hides them under the blanket. But then she nods.

“You can stay here as long as you need. I have a friend that works as a security guard, I can ask him to come over and help get your stuff tomorrow…Or we can go out and get you whatever you need.”

“He only does it when he’s…I provoke him…It’s my fault.”

I shake my head, knowing those feelings all too well. “Yeah? What’d you do?”

She shakes her head back and throws off the blanket. “It was my fault. I should go back. He’ll be mad if I-”

“I can’t and won’t stop you if you want to go. But I wish you wouldn’t. Just take the night. Get some sleep and think it over.”

She hesitantly pulls the blanket back on as she starts to cry again. “I-I just…I just wanted to go out. It was my first Valentines Day in a relationship…And in the city…I j-just…I-I shouldn’t…I know…”

“Hey, Sweetie. It’s okay to want those things. And every girl deserves that. Your man should want to take you out and show you a good time; not just on Valentines, but every day. But most of all, he shouldn’t ever hurt you. You’re not his punching bag.”

“He didn’t…He just-” My phone vibrates noisily on the counter cutting her off. “C-can I use the bathroom?”

“Of course. Let me know if you want to borrow some clean clothes. I should have something that should fit.”

“I’m okay. Thanks.” She quietly gets up and goes into the bathroom. I listen for the shower to turn on before I get up and check my phone: 15 texts and 3 missed calls from Jensen. I sigh and call him back without opening the messages.

“Thank God, you’re alive at least!”

“Me? You ignored me first.”

“I was working.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“At one in the morning? I know you get on the subway around eleven thirty, you always text when you get home. I didn’t hear from you. Jared only just talked me out of calling the police for a wellness check.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just…Something came up. I can’t talk about it right now. But I’m home and I’m safe. And I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He sighs. “Well, happy Valentines for yesterday, I guess…”

“Don’t be like that. I texted you last night and called you first thing this morning. You didn’t answer. We’re both busy. I had to accept that, so do you. And I really am busy at the moment. I will call you and explain when I can.”

“Someone more important, huh? Some guy from the show?”

I instantly tear up at his implication. “You know what? Screw you, Jensen. You know what I’ve been through and you really think I’d do that to you? Screw you.” I hang up before he can make any excuses and wipe my eyes hastily to appear strong for the girl who needs me. He instantly tries to call me back but I flick my phone to silent and plug it in to charge. I grab a change of clothes and knock lightly on the bathroom door.

“Hey, it’s just me. I have some clothes here if you want them.” I wait a few seconds, but when I don’t get a response I put my hand on the doorknob. “I’m sorry, I’m coming in. Call out if you don’t want me to.” I don’t get a response so I push the door open and for the first time I’m thankful that it doesn’t have a lock.

I notice her sitting on the floor with her back against the bathtub and her head between her knees. She shakes as she cries heavily. As I get closer, I notice one of my bottles of painkillers in her hand. I let out a relieved sigh when I see the cap is still on. I twist off the water in the shower and crouch down beside her.

“He’s not worth it…None of them are. But you are. You can have a very bright future. Focus on your dreams, what you want. If you put in the hard work, you can make it happen. I know it’s hard to believe right now, but it’s true.” I hold out my hand and she hands over the bottle.

“What if he-What if someone saw us? What if he knows? What if he-”

“Do you wanna go somewhere else? I can call my friend and we can go somewhere else. As I said, he’s a security guard, he can protect you.”

She nods. I stand up and go get my phone and bring it back. I flip down the toilet lid and sit on it as I call Nick. I know Stella will be asleep, but I’m just hoping he’s finishing a shift. It rings a few times before he answers.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, Nick. Can you come over?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I was just wondering if me and a…friend could come stay with you and Stella?”

“Jensen?”

I shake my head eventhough I know he can’t see me. “Nick, could you just come, please?”

“Sure. I’m on my way. Meet me downstairs?”

“Actually, could you come up? I’ll buzz you in.”

“Okay?”

“Thank you.”

He hangs up and I go back to sit with the girl. That’s when I realize I don’t even know her name. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” I try to break the tension a little to make her feel comfortable, “I can’t believe I forgot to introduce myself.”

“Anna.”

“Nice to meet you, Anna. My friend’s gonna come here and take us back to him and his wife’s place. They live over in Manhattan. They’re both really nice. Stella is the one I was telling you about that helped me when I was going through my worst. You’ll be safe there.”

“W-will you c-come?”

“Of course. I won’t leave you.”

“I’m sorry I wasted your water and went through your stuff.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay. But I need you to tell me the truth, did you take any? I don’t mind, I’m just worried about you.”

She shakes her head. “I-I couldn’t…I couldn’t do it.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

She hangs her head again. “Todd’s gonna be so angry…”

I try my best to stifle a laugh, “Really? Todd? That’s his name?” She nods. “That’ll do it.” She looks up confused. “I’m sorry. It’s just in my experience, guy’s with T-names are the worse. The guy that cheated on me? Tyler…and also, Trent, before that.”

“Two guys?”

“What idiot falls for it twice, right? That’s why I want to help you now. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Don’t let it become a pattern. Let him be your one and only lesson. Realize your worth now.” I hear the buzzer from the intercom near the door. I stand up and hold my hand out. “My friend’s here, let’s go back out where it’s warmer.”

She slowly takes my hand and lets me pull her up and lead her back to the couch. I only leave her for a few seconds while I buzz Nick up and then let him in. Being already on edge he scans the apartment and instantly spots Anna.

He leans close and lowly says, “There’s some frantic guy in the lobby. I don’t think you should go anywhere. I’ll stay here.”

I nod in understanding and introduce him and Anna. I gently explain the change of plans and urge her to take my bed. She argues, claiming that she should go down and check if it’s him and calm him down. But Nick and I dissuade her. In the end, she says she doesn’t want to be alone, so I lay down in my bed with her while Nick rests on the couch watching TV.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never, @deansimpalababy,

@winchesterwild78, @kr804573, @chriszgirl92, @smoothdogsgirl

@speakinvain, @deans-baby-momma, @1967winchesterimpala, @ladysparkles78

#jensen ackles imagine #jensen ackles fic #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles #supernatural imagine #supernatural fic

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evans23 · 4 months ago

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RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 21 - HEARTFELT CONFESSIONS

Pairing : Alexander Dane x OC (Catherine)

Summary : Alexander is back in his village to spend Christmas with his family. He met an old friend, an old friend who could be his second chance to have something who worth living.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Mention of depression. Sadness.

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

Alexander Dane was depressed. It was nothing new. He hated his role as Dr. Lazarus, yet that was what put food on the table. He couldn't stand all those stupid conventions, those stupid fans, and most of all, he missed the stage.

Theatre, his first love, which unfortunately would never pay as much as this role. Not that he had an extravagant lifestyle, but he liked his little luxury.

This year, he didn't know what had gotten into him, but he had agreed to go home to the United Kingdom for the holidays. No doubt it was his old mother's insistence that had played on his heartstrings. Except that Christmas made him bitter.

As he watched his mother peel potatoes, he noticed a young woman outside, busy taking a shopping bag out of an old red Ford.

"That's the Staffords' daughter, Catherine," his mother said, following his gaze.

"Didn't she live in London?" Alexander asked, frowning.

Catherine... he remembered her well. She had been his accomplice when he was a child, he had no one to play with after school. She had been his best friend when he was a teenager, no one believed in his acting dreams, she had been his biggest disappointment when he had bullied him one evening when she had pointed out to him that he had gotten a big head and had hurt her with words he had not been able to hold back.

"Yes, she worked as a secretary for a small company, but they went bankrupt. She found herself unemployed, the crisis did not allow her to find one quickly enough and she ended up on the street."

Alexander sighed. He had always had the impression that life must be more complicated for Catherine than for others. Yet she was kind and brilliant in his memories. But the universe had seemed to hold it against her from the moment she had dared to say the forbidden word "study at Cambridge". From then on, she had never gotten anything she wanted.

"She's not married ?" Alexander asked as he watched her cross the blue fence that led to his parents' house.

"No. No known man in her life, no children. A very lonely girl if you ask me. No wonder she looks like she's about to burst into tears every time you see her," his mother said as she savagely cut a carrot.

Catherine, the beautiful Catherine who had come to all those plays when he was in London, Catherine who apparently still got nothing from the universe.

Later that afternoon, he was desperately trying to fight the winter cold that invaded every corner of the house, lost in his memories of the past. He was looking forward to New Year's, which he would spend in London... alone, as he often did. But at least he would be far away from this place he had despised since he was a misunderstood child.

That was when he saw her again. Catherine was crossing the road with the same awkward, hesitant gait she had had as a teenager. She slipped on the icy ground, dropping the box she was holding. He hesitated for a second, then decided to leave.

"Always dropping things, Catherine," he said, pulling his coat tighter around him.

She spun around, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Gosh, the great Alexander Dane," she said, straightening up, "I didn't think I'd see you here again," she added with the same captivating smile of their fifteen years.

"Me neither," he admitted, handing her a pouch that had escaped from its box.

"It's a package for a friend. She lives in Scotland and I was supposed to go meet her, but all the trains were cancelled because of the snow," she said, holding the box tighter against her.

"My mother told me you moved back here."

She looked down, blushing slightly.

"Yes, at my parents'," she said, not daring to look at him.

"Hey, there's no shame in it. Think of it as a time to take care of yourself."

"Who are you and what have you done with Alexander?" she asked, her smile returning.

"The years have given me some wisdom," he said, smiling back.

"Are you staying for the holidays ?"

"Only for Christmas."

Well, he wasn't so sure all of a sudden. After all, spending New Year's alone or spending it with his mother, his idiotic little brother, and his aunts was pretty much the same thing.

"Are you and your parents doing anything special for the holidays ?"

"No. Just the three of us."

His mother was right, Alexander thought, Catherine was terribly lonely, and her tired eyes made him nervous. They weren't tired from lack of sleep, no, they looked tired from life.

"I have to go, the post office is closing soon," Catherine said, interrupting his train of thought.

"Sure. I'll probably see you later," Alexander replied, watching her get into her car.

He would see her again, that much was certain. CatherineStafford. The beautiful and sweet Catherine. The girl he had loved all his adolescence without ever daring to admit it to her for fear of losing their friendship. A friendship that he had broken himself one evening when she had needed support and not the sharp blades that had been his words.

He saw her again no later than the next day. She had been hired in old Harry's tea room. He had never imagined his oldest friend as a tea waitress and he was certain that she had neither. It was all a waste, a waste of everything she had to offer, if only she could have had her chance, just once.

"Be careful," she told him as she sat him down at a secluded table, "there's a young fan of Dr. Lazarus here," she said as she pointed with her head to a young boy who was eating cookies in front of a man that Alexander guessed was the child's grandfather.

"Oh no, please..."

"Too late," she said, not hiding her amusement.

The little boy approached him with wide, wondering eyes.

"Where's your costume ?"

"I..."

"To the laundry," Catherine answered for him, stopping him from curtly replying that he didn't spend his life dressed like a stupid alien.

"Can you say it ?"

"Say what ?" Alexander asked gruffly.

"You know, your line."

"He won't let you go until you say it," Catherine sneered, handing him the tea and pastry menu.

"By Grabthar's harm," Alexander said, rolling his eyes.

He hadn't put much conviction into it, but it seemed to suit the child, who returned to his seat.

"He'll be back for a picture and an autograph," Catherine warned him.

"Catherine, can we stop pretending for a moment ?" he stopped her.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"I know I was an idiot, but I was young, I was scared, scared of getting stuck here and..."

She looked at him without blinking.

"And what, Alexander ?"

"I... I'm sorry."

He had almost told her, but at the last moment, he had changed his mind. Their relationship was too fragile, he knew, to venture into such dangerous waters. He didn't miss her almost disappointed look, but he thought he had imagined it.

"That's the past. I don't blame you anymore. And I'm glad you're here."

She had said it without bitterness, with a disarming sincerity before walking away.

After that, he became one of the most regular customers of the tea room, which was not complicated in such a small village. He spent more time talking to Catherine than eating cakes and drinking tea, and he soon realized that she soothed him.

"Are you planning to go back to London ?" he asked her as he hung a string of lights in the living room window she had just closed.

"I'd like to. Life is more... interesting there," she said as she wiped down a table.

"But ?" he guessed.

"But... I don't know. I feel too old to try anything new and at the same time I don't want to be a prisoner in this village all my life," she admitted.

"Too old ? You're going to be 40," he said, rolling his eyes.

"39 !" she protested.

"Okay, 39. It's not old, you silly girl."

"I know, but it takes money, no matter what you want to do. Not everyone gets to live their dreams, Alexander," she said softly.

"You could live in my apartment. Save yourself rent."

"Oh, now Dr. Lazarus feels sorry for me, great," she mumbled.

"First of all, don't ever call me that again, and secondly, I don't feel sorry. I'm helping my best friend get a fresh start."

"I always felt like you were out of my league, Alexander."

The simple confession made him freeze.

"What do you mean ?"

"I... I don't know. That I expected more from you, but... well... life."

"Catherine..." he said softly, getting down from the stepladder he was perched on.

Could it be that she, too, had feelings for him in the past ?

Had they both missed out on a great story because they didn't have the courage to reveal themselves at the time ?

"Oh, it's already late," she said, looking at her watch, "I have to hurry, I promised my mother I'd bring her some eggs and the grocery store is closing soon. Nothing's open after 6 here."

She offered to take him home, but he declined, saying he'd rather get some fresh air. The truth was, he needed to think because since he got back, he'd been questioning everything: his dreams, his career, what he really wanted in life.

Christmas Eve came all too quickly for Alexander's liking. His parents' house was packed. Aunts, cousins, his idiot little brother... it was all too much for him.

How ironic for an actor, he thought wearily. But in the end, one of those stupid science fiction conventions seemed less difficult to bear than this family gathering.

He managed to escape between the main course and dessert. Outside, sitting on the low stone wall his father had built long ago, he watched the house across the street. Everything seemed silent, except for the diffuse light that the television reflected against the windows of the Staffords' living room.

Without thinking, he got up and went to knock on their door, as if he was no longer the master of his body.

The door opened to reveal Catherine's father who did not immediately recognize him.

"I would like to speak to Catherine, Mr. Stafford," he said with a lack of confidence that irritated her to the highest degree.

"Alexander! How you have changed. Of course, I will get her."

Catherine appeared in the doorway, dressed in pyjamas decorated with a gingerbread man who looked happier than she was at that moment.

"Were you asleep ?" Alexander asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I was reading. My parents are watching a show on the BBC," she explained, a little embarrassed that she hadn't taken the time to at least put on a pair of sweatpants and a sweater.

He shook his head. Alone. She was alone. Like him, who felt so alone no matter the world around him.

"Are you okay ?" she asked, intrigued.

"I... I have to tell you something."

He swallowed hard before starting.

"I was in love with you when we were teenagers. And when I saw you again, I realized that I still felt something strong for you."

Catherine's eyes widened in surprise, but she said nothing, letting him continue.

"I've spent my whole life running, and I realize that I wasn't running after the right things. I went to the ends of the earth to find that something, while you were here all this time."

"Alexander," she whispered, not hiding her emotion.

"I want us to try. I've always loved you. I still love you. I'm sorry I was an idiot and hurt you, I'm sorry it took me so long to understand, but I'm here now. So, if you'll have me, if you'll try..."

"What about your career ?"

"Can you keep a secret ?"

She nodded, her arms tightening a little around herself to suppress a shiver from the biting cold that surrounded them.

"They're going to kill Dr. Lazarus."

"What a tragedy," she said, not believing it.

"Yes, a terrible tragedy. And after that, I plan to return to London and resume my career on the stage."

She looked at him without saying anything, a silence that began to make Alexander uncomfortable.

"So, what do you think ?"

"I say I've always had feelings for you too, big fool. And yes, I want to try."

He gently pulled her towards him, enveloping her in his warmth, and he placed his lips against hers, kissing her for the first time, but certainly not for the last time, he knew it.

"By Grabthar's harm, it seems that the universe has finally offered us our Happy Ending," he murmured against her lips.

And he was still far from the mark. If only he had known, that this heartfelt confession would bring them both so much happiness, he would have stopped running much earlier.

#alexander dane x oc #alexander dane fanfic #alan rickman #rickmas2024 #evans23

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suraemoon · 1 year ago

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A Starry Night in 1956

Link to Part 1: A Sunset in 1956

It isn’t necessary to read Part 1 to understand this fic but hey it doesn’t hurt. ^^^

Warnings: p in v smut, virginity loss, oral sex (f receiving), angst, argument, reader has a panic attack in a crowd, descriptions on uncomfy clothes, some objectification of the body?, edging, unfulfilled wishes of finishing inside a woman, teeny bit of masturbation, any more pls let me know

WC: 13k (please bear with me lol about 5k of it is smut)

A/N: The story takes place in Florida in August of 1956. But unlike Elvis’ real life Florida shows during this time, instead of a theatre I’m imagining an amphitheater, park type of venue, like a music festival? if that makes sense. This is my first time writing smut, go easy on me. My inbox is always open for requests if for some reason you trust me with your ideas. Ahhh enjoy.

The starry night’s humid Floridian air was the cozy homestead of not only the expected water vapor but altogether meaningless, patient chatter. The laughs and small talk of people all with a common goal and interest: to see the Elvis Presley perform before them. The Elvis Presley so nationally loved by friends and schoolmates. The Elvis Presley so naturally hated by parents and guardians.

A passionate performance ranted and raved about, a controversial performance complained about and loathed, fit altogether in such a delicious little package for anyone so free in their judgment and beautiful rebellious lovers who have gotten their hands on the wave of Rock n’ Roll. The bow of this gift was a handsome man at its forefront. The poster boy of it all.

You’ve had the privilege of getting to know and love Elvis ever since you were sat at desks right next to each in elementary, in the days when the world was blissfully unaware that the foreman of a cultural movement was in school learning times tables. Seats that would eventually get moved due to disruptive chatter and giggles from the two of you, but the bond built that day could never let up or separate. Now you get to share the gift that is your best friend with the world, for better and for worse.

The year is 1956. Elvis and his band are touring and performing for adoring audiences all around the country and of course he had to take you, his “bestest girl”, with him to every single stop on the road.

You remember the now-fond, then-scary day when in the comfort of your childhood bedroom of your baby blue family home in Memphis that Elvis first proposed the idea that you come with him across the country.

——————— A few months ago ————————

It was a little while after you and Elvis had come up from dinner. After putting your dishes in the sink and thanking your mother again for the meal she prepared, the two of you quickly but politely and calmly made it a mission to get back up the stairs and into your bedroom like you had done so many instances before. It started when you were little, yawning and waiting patiently to get dismissed from the dinner table to get back to playing, sometimes getting yelled at for trying to race each other up the stairs to see who can get to the top first. Now that the two of you are young adults, you are obliviously unaware at how the urgency to get to your bedroom might look to any bystander. The bystanders being your confused, furrowed brow parents.

It was a vulnerable sunset, the orange hue of golden hour pouring into your window as the only new thing allowed to enter your frilly, pink bedroom. A bedroom whose decor hasn’t changed for years.

The two of you had planned to go page by page through your copy of the high school yearbook from your graduating year, reminiscing together on past experiences and gossiping about where everyone is now. You can clearly recall the moment when you finally were able to wriggle the yearbook from your full well-loved bookshelf, dusting it off and holding it in your hands while Elvis whispered from his spot on the pink, stuffed-animal filled bed behind you his plans about going away to do performances and his hope that you will accompany him. You dropped not only the book you were holding onto the cold hardwood floor but also the smile decorating your face as you turned around to face him.

“What’d you just say, Presley?”

You knew exactly what he muttered. He whispered loud enough to know you could hear him. You were both aware of these quiet facts. Quickly, you scurried over to your bedroom door to grab the doorknob and close it, an action that your parents did not allow when Elvis was over, but at this moment the pure necessity made you not care at all.

His voice was louder and shakier now, his accent getting thicker as he hurriedly tried to explain and convince you all in a few seconds. It was as if the last train was about to leave the station and he's trying his hardest to get you on board. His leg bounces against the bottom of your wooden bed frame.

“I know, I know. It sou-sounds crazy b-bu-but Mama is worried sick about me going and I know she’ll feel better if you’re there with me. I’ll feel better if you’re there with me. You just gotta, you gotta come with me, Satnin. You don’t know how much I need ya, honey. I really do. Never needed ya more than I do now.”

You force words to come out of your mouth in response to this confession of his. He’s never needed you more.

“E-Elvis I can’t just up and leave. What about…”

The tone of his voice has done a 180 and is now trying the best it can to portray calm and certain. The falsehood that everything has been figured out, the hope that everything will be okay. The need that everything will be okay. It’s apparent to him that you need assurance in this moment but his words are not only spoken to you; they are a message of comfort to himself, a plea to the Lord that what he has taught himself to think is actually the plan, that what he has grown to believe is indeed the truth.

“We graduated a while ago. We’re grown now. Ain’t nothing stopping us but ourselves. That’s what I had to tell myself. The only one that’s stopping you is yourself. It’s all doubt.”

You start to pace around the room, your feet going from the softness of your small carpet to the stable hardwood. Every thought and uncertainty is filling your mind at rapid speed and they’re pushing to spill out of your mouth restlessly as if your brain can’t seem to keep them all contained in one spot.

When you regain the ability to form sentences you stop in your tracks to look at him, your racing thoughts are even faster as words.

“I’ve got a family too, Elvis. A loving one just like you do and your mama wouldn’t be the only mama worried. My mother would be more than worried and I can’t imagine leaving her and no way my daddy would just let me roam the country either. You know him, you know how he is.”

“Honey…”

It’s like you don’t even hear him, your brain doesn’t have the space to process that he spoke, “What about all I’ve got here, Elvis? My job at the diner? I told ya that promotion is coming soon. Oh God, I know it is, I’ve been working for a while. I can’t just quit and lose all that progress I made! Brother done moved out to live his life and my parents are gonna be here all alone without me.”

Your feet stop their parading right in front of him, both of your hands on the side of your face like they’re the only thing keeping your head on. Your eyebrows furrow in wonder of why he isn’t trying to combat your words, confused on the fact that he doesn’t seem as concerned as you are.

Elvis decides to gently take both of your shaky hands into his, leading you to sit down on the bed next to him. Your poodle skirt lifts a little in the back just for the top fabric to pool around you and settle back down on the comforter, the breath you take in lifts and settles just the same.

He consoles in almost a whisper, “You don’t gotta worry about all that. It’ll all be alright. We’ll be together.”

“I know we will but….” His thumbs start moving back and forth in a soothing motion, cutting you off.

His voice picks up more, “Please? Come with me? All we’ve been through together, we can’t lose that now. I’m s-so scared of losing that, of losing you. I need to take a piece of home with me. Something to keep me stable, to keep me going. You always do. Every new place I go, I’ll have my Memphis with me.”

He gestures exasperated to you, his Memphis.

You take a long sigh, have all of your years of friendship culminated to this moment? The only movement in the bedroom besides the rise and fall of breath is his steady thumb on the back of your soft hand.

There is a few minutes of uneasy silence before you speak up looking not at him but instead at the glow of the shaded lamp on your nightstand. “How long will we be traveling again? I need to know how much to pack.”

“Well. New dates and venues keep being added and uh—Wait a minute....That means you're coming?” He glances at you, eyes sparkling full of hope.

You stare back at him with a smile, hope matching hope. A soft laugh almost makes your words a melody, “That’s what it means.”

“Oh, Memphis!” Elvis quickly traps you into a big, bear hug as if all of his pent up emotions have been waiting to be released. He’s squeezing you like his life depends on it, his arms around you to hold and keep you close. You giggle at this sudden action as excitement fills the air and fear clouds your mind. But, it’s a good kind of fear. It’s an anticipation that cannot be tamed.

————————————————————————

That day was a while ago. The Colonel has taken Elvis and his band (you and the Memphis Mafia buddies that have tagged along, he has taken begrudgingly) around different parts of the USA. You’ve gone to venue after venue, drove mile after mile, and it was far from done. Tour life has its ups and downs for everybody and it’s proven that the lifestyle is not for the weak of spirit. You have experienced exhilarating parties and contagious laughter that made it so you never wanted the sun to set and the nights to end.

There have also been days that the homesickness stays sitting in your belly, tears threatening to fill your eyes if you thought too hard about Memphis or stared too long at the family picture you kept safe and secure in your bag. An emotional rollercoaster when you come across it while quickly taking something out.

Many had come out for this night’s concert, one of many that Elvis would perform in the sunshine state of Florida. You watch observantly as the crowd around you waited in the open-aired park venue with waiting breath and time-passing fidgets.

It managed to cool down significantly from the heat that coated the early hours of the afternoon, to which everyone was thankful because it hopefully meant less fainting from screaming girls. The fanatic women didn’t have to worry about the sun beaming down to work against them, only Elvis’ attractiveness filling their soul, making them swooningly dazed. Pure anticipation kept the atmosphere thick where the temperature had let up.

You were full of anxiety as you stood alone in the middle of the crowd. You shifted from foot to foot, hand tugging on the edge of your tight black pencil skirt. It hugged your lower half like a glove would and had to be at least a few inches shorter than what was seen as decent. You know that your daddy would have a fit if he saw you dressed like this.

These recent stops have been hardest on your heart, hardest on your mind. It has been too long since you’ve touched your mama’s face, too long since you’ve heard your daddy’s belly laugh. Too damn long since you’ve seen the familiar, calming blue paint of your Memphis home. The same home you were brought home from the hospital to, the same home you left to go on tour.

We’ll be together.

His words have seemed to do nothing but haunt you lately. You’re together all the time, that’s true, but you only seem to be wholefully acknowledged when he remembers you exist. Nowadays, the only long conversations you have are when he needs someone to vent his emotions to and happens to recall that the girl he drags along with him is not only a pretty thing to look at but is also his best friend. You don’t even know if the best friend part still holds up anymore but it hurts too much to even imagine that being the case. If you think too hard about it, you would no doubt throw up right on the lady next to you’s shiny heels.

You play with the strap of your blouse, is it tighter than when you put it on? Is that possible? Well it had to be, no other explanation. You’ve never felt so uncomfortable in a top.

We’ll be together.

He’s together with girls that aren’t you. You shouldn’t be mad about it. You can’t get angry at it, you aren’t his girlfriend. He has no reason to commit to you but now your life is centered all around him. You can’t help the jealousy that fills your mind like a bitter perfume whenever you see him flirt or kiss a random girl. Several beautiful girls crowd around him at each stop, eager to get their hands on Elvis Presley. You sigh knowing that you could never hold a candle to them. If your light shined as bright as there's, why weren’t you his? You give polite, tight-lipped smiles when asked to hold the camera and snap fan photos. You stand there awkwardly shifting back and forth on your feet, playing with your hands in the moments succeeding when he starts smooching all over them with that signature Elvis-style charm after the flash leaves and the picture is snapped. Who knew that there were so many model-worthy women just sitting in Suburban towns waiting to have their lips kissed and boobs grazed by Elvis Presley?

Some nights you find yourself alone under the stars and locked out of your and Elvis’ shared motel room, the only place that you know can be yours in such an uncertain existence. In your place is a gorgeous woman from the party the Memphis Mafia insisted that you all go to after an already long night.

Well, you technically can’t say the lucky woman is “in your place” because the activities occurring on the other side of that lovely door are things you can only dream about Elvis doing to you. There have been many nights where you’ve thought about sneaking in the bed next to yours to feel him in a way you’ve never had. Even if it’s just for sleep.

The reason you two even share motel rooms in the first place is Elvis’ desire to keep you safe and in his line of vision. Away from the access of creepy men roaming around these unfamiliar cities and even some of his Memphis Mafia friend group who think it’s fun to hit on you sometimes. He keeps you close but not too close. You’re stuck in a limbo of not knowing where you stand with a man you’ve grown to know so well. You know with every ounce of your heart that Elvis cares about you, there is no doubt about that, but you don’t know how he feels about you. It leaves you feeling dumb and knowledgeable. Disoriented and understanding.

Little does he know that sometimes you do get tortured sometimes, by no one but him. A mind game he doesn’t even know he’s playing. It leaves you broken, what’s the point?

In the crowd, your hands shake with nerves as if you are the one about to perform. The expensive gold and diamond bracelet Elvis bought in New York and presented to you under the old oak tree in your backyard makes a clanging sound as it moves with your motion. It seems tighter than it was when you put it on earlier. To take your mind off of both boredom and anxiety, you use all of your concentration to unhook the tiny gold clip and you make it looser a few notches. The bracelet had looked so out of place the night he gave it to you; the shine of the metal contrasted with the pastel fabric over your skirt. Though you are sure that the little diamonds throughout the chain shined brighter that night when you were sitting next to Elvis, maybe the light from the sun, maybe the light he radiated.

The jewelry went perfectly with your look tonight. Elvis has been picking out your outfits lately. They have gotten so mature, so grown up, so sexy.

———————— A few hours ago ————————

Elvis’ jaw dropped when you stepped out of the small bathroom looking like the epitome of a Hollywood bombshell in the outfit he had bought for you. He ignored the urge to pat himself on the back with how it all came out. “Wow, honey. You’re tryna kill me, huh? Do a spin, you have ta.”

It’s a tight blouse, a lower cut than you would even think about picking up from the rack but he was glad that could convince you to put it on. Your chest is lifted and displayed perfectly among the bright, satin blue fabric.

He’s used to your lower half being covered beneath the layers of poodle skirts or swing dresses but the tightness of the black skirt was practically nude compared to your usual style.

Some of your body is left to the imagination, how he likes it, but seeing the true outline and curves of your figure was like getting a glimpse of heaven.

You giggled and did as much of a spin as the tight fabric of your skirt and your heels allowed you. “Do you really like it?”

He looked at you, shocked that that’s even a question. “Are you kidding? Like isn’t strong enough of a word. Imma have to beat fellas away with a stick.”

“You’re gonna get jealous? Maybe I should use all my flirting skills tonight. I might meet a nice Floridian boy, you never know.”

“No such thing as one. You should go look at yourself in the mirror though. Might make your head a little bigger but it would be a shame if you didn’t see yourself.”

Your jaw was the next to drop when you got a good look at your full outfit in the mirror. No way the woman staring back in the reflection was you. It had to be someone else.

“Seeing what I’m seeing now, honey?”

You made sure to do every step of the process how Elvis liked it. You had taken his suggestions on how to do your hair and not one strand was out of place. The dark makeup was his idea as well, you’d usually never apply this much. The outfit topped the whole thing off.

“Oh thank you, Elvis! You’ve got a good eye for these types of things, you really do. You’re the bestest. Should pick out my whole wardrobe, that’s how much I like it. It’s beautiful.”

He replied simply but perfectly, making your knees weak as he did it, “You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes tried to meet Elvis’ baby blues in the mirror but couldn’t quite catch them because he was too busy staring at other things. You watched him scan you up and down with those famous bedroom eyes, lidded as in a trance, and you were sure that you could pass out right there. He’s never looked at you with such fever in his eyes before and oh how much you enjoy it now that you’ve had a taste of it. You aren’t sure if you should kiss him or slap him as he lustfully and not so subtly stares at your legs, your hips, your waist, your boobs. His eyes only leave the mirror to look at your backside, not visible in the glass.

Little did you know, you were the manifestation of everything he had worked towards, a physical representation of how far he’s come. His childhood best friend dressed like a leading woman on the big screen…because of him.

At that moment he remembered, a thought provoked by a thought, an incident years back when the two of you were playing and running around the plush grass of your backyard, the blue paint of the house was brighter back then and the birds chirped a little louder. The wooden swing was still intact with both ropes on the tree, aging this story correctly, and your favorite activity in those days was to swing and jump off. One day, Elvis was sitting on the ground watching you demonstrate the skill that was jumping off the swing and the precision it took to get it right. When you leaped, he watched as your skirt went up in the air to act as a parachute, giving him a view of the white cotton panties you wore under your skirt. His eyes widened and his cheeks flushed pink. Years later he can look back and laugh at how innocent and curious he was.

You got up, grass stains on your knees from the jump, and was quick to sit next to him, “Elvis?” You stop trying to catch your breath. “Wasn’t that amazing! I’ve been practicing and yours might not be as good as mine yet cause you are just starting. You gotta time the jump just right..”

You rambled on and on not yet noticing that your friend hadn’t responded yet when suddenly you stopped, noticing his red cheeks. “Elvis? Is everything alright? You’re looking a little pink.” You poked each of his apple-red cheeks with your finger and giggled.

That was the first time Elvis saw you, or anyone for that matter, in such a way. There was a weird pang in his heart, a blush that didn’t want to tame, and a fast shaking of his head when you asked what had gotten him so flustered that he wasn’t able to speak for a whole minute. Years later, he’s the one dressing you.

He smiles to himself at the memory. You saw each other grow up. Elvis started to notice you wear makeup. Your eyelashes magically got longer, little did he know at the time that this was due to mascara, something that has since become well acquainted with. The pretty pink blush that you used to only have when you were flustered and embarrassed stayed permanent on your cheeks as if normal. Over the years, he noticed how your tops started to fill out more, something he felt bad about taking glances at in those teenage years when he had the hormonal urge to stare. Well he still has those urges at 21, but that’s beside the point. Your face has matured into its features. You’ve always been pretty but have you always been this gorgeous?

He’s taken out of his own head when he feels you turn from the mirror and hug him, he uses his hand to pet your head lovingly and follow the shape of your hair.

———————— 20 minutes ago ————————

All those thoughts he had a few hours ago while getting ready in the motel room lingered in his head when you last saw each other about 20 minutes ago. He looked over at you once more backstage before sending you out to join the crowd waiting. “Go out there and enjoy the performance, honey.”

You have gotten used to being a backstage-dweller, watching from the sidelines getting a view that few others would ever have. The only downside was not being able to see all of Elvis’ pretty face while he performed but that stunning side profile was enough to keep you satisfied.

“I can’t just stay back here? No crowds…no sweat…no pushing. It’s nice”

“You think I dolled ya up for you to hide? I wanna see you while I’m performing. Spending all your time behind the scenes you can’t get the full picture. Might forget why you’re here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t know why I’d say it if I wasn’t sure. Do I have a reason to lie?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“But that’s what I answered, honey.”

You huff, “Fine.”

————————————————————————

This series of events is how you ended up in your current situation.

The cold barricade is the only spot of cool under waiting torsos as you are only two rows back from being able to count the dust of the stage. You take a glance at the curtain stage left, trying to get a glimpse at the man who sent you out here. It’s to no avail as you are just a little too far back and the curtains have no give in their ability to stay closed. Your right hand goes up to cover your chest in defense when while looking to the side you catch one unsuspecting girl’s boyfriend trying to pass the time by staring at you a little too intensely. If looks could kill, you’d have been dead a long time ago. Girls look at you with disgust as if you were planted as an opener for their boyfriends to gawk at; boyfriends who only came out to make their gals happy, their hair styled in the hope that she’ll pretend he’s Elvis later on tonight. Some didn’t care or acknowledge your existence at all which made you wonder if these “stares” were all imaginary. Just your mind trying to protect you from something not happening. No way they weren’t real, if they weren’t you wouldn’t be so itchy right now, and your breath wouldn’t be so heavy even when the humid air is giving you nothing to work with.

You felt so desirable and confident when Elvis was eyeing you at the motel, what happened? Maybe the realization that you’re attracting the wrong people. You aren’t desired by the man your heart yearns for most. All dolled up to be a woman created for you to be, a woman that you knew that if you thought hard enough, if you worked hard enough you can one day become. The shell had been made for you to fill in seamlessly and it was still uncomfy. And oh how much you wanted it.

The lights go down and rogue screams of excitement accompany it. The lights are back up in a few seconds and there he is in all his glory, Elvis Presley. He still has that radiating quality that can be seen in the dark, a boyish smirk that causes women to shriek, hair that except for a few pieces in the front would be flawless. His suit is a little oversized but still perfect. He didn’t look real and every time you see him perform you are taken back as if it’s your first time ever laying eyes on him. Like a flower, Elvis blossoms like a flower in spring while on stage. It’s where he shines the brightest. He’s the boy you’ve always known transformed into something more than just potential. It’s the best version of himself, being in your happy place will do that to a person.

You focus on fawning over the man on the platform as if he’s the only thing that matters. The only interior taking you abruptly out of this reality is a push….not a push, a shove. It’s the group of younger teenage girls behind you trying to get closer to the stage. Someone else bumps into your shoulder as you look over. You can feel people’s breaths around you, the sweat, the sticky warm air, the heat of it all mixing together. It was never roomy on the grass, but the bubbles of personal space subconsciously given in to everyone in the crowd popped in that moment and the people just started getting closer and closer.

It was like a sea of magnets attracted to one thing and you wanted to yell at yourself for picking a spot as close as you were to the stage. Your breath quickened as screams got louder and louder, more and more overwhelming. Are these girls next to perform? How are they getting up to those octaves?

A man holding his woman’s hand, trying to get his gal closer to the front, had to have not seen you in front of him as he pushed through. It was at this moment that the loosened gold bracelet sitting around your wrist flew off and landed on the grass next to you. As you reach to pick it up, tears making your vision blurry, the front of a lady’s heel steps on it, the delicate chain snapping. Your gasp was full of fear and surprise, it was as delicate and small as the bracelet. Either the shock was too pure to come out of your mouth and instead went down to your heart or the sound was drowned out by the noise surrounding you. Maybe both. You were too small to be heard.

The offender walked away quickly and nonchalantly as if the metal of your most beloved possession was as soft as grass. Frozen in place before continuing your mission, the seconds you spend bending down to pick it up from the ground felt like hours. Gasping for air as if you were underwater, your shaky hands reach for the bracelet, now split into two pieces of chain. You grab onto whatever you can, fist turning white and the journey back up was even tougher. It felt like your throat was closing up like the pressure changed from the ground to normal height. No breath you take is deep enough for an efficient amount of air. Why can’t you breath? Your nose stuffs up and your lips shake in a shiver. The stampede of hormones is well past by now, you aren’t squished, no ones touching you but at this moment everything feels too close. Everyone’s focus is on Elvis, no one is even acknowledging your existence but it's still embarrassing to feel the tears travel down your face, getting ready to stain the surface.

Not knowing what else to do, you start to hurriedly walk the opposite direction of the stage, trying to find anywhere to go that wasn’t there in the grass. The only time in your life that you are trying to escape that silky Southern voice. You give a small “sorry” here and a tiny “excuse me” there as you make your way past people too entranced by Elvis’ performance to notice that someone was talking to them. Your voice was so weak and shaky that your mind made you doubt if they could even hear you over the noise, doubt if the words came out of your mouth to begin with.

Your walking leads you away from the crowd and your journey ends next to the water fountains outside the restrooms. This mundane spot is where your tired mind decides is good enough refuge to sit, not caring one bit about what you would look like to an observer.

The far away side view of Elvis Presley giving his all on stage and the crowd of people elated below it is more beautiful from back here. Your head leans back against the brick of the wall of the small restroom building. There’s a hope that the act of laying your head back would allow you to take an actual full breath despite the soreness of your throat, a hope that laying your head back would prevent the tears in the corners of your eyes from flowing down and ruining your makeup despite the immense emotion filling your mind.

Stop crying, stop crying, stop crying. There is no reason for the tears. You didn’t die, you didn’t get hurt. But it still hurts. Nothing happened to you, why are you such a scaredy cat? An overdramatic pathetic girl, a jumpy sheep who’s crying wolf, a…

Breathe.

Your view is up and all you see is the stars. It’s a starry night in Florida, the type of starry night that would give Van Gogh the inspiration to paint a masterpiece. The stars are small dots, all could be mistaken for the others accompanying the dark blue. All except for one. One star is larger and burns brighter than the others, if you stare long enough it vibrates in the sky. It shimmers, it gleams, it gives warmth, it gives hope.

For the first time since it was laying on the ground you decide to look at your bracelet, or what was left of it. After opening your fist, besides a few pieces of grass, you see a gold chain split in half. When looking closely at the small diamonds decorating it, you notice that one of them is missing. All of a sudden your lip quivers and your eyes gloss over as if getting the same queue. You glance over at the stage, the one star that can bring you comfort doesn’t even know you are hurting, he isn’t here to protect you. All alone your vision focuses on him with all its might, his moving figure is a little blurry through watery eyes but he’s there and that’s what matters.

The performance takes 5 minutes and 5 hours at the same time. You watched the whole show, your knees up and head resting on crossed arms as the tears dry in your face. It’s when he exits the stage to roaring applause that you get up from your spot on the ground. You know from your time backstage that when Elvis walk’s off out of view from the crowd he is no longer a figure floating on adrenaline, he’s your tired, sweaty best friend who you provide with a water bottle and a hug. You need to see him, you’ve felt alone and abandoned for so long, you need Elvis.

Determinedly, you walk as fast your wobbly legs and painful heels will take you. You are able to easily get past security to get backstage because the man standing in all black guarding the entrance was able to recognize you from when Elvis sent you to the audience earlier. By the time you get to the crowd of crew and band that you’re sure Elvis is in the middle of, your calves are burning with exhaustion. Your eyes move frantically in their search and finally you see him, he has a beautiful glow making him stand out in the pack of people.

You run up as soon as you see him, almost rolling your ankle as you fall onto him, arms enclosing his body with a tight hug. “Elvis!” You thought the tears had run out a while ago but there was something about being in his embrace, feeling his warmth and presence, being filled with his scent that makes every emotion that you experienced alone rise up again inside of you. You sob into his blazer, not letting him go.

At first he’s shocked thinking that fan snuck her way backstage but he hugs regardless, immediately recognizing that it’s you. “Satnin? W-wh-what happened?”

“Oh Elvis, I can’t be out there anymore. It was so scary and there were so many people crowding and I was bout to fall and trip. A-and my clothes are too revealing, they gotta be. People kept looking at me but not the way you look at me, it was real different. I just wanted to be around ya so you could protect m-me but you were performing! I didn’t know what to do…I was all alone. I don’t wanna be alone anymore.”

He’s never seen you this vulnerable, this broken. “Did someone hurt you, baby?”

You pull away just a little to look up at him, your face is puffy and red from crying and Elvis swears you’ve never looked so small. You look so young, cheeks and big eyes reminding him of the little girl he met all those years ago, not the femme fatale prototype he saw in the mirror just a few hours ago. A broken girl in a woman’s clothing. Pure Memphis was in your eyes, reminders of simpler times.

“I was so nervous, Elvis. I just wanted to be with you.”

“Honey, I asked ya a question. No one hurt you out there right? Answer me ‘cause if some bastard put his hands on ya, I’ll kill the son of a bitch.”

“No! No one hurt me. I was just so scared…I was just so scared. And look!” You show him the fragments of what once was bravely in your hand. “I broke it, Elvis. I’m so sorry. You got it just for me and it must’ve been so expensive and it fell off my hand and broke. O-one of the things is gone and I don’t even know if I grabbed every piece of the ground. That’s why you can’t buy me stuff, Elvis, I told ya that. I’m too clumsy for nice, fancy things.”

“Shhhh…shhh, baby. We’re going back to the room. It’s all gonna be okay. Forget the damn bracelet, it don't mean anything to me. You’re alright and that’s all that matters. You’re okay now, you’re safe now.”

Elvis puts an arm around your waist and guides you through the crowd, ignoring everyone who tries to talk to him except for a few words when asks, not asks tells, one of the guys to drive the two of you home. He quickly opens the door to a car, rushing you in with him to head home.

Home being the motel. You two are miles from Memphis , the home your heart longs to see again.

The ride back to the motel is quiet. The most quiet it has ever been when the two of you are around each other. The car drives there fast but the journey home always feels shorter than the trip you took to go. That is what keeps the world spinning, if not, hope would be lost too soon.

Within what seems like the blink of an eye or the very long blink of your tiny little car nap, you arrive at the dimly lit sanctuary. Giving the driver a small “thank you”, you and Elvis get out of the car simultaneously and walk silently to the room assigned for the both of you, he opens the door to let you in first.

Immediately after walking in and locking the door, Elvis takes off his blazer, the button up he's wearing underneath now on full display, and he throws it on a chair. You walk over to the bathroom, a dim shade of yellow filling the room after you turn on the light. The reflection in the mirror was horrifying, there was a stark contrast from how amazing and put together you looked earlier. Your mascara is smudged from tears and you try your best to rub the residue off with your finger. Your cheeks can be easily compared to red apples and your lipstick is in need of a reapply. Aware of the fact that you look like a hot mess but not having the strength to do anything about it, your attention goes back to the broken bracelet that you’ve had in your tight grasp ever since it was picked up from the floor.

Elvis sits down on his bed, rubbing his eyes as if deep in thought. The silence of the room can be described as comfortable only for the fact that it differs from the loud noise of the venue.

Giving up in your attempts to put all of the pieces of the bracelet together on the counter, you sigh and turn around to head to the main bedroom. It’s when you see Elvis that you’re reminded of everything and all the emotions start to well up again.

You have to tell him. Break it to him easily. Make up your mind.

Your mind stays fast and something is on the tip of your tongue, your lips quiver and in an ill attempt to display conviction in your statement, it instead comes out in a broken, quiet, and tear stained whisper,

“I can’t do it anymore, E.”

Elvis looks up, his hands dropping from his face to fall on his knees, his voice shows true confusion at your sudden words, “What?”

“I can’t do this. I can’t, Elvis. It ain’t me.” Your hands gesture to yourself, not only the Elvis-picked outfit but all the tears and tiredness apparent as well.

He shakes his head unseriously as if this is all too ridiculous to be real, “What do you mean it ‘ain’t you’? We’re making it you. You just gotta get used to it.”

“You always say that but it ain’t working, I’m not the type of girl you want me to be. I need to go home, I just wanna go home.” This last statement comes out as almost as plea, like a little kid’s complaint when they don’t want to go to school.

“So you’re just gonna leave me? Just like that?” He decides to stand up, questions coming out of his mouth defensively. You hate hearing the tone of disappointment in his voice, it’s as if you are unjustified, unreasonable.

“I’m not leaving you…”

“You’re leaving me.”

Face to face, you look up at him, tears threatening to roll down your face again at his harsh and direct accusations. “Elvis, I’m so tired, so exhausted. I wanna be here for you, I want to be everything you want…You don’t know how bad I want that, how bad I need ya to be happy with me b-but…”

“You’re going back to Memphis? This is so outta the blue, honey. This is coming from nowhere, you’re happy and all of a sudden you wanna go home.”

“I’m sorry, Elvis. I think it’s best that I go home. There ain’t no place for me here, no purpose for me being here, no spot to fill.”

“Leaving this…”

His voice is firm in his words and his hand moves around the room as if you forget where you were and then he continues, “..is leaving me. My life is different now. You can’t just quit when it gets hard. I need your support, you don’t know how much I need you here with me. Don’t just up and leave. I make sure you’re alright, I buy you all this fancy shit, I accommodate for ya and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’m doing it for my folks and you. That’s what I’ve always told ya, what I’ve always told myself. It’s for Mama, Daddy, and you. That’s it. All of this ain’t for me, it’s never been. Let me satisfy you. This is your place, that’s the spot you’re filling.”

The sound of your voice raises and your tone has changed to match his in attempts to defend yourself, “Don’t act like I’m abandoning you, Elvis. I’ve supported you ever since I met you. I don’t need fancy things to make me happy, it ain’t about that. I don’t need you spending a dollar on me. I’m just a regular old girl from Memphis and for some reason your mind thinks I’m someone else.”

“You’ve always been you. Ain’t no other girl like you. You know that you’re special, I’ve known ya for so long.” He reassures you as if stating the obvious, something you should know and not be doubting. Something that for some odd reason you have seemed to forget.

“That’s the problem. You’re so focused on what I represent, how I make you feel. I’m not some memento from Memphis that you can carry around in your pocket like spare change. That don’t make me sound like a person. I’m all alone. I’m surrounded by so many people, been places I’ve never stepped foot it in, and I’ve never been so lonely. You don’t give me a second thought. I’m only here when it’s convenient for you, when it’s convenient for me to exist. That ain’t friendship. I’m only here when you’re struggling, I’m struggling, Elvis.”

His voice gets even louder and at this point it’s almost like a contest of who can outdo the other in loudness of volume and truth of defensive statements. “You don’t think I’m lonely? You don’t think it’s overwhelming for me too? Everyone thinks life is all good and dandy for Elvis Presley. Sun is shining all the time when you’re tryna support everyone. It’s all fun and games when you get all the pressure on your shoulders, the attention from everyone, the press hounding ya…”

You can’t help but roll your eyes in annoyance and throw your hands down in exasperation, “Here we go again. You’re the only one going through things. We’re all just planets going around your sun. No one else is allowed to feel? I’m trying to get you to understand what I’m feeling and it’s all about you again.”

The smart choice would be to calm the situation down but your honor can’t let you. To you he is the Elvis you’ve known for years and years, one that isn’t any better than you.

His face gets a deeper shade of red as if you have finally struck a nerve and he points his finger at you accusingly, “You aren’t gonna disrespect me like that. Acting like I’m some selfish bastard.”

“I never said that-” You back up as you realize it has started to get too serious, too real. You’ve never had an argument this momentous and your voice reflects the shock.

“That’s the last thing you’re gonna do, woman. If you wanna spend all your time in Memphis, do that. Live your whole life sitting in that same ole house, I don’t give a damn.” Annoyance seeps out of his voice and you aren't sure if it’s stubbornness or irresponsibility that makes you keep arguing.

“Why am I an extra in your life, Elvis? My whole life revolves around you and you don’t give me the time of day. I hate that I’ve taught myself I’m only good when you’re around. It makes me sick to my stomach. What happened to ‘we’ll always be together?’ We haven’t been for a long time now.”

“Then why do it in the first place? Why let me drag you around if you’re gonna nag and complain about how miserable you are? Why say yes?”

“Because I love you Elvis!” At this moment his face softens immediately.

Your voice breaks into a cry as the strong walls you have built up from the ash have broken down again, “A-and I’m so scared, I’m terrified. Everything’s changing and I’m terrified of losing ya. I wanna make you happy, I want you to love me. But maybe I’m not cut out for it. I’m not good enough for this life.”

He reaches out to hold your hands, “Don’t say that—”

“I wish with every bone in my body that I was but I’m not. I can’t be the girl that you want me to be. Maybe you’ve grown from needing me and I’m still stuck. But if that’s true I gotta sort it out alone, I can’t hold you back.”

In this moment his lips touch yours and you are taken aback for a second from shock, immediately you close your eyes and kiss him back just as passionately. The kiss is years of pent up emotions and years of confessions unsaid.

He pulls away, puts his hands on your hips to stabilize you, and speaks confidently, “I love you, Satnin. I always have and I always will. If I haven’t been showing ya that recently then I’m real stupid. You’re all I want you to be, I beg ya believe me. I don’t know what kinda girl you think you can’t be, but we’ll sort it out.. I’ll make sure we see it through because I love you. I’m in love with you and my biggest regret is not telling you sooner.”

You’re at a loss for a verbal response so your body’s natural instinct takes over and it’s your turn to kiss him, both of your hands cup his face as your lips take ownership of what they’ve always wanted. It’s just as passionate as the kiss you two shared prior, but this one is full of heat. His hands roaming up and down your body feeling anything he can as his lips focus on yours just adds to the friction.

It’s a desire that fills and energizes, a desire that refuses to be tamed just by the touching of lips and moving of mouths. The tension in the room is different from the cold atmosphere of a few minutes ago; it’s dirty, it’s sloppy, it’s sexual. The seconds of kissing turns into a few minutes of a make out session, one that has only occurred before in your fantasies. You’ve both been standing for a while but neither of your legs are tired.

The kiss is only broken when Elvis moves his hand to your ass and after a squeeze he picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as your arms do the same around his neck.

He whispers seductively in a tone you’ve never heard him use with you before, “I’m gonna show you how much I love ya. Just you wait. I wanna make it up to you.”

He carries you over to his bed and places you gently onto the soft sheets. Elvis kneels down on the ground in front of you as you lay, biting your lip in anticipation. His hands go to take off your heels, the ones that were killing your feet earlier but adrenaline dulled the pain. “Don’t want your little sooties to be all sore now.”

You blush light pink at the baby slang for your feet, the softness of his words contrasting from the passionate feelings of this moment.

It’s when he comes back up from his spot on the ground to lean on top of you on the bed, the veins on his arms showing themselves off beautifully as he holds himself up, that you realize the seriousness of what’s about to happen.

His lips move from your mouth, down your chin and to your neck. At first it starts with little ticklish pecks, then sucking on your skin that is sure to leave marks all over you in the morning. It isn’t until the first small moan escapes your mouth that you realize the seriousness of the moment. Your back instinctively arches as he moves to your collarbone; it’s as if your body has known for a while what’s going to happen, what it wants to happen, and your brain has just unfuzzed enough to catch up. He wants to have sex with you and you want to have sex with him too.

The arch in your back gives him the cue to lift you even more up to reach the zipper on the back of your top. Your heart pangs and he lifts his mouth from your skin when he notices the way you shiver at his touch on the small of your back. “I-Is this alright? Are you comfortable with this? I don’t wanna move forward if you aren’t comfy.”

“This is more than alright, Elvis. You can keep going…please.” He nods without saying a word and uses his right and unzips your top seamlessly, it’s like it was meant to be taken off this way. The only non gentle part of this process is him taking the top in his hands and looking at it before throwing the garment across the room. This took you by surprise at first but he did buy it for you, so you suppose it’s his to take off and throw. Before you know it your bra is unclipped as well and the room’s cold air hits your warm chest making you shiver again.

“Wow, honey.” Elvis’ licks his lips as he takes you in. Your breasts move up and down with your breathing. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding ‘em from me…”

He bends down and gives each of your breasts a long kiss, evoking a small giggle from you. His mind compares your laugh to the most beautiful of melodies.

His eyes bounce back and forth between your giggle-induced bouncing breaths as he begins to talk to them. “She’s been covering yall up? Hiding you two from Elvis? That aint fair ain’t it?”

“Elvis stop that.” You give a small eye roll as the laughter vibrates your whole body and the smile on your face lights up the room.

He smiles as he gives your nipple a small nibble in order to get another reaction from your body before looking up at your eyes again. Your blush reminds him of a pretty picture, “It’s like ya locked me out of heaven.”

You laugh at his exaggeration, “You’re too much.”

“You’re just enough.” He kisses your lips again.

He moves his mouth down your stomach and stops when met with another roadblock: your skirt. He just shakes his head and the zipper is undone faster than the one that was keeping your top together. You lift your ass to help shimmy out of the fabric and with Elvis’ help it rolls down your legs to drop on the ground between his feet.

The sight he sees below him at this moment is one he has only seen in his wet dreams, one he has moaned about when erections snuck up on him, one that makes him get even harder in his pants then he already is.

You lay before him with the cutest shade of pink flushing your face, your lips slightly parted as you stare at him awaiting his next move, your chest fully exposed as if inviting him in, and the only item of clothing still keeping some sort of mystery from his eyes is the cotton white panties on your bottom half. It’s the only thing that he isn’t quick to take off once it gets in his way, it’s like a gift on Christmas. A special present you’ve been anticipating all year, for him longer.

Your blush gets even redder in embarrassment as you assume that he’s looking at the growing wet spot dampening the fabric, staining the sea of innocence. It’s one you can’t explain, a wetness that you only get when around him. One that makes you clamp your legs together subconsciously whenever an innuendo hits the right spot. It’s one that calls for obliviously necessary panty changes when you rush to bathroom expecting your monthly blood, to pull down your pants and find out that the “blood” is a pool of translucency.

“Can I take these off, honey?” His fingers play with the upper band of your underwear restlessly, waiting for permission to get exploring a new world. Lewis and Clark getting ready to explore Louisiana. Settlers waiting to go travel west in the search for gold. Elvis doubts that any gold buried in California is a good comparison to the teasing quality of your snatch against the see through white veil of your panties. He looks at you patiently, you’re the fucking American Dream.

You nod your head shyly at him, still unsure of the fact that you’re about to be truly exposed before him. It’s a vulnerable state in which all humans come. Adam and Eve weren’t aware they were naked until after they sinned and you’re about to eat the apple.

Unexpectedly, Elvis shakes his head at you as if you got an answer wrong in class and he’s trying to lightly break it to you. He will break it to you, firm but encouraging, dominant but soft, “Nuh uh. Gotta use your words, baby. Be a big girl and answer me, I need to hear ya say yes. You usually ain’t got no issue with that. Such a talker and now you’re as quiet as a dormouse?”

“Yes. You can ta-take them off.” Your quiet voice doesn’t beat the dormouse accusations and you can’t help but be embarrassed by your weak stutter but you are all the way sure that you want this. You’ve never wanted anything more.

“Thank you.” Elvis wasn't gonna fight you on that, he was a racing horse ready for the starting gate to open, a hungry tiger waiting to pounce. After hearing the sweetness of your consent, there never was a sweeter sound, he gently but efficiently pulls down your panties, exposing yet another part of your delicate body to the cold air. With the same fate as your black skirt, your panties start to be rolled down your legs but instead of letting them reach the ground, Elvis lifts both of your legs slightly to grab the white fabric and put it in the pocket of his pants. He knows that the pants won’t stay on for much longer but even when they eventually fall to the floor, his party favor will stay secure.

He does a full look over you again from your face down to your pussy, a sight that for a while he thought he’d never get the blessing of seeing in person. A sight that there are no words to describe quite right. His voice is breathless as he speaks to you, “You’re gorgeous.”

You’re too focused on looking at his concentrated face to notice his fingers going to touch your soaked cunt, a high pitched moan of surprise leaves your mouth. Not only surprised at his tender fingers touching the hissing heat, but surprised at how fantastic it feels. The two fingers making contact are the perfect balance of soft and calloused. They go back and forth, exploring your pillowy pink cunt like it’s a new guitar waiting to be tested out. Even with just a few seconds of touch, your arousal coats him welcomingly already. “All this slick is for me? I did this to ya? All this for Lil’ Elvis, he’s a lucky guy.”

“Al-all for you, Elvis. Always for you.”

Elvis in all his experience knows exactly where to go to make you twitch in satisfaction, the tiny bundle of nerves is the sweet spot. His fingers move in a circular motion, his fast pace never tiring. Your moans start to pick up and Elvis swears it’s the best sound he’s ever had the privilege to have heard in his 21 years of living. The moans are soft and breathy for the most part, here and there you let out a deep alto coming from your core.

“Oh, Elvis!” The first yell of his name is like ecstasy for him.

As if suddenly aware where you are, a motel room, not a floating cloud in heaven, you bite your lip to be careful. You can just imagine the weird stares you’d get from people in the morning, especially the ones that know it was your high voice disrupting an otherwise peaceful late night.

As if noticing those satisfying, constient noises of pleasure being muffled, rather terribly, Elvis looks up from your distracting pussy for the first time in a while. His fingers never stop their circles on your clit. “Let me hear ya. Don’t keep those sweet noises from me, darling. Don’t ever do that.” You're amazed at how he can multitask, a small reprimand comes out of his mouth while his fingers give the most pleasing feeling in the world, all simultaneously.

Remembering faintly behind the wispy clouds fogging your mind the loud sounds that you’ve heard from other guests while staying in random rooms around the country, your concerns manage to string together a sentence. “Th-the walls are thin. People can’t hear m-me.”

People can hear you. They can hear you well, what you meant is that you don’t want people to hear you but the words didn’t quite come out that way.

“You want em to hear ya moaning and screaming? Gonna up the ante, doll?”

“N-no, no! Don’t wanna…don’t want them.”

“Oh. Well t-those folks don’t matter none. Nothing matters right now but you and me. Me and you.”

To drive this idea into your mind, to take your worrying head off of consequences, one of Elvis’ fingers makes his way inside of you gently. Your walls naturally squeeze around his finger and his cock pulses in his pants in pure jealousy, Lil’ Elvis getting impatient for his turn. His long finger curls just a bit before sitting still inside of you for a second, your button hissing at being left abandoned. He moves his finger in and out of you gently as he speaks, “Jeez, baby. When was the last time someone touched ya? You’re as tight as a virgin.”

You freeze in that moment, for you are a virgin and he senses this immediately from your hesitation, the way your bright eyes widen and long eyelashes flutter as if a secret just became uncovered. From your reaction you’d think he started fucking you already. “Elvis…I-I…”

“Oh. You are…? A w-while ago you were with that…thought you were….Never mind that. I know I gotta give ya that extra attention now. I’m gonna get ya prepped for me, honey. Ju-just wish ya would’ve spoken up and let a guy a know…It’s a big thing for ya pretty head to keep secret.”

Having a bigger duty and responsibility on his shoulders after learning that you’ve never taken a cock before, Elvis knows he’s gotta take extra time with you and he has any complaints about that. Even if you weren’t a virgin, he would’ve been mindful with you anyways for it was the gentleman thing to do. Elvis Presley might be a horny man, a horny man who’s cock wants nothing more to be buried inside of you fucking you senseless, but he’s not selfish son of a bitch.

He wiggles and works a second finger inside of you, your eyebrows furrow and eyelids close at the sensation. As he sets his pace inside of your pussy, your moans get louder as if building up to something. You make no attempt to hold them back, but even if you tried there’s no way you could for the pleasure was too strong.

“Elvis! O-oh…yes, yes!”

“There you go…Let all that shit go, all those bad thoughts. Atta girl.”

You feel something build deep inside of your lower stomach, it’s like a fire being fed. When Elvis feels your walls start to clench, he stops and immediately slips out of you. It’s quick and easy since you are so slick.

What you didn’t expect more than his touch leaving you was an anger building inside of you. Your brows furrowed in confusion and your voice was quick to implore him for answers, “What the….? Why’d you stop? You can’t just—”

He chuckles, making you more annoyed. “Shhh….Imma give ya what you want, Imma give ya everything ya need.”

In his kneeling position at the edge of the bed he adjusts a little and moves his head down so it’s face to face with your cunt. “Such a needy girl with an even greedier pussy. Greedy for something it don’t even know.”

You whine as your body shimmy’s down further, desperate to meet his mouth. He puts his hands on your thighs, opening your legs more and keeping you stable at the same time. “Both of you are whining for me, huh? I’ll take care of ya.”

In that moment he kisses your cunt with a small peck and your mind flips on itself. His laugh vibrates your pussy. He’s amused by the fact that if that tiny kiss made you jump you had a bigger surprise waiting for you and oh he couldn’t wait to show you. He’s the only one who knows what’s coming next.

Elvis’ mouth makes contact with your cunt again, eating you out with unending strokes of vigor and passion like it’s what he was put on this earth to do, he’s close to the finish line of something he’s been dreaming of accomplishing for a long time: helping you reach your finish line.

Your legs bend around his head, encasing him in paradise. Your left hand meets and intertwines with his right one, holding hands is such an innocent gesture at a time like this but it’s so perfect. In contrast, your right hand grips the sheets with whitening knuckles. “Yes, Elvis! Just like that….Oh Lord.”

His tongue has no mercy as it devours you, he’s like a starving animal. Your hips, also chasing, buck up to meet his mouth halfway. He works you perfectly and it isn’t long before the storm starts to brew in your lower tummy again, like lightening is waiting to strike.

“Please, please, oh please, please.” You don’t even know exactly what you’re pleading for, just some release, some finish.

“I’m…I’m...oh my God.” Your words serve as a strong caffeine as Elvis starts to suck on your sensitive clit and that’s when the band breaks and you reach euphoria. A wave of satisfaction floods your body like the ocean, it's a feeling so foreign but so instinctual, new but always meant to be. Your moans are easily the loudest they’ve been so far and your legs start to shake intensely. The room seems to spin around you as you start to see the stars, the same ones you saw decorating the night sky outside. Elvis licks and sucks you through your high, tasting the sweet honey of your release on his face as your legs close tightly around his head, making him go deeper.

Moving your hips against him to ride out your finish, your body feels limp as you try to catch your breath. Elvis lifts his head and looks at you with a grin, an attempt to lift your hand to wipe his face is a failure since your hand shakes as soon as you bring it up and ends up falling right back on the sheets. He licks his lips and comes back up to kiss you.

His grin is boyish as if proud that he was the one to make you feel that way. The first man to give you an orgasm, the first man to make you writhe and moan, the first man who’s name is screamed by that parted mouth of yours. Hopefully the only man to ever make you do those things. His mind will remember this in the future when met with any of your smartass remarks, eye rolls, or teasing. Is it wrong for him to love that? Too damn bad he’d say.

He whispers in your ear, thick southern drawl and all, “You feel better, mhm? You were being so good for me, honey. You taste like some honey too, no doubt.”

Your voice is as shaky as your legs were just a second ago, “I l-love you, Elvis.”

“I love you too, baby.”

A need to give back fills your heart and you somehow manage in this jelly-like state to sit up, your hands going towards Elvis’ pants. When you cup the hard bulge in his trousers, his head falls back with a groan. “F-fuck…see what you do to me?” You nod, amazed at the fact that you are the reason for his arousal. When he unzips his pants and pulls down his underwear with them, he is as hard as a rock, standing at attention because of you.

After taking off his bottom garments, he kneels on the sheets of the bed and goes to unbutton his white dress shirt as you stare at his cock. Assuming that this is the first one you have ever seen, he isn’t all anxious but is instead proud of Lil’ Elvis and the gawking reaction he is getting from you.

The only time you had seen a penis was in middle school sex education class but that was only a drawing of one. It was 9am and the black and white non-detailed sketch of the male anatomy was met with giggles by your immature classmates. For you it was met with a yawn considering the time was 9 in the morning and your only objective in that time slot is to stay awake.

Fast forward to the present day sitting in front of a hard cock, the one belonging to Elvis Presley, was nothing short of fascinating. This one differed in some ways from the one you were shown years back in class, not only was it more detailed and quite a bit bigger, but there was extra skin covering the tip. This observation interests you and with curiosity getting the best of your racing mind, you bring your hand up to wrap your fingers around the thick of his length and pull just a little bit of skin back gently with a soft up and down motion.

When you do this, your glimpse at a pink tip and a bead of liquid forming in the slit was just a small glance because Elvis twitched around you immediately, a small moan. In fear that you’ve hurt the man you love, your hand immediately draws back as if he was a stone that burnt you.

“I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt ya, E. I should’ve asked, I really should’ve. You asked before—”

“Honey, honey!” He cuts your worries off. “It’s alright, you didn’t hurt me. I-It’s ju-just felt really good. The way you got all shaky when I kissed ya all nice? It’s the same thing.”

“Oh.” Just a simple motion would help him reach that dream-like state you were in just a few minutes ago? It seems like women were more complicated.

You weren’t oblivious to the fact that many women took cock inside their mouths to pleasure their men. You’ve overheard Elvis and his Memphis Mafia talk about women “giving them head” which you have assumed is a girl making them fall apart with just her head. There’s only one hole on the face big enough to please so your mind decided to fit the puzzle pieces together on its own, unsure if your puzzle matched the truth.

If you knew how to perform this critically acclaimed “head giving” you would in an attempt to satisfy your already watering mouth, but in fear of the unknown you decided to stick to what you’ve been told feels good. You decide to keep pumping him, up and down, up and down. His voice is breathy with encouraging praises. “J-just like that, baby. So good for me. Making me feel so nice…so nice.”

It’s pure vulnerability sitting across from each other fully naked, you pleasing him right after he pleased you. It’s when your fingertip goes to swipe at the beads decorating the slit of his red tip that he stops you with a hiss.

“You’re gonna finish me quick if ya keep on. Now Lil’ Elvis may not mind either way, you’ll find out he’s a horny thing, but it’s better if I’m in ya. I wanna be inside ya. Lay down, honey.”

You do as he says and lay down obediently, trying to mentally prepare yourself by taking deep breaths.

Part of him wanted to take you from behind, fucking you fast and rough until tears form on your face, tears of pleasure this time. But knowing what he knows about your lack of past experience and wanting to see your face as you take him for the first time, he’ll have you lay down comfortably. He has no problem at all either way, he’d even be pleased if the night ended right here without him coming to that sweet finish. A day ended after eating you out is a day well spent in his book.

“Imma go real slow. It might sting a bit cause you’re all fresh and new down there but you’re a big girl. My strong little satnin, I know you can do it. You’ll take me.”

“Okay.” You remember his demand earlier to use your words to respond and you do so.

He leans over you, getting in a good position to enter. While rubbing his tip against your cunt in preparation, edging you both in the process, he swears that he could finish right there easily.

You look down at the spot where you are to connect with amazement. Knowing for a fact that Elvis is anything but a virgin, you trust his skill and watch his process. It seems planned out prefectures and oh how glad you are to have a perfect man. No one on earth is perfect but Elvis Presley is so perfectly Elvis Presley. The things he excels at never disappoint.

You feel the burning plunge of his entry and immediately both hands go to grip as much of the white sheets as they can. Once he has the tip in his eyes go up and down interchangeably, watching both your face and your pussy while you take him. It’s better than any movie.

He continues on his slow journey inside of you. Meanwhile, you’re a pain you’ve never felt before, no way things are supposed to go up there. No way things are designed specifically to go up there. If they were, why is it so big?

His voice is breathy and his eyebrows furrow in concentration. “F-fuck…Tight ass pussy. Sucking me in.”

Your groan is a mix of pleasure at his words and of pain at the impaling you’re experiencing. For a split second you think about looking away, like not watching the needle go in you at the doctors office, but you can’t.

He’s only about half way in when you convince yourself that there is no way you can take more.

“It hurts like hell, Elvis. S-stop, just for a second. I need to breathe..I can’t breathe.” He halts the second you say stop and his attention is strictly on your face, his eyes full of concern. Tears start to form in the corner of your eyes as your breath starts to pick up.

“Breathe, baby. It’s alright. Take your time.” The only thing he wants more than bottoming out is for you to be comfortable. He wants to go deeper, he wants to fuck you until you can’t remember your name but his love and concern for you comes first always.

“I don’t think I can, Elvis. It’s too big, it’s huge.” These comments come not as an attempt to enlarge his ego (they are in fact doing that) but of actual concern for the state of your situation.

“Shhh…it’s gonna fit. God didn’t make men and women not fit with one another, he made us perfect. You just gotta relax or else you’ll just tighten up again. Don’t mess up our progress, honey, it’ll hurt even more.”

It’s hard to relax when you’ve got the long lost cousin of metal pipe piercing into your body. You don’t say that aloud though. With a deep breath you continue, “Okay, you can keep going….just slow.”

He heeds your instructions and continues plunging into you with small rolls of his hips until he bottoms out with a loud grown, officially balls deep inside of you. You two moan simultaneously as he starts moving in and out carefully. Beautiful waves of pain and pleasure perfectly balanced move through your body.

“Fuck. Just like that.” Truth was you weren’t doing anything but moaning and arching your back, but that was all he needed. Just your body responding to his.

Your hips going up involuntarily to meet his thrusts is a signal for Elvis to go faster and that he does. He moves deeper and harder inside of you, one hand showing its veins as it grips the soft sheets next to your head and the other gripping hard onto the bone of your hip.

“Oh my God, Oh my God…” You gasp and bite your lip. Everything about this is so vulgar but so beautiful. Two beautiful bodies focused on nothing but making love. A moment like this is something you’d dream about at night and then in the morning sun pray to God for forgiveness from such thoughts. Now you are yelling up for mercy in a different way.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, his rhythmic thrusts never slowing. “It’s Elvis, honey. I’m the one doin’ it to ya.” You moan from the vibrations of his voice against your skin. His lips move smoothly to your neck, sucking on your skin to mark you as his own. He’s the one who ruined you and he wants the whole world to know.

As he makes a masterpiece of your neck, your hands grab onto his back, fingernails sure to leave red tracks. You’re both making your presence known on eachother’s bodies. Your cunt makes its satisfaction known with loud gushes going hand in hand with your loud moans. There is no vibrato left inside of you.

“Elvis! Oh yes!”

The man orchestrating it all lifts his wet pink lips from your collarbone, breath heavy. “So perfect. You’re made for me, I’ve always known you were made to be mine.”

“Mmmm….”

“I’m so cl-close….I’m gonna….” He wants to finish inside you, it would be his first time coming inside of a woman unprotected and he wants that special woman to be you. But he can’t. He knows deep down that it would be one of the most irresponsible decisions he could make. It would be a selfish decision.

It wouldn’t be in your freshly-fucked best interest, it wouldn’t be in his new careers best interest, It wouldn’t be in the best interest of the fans having to wait for Elvis Presley to get off of paternity leave.

If only he could fill you up without getting you pregnant. That’ll have to be a fantasy between him and his fist.

Quickly, he pulls out of you to prepare for his impending release giving his cock a few pumps to try to replace the warmth from your pulsing walls with his hand. Finally, a stream of white liquid comes bursting out of the slit of his and you watch with short breathed awe as his immediately head leans back, mouth moaning your name over and over like a prayer.

You’re the one who made him feel so good that he reached the clouds. Knowing that it’s Elvis’ turn to see the starry sky, experiencing the same state of bliss that you were able to encounter earlier, makes your heart so happy.

Your belly now is feeling a different type of warmth. it’s his release making a mess of your stomach, spurting like paint all over you. As soon as it’s all out of his system, Lil’ Elvis giving the show its last encore, the man in front of you cups your face into his hands and kisses you. He rolls to lay his body next to yours, your lips now the only parts still connecting.

Elvis pulls away and both of you try to catch your breaths.

“I love you, Satnin.” He whispers softly.

You respond back just as gently, “I love you too.”

That was…an experience. If you got this far thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you enjoyed. My inbox is always open for questions, comments, and concerns. I take requests but there is no guarantee I’ll get to them. (they’ll probably give me inspiration to write more often though). Call me, beep me, if you wanna reach me. Adieu my loves. ✨

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