#if you get ten million dollars every year you still get to live out the fantasy of richness

[saul-goodboy]

we need a wealth cap bruh how come jeff bezos’s hourly wage is more than some people’s lifetime income

[tavolgisvist]

'Just call him on the phone'

Q: Aside from the millions you’ve been offered for a reunion concert, how did you feel about producer Lorne Michaels’s generous offer of thirty-two hundred dollars for appearing together on Saturday Night Live a few years ago?* A: Oh, yeah, Paul and I were together watching that show. He was visiting us at our place in the Dakota. We were watching it and almost went down to the studio, just as a gag. We nearly got into a cab, but we were actually too tired. Q: How did you and Paul happen to be watching TV together? A: That was a period when Paul just kept turning up at our door with a guitar. I would let him in, but finally I said to him**, “Please call before you come over. It’s not 1956, and turning up at the door isn’t the same anymore. You know, just give me a ring.” He was upset by that, but I didn’t mean it badly. I just meant that I was taking care of a baby all day, and some guy turns up at the door … But anyway, back on that night he and Linda walked in and he and I were just sitting there watching the show, and we went, Ha-ha, wouldn’t it be funny if we went down, but we didn’t. Q: Is that the last time you’ve seen Paul? A: Yes, but I didn’t mean it like that.

<...> Q: You say you haven’t really listened to Paul’s work and haven’t really talked to him since that night in your apartment— A: Really talked to him, no, that’s the operative word. I haven’t really talked to him in ten years. Because I haven’t spent time with him. I’ve been doing other things and so has he. You know, he’s got twenty five kids and about twenty million records out — how can he spend time talking? He’s always working.

(John Lennon, 1980, All We Are Saying, David Sheff)

*It was in 25 April 1976 **it was in 26 April 1976

Well, when I, when I was Just a little baby boy, Every night, every night I would call, Because your number, you know, Brought me such sweet joy. I've called your name, John, Every night since then But I ain't never, no, no, never Heard you calling me, My sweet, sweet babe, So, you know, you better call me back again, I call your operator but I still can't get through to you, Call me back again

(Call Me Back Again, presumably, 10 June 1976, Seattle)

Tell me, is she everything i see Or is she really not the one for me? We know, and though some may disagree But do they know the way we want to be? <…> Building something One thing made to last And holding something Special from the past And do I still believe in stories we've been told***? Are all the things she brings me worth their weight in gold? Oh yeah, (oh yeah) pure gold

(Pure Gold, Paul for Ringo, 1976)

***I remember when John and I were first hanging out together, I had a dream about digging in the garden with my hands. I’d dreamt that before but I’d never found anything other than an old tin can. But in this dream I found a gold coin. I kept digging and I found another. And another.The next day I told John about this amazing dream I’d had and he said, ‘That’s funny, I had the same dream’. So both of us had this dream of finding this treasure. And I suppose you could say it came true. I remember years later talking about it – ‘Remember that dream we had?’; ‘Yeah, that was far out’. So the message of that dream was: keep digging lads.'

(Paul McCartney to The Big Issue, Feb. 2012)

After you've gone And left me crying After you've gone Ain't no deny You'll feel blue You'll feel sad You'll miss the dearest pal that you ever had

There'll come a time And don't you forget it There'll come a time When you'll regret it****

Someday when you grow lonely Your heart will break like mine You want me only After you've gone After you've gone away

(After You've Gone, 1977, Paul's version - 'just for fun' as he said - of a 1918 popular song written by Turner Layton and Henry Creamer, and it's Frank Sinatra's (and Sophie Tucker!) version.

****the line 'Don't you forget it/When you'll regret it' reminds another old (not as old like After You've Gone but old) song -  I Love You And Don't You Forget It by Perry Como. The song, what our lads were singing in their early years so playfully:

Klas Burling: Tell us something about how you find a song… how you get the idea about a song, to write it down. John: Well, sometimes it's the words first, and then the music after. Klas Burling: Very often you've got a title, you know… Me and you, and everything like that? Paul: Yeah. We try to do that, to make it personal so it's… so we really mean it. When we sing a thing about 'I love you,' it's easier. John: (singing) 'And don't you forget it!' John & Paul: (singing together, jokingly) 'I love you and don't you forget it!' Paul: Well, you see, it's easier than singing something about the cat that lives on the hill, man. (laughter) Paul: It's a lot easier just to sing about what you feel yourself.

(August 23 1963, interview with Klas Burling)

Was I just dreaming or was it only yesterday I used to hold you in my arms And now a baby, and a another on the way [Indescernable] in a farm Now must we be alone? If it don’t feel right, don’t do it If it don’t look right, look right through it If it don’t feel right, don’t do it Just call him on the phone

(John Lennon, Real Life, Feb 1977)

We'd had a bread strike over here***** and I rang him and I was saying, What are you doing? He says. I'm baking some bread.' 'Oh! Me too.' Imagine, with the stereotypes, John and Paul talking about baking bread.

(Paul McCartney, May 2001, interview for Mojo magazine)

*****a bread strike in England was in Nov 1978

Q: Do you regret that your life has become so public? A: I realized that a good fifteen years ago. I remember actually thinking when I went on holiday somewhere, ‘God I’d really better start thinking now about keeping a few countries aside where we don’t sell records. I won’t be able to go anywhere without being recognized.’ But now I think, ‘Really, I’ve reached the point of no return. There’s no going back.’ Even if I didn’t want to sing anymore, I’d just be like Greta Garbo or Brigitte Bardot. They both retired but you’d never know it. John said this to me a year before he died. He said, ‘Be careful what you wish for, it might just come true.’ That’s the way I look at it. I wished for all this and I got it. To regret it would mean I’d have to sit here and live with negative thoughts about it. I know that would only sink me. Even if I had feelings of regret my personality would not really let them out. ‘Look mate, you don’t regret it. Look on the other side,’ that’s me. Not to sink. I always used to do that instinctively, and not allow too many negative thoughts to surface.

(Paul McCartney, April/May 1982, interview for Music Express)

The couple of years after the Beatles broke up it was very touchy because I think we suspected each other of business manoeuvres. So anyone would ring up, it would be like, “Why is he ringing?” And when you put up the defensive like that it’s very difficult to say, “I’m not! Honest!” You just don’t know where to put yourself. So we had a lot of those ups and downs for quite a few years. But the favourite thing was that if ever we talked not business – and what we ended doing, actually, was make a rule not to talk business on the phone – and on those occasions, we had really good vibes, man. And it was great; we just talked kids, we talked family, we talked cats, we talked life, rather than, “oh, what songs are doing with x business affair?” And one of the great things for me, one of the consolation prizes after John was killed, the only thing– you know, you find yourself holding on to little bits of wreckage to keep yourself afloat. And with me it was the fact that our last phonecall was really one of the best we ever had together; it was really warm, we were really friends again.

(Paul McCartney, 1984, interview for CBS Morning News)

Q: Do you remember your last conversation with John? A: Yes. That is a nice thing, a consoling factor for me, because I do feel it was sad that we never actually sat down and straightened our differences out. But fortunately for me, the last phone conversation I ever had with him was really great, and we didn’t have any kind of blowup. It could have easily been one of the other phone calls, when we blew up at each other and slammed the phone down. Q: Do you remember what you talked about? A: It was just a very happy conversation about his family, my family. Enjoying his life very much; Sean was a very big part of it. And thining about getting on with his career. I remember he said, “Oh, God, I’m like Aunt Mimi, padding round here in me dressing gown”– robe, as he called it, ’cause he was picking up the American vernacular –“feeding the cats in me robe and cooking and putting a cup of tea on. This housewife wants a career!” It was that time for him. He was about to launch Double Fantasy.******

(Paul McCartney, Dec 1984, interview for Playboy)

******Double Fantasy released 17 November 1980

I was lucky. The last few wee... months that he was alive, we’d managed to get our relationship back on track. And we were talking and having real good conversations. Real nice and friendly.

(Paul McCartney about This One, interview with Bernard Goldberg for the TV series 48 Hours, 1989)

[jhdyuiee]

alibi

★ pairing: childhood friend!haechan x fem!reader

★ tags/warnings: smut!, slight angst, fluff, unprotected sex, nipple/breast play, kissing/making-out, multiple positions (doggy&face-to-face), oral (f receiving), fingering, marking (hickies&biting), pet names (baby) & name calling (good girl), dirty talk, cursing, spanking, squirting, multiple orgasms, rich ceo haechan, haechan was your childhood friend who one day up and disappeared 

★ w.c: 3.7k

★ a.n: hello! as promised here is my story for the week! sorry for the delay, i spent majority of my week finishing up my term paper, but now that, that is over i'm free again!! woohoo, i can finally enjoy my summer ㅠㅠ . anyhow this my first haechan fic, yippie! also thank you all for the massive love and support on wildflower & million dollar baby <3 please stay safe out there during this summer time, i love you berry much, jiji out 🤍

5 years ago.

You're lying… No… This couldn’t be possible… He couldn’t have just disappeared without telling me…

How could he? We were supposed to graduate tomorrow. Go to the same University. We were supposed to be together.

“Why did you leave,” I muttered as tears streamed down my face.

As I headed to school this morning, I stopped by his home like I’ve always done. However I was met with an empty home. Everything cleared, as if no one ever lived there. I thought maybe I’d arrived at the wrong home or I was still dreaming.

So I called Haechan. Once, twice, ten times yet to no avail. He answered none of my calls or messages. I went with the second option, calling my mother. Yet little did I know that, that call would shatter all remaining hope in me.

“You didn’t know? The Lee’s left yesterday. His father was hired in, hmm where was it? Toronto! Toronto, Canada!” my mother said. My eyes widened, hands shaking. Haechan hadn’t informed me of anything.

So he just left. Like that? My legs grew weak, I found myself outside his door; sobbing. Nothing else mattered to me right now, I just wanted Haechan. His bright smile, his sparkling eyes, and warmth. It was like he took my other half, leaving me now half dead.

In all honesty, I loved Haechan. Ever since I learned what love was. Yet, now I never even got the chance to tell him. This would be the end of us. 18 years—since birth—gone.

Present day.

I thought that day 5 years ago would be the end. Me and Haechan would never find our way back to each other, yet why was he standing in front of me now?

“Y/N…” he says, loud enough for me to hear. I snapped out of my trance, remembering I was still on the job.

“R-Right this way sir,” I said, guiding him and the women that held his hand to their table. I set their menus on the table as they got situated. “I’ll be right back to take your orders,” I said, trying to make my exit.

I left without turning back, without glancing back at Haechan. My heart pounded so fast, my body trembling. This couldn’t be… No, he… What was he doing here? Out of every restaurant, why did he have to come to the one I worked at!? Just when I had begun forgetting about him, he reappeared and with a woman by his side no less.

I sighed, trying my best to compose myself. I mean after all he’d be gone once he finished eating and I’d never have to see him again. As I made my way back to their table, the woman he was with smiled so brightly, laughing at whatever Haechan was saying.

“Hello!” I said enthusiastically, putting on a smile. “I’m Y/N and i’ll be your waiter today. Can I get you started on some drinks?” I asked. I felt Haechan’s gaze the whole time I stood there.

“Hello, uhh I’ll get the Strawberry Vodka!” The woman spoke happily. When I finished noting her drink down, I turned to Haechan. Our eyes meeting one another. “And for you sir?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it before opening it up again to speak. “Some water is fine, since I still have to drive us afterwards.” I nodded my head, “Are you guys ready to order or would you like more time?”

“No, no it’s fine we can order now,” he said. And so I took their orders, walking back to the kitchen once I finished. I poured their drinks and walked back over to them. Only this time I didn’t linger there for long. Then after a good while, their food was finally ready. Plates in hand, I walked over to them again, giving them their food. “Anything else that you would need?” I asked. Before Haechan could answer, the women politely dismissed the question.

I continued working, I had no time to just idle around. I served every table I could possibly attend to, until I finally noticed Haechan and the women getting ready to leave. I made my way over there for what I hoped would be the last time. “All ready to go?” I asked.

“Yes, could we get the check?” Haechan asked. “Oh! Yes, here you go,” I said, setting the receipt I pulled from inside my apron's pocket on the table. “Thank you for dining with us!” I gave my last remark, displaying a bright smile. I might’ve been hallucinating but I saw Haechan's lips faintly twitched.

“Thank you!” the woman said, standing up from her seat to grab Haechan’s arm. He happily got up, “Thank you so much for your service, I’ll be sure to tip you generously.” “Oh no, Thank you for being such wonderful customers! Be sure to stop by next time!” I said, only wishing he never sets foot in here again.

He smiles, “Will do,” he says, his words sounding like a promise. Great. I watched as they paid and left. Catching Haechan as he gave me one last look, his eyes filled with longing.

・❥・・❥・・❥・

Finally, my night shift at the restaurant was over! I could finally go home, maybe stop by the convenience store to buy a beer or two. After tonight I could use some alcohol.

I bid my coworkers goodbye, making my way out of the restaurant. “Y/N!” A voice shouted my name. I turned to find the voice. Only now I wished that I simply had just feigned ignorance to the calling.

Haechan stood before me. His body leaned against his vehicle, arms crossed. I stood there, not a single move from me. It was as if time had stopped and we were the only two in this world. He moved first, making his way towards me until we were only an inch apart. His eyes, the same ones that shun so bright, were now eerily emotionless.

My lips quivered, “H… Haechan.” My vision blurred and only then did I realize the waterworks had started. I heard a faint chuckle erupt from him, “Still a crybaby huh?” he asked as the pad of his thumbs wiped my tears away. No, I didn’t want to feel his touch.

I backed away, the two of us just staring at one another. “Wh-Why are you here!” I said, coming out rather loudly. “To get you,” he answered. Confusion overrode my face, “For me?! Haechan, you left me 5 years ago!”

His eyes now saddened; hurt. “I didn’t mean to! I meant to tell you about my father’s job… it’s just-” I interrupted him before he could finish, “So? I had to find out through my mother for christ sake Haechan. Not to mention it was on the day before our graduation!” He sighed, coming closer to me. He cupped my face, “I know, I know I was a jerk but I didn’t tell you because I was going to come back! I was supposed to be back after a couple of months.” Now shock overrode my face. What was he talking about? Come back after a few months?

“Don’t bullshit me,” I spat out. “I’m not!” he slightly raised his voice, causing me to flinch. “Sorry,” he then said, embracing me into a hug. “I really was supposed to come back yet to my surprise when I returned you had already gone,” he whispered into my ear.

His hot breath, his low voice sent an intense shiver throughout my body that I got lost in him. I couldn’t formulate a sentence, a word. I pressed my hands against his chest, trying to push him away but he was too strong. “B-But what about that woman,” I asked.

We locked eyes, a smirk formulated on his face. “She was just some woman my mother set me up with. Why, jealous?” 

I shook my head. Me, jealous?! Please… “No! Why would I!” He shrugged his shoulders, “You tell me.” I gripped his arm, “Wh-What do you mean?”

His expression softened, “You think I wouldn’t know?” I looked at him, confused once more. He chuckled, “That you love me.”

My eyes widened, my mouth fell open. How? How did he…

I detached myself from him, “What… How did you-“ “The way you would always look at me,” he interrupted me. “How would I look at you?” I questioned.

“Like I was your entire world.”

My vision blurred, “How long have you known…” He inched closer, “Since before I even left.” “Bu-But why didn’t you say anything!?” I raised my voice a bit. “Because I knew it wouldn’t work out.”

My cheeks felt wet when he told me that. He inched closer, stopping me from talking. “Before you say anything I just wanted to say that it had nothing to do with you, in fact I loved you too. Heck, I still do. Y/N I love you.”

“But?” I asked, even more tears streaming down my face. He sighed, putting his hands on my face to wipe away the tears. “It was me. I knew I was going to have to leave one day and even if it wasn’t for too long I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t just leave you.”

This man. He sure has a knack for worrying over the simplest things…

“You could’ve still talked to me about it,” I said, embracing him this time. I buried my head into his chest. His hands were holding onto me and stroking my hair. “I know… and for that I’m sorry.” I looked up at him, “You know… It’s okay and you wanna know why?” I asked. “Why,” he replied.

“Because I too still love you. Then and now, Haechan. I have always loved you, no matter how much I tried hating you… I just knew that if you were to ever show up in life again, I would welcome you back. I just can’t seem to live without you.”

He didn’t react. I watched as Haechan stood there, wide eyed like he couldn’t believe what was unfolding. I giggled a bit, finding his reaction amusing. However, now I was the one left wide eyed when he abruptly crashed his lips onto mine.

The kiss was gentle, yet still passionate. I tasted him, finding contentment of how perfectly his lips molded onto mine. He holds my face with both his hands, deepening the kiss. A moan ended up slipping from my throat when his tongue intruded inside my mouth. I wrap my hands around Haechan, enjoying this too much that I didn’t want to let go.

Unfortunately he's the first to pull away, both of us panting. His hands don’t let go from cupping my face as he leans down to my ear. “How about we continue this at my apartment?” he whispers into my ear. And so with a nod of my head, we hurriedly got into his car.

The car ride was silent, but the air felt heavy. Haechan’s hands on your thigh, fondling the flesh. You were sure your panties were soaked by this point. You seriously were growing impatient, you wanted nothing more but to have him within you already.

・❥・・❥・・❥・

Around 10 minutes later you both arrived at his apartment. You both hurriedly take off every article of clothing whilst kissing one another hungrily. You feel as his fingers slip to cup your sex before taking two of his fingers to glide along your pussy lips. The sensation causing you to pull away from the kiss panting and moaning. 

“Feels good Y/N?” Haechan asks as he takes those two fingers to your clit where he begins rubbing it. “Y-Yes!” I say, coming out rather loudly. He smiles before continuing his ministrations on your cunt.

On the other hand, his mouth has found its way on your body. Kissing every part of you from your cheeks, jaw, collarbone, and your breasts. Using his free hand, Haechan fondles one of your breasts while his mouth kisses around your nipple, nipping on the skin which causes you to wince. His eyes look up, “You alright baby?” he asks. Baby, god that has a nice ring to it, don’t it?

“I-I’m fine, just feels so good,” I reply, bringing a hand to his fluffy hair. Taking that as his sign that you were fine he continued. He stuck his tongue out, teasing your bud before bringing your nipple to his mouth. He sucked on it, using his tongue to lick on your bud. Then you watched as Haechan kissed a bridge to your other breast, repeating his actions onto your other breasts.

At this point your brain started becoming foggy, his hands and mouth were god's work. “Fuck,” I moaned. Haechan departs from your breast, ”You gonna cum already?” I nod my head, but then he flips me around. My hands on the door, and when I whipped my head around to look at him, Haechan was already going down. “Spread your legs for me baby,” he says in a sultry voice. I complied, opening myself for him.

I felt as he slapped me on my ass, “Good girl” he muttered as he takes in the wet mess behind me. Gripping onto my thighs he begins to lick up all my juices, letting out a satisfied groan when he finally tastes me. “Taste so good, baby. Can’t believe you’re this wet already,” he says as he kisses the sensitive skin around my cunt.

“Please.. M-More,” I moaned. I couldn’t handle his teasing anymore, I wanted him to make me cum already– to make a mess of me. “My pleasure Y/N,” Haechan says before licking up my cunt in slow strokes. Then bringing his tongue to my clit to give it some licks before using his mouth to suction on it. The sensation leaving me drooling, chanting his name repeatedly like some prayer.

When he finally lets go of my clit, his mouth departs from my cunt. I was left confused for a second before I felt his thumbs spread my lips apart. A second later his tongue intrudes inside me so deep it had me pressing my cheek against the door. The pleasure had me crying out, “S-So good!”

His tongue pushes itself further inside my gummy walls, while one of his hands smacks down on one of my ass cheeks. The smack eliciting more pleasurable moans from me. I felt myself growing close to cumming all over his face, just a little more…

Haechan must’ve sensed it too by the way I began tightening around his tongue as he brought his thumb to my clit. Once more he rubs on the sensitive bud, then pinching it with the help of his index finger.

So close… So close, but then he takes out his tongue. However I didn't get to whine at the loss of sensation because he quickly brought two fingers from his unoccupied hand inside my hole. His fingers stretched me out wonderfully, reaching me deep inside, and the pace kept above 100.

And with one final pinch on my clit, I gushed all over. Taking his fingers out quickly to capture all my juices as they leaked. He drank me up, from my cunt to my thighs. Like a starved man he managed to clean me all up.

Finally getting up, Haechan reaches me. He stares for a while, taking in my fucked out state. “You did so good,” he mutters, pecking my temple. “However, we’re not done yet so don’t fall asleep on me just yet.” As he said that he presses his hard cock in between my ass and rubbing it against my fucked out cunt. I swear I almost went crazy from the way his tip rubbed against my clit. I press myself against him more, wiggling my ass for him. I hear as he lets out a low chuckle before grabbing the sides of my ass and shoving himself in me with one swift move.

I yelp forward against the door, my first clenching. His hands gripping onto my waist, his finger tips sure to leave little crescent moons when all this is done. He pounded into me like a madman, rough and merciless. I was too engulfed in the pleasurable feeling of his tip reaching my womb that I didn’t mind his thrusting. He didn’t falter even after a while, grunting whenever he felt me clench around his cock.

The sounds of skin slapping and the squelching wetness were all you could hear throughout his apartment. You’d secretly hoped his room was soundproof because the obscene noises you two were making were sure to bring the neighbors complaining. However in Haechan’s mind he didn’t care one bit. Your noises were just too beautiful, becoming his new favorite song he wished to listen to on replay every single second of his days. Haechan glances down to where you both were connected, noting the white ring formed around his cock. Weirdly, but not weirdly turning him on all the more. You didn’t know if it was possible, but he picked up his pace.

Both of you growing close to your releases. Guiding one of his hands off your hips and to your swollen clit he works you closer to your second orgasm. All the more kissing his way up to your neck when he nibbles on the exposed skin when you tilt your head to the side. A thrust or two later, rolling your eyes back and fingertips piercing into your palms you have the most euphoric orgasm of the night– no of your life.

Taking his lips off you, he glances down to your gushing hole. Your orgasm coating all over his dick and pussy clenching around him, he twitches inside you before releasing. His cum coating your walls, stuffing you.

Taking his cock out, still half hard, he glances down at you as you collapse onto the floor. Your legs giving in, leaving you weak. He couldn’t stop thinking of how beautiful you look, and all like this because of him. Just those thoughts alone were enough to get him hard again. Haechan decides he hasn’t had enough yet and picks you up.

Hazily, you watch him carry you into his bedroom. He places you down first before sitting on the edge of the bed. He turns around to meet your eyes. “Come here,” he said, signaling you to come sit on his lap. Once again obliging, sitting on his lap. His hard cock resting in between your bodies, you bite on your bottom lip when you feel his tip rub against your stomach.

“Sit on it baby,” he whispers into your ear. Your eyes go wide for a moment before taking his cock in your hand, lifting yourself up so you slide it inside you again. In this position his cock reaches you deeply, fitting snug into you. “All that fucking with my fingers, mouth, and cock but you’re still so tight,” he whispers into your ear. His hot breath turning you on. He kisses his way to your neck, marking you even more. You were his after all.

“Come on baby, don’t be shy,” Haechan urges me. So placing my hands on his shoulders and lifting myself up, I slam down back onto him. My eyes widened at the way he reached me again, his cock feeling as though it was made specially for me.

I continued working my way on his cock, going at my own pace. Although to this Haechan felt as though he was being tortured. He felt as though you were teasing him; the way your face would scrunch up in pleasure, your low moans, your tits bouncing– all of it was torture to him. Having had enough, he brings his hands to your hips again.

He helps you bounce on his cock, faster and faster. The deep penetration, caused you to clench around him once more, squeezing him for all he’s worth. He groans, bringing his hand to your tit, squeezing it and using his fingers to pinch on your bud.

Letting go of his shoulders you bring your arms behind you, resting your hands on his knees. Thrusting into him this way on your own, he lets go of your hips now playing with your tits with both his hands. Later bringing his mouth into the mix as he licks on your nipples again, occasionally biting on your buds.

Your pace begins to falter, growing closer to your release again. Feeling too as Haechan’s cock twitches inside you, you bring one of your hands to your clit where you begin to play with it. His eyes begin watching you, enjoying the view in front of him. He hopes to engrave this memory into his brain forever.

“Le-Let’s cum together,” I moaned. “Mmm, cum on my cock for me again baby,” Haechan says. Your pussy obeying him, cumming on his cock for a third time tonight as his hot white seeds fill inside you again. Overwhelmed and exhausted from the pleasure, you both collapse on the bed, Haechan’s cock still inside you. He didn’t wanna slip out just yet.

・❥・・❥・・❥・

Eyes fluttering open, the morning sun peeking in through the curtains. You’ve finally awakened from your slumber, turning to your side but are met with nothing. The memories of last night's activities flood into your brain. You feel your face heat up. Oh god, I thought. Glancing down, I noticed I was now dressed in an over-sized shirt. It’s probably- “Sleep well,” he says, walking into the room. Well, well speak of the devil.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, smiling at him. “Mmm, best I’ve ever slept!” I say cheerfully. He smiles– that smile I knew from all those years ago. Walking over to me, he cups my face. “I love you.” I swear my smile reaches my eyes at his words, “I love you too, always have and always will.”

“You’ll be the death of me,” he mutters before bringing his lips onto mine. Kissing delicately and with so much love.

When he parted, he asked me something– “Will you be my girlfriend?” I didn’t hesitate as I jumped into his arms, “Yes!” I repeated.

Sharing another kiss, we spent the rest of the morning and day with one another. Enjoying one another like a couple of teenagers in love, making up for lost time.

© jhdyuiee

2024.07.21

final a.n: as promised, the fic of the week! i’m truly sorry it took longer than anticipated, i was working on my final the whoke week ㅠㅠ but now i should be free for the rest of the summer!!! anyhow im rlly excited for next week, kcon && seeing 127, practically sobbing ahhh! anyhow i hope to be back soon with doyoung’s story next, stay tuned! please continue supporting “WALK” !!! 🤍

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Fourteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Slight smuttiness and angst that might make you scream. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : I'm dialling the angst up to 11...

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Fourteen

Everything changed.

It felt like it had when you’d first taken the job, like you were alone in the penthouse with no idea of where Billy was or if he’d even come home the night before. The only indicator was the blood you left for him; if it was gone, that meant he was home but some days it would collect until there were three or four days worth waiting for him.

Those days were the worst.

You hated not knowing where he was or if he was drinking someone else’s blood, wondering if you weren’t enough for him anymore, if your blood wasn’t enough. If he stopped taking your blood, you knew you’d have no purpose there.

Day after day, your thoughts spiralled, and you hated yourself for how much of your time was spent thinking about him.

Despite her promises, Karen hadn’t been to see you. Instead, when Thursday had rolled around you’d been greeted by a note from Billy, lacking all the charm and feeling of his previous notes.

Karen asked me to let you know that she can’t see you today because of work.

B.

The next week there was a similar note. It made sense, you supposed; she’d missed work to look after you for a week, she probably had to make up for lost time. Or, maybe she just didn’t want to see you again. You wouldn’t have blamed her, not when you’d caused so much chaos in the lives of her and those around her. Either way, it meant you were stuck in the penthouse. Alone.

It wasn’t long before you fell back into old habits, following a little routine every day to try and keep yourself from losing your mind; exercise in the morning, followed by a shower, preparing and cooking dinner, and some reading and baking in between. 

You still sat out in the penthouse during the day, in your favourite spot on the sofa, alternating between taking in the view and reading, but you didn’t dare linger until sunset anymore.

Every few minutes you found yourself looking at your watch, knowing exactly when to head to your room, knowing with almost pinpoint precision how to avoid him. By day the penthouse was yours and, once late afternoon started to give way to evening, it was Billy’s. As it always should have been. As per your contract.

So, when he chose to slip out of his room far earlier than expected, you weren’t sure whether to be shocked or annoyed.

It was the first time you’d seen him since he’d tried to pay you to leave, and being near him again was enough to remind you that that wound still hadn’t started to heal. You tried not to watch as he made his way to the kitchen.

For a moment you waited, expecting him to do whatever he was doing and then return to his room. Only he didn’t and that prompted you to start moving.

“What are you reading now?” He dared to ask, watching you as you closed your book and started to gather up your things.

The question caught you off-guard, it made you think of how things had been only a few short weeks before, it reminded you of all the times you’d sat and discussed literature, the way he’d always wanted to know your thoughts and feelings on whatever you were reading.

But things weren’t like that anymore, and the question felt weighted, like he was trying to draw you back in, even though he’d been the one to try and send you away.

“The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde,” you answered, your words coming out sharper than intended, making it sound almost like an insult. And, a moment after you said it you realised how it might seem to him, how he might draw parallels between the book and his own situation.

Billy didn’t respond straight away and you took it as your cue to leave, tucking the book and the pack of Oreos under your bad arm. You heard him sigh as you turned away but didn’t think to look back.

“Hummingbird,” he called after you and, then, your name when that didn’t work, a hint of desperation in his tone.

It made your heart ache.

You kept walking, speeding up, wanting to reach your room and close the door on this uncomfortable experience. But Billy didn’t want to give you that.

Your breath caught and you flinched as his hand wrapped around your wrist, reminding you of the night he’d lost control. Billy noticed your panic immediately and let go of you before taking a step back, giving you a little bit of space but nowhere near what you wanted. It took a moment before you could bring yourself to turn and look at him and, when you did, you found that you hated the look of anguish on his face.

“What do you want, Billy?” You asked, barely holding back a sigh.

“This is unbearable,” he told you.

It was. Everything about the last couple of weeks had been so much worse than you ever could have imagined when you first decided that you were going to stay against his wishes.

You quickly found that you couldn’t look at him, that you didn’t want to see the torrent of emotions from behind his dark eyes.

“This is what you wanted,” you muttered.

“I didn’t want this.”

“No, that’s right, you wanted me gone completely,” you said, your voice betraying the pain you still felt at that fact.

The last thing you expected was for him to take your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. Seconds ticked by and he just stared, his gaze seeming to look right through you. His head shook.

“That’s not what I wanted,” he replied softly.

When you tried to look away, his hold remained firm.

“You didn’t want me anymore,” you told him. “You tried to send me away.”

“You think I don’t want you?”

“Of course you don’t.”

His head shook again and, before you realised what he was doing, he’d closed the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. He stepped closer, trying to eliminate the space between you, causing you to step back. Billy didn’t let you pull away from him, continuing to kiss you until you felt the door at your back.

“Billy -” you managed to pull your lips from his for a moment, but anything that followed was quickly muffled by another kiss.

It was easy to surrender to it. Far easier than you would have liked. For a moment you kissed him back, feeling his hand drop from your cheek to your neck, fingers over your racing pulse. He pressed closer, filling you with a longing that you’d been trying so hard to forget. Your lips parted, allowing him to deepen the kiss, allowing him to make you want.

You wanted to melt into him, to lose yourself in his embrace, in his kiss. In him. 

For a few wonderful seconds, you forgot everything that wasn’t him, allowing yourself to believe that the moment would continue to escalate. Your thighs clenched at the familiar press of his erection against your hip, and you let your hand grip his shirt at his waist, not wanting it to end. 

For a moment you felt wanted again, like you could really belong here, in his life. For a moment it almost felt real.

But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Not now, not after everything that had happened.

Reluctantly, you placed your hand on his chest and pushed him back. Billy choked back a desperate noise, giving you only a fraction of the space you wanted. His hand remained on your neck, fingers curled against skin, as if wanted to hold onto you in any way that he could.

You watched as his tongue ran over his lower lip as he struggled to find the words.

“Please,” he muttered softly, his voice causing your stomach to knot, “let me...”

He leaned in again and you allowed his lips to ghost yours before turning your head. The shuddered sigh that left him was almost enough to break your heart completely. As much as you wanted to be strong, you wanted to give in just as much. You wanted to close your eyes and let him kiss you, you wanted to pretend that the last few weeks hadn’t happened.

His hands pulled away from you, though not by much. He placed each on the door on either side of your head, keeping you boxed in as he lowered his head in shame.

“I just...” He started and stopped just as quickly.

You weren’t sure you even wanted to know what he wanted to say or how he was feeling. It felt like too much to bear, like you couldn’t carry the weight of your own emotions along with his.

It took a few seconds for you to realise that your hand was still pressed against his chest, over a heart that barely gave a beat.

Finally you shook your head.

“This isn’t fair,” you muttered.

Billy finally dared to look up, the flicker of hope on his face quickly extinguished when his gaze met yours. You didn’t dare ask what he thought you’d meant by the comment but it was clear he now understood what you really meant; he wasn’t being fair.

“I can’t do this again,” you confessed, your voice little more than a whisper, and almost immediately regretted the words when you felt him tense beneath your hand. “It hurts too much when it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“Don’t say that,” he said as his chest lurched. “Of course it means something.”

“It means something now, because you want something now,” you said, trying so hard not to break down completely. “What about tomorrow, or next week, or the next time something bad happens? The next time you decide it’s better for me to not be here anymore?”

The change in him was visceral, his hands finally pulling away from the wall, the corner of his lips curling. When he pulled back, he stood at full height, making you feel impossibly small, practically looking down his nose at you. Gone was the pleading look of desperation and the flashes of shame, leaving a nothingness on his face as he looked at you a moment longer.

It was as if a mask had dropped and you were finally seeing him for the first time. Your hand dropped lifelessly to your side and you bristled, holding your breath and ready to move at a moment's notice. 

But nothing happened.

“Fine,” was all he said before pulling away from you and heading towards the elevator.

You remained pressed back against the door, barely daring to draw breath as he left, running away instead of daring to admit that you were right. Even though you knew it was for the best and that you’d done the right thing, there was a pang of regret deep in your gut and a feeling of inconsolable loneliness that you weren’t sure you could handle.

The next few days, you watched as the blood in the fridge started to pile up, and there was no sign of him in the penthouse. Another Thursday came and, this time, there wasn’t even a note to tell you Karen wasn’t coming. You waited, daring to hope, but by mid afternoon you’d given up on ever seeing her again.

Another week passed and you continued on, refusing to give in and give him what he wanted. You kept drawing blood and leaving it for him, content to fill the whole damned fridge just to prove a point. You weren’t going to stop doing your job just because he’d rejected you. It became something of a passive aggressive statement, making sure you wrote the date on the jar in big, bold numbers, even going as far as to start doodling little smiley faces on them.

You didn’t allow yourself to think about him, to wonder where he was or what he was doing for blood. The thought of him having someone else’s blood still turned your stomach and caused a jealousy inside you that you couldn’t quite temper.

But, when your period hit, you found you couldn’t help but miss him. You missed his notes, his little gifts, and the way he’d always be waiting for you. Now you were alone, with nothing but the stupid bear and stuffed beagle for company. It didn’t stop you from drawing blood, didn’t stop you from doing your job, but it was definitely the closest you got to quitting.

Somehow, you made it through, refusing to feel anything when there were thirteen jars of blood in the fridge. It was just your job to provide blood, you told yourself, if Billy chose to waste it, that was on him.

The only problem, you realised, was the cast on your arm; it had been about six weeks, and you hadn’t seen a doctor since. You knew that, eventually, you’d have to use the intercom and ask Lissa about it if Billy didn’t return, otherwise you could be stuck in the cast for the rest of your year there.

At around ten on Friday evening, you finally heard the sound of the elevator and movement in the penthouse.

You pressed your ear to the door separating your rooms from the penthouse, trying to build up the courage to face him, practising what you were going to say while your hand gripped the door handle. But, then you heard something else; a laugh. A woman’s laugh. Your heart sank at all the possibilities, a thousand terrible scenarios playing out in your head.

Wasn’t this what you wanted? For Billy to give up on you and move on? 

Yes.

No.

Your chest tightened and it got harder to breathe, your stomach threatening to turn itself inside out. You loved him, but he didn’t love you. That  had been painfully clear for weeks now.

He’d found someone else and he’d brought her home. You didn’t know whether to be jealous or worried about what might happen. Would he fuck her? Would he hurt her?

There was only a slight sense of relief when, about twenty minutes later, you heard the elevator again and more voices. Music started playing, like there was a party going on out there - a party that you weren’t invited to.

You moved back to your room, settling on talking to Lissa about your arm and your need to see a doctor, resigning yourself to avoiding Billy for the foreseeable future. You got comfortable and tried to ignore the noise from the party that only seemed to be getting louder and louder as the minute passed.

Less than an hour later, a knock on your door startled you, and you were slow to go and see who it was. Your mind racing over what you might do if it was Billy standing out there, what you might say to him. 

“Hey, there you are,” Karen smiled at you, “we were looking for you.”

Matt was at her side, his arm looped with hers, smiling.

“What?” You answered, obviously confused. 

“At the party. We were looking for you,” Karen stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why are you hiding in here? Aren’t you feeling well?”

“No, that’s not -” you shook your head, more confused than ever, “- I wasn’t invited.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told you, not giving you a chance to protest as she grabbed your arm and started to pull you out of your room. “Of course you’re invited.”

“She dragged me here too,” Matt said, barely holding back a smirk. “It’s best not to fight it when she gets like this.”

“No, wait, you don’t understand -” you protested, voice threatening to break.

They both stopped, attention fully on you. For a moment you felt like you might burst into tears. It was overwhelming. You felt suffocated by the situation. 

There were so many things you wanted to say, so many thoughts and feelings that had been bottled up inside you over the last few weeks, but when your mouth opened, all you were able to say was; “he doesn’t want me out there.” 

“Yeah, well, fuck what Billy wants,” Karen said. “If he has anything to say about it, he can say it to me.”

You relented realising it was futile when she started to pull on you again, leading you out into the penthouse.

The party wasn’t quite what you expected. There was none of the style and propriety of his vampire night party and, instead, it looked more like you’d wandered into a frat party. You glanced around uncomfortably, easily finding Billy in the kitchen with two beautiful women hanging off him and a third looking at him like he was the only other person in the room.

It took a moment or two, but he eventually looked your way. You held his gaze for a split second before his attention returned to his guests, as if you didn’t even exist. As if you didn’t matter. And Karen didn’t miss the exchange.

“Okay, what’s going on?” She asked, finally seeming to understand that something was seriously amiss.

You glanced at Matt who seemed just as interested to hear your answer, even though he didn’t really know all of the details like Karen did. Your cheeks warmed and your gaze dropped.

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid,” you answered with a forced shrug. “We had an argument a couple of weeks ago and I haven’t really seen him since.”

“He’s been avoiding you?” Matt offered.

“He hasn’t even been here,” you answered. 

“Wait, what?” Suddenly it was Karen’s turn to act surprised. “If he hasn’t been here, how did he know you were still sick?”

“What? Still sick? I haven’t been sick...”

Karen looked like she’d been hit by a sudden realisation, the smile dropping from her face completely.

“That son of a bitch...”

Before you could even ask, Karen had let go of your arm and had started striding across the penthouse towards Billy, looking angrier than you’d ever seen her.

“I wouldn’t want to be Russo right now,” Matt muttered under his breath.

“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

“He told Karen that you were sick from the stress of everything that’s happened lately, and that the doctor had recommended complete bed rest,” Matt explained. “We were all kinda worried, so when Karen heard he was throwing a party, she thought that meant you were finally feeling better.”

An awkward sound managed to claw its way from you, something so painful that it almost sounded like a sob. He’d deliberately lied to you. Again. He’d gone out of his way to isolate you, and left you feeling unwanted and alone.

When you took a step back, set on returning to your room, Matt’s hand took yours. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

“He made me think no one wanted to see me...” you muttered in little more than a whisper, not expecting Matt to even hear it over the loud music.

You watched from across the room as Karen stopped in front of Billy, quickly clearing away the women who’d been hanging on his every word. He looked annoyed, then just as angry as Karen. Her finger was jabbing at his chest and your heart nearly stopped when Billy took hold of her wrist to force away her hand. There was no telling where Frank had come from, but the moment Billy laid a hand on Karen, he was at her side making sure Billy didn’t repeat the mistake.

And, while you couldn’t hear what was being said, it was very clear that Karen was explaining what Billy had done to you when all eyes looked your way.

You took another step back and felt Matt’s hand squeeze yours, trying to reassure you.

“I should go, I should -”

“You have every right to be here,” he told you, “he has no right to keep you prisoner.”

It didn’t strike you until Matt said it that that was precisely what Billy had been doing. You’d been willing to agree to the idea of not going out alone, but by stopping anyone from taking you out, he was effectively making you a captive.

Billy’s gaze burned into you for a few moments before returning to Frank and Karen, obviously trying to respond and defend himself from whatever criticisms they were levelling at him.

“I need a drink,” you decided, moving towards the library and pulling Matt along with you.

Billy had a small liquor cabinet in there, no doubt for the rare occasion he worked from home and made use of the desk in the library. You picked the bottle that looked the most expensive, and the most full, before grabbing two glasses, filling one for Matt and then filling one for yourself. He took a drink the moment he had his glass and then let out a huff of laughter.

“I always suspected he was hiding the good stuff.”

His little joke almost managed to bring a smile to your lips.

Ordinarily you didn’t drink whiskey. Growing up it had been classified as a man’s drink, and it wasn’t proper for you to drink it. The moment you took your first sip and felt it burn down the back of your throat, you found yourself almost believing it.

“Oh god,” you muttered, “that’s awful.”

Matt laughed fondly before taking another drink, seemingly unaffected by the burn.

“You get used to it,” he shrugged.

“I’m not sure I want to.” Though that didn’t stop you from taking another large gulp from the glass, coughing as it set your throat ablaze.

Matt was quiet for a few moments before he finally asked; “do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head and didn’t say a word.

“Did you shake your head?” He asked a few seconds later, and you realised your mistake.

“Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry,” you said, feeling your cheeks start to burn.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he told you, still smiling at you, like he was glad to just be around you. “I think it might help, though - talking about it, I mean. I think you’ve been in here on your own so long that maybe an outside perspective might help you figure things out.”

There was nothing forceful about his comment, nothing that seemed to suggest he’d keep pushing if you said no. And, after a moment of thought, you wondered if maybe he was right.

So, you started to explain.

You used broad strokes, not giving away any part of things that weren’t yours to tell; you told him how alone you’d felt when you’d first arrived, how you and Billy had bonded over literature, and how spending time together had developed into something more physical. You made sure to tell him that you’d always consented, that you’d wanted it and had even agreed to it being something purely physical. Leaving out mentions of his illness and times he’d lost control.

Once you were done, Matt was silent, thoughtfully sipping his drink.

“You fell for him,” he stated softly, and you didn’t have it in you to argue.

“We agreed it wouldn’t be like that,” you sighed. “He doesn’t know, I didn’t tell him. He doesn’t want me here anymore.”

Again, there was silence. You drained your glass and quickly refilled it, before topping up Matt’s glass for him.

“It’s not your fault, you know?” He offered. “Billy keeping you here, keeping you isolated - that’s on him. Especially since he already knows how it affects you.”

“He’s trying to make me quit...”

“Maybe it’s worth considering,” Matt said, shrugging. “Do you really want to keep doing this? Letting him play these mind games with you?”

“It’s... complicated,” you sighed, knowing better than to tell a lawyer about your predicament. “Anyway, it’s not like he could do anything worse...”

“That’s a terrible way of looking at things,” he said with a hint of a smile on his lips that almost had you laughing.

He was right, of course, but the ridiculousness of it all made it funny in an awful sort of way.

Grabbing the bottle again, you decided to take hold of Matt again, telling him that you were going to find Karen and have your own party in your room with Billy’s expensive whiskey, and seemed more than willing to oblige. 

You took a deep breath before stepping out into the party. More people had arrived in the half an hour or so you’d been in the library with Matt, and the party seemed to be in full swing. Looking around, you tried to stop Karen, instead finding Billy, surrounded again by his trio of beautiful women.

As they spoke, one leaned into him, pressing her lip to his, and you felt your heart shatter in your chest. 

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, feeling your arm involuntarily tighten around his.

“Nothing,” you muttered, your eyes fixed on Billy and the woman kissing him, watching her fingers running through his hair and -

The kiss broke and Billy looked your way, an indiscernible look on his face, and you felt sick.

“Come on,” you told Matt, starting to lead him towards your rooms. “Karen can come find us.”

Matt agreed and you quickly pulled him through the door and closed it behind you, not daring to look back at Billy again.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asked once you were both settled on the sofa in your room.

“I’ll be fine,” you lied, betrayed by your own voice.

You knocked back another drink before refilling both of your glasses, content to sit silently. Matt didn’t try to push for conversation. He was just there. Silently supportive while you tried to rationalise what you’d seen.

Billy wasn’t yours. He didn’t want you. It shouldn’t have mattered that he was kissing someone else. But it did, it hurt so fucking much.

Soon enough your glass was empty again and you could feel the effect of the alcohol. It didn’t numb the pain like you’d hoped, in fact, it seemed to be making it worse. But that didn’t stop you from pouring yourself another.

“Maybe you should slow down,” Matt offered gently, placing his hand on your arm.

“Why did you ask me to go to dinner with you?” You asked abruptly, ignoring his suggestion.

“What?”

“The night we met, you asked me to go to dinner with you... or for coffee...” 

He’d been so kind that night, keeping you company and making sure you felt included, and you - you’d be so caught up on thoughts of Billy that you’d barely noticed. Matt was alway so kind, so attentive, and all you did was think about Billy when you were around him.

“Because I wanted to take you out,” he shrugged.

“On a date?”

“Well, yeah -”

Before he could finish, you let go of your last scrap of common sense and leaned towards him, surprising him with a kiss. Despite being stunned for a moment, Matt didn’t push you away, instead he indulged the moment, letting you deepen the kiss. You quickly lost yourself to it, trying to hide from your pain by pressing yourself closer to him.

“Are you sure you want -” he said against your lips, only to be cut off by another kiss. And it seemed to be all the answer he needed.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but you soon found yourself on your back with Matt on top of you. Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, fingers finding taut muscles as you pulled him closer.

He didn’t kiss like Billy and, when his hands started to explore the curves of your body, you realised that he didn’t touch like Billy either. He didn’t steal your breath away or make you feel like the world could end at any moment.

No matter what he did, or how you tried to lose yourself in the moment, Matt just wasn’t Billy. 

Your hips moved, pressing up against his, moaning into the kiss when you felt his erection.

You weren’t being fair but you were too drunk and heartbroken to care. That is, until his hand slipped into your panties beneath your leggings. Your breath caught, threatening to choke you, but it wasn’t enough to make you stop, even though it was Billy’s fingers you were craving between your legs.

Matt wanted you. Billy didn’t. And that was all you wanted to think about.

You just wanted someone to want you.

His fingers circled your clit, drawing gasped breaths from you, while his other hand had slipped beneath your top to grope your breasts. Your body felt like it was on autopilot, responding because that was what it was supposed to do and not because it desperately needed his touch.

Pulling from the kiss, his lips moved to your neck, and even that made you think of Billy and the way his every touch seemed obsessed with any place he could feel your racing heart.

Your eyes closed tight, trying to think of all the reasons you should want this, why Matt was better for you than Billy, but you couldn’t. In theory, Matt was perfect and, more than that, Matt actually wanted you. But Billy, in all his fucked up glory, was the one you loved so desperately and painfully that you couldn’t even allow yourself to indulge in one moment of pleasure without him.

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, no doubt noticing the sudden tension in your body. 

“I -” you needed a second, suddenly feeling on the brink of tears at how awful you were being, “- I’m sorry, I-I can’t do this...”

Matt slowly pulled back, and you could feel the shame burning across your cheeks as you righted your clothes. You hated yourself, hated how disgusting the whole thing had made you feel; he’d been so nice and you’d taken advantage of him. You were no better than Billy.

“I’m sorry, I -”

“It’s okay,” he told you, sounding a little breathless but, surprisingly, not upset. 

“I just -”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he said, “I get it, you’re going through a lot right now. We both just got caught up in the moment.”

“Why are you being so nice about this?” You asked in a choked up tone, struggling to keep your emotions in check.

“Because you’ve been through a lot lately and I know none of this has been easy for you.”

You didn’t know what you could say to that. There were no words to excuse what you’d done, but there was something you could say to at least explain it.

“He was kissing someone else.” The words tumbled out and, before you could stop yourself, the tears started to fall.

His arm pulled around you as you started to cry, hating yourself for being so weak, for still caring so much after everything Billy put you through. He muttered softly, trying to comfort you, but there was really nothing he could say or do to stop the tears once they started.

At some point Karen appeared, finding you drunk and sobbing in Matt’s arms, and decided to take control of the situation, ushering Matt from the room. She made sure to make you drink a glass of water before putting you to bed and trying to settle you. She sat on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair out of your face - an act that reminded you of your sister and the gaping hole that she had left in your life.

“You’re going to get through this,” she told you softly. “I promise I’m going to be around from now on. He’s not going to pull this shit again.”

As much as you wanted to believe her, you knew that Billy was going to keep trying to get you to leave. You just weren’t sure how much more you could take.

End Note : 😅 I promise that I have a plan, I just need you all to trust in the process. As always thank you so much for reading/commenting/liking/reblogging. Hope you all have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

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[coeurdalene]

looking for some light

masterlist | ao3

summary: he tells raleigh, “i want to come back from this mission, ‘cause i quite like my life.” he means, there’s still so much i want to do, so much i have to do. (aka chuck wants to make it through this goddamn war so he can finally live a normal life, even if he doesn’t really know what that means.)

pairing: chuck hansen x reader

warning(s): character death (sorry), swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence.

word count: 3.86k

a/n: i meant to have this finished by the ten year anniversary of the movie but uh… anyways, here it is now! this is my love letter to chuck hansen and also a projection of my want for a beach house.

The universe gifts Chuck an unwanted Christmas present in the form of a memorandum. He swears under his breath when you trudge into the Mission Control Center that morning with a dejected frown on your face and shove the crisp paper into his hands. His eyes fall on the letterhead, embossed with the familiar spread-winged eagle, and he already knows what it contains. He’d been expecting it for months. He resists the urge to scream, to crumple the paper into a ball and hurl it at the trash bin with every ounce of remaining strength in his body. He doesn’t envy you when you announce the bad news to everyone else, fulfilling your final duty as Sydney’s Chief LOCCENT Officer.

Days later, not even twenty-four hours after the Shatterdome decommissioning and right at the beginning of the new year, the universe offers him—and the rest of Sydney—another unwanted gift.

Mutavore is an ugly thing. Nearly ninety meters tall and weighing over two thousand tons, it’s hunched over as if struggling to support its own weight, blade-like plates protruding from its head and back.

“I don’t care how many eyes it has,” he says after you read out its classification and measurements, “I’m gonna kick its ass.”

(Six. It has six eyes. Just because he doesn’t care doesn’t mean he won’t pay attention.)

The category four Kaiju plows through the coastal wall like a knife cutting through warm butter and tramps into Sydney Harbour, stopping only to raise its head and let out a guttural screech, as if barging through a metal barrier hadn't been enough to announce its presence. He wonders how many millions of dollars have now been reduced to rubble at the bottom of the bay and how many weeks were spent welding together beams that took only a few seconds to destroy. 

Then, its beady eyes—all six of them—focus on Striker Eureka and her brass knuckles glinting in the sun. It screeches again before charging headfirst into Striker’s swinging fist.

Mutavore dies as quickly as it breached the wall, lying motionless in the bay, blood-soaked missiles lodged in its chest and Kaiju blue staining the water. 

“That’s Striker Eureka’s tenth kill to date. It’s a new record,” he boasts to the reporter in the aftermath. He ignores the questions about the decommissioning and brushes off the look his father gives him. Don’t get too cocky, he looks like he wants to say.

When they return to the Shatterdome, the J-Tech crew cleans Striker, polishing her knuckles and wiping Kaiju remains from the Conn-Pod. Chuck takes a long hot shower. Then, the move to Hong Kong begins.

The Anchorage Shatterdome—the cold and stalwart Icebox—had been the first to close. He remembers how you had stared blankly at the official PPDC statement for hours while he watched the newscaster on the television read it out loud. The Marshal had been on the broadcast, too, brought on for further questioning. When the anchor asked about the future of the Jaeger Program, he had assured her that, as long as the Kaiju kept coming, the Jaegers would keep fighting. Chuck had laughed dryly at that. The dwindling funding from the U.N. would say otherwise and whispers of better opportunities at the wall hung in the air, getting louder with every passing day.

The closure of the Icebox set off a string of shutdowns: Lima and Tokyo later that month, Panama City in November, Vladivostok and Los Angeles a few weeks after. The clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time before that damned memorandum arrived in Sydney, his fate dictated by its contents.

His beloved Sydney Shatterdome closes at the turn of the year, leaving behind its only remaining sibling in Hong Kong. What had once been a robust network of PPDC hubs was now reduced to one. 

And the clock continues to tick. 

“We don’t need a stupid wall,” Chuck declares on the flight to Hong Kong, glaring at the news broadcast replaying footage of the Sydney attack. “We need better pilots.”

He’d expressed the same sentiment to the reporter who interviewed him after Mutavore’s attack, too, blaming the fall of the Jaeger program on the mediocrity of those involved. He isn’t sure if it’s that simple—you had explained something to him about politics and funding and morale, government nonsense he didn’t understand—but he sure as hell knows that the Jaegers would be winning if pilots stopped letting the Kaiju kick their asses.

“Have some respect,” his father chides. “Every pilot has fought tooth and nail to protect the people they love.”

And perhaps that’s the truth—it sure is for him. His days consist of sore muscles from training, never getting enough sleep, and always anticipating another fight. He does it for his father, who has been a soldier for as long as he can remember. For his mother, whose untimely death lingers in the back of his mind every time he sets his eyes on a Kaiju. For you, who frequently pulls all-nighters and agonizes over details to make sure the Shatterdome stays running. And for Max, of course. (Silly little dog probably has no idea what a Kaiju is.)

So, yeah, perhaps it is the truth. But it doesn’t change the fact that they only have eight months left of funding, or that the U.N. thinks a wall will fare better than a Jaeger.

“We won’t be getting more pilots. All we can do is work with what we still have,” you chime in, pulling Chuck out of his thoughts. “But, on the bright side, our remaining pilots are some of the best in program history.”

“Including me?” he smirks. You laugh, cheerful and bright, punching his arm lightly. Max shifts in his sleep at the sudden noise. His father gives him that look again. Don’t get too cocky.

He spends the rest of the flight listening to you read briefing notes on “Operation Pitfall,” the Marshal’s shiny new plan to end the war by detonating a bomb at the throat of the Breach. Somehow, the PPDC had procured a thermonuclear warhead from the Russians, entrusting Striker Eureka to carry it while the remaining Jaegers played defense. 

Chuck is cynical about this plan. They had already tried (and failed) to drop things into the Breach. A bomb would only bounce back at them and kill anything in range.

He quips sarcastically if the Marshal had thought of that. You respond only by flipping through the file again for an explanation. He knows you won’t find one. 

As he steps off the plane and onto the landing pad, he’s met with a grinning Tendo Choi shouting over the patter of heavy rain, “Welcome to Hong Kong!”

The man, wearing a grey suit jacket too wide around the shoulders shakes their hands in greeting before ushering them out of the rain and into the Shatterdome. Chuck sidesteps some J-Techs as he enters, surveying his surroundings.

He had been much younger the last time he visited Hong Kong and much less invested in all the inner workings of the PPDC. He remembers mechanics and pilots shouting and running about, dirt and scuff marks on the floor, and his father reminding him to keep a tight grip on Max’s leash. It had felt unfamiliar then, but he realizes now that it isn’t too different from Sydney. Same high ceiling, same metal catwalks, and almost the same arsenal of Jaegers towering over him. It’s a little older, a little grittier, and a little more worn down, but no longer foreign. 

He spots Cherno Alpha in one of the bays, its stalwart form hunkering and heavy. The Kaidanovskys stand at its feet, engaged in conversation. Crimson Typhoon stands opposite it, brilliant red and regal. J-Techs gather around her three arms, inspecting and cleaning the rotating saw blades. 

“Striker arrived a few minutes before you did,” Tendo gestures to the shiny silver Jaeger standing in the far bay, metal glinting under the bright lights of the hangar. “The crew is getting her settled in.”

Then, Chuck’s eyes fall on the fourth and final Jaeger. That last he had heard of Gipsy Danger was that she had been decommissioned, damaged beyond repair from a mission gone wrong. But here she stands—untarnished metallic blue, left arm intact, and definitely not lying forgotten in Oblivion Bay.

“What’s that old rustbucket doing here?” he leers, very aware that there isn’t a single speck of rust on her.

“She looks brand new,” you remark. 

“She is, sorta,” Tendo replies, “We’ve been fixing her up: a new fluid synapse system, new engine blocks, and a new hull. She’ll be holding the defensive perimeter for you in Operation Pitfall, along with Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon.”

“Does she have pilots?” you inquire.

“Not yet,” Tendo grins. “But she will.”

Chuck hopes that these pilots won’t be incompetent idiots, whoever they might be.

The peaceful moments are rare, but cherished and so welcomed. In these instances, he lets his guard down, breathes deeply, and allows himself to think of anything other than training or fighting.

One of his favorites is somewhere in between Striker’s fourth and fifth kills: a lazy afternoon in bed with your back against the headboard and his head in your lap, sunlight streaming in through the windows with your fingers carding lightly through his hair.

“After this war is over,” he declares, imagining a life without the chaos and destruction that comes with being a Jaeger pilot, “we’ll buy a nice house in the suburbs where we’ll live blissfully for the rest of our lives.”

“The suburbs are nice,” you contend, “but how about a beach house on the Gold Coast? Or Port Douglas?”

He chuckles at that, picturing what living by the ocean without the fear of a Kaiju attack would be like. He would spend his mornings engulfed in the soothing murmur of the sea, gazing out at the unbroken horizon. His afternoons basking in the warmth of the sun, feet buried in the soft sand. His evenings surrounded by music and your melodious laughter, trying not to step on your toes while you lead him through a dance in your living room.

Quiet, he thinks. Serene. The only unrest would be the waves at high tide or the gulls swooping down to steal his food.

“Wherever you want, as long as it’s you and me. And Max. Right, bud?” he grins at the bulldog lying at the foot of the bed. Max lets out a little grunt. Chuck takes that as a sign of agreement.

“Sounds lovely,” you reply, your hand moving to rest against his cheek. He turns his head to kiss your palm, heart soaring at the way you smile softly down at him.

All Chuck knows about Raleigh Becket is that he quit the Jaeger Program. That information alone is enough for him to dislike the guy. He doesn’t trust some washed-up pilot to run defense for him while he carries a 2400-pound bomb on the back of his Jaeger. Doesn’t care that his father fought alongside the guy in Manila or that he single-handedly piloted his Jaeger back to shore. Doesn’t bother to hold back a grimace when Raleigh tells him that he’d been working on the wall for the past five years.

“If you slow me down, I'm gonna drop you like a sack of Kaiju shit,” he hisses at him in the mess hall. He ignores the way his father watches him with disapproval as he stalks away.

His bad mood turns worse when Mako Mori is named Raleigh’s copilot. 

He has known Mako for years. They had grown up in Shatterdomes together, met a few times when the Marshal had brought her to Sydney, and briefly bonded over their love of dogs. He’s close enough to her to know that she can fight well and that she has one of the best simulator scores he’s ever seen. (Better than his, although he’d never admit that.) But, she has no experience in a Jaeger and no understanding of what a drift is actually like, which, in his eyes, makes her no better than Raleigh. He isn’t surprised when they’re both out of alignment during their test run, your concerned tone alerting the rest of LOCCENT of the deviation, or when Mako begins chasing the RABIT, raising apprehensive murmurs from the crowd of onlookers. Or when it ends in Tendo pulling the plug on Gipsy’s power.

“Worse mistakes have happened,” Tendo sighs as Gipsy’s plasma cannon goes offline. Chuck scowls. There is no space for even a single mistake in the plan to attack the Breach, especially amateur ones like chasing RABITs. He knows that the Marshal understands this, too.

Later, as he paces in the Marshal’s office, still brimming with anger from Raleigh and Mako’s failure of a test run, he snaps, “He's a has-been. She’s a rookie. I don’t want them protecting my bomb run. sir.”

His father stands across the room, arms crossed and mouth set tightly in a frown. In the corner, you and Tendo are huddled over a tablet, discussing the drift results in hushed voices. The Marshal warns him to watch his tone. Chuck rolls his eyes in response and thinks to himself, He knows I’m right.

He finds Raleigh and Mako standing silently in the hall outside after his father kicks him out of the room. He rounds on the former, seething and jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He turns to Mako, sneering and spitting out some distasteful things, ignoring the feeling that he’ll regret it later. 

When Raleigh’s fist makes contact with his jaw, Chuck sees red.

On bad nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat, plagued by nightmares of being painfully ripped to shreds by sharp claws and teeth. Some nights he wakes up angry, frustrated with himself after overanalyzing his fights. Other nights, he relives the moment when he found out about his mother’s death, shaking with body-wracking sobs and shuddering with each intake of breath. But you hold him through it, your soothing hands on his back and comforting words in his ear. He focuses on your voice, steady and calm, and syncs his breathing with yours.

“You’re okay,” you murmur. “They’re just nightmares. You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he repeats.

On bad nights, you confess your fear that the war will never end, or that you’ll burn out before it does. Some nights, you feel that you’re not doing enough, that you need to get back to work even though it’s past midnight. Other nights, you worry that you’ll spend your entire life fighting, that you’ll never be able to rest. But he holds you through it, his calloused fingers on your cheeks wiping away your tears. You focus on his touch, firm and resolute, and rest your hands on top of his.

“It’s okay,” you contend, voice shaky but certain. “I have you. This is enough.”

“This is enough,” he repeats.

Yet, he can’t help but want more. He wants the beach house instead of the cold metal walls of the Shatterdome. Wants to wake up to the sun, your smile, and Max’s whining for food instead of doomsday alarms and Kaiju attacks. Wants you to be able to sleep in for once. Wants to spend his days sunbathing and learning to surf instead of training in combat drills and preparing for another attack. Wants to give you some peace, and to find some of his own.

He tells Raleigh, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He means, There’s still so much I want to do, so much I have to do.

Chuck has only felt true fear a few times in his life. Standing on top of his disabled Jaeger with only a flare gun in his hands is one of them. In the moment, he tells himself that he isn’t afraid, that a double event isn’t any different from any other Kaiju attack, and that Striker will come back online in just a second. The adrenaline coursing through his veins overpowers the feeling of impending doom anyway. But, later, as he reflects on the feeling of relief that had washed over when Gipsy’s fog lights enveloped him, he admits that he had been scared shitless. And, he admits (only to himself) that he’s thankful for Raleigh and Mako, even if they’re has-beens or rookies.

He holds you closer that night and knows that you’ve already picked up on all the details of his uneasy expression. Still, he musters up the strength to confess aloud, “I thought we were gonna die.”

You’re silent, responding only by rubbing your hand across his back and hugging him a little tighter. The heavy weight of his lingering fear sits in his chest as he continues, “Dad had injured his arm, our comms were out, Cherno and Crimson were gone, and there was a fucking Kaiju ready to swallow us whole. Shooting that flare at it made it even more pissed off.”

“Not your best idea,” you remark playfully. “You’d think all that training to prepare you for situations like this would help you keep calm and think of something rational to do.”

“It was Dad’s idea, not mine,” he shrugs.

“Well, I’m glad the flare managed to keep it occupied long enough for Gipsy to get there,” you reply, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “And I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Me, too,” he sighs, the weight in his chest lightening slightly.

When he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of the war ending and a house overlooking the shore.

If, a year ago, you had told Chuck that he would be piloting a Jaeger with the Marshal Stacker Pentecost, he would have laughed in your face and asked why the Marshal wasn’t off doing better things (like convincing world leaders to keep funding the Jaeger Program or figuring out ways to increase pilot recruitment). And, if you had told him that he would hear the phrase “there’s a third signature emerging from the Breach,” he would have rolled his eyes and declared the situation impossible. (“I’d still kick its ass, though,” he would have probably said.)

Yet, here he is, strapped into Striker with the Marshal as his copilot, only three hundred meters from the Breach, watching a category five Kaiju materialize in front of him. He feels his stomach drop as he lays eyes on Slattern’s angular head and the sharp spike protruding from its chest. When it roars, the water around them ripples, and the ground beneath shakes. He barely has any time to think before the massive beast rears its head and charges, swinging its heavy leathery tail directly at them. 

The hit knocks Striker off her feet and sends her crashing into a nearby hydrothermal vent. He winces and swears, body aching and head beginning to throb as streams of water push and jostle the Jaeger. Slattern prepares to charge again just as Striker regains her footing and he easily falls into a fighting stance along with the Marshal, fists clenched and ready to strike. This time, when it attacks, they’re ready—dealing out swift punches that send the Kaiju reeling.

He isn’t sure how much of it is the Marshal and how much of it is himself, but the exhilaration that rushes through him as one of Striker’s sting blades slices across Slattern’s throat reinvigorates him. The other blade cuts into its arms, blue blood spilling from deep gashes. It screeches, and he expects it to rush at them again, but it swims away, blood trailing eerily in the water.

He takes the moment of respite to breathe, and to survey the damage. The harsh red light of the many, many warning messages flashes across his vision. He fiddles with some controls, watches as the Marshal does the same, and sighs heavily when neither of their attempts fixes anything. He resigns himself to hoping that Striker can hold on a little longer. She had gotten him this far, surely she could see him through to the end of this war—and to the beginning of his life at peace.

But–

“The attack jammed the bomb release,” he notices. “We’ll have to manually override–”

A yell from LOCCENT cuts him off. Chuck’s stomach drops even further when he hears someone say, “Striker, you have two Kaiju converging on you fast!”

He curses loudly and immediately knows, There’s no time for a manual override.

The Marshal is on the intercom before Chuck can even begin to formulate a plan, shouting to Raleigh and Mako. 

“You know exactly what you have to do,” he declares. “Gipsy is nuclear, take her to the Breach.”

“What can we do, sir?” Chuck asks, bracing for the hit.

“We can clear a path,” the Marshal answers firmly, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “for the lady.”

Even without the drift connecting their thoughts, Chuck understands.

“Well, my father always said, ‘If you have a shot, you take it,’” he remarks, knowing that, on the other end, his father is listening with pride. Chuck can admit that he was an arrogant dickhead with no respect for any of the pilots around him and that he never bothered to hide his resentment for his old man, never gave him a reason to like the man his son had become. Yet, he knows—and has always known—that his father is proud of him. (He is proud of his father, too, for what it’s worth.)

In the final moments, his thoughts drift to you: swathed in blankets and gathered in his arms on cold winter nights, perched on the seat of a stationary bike and reading reports while keeping him company in the gym, wrapped in his brown leather jacket with Max’s leash in your hand while accompanying him for walks around the Shatterdome. He recalls your bright laughter when he’d crack stupid jokes, your serious voice you’d use only over the intercom, and the mischievous glint in your eyes when you’d pretend you hadn’t given Max extra treats.

“I love you,” he had said before entering the Conn-Pod, so quietly that only you could hear him, holding you tightly and kissing away your concerned frown. The warmth of your hands against his cheeks had lingered as he had stepped away.

“I love you,” he says now, loud enough for you to hear him over all the noise, swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking away the tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry we’ll never get that beach house.”

“But, I had you,” he says. “It was enough.”

When the bomb detonates, he’s surrounded by blinding light and a deafening boom. And, finally, peace.

In his dreams, he can’t tell where he is, only that Max is sitting at his feet, his father is somewhere in the distance, and you’re next to him with your hand in his, fingers intertwined.

[echoalyssa]

Omg I’m so sorry for some reason I automatically assume people know who I’m talking about 🤦🏼‍♀️ How about Marcus Baker x reader where she lives in another state and they met on like Instagram and one day she comes to see him?

ORRR (just to be safe😉😂)

Where her personality is like sunshine and rainbows so people are shocked that they’re together

Request 3 | Marcus Baker

You're gripping the steering wheel all too tight considering the road is empty and you've been driving for seven hours already.

Your comfort playlist plays through the speakers in an attempt to eradicate some of the nerves. You'd known him for a year, face-timed him every night for the past six months. He was real, you knew that much.

Though all those horror crime documentary's meant that somewhere deep down you were worried he might brutally murder you.

The two of you had met through a Instagram group chat for artists around the United States and had connected immediately. Your lives differed in every way possible.

You were from one of those small towns that barely made it onto the map with three siblings, and he was living in a million dollar house with his twin sister.

Your phone buzzes in your lap and its him.

'Hope the drive is going well! I'm excited to see you!'

You smile.

You're meeting him at a coffee shop in Wellsbury. It would be in broad daylight in a public place so not much could go wrong.

The navigation chimes, telling you to take the next exit.

Just like that, you're ten minutes away.

~~~ You take a breath outside of the door, using the slight reflection to check that your hair doesn't look insane. Your palms are sweating profusely so you have no choice but to wipe them on the front of your jeans.

You push the door open and the bell on top jingles softly.

The place is cute, with low ambience lighting and lounge chairs in the corner. There's plants just about everywhere and a mural has been painted on the far wall.

He spots you first, and he almost drops the two drinks he's holding. Marcus can't cross the small shop fast enough. He didn't even need a second to realize that it was you, he just knew immediately.

You shoot him a tiny shy smile and he returns it.

"Y/N!"

He wraps you in an awkward hug because he's still holding both drinks. Even though he's hugging you with his arms straight because of the drinks you can't help but think about how nicely you fit into his arms.

He smells good, like fresh linen.

His hair keeps falling into his face, and you keep wanting to push it out of the way for him.

"I got you a mocha frappe! I could have sworn that's what you told me you order but if that's wrong I can get you something else."

You're flattered by the fact that he bought you a drink and even more so that he remembered your order. That conversation must have taken place almost a year ago.

"That is perfect, thank you."

"Want to take a walk? You must be tired of sitting from the drive."

You nod, the weather in Massachusetts was stellar today.

He guides you out the door by placing a hand on the small of your back which sends sparks up your spine.

"I can't believe that you're here."

"I can't believe you're real."

He chuckles. "Are you cold?"

You're not really but he shrugs off his jacket anyway and drapes it over your shoulders.

His fingertips brush your neck and you shiver.

The town is cute but is very obviously a place where money is plentiful. Marcus tells you about his motorcycle and his plan to restore it.

You listen intently, your arm bumps against his as you walk.

He stops abruptly and turns to you.

"I feel like I know you already."

"You do! Now you're just putting a voice to the face,"

"I don't want you to ever go back home."

You can feel your face heat up, hopefully he wouldn't notice and would just think it was from the wind.

"You're just so far away." He continues, "And now that you're here I can't imagine you not being here."

Just the way that he looks at you makes you want to pack up all your belongings and move into this town, almost eight hours away.

His fingertips touch the side of your face, and he tilts your head so that you are looking up at him.

"It's a good thing I'm here for a week then." You whisper.

"We should make the most of it."

"Yes." You choke out because he's getting closer to you and you're barely breathing.

"You're beautiful you know."

You nod, scared to break this trance like interaction.

And then he leans the last few inches and his lips brush against yours, hesitant at first but they slowly grow more confident.

You tilt your head up for a better angle because there is no way that you're kissing Marcus Baker right now.

The butterflies in your stomach are doing somersaults.

It's slow and gentle. He pulls you close to him, his body radiates heat and warms you.

You could stay like this forever you think. This was perfect. All the anticipation and build up from the past year and finally, finally the two of you were together.

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of guns,, drug use,, threats,, mentions of affairs

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 21

Putting together the best musicians, sound and lighting technicians, costumers, and choreographers, he was taking no chances this time. He scoured the music scene for the top sidemen in the business. Auditions were held and he handpicked each player—names such as James Burton, John Wilkinson, Ronny Tutt, Glen D. Hardin, Jerry Scheff. He loved the sound of the Sweet Inspirations, backup group for Aretha Franklin, and he hired them on the spot as a warmup act and to sing backup vocals. He also hired his favorite gospel group, the Imperial Quartet.

Before leaving Los Angeles, Matt rehearsed at RCA Sound Studios for ten days and then polished the act for a full week prior to the opening. It was the event of the summer in Vegas. Colonel Parker brought the preopening publicity to fever pitch. Billboards were up all over town. On the third floor of the International, administrative offices bustled with activity. No other entertainer coming into Vegas had ever stimulated this kind of excitement. The hotel lobby was dominated by Matt paraphernalia—pictures, posters, T-shirts, stuffed animals, balloons, records, souvenir programs. You’d think Barnum and Bailey were coming to town.

Back home there was also excitement as we girls discussed what we’d wear to the opening. “I want you to look extra special, Baby,” Matt said. “This is a big night for all of us.” I hit every boutique in West L.A. before finding just the right outfit.

Though it had been nine years since Matt had given a live performance, you never would have known it from his opening. The audience cheered the moment he stepped onstage and never stopped the entire two hours as Matt sang, “All Shook Up,” “Blue Suede Shoes,” “In the Ghetto,” “Tiger Man,” and “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” He mixed the old with the new, the fast and hot with the lyrical and romantic. It was the first time I’d ever seen Matt perform live. Wanting to surprise me, he had kept me from rehearsals. I was astounded. At the end he left them still cheering and begging for more.

Cary Grant was among the stars who came backstage to congratulate him after the show. But the most touching moment was when Colonel William arrived with tears in his eyes, wanting to know where his boy was. Matt came out of the dressing room and the two men embraced. I believe everyone felt their emotion in that moment of triumph.

I don’t think we slept that night. Nate Doe brought in all the newspapers and we read the rave reviews declaring, “Matt was great” and “He never looked or sang better.” He shared credit for his new success with all of us.

“Well, we did it. It’s going to be a long thirty days, but it’s going to be worth it if we get the reception we got last night. I may have been a real tyrant, but it was well worth it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” we all agreed, laughing. “You were a tyrant.”

The International Hotel was delirious over Matt’s performance and the box-office receipts. The following day they signed a fiveyear contract with the Colonel for Matt to appear twice a year, usually around the same time, January and August, at the then unheardof salary of one million dollars a year.

Matt literally took over Las Vegas for the entire month he was there, playing to a packed house every show as thousands more were turned away. No matter where we looked, all we could see was the name Matt—on television, newspapers, banners, and billboards. The King had returned.

Initially, Matt’s triumph in Las Vegas brought a new vitality to our marriage. He seemed a different person. Once again, he felt confident about himself as a performer and he continued to watch his weight and work out every day at karate.

It was also the first time that I felt we were functioning as a team. I made several trips to New York, trying to find unique accessories for him to wear onstage. I bought scarves, jewelry, and a black leather belt with chain links all around it that Bill Belew would later copy for the famous Matt jumpsuit belts.

I loved seeing him healthy and happy again, and I especially enjoyed our early days in Vegas. The International provided an elegant three-bedroom suite that we turned into our home away from home. During his show I always sat at the same table down front, never tiring of watching him perform. He was spontaneous and one never knew what to expect from him.

On occasion, after his midnight show, we’d catch lounge acts of other performers playing Vegas or we’d gamble until dawn. Other times we’d relax backstage, visiting with entertainers captivated by his performance. This was the first time I’d been with Matt at a high point in his career.

With the renewed fame came renewed dangers. Offstage he could be guarded by Sonny and Red. Onstage he was a walking target. One night that summer Nate and Sonny were tipped off that a woman in the audience was carrying a gun and had threatened to shoot Matt. A true professional, Matt insisted on going on. Additional precautions were taken and everyone was on the alert. Matt was instructed to stay downstage, making himself a smaller target, and Sonny and Jerry were poised to jump in front of him at the slightest sign of suspicious movement in the audience. Red was positioned in the audience with the FBI agents.

The show seemed to take an eternity. I glanced at Patsy apprehensively and she in turn grasped my hand as we comforted each other, longing for the night to end without incident. James remained backstage, never letting Matt out of his sight and praying, “Dear God, don’t let anything happen to my son.”

Because of this and other threats, extra security was arranged wherever Matt appeared. Entrances through backstages, kitchens, back elevators, and side exits became routine.

Matt had his own theory about assassinations, based on the murders of the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert F. Kennedy. He felt that the assassins gloated over their “accomplishments,” and told his bodyguards that if any attempt were made on his life, they should get the killer—even before the police. He didn’t want anyone bragging to the media that they’d killed Matt Sturniolo.

Sonny and Red lived in so much tension these days that they were constantly frenzied. Suspicious in crowds of overzealous fans, they were quick to respond to any sign of danger. Compared to Sonny’s diplomacy, Red’s reputation was to act first and ask questions later. Eventually, numerous assault-and-battery charges started piling up against Matt. When James warned him about Sonny and Red’s aggressiveness, Matt said, “Goddamn, Red. I hired you to keep the sons of bitches away from me, not get me in any legal binds. Somehow you’re going to have to control that redheaded temper of yours.”

Although Matt would joke about the death threats—and there would be several more throughout the Vegas commitments—the fear and constant need for security heightened the pressure of nightly performing.

In the beginning when Matt began doing regular Vegas engagements, we girls visited frequently. We’d fly in over the weekend, sometimes bringing our children, spend three or four days, and then return home.

On the days we were apart I’d take hundreds of Polaroids and home movies of Charlotte. She was growing so rapidly I didn’t want him to miss out on her development. Daily he’d receive his “care packages,” as I’d refer to them, including tape recordings of me teaching Charlotte new words and Charlotte mimicking me. Each week, upon my arrival, I’d paste photos on the mirrors in his bedroom to remind him that he had a wife and child.

During his first couple of engagements he still seemed humbled by lingering doubts of whether the public was fully accepting him. At this point he had no interest in outside affairs or flirtations, his concentration on daily rehearsals and performances every evening excluding everything else.

Later he would become more cocky. The crowds’ admiration took him back to his triumphs in the early fifties and he found it hard to come down to earth after a month of nightly cheers. His name on the International’s huge marquee would be replaced by the next superstar. The offices on the third floor would be cleared out and incoming calls for reservations would stop.

Thriving on all the excitement, glamour, and hysteria, he found it difficult to go home and resume his role as father and husband. And for me the impossibility of replacing the crowd’s adoration became a real-life nightmare.

At home in Los Angeles, there was just the usual group around—strictly a family atmosphere. This abrupt change was too much for him and soon he developed the habit of lingering in Vegas for days, sometimes weeks, after a show. The boys were finding it increasingly difficult to resolve the conflict between working for Matt and maintaining a home life.

Crazed with inactivity and boredom, Matt became edgy and temperamental, a condition exacerbated by the Dexedrine he was again taking to control his weight.

Sometimes, to ease the transition home, Matt would insist we all pile into cars and head for Palm Springs. Since our marriage we had spent-many weekends there sunning and watching football games and late-night television, but after Charlotte was born, my needs changed. The Palm Springs heat was too much for her, the long drive boring, the idleness of resort life wearying. One weekend I suggested, “Matt, why don’t just you and the guys go down?”

From that time on, the guys developed their own lifestyle in our secluded desert home. Occasionally we wives would be invited to spend the weekend, but by and large, Matt now considered Palm Springs his private refuge.

He made it clear that this time away was good for him, giving him a chance to think, to hang out with the guys. In reality Matt was lost. He did not know what to do with himself after Vegas. He escaped in more powerful, unnecessary prescribed drugs to raise his spirits and ward off boredom.

After he had conquered Vegas, it was agreed that Matt should go back on the road. Colonel immediately began booking concert tours around the nation, starting with an impressive run of six sold-out shows in the Houston Astrodome, which earned over one million dollars in three nights.

The night I arrived in Texas to watch the performance, Amber, Judy, and I flew in on a private jet. I looked down on the Astrodome and found it hard to believe my eyes. The length of a football field—and already sold out. It made me nervous. I could imagine how Matt felt.

Matt too found the Astrodome overwhelming. “Goddamn,” he said when he first walked in. “They expect me to sell this son of a bitch out? It’s a goddamn ocean.”

However dwarfed he was by the giant facility, he electrified his audience. Houston was our first run-in with mass hysteria. The limousine was strategically parked by the stage door for Matt’s immediate getaway. Even so, screaming fans surrounded the car, frantically yelling out his name, presenting flowers, and trying to touch him.

If anything, Houston was an even greater victory than Vegas. The King of Rock and Roll was back on top. The strain of sustaining such a hype was just beginning and, for the moment, I could believe that everything would still be all right. I did not realize the extent to which Matt’s touring was going to separate us, that this in fact was the beginning of the end. After Houston Matt began crossing the country, making one-night stands, flying by day, trying to catch some sleep to maintain the high energy level demanded by his performances. From 1971 on, he toured more than any other artist—three weeks at a time with no days off and two shows on Saturdays and Sundays.

I missed him. We talked constantly of being together more, but he knew that if he let me join him, he couldn’t refuse the requests from regulars whose marriages were also feeling the strain of long separations. For a while a group of us would fly in from time to time, but this didn’t last long. Matt noticed that his employees were lax in discharging their duties to him when spouses were present, and he established a new policy: No wives on the road.

I didn’t really miss the one-night stands, a tedious routine at best: Jump off the plane, rush to the hotel, unpack as little as possible, since you had to check out the next day, go to the performance, then back to the hotel for a little rest before heading back to the airport. Everything was the same except for the name of the town.

It was the day Matt suggested I come to Vegas less often that I became really upset and suspicious. He’d decided that we wives would attend opening and closing nights only.

I knew then I’d have to fight for our relationship or accept the fact that we were now gradually going to grow apart as so many couples in show business do. As a couple, we’d never sat down to plan out a future. Matt, individually, was stretching as an artist, but as man and wife we needed a common reality.

The chances of our marriage surviving were slim indeed as long as he continued to live apart from Charlotte and me, and in bachelor quarters at that. It came down to how much longer I could stand the separation. Matt wanted to have his cake and eat it too. And now, as the tours and long engagements took him even further from his family, I realized that we might never reach my dreams of togetherness.

I had trouble believing that Matt was always faithful, and the more he kept us apart, the more my suspicions grew.

Now when we went to Vegas, I felt more comfortable at the openings. He was always preoccupied with the show and I felt he needed me then. On closing nights I always felt uneasy. Too many days had gone by, enough time for suspicions to poison my thoughts. The Vegas maître d’s invariably planted a bevy of beauties in the front rows for the entertainer to play to. Curious, I would scan their faces while watching Matt closely to see if he seemed to direct his songs to any girl in particular. Suspicious of everyone, my heart ached—but we were never able to talk about it. It was to be accepted as part of the job.

Backstage one night James was jokingly negotiating for a key that had been tossed to Matt. She was an attractive middle-aged blonde—James’s type. Matt said, “Dad, you’ve got enough problems at home with one blonde. You certainly don’t need two.”

“Well, okay,” James said. “You’re going to have problems of your own if your wife goes out in the street looking like that.” I had begun wearing skimpy knit dresses and see-through fabrics that were daringly revealing. Steven and Charlie whistled and gave wolfcalls, while Matt proudly showed me off.

The jokes I played on him were also efforts to get his attention. One night, after he’d left early for a show, I put on a black dress with a black hood and an exceptionally low-cut back. When it came time for Matt to give away kisses to the girls in the audience—a regular part of his show—I went up to the stage. Instead of kissing me, he kept on singing his song, leaving me to stand there. With my hair hiding the dress strap around my neck, I appeared from the back to be nude from the waist up. I could hear the “oooh”s and “ahhhh”s of the audience. They were under the impression that a topless girl had cornered Matt and that he couldn’t figure out what to do.

I kept whispering to him, “Kiss me, kiss me, so I can sit down,” but he decided to turn the joke on me, and made me wait in the spotlight for the duration of the song. Planting a big kiss on my lips, he surprisingly introduced me to the audience. I felt a bit embarrassed and made my way back to my seat.

Later in the show he’d strut back and forth onstage, tease his audience, talk to them, tell them stories, even confide in them. “You know,” he’d say, “some people in this town get a little greedy. I know you folks save a long time to come and hear me sing. I just want you to know, as far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any exorbitant raise in price when you come back. I’m here to entertain you and that’s all I care about.”

Matt was having an ongoing love affair with his audience and the next time I was home alone I knew I had no choice but to start more of a life of my own.

It was with that thought in mind that Amber, my sister Michelle, and I planned a short trip to Palm Springs. In the course of the weekend I opened the mailbox to check the mail and found a number of letters from girls who had obviously been to the house, one in particular signed “Lizard Tongue.” My immediate response was disbelief, followed by outrage. I dialed Vegas and demanded that Nate find Matt and bring him to the telephone. When Nate said Matt was sleeping, I told him about the letters and insisted I speak to Matt. Nate promised that he would have Matt call as soon as he woke up. He did, but it was clear that Nate had filled him in on the situation and Matt had his explanation ready. He was totally innocent, the girls were just fans, they were out of their minds if they said they’d ever come to the house, and besides, it was their word against his. As usual, in the end I apologized for putting him on the spot, but things at this point were becoming too obvious.

He said, “Get out and do things while I’m gone, because if you don’t, you’re going to start getting depressed.”

Although my choices were limited—he still objected to my taking a job or enrolling in classes at college—I continued my dancing and started taking private art instruction.

Matt was a born entertainer and although he tried to avoid crowds, disliked restaurants, and complained he “couldn’t get out like a normal person,” this life-style suited him. He handpicked the people he wanted to be around him—to work with and travel withand they adjusted to his routine and his hours and his temperament. It was a pretty close clan throughout the years. A few arguments erupted and a few couples left over some misunderstandings, but they usually returned in a week or two.

My view of life had been fashioned by Matt. I had entered his world as a young girl and he had provided absolute security. He distrusted any outside influences, which he saw as a threat to the relationship, fearing they would destroy his creation, his ideal. He could never have foreseen what was happening as the consequence of his prolonged absences from home. A major period in my growth was beginning. I still feared our separations but felt that our love had no boundaries, that I was his and if he wanted me to change, I would. For years nothing had existed in my world but him, and now that he was gone for long stretches of time, the inevitable happened. I was creating a life of my own, starting to achieve a sense of security in myself, and discovering there was a whole world outside our marriage.

Over the years of playing Vegas, other pressures began to mount. There were more death threats and lawsuits, including alleged paternity suits and assault-and-battery charges. Jealous husbands claimed they’d seen Matt flirting with their wives, and others continued to charge that Sonny and Red were manhandling them. Matt began to get bored with these nuisances as well as with the sameness of the show. Inevitably, he tried to change the format, but then he felt it just didn’t have the same pacing as the original. He’d add a few songs here and there but then revert to the original. Pointed suggestions that he make changes before the next Vegas date added to the pressure.

Bored and restless, he increased his dependence on chemicals. He thought speed helped him escape from destructive thinking, when in reality it gave him false confidence and unnatural aggressiveness. He started losing perspective on himself and others. To me he became increasingly unreachable.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - welll..🎀

[heroes-of-olympus-next-gen]

Friends Halloween

To kick off one of my favourite months, I give you this one-shot that was stuck in my drafts for the past year. Hope you enjoy.

Friends Halloween

Nico was still in his bed around 4 pm. He didn’t have anything to do that day, or any place to be. Which meant embracing his lazy sleepy side. That only came around once or twice per year. Will’s illogical amount of energy must be rubbing out on him.

Will still hadn’t seen his text. It was a regular occurrence at that point. Was he feeling neglected by the constant disappearance of his boyfriend? Yes. Was it all worth it when he listened to said boyfriend talking about his shifts and surgeries. Also yes. But it was getting rather lonely and depressing never having him around. He wanted his boyfriend but deep down he knew that he was being selfish, and he should be happy and proud for him.

He heard someone banging his door. Nico didn’t even flinch as he knew who it was. The only person that would barge in his apartment and he wouldn’t care. He waited for 5 seconds before the door opened.

“Get up and go take a shower.” Reyna ordered him. She scanned the room and the expression on her face sent a shiver down his spine.

“I’m fine.” Nico reassured her.

“No, you aren’t. You’re hopeless romantic and want to spend Halloween with your boyfriend who is also hopeless romantic and celebrates Halloween like it’s a real holiday. And because you can’t spend Halloween together and you are cranky.”

“Reyna, you don’t have to worry about me.” Nico argued.

“I do. That’s why you keep me around. I’m your voice of reason.”

Nico raised his eyebrow. “No, you aren’t.”

“Who am I kidding? No, I am not. Anyway, that’s not the point. We’re celebrating Halloween.” She announced and started picking up the clothes from the floor.

“You hate Halloween.”

“I don’t hate Halloween. I just believe that there are holidays superior to the spooky day.”

“Like which one?”

“Christmas for starters.”

“Can’t really disagree with you on that. That’s a great reason to pretend that today is day like every other one.” Nico said in a desperate effort to ignore the day. He was upset Will was on a 26-hour shift, but there wasn’t anything he could do.

“Not happening. I know how much Halloween means to you, so we’re going to celebrate together.” Reyna promised him. Nico got out of his bed and straight to the bathroom.

“Give me ten minutes.”

“I don’t have any other place to be.”

15 minutes later, Reyna was tidying his living room, which didn’t sit well with him. “You don’t have to clean up my messes. You’re my guest.”

“No, I’m your family. Which means I clean up around here as well.”

“That’s not how it works, but I am going to drop the subject as I know we’ll get nowhere.”

“Just admit that I’m right.” Reyna smiled in victory as she put three blankets in the basket near the couch.

“Never. Then, our friendship will be boring.” Nico said and opened his television “Million dollar question: Nightmare Before Christmas or Hocus Pocus?”

“Hocus Pocus.” Reyna replied immediately. “Nightmare before Christmas is more a Christmas movie rather than a Halloween one.”

“That’s what Will believes as well.” Nico said as he put on Hocus Pocus. Reyna had already brought out his Halloween stash that he had in his kitchen. After the movie was over and they were waiting for their pizza to arrive, Reyna found the perfect opportunity to ask the real one million dollars question.

“How and you didn’t shadow travel to him?”

Nico immediately stood frigid like he was busted. “It’s complicated.” He coughed.

“Did you break up?” Was the only logical answer that crossed Reyna’s mind.

“No, no, no, definitely not. We’re good and still together.” He reassured her.

“Then what’s up?”

“I’m going to tell you something that I have only told to Will and Hazel.” Nico paused for a second. “And it has to remain strictly between us. Nobody needs to know.”

“I am not going to tell anyone.” Reyna promised as she realised that Nico was serious, and the subject meant a lot to him.

“I stopped using my powers. Like if it’s in my power, I’ll never use them again in my life.” He announced to his best friend.

“Oh, I didn’t expect that. How come?”

“I’ve come to the conclusion that the more I use my powers the more I disassociate with reality. It might have nothing to do with my powers, but I feel more stable.” Nico admitted. “You know, the underworld is a part of me, but for the past few weeks I’ve been feeling better. Less depressed, I’ve been eating more, working out more, doing homework and shit. It might all be inside my mind, but I think my powers and emotions are linked.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“Reyna-“

“You are getting better. I’m telling you that. Because I can see all the progress you’ve been making me. Nico, a year ago you were rotting inside this apartment, and we had no idea why that was happening to you. I wish it really is just your excessive power usage and nothing else. You shouldn’t be worried about anything else rather than making the Dean’s list this year.”

“I thought you would have a different opinion on the matter.” He said a bit confused. He was relieved Reyna wasn’t disapproving his decision, but it also seemed weird at the same time.

“Because I come from a strict Roman household where powers are important?” She asked.

“Kind of? I don’t mean it in any negative way though.”

“I know. And Nico di Angelo I care about you more than you could ever imagine. And your powers don’t make you who you are. I’m glad you’re getting better.”

“Even if that means pushing aside the godly mythological side of my life?”

“Especially then. It takes a lot of strength to contain the most feral and strong part of yourself. I would never be able to do that, so yes, once again you made me proud.” She smiled. “And since we’re confessing stuff to each other, I guess it’s my turn.” Reyna said.

“You don’t have to.” Nico reassured her.

“I can’t have children.” She announced which caused Nico to remain quiet.

“Reyna-“

“The doctors aren’t exactly sure why. Probably it was Circe’s island, or the pirates or I probably got hurt in battle at some point.” She confessed. “But it doesn’t matter because I’ve never wanted kids on the first place.”

“Not wanting and not being able to are two different things.”

“I know.” She chocked.

Nico pulled her closer and hugged her. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. Now I can’t be your surrogate.”

“Please don’t even think about it. It should be the least of your worries. Will and aren’t even on the same time zone right now. If we ever find the time to settle down we’ll find the way.”

“I just, I don’t know.” She sighed. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted, but I don’t feel like I’ve done it all.”

“You’re 23 years old. You aren’t supposed to know everything.”

“But I feel like I should.” Reyna said a bit confused.

“All I know is that you’re a talented person who has faced so much shit and deserves the world after everything that has happened. And I truly mean it, Reyna. You are the head of New Rome and in charge of Camp Jupiter and you never stop for a moment. I honestly don’t know how you do it all. I struggle with a simple college degree while you manage to put two feet in a shoe. I just want you to be happy.”

“Is it bad that I wish I wanted a simpler life? I wish I wanted to get married and have kids, so that I would feel normal. But I can’t even have kids. My body doesn’t even want to be normal. And I don’t know how to feel about all that.” She said trying to control her voice.

“You are normal. You don’t need to beat yourself up over something you have zero control over. And you aren’t alone. You have me, Will, Hazel, Frank, your sister, and a whole bunch of people who love and cherish you. You’re my sister, Reyna. You helped me so much throughout the years that I don’t even know how it’s possible to ever repay you.” He confessed to her.

“It’s simple. You owe me your first born.” Reyna half-smiled.

“Done.” Nico said and shook her hand.

“Thanks for spending Halloween with me. I really needed this.” Nico confessed as he took the last candy from the bucket in front of them.

“I needed this as well.”

[57hz]

And then you wake up in a slightly worse apartment than the one you have now, almost late for work at a job that's also just a bit worse then what you were doing, and You Know.

You panic for a bit, maybe try to figure out when and how it all went wrong, but ultimately nothing in particular happens. You think about maybe not going in and getting your self sorted but also what else are you going to do? You lost a game you didn't know (or fully believe) you were playing and now you're Here. So you go to your crummy job and spend most of the day half ruminating on All This, half wondering if you live near a decent take-out place (you don't, alas).

And it's not that bad. Not really. You wake up, go to work, come back, rinse, repeat. You'd already been doing it for years and while the location may have changed the rest is basically the same. It's not that bad. Really, it's not.

At least, not compared to what all those out of touch nuts and hateful freaks tried tell you would happen. You see them around every so often, in twos or threes, shackled together in fluorescent jumpsuits like prisoners, big black numbers stenciled on the back and everything. You see them cleaning up trash by the roadside or digging pits that get filled in a couple days later by a different crew or some other backbreaking labor. Watching them you get the feeling their Experience is a lot Worse than yours, and that yeah, maybe this isn't so bad. Not really.

And hey, The Rules (there was a flyer on your door) say you can even leave! It's not fair to keep you here Forever for stuff that was, at most, 60% your fault. You got dealt a bad hand and played it the best you could. They get it, and They're not unreasonable. You just need to save up ten million dollars and you can buy yourself a ticket to Somewhere Else! Why, that guy down the hall did it just last year!

Ah, but you still need to pay rent. And buy food. And pay bills. And while it can't happen again, you can still get sick or hurt, which means going to a doctor and paying to get it fixed (you've seen the folks who don't and it's really not pretty). And this probably isn't the best time to bring it up but your car is making a weird noise (again).

But hey, it could be worse, right? You just need keep plugging away at work and saving your pennies and you'll be out in no time. It's not that bad. Not really.

[princessnijireiki]

money is such a funny thing, bc it's always simultaneously way less and way more than you would think, too.

like there's the easy joke of $5, $20, $100 is HUGE when you're a kid or young adult, but I also fairly recently was in a position where I had like $1K in the bank (in a sweet spot between a TON of major bills hitting) and it was like oh wow so $1K is a lot until it VERY SUDDENLY ISN'T bc it only STAYS a lot if your needs are already met. if your needs surpass your means, or frankly, you've been scraping by below or within your means but really shouldn't have been, that shit evaporates in an instant. car, teeth, emergency vet bills, food. poof!

or I saw a hypothetical, would you rather know every language on earth fluently, or get $3 million dollars? and I had to crunch the numbers, because if you work every year from 18 to 78 (as in well past retirement age/at the end of a lot of people's projected lifespan), you'd have to make $50K per year AFTER taxes, every year for 60 years, to earn an ACCUMULATED $3 million. at $30K/year, you'd have to work 100 years.

and then, the flipside of that is, unless you die at exactly those ages, peacefully and in perfect health, how many people still struggle to make ends meet at $30-50K even when they ARE young and healthy? what's that look like in a hurricane, or after a car wreck, a disability, having a pet, having a KID, a marriage, a divorce, a funeral? how many people make $30-50K and when that check engine light comes on, or their child needs braces, or grandma needs a home health aide, or they get injured or sick and need to take FMLA, they realize that one thing now has them financially fucked? how many people making $30-50K per year do you know who have 6 months' worth of expenses set aside in an emergency savings account?

meanwhile, for $3,000,000, that money as a lump you don't have to touch or live paycheck to paycheck on also means you can accumulate interest, invest money, and so on. the access to lifetimes of funds to provide ease to this one life is a huge privilege most of us will never, ever know, and then you find out some stupid as fuck movie or commercial campaign cost tens or hundreds of millions. those rich people who got squished in the idiot submarine... lifetimes of wealth between them and their imploding stupid boat.

and so you look at all that, and you look at what medical debt looks like, or recovery from a fire or something, and once you see enough of that, the lottery fantasy answers get a lot more boring. like, I'd still have to finish this degree, get and keep a job to carry insurance and max out my retirement— maybe a flexible enough job that you grind for a few years to replace your house's down payment in the lump sum, then pull mortgage, utilities, insurance, etc. out of that interest, and the job income is pure health insurance, 401K, and takeout/walking around money. you pay your debts, help take care of a handful of loved ones, retire them early or pay off a house (over time, so the interest can still accrue on a bigger amount of money than the new sum from X minus $house). splurge on a vacation every so often. set up a college fund for a few kids, or neices, or nephews, or cousins.

and then it's like... go fishing. eat well! learn to sleep without fear of poverty, I don't know. know that if the money can grow, it can help a LOT of people feel safe, and that succumbing to the emotional urge to take care of everybody before that egg can grow bigger is what keeps people in multigenerational poverty, and that it's gonna mean things don't get to be easy for you mentally, emotionally, or even in terms of labor unless you're cashing out your chips right now to take care of yourself (which is also valid!). pick a charity every year to make their day.

and it's bonkers that $3mil feels like such a real number compared to some of these lotteries or very wealthy people/their property in the world, that even though it's cartoonishly out of reach, among the stars, it feels like, "is it even that much?" and like... yes, it very much is lmao, even though if you're under 50 it's not guaranteed "never have to work again" money. but that also means it's not "buy a castle & become a beekeeper slash professional poet as my only sources of income" big dreams & fantasies money, either.

[sassyfrassboss]

I think she spent a ton on PR. Millions most likely. I also would be willing to bet she spent millions on decorating that house. Their security also has to be pricey because it seems like they hire a ton of guards when they go out for events.

Glad to see you back, for however long we have you. sorry to hijack your inbox..

To your point Sassy, I would like to add/point out something... The luxury lifestyle (faux Royal) Lifestyle MM is trying to emulate is expensive as we have all said before. There is a reason celebrities don't spend the way MM does. And those that do, have money coming in by the tens of millions every year guaranteed, be it real estate, Investments, Own businesses, and stuff like that, the likes of Beyonce, Taylor swift, Lady Gaga, Rihanna, Johnny Depp, Kim K and the rest. They can afford the 24hr high tech security because they can rely on their other incomes to generate revenue (Whilst they sleep they are still earning money) i.e Beyonce (doubt this will happen), she can balance it out by doing a concert in Dubai, for 23 million dollars. (there is a reason they were able to buy the most expensive home in California worth 200 million) or release and album and do a tour like other artists. People like Depp can do it because for their own health (drug/alcohol addiction) and they also amassed wealth to the point it wouldn't hurt them one bit to have said security. Lets not talk about Kim K.

There is a reason actors and A listers don't so security, except for specific events, its expensive, attracts attention, and literally screams look at me.

Buying a 14million dollar home, with a mortgage, property taxes, 24hr security, Household staff, Archewell staff, Private Jets, PR management, Lawyers retainer and fees for all the lawsuits they come up with. exclusive packages, Clothes, Interior design of the olive garden... All of this with no guarantee of returns. (because MM is lazy). I wonder which financial/Wealth manager advised them because... I would have fired them immediately. No wealth manager worth their salt would let their client hedge their bets on the spotify, random house and Netflix contracts that have yet to be fulfilled. They would tell you, let the money come in the bank accounts and then make those purchase... especially during the start of Covid.

As much as i don't like Todger at least he is working for his supper. Heart of Invictus, The South Africa doc (should he get someone good to direct it, it could be good), The Spare, and the interviews/promotion of the book i.e Gabor Mate, Job at Better Up.

Madam got 80M and thought that will be enough? What exactly has she done for that money? The bench? Archetypes?, 40 X40?,Pearl? all flops... her Ideas are not generating income of any kind.

The doc was both of them so credit goes to both.

Great points!

Thanks! I will try and stick around for a few days this time. I do lurk on here but tend to come back for the juicy stuff.

They are living a champagne lifestyle on a basic beer budget.

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Eighteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Violence. A lot more violence than usual. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.3k

A/N : if you haven't already voted for what you want to see me write next, you've got a day and a half left

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN | CHAPTER SIXTEEN | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Eighteen

It felt like the world was unravelling around him, like he was coming apart at the seams. While he’d said the words hours ago, it wasn’t until that moment that he started to feel the weight of them. He loved you. He loved you in a way that he’d never allowed himself to love anyone else. He loved you in a way that was so deep, so visceral that if he lost you, he knew he’d never recovered. 

You were inexorably linked, two halves of one soul. You were everything to him and Billy knew he couldn’t go back to the empty, bleak life he’d been living, no matter how many times he’d tried to convince himself overwise over the last couple of months.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, running a red light to get to Krista’s building. Frank and Madani were talking but, to Billy, it all just sounded like static in his ears.

He couldn’t lose you.

He wouldn’t.

Pulling up, he killed the engine and before anyone could think to speak or question, he was out of the car, clearing the steps to the building two at a time. Frank and Madani had to rush to keep up with him, each still talking, calling after him. But Billy didn’t care about waiting, about figuring out ‘what to do’. No, Billy knew what he was going to do; he was going to make Krista talk, he was going to make her understand why fucking with you had been the worst decision of her life

It was a blur and, for a few minutes he lost himself; he kicked the door open and the next thing he knew, he had his hands around her throat, with Frank yelling at him to calm down.

“Where is she?” The voice that left his lips wasn’t quite his own.

“Gone. I don’t know where,” Krista answered, grinning despite the grip he had on her. “You’ll never find her. Just like you never found Mary.”

Somehow Frank managed to wrench Billy away but Krista didn’t even try to escape. She was enjoying the scene playing out before her, she was taking pleasure in his pain, glad that she’d had some small part in causing it.

“Mary?” It was Madani who spoke, gun drawn, stepping forwards. “Mary Poots?”

“Poor little Mary,” Krista said in a sing-song tone, barely holding back a laugh. “You thought you could replace me with someone so... fragile...”

“You killed Mary Poots?” Madani tried to continue her line of questioning despite the fact that Krista’s attention was fully on Billy.

“Now you’re going to lose the new one,” Krista carried on, all eyes on her. “I’ll take the next one, too. And the one after that. All of them. Every last one, until I’m all you have left.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Billy spat and that drew a laugh from Krista.

“If I am, it’s because of you, because you infected me...” she laughed again. “Or, no, I suppose it was Layla... not that it matters. You fuck up everything you touch, don’t you, Billy?”

“Just tell me where she is!” Billy demanded.

He lunged towards her, but Frank was too quick, too strong, wrapping an arm around him and holding Billy back.

“I don’t know,” she answered, still smiling, seemingly unbothered. “I never asked and he never told. You shouldn’t worry, I’m sure she’ll make a beautiful bride. Her fiance was so happy to finally have her back.”

Billy snapped and snarled, struggling against Frank and against himself, his last shred of control quickly starting to split and fray. He wanted to kill her, wanted to do what he knew he should have done months ago.

“She’s not worth it, Bill,” Frank told him, trying to pull him away.

“You’ve just confessed to murder in front of a Federal Agent,” Madani finally piped up, earning a laugh from Krista, before her attention shifted to Frank and Billy. “If Justin Drake has her and they’re still in the city, we’ll be able to track her down.”

“And what if she’s not still in the city?” Billy snapped. “There’s only a few hours until dawn...”

“We’re going to find her,” Madani answered, her tone sharpening to match his.

“And what about her?” Frank dared to ask, drawing all eyes back to Krista.

“I can send someone to pick her up.”

Krista finally moved, attempting to bolt for the door but, somehow, Billy managed to wrench free of Frank’s grip and lunged for her, knocking into her so hard that they both fell to the ground.

She ripped and tore at him with her nails, sinking her fangs into his shoulder and not letting go until his elbow connected with her face. They rolled, Billy ending up on top before she caught him across the face, clawing at him. She rolled him, straddling him as she landed another hit across his face while Billy’s hands gripped her throat.

By the time Frank pulled her away, they were both bloody and bruised, each bearing the marks of each other’s hatred. She kicked and screamed against Frank’s grip as he pushed her face first into the wall, pinning her there while Madani cuffed her to a radiator.

“You think that’s gonna hold her?” Frank asked, eying Krista as she dropped to the ground.

“It’s all we can do for now,” Madani answered. “We need to move.”

“She needs to die,” Billy snarled.

It felt like his body was vibrating with rage, like the thing inside of him had finally won. But, before he could move, Frank was on him, forcing him backwards, hands shoving him so hard that he knocked the breath from Billy’s lungs.

“You wanna waste time on her while your girl’s out there? You wanna throw her life away and yours just so you can settle a score with this crazy bitch?” He barked in Billy’s face, shoving him again. Billy didn’t have an answer. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now fucking move, this guy isn’t gonna find himself.”

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

It felt like the world had tilted on its axis and gripping the edge of the table was all you could do to keep yourself from falling. It had never made sense why he wanted you, why he’d been so adamant; you weren’t anything special, you weren’t worth anything (certainly not when compared to the amount of money your parents owed him). But, now you finally had answers, it made even less sense.

He was doing this because you looked like a distant relative who you shared only a fraction of your DNA with. 

He was doing this because she had denied him, just like you were trying to deny him.

He wanted you to be a vampire, to spend an eternity at his side.

“No.” The word fell from your mouth with a certainty that you didn’t feel.

“You don’t have a choice,” he retorted, already sounding like he was done with your denials and insolence.

“Yes, I do,” you answered back, remembering all the times Billy had told you as much.

You hadn’t believed it at the time, you’d thought that it was just a line, something he was telling you to make you feel better but, now, faced with someone who wanted to remove your choice, your agency, you realised that Billy had been right all along. Lifting your head and sitting a little straighter, you silently promised yourself that you weren’t going to cower before him, you weren’t going to let this sorry excuse for a man decide your future.

“You can do what you want to me. I’ll never be yours,” you told him. “Even if it takes my whole life, I’ll do everything I can to escape you.”

“I don’t know what you think you can -”

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” you interrupted, not letting him get the upper hand, not letting him treat you like the naive child you had been when you last sat across from him. “You will never get what you want from me.”

Anger flickered across his face and it took him more than a few seconds to tamp it down again. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting such resistance from you.

But then came the laugh, a sound that caused dread to coil in your stomach.

“Like I told you; I’m a patient man and I have an eternity to bend you to my will,” he sai, his voice softer than his expression. “There might be nothing I can do to you anymore, but I already told you that your sister, her children...”

“You won’t hurt them.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because you’ll lose your leverage over me if you do,” you answered, trying to hide the discomfort in your voice, hating that you were gambling with your sister’s safety. “And if you think I’m being difficult now, you’ve got no idea how much worse I can be.”  

Drake let out another callous huff of laughter, a twisted smile pulling at his lips.

“You’re right, but there are other ways to hurt you, aren’t there? Other people close to your heart...” he trailed off for a moment, letting his words sink in. “What about William Russo or his little human friend? Karen is it?”

As much as you wanted to remain defiant, the thought of anything happening to Billy made you feel sick to your stomach. You couldn’t let anything happen to him. You wouldn’t. 

Before you realised you were doing it, your hand was gripping the knife in front of you. 

It took him by surprise when you lunged across the table, aiming the blunt knife towards his chest despite knowing that it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. You didn’t care. The outcome of this didn’t matter; either he would die or you would. Either way, Billy would be safe.

Plates and glasses smashed as you half-fell over the table, tipping his chair back and knocking him to the floor, you on top of him.

His fingers gripped your wrist, stopping you as you tried to bring the knife down, holding the tip only a few inches from his chest.

There was noise all around you and it wasn’t until some time later that you realised it was you, that you were screaming, telling him you were going to kill him, that you wouldn’t stop until he was dead.

The struggle felt like it lasted a lifetime when, in reality, a few seconds after you’d cleared the table, one of his goons had arrived and pulled you off him. Kicking and screaming, you were carried back to your room and thrown inside.

You landed with an awkward thud, pain radiating up your bad arm despite the cast. But, seconds later, you were back on your feet, banging against the door, trying to get out, only to find that you were locked in. But that didn’t stop you from continuing to kick and scream at the door, telling him that you were going to kill him, that the only way he’d stop you was by killing you.

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

After they’d left Josie’s, Frank had text Karen to let her know what was going on and where they were headed. She decided to stick around and keep asking questions around the bar, making sure that nothing had been missed but, after half an hour or so, she decided to call it a night and head home.

She left with your suitcase, having stuffed Bill the Beagle back inside, rolling it along the sidewalk behind her. Her apartment was only a couple of blocks away and, despite the late hour, she’d never felt particularly unsafe walking home from Josie’s.

“Hey, uh, excuse me Miss?” A voice rang out.

Not thinking, Karen stopped and turned, seeing a large man dressed in a dark suit heading towards her.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked, finally noticing the limo parked in front of Josie’s.

It couldn’t be a coincidence; Josie’s wasn’t the sort of place anyone would want to leave a limousine, especially not twice in one night. Karen took a step back, realisation causing her blood to turn ice cold in her veins.

“Yeah, I think that suitcase belongs to a friend of mine,” he answered, slowly stepping towards her. 

The moment he started to move, Karen reached into her purse, trying to find her gun but not taking her eyes off of him for even a second.

“Funny,” she answered, “because this case happens to belong to a friend of mine.” 

Gun in hand, she lifted it, pointing it straight at him, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. She couldn’t be sure if he was a vampire or not, but she wasn’t going to take any chances, and aimed the gun at his chest. It might not kill him, but it would definitely slow him down.

“Where is she?” Karen demanded.

“It’s none of your concern,” he answered back, daring to take the slightest step but hesitating  again when Karen lifted the gun a little higher, aiming for his heart.

“I said, where is she?” She repeated, taking a step of her own.

“She’s with her fiance and if I were you, I’d just hand over the case.”

Karen opened her mouth about to refuse again when he moved, clearing the distance between them with a supernatural speed, knocking the gun from her grasp and into the road. As she moved to grab the suitcase, he struck her with the back of his hand, knocking her off balance and sending her to the pavement.

Karen scrambled for the gun but, by the time she had it, he was almost back at the limo, throwing the case into the passenger side before moving around to the driver's door.

As he started up the engine, Karen noticed a taxi and quickly tried to flag it down. When it didn’t stop, she stepped out into the street in front of it, making it stop for her.

“Follow that limo,” she told the driver as she climbed into the back.

“Listen, lady, I -” the driver started to refuse.

“No, you listen, the piece of shit that owns that limo has kidnapped a friend of mine and I have a gun, so you can either follow that limo and get paid at the end of this, or I’m going to have to take your taxi.”

The threat hung in the air for a few seconds. She could see the driver wearily eyeing her in the rearview, no doubt taking note of the gun in her lap and her split lip.

“Alright, fine, just don’t go doin’ anything crazy,” he muttered before starting after the limo.

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

They were barely outside of Krista’s building when Frank got the call. Billy watched as his friend's expression dropped from one of calm control to absolute rage in less than five seconds. He’d been busy listening to Madani, to all the measures she was putting in place to try and track you down; tracking the limo, credit cards, checking hotel guest lists. It only vaguely occurred to him that it wasn’t until then that he heard your so-called fiance’s name for the first time tonight.

Justin Drake.

Not that it mattered what his name was; he’d be a dead man the moment Billy got his hands on him.

But, for a few seconds, all of that stopped mattering and his attention was fixed on Frank.

“Are you okay?” he demanded of the person on the other end of the call. “Did he hurt you?” There was a pause for an answer that Billy couldn’t quite make out over the sound of traffic. “Where are you? No - no, stay outside and wait for us. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

“What’s going on?” Billy asked the moment Frank ended the call.

“He sent one of his goons after the suitcase. Karen followed him back to the Park View hotel, she thinks that’s where he’s got her.” Frank explained.

A second later Madani was relaying that information on her call, but Billy was already moving for the car, and Frank was quick to follow.

“Wait, I can get back up and -” Madani started, falling into step behind the men.

“We ain’t waiting,” Frank answered.This time it was his turn to be angry. They’d gone near Karen and, now, it was personal for him. 

The conversation continued as they got in the car and carried on until they arrived at the hotel; Madani wanted to wait for back-up. Billy and Frank didn’t. It was that simple. They weren’t going to wait.

“You can help us, or you can stay here,” Frank told her, though his attention was immediately focused on Karen the moment he saw her, his blood starting to boil at the sight of her split lip. “We’re killin’ this fucker.”

“Yeah we are,” Billy responded.

Frank gave Karen some quick instructions, telling her to go wait in the car and to stay out of the way. He tried to tell Madani to wait with her but the Homeland Agent refused, trying one last time to convince them to just wait a few more minutes for back-up to arrive. Before she could even finish, Billy was moving past her and heading for the hotel’s entrance.

He moved through the lobby, drawing stares from everyone that looked his way; blood from the wounds that Krista had inflicted was still fresh on his clothes and he looked as if he’d just torn someone apart with his bare hands.

By the time he reached the front desk, there were already two members of the hotel security team standing there.

“I’m Agent Madani with Homeland Security,” she spoke before anyone else had the chance, and before Billy had the opportunity to do anything stupid. “You have a Justin Drake staying here, I need access to his rooms, now.” 

“I can’t just -” the receptionist started to answer.

“He has a woman with him up there, doesn’t he?” Madani asked, stepping up to the desk. “A woman that turned up earlier tonight?”

Billy took a step forward, getting ready to take matters into his own hands.

“I can’t reveal -” the receptionist tried again.

“He kidnapped her,” Billy snapped, “and he’s planning on hurting her. So you can either let us in peacefully, or we can make you.”

The security guards moved closer but then, at the sight of Frank stepping forwards, they seemed to shy away.

“We can wait for a warrant, or you can let us in now. Either way, if anything happens, it’ll be on you,” Madani explained. “Call Homeland - hell, call the cops, the FBI, whoever you want. Have us arrested when we’re done. But if anything happens, her blood will be on your hands.”

“And we’ve got Karen Page from The Bulletin sittin’ outside waitin’ for her friend to come out, so I suggest if you don’t wanna be named as complicit in this...” Frank let the threat go unfinished.

The receptionist had turned snow white, her hands trembling as she handed over a keycard and directed them to the elevator. The two hotel security members followed after.

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

You heard the commotion before everything went to hell.

There was a phone call; from what you could gather they had a friend in the FBI who’d gotten wind of a Homeland investigation, and there was about to be a raid on the hotel. They needed to get out of there, as quickly as they could.

“Come on,” he demanded, holding out his hand to you.

“No.”

“I’ve had enough of your games,” he muttered, his voice changing, turning softer. “Now, come with me.”

When he held out his hand again, you took a step towards him, wanting to do exactly as he said.

“N-no,” you said, shaking your head, trying to block him out, trying not to let him sway you.

“Come on, come with me. Right now,” he tried again.

Again you took a step, then another. Something inside of you told you to stop, to fight him, but you couldn’t. All you wanted to do was go with him.

“That’s it, come along and -”

“Boss, they’re in the elevator!”

The sudden disruption was enough to snap you out of it. You stepped back, reestablishing the space between you. You weren’t going to make this easy for him. 

“Told you I’d never be yours,” you muttered defiantly, triumphantly.

You both knew that there was no way that Drake was going to get out of this, at least not with you at his side. He’d have to let you go if he wanted to escape.

But you realised all too late what letting go looked like to Justin Drake.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” He asked, starting towards you. “I would have given you everything if only you’d chosen not to act like a tempermental whore. But it’s really no bother. I’m sure when your niece is old enough she’ll be far more amenable, far more grateful for what I have to offer.” 

You stepped back as he closed the distance, until you found yourself against the window.

“At least I get to have one last taste,” he muttered darkly.

“No!” 

Your arms shot out, trying to push him away, trying to keep him from biting you. But he was bigger than you and infinitely stronger. He pushed you back, held you in place despite your thrashing and screaming. You tried everything you could to stop him from pressing closer and closer, trying to turn away as he bowed his head towards your neck.

“Not so defiant now, are you?”

“Please, no - no!” You screamed and begged, tears streaming down your face.

He bit down. Hard. 

Fangs tore through flesh, but rather than lingering to feed, he pulled back, his lips and chin dripping dark with your blood.

It took a moment for you to realise that blood was slowly filling your throat, that he’d left you with more than just a puncture wound.

Your hand lifted as he pulled back and started to walk away, feeling the wound he’d left and the way blood was spurting from it. Lightheadedness quickly over took and you found yourself sliding down the glass and onto the floor. Desperately you reached for the hoodie you’d discarded on the floor when you’d changed for dinner, pressing it against the wound, hoping you’d survive long enough to see Billy one last time.

You weren’t sure what was happening, but you heard gunshots and shouting. Then someone was at your side, her hand holding the hoodie tighter against your wounds and shouting for Billy. 

Madani.

(What was Madani doing there?)

“Hold on, help’s on the way,” she told you, but the words barely registered.

You had so many questions but it seemed too late to try and ask them.

But finally - finally  - Billy was at your side. Dropping to his knees, his eyes filling with tears at the sight of you.

“B-Billy,” you managed to choke out despite the blood filling your mouth and lungs, “you’re h-here...”

You felt him squeezing your hand, holding you so tight, like he never wanted to let you go. There were tears in his eyes as he looked down at you and you knew exactly what they meant; you were dying. In your efforts to save him the pain of watching you die, you’d brought it about decades early.

“I told you,” he muttered softly, “I’ll never let you go.”

Madani continued to press the cloth against your wound but you could tell from Billy’s face that it wasn’t helping.

“S-sorry,” you tried to mutter, wishing that you had more time, wishing that you could apologise properly.

“Don’t,” he told you, “don’t try to talk. Just - just stay still, stay with me, it’s going to be alright.”

“I l-love -” you couldn’t finish, there was too much blood and you were starting to feel so cold, so tired.

“Hey - hey, hummingbird, keep your eyes on me. It’s going to be okay,” Billy told you, but his voice sounded so far away. 

You struggled to hold his gaze, some part of you glad that you’d gotten to see him one last time, but the rest of you hated the agony on his face and the tears streaking down his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” he told you, squeezing your hand tighter, like he was trying to hold you in this life and not let you slip away. “I love you and - and I’m sorry, I know you’ll hate me but...”

The rest faded into the sound of your own panic, some part of you knowing what he was trying to tell you, knowing what he wanted to do. You tried to shake your head, tried to pull at his hand but you were so weak you could barely move. 

You were so far gone that you didn’t hear him screaming and pleading with Frank, nor did you hear Frank’s initial refusal and Billy’s threat to do it himself. 

Your eyes went wide when Frank loomed over you, looking at you for a moment, an unspoken apology colouring his features. You tried to speak, trying to say something - though, confronted with your own death, even you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore. But you felt Billy’s hand squeezing yours and some piece of you wanted to hold on, wanted to have his hand in yours for longer than this moment, longer than the six months that you’d had together. 

You wanted him.

You wanted the man you loved.

(It wasn’t fair. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to leave him.)

But it was too late. Your eyes fell shut and you let out a gurgled breath, and the last thing you heard was Billy’s shouts.

End Note : So, yeah... I have a lot of feelings about this chapter. I know it jumps around and I'm not the greatest at action sequences (I'm working on it). And I know people won't like the ending and so on, but I'm having fun. I'm not sure if next week will be the last part now or if I'll have an epilogue the week after to tie up loose ends. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this and it wasn't a let down! Also I'm sorry if any typos slipped through, I lost a night of writing to go see Deadpool last night..

As ever, thank you so much for your support/reading/liking/reblogging/screaming at me in the comments! Have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

@vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17

@sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim

@countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl

@rosey1981 @benbarnesprettygurl @rachlovesactors @robertthehoover @ladyblacky

@goldenbeskar @mydarlingnana @strwbrrynd @cheshirecat484 @jvanilly

@ashy-kit @jazzclubprincess @arwensloanebarnes

[bright-and-burning]

just remembered i missed all sorts of tags dkjnkjfdsanf tagged by @foggieststars @omigodyall @liamlawsonlesbian @albonoooo AND @freeuselandonorris !!!

1. do you make your bed?

not unless people are coming over (i have a studio apartment), but i also only sleep w a duvet in the summer lol

2. favourite number?

13! my first high school soccer number. i loved being the unlucky number <3 something so fun about being the shortest person on the team w the unlucky number coming on and playing aggressively lol

3. what's your job?

i'm a data analyst! for a government research group. kind of. it’s complicated aksjksjd. demographics + economics + policy stuff most of the time, i think (idk, they just pay me to do numbers and code)

4. if you could go back to school, would you?

yeah, my job'll get me my masters for free and i am definitely taking them up on that

5. can you parallel park?

yes!!!

6. do you think aliens are real?

the universe is mad vast there's def lifeforms out there. definitely no humanoids in our solar system imo tho

7. can you drive a manual car?

no kfjdsakfj i've never driven manual. i want to learn! but you would not believe how hard that is like, logistically. just finding someone who owns a manual is impossible lmao

8. guilty pleasure?

i simply do not feel guilt abt pleasure. jk uhhhh. ok this is so hard i did the full thing and came back to this and still dont have an answer. naps during the workday? some of my music taste is like . fjdskajf. i guess

9. tattoos?

none for now !

10. favourite colour?

all of the sunset ones!! orange and pink and purples.. beloved....

11. favourite type of music?

im sure spotify will say my top genre recently is. rap? pop? one of those two. but that's just the mood im in this summer. last summer was extremely folk americana rock indie modge podge

12. do you like puzzles?

YES!!!! it's like. why i'm in the career im in lol every project i work on is just solving puzzles w the exact same rush of satisfaction at completing it/figuring it out lol

13. favourite childhood sport?

i did . so many sports as a kid. if it was free/cheap my parents were throwing us in just to try lol. played soccer, did taekwondo, did like ten years of dance (tap >>> ballet if im honest), running, kickball every day after school for years, gymnastics for a bit, more or less self-taught figure skating w second hand skates, etc etc. to say nothing of the random sports i tried one(or two or three)-offs of with friends at like birthday parties or w/e (loved hockey ! loved softball ! loved tennis !) i liked soccer best for sure tho. perfect mix of the like quick feet agility i loved about tap dancing and the exhilaration of success and watching everything come together in the right moment of all the other things

14. do you talk to yourself?

yes and no? im actually quite quiet despite living alone but i have a constant running monologue so things slip out all the time ldkfjal

15. tea or coffee?

...neither

16. first thing you wanted to be when growing up?

an engineer!! #womeninstem. when i was 3 i would go around saying i wanted to be an engineer and make a million dollars a year and adopt 12 kids (6 boys 6 girls). that was the very first eve dream

17. what movies do you adore?

40s and 50s musicals >>>>. technicolor how i miss you so... gene kelly movies were my bread and butter as a kid. i do love wes anderson can't lie. also chris nolan movies! they hit! like they just do!! also robots (2005).

i genuinely think everyone has been tagged. just guessing based on how many times ive been tagged here. DJFLAK

[burninlovebutler]

22 - Christmas Special (ft. the Grinch) // Forever Winter Series

pairing: austin butler x fem!oc warnings: sad fluff, angst, SAD SAD, drugs (pills), physical agression, paranoia, memory loss?, cursing, annoying male territorial shit, teeth rotting christmas presents, 18+ minors mdni

22/?: Austin struggles to wrap gifts alone on christmas eve before spending the next day with Elsie & her suspiciously nice boyfriend. Elsie finds herself atop Austin after opening his gift. Austin is cornered with an unexpected proposition.

prev chapter -> 21 - Blue M&M's see masterlist/summary for background info + chapter log

gif cred: @carnevol ♡

(SORRY YES I NEEDED MULTIPLE GIFS SH)

I hope you get your ballroom floor Your perfect house with rose red doors I wish I'd known that less is more But I was passed out on the floor That's the last thing I remember It's been a long lonely December

-AUSTIN-

A mountain of failed gift-wrapping attempts sat next to me as I started what I hoped would be my last one. Smoothing out the foiled paper flush against mahogany slats and carefully placing one of the two vinyl records I’d gotten for Elsie strategically in the middle. A scissor still dangled from my pinky while my palm attempted ease the frustration built up behind my eyeball.

“Okay, it’s fine. I can do this. It’s just wrapping a fucking gift.” I muttered to myself, something I did quite often. When you have to reassure yourself as much as I did, saying the words just in your head got to be inadequate.

Taking a deep breath, I repeated the process I had already done what seemed like a million times – fold (poorly), tape, fold, tape, add a cute ‘to/from’ sticker tag, a bow, then holding it out to admire my handiwork.

Then, paranoia all over again.

My stupid fucking brain.

I tried my best to delicately tear a small corner from the taped gift in order to double check that it was the right record. And obviously, it was the same fucking one as the last ten, but of course it destroyed the wrap job completely.

“Fuck!” I swore, letting out a charged, frustrated groan before chucking the kitchen scissors across the living room floor. Then, ripping the gift wrap off, crumping it into a ball and repeated the action, landing opposite the scissors.

My foolish coping trick was the first line of defense when I attempted to focus on one of the thousand skyscrapers that scattered outside my floor-to-ceiling windows. City glows and holiday twinkles littered the midnight skyline, then a wall of snow flurries poured over the scene. There wasn’t a damn thing out there that interested me enough to stare at to distract me. If anything, the arrogant bustling city only added to my heightened state. My eyes then scanned across the room – the wall, no – the couch, no – the coffee table –

The mug on the coffee table. Elsie’s mug.

Reminding me of how we had spent almost every Christmas Eve together for the past 6 years. Well, we met on Christmas eve and sat in a breakfast diner until about 2 am Christmas morning. But the traditions really began when we moved into our apartment the year after that, sophomore year. We’d find the most pathetic looking evergreen at the closest tree farm and brought it home.

We were both so broke we couldn’t afford real decorations, so we’d buy plastic dollar store ornaments and even made some out of paper. Like kindergarteners we’d get a thick stack of construction paper and create those chain garlands, draping them all over the house. Then on Christmas eve we’d wear tacky matching PJs, make the sweetest hot chocolate with the biggest marshmallows and watch cheesy Christmas movies.

Christmas celebrations with my family were always so chaotic and stressful, full of arguments and tears. But the ones with Elsie were so easy, so fun. I hated Christmas until I met her.

When we finally decided to not renew our lease last year and she moved in with Nox, I packed our decorations away into storage totes, keeping all of them, even the paper ones. I intended to surprise her with them and have her help me decorate this holiday, but then all this shit happened.

And so, here I was staring at her favorite mug that was filled with my futile effort at the hot cocoa tradition, by myself. I out did her in almost every concoction that required a kitchen, but her hot chocolate was one I could never quite replicate. But maybe if I added enough sugar, enough syrup, enough marshmallows, it just might have some aftertaste of hers. I thought it might bring some sort of comfort and festivity to this lonely Christmas eve.

My heart was still thumping and my hands already trembling from the inability to wrap a fucking gift, but I kept staring at that stupid, condescending cup. I lifted it off the table, leaving behind a brown ring on the glass and brought it to my lips. Tipping the entirely full and now cold beverage to my lips, letting the liquid seep past the layer of melted marshmallow. Immediately repulsed at the taste, spitting it out. It was bitter.

“Augh-“ Wiping the liquid off my chin and furrowed my brows at the cup, “What the fuck?”

How the fuck could I have made hot chocolate bitter?

Using my index, I gently pushed the mountain of marshmallow to inspect the drink. It was watery, pitch black and had floating specks. Specks.

Grounds.

The cup was full of coffee. Black fucking coffee.

Right now, that mug was a familiar pest, but I had to weigh out how dangerous it really was. Racing through the steps I took earlier to make this cup, but all I could see was me ripping open an instant hot chocolate pouch, pouring it into the warm milk and mixing it. I thought I could remember even taste testing it to check the sweetness. It was all so real, vivid, tangible.

Right now, that mug was a familiar pest, but I had to weigh out how dangerous it really was. Racing through the steps I took earlier to make this cup, but all I could see was me ripping open an instant hot chocolate pouch, pouring it into the warm milk and mixing it. I thought I could remember even taste testing it to check the sweetness. It was all so real, vivid, tangible.

I had been taking my meds – or at least trying to.

It took a moment before complete and utter descent kicked in.

My chest felt tight, constraining, like an anaconda wrapped around my ribs, and just about every negative emotion a human could feel hit me like a train. Anger, heartache, loathing, sadness, jealousy, frustration, everything. Before I could even process the rumble surging through me, the full cup soared through the air clashing into my white wall. Ceramic shards flying and coffee painting the wall brown.

The sight of it encapsulated everything I was experiencing, the shattered cup a perfect analogy for me and Elsie. Her favorite mug in pieces. Something that was once full of beauty and meaning, now shattered on the ground. The scene reflected my mind as well - broken, fragmented, incapable of being used anymore.

I folded my extended legs into myself when tears began to well in my eyes, pressing my face against my knees and wrapped arms around them. My sobs shaking my entire body and soaked my stupid Christmas pajama pants.

I didn’t know what I was crying about – the frustration of not being able to trust my brain? The inability to wrap a fucking gift because of said brain? The lack of my best friend? or the sheer loneliness of this eve?

The harder I cried the tighter my grip was around myself. It was the hardest I’d cried in a while, maybe even since my dad. But at least I had Elsie then. Now I had to play some fucked up game of chess just to see her on Christmas.

“Okay,” Wiping the tears aggressively with the palms of my hands, “I can do this.” My breaths still rapid and staggered.

The words of my father rang in my ears –

Shut the fuck up, men don’t fucking cry

Only little girls sob like that

Be a fucking man and cut it out

You’re an embarrassment

Why was I relying on a woman to come save me? A woman that wasn’t mine? A woman that didn’t even want me?

Once my cries slowed enough to pull myself up, I went to what I really relied on - arguably worse than any girl. Going straight to the cluster of orange prescription bottles scattered all over the apartment, finding the one I wanted on the granite kitchen counter. I plucked an entire bar and knocked it back with ease.

If I wanted to get those fucking presents wrapped, I needed to do it before the pill entered my system fully.

Unrolling the wrapping paper tube reaching the end, leaving me with just enough to finish. I laid out the metallic paper, placed the records on their respective squares and employed my last resort when I really couldn’t trust my mind. I used my phone to snap several – several pictures of the records, front and back, from all angles. Now, I had concrete proof for myself that they were correct ones. Even with the evidence, I figured out a way to leave a small discrete opening in the back so I would have an extra layer of verification.

As the Xanax began to filter into my mind, I decided it would be a great idea to write a letter to Elsie, basically emotionally dumping whatever I felt in that moment.

Though I hadn’t decided when or if I’d ever let her read it.

I slipped on a pair of dark jeans, getting ready for this stupid fucking group Christmas Elsie had arranged. I didn’t understand why she would even set this up, why she pushed us to get along - but whatever it was important to her.

What I couldn’t wrap my head around was why Nox allegedly wanted to apologize, I knew he wasn’t sorry. I hypothesized that it was all Elsie’s puppeteering, and we were just her dolls on dangling strings.

Regardless, it felt a lot like a minefield. I wasn’t much of a people person, I avoided them as much as humanly possible. Though, that was difficult being in the industry I was in. But people like Nox always kept me on my toes, they reminded me so much of my dad. I loathed the juvenile mind games and territorial rivalry.

Nox was convinced I wanted something that wasn’t mine. It was as simple as that. I suppose this fence mending dinner was the perfect time to prove him wrong. I could wave a white flag and call for a ceasefire. I shouldn’t have to fucking tip toe around my best friend of six years just because of some fucking asshole. As much of a shitty thought it was, I knew they wouldn’t last.

He was temporary, I wasn’t.

I piled gifts in my arms. The gift wrap crinkling around the two flat presents reminded me of my last-minute verification method. I lifted the tiny hidden opening at the back to check the record, then pulling out my phone to match them to what was in my hands. This process delayed me quite a bit – about 20 minutes late as I kept going back between the two pieces of reassuring evidence. Before I left, I poured some white tablets into my palm, deciding to snap one in half and swallowing it dry. I couldn’t be too out of it in front of her, especially not on Christmas.

-

After a knock, I anxiously waited for Elsie to open the door. The most enthusiastic smile plastered on her face when it finally cracked. “Yay you’re finally here!” She exclaimed before even fully opening the door. Joyful arms squeezed around me, filling my nose with a strong peppermint scent, “Merry Christmas Austin!”

Hm, Austin. Not Aus or Aust or Austie. I wonder fuckin why.

Even though ‘Austie’ was the lamest fucking one, it was my favorite. I’d do whatever she wanted when she used it. She could ask me to bring her lava and I’d figure out how some way to gather some for her, even it singed me, even if I came back to her looking like Deadpool.

She wore a short, strapless red dress with scrunched sleeves just off her shoulders, a black corset tied around her waist. It almost resembled a pirate’s dress. Her hair curled and topped with reindeer antlers. A sudden flash of her on my couch in my oversized shirt using my lap as her own personal toy-

Thank god for Nox appearing because my eyes and thoughts would’ve lingered much longer. He crossed from the kitchen. His outfit much like mine, black jeans, black shirt. Except Elsie had just plopped a Santa hat on my head. “Nox won’t wear one.” She glared over at him with a pout.

And of course, I would, right? Because I do all the things he doesn’t, right? Including making her fucking come. Must be nice to have your cake and eat it too. I’d like to have just one fucking decent slice of cake. The abrupt rumble of resentment told me maybe this Christmas special was a mistake.

“Hey man, I just wanted to say sorry about… well everything.” He gave me the stereotypical ‘bro’ handshake. I didn’t believe a word that man said, but this time it did seem genuine. Perhaps he did have some sense knocked into him from having the best thing that could ever happen to him ripped away, even temporarily.

“It’s alright, I’m sorry too.” My best attempt at a cordial apology.

“Okay okay! Presents!” Elsie broke the tense air, clapping excitedly.

My brain already began to slow down thanks to the meds and suddenly, the idea of this didn’t seem so bad, maybe even fun. That sense was fleeting though when she went to grasp my hand but promptly drew away, probably remembering her boyfriend was right fucking there.

Funny how this worked - her instinctively reaching for my hand and the word ‘baby’ swirling at the tip of my tongue. The memories from a couple weeks ago looping in my brain – the dressing room, truth or dare, dancing, couch, eating, cuddling.

They seemingly just no longer existed. They didn’t mean anything, they never happened.

The fucking close call clause.

Did they mean anything? Did they mean anything to her? Did they mean anything to me?

A jarring twist in my chest suggested that they might mean something - or it might be because she was completely unaffected.

But it was wrong, the twist wasn’t any of those things, I was just fucking angry.

The close call clause was in place for a reason, for this exact reason. And normally it would be relieving, but for some reason it no longer felt like a safety net. As if what we did had burned a hole straight through the web, and I was falling through it.

Falling into what exactly?

She led us to the sloppily decorated tree, surely because she wasn’t home for so long or because she didn’t have me to help her. And I knew Nox wasn’t one to assist in any sort of festivities. “C’mon,” She tapped the ground next to her looking at me, “Sit.” But naturally, Nox stole the seat. So, I chose to sit to the other side of her, further away.

Nox and I exchanged gifts first. It’s always awkward when you’re required to get gifts for people you don’t really know.

Shocker, we got each other the same things – Amazon gift cards.

She excitedly handed over a small container to Nox. He opened the box revealing a luxury designer watch, silver with a navy face. “Oh, thank you baby.”

‘Baby’

A sharp jab pierced through me as the memory of calling her that rolled across my brain. It didn’t sound right when he said it, it sounded like a lie. But I guess I was lying too, since I only ever managed to call her that when I wanted to be inside her.

“Do you like it?” She chirped, straightening up like a little kid giving their parents a finger painting.

“Yeah of course.” Wrapping his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her temple.

I studied him, this was a reconciliation dinner after all. I wanted to know if it was genuine, picking apart every word, tone and gesture. It appeared authentic – so fucking bland, but authentic. Perhaps that’s why she’d get so wrapped up in him, he could just act this way and she was pliable in his hands again.

“Your turn Austin!” She shot up from the floor, “Wait here! Close your eyes!”

My eyebrows scrunched watching her scurry away across the grey carpet. What could she possibly have gotten me to require this song and dance? I glanced over at Nox, sensing his anger but keeping a pokerface. A stupid, happy, festive pokerface. Any other time, her cheerful excitement would wrap me in a fluffy warm cloud but even with the Xan beginning to kick in, I was still just unnecessarily fuming. Nonetheless, I closed my eyes as instructed and waited for her.

Some fumbling came from the other side of the apartment before I sensed her next to me. “Okay! Open!” I was almost afraid to look, any tiny misstep threatened to set Nox off.

Cracking my left eye before opening both wide. She stood there with a vintage guitar, one I had been searching for - for years. I think I had only ever mentioned this guitar to her once. During one of our first trips to our college diner, before I even learned how to play.

“I- Oh my god Elsie.” In complete awe of the wooden instrument.

“I know your new role has some music parts, I thought this might help.” She beamed at me, wider than with Nox’s gift. Her green eyes brighter than they were with him.

“Wow- um you really didn’t have to do this.” Leaning forward my fingers tracing the smooth, worn curves. “How did you even know?”

“I pay attention.” Shrugging and giving me the soft kind smile that always seemed to melt me.

That was my Elsie. Not whatever artificial shell of a human Nox turns her into. How can you see her, who she is, her heart and treat her the way he does? Why would you want to change her?

“I’m, just wow. It’s beautiful Elsie, thank you so much.”

She didn’t need to ask me if I liked it. She knew.

She rested the guitar across the couch before coming back to sit down. Nox handed his present to her, a generic teardrop diamond necklace. But she acted like it was the best thing on the planet. Probably because it was the nicest gift he’d ever given her.

Her arms wrapped around his waist nuzzling into him, “Thanks babe.” She shined, “It’s so pretty!” The way her eyes flickered up at him broke completely through the calm lull of my high, for some reason making me more furious, livid even. The sort of fierce anger that I’d only ever felt when disgusting men would hit on my girlfriends at bars and clubs.

But as her delicate fingers unraveled the thin chain from the box handing it to him to place around her neck, it brought another sensation. His tattooed hands gently laid the silver necklace on her accentuated collarbones and clasped it at the back. The same ferocious feeling came but beneath a different filter. It was like someone took the arteries in my beating heart, wrapped them around the thumping muscle, then tied them in strangling knots.

Why?

Wanting to fuck her was one thing but wanting to put some cliché necklace around her neck? That was different. I didn’t fucking like that feeling. That was the worst one yet.

“Are ya gonna keep me waiting or what?” She joked, leaning out of Nox’s arm to lightly smack my own. It was only then that I realized my stare had stayed on them when my thoughts ran rampant. I glanced over at Nox, finding an expected displeased look.

“Oh, Oh yeah sorry.” I twisted behind myself and picked up the poorly wrapped slender boxes, stealthily peeling the paper back to ease my doubt one last time before handing them over to her. Coincidentally I had also gotten her something had long been on her ‘in search of’ list. “Alright well, I’m not sure I’ll be able to top that, but I hope this comes close.”

Her dainty fingers followed the edges of the wrapped presents then tucking a soft chocolate curl behind her ear. From the gift’s shape it was pretty obvious that they were vinyls, but she was probably assuming they were some new albums, thinking something like Taylor Swift or Halsey. She gently tore the wrapping paper seeing only the corner and letting out a gasp already able to tell what it was, “Austin!”

Elsie loved old music (hence the Cher guilty pleasure) but an even bigger love than Cher was-

“Oh my god it’s Elvis!” Then followed what could only be described as an ear-piercing screech. “Aaahhh!” Almost as if she flew off the ground and pummeled me to the floor (still screaming) knocking all the wind out from my lungs. The spirit of the king must’ve certainly been in her at that moment because my god, I’d never seen anyone move that fast. It was what I imagine parents experience when they give their kids Harry Styles tickets, just ear drum shattering screaming and ‘thank you’s.

The records I got her were antique Elvis vinyls, originals from his very first albums. They cost me an arm and a leg, literally, an absurd amount of money I didn’t even want to say outloud - but this reaction was worth it.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” She hugged me tight, her body on top of me and then, at just at the right angle away from Nox, she smushed my face in her hands and planted an aggressive smooch on my cheek. Yep, those expensive little plastic discs were worth this. And if her looming boyfriend wasn’t just feet away, I don’t think I could’ve restrained from pulling her on top of me in that skimpy dress.

Once her spirit returned to her body she promptly recoiled, regaining composure in front of a visibly irritated Nox. “Oh- I’m so sorry everyone.” She chuckled, nervously playing with her fingers, “I just got really excited.”

My slowed body struggled to pull myself upright again. I didn’t need to look up to know what Nox’s reaction was like this time. Fucking Elsie, with an antic like that I could very well get my ass kicked, for real this time.

“Well.” He cleared his throat sending a rumble through the apartment, “That was eventful.”

“I- Yeah, sorry, I know you don’t like when I get loud like that.” Her voice now shy, hidden and her attention on her hands as they smoothed out the plastic that covered the vintage record.

My jaw clenched and fists tightened hearing her shrink herself down for him. That’s when I turned my now fuming eyes at him, his nearly black ones already on me. No surprise that they matched my energy, his girlfriend just tackled me to the ground, screaming. I knew that was something she wasn’t doing with him, in any context. She certainly didn’t restrain from being loud with me when my head was between her thighs, and I definitely didn’t mind.

Then in the most terrifying switch, one I visibly saw in his eyes, he shifted. He confirmed it when he flashed a pleasant grin. “I just didn’t know you liked Elvis so much babe.” Was this man not dating her? Did he even know the color of her eyes?

The buzzing of her explaining to him how much she loved the king of rock and roll faded to the background as the full weight of the drug kicked in. I brought my hand up to touch the searing remnants on my cheek from where she placed her lips. It only made me realize that through all of the shit we did at my house – the dancing, the touching, the couch – we never kissed. Not once. She never even kissed my neck. I didn’t kiss hers either. My mouth did touch her, but never a kiss.

So maybe she was right, it never happened. Nothing happened. We never even kissed.

It’s not like we were having some illicit affair, but I still felt like a secret.

She wasn’t mine to kiss. She wasn’t mine to fuck. She wasn’t mine to want. She wasn’t mine to have. She wasn’t mine at all. She was his. And as much as the thought of it nauseated me, it was the harsh reality.

-

They ordered take out Chinese. Although Elsie and I protested since people shouldn’t be working on Christmas, but Nox insisted. Elsie passed a white and red carton to me.

“So, Elsie tells me that you landed that one role?” Nox asked, proving that he didn’t listen to a word she said since she just gave me an entire guitar for it. I believed his apology earlier but after the gift exchange I became hyperaware of any word he said.

My decelerated mind took a moment to process. “Yeah, yeah.” Scooping out some lo mein onto my plate. “It’s not that big really, but definitely bigger than any other role I’ve had.” He just nodded and I passed the carton to him. “She told me that you just got a promotion too?” Nox worked in some business office, typical former fratboy pipeline.

“Yeah, it’s been great. More money but of course more responsibility.”

I glanced over to Elsie, who looked like a parent who was monitoring siblings getting along. A part of me wanted to play nice and keep a smile on her face, the other part wanted to end the dinner there, tell Nox off and leave.

 The sinking paranoia from earlier took a front seat as my gaze stayed on her as if some subtle gesture would confirm or deny the authenticity of our transgressions. If it had all been imaginary then any stirred feelings were just that, delusions. It would make all of this so much easier. It was then that felt a pair of eyes boring into me, realizing that lost in my own thoughts my stare never left Elsie.

Excruciatingly uncomfortable small talk swirled back and forth between us the entire dinner.

-

            In a bustle while cleaning up Nox bumped into Elsie spilling red wine all over her dress. She immediately left to get the stain out, he didn’t offer to help, and I certainly wasn’t going to, seeing as I didn’t have a death wish. I made my way to the kitchen to help clean up, wanting to keep busy in an effort to avoid any awkward small talk with Nox.

 Almost in the instant she left the room, the brooding raven-haired male was in my face, grasping my shirt with a fist and shoving me back, this time against the counter. Fucking Elsie, I knew her little show with the gifts would land me here. “Listen here fucker, I’m sick of you filling her head up with bullshit.” His voice dark, only slightly different from his normal voice. The angular edges of his face seemed even sharper.

“Bullshit?” I questioned, “What the fuck are you talking about?” God this was so ridiculous. We’re grown adults, why was I being thrown around like a rag doll over some stolen glances. But with the high that weighed down my limbs, I had nothing in my arsenal to fight back.

“You with your fake mental shit, your ‘hallucinations’. Telling her you saw me fucking cheating?” Ramming his boney fist into my sternum. “I know you’re just doing it so she’ll come to your rescue, so she’ll leave me for you.” His eyebrows furrowed with intimidation, creating deep wrinkles between them.

“They’re not fucking fake, I’m fucked up in the head, obviously.” Regarding him with a sneer. “I don’t need rescuing for her to come to me.”

“I see the way you look at her.” Thankfully not catching onto my sly jab.

“I don’t know what y—" Going to protest.

He shoved me back again, his fist tightening around my shirt, and each knuckle making itself known. “She told me about your little game of truth or dare.”

Truth or dare – she only told him about truth or dare. And thank god because I’d probably be dead in a dumpster by now if he knew the rest.

I blinked up at him, “She told you?”

“Oh, you bet she did. I knew her touch was different, now I know why.”

She touched him differently? After us?

“What the fuck do you mean different? Nothing even happened.” Practically spitting his face.

“She hasn’t wanted put out since she came home from you.” Causing a vein to pop out of his forehead.

Who the fuck says ‘put out’?

“Well, that’s not my fucking fault, maybe you’re just shitty in bed.” His thick bushy brows lowered and forced me back into the cold, sharp granite edge.

Maybe my mouth had fucked some sense into her.

I beat him to it before he had a chance to explode, “I don’t fucking want her Nox.” A guilt pulsed like a lie. “She’s yours.”

He ignored me, “Now here’s what going to happen.” growling just inches from my face, his expression twisted into a threat, “I’m gonna introduce you to my friend, and you’re going to like her, and you’re going to leave my fucking girlfriend alone.”

“And why the hell would I do whatever fucked up scheme that is?” Countering his insane demands. What normal person creates such a calculated plan. And what the fuck did that mean, his ‘friend’ and ‘you’re going to like her’. What, was he pimping me out to some random bitch?

The grip on my shirt only constricted, tightening the cotton around my chest, “Because I know your little secret.”

“And what would that be?” I scoffed.

“Your bloodshot eyes and giant pupils. Your heavy, slow movements. Your slurred words.” Tone pitched with prideful blackmail. He was right, the only reason I wasn’t trying to escape was because moving was too much effort. “It’s honestly shocking that your so called ‘best friend’ can’t tell that you’re fucking strung out.”

I hadn’t thought about it that way. Even though I was hiding it from her, and I didn’t want her to know – actually hearing it caused me to view it in a different light. If I was obvious enough for Nox to notice, how didn’t she? How could I notice her every tiny gesture, but she couldn’t even tell I was high?

“You follow the plan, and you’ll have an endless supply of whatever fix you want.” He cushioned the appeal of this ridiculous plot.

Endless supply – now that was a thought. I could tell that my doctor was starting to get suspicious, I was only a couple more requested early refills before she’d cut me off.

Eyebrows furling up at him with curiosity, “And how exactly would you do that?”

“Ah, so I got your attention,” His lips curving into an arrogant smirk, “The how is none of your concern.”

I analyzed him, searching for any explanation of how exactly he’d have unlimited access to supposedly whatever I wanted. My silence must’ve answered some silent trick question since he followed with,

“I knew you’d sell out your little crush for some pills.” Heaving me once more into the counter coaxing an audible wince when the edge dug into my hipbones, “You see, me and you are more alike than you think. We both rely on things we shouldn’t. We both love the same thing – except that thing only loves one of us back.”

Love?

Heavy eyes rounded at his words, more surprised at the visceral sting through my gut. I knew if I took any more time to unpack it, he’d suspect it meant something else.

“For the last fucking time, we are just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. There is nothing is fucking going on, you’re just fucking delusional.”

“No, you’re the one who’s delusional to think she’d ever chose you over me, that she’d ever love you.”

The sting returned, this time followed by rage. Though I was unsure what I was angry at, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t the sender, just the messenger. My nails dug into my curled fists, “It’s going to hurt her, being away from me. You know that.”

“Yeah, and I’ll be there to take care of her. I’ll be the one to save her.” That was it, wasn’t it. He didn’t like how it made him jealous, that she came to me more than him.

“I’m not doing it.” I stated simply, taking any ounce of composure to mask the brewing fury.

“Well, if you don’t go along with it, I’ll tell her you relapsed.”

And there it was. I hadn’t wanted to say it. And he said it with such ease, when I couldn’t even admit it to myself. If I said it out loud it’d make it real. But it was already fucking real.

But it was my secret and Elsie couldn’t know. I didn’t need her to know. There was still a part of me that believed I had it under control, that I could stop if I wanted. As long as I could get myself clean without her ever finding out, it would never hurt her. And I wouldn’t have to burden her again.

Aside from the relapse, it was probably a good idea to stay away from her. Ever since Thanksgiving week, things hadn’t been the same. At least not for me. I couldn’t get her out of my head - her in my clothes, in my bed, in my arms. In my fucking lap.

It was eating away at me, even more than the drugs. The only thing harder than accepting my relapse was the realization that I had to push her away. I thought I could just stifle, push, stomp, burn it out - but today showed me that was impossible. It was too confusing, it hurt too much to be around her.

I had to do this stupid fucking scheme.

Next Chapter -> 23 - Comeback Special (Christmas Pt. 2)*

A/N: Thank you for every like, reblog or comment, it means the world to me truly. I love hearing your thoughts and I'm glad you're liking my little story 💗

P.S. Fun fact - This chapter is followed by four back to back smut chapters 👀

[sortanonymous]

As somewhat of a sports blogger, I wanted to wake up talking about a great Super Bowl and all the congrats and memes and everything. But I'm sorry, if that post does come, it's gonna have to take a while. I can barely focus on it considering the latest in Israel's long line of abhorrent war crimes in Palestine, specifically a deadly bombing in Rafah and hinting at a ground invasion after months of herding Gazans over there as a "safe zone". All the while they fund Super Bowl ad propaganda again painting opposition to their evil as antisemitism (Big difference) asking to "bring the hostages home" after months of them turning down hostage exchange deals. Just as it's clear that this was timed to distract the U.S. from it with the Super Bowl, it's revoltingly clear the hostages are totally expendable to them for the sake of prolonging this genocide. (Not a war, a genocide.) And all the while, the Western world, especially the U.S. government and the Biden administration, are funding and supporting it. Funding a generational display of evil with billions of dollars while acting like there's no money to fix a sagging economy where just about all everyday Americans are getting suffocated by the jaws of late-stage capitalism. No way to fix that apparently, but tens of billions of ways to help Israel deal with the aftermath of an attack they had telegraphed a year in advance. (Gee, it's almost as if Israel put their own people in the crosshairs as fodder to excuse more oppression of Palestine like the past 75+ years since they stole it.) Not to mention them being the one vote in the UN to reject a ceasefire. And also how the vast majority of American corporations are backing Israel in all sorts of heinous ways. Now fast forward four months and the outcome? Tens of thousands of innocents dead, over a third of them children who likely never knew what they were being slaughtered for and never got to live out their lives. Millions displaced and traumatized. A beautiful culture battered. No justice or ceasefire in sight. I know that it's wrong to lose hope, and I definitely do hope that Palestine will be free soon enough, Zionism loses, and that at least a shred of justice hits everyone responsible for this. But man, I'll be honest, it just feels beyond hopeless to do anything. Besides, even if complete witchcraft took over and justice was served and the ceasefire was granted, nothing's going to bring back the people martyred, cure the trauma of the survivors, or reassemble all the rumble. And certainly, nobody should ever forget or forgive Israel and all its allies for participating in these atrocities. It absolutely should haunt all of them forever, and that 100% includes this country's government.

If it helps at all though, still don't forget to give your daily clicks to arab.org to fund UNRWA (which everyone cut funding to because of course they did). (In fact, assuming Incognito mode still gives out ad revenue, which the site uses, you could totally close and re-open arab.org to keep it going. I mean, it hopefully works for me! It's about time we found a great cause to use all those bots on! (maybe)

Maybe soon enough I'll have the somewhat normal posting again, but now doesn't feel like the time. And I know I expressed my pessimism earlier, but then again, history has constantly shown that bigotry and hate can only reign for so long, and hopefully...

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free!

[dream-critical]

Mercury you are Incredibly fucking correct about the way older people in the fandom act my GOD. I've been in a couple adults only fan spaces and holy SHIT you'd think adults who were here for like allllll of the other youtubers doing horrid stuff, who condemned CMC for doing The Same Thing As Dream. Would find this shit weird but they Don't! Moving from DSMP centric circles to Life Series/Hermit/Empires centric ones was like an ENORMOUS shock bc while there are still bad eggs in those spaces there are FAR fewer adults making every aspect of how they engage with these block guys about how bad they wanna fuck them or see them fuck each other. DSMP spaces I was in went "Nah it's Normal that Dream's giving out a phone number for fans to text him and get a real reply because broadcast celebs did that" and ignore that most celeb replies are automated entirely and also don't typically humor messages calling them sexy gay dogboys or daddy or any of that shit.

Back when that was happening there were Not grooming allegations about Dream yet but it was like a month at most after the CMC situation and anyone who like Thought about it for more than a moment could noodle out that like. Even if there would never be accusations against Dream, he sets the foundation for what a LOT of people will consider normal content creator behavior until the next big thing unseats him in like ten or so years. The idea that private snapchats or a text line that only you and the other person see unless one party publishes the messages are Normal Things to hand out to your primarily tweenage audience is like. Bad. Like even if he DIDN'T groom anyone he still sets the standard that privately talking to a grown man just shy of twice your age with 20 million followers is a normal and good interaction! The other adults in those spaces should have been seeing SO many more fucking red flags in the moment! It should not have been me and three other people who weren't OBSESSED with the man who were the only ones concerned with that!

And by GOD the RPF discussion. I spent months being told that I was just being an anti or a hater for agreeing that Dream repopularized super public RPF and RPF being sent to creators and blockign over RPF being abnormal. Like. My credentials here are I've been in Youtuber fandoms before and since falling in and out with the DSMP. I grew up on DeviantArt in the heyday of Septiplier and Phan getting sent to the content creators. I saw the culture change enough to have a significant pushback against shipping those guys from Buzzfeed Unsolved by 2019. I've BEEN online and I know that Dream and George encouraging ship content being sent to them and made hyper public like Drastically changed how often I found RPF on my timeline. YES shit was bad during SMPLive. It was SO much worse ten years ago and it's getting back to those levels as more kids migrate out of the DSMP/DTeam fandoms and act like content creators need to see their fanfic or fanart of them being used as Sex Objects. And being told I was just making shit up or hatemongering against Dream for noticing the Real pattern in how the public treats RPF? It made me feel unhinged then and it still makes me feel unhinged now.

anyways long rant over it takes me 0 whole dollars to think critically abt how I engage with people's Minecraft DND characters and how I engage with the actual creators and adults who act like that expectation is Censorship Of Queer People are dumb of ass.

I literally couldn't have agreed more with you anon. I wasn't in the fandom back when SMP live was a thing, but i do have experiences with fandoms where RPF is completely normalized outside of the dsmp. I'm kind of gonna go on a rant of my own as well here. But like

It's frustrating to see how these people, Idols, content creators, celebrities etc are dehumanized and often just seen as an object to project all of their emotions, whether it's frustrating, lust etc on to.

Like they genuinely stop seeing them as people, even if they don't want to admit it.

It honestly isn't even just about sexual content, stuff like writing rpf fics and assuming certain people's roles within the lives of the ccs they like is also weird

Like how you can find rpf fics where the ccs parents are abusive. How you can find fics where the significant other of the cc is cheating which is why they leave them for their friend and discover they were in gay love all along. or Fics where its revealed that "actually this specific moment that happened irl on stream was a sign of abuse and the people who claim to be the friend of X cc are actually toxic and don't deserve them" And its just like??????

People are reading into things so hard. And I'll admit when I'm hyperfixating hard it's sometimes difficult to differentiate what I feel and what the cc I watch feels or expresses, but I'm aware that that's parasocial behaviour and I ignore it. It's my brain tricking me into thinking I know that person and that they feel and see everything the same as I do. It's not healthy to indulge in that even if it can feel comforting.

And the problem with the dteam specifically is that they encourage this type of behaviour like a lot, and the only reason they do is profit.

Back to nsfw content though, it absolutely is going to become a lot worse and I'm not looking forward to that