#looks at the 2022 year in every single request | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

risuola · 1 year

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Hi!!!!

I dunno the correct process for making a request but here goes!! I LOVE YOUR STUFF I HAVE BEEN BLESSED.

Smut for Nanami Kento, any AU, fem reader, with 58, 81 and 85 as prompts!!

Thank you so much and have a lovely day!!

WINE STAINS

WINE STAINS — F. READER x NANAMI KENTO

As time passed, you noticed Kento became more and more distant. You loved him, oh so much, and you wanted to give him freedom. Six months after you broke up with him, he's standing at your doorstep.

cw: smut, possible spoilers? – most likely inaccuracies in the timeline, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), clit play, bits of angst, alcohol and meds usage briefly mentioned, minor injury + blood mentioned, violence mentioned, reader discretion is advised — 4,3k words

PROMPTS: 58. I miss doing nothing with you. 81. You think that this is easy for me? 85. I think I’ve lost my mind.

a/n: thank you! 🩶 it turned out to be a little long, but what can I say... I like writing long. anyway, hope you like it!

There was a time in your life when you felt like the luckiest woman in the whole universe. Every single one of your days was overflowing with happiness and gratitude, as if you were high on all the love you held in your heart. Two years of this feeling made you lost in the dream; the sun was brighter then, the birds were singing more vibrantly, and the long summer nights seemed to never end as you spent each and every one of them in the embrace of Nanami Kento. He was a man written by a woman – kind and gentle, but with a roughness hidden inside the breathtaking shell of attractiveness. His voice could make any woman's knees buckle, and you were lucky enough to fall asleep and wake up to that alluring tone. Those two years have made you blind.

A year ago, things began to change, but you didn't notice how Kento began to seek some personal space, distancing himself from your ever-loving embrace. He started working overtime, which he hated more than anything else, but you had no reason not to believe him when he told you time after time that he had to stay at the office for extra hours. Then he would often be tired, prying from your touch, and the long, passionate kisses would turn into quick pecks on the cheek. Countless nights you spent looking at the empty space in the bed, crying silently while Nanami slept on the couch. Cold pillows and unscathed covers made you realize that he didn't love you anymore, and it was already too late.

July 3rd, 2022 Exactly six months ago, you welcomed Nanami home for the last time, with all your things already moved out of the apartment that had been the source of your happiness. "What is it?" he asked then, looking around the empty spaces that had once been filled with memories, and you took his face into your cold, trembling hands. "Today is your birthday, my love," you began, doing everything not to crumble to pieces, "I want to give you back your freedom." He answered with silence, which you took as acceptance. "You have dinner in the kitchen, please eat well. I left you a small gift as well. Take care of yourself, be happy, okay?" you smiled, but your eyes betrayed you as tears gathered along your lash line, but you blinked them away and exhaled, your breath quivering and your heart drumming in your chest so hard you thought it would burst through your ribcage. "I think I've taken everything that's mine. All I'm leaving is my love."

Standing on your tippy toes, you kissed Nanami's lips for the last time, smoothed the soft skin of his cheeks and inhaled his musky scent for the last time. All of it was your last with him. The last goodbye you whispered against his mouth as a tear rolled down your cheek, and then you left the apartment. You remember how his hand slid down your arm as you walked past him, but he didn't stop you. Your fingertips brushed against his, but he didn't try to grab you. You made it through the Uber ride, even exchanging a few forced jokes with the driver, but when the doors to your new apartment closed behind you, you broke down. First night you spent on the floor, crying yourself to exhaustion in the cold emptiness.

January 3rd, 2023 Today, on the six-month anniversary of the worst day of your life, you look up at the sky and smile softly as the lone tear rolls down your cold-flushed cheek. Holding onto the paper cup filled with hot coffee, you can't help but wonder if he's happier now. People say time flies, but for you, the last few months have been torturous as you spent day after day trying to numb yourself with busy life, alcohol, and dulling meds. Nothing really seemed to help, no matter what you did or swallowed, nothing was able to free you from the heartache, as if the eternal love you had for Nanami had become one with your soul. So you stopped searching for a way to heal by force and allowed yourself to go through it, with all the sleepless nights, used tissues and missed meals.

Now, as you sit on the bench in the crowded park, you look out at the people rushing through the January coldness, and when your eyes land on a couple so lovely and affectionate, your mind wanders back into the memories. Many cold days, just like this one, you spent with Nanami, shamelessly stealing his warmth and hiding in the safe embrace of his strong arms. Those days were your favorite, the low temperatures gave you more reasons to never part from him, and he always made sure you stayed warm. He was so gentle with you, carrying you like a princess and holding your hands with care as he planted endless kisses all over your reddened cheeks and knuckles. Today, on the third day of the new year, you sit alone, the only source of heat being the coffee, which is now more lukewarm than anything else.

Exhaling, you finish your drink and stand up, throwing away the empty cup and entering the crowded alleys, moving forward with no destination, taking in the aura of Tokyo before leaving for good. It's been a few weeks since you decided to move somewhere else in the world, somewhere far away from where everything reminds you of how happy you used to be, but it's only now that you've finally found the strength to book tickets. With them printed in your apartment, you felt a little lighter, knowing that you're about to start a new chapter, one that will hopefully be brighter and happier. With new streets you've never walked through, with new people you've never talked to, with new cafes, new bakeries, new lakes and parks. You hoped to leave the sadness behind and start living again, not just pretending to be alive, but could you really do that anywhere in the world, when the sky and the stars and the moon and the sun that witnessed all the love you shared with Kento remain the same?

January 7th, 2023 Last night in your apartment, you sit down in the empty space, next to the few boxes that are left and yet to be taken by your father to be stored in their house and later shipped to your new home. One night is all that separates you from the anxiety-driving mixture of airports, flights, and a new life you've put so much hope into. One more night, and maybe you'll be able to find sparks of happiness again. Maybe the unknown will take up enough of your headspace that you'll start appreciating what you have instead of mourning what you've lost. Maybe.

"Cheers to new life," you mutter to yourself as you raise a half-full glass of cheap red wine into the air and take a sip. The unpleasant, tart taste twists your features for a second and you exhale deeply. "Fucking new life, my ass."

As the glass shatters against the wall where you just threw it, you groan to the heavens and despite all intentions to leave it as it is, you get up, grab a cloth and a bag and kneel down to pick up all the pieces and clean the red puddle from the wood before it stains it permanently. It gets tiring quickly, you don't have anything to sweep the floor with, you don't even have a bowl to rinse the cloth in, and as you shuffle between the living room and the kitchen, you make more mess than it's worth.

With a soft groan, you toss the cloth into the sink when you hear a knock at the door. Neighbors, you think. They probably heard the sound of breaking glass and were disturbed, just as they have been bothered by every little sound during the six months you have lived there.

There were so many things that Nanami wanted and needed to tell you, and yet nothing came to his mind when he thought about how to even start the conversation. As he stood in an empty hallway looking at your doors, he wondered if you’d even open them. Maybe you'll know it's him, maybe you'll recognize the way he knocked, or you'll look through the peephole and just pretend you're not home. But the door opened, with an almost angry swing, and when he looked down at you, his heart stopped at the sight.

You were there, wearing a large, black t-shirt that had most likely been his own many months ago, but what Nanami immediately noticed were the bright red stains all over your hands, a few traces on your legs and even on your cheek. His mind went blank at the bloody image, his heart sank and all he could focus on was that you were hurt.

"What happened?" he asks immediately, reaching for your hands to examine them, but you pull them away taking a step back.

"Kento?" you mouth, no voice leaving your throat as you stare at the all-too-familiar frame at your doorstep. Of all people, he was the last one you wanted to see that night, right before leaving. All hope shattered as you realized just by seeing him that you'll never be able to get over him, no matter where you try to run away, he'll always be a part of your soul, he'll always have a part of your heart. "What are you doing here?"

"Can we talk? I know you're leaving tomorrow," he says, and you immediately ask, "Who told you?"

"Your friend. Listen, there are things I have to tell you, I have to explain what happened."

"Kento... why are you making this so hard for me?" you sigh, your voice almost a whisper as you let him in by stepping aside. "I have a flight tomorrow; I should rest now."

“You think that this is easy for me? That losing you was easy for me?" his voice flares up for a moment before he forces it back down. "Please, just let me explain, then you can do whatever you want."

"Alright," you nod, noticing that his eyes once again landing on your covered in red hands. "It's wine. I spilled it."

"You're bleeding."

"It's wine, I'm telling you..." you try to argue, but he grabs your hand and it’s only now that you realize that you are, in fact, bleeding. A few shards of glass are embedded in your flesh, ruby streaks mixing with wine stains, but you don't even feel it and for a moment it scares you how much you desensitized yourself to pain.

“Let me,” Nanami pulls you gently towards the kitchen, where he makes you sit on the chair as he kneels down in front of you, beginning to pull the pieces out with chapsticks – the only thing that you had left in the kitchen to later have some instant ramen.

“I don’t understand why would you come here, Kento. It’s been half a year.”

“I know. But I can’t just let you leave like that.”

“I have everything set up already, I have a flight-ticket, a house and work arranged. Tomorrow I’ll be homeless in Japan.”

“You have a home, don’t act like you don’t know where it is.”

You shake your head at his words, sighing and looking away as he works on picking up the shards from your palm. He caresses you gently whist he cleans your wounds and you feel like you're burning from every place he's touching you. It hurts physically to feel his fingers holding you so tenderly and you can feel the tears already gathering in your eyes. He is your home and the thought of leaving him is suffocating you. It began killing you the day you left on his birthday, and you don't even know how you managed to push through those six months.

“Nanami… All I ever wanted for you is to be happy.”

“Do I look happy to you?”, he lifts his eyes to yours, and all you can see is devastating loneliness that lingers inside his brown irises. In the dim light of your kitchen, you can see his darkened undereyes and the tiredness painted across his features. “Y/n, please, just listen to me.”

“Okay.”

As Nanami’s finished with your hand, he wraps his tie around it, the one that you’ve always jokingly called atrocious and he’s unbothered by ruining it. He stays on his knees, enclosing both of your palms inside his own, much bigger and as you feel him, you could swear his fingers are trembling.

“I lied to you. Over a year ago I left my office job,” he began and already you were confused, but he stopped you from speaking up. “I’ve always been… different. There are things in this world that are called curses. Spiritual beings manifested from cursed energy, a result of negative emotions that flow out of humans. They are harmful to society; they are violently taking lives. Regular people can’t see them, you most likely can’t see them as well, but there are those who call themselves jujutsu sorcerers. They see curses, fight them, exorcise.”

“Are you one of them?”

“I am. I studied at Jujutsu high here in Tokyo, but after losing my classmate I left and tried to live a normal life as a salesman. Wanted to earn enough money to retire at 40 and then have a peaceful life in some kind of paradise. But I hated the office more than I hated sorcery so one year ago I got back to fighting curses. Then I began distancing myself from you. Every time you asked so sweetly how was my day, I couldn’t bring myself to tell you that I just got home from the bloody murder scene. I thought it’s better for you to not know all of that, I wanted to keep you safe. It also felt wrong to lay down in bed with you, to touch or kiss you when just hour before, my hands were red. I couldn’t sleep with you when my body was bruised and I had no idea how to explain this to you.”

You stayed silent, taking in his words, watching his expression change from shame to guilt, through sadness and lost.

“When you had told me you’re leaving, I thought it might be better for you to find someone else. That you’ll be safer with someone else. The thought of you getting hurt by a curse because of me terrified me.”

“Wouldn’t I be safer if a sorcerer was there with me…?”, you ask and he exhales.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know. I’m sorry, y/n,” Nanami lowers his head, planting a kiss on top of your knuckles. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave. Don’t leave me. I miss you, I miss doing nothing with you, I miss everything. I should have never let you go; you are the sun in my life, without you I feel like I live in darkness.”

“I don’t understand much of what you just said to me, Kento,” you admit, sighing and releasing one of your hands from his hold only to cup his face and he leans into your touch immediately. “about the curses, I guess I’m just a regular person, but I love you with every fiber of my existence, no matter if you’re a normie, a sorcerer or whatever else.”

You feel him deflate, like the tension left his body the second you said you still love him and you can’t help but smile softly while smoothing over his cheekbone. So many months you dreamt about touching him once again, feeling his supple skin underneath your fingertips and taste his lips. You longed for him, for everything Nanami Kento was and now you were finally able to have him back.

“I love you just as much,” he mutters against the pulse on your wrist, kissing the delicate skin tenderly. “Please, come home with me. Come back to our home.”

“If you promise me that you won’t hide things like this from me. I might not understand any of this, but if what you’re doing is that emotionally wrenching, I want to be the safe space you can come home to,” you coo, tears washing over your eyes and you fall down to your knees, bones hitting the cold tiles painfully but you don’t care, as you cup his face in your palms. Unable to wait any more second, you press your lips onto his, gently at first, but when he molds his own against yours instantaneously, you lose it.

All you can feel in your body is want, you need him now, there. You need him closer, on you, inside you. You want to taste him, feel him, breathe him in, and that's all you've wanted for the last six months, constantly trying to convince yourself that it will pass.

"Need you to fuck me," you mumble against his mouth, pushing him to sit back as you climb onto his lap.

"God, I want nothing more," he whispers, his huge palms already on your butt, squeezing the tender flesh, and you can't hold back a smile as a breathy groan escapes his throat when you roll your hips, running your pussy precisely over his bulging crotch. The rough fabric of his pants pushes easily through the thin, dotted cotton of your panties, making you gasp as it teases your clit. "Fuck you and take you home."

"Please do," you almost cry as his long fingers slip underneath your underwear, landing directly over the sensitive bud, only to slide lower along your folds, collecting the slick and he smirks at how wet and needy you are for him. Another crashing kiss takes your breath away and you squeeze his shoulders to keep yourself from dizziness. All of your thoughts are kissed away, leaving your mind focused only on the man beneath you, and you reach down, quickly, almost impatiently, undoing the belt, button and zipper of his pants. You're burning with anticipation and lust, already intoxicated by the taste of his lips and the way his tongue dances with yours.

Cold air hits Nanami's cock as you pull him out of the restrictive cage of his boxers, and he purrs into your mouth as you wrap your dainty fingers around his fat girth, pumping him even harder than he already is. Unable to focus on anything but the pleasure of your cold palm stroking his length, he pulls away from the kiss and uses his one free hand to pull up your blouse and you obey, letting go of his dick just for a second to undress. He lifts you up with ease to remove your panties as well, and as you sit back on his lap, completely bare and so beautiful, he takes a second to admire the view. The dim kitchen lights give you a blurry aura, your figure lit from behind, with only reflections sparkling in your eyes and bouncing off the curves of your front.

"You are so divine," he breathes out, his rough palms running over your naked form and you chuckle at the act of worship. It's always been like this – every time Nanami would see you naked, he'd act as if you were the most beautiful sight in the world and he was seeing you for the first time.

"And I am yours," you grin, kissing his lips passionately as you roll your hips so that the underside of his stiff shaft strokes between your wet folds. Your juices rub over him as you swallow a grunt that rumbles in his throat as you tease him.

Done with your games, Kento takes you by the hips and you surrender to the strength he holds you with as he aims the angry, leaking head at your entrance. You can feel him stretching your hole as you slowly lower yourself to take him completely. Panting from the mind-numbing sensation of fullness, you rest your forehead against his.

"You're making me lose my mind," he whispers, helping you move your pelvis. "No, I think I've already lost my mind."

"I love you too."

It's slow and sensual, no rush is needed where there's so much emotion. You feel one of Kento's hands all over your body; his thumb finds your clit and skillfully rolls over it, adding another layer to your pleasure and instantly making your pussy twitch and squeeze. You lower your head onto his shoulder, forcing your fingers to cooperate, you fiddle with his button-up shirt to get more access to his skin, to his toned body, but your hands shake as you moan against the side of his neck.

His name slips from your lips like a prayer and he loses composure at the feel of your walls squeezing him so delightfully. You're taking him so well, swallowing every inch, allowing his blunt head to kiss your cervix again and again as his practiced fingers roll over your swollen bundle of nerves. You pick up the pace, holding him close as you smear sloppy, wet kisses all along his collar bones.

The room spins around the two of you, every flex of your pussy leaving Nanami breathless as you whimper louder, overwhelmed by the approaching orgasm. The abuse on your clit pushes you over the edge so quickly, and he encourages you with praise and pet names. "Don't hold it, babygirl," he commands, taking in the feel of your trembling body, your arched back, your flushed cheeks, and those sweet sounds. The melody that makes him proud, that makes him never want to hear anything but your pleasured sounds and it amazes him how easily he loses his composure when he's with you.

Usually, Nanami is nothing but a stoic, reserved man, confident in his steps and never putting too much emotion into anything, but you're able to turn him into a panting mess. You can make him stutter, act irresponsibly, forget his own name. You're the one who makes him smile, you're the one who brings joy and pleasure into his life, and if it weren't for you, he might have already given up chasing happiness.

"Kento, ah-" you call his name, blissfully dazed; your voice shuddering as your words sink into his skin, your lips brush against his neck and he mumbles affirmations under his breath, feeling his cock flex and harden even more, hugged by the tight embrace of your squelching pussy. Unable to speak coherently, his head falls back against the kitchen island, breathless moans and lust driven whimpers leaving his mouth as he keeps your hips moving, helping you ride out your orgasm, feeling himself getting closer and closer to his own. His mind goes blank, an echo of your heavy pants filling his ears, and the way your long nails scratch along his biceps and chest muscles drives him completely insane.

You bite your lower lip, grounding yourself as the overstimulation gets the better of you. After such a long break from his cock, it almost feels too much, the sheer size and girth of it making you see stars.

"Let me taste you," you ask, but it comes out as a plea and he can't refuse when you ask so nicely, so he lets go of your hips. Quickly you reposition yourself to kneel between his legs and kiss your way down, moving your knees back across the cold tiles. With your ass sticking up, you lower yourself to envelop your fingers around his slick with your juices member, pumping him at the base while you add your spit to the concoction of fluids. He's already throbbing and flexing in your grasp as you take him in your mouth; your tongue swirls around the head and strokes along the length.

You lick and suck, moving your head up and down, lightly grazing his cock with your teeth. Nanami throws his head back, his hands landing on top of your head where he gathers your hair into a makeshift pony as you work your magic. The wet, warm feeling of your mouth, mixed with the skillful dance of your tongue makes him dizzy and the way he sucks in his breath above you makes you happy. You love Nanami in a state of chaos and disorder.

"So... perfect..." he mutters, words breaking as he speaks, and you take him deeper, pressing the tip of his cock against your throat, and as you hum, the vibration of your vocal cords sends him over the edge. His grip on your hair tightens, the veins around his girth bulging and you know he's so close. As you continue to deepthroat him, you pick up the pace of your hand at the base of his dick and use your other hand to massage his balls. You feel his thigh muscles flex against your shoulders and he pushes your head down as he cums. Tears roll down your cheeks from the sudden pressure on your throat, but you obey until he lets go and you can guide him through his release. Nanami's cum fills your mouth, smearing all around as you milk him dry, sucking every last drop like it's nectar, savoring it before you swallow.

Your movements slow down, you lick him few more times, gently pumping the length until he pulls you up into a tight embrace of his strong arms. You lean against his chest, his heartbeat right beneath your ear, and you close your eyes to listen to its melody. You don't know how long the two of you have been lying in silence on your kitchen floor, and frankly, you don't need to know as long as it's Nanami Kento you're with.

"Let's get cleaned up and I'll take you home," he finally says, the words pressed against the top of your head as he plants soft kisses there and all you can do is agree.

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melrosing · 5 months

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JAIME IN THE RIVERLANDS II: Bluffs, Bargaining and Baby Trebuchets - Why Jaime Can’t Win at Riverrun

[lol sorry i've not updated this since Dec 2022 but i feel kind of compelled to finish it and this part was actually mostly done in back in Jan last year. I just got distracted. anyway part one here]

Following ASOS where Jaime’s character development came thick and fast, Jaime of AFFC is stalling by comparison, looking for an outlet and lacking one. He hopes to improve the Kingsguard as its new Commander but it’s in a poor state, saddled with men like Boros Blount and Osmund Kettleblack who are sworn to serve it for life. Meanwhile, his every move is undermined by Cersei’s erratic rule as regent, or the strange counsel she has built around her. He is beside his son, but Tommen can’t know it, and his daily duties involve tedium more often than not. Jaime’s scope has been drastically reduced: there are no bears, there is only Pycelle, and meanwhile his relationship with Cersei is undergoing seismic change that leaves him emotionally adrift.

Jaime is also growing increasingly conscious of the risk that Tywin’s death poses to his family: joining the funeral procession for his father’s return to the Rock, ‘dead’ rings in his ears as he attempts reconciliation between Kevan and Cersei (JAIME II, AFFC) - Tywin is truly gone, and nothing stands in his place. Indeed, whilst we see throughout ASOS and AFFC that Tywin had the respect of his siblings, Jaime and Cersei are viewed by Genna and Kevan as little more than squabbling children far out of their depth. Kevan even regards the twins as a direct threat to he and his family’s security and goes so far to say as much, rending the family deeper. Worse still, Jaime is unsure whether or not Cersei does represent a true threat to their uncle, leaving him to play the game half blind:

Ser Kevan was a Lannister of Casterly Rock. He could not believe that she would ever do him harm, but… I was wrong about Tyrion, why not about Cersei? When sons were killing fathers, what was there to stop a niece from ordering an uncle slain? [JAIME II, AFFC]

It’s clear at this point to both Jaime and the reader that House Lannister is beginning to cannibalise itself, with each link representing a threat to the other: even Genna and Kevan compete for safer seats for their families, with Kevan leaving the poisoned chalice of Riverrun for his sister and her children. Meanwhile, Cersei’s growing paranoia and ineptitude as queen is setting off alarm bells: “The crows will feast upon us all if you go on this way, sweet sister” (JAIME II, AFFC). House Lannister’s vulnerability is hugely apparent, and now, far from Tywin’s vision of a single unanimous collective, each branch of the family pulls in its own direction. So we see that part of Jaime’s role at this point in the story is to somehow reunite his family with the singular object of their security: the trouble is that the security of House Lannister runs directly counter to the security of all others.

It is here that Cersei sends Jaime into the Riverlands against his will, to finish their father’s work in quashing House Stark and House Tully. Jaime goes reluctantly, knowing the Riverlands have already been ravaged by his father’s men: “scarce a field remained unburnt, a town unsacked, a maiden undespoiled.” Cersei’s request that he finish the work of men like Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch “[leaves] a bitter taste in his mouth” (JAIME III, AFFC). Jaime is also mindful of his oaths to Catelyn Stark, i.e. that he will not take arms against Stark or Tully, and his own personal ambitions for betterment. But the dregs of the war aren’t going anywhere, and so begins Jaime’s attempt to balance his own personal ambitions with what his family needs to solidify their rule.

RETURNING TO THE RIVERLANDS

Jaime initially travels with little sense of direction. He hovers at Darry to see Lancel and settle the matter of Cersei’s infidelity. He returns to Harrenhal to restore order, and makes some attempts at a transformation into ‘Goldenhand the Just’: rescuing Pia, executing her rapist, punishing outlaws (be they of opposing camps or otherwise) and rehabilitating Ser Ilyn Payne. But as many have observed, these are small gestures - perhaps even misguided, in the case of the outlaws: Brienne’s chapters feature a sorrowful monologue on the plight of ‘broken men’, who have long suffered at the mercy of their high lords. This is Jaime attempting to do good within the scope he’s been afforded, but he is under no illusions that it is enough to transform his reputation, and it is certainly not enough to atone for his sins:

"Wear [the golden hand], Jaime," urged Ser Kennos of Kayce. "Wave at the smallfolk and give them a tale to tell their children." "I think not." Jaime would not show the crowds a golden lie. Let them see the stump. Let them see the cripple. [JAIME III, AFFC]

“Men will name you Goldenhand from his day forth,” the armorer had assured him the first time he fitted it onto Jaime’s wrist. He was wrong. I shall be the Kingslayer till I die. [JAIME III, AFFC]

“He was not wrong," Ser Bonifer allowed, "but some sins are blacker than others, and fouler in the nostrils of the Seven." And you have no more nose than my little brother, or my own sins would have you choking on that pear. [JAIME III, AFFC]

After loitering long enough, Jaime finally continues his journey to Riverrun, where he finds the entire place at a standstill. The Freys have ruined negotiations by belying the bluff behind their threats, and now Riverrun will not fall without armed conflict. Jaime does not want armed conflict owing to the oath he swore to Catelyn that he would not take up arms against House Tully, but the danger to his house grows more pronounced: Lannisters and Freys can be found hanging in the woods, and Brynden Tully obstinately wants no peace with them. The contrast between the honourable Tullys and the impotent Freys is immediately made starkly apparent, and any reader would feel that Jaime is on the wrong side of this conflict. Yet even despite Jaime’s own obvious disregard for the Freys, we get to see the House Lannister he’s grown up with, and hopes to protect: the jovial Daven, the fond Genna, even the tragic Lancel. There is genuine affection amongst the extended tree of Lannisters, not easily dismissed for the sake of oaths.

Yet even so, Genna quickly notes Jaime is not the man to protect them: “Who will protect us now? [...] Tyrion is Tywin’s son, not you.” I’d argue that it is at this juncture, more than any other, that Jaime resolves to begin his performance as Tywin’s ‘true’ heir: he has entered this conflict lacking direction, and Genna has now provided him one that he has willfully ignored till now: House Lannister needs someone to protect them, and if not him, then who?

So begins the delicate balancing act between Jaime’s own ideals and oaths to Catelyn, alongside the dwindling security of House Lannister.

ALLIES & ENEMIES

We frequently see Jaime struggle with the fact that he vastly prefers his enemies to his allies, even as the reader is encouraged to do the same. Jaime likes Jeyne Westerling, with her earnest devotion to Robb. He has admired Brynden Tully since he was a boy, and desperately hopes to win the man over himself (to no avail). He clearly prefers Tytos Blackwood to Jonos Bracken, despite (if not because of) Blackwood’s staunch support for House Tully, versus Bracken’s more malleable loyalties. Yet Jaime himself is encumbered by Freys of dubious loyalty and still more dubious character (if they are not altogether ineffectual), as well as lickspittles and violent rogues, such as the remainder of Gregor’s party he finds at Harrenhal. We see Jaime attempting to work with what he’s been given, but the disdain he feels towards his allies is always palpable - whilst his preference for his more honourable enemies is a recurring weakness.

Jaime’s ADWD chapter is an interesting exploration of both the strengths of Jaime’s character, and the ways in which he is ill-suited to his role in this conflict. He is instantly able to build some rapport with Tytos Blackwood, agreeing to privately manage humiliating dealings, and making allowances for the man where he can. He even goes so far as to allow Blackwood to choose his own hostage - Jonos Bracken advises Jaime that taking Tytos’ treasured daughter would give House Lannister the strongest hold over the family, but when Tytos emotionally protests, he allows the man to instead suggest a son he’s less fond of, and who would even enjoy the trip to the capital. The threat inherent in this exchange is so forgotten that when Hoster Blackwood emerges as though ready for summer camp, Jaime realises he has to remind the Blackwoods of who exactly they’re dealing with, else appear weak to a supporter who might easily turn:

"I am not your friend and I am not your brother." That cleaned the grin off the boy's face. Jaime turned to Lord Tytos. "My lord, let there be no misunderstanding here. Lord Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, Sandor Clegane, Brynden Tully, this woman Stoneheart … all these are outlaws and rebels, enemies to the king and all his leal subjects. If I should learn that you or yours are hiding them, protecting them, or assisting them in any way, I will not hesitate to send you your son's head. I hope you understand that. Understand this as well: I am not Ryman Frey." [JAIME I, ADWD]

Here, Jaime directly counterposes himself with Ryman Frey: the man who almost lost Riverrun owing to his ineffectual bluffing. The reason being that Jaime and Ryman are dealing in the same currency: so far, Jaime has offered only threats that remain untested by his enemies, and Hos the hostage is only another of them. His role as Tywin’s heir is an elaborate performance, but Tywin’s reputation was earned through deed - Jaime so far relies only the memory of that. The second any one enemy does dare to test his resolve, the whole business could come crashing down - because this is a character who has yet to prove his resolve in the matter to either his enemies or himself, and is desperately avoiding doing so.

We see his lack of conviction again in subsequent conversations with his new hostage. Hoster reminds Jaime of his younger brother Tyrion, building his warmth towards the boy, and soon enough Jaime is asking him questions about the surrounding landscape and its history. At the end of the chapter, Jaime even shares a skin of wine with Hoster and his young squires (mostly hostages themselves) about a campfire, failing to enforce an emotional distance. The only instance where Jaime resumes his performance before Hoster is one where the pretence is palpable:

"My father had a saying too. Never wound a foe when you can kill him. Dead men don't claim vengeance." "Their sons do," said Hoster, apologetically. "Not if you kill the sons as well. Ask the Casterlys about that if you doubt me. Ask Lord and Lady Tarbeck, or the Reynes of Castamere. Ask the Prince of Dragonstone." For an instant, the deep red clouds that crowned the western hills reminded him of Rhaegar's children, all wrapped up in crimson cloaks. "Is that why you killed all the Starks?" "Not all," said Jaime. "Lord Eddard's daughters live. One has just been wed. The other …" Brienne, where are you? Have you found her? "… if the gods are good, she'll forget she was a Stark. She'll wed some burly blacksmith or fat-faced innkeep, fill his house with children, and never need to fear that some knight might come along to smash their heads against a wall." [JAIME I, ADWD]

Here, Hoster inadvertently tests Jaime’s resolve in the Lannister cause, and Jaime parrots obligingly, invoking his father’s darkest deeds as a reminder of what House Lannister is capable of. As Tywin’s heir, Jaime, is aware that he owes his audience a performance.

Yet what is coming out of Jaime’s mouth runs laughably counter to his own feelings and actions. He does not agree with his father’s methodry: the memory of Rhaenys’ and Aegon’s bloody bodies is clearly traumatic, and something Jaime has repeatedly wished he had prevented. And he has of course sent Brienne to rescue Sansa; in doing so, he may well have sown the seeds of the next Stark uprising himself, a consequence that could directly threaten his own family. This goes to prove how complex and contradictory Jaime’s objectives have become. He is attempting to preserve the security of both the Starks and the Lannisters, whilst struggling to avoid handing either side victory over the other.

Jaime cannot make that struggle apparent to his audience, however, and so he says the words for Hoster: it is important Hoster believes them - that everyone does - yet once again, words are all Jaime has offered.

HALF MEASURES

Jaime’s sole ADWD chapter offers the best framework to unpack one of the most discussed episodes of Jaime’s Riverlands arc, and that is: Jaime’s threat to fling a baby over a castle wall.

"You've seen our numbers, Edmure. You've seen the ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my coz will bridge your moat and break your gate. Hundreds will die, most of them your own. Your former bannermen will make up the first wave of attackers, so you'll start your day by killing the fathers and brothers of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys, I have no lack of those. My westermen will follow when your archers are short of arrows and your knights so weary they can hardly lift their blades. When the castle falls, all those inside will be put to the sword. Your herds will be butchered, your godswood will be felled, your keeps and towers will burn. I'll pull your walls down, and divert the Tumblestone over the ruins. By the time I'm done no man will ever know that a castle once stood here." Jaime got to his feet. "Your wife may whelp before that. You'll want your child, I expect. I'll send him to you when he's born. With a trebuchet." [JAIME VI, AFFC]

As already mentioned, bluffs have been Jaime’s sole currency against the Tullys so far. The trouble is that he has entered an arena where bluffs have already been used to ill effect: the Freys have practically numbed Brynden Tully and his garrison to Edmure’s death, by threatening to do kill the man daily and failing follow through: this has led Brynden to frame his retaliation under the supposition that his nephew is as good as dead already. The best thing Jaime could do to assert his status over the Freys and dominance over the Tullys is demonstrate that he is a man of action, and will kill Edmure - but the action required is precisely that which he is not willing to take.

So Jaime enters this conflict with a bluff of his own, this time pointed at both the Freys and Edmure, as it’s necessary for both parties to believe he means what he says. Having covertly directed Ser Ilyn Payne to bluff, Jaime fools even the reader for a moment into believing that he meant to have Edmure’s head off:

The ferry had just started across with Walder Rivers and Edwyn Frey when Jaime and his men arrived at the river. As they awaited its return, Jaime told them what he wanted. Ser Ilyn spat into the river. [...] The sight of Ser Ilyn widened [Edmure’s] eyes. "Better a sword than a rope. Do it, Payne." "Ser Ilyn," said Jaime. "You heard Lord Tully. Do it." [...] "No! Stop. NO!" Edwyn Frey came panting into view. [JAIME VI, AFFC]

It’s here apparent that Ilyn Payne has been instructed to sever the rope suspending Edmure, making it seem to Edmure and onlookers that he means for Ilyn to behead the man. Jaime knows that Edwyn Frey will intervene before this can take place, but Edmure, who already bought into Jaime’s Kingslayer persona, has now had it reified by Jaime’s apparent resolve to behead him there and then. This lays the foundations for Jaime’s subsequent negotiations with Edmure: whilst treating with Brynden Tully, a man with nothing to lose, was a worthless pursuit… convincing Edmure, with everything to lose, holds more promise, and Jaime has now primed him to accept the carrot and fear the invisible stick.

Many readers do not regard Jaime’s villainous monologue to Edmure as any kind of bluff, but rather a promise that demonstrates that even if he isn’t Tywin’s ‘true’ heir, he’s capable of the same cruelties. However, we’ve now established that bluffs have become the currency at Riverrun, and are an especially vital currency to Jaime, a man who is determined to take no decisive action for the sake of his oath. His sole objective is to get Edmure to surrender peacefully, and violent words are his oddly pacifist method.

It is also worth observing the improvised nature of the threat. Jaime mentions trebuchets specifically because they are trademark of Tywin’s from his feuds with the Reynes and the Tarbecks - as is drowning castles so that no-one would know they ever stood. The whole threat is heavy on Tywinian rhetoric, promising violent extremes that are atypical of Jaime’s own approach in war - but of course, they go the extra mile in pushing Edmure over the edge. Edmure knows what the Lannisters are capable of, and that is enough to frighten him into acquiescence before he begins to wonder what Jaime himself is capable of.

Following Edmure’s surrender, Jaime self-consciously notes to himself his cynical invocation of Tywin’s trademarks, humorlessly marvelling at what came out of his mouth:

‘With a trebuchet,’ Jaime thought. If his aunt had been there, would she still say Tyrion was Tywin’s son? [JAIME VI, AFFC]

And of course, we see again here what has been on Jaime’s mind the whole time. Genna has told him she doesn’t believe he can protect their family, because he is no second coming of Tywin Lannister. Jaime is desperate to prove otherwise, whilst simultaneously desperate not to - and so, in thinking to himself that he has proved Genna wrong, Jaime has ironically proved her right: he is not willing to take decisive action, offering only words to suggest he could.

Finally, there is a telling passage that precedes Jaime’s threat, suggesting the extent to which just saying the words pains Jaime:

Must you make me say the words? Pia was standing by the flap of the tent with her arms full of clothes. His squires were listening as well, and the singer. Let them hear, Jaime thought. Let the world hear. It makes no matter. He forced himself to smile. [JAIME VI, AFFC]

Jaime has built rapport with Pia and his squires over the course of AFFC - he gets to know them as people, they get to know him, and Jaime is a different person for them than he has been in the minds of those back at King’s Landing - he is a saviour to Pia, and a mentor for his squires. They are at the inception of the man Jaime wants to become for the rest of Westeros - someone honourable, and worthy of their respect.

However, Tywin Lannister was not such a man - he was a man to be feared, and to sustain the Lannister regime, his heir must be feared as well. Jaime asks himself, ‘Must [Edmure] make me say the words?’, belying the fact that he had hoped to leave the threat implicit, offering Edmure a hand to his feet without having to show him the back of it. He is conscious of Pia and his squires listening, and how these words will impact their opinion of him; how the words will get out of the tent, and impact everyone’s opinion of him.

But Jaime resolves: “Let them hear. Let the world hear. It makes no matter.” It’s apparent that it does matter to Jaime; he does not want to be a man feared and despised. Nonetheless, there is a futility in these lines. He lost the respect of Westeros long ago, and will not regain it in acting as Tywin’s heir. ‘Goldenhand the Just’ is a fantasy, and revealing his true motives to the world would be dangerous. He has to maintain his performance as Tywin’s heir for the sake of his family, and if that’s all the world will ever know of him… here, Jaime is telling himself to suck it up. “He forced himself to smile.”

The threat serves its purpose in the short-term, however. As much as Edmure hates Jaime for the words, it’s likely he requires them before he can sign Riverrun away to the Lannisters. Edmure needs to know the price of the carrot, cannot take it without asking. The price tells Edmure he’s making the right decision for everyone, albeit a bitter, humiliating one that reeks of injustice. Yet to refuse the carrot would be to surrender his family and people to something worse than injustice: in short Edmure needs to believe he’s saving his family from something. Jaime gives him that.

THE PEACE

Of course, the greatest trouble for the Lannisters is that Jaime’s measures will not maintain the peace in his absence. Jaime did not take up arms against the Tullys, and so Brynden has escaped. In all likelihood, Edmure and his pregnant wife will shortly do the same - they travel with Jeyne Westerling to Casterly Rock, a character GRRM has told us will feature in TWOW’s prologue. It seems a foregone conclusion that that prologue will see an interruption to the hostages’ journey to the Rock, perhaps one orchestrated by Brynden Tully.

It hardly helps that Jaime has even released a number of Tully men after having them swear an oath after the fashion of his own to Cat:

Lady Genna suggested that a few of the men might be put to the question. He refused. "I gave Edmure my word that if he yielded, the garrison could leave unharmed." "That was chivalrous of you," his aunt said, "but it's strength that's needed here, not chivalry." [...] The Tully garrison departed the next morning, stripped of all their arms and armour. Each man was allowed three days' food and the clothing on his back, after he swore a solemn oath never to take up arms against Lord Emmon or House Lannister. "If you're fortunate, one man in ten may keep that vow," Lady Genna said. [JAIME VII, AFFC]

As we see, Genna does not regard Jaime’s measures as stringent enough for their ends, and she may well be right - the Lannisters’ pit of violence has grown too deep for the family to sustain themselves through pacifism now. But ultimately, these chapters serve to show that Jaime is not willing to consider the alternative: whatever method his family requires to survive, he is demonstrably not the character to implement it.

Needless to say, it seems pointless to argue that there aren’t clear ‘good guys’ and ‘bad guys’ in the Riverlands conflict - because even if there were, Jaime’s desire to protect his family is a sympathetic one. His attempts to do this solely through rhetoric are understandable, even laudable. And the fact that he has ultimately failed has a level of tragedy to it: we root for the Tullys and their return to Riverrun, and the downfall of the Lannister regime, but there is still a human cost associated.

The coming of Red Wedding 2.0 is another foregone conclusion, but from the groundwork laid in AFFC and ADWD, it seems clear that GRRM will not intend it as a triumphant event: it was gruesome and cruel the first time, with many innocent lives lost in the crossfire - it can only be so different the second.

As readers, we want Jaime to move beyond the Lannister cause to higher ideals, and in ADWD he has. But GRRM does not intend that this should be an easy path to take. Jaime’s loved ones remain embroiled in this conflict, and fighting for or favouring the other side has implications for all of them. Abandoning the Lannister cause is necessarily difficult, and there will be consequences for doing so.

NEXT PART: A Reckoning in the Riverlands!!! this won't be quick but i hope it won't be a fucking year

#jaime lannister #asoiaf

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akunya · 2 years

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eiiiiii the idea of getting private meeting with camboy vox HELLO. you make me suffer for good stuffs every single day 😭💦 can you spoil me a little bittttt. - 🐱

“private session.”

pairings: camboy!vox akuma x male!reader

summary: congrats, lucky winner! because of your generous donations, vox reached out wanting to thank you in person. things, however, take a turn.

tw: DRUGGING, yandere, manipulation, voice fetish. camshows, drinking, implied noncon. age gap, etc.

notes: last fic of 2022! im posting this mere minutes from midnight, so please pardon any mistakes. ill go back and edit this a bit later.

and yes, i can write a part 2 if you truly wish. sorry for cucking you guys, again..

happy new year everyone, thank you for such an amazing 2022. i hope to write much more in the future!

“im at the right place, aren’t i..?” you mumbled to yourself, frigid, clammy hands swiping your phone to make sure the location was right. the restaurant looked a bit trendy and sophisticated, somewhere you wouldn't dare step inside on your own. you and vox both agreed on a restaurant to meet at around eight o'clock. to be truly honest with yourself, you never thought you’d have the guts to do something like this — but when vox, the streamer who you’ve been watching for months daily and donating to everyday reached out to you personally, how could you say no?

nonetheless, sitting across from him at the table really made you wish you had refused.

for one, he was much too ethereal to be in your lowly presence. the camera didn’t do him justice at all — his pale skin was a nice contrast to his black hair, adorned by his signature red highlights. he even wore the red eye makeup that you loved to look at, except now, you could see his mouth and bottom half of his face, uncovered by the black mask he would usually wear. his lips looked so soft, and when his tongue darted out to lick them you were nearly going to faint. we’re those.. fangs? his canines were sharp, and you felt like a pervert for staring so intensely.

you quickly paid your respects to the other fans who would never know that vox, a niche but popular adult streamer, was a truly beautiful man in person.

you didn't even notice how silent it had gotten between the two of you. “no need to be so quiet. i don’t bite, i promise.” vox’s sweet voice snapped you out of your thoughts, apologizing profusely for zoning out so much. “you’re right! im sorry, ive just never done anything like this before..” you chuckled awkwardly, shifting in your chair while vox just smiled. he found your skittishness adorable. you reminded him of a scared little bunny — and he was the big bad wolf, ready to eat you up whole.

"what a shame. and here i was thinking you do this quite often, with how you accepted my request and all." the demon smirked at how your face flushed, becoming a stuttering mess. you should've expected it, but he was just as snarky in person as he was on his live shows. as your little meeting continued, vox realized he enjoyed your presence much more than he thought. the night was filled with friendly but interesting conversation, and for once, the demon didn’t feel forced to keep speaking.

at first, he debated on meeting with you in person. what if the person who donated nearly thousands to him each month turned out to be not as pleasant as he hoped? while the demon wouldn't be surprised, he would be a tad disappointed with all of the free shoutouts he's given to you. still, with you being his top donator for a while now, he felt compelled to show some form of graciousness. a little present, just in time for the holidays.

vox enjoyed streaming more than he thought he would. even though he could use his voice and other demonic powers for much grander, sinister things - for some reason, using them to tease and drain the wallets of his viewers was surprisingly just as satisfying. doing this, he never had to worry about getting a silly job like most humans did, letting the demon truly relax when he wasnt tampering with cameras and himself.

but, you, however - vox liked how shy and nervous you were. it awakened a sick monster inside of him, that wanted to see you cry and beg for mercy at his fingertips. he thought his days of toying with mortals was over, but unfortunately (or fortunately?) for you, you seemed to rekindle that fire in his heart. if he didn't know any better, he would've never expected you to be someone that watches adult streams online, let alone spend money on them.

taking advantage of how anxious you were, vox continued to ask questions about yourself, forcing you to blurt out answers in hopes of not screwing up. "so, what do you like about my streams, y/n?" the male swiveled the wine in his glass nonchalantly, golden eyes looking into yours, awaiting an answer. you gulped, shakily drinking yours as well.

"um, well, you're the first streamer i've ever really watched for.. that sort of stuff. i initially liked how your voice sounded, and wanted to hear more, but i ended up staying for your little stories and when you'd talk about yourself. you just seemed really nice." it was a bit embarrassing when you had said it aloud, but it was the truth. you enjoyed the moments where the demon would just ramble the most. of course, given the content of his streams, most of the things he'd speak about were so dirty it made your ears feel hot - however, there were moments where he'd just talk about his day, and you seemed to enjoy those the most.

it was vox's turn to blush, his grip tightening on the wine glass ever so slightly. how could a mere mortal make him feel so... flustered? hes had his fair share of affairs over many decades, however, never has he felt so vulnerable. the demon was expecting you to talk about his cock or something, but of course your innocent little head wouldnt do that. you should be thankful vox isn't a cannibalistic demon, or he seriously would've eaten your heart out by now.

therefore, the man didnt feel any remorse when you went to the bathroom and he slipped a drug into your drink while you were away.

it wasnt his fault - how was he supposed to let you go after today? someone as sinless and pure as yourself needed to be his. vox wouldnt be content with letting you go back to being another viewer behind the screen, not after your little meeting. the demon knew truly that you probably wouldn't refuse going home with him, but that also didnt guarantee you'd accept his offer. he considered the drug just a bit of a push in the right direction, if you will.

"sorry for taking so long. there was a line outside, so.." your voice trailed off, going back to your seat as the older man simply chuckled. why did you feel the need to explain yourself? it didn't matter how long you took, even if you tried to run now, vox would surely find you. pouring some more wine for himself, he filled his glass a bit more to match yours. you tried to tell him you weren't too keen or interested in alcohol at the beginning of your little date, but the demon wouldn't take no for an answer. "y/n, lets have a toast, shall we?" his held up his glass expectantly towards you, waiting for you to clink the rim with your own.

you hesitated for a moment. the smell of wine never enticed you, but seeing vox wait earnestly made your heart flutter. one glass shouldn't hurt, right?

you simply nodded, the familiar clank of glass against glass being shared between you two before drinking. you drank a majority of the wine, only leaving a small amount left. "good boy. its good, isnt it?" you nearly sputtered the drink back up from the praise, nodding again and drinking the rest in one gulp. it was much different hearing his words of affirmation in person. it felt addicting, unreal.

"thats it. a toast for the new year, my boy. im excited for the memories we shall make together. aren't you?" oh, did vox mean his streams? of course you looked forward to those, how could you not! he was the highlight of your day, making you smile and laugh. "mhm! im excited. im looking forward to your streams, vox." the demon felt a shiver roll down his spine, suppressing a groan. he could get used to you saying his name. he wanted to hear you say it in other ways, too.

"i hope we can get more.. personal, as well, y/n. it was truly delightful being here with you." the man had such a way with words, making you swoon. was he this nice with everyone? no wonder he had so many followers! while you didnt know the true extent to what he had implied, you agreed, telling him that you were happy you came out today.

of course you were. you were his little rabbit, frail and gullible, unknowing of the big bad wolf sitting across from your very table. he truly wondered just how oblivious you could be, but much to his delight, he'd find out soon enough. your eyes started to feel heavy, zoning out while he talked about random things to keep you occupied.

"goodness, y/n, are you alright? you look a bit pale. here, let me take you back to my place. i don't live far at all." his voice was sickeningly sweet, how could you deny his offer? you nodded drowsily, letting the man hold you to steady your balance.

the cold air of the outdoors didnt phase you, and neither did it bother vox. peering at your sleeping face, he smiled, leaning in to kiss the top of your forehead.

"happy new years, y/n. lets have fun together." vox whispered in your ear, turning the corner towards his apartment.

#my askbox..#male reader #mlm blog #male reader blog #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji en x reader #my fics..#🐱 anon #luxiem x reader #vox akuma x m!reader #vox akuma x male reader #yandere vox akuma #vox akuma #vox akuma x reader #luxiem x y/n #luxiem x m!reader #luxiem x male reader

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enam3l · 2 years

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these days, rockstar Eddie doesn't give a fuck

read all rockstar eddie stories and lore at #enam3ls rockstar eddie

In 2022 Eddie Munson former lead guitarist and backing vocalist for Corroded Coffin is 57 and he's living his best life

He nearly breaks the internet when in an interview looking back on his career he casually mentions he's bisexual. He said any of his old fans who are bigots are gonna get the shock of their lives when they realise half the songs he wrote before he met his wife were about men.

Eddie is the ultimate girl dad and he loves it. You gave him three beautiful daughters and he stopped touring until they were at least teenagers because he just wanted to be a stay at home dad

His youngest is 22, he once admitted he was pretty suspicious about Y2K so spent the turn of the century in bed with you. Thank god the world didn't end because 9 months later you had your second child together. It also resulted in Corroded Coffin's best selling single to this day 'Millennium Babe'

Speaking of his kids, his oldest daughter came out as a lesbian. Since then every year Eddie is spotted pretty drunk with his family at pride

People are desperate for him to write an autobiography but legally he can't. The CIA made him sign a contract to make sure he doesn't let anything slip about Hawkins and The Upside Down

He's still a huge nerd. The invention of Comic Con was one of the best things to happen to him. He's seen at multiple Comic Cons each year with his old DnD gang

He got an iPhone so he can have group chats with his friends and family. But mainly it was so he could sext you whenever you were apart

Eddie does not know how to use social media so anything he wants to share, he makes his daughters do it for him. He likes to share film and music recommendations with fans and also any nice pictures he takes of you

Once drunk on an Instagram Live with his daughters, he revealed he actually has a tramp stamp. It's a butterfly you drew with your name underneath, you have a matching one with his name. You'd both got them done on a holiday for your anniversary

The best part of being a rockstar with money was spending on the people he loves. He will never admit how much he spent to get Dustin a cameo in one of the new Star Wars movies as a Wookiee

i am so drunk on making rockstar eddie content, let me know if you want more or have any requests 🥺

#enam3l x eddie #enam3ls rockstar eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #dad eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson

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bartxnhood · 2 years

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another life | c.b

colby brock x fem!ghost!reader

summary: on a certain investigation, colby finds himself oddly intrigued by the mystery surrounding your passing. so, he tries his best to help you move on.

warnings: sadness, angst, murder, bittersweet ending.

a/n: hi loves ! long time no see ! i haven’t been writing like i usually do, to lack of inspiration and motivation. i hope this can make up for it. also my first time writing for colby, so i hope i did okay ! if you’d like to see more let me know !! also this was slightly inspired by corpse bride especially the scene at the end. iykyk. enjoy <3 feedback is appreciated !

requests open

not proofread

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the thought of the idea of something after life always intrigued you. what happened to someone after passing? or did your life begin again after death? but after passing, you were hit with the reality that you’d be bound to the house you died in; and living the same thing almost every single time.

after a couple years the constant investigation it was getting very annoying. at first, you’d interact the best you could but when they’d take it too far and taunt you, you’d slowly begin to stop giving them what they want. they’d always seem to be disappointed and often left not believing. you’ve come to understand the why humans think, trying to prove the existence of the after life. you know if someone truly believed they wouldn’t be so aggressive.

no one had toured the house in what felt like a long time. on one night in particular you heard commotion outside, so, you peeked out the curtains seeing a group of people, around your age. they all took a step back and panned what you had come to recognize as a camera towards the house. your eyes caught a blonde girl as she scanned the windows but her eyes landed on you.

as the sam panned the camera on the victorian era home, amanda noticed you. her eyes locking with yours before you vanished into the blackness behind you. she thought about mentioning your presence but she decided to wait until they were inside.

they were greeted with a guild which you were also familiar with. they had stopped in first two rooms downstairs before coming up to the third floor.

the guide lead them up the spiral staircase into the mist anticipated room of the night. your bedroom.

“now, you may notice the energy shifting in this room, it’s much darker and heavier.” she started “the mystery surrounding y/ns death is still pretty much unsolved” she stood at the foot of your bed. “people suspect she died of a broken heart, but there is also a theory that she was murdered by her sister to get with her fiancé” you stood in the corner behind her, she stepped to the side showing a photograph of the man. sam zoomed in on the photo while the guide continued to give misleading details about your story. “most people don’t believe this story to be true as there is no evidence of a murder happening. so, we may never know.”

amanda pipes up, “is she known to be active?.” the guide shakes her head, “when we first opened for investigations she was our most popular ghost and was the most active one but eventually she just stopped. so, people would often leave disappointed. some people would try to taunt her, but it only made her not want to interact anymore.”

the group nodded. “y/n, if you’re here we want you to know we aren’t here to harm you, we’d love to talk to you more tonight if you’re down.” colby said, looking around the room, hoping you’d be listening. “lets check out the rest of the house shall we?” sam asked and they all nodded.

you watched as the group returned to your bedroom, setting up the camera before going over their last investigation.

“the energy is so different from the rest of the house.” nate started, filing in behind the blonde boy. “i feel just this heaviness on my chest. like i could cry” he added. colby nodded in agreement, “yeah, i feel like that earlier. it’s very overwhelming.”

if you still had a heart you knew it would ache, watching colby, the taller and darker headed man walk around in your bedroom admiring what used to be yours. you watched the man who reminded you of the man who you once loved with all of your heart.

“the guide said everything here is all original to y/n, correct?” sam nodded, reaching into his bag for the two flashlights. “yes, everything here is the same as it was when she was alive.”

your felt especially sad, spectating these people in your area, saying everything they could but you were still stuck in silence.

you knew the blonde girl could see you but it had been so long since someone could see you, you were afraid. ironically. “she’s sad”

amanda stood across from you, “she wants to communicate with us but doesn’t know how. she feels lonely.”

“so these are flashlights, i will sit these on the dresser and basically you can use your energy to turn these on and off for yes and no.”

you moved from your bed to the dresser and tried out the flashlight. it took a few seconds but you eventually got it on, it took more energy than you thought. “she’s here!” nate chirped.

“y/n if this is you can you turn off the flashlight?” sam asked, you began dimming the light and eventually it turned off. “y/n, you’re free to use our energy if it helps you communicate.”

once again, you turn the flashlight on again, but a tad quicker this time. colby grins, “this is crazy. okay, y/n. i’m colby, this sam, nate, and that’s amanda.” he introduced everyone. “we want you to know we don’t want to force you or push you into anything. we just want to know who you were.” the one you came to know as nate said.

“how about we move to the bed?” nate added, for a change of pace.

now colby was lying on what was previously your bed and carefully you laid next to him. “holy shit dude” he looked at nagw. “what?” sam said, who was filming. “swear to god i just felt the side of the bed dip like she is laying next to me” “holy shit, for real?” he asked, couldn’t nodded. “yes.” he then paused, “y/n are you laying next to colby?” the four looked at the flashlights now on the bedside table.

you turned it on. then off

“y/n, would you like to talk to us?”

you turned it back on signaling you wanted to talk more

“okay, we’re going to pull out a spirit box and you can talk through it using the channels.”

“hi” you started the session with. finally feeling relieved being able to finally talk.

nate asked “y/n, are you lonely?”

“yes” “very”

“do you miss interaction?”

“of course.”

“y/n, how do you feel about us being here?” amanda questioned.

“happy.” “comfort”

“do you mean you feel comforted?”

“yes.”

“y/n, did you die from a broken heart?”

it fell silent for a few seconds, you begin reliving that night. “no.” you answered.

“we’re you murdered by your sister?”

“yes.”

sam and nate shared glances them looked back at colby.

“we’re sorry that happened, y/n. you seem like you were very sweet and to be surrounded by all of this sadness is very overwhelming. i cant imagine how you must feel.” amanda could feel the pain radiating from your energy.

“thank you, amanda.” you said, knowing if you could you would be crying.

“are you trapped here?” sam stood up from behind nate.

“i don’t know”

“have you tried leaving?”

“no”

nate hummed, “maybe she feels the need to stay here, like it’s her duty? she doesn’t have anyone waiting for her so maybe she just needs the okay for her to move on” he conspired, the rest hummed in agreement. “that could be a big possibility” colby says.

“yes” you answered from the spirit box, they all shot up to look at each other “yes!” sam repeated your answer throwing his hands onto his head. “wow, that’s a lot” nate added, laughing after.

“amanda and nate, do you guys wanna take the basement? i’ll take the second floor and colby can stay here?” sam suggested and everyone else agreed.

the rest of the group left, leaving you alone with colby and a few pieces of equipment.

“y/n, looks like it’s just us.” he announced, closing he door.

the flashlights were left on the bedsides and he walked over to your bed. “is it okay if it sit on your bed?” you turned on the flashlight closer to him, answering his question. he sat down and laid the spirit box next to him letting it run through channels. you suddenly came through the box “hi. colby.”

“hi, y/n” he smiled, glancing to the camera to make sure it was still recording. “i know you like to touch people, so feel free to touch me or use my energy if you want to talk more. we aren’t here to harm you.”

you smiled, answering. “thank you.” you carefully sat next to him, not wanting to startle him like last time. but, he still noticed. “holy shit. i just felt the bed sink next to me.” he talked to the camera, he took a deep breathe calming himself. “this is insane” he added. there was a few seconds of silence. you took this opportunity to finally to physical interaction. hesitating, you rested your hand on his which was laying on his knee.

colby froze, a huge wave of emotions flooded his mind. his heart began to ache feeling your sadness. his hand was ice cold, “is this you, y/n? are you touching my hand?” for just a moment, if he had closed his eyes and focused enough, he could picture you sitting next to him. though you didn’t answer, you only sat there still holding his hand.

“this is insane guys. i’ve never feel like this before” the camera, which was in his other hand was now panning to his hand. “my hand is freezing. i feel so many emotions right now.” he said, taking in a deep breath. “i’ve never felt like this before” he explained. you admired him, his kind soul, his gentle presence and peace of mind. “thank you, colby” you used the last bit of your energy you had so he could hear your voice.

he shot up from the bed and dropped the camera on the nightstand. “oh my fucking god” he mumbled, now pacing back and forth. “guys i don’t know if the camera caught that but i swear to god i just heard a voice” he ran his hands through his hair, feeling tears welling in his eyes. “holy shit guys.” he walked back and picked up the camera, documenting his tears. “that’s insane.”

you kind of felt bad, not expecting someone to cry so suddenly. “i’m sorry” you spoke from the spirit box. “no, no don’t be sorry. that was amazing. thank you for that y/n.”

the sound of an alarm went off and colby checked his phone which meant the group would return to colby.

colby was still emotional when the rest of the group returned, sam was the first one to see him. “dude? what happened?!” he asked. “you’re never going to believe this sam”. colby started but didn’t tell the story until amanda and nate came back.

colby turned the camera off before rewinding to the part you spoke in and there it was, clear as day. your voice. something you hadn’t heard in many years. “dude!” “bro!” “oh my god!” the othe three exclaimed. “that’s actually insane, colby. no wonder you’re tore up” amanda added.

“i’ve never felt like this before. just the pure wave of hurt, pain, loneliness, and sadness is just overwhelming. i cant even put into words how it made me feel. and after i heard her voice, knowing she is here is just so insane. that was an amazing experience”. sam agreed, keeping focus on colby as he spoke.

colby added “so, thank you, y/n for talking with us and sharing your story. you seem to be a wonderful soul and you deserve so much more than being trapped in this house. i want you to know that it’s okay to move on now, you can be at peace. the world will know your story now.” he wiped his eyes, now coming down from the overwhelming emotions.

you smiled, standing in front of the group. the sudden feeling of warmth and comfort surrounded your spirit. turned you head to look at amanda, “thank you”. you closed your eyes.

“she said thank you.” the blonde said, she also now felt emotional watching you find peace.

closing your eyes you fell your body being surrounded by light, and your soul was now at peace. you were able to move on now, all thanks to colby.

#colby brock #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x reader #colby brock x you #colby brock imagine #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby brock fluff #colby brock angst

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wosowrites · 1 year

Text

Another Kid (Magda and Pernille x young!reader)

warnings: alcoholism, throwing up

a/n: based off this request here

prompt: the reader didn’t grow up in a good family and struggled to ask for help, so pernille and magda make sure she knows she is at home with chelsea

You weren’t super tall, maybe 5,6…5,7 on a good day you liked to say. But man, you were intimidating. You never hurt anyone, but your tackles came in full force, your glares would make a player on the opposite side of the field look down and your handshake was so firm that you would leave the referees shaking their hand in the air to rid themselves of the feeling of your hand squeezing theirs. You were strong. That was no doubt. But maybe you were just waiting for someone… or some people to help break down your walls, and reveal the delicate you.

Your walls had never come down completely, although there had been two occasions where the team thought they had. The first time was on the mark of your first year with Chelsea. The girls had thrown a little party, which honestly was more of an excuse to drink beer, but you were grateful for it. You all gathered at Pernille and Magda’s house, had a cheat night of pizza and beer, played games and had all around fun. You didn’t drink any beer, you never did consume alcohol considering it was the main reason behind your shit childhood. The main reason behind the walls you had put up as well.

So, as Magda did her special party trick (drank a bit too much and got sick), you were the one who ended up having to sit with her in the washroom. Pernille hadn’t come to the party due to the fact that her mother and father were in town, she had apologized but you insisted it was okay, because it was.

That night, you played the role of Pernille. A younger, darker haired Pernille. You let Magda lay on your lap, and you held her hair as she threw up. You brushed your fingers through her hair and dabbed her face with a warm towel. That moment was the closest you had ever gotten to being completely and utterly soft. But then Magda threw up on your lap and you tried to stay calm but you freaked out solid.

Magda remembered nothing the next morning and you did not remind her.

The second time was after winning the 2022 FA cup. You hadn’t cried of joy right away although you could have. Instead, you hugged every single person on the team for over ten seconds each. "Was that an actual hug, y/n/n?" every one of the girls including Emma had said. You had rolled your eyes.

When you got into the changing room, emotions came over you. Your eyes welled with tears as you sat down at your cubby, your head in your hands. Aniek had been the one to accidentally ruin it. "Are you crying?" she asked gently, not meaning to strike a nerve. "No! What the hell?!" you said, standing up quickly and walking into the washroom.

Ever since that day, Magda and Pernille had realized that there was more behind your tears, they noticed that there was more than joy behind your eyes. As everyone on the team hugged their parents and siblings, or face timed them after that game, you sat in a corner on your phone, staring at the apps on your phone.

"She doesn’t have anyone to call, does she?" Pernille said, her arm around Magda’s waist as they watched you sadly. "We’ll be the people she can call then," the swedish woman answered.

It was a promise they had made to themselves and that they upheld every day. They didn’t know what your family situation was, but they did know that they wanted to be your new family.

And they kept that promise every single day. Wether it was holding you tightly but briefly when you had a bad day, or just picking you too be in their group during drills, you were always with P and Magda. You were constantly being caught on camera in the arms of Magda or P, being jokingly carried on and off the pitch like a baby. The denmark native and the swede had a similar behaviour with Niahm and Jessie but with you… they had really claimed you. You were theirs, and everyone knew that.

And sooner than you knew it, a year had passed and it was once again the FA cup final, but against the red side of Manchester this time. Pernille wasn’t starting as she was recently back from injury so you did your pregame routine after warmup. A quick three person handshake and then you hugged them tightly. The kissed one of your temples each and then you stood in a circle, holding the hands of your mothers.

0-0 at half made you feel relieved. Manchester United had easily been the stronger half and you had all been so lucky they hadn’t conceded.

Going into the second half, you had a desire. In a year, you had been named best young player of the year amongst a bunch of other awards, and you were in the race for the golden boot, tied with Rachel Daly. At last years FA cup, you had played 6 minutes and today… today you were on thee starting. You needed to score. A goal at Wembley… what more could you ask for?

Your wish was granted in the 56th minute, a couple minutes after Pernille had been subbed on. Magda sent a long, long ball through the field to find Pernille on the wing. The Scandinavian controlled the ball perfectly and got passed Ona Batlle. Your run was perfect, but you were sprinting to get there. Pernille crossed it in the air and you jumped.

Your head hit the ball, the ball hit the netting, and then you hit the turf, falling at the feet of Mary Earps who yelled a loud curse word. But you were full of joy. You stood up, screaming at the top of your lungs and running towards Pernille with your arms wide. Magda came and then Jessie, Niahm, Sam, Guro, everyone. You had jumped into Pernilles arms, your legs around her waist. You faced the fans, blowing kisses to the crowd and yelling at the top of your lungs.

It was a family goal.

When the final whistle blew, you fell to your knees and let out a large breath of relief. "You did it!" Pernille and Magda yelled, rushing to you and tackling you into a hug on the pitch.

The celebrations were insane, you lifted the trophy with Magda, you danced on the field, gave your shirt to a young fan, took pictures and danced some more. The difference was that when people went to see or call their families Magda and Pernille stayed with you.

"You played so well today baby," Magda said to you. It was said in a motherly way, a way that made you blush and look down at your lap. "Listen, we’ve never wanted to ask but if you ever want to… i don’t know… talk? Yeah, talk about whatever your family situation is, we are more than here for you. You know that right?"

You fiddled with your fingers, not looking at the blondes on either side of you. "Yeah, I know," you answered half heartedly.

"Y/n…" Pernille said gently. "Not to be… dramatic or whatever but I’ve been told that before, okay? And it wasn’t true," you said, standing up from the bench you were on. A few heads turned but you didn’t want to make a scene so you sat back down quickly. You hung your head and then inhaled and exhaled heavily.

"My mother got pregnant with me when she was 18. My dad just freaked out and left, I’ve never met him and he’s never shown any desire to want to meet me, even though he knows who I am. My mother got deep, deep into drugs and alcohol when I was 5. By the time I was 6 I was walking 30 minutes to get to school by myself, and- and cooking and I would animal sit for all of my neighbours with pets just to try and help my mother out a little. I started playing football when I was 7 because my best friends dad was the coach and he agreed to let me play on his boys team for free. I played with that team till I was 10 and then when I wanted to switch to competitive I got an anonymous amount of money to put towards keeping on playing football. I had no clue it was from who, and I still don’t. Anyways. I played football with clubs in Ottawa till I was 16 and started playing with the U-17 Canada team as well. You know the story from there. But that’s just the public story. The private story was that from age 10 to 17 my mother was constantly passed out, the house smelled like vomit, it was horrible. And my mother hated me. She thought it was all my fault that she landed in addiction. So when I was 18 and I left for Stanford… I deleted her number and I haven’t talked to her since. That’s the story."

It felt as though you had said that whole rant in one breath. Throughout everything, your eyes stayed fixed on your feet. You had not realized your eyes were filled with tears and you didn’t like it when you realized. Quickly, you used the neck of your shirt to erase any trace of tears. "Y/n/n…" Magda said, lifting your chin and making you look at her, her own eyes glistening with tears. "Don’t cry," you said to her before looking over at Pernille who was keeping herself together a bit more but obviously hurt for you. "Guys! Geez were FA cup champions… again! Let’s focus on that! Okay?"

You said this as you stood up, genuinely truly happy that you had won the cup again. But your "mothers" did not let you off that easily. Pernille and Magda both had the idea of reaching out to grab your jersey and pull you back which ended up in your flying backwards onto Magda’s lap. "Okay I know you guys see yourself as my parents or whatever but you do realize i’m not actually a baby right?" you asked, looking at Magda as you sat on her legs. "Haha," she said. "But while I have you here, please underhand that you are so much more than your past, okay?" Magda said, Pernille nodding along to her girlfriends words. "Okay," you said.

You never really talked about it again, but Magda and P knew, and when the reality that they needed to sign a new contract immediately or choose a club to leave too, (Bayern or OL at the moment) they gave each other one look, and then looked over at Millie who had you slung over her shoulder as Jessie and Niahm watched you, laughing loudly, and that was it. They were staying at Chelsea.

#woso fic #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #chelsea fcw #pernille harder #magda eriksson #jessie fleming #cfcw

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ranaissingle · 2 years

Text

In My Mind

Masterlist Summary: Reader exists in the same circle as Austin and has been head over heels in love with him for years but she never speaks up over the course of their friendship until a new years party. Rating: T Word Count: 2.1 k ( I swear this was meant to be a short whip I have no idea what happened)

Warnings: Unrequited love lol (can you tell I'm feeling angsty?) A/N: Hey girlies, it's been a hot minute haha. School kinda got in the way and then I had to learn (for the zillionth time) that men ain't shit (besides our lord and savior Austin Butler of course). I quite literally have no inspiration so please do send me some requests. I'm thinking of doing another angst fic about Hanahaki disease... How do we feel?

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When Austin told you he had started dating Vanessa Hudgens you felt like you wanted to die. Yes. Die. The world seemed to close in on you as he continued explaining how they had met and how he had asked her out. Each word was another knife in your throat and every admission of his love for her tore your heart into smaller and smaller pieces.

But you sat there and listened. You listened as he detailed their first kiss, their first date, his confession, and hers to him. It took each ounce of self-control to not get up and scream. Scream at him for not knowing how you felt and scream for the heart that had broken.

But you kept your mouth shut. You helped Austin plan all the valentines day dates, the birthday trips, and each anniversary date. Every single thing he had done for her and every girl he had been with since had been painstakingly vetted by you. You were happy to help him, but the fact that all your preparations were for another girl was a hard pill to swallow.

Everything came to a head when he started dating Kaia Gerber. She was beautiful. in every way imaginable she was conventionally attractive. Her skinny legs, straight waist, and small hips made you want to collapse in on yourself. She was perfect in every way. She was everything you were not. Tall, skinny, and beautiful.

Austin was smitten. He had developed a habit of dating skinny models and he had yet to break it. You were anything but surprised when she caught his eye when he asked you if you had her number, when he took her out for the first date, and then eventually when they started dating. It was routine for you now.

He would meet a girl, become infatuated, date her, dump her, then move on to the next one.

But at least you stayed constant. You had been constant for well over a decade at this point. That was more than any of the other girls could say. So you were content, until the New Year's of 2022. It was December 31st, 2022 and Austin had just broken up with his latest fling and had elected to spend New Year's as a free agent. You had never really had a date on new years because your previous relationships always ended before the fateful day or started after. You had grown accustomed to accompanying the same leather chair in the corner of your living room while you watched your friends with their respective partners mingle about your house. You sipped champagne as you watched couples drunkenly sway together as the countdown began to draw dangerously close to midnight.

1 hour to midnight

You spotted Austin out of the corner of your eye and you felt the iciness in your heart melt when he smiled at the people he spoke to. He was in the middle of a group of 4 other people yet still looked ethereal. His hair shone under the kitchen light and the crinkles around his eyes made you want to run your fingers over them.

You watched him. You watched how his lips moved. You traced his figure with your eyes until you reached his hands. His fingers picked at the cuticles of his nails. It was his nervous habit. He always resorted to picking at his cuticles whenever he was around people he didn't know well. It had led to many last-minute manicures before photoshoots to help deal with the redness it left.

30 minutes to midnight

You slowly pushed yourself off the comfortable chaise and made your way over to him. Maybe if you were with him he would feel so nervous, and it could save you from a last-minute call to the nail salon where you had to beg for an opening. You slid in next to him and smiled at the people around him. They barely looked away from Austin to greet you, but you were fine with that. Austin was the star, not you. You slipped your hands in his hand and tugged it behind your back to keep it out of view from those around you.

Austin thrived off of physical touch. He needed it like the air he breathed. Whenever he was feeling nervous or overwhelmed being enveloped in a hug from you or even just having your hand in his was enough to calm the nerves and allow him to breathe. Austin looked down to where you were pressed into his side.

You knew him so well that even from across the room you knew he needed grounding. His chest swelled with pride for a reason he couldn't quite pinpoint. His conversation with those around him continued without a hitch and when the countdown started to broadcast on the TV, they all made their way to their respective partners leaving you and Austin alone at the kitchen island.

15 minutes to midnight

You kept Austin's hand clasped in yours as the countdown numbers descended. Neither of you planned on moving or letting go. The warmth of his hand reached places all over your body and practically heated you up from the inside.

7 minutes to midnight

Austin leaned his head down to whisper into your ear, "If I didn't know you better I'd say that you end up single on New Year's on purpose." You heard the smile in his voice.

"Do you?"

His brown furrowed together, "Do I what?"

You matched him with a grin of your own.

"Know me better." The half tilt of your head made his stomach churn.

His laugh was smooth and boisterous. He brought his other arm around your shoulder to bring you closer to his side. Your heart slowed as you relaxed into him and abandoned your unnecessarily alcoholic drink on the kitchen counter.

5 minutes to midnight

"Hey." Austin's voice cut into the still air of the room. His eyes were trained on the TV and you looked up at his jaw as you waited for him to finish his sentence.

"Do you… do you wish you had a date? For New Year that is." The question caught you off guard and you twitched as you pressed into his side.

"uhm, I-I. I gues-" You stuttered when you couldn't seem to form a cohesive response. Your heart started to accelerate again and your breaths came out in short pants.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself once more to better be able to form a cohesive sentence.

"Well, I guess no one wants to be alone on New years. But that is just how it always seems to happen." You paused a sudden feeling of bravery came over you. The most likely culprit of such a feeling being the alcohol.

"And the person I would like to be with is almost always in a relationship during the New Year." You focused your gaze on the suddenly very interesting kitchen tiles. You had previously told Austin about someone that you had a crush on for years. You had tried to keep it yourself but Austin tended to pry when it came to matters of love but as much as he tried to wrangle the information out of you about who it was, you had kept tight-lipped and unwavering in your resistance to respond.

"Oh?" His eyebrow quirked up as he looked away. It seems he had also taken a sudden interest in the wall decor you had across the room.

"Is this the same guy you've told me about before?" His voice was deep and his throat bobbed as he spoke.

"Yes, it is actually. The very same."

"Haven't you been into this guy for years Y/N?"

"Yes, I have."

"And you are still into him? Why? He is the stupidest man in the world if he hasn't noticed by now." His chuckle was low but you could tell he didn't actually find it remotely funny.

You looked up at him and wished that he would understand from your eyes that you were talking about him, that you were in love with him.

But you had been in love with him for nigh over 10 years and the dolt had yet to come to any significant realization regarding your feelings so there was no use hoping for something like that now.

"Well, I would stop loving him if I could, but as soon as I feel like I can get over him, he does something that has been crawling back." You shrugged lightly and took another sip of your drink before placing it back on the counter.

3 minutes to midnight

"And it doesn't help that he is my best friend." You were skirting around the dangerous territory with that statement. You knew you were. But you were so tired that all the previous reservations and rules you had so painstakingly followed, disappeared.

Austin's eyes widened in confusion.

"Best friend? You have another best friend?" Austin was too slow for his own good.

You shrugged before replying, "Nope, I only have one best friend."

He let out an exasperated sigh

"So I'm not your best friend?!" Your eye twitched.

"No Austin. You are my only best friend."

"So who are you in love with?" Your fingers twitched. You were going to strangle him.

"I am in love with my one and only best friend."

Silence

Austin tensed next to you and you awaited the sting of his rejection that you had spent the better part of the last 10 years preparing for.

2 minutes to midnight

The silences echoed in the room despite the growing cheers of those around you. The timer was steadily counting down the seconds and you wanted to vomit.

The bile rose in your throat when the counter reached 30 seconds. Awaiting his rejection was arguably worse than the rejection itself.

You pushed away from him. His previously comforting warmth had twisted something in your gut and now you wanted to vomit.

His hand traced your back as you slid away before it fell back to his side. He stuttered out a "W-wait."

But you didn't want to

3 Austin yanked you back until your face was back in his chest and his arm was around your waist. He moved his head into your neck and pushed his nose into your hair before taking a deep breath.

2 Your breath caught when he pulled your head away from him to look into your eyes. 1 He kissed you. He kissed so hard you could have sworn you had fireworks behind your eyes. His hands were everywhere. Crossing your neck, cupping your hips, and splaying across your back. He kissed you until neither of you could breathe anymore. You wrenched away from each other and gulped down large breaths of fresh air.

His hand shakily pressed against your cheek and you looked up to meet his eyes. You didn't want this to be something that only happened because it was the heat of the moment. You wanted it to mean something to him. You wanted him to love you the same way you had for years. You didn't want this to be mean nothin-

"I love you." You had the timbre of his voice memorized. You knew it was Austin speaking but you still looked around you dreading the possibility of him not speaking to you.

But your face was still cupped in between his hands and his eyes were on you.

your eyes were wide as you looked at him You felt stinging and then a prick of tears in your eyes. They fell slowly down your cheeks one by one and Austin kissed each of them away.

All at once you need him on you all over again. You had gone years without so much as a kiss on the cheek from him and you would be damned if you continued in that fashion.

So you pulled his lips hard against you and kissed him until your lips were numb and swollen, and even then you didn't want him off of you.

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well, this was probably shitty so forgive me. It has been a while since I posted so figured I needed to back in the groove of things haha. I think I might do a professor x university student Austin fic next so watch out for that lol.

#austin butler smut #austin butler fic #austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfic #austin butler elvis #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #austin elvis x reader #austin x reader #austin!elvis x reader #austinbutler #austin butler angst #austin butler series #austin butler x you #austin butler x black!reader #austin butler x fem!reader #austin butl #Spotify

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imaginesbymk · 24 days

Text

*that tiktok sound* hey!!….. hey…….. how y’all doing………..

i have a lot to say but lemme start off by saying i am SOOOOOooOoOoO sorry for ghosting this blog for a year. same thing’s been happening with wattpad. i ghosted 2 fics on there. and that includes my original dystopian scifi novel that has been in self development hell (as i like to call it)

my only explanation is that i grew unmotivated and grew out of writing fics. it came to a point where im just maladaptive daydreaming, the maladaptive daydreaming takes over and it doesnt let me actually create anything. the other reason is timing. i worked my ass off and finally graduated college with a 4.0 GPA, i did more commercial modelling and runway for a university fashion show so i can build my portfolio, i work full time and my pay is big, i made more art in my sketchbook... basically i just lived my life outside of tumblr.

another thing, the giant elephant in the room, i met cameron monaghan and morena baccarin at fanexpo canada! cameron went through my sketchbook, signed my jerome/jeremiah fanart, and asked me if i was an art student. after i told him i was rejected twice, he looked through every single page in my sketchbook and told me, "aw. well, fuck 'em!" that "it looks like [you] don't need art school" after all. he saw my reservoir dogs acrylic portraits of mr. pink and mr. white and told me he used to watch that film almost 600-700 times when he was 12. he then took a pic of my Grace Van Dien fanart (when i met her in 2022 at fanexpo canada) and he told me he's gonna send it to her. i had no idea they even knew each other.

i couldn't afford a table selfie+autograph combo at morena's autograph sessions so i only paid for a selfie. i said "oi" and "obrigada" to morena before and after taking a selfie with her and she said thank you back with a big smile :D so fanexpo was surreal.

i've always wanted to meet cameron monaghan and after years of writing fanfic for jerome and jeremiah valeska and other gotham fandom character imagines, i *finally* got to meet him.

ive been thinking about coming back and writing again, not just tumblr but on wattpad and getting serious with my original scifi dystopian novel. there's so much that i wanna do in life other than become financially stable and become a successful petite model until i no longer look the part. its hard for me to write because i get so easily stumped. even when i create some ambiance and rewatch the fandom to get inspired, it just drops again. writing is hard. that is why i have respect for my mutuals and my favourite famous authors that got me to write when i was 12. (lol) and anyways, i made new friends and im the happiest ive ever been romantically that i dont need to *imagine* anything with a fandom character, i do it for those who imagine it themselves!

im so sad to come back here and see that a few of my mutuals are inactive or have deactivated. and i became like them and abandoned my work. to be fair, my writing isn't that good, and it still isn't, and if i get something written and published here or on wattpad on a professional hardcopy of my book, i won't believe that it's my best work - and i aced my creative writing elective in my program, so that's a bummer.

i think meeting cameron is giving me a nudge to get back to writing. it feels weird wanting to write jerome/jeremiah fanfic after interacting with the actor himself for less than 5mins of his time, and that he's a human being that experiences human stuff like we all do, the only difference is that he's famous. im not sure if it healed my parasocial mindset with my fave celebs. i do want to take my time and write *something*. i am not doing the requests that have been in my drafts and inbox for a year (sorry :O) im just gonna take my time and readjust and get something down.

<3 mad love to my mutuals @myriadimagines @spacetalbot @arrogant-sonofa-bitch @littlemissvincentvega @emcon-imagines @writerdream22 @jjsmaybank20 @witchthewriter @musicallisto @locke-writes @zodiyack @mahvericks @karasong @moonlit-imagines @randomfandomimagine + many more moots

#mk talks #cameron monaghan #gotham #jerome valeska #jeremiah valeska #morena baccarin #leslie thompkins #misc

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for-those-who-wait · 26 days

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Would love to see more of your android Hunter au! Love the idea it just won’t leave my head…

A question I would have for this is Hunter still like a replica of Caleb? Sorta like an Astro boy type thing going on here or what? If so what’s the story behind that if you are willing to share.

Never played become human, despite years of saying I will bc it looks made for me jksskkm, so sorry if I’m missing something there.

Yes I'm so glad!! I'm a very big fan of it and I am very tempted to write something for it (I too have been possessed)

The short answer is that Hunter was made in Caleb's image—as close as Philip could get! Very much an Astro boy situation where he's made as a sort of replacement that was programmed to experience, interpret, and interact with the world exactly as a human would.

As for the long answer and the story behind it, my thoughts are "take canon and replace witches with androids" and that's your initial argument between Philip and Caleb. I haven't thought about it too much but my initial idea is that before the revolution, they both lived in Detroit and worked with androids, and both worked at CyberLife (Caleb because he's naturally fascinated with them and Philip because he's just following in Caleb's footsteps [call it brotherly bonding or unhealthy obsession, take your pick!]), but it's Caleb that sees the early signs of deviancy and sees something more within androids that Philip just can't fathom (that being the capacity for free thought and will). Philip sees this as a betrayal—How dare you see humanity in these machines! How dare you try and extend the sanctity of the human soul to these inhuman bodies of plastic!—and like in canon, he kills Caleb for that betrayal.

Now this all happened in the late 2010s and early 2020s because for some reason, Detroit: Become Human is in a technologically advanced version of our world where CyberLife was founded and androids were first created in 2018 (the actual game and android revolution take place in 2038). I think it would be a few years until Philip does kill Caleb, let's say 2027 or so (because androids pass the Turing test in 2022 and 2027 is the year that a million androids have been sold, so the concept of deviancy was able to marinate a bit and I think that's enough time for the signs to start popping up and for Elijah Kamski, the CEO of CyberLife, to start being weird and existential about it).

So it's 2027, Caleb is dead, Philip is never considered a suspect, is never tried, and the murder is never solved. He is so incredibly not well (my man needs magical levels of therapy and his ass is not getting it). At this point, Philip has been working at CyberLife long enough to have a pretty high status. He totally has the authority and the power to request a custom android to be built off-the-books, probably because of threats or blackmail or whatever other abusive tactics he can pull as a superior to most employees at the company. Because it's freaking weird to make a child android in the image of your brother that was mysteriously murdered.

But Hunter is made like a regular factory-set android with no personality, no emotions, etc. but Philip of course knows exactly how to fix that (he's been working at CyberLife for nine years, he can do these things). It's his version of a sort of middle finger to Caleb, giving an android emotions and free will. Kind of like "Hey, you know how you thought androids were capable of having human emotional intelligence and conscious individual thought and a soul and humanity? Well actually I'm going to give these 'emotions' and this 'humanity' to your android and show you that they aren't real." And he does this by just being the absolute WORST android/child/whatever caretaker in the existence of the entire world in every single possible way because "See? Its blood is blue and it's not dying when I bloodlet it, it's clearly not human. Ah, see how it's become completely catatonic as a result of repeated trauma? Clearly this is just malfunctioning software. It's obviously just broken. See, Caleb? See how wrong you were about androids having humanity?" This man is evil and stupid

Hunter doesn't have Caleb's memories or anything, and let's call the tooth gap a manufacturing error from doing things under the table that Philip (who doesn't do chassis repairs) can't fix without CyberLife setting off alarm bells. It's probably in 2028 or 2029 that Philip packs up and moves to Gravesfield and that leads to the rest of what I talked about in my other post, where Hunter is completely isolated and kept ignorant of the ongoing revolution come 2038, and still doesn't obtain freedom until a long while after that

Thank you for the ask!! I will happily ramble about this AU whenever somebody asks about it. You should totally play the game if you can. I'll be the first to admit it's got issues as a civil rights allegory (thanks, director David Cage) but it is a fun time and such a cool concept and the characters are great and we love Detroit: Become Human in this house. Sorry if any of the terms weren't explained well, I will happily specify more so if anything is unclear, just let me know! Planning on making more content for it at some point :))

#the owl house #detroit become human #hunter toh #philip wittebane #toh au #toh dbh au #toh hunter #dbh #caleb wittebane #ask

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mariacallous · 4 months

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Tom O’Donnell had never really been that interested in how elections worked until former president Donald Trump lost in 2020. Then, everything changed.

Like hundreds of thousands of people across the US, O’Donnell joined so-called election integrity groups that posted baseless conspiracies about the 2020 election. His group was called Idaho First Audit, and members flooded election offices across the state with requests for voting data. They weren’t alone: Other organizations like right-wing activist group True the Vote inundated election offices across the country as part of a broader effort they believed would uncover systemic fraud within the election process.

Election workers in Ada County, Idaho, home to the state capital of Boise, were pretty amenable to questions about the election process from O’Donnell’s group. O’Donnell even organized a tour of the Ada County election offices “to learn more about the process of voting,” and struck up a relationship with Trent Tripple, then the deputy county clerk.

But Tripple, who became county clerk last year, was one of the officials struggling to cope with the barrage of records requests and threats that the majority of election offices were receiving at the time. After the records requests overwhelmed the election office’s employees, Tripple and Ada County’s director of election, Saul Seyler, decided they needed to change things up.

So after years of work, they’ve now given election deniers exactly what they’ve been asking for: Last week, Tripple and Seyler launched Ballot Verifier, a first-of-its-kind tool that gives anyone with an internet connection direct access to every single ballot that has been cast in all Ada County elections since 2022, meaning that those in the election denial movement can no longer say that they don’t have access to the information they want.

“We just decided there’s got to be a way that we can push back against this a little bit but also achieve that perfect marriage between technology and government records so that citizens, candidates, parties, everybody has access to all the information that we have,” says Tripple.

The tool provides sleek graphics of all election races, and allows users to filter by type of ballot and even drill right down to precinct level to see an image of every single one of the ballots counted. Crucially, the ballot images are presented alongside what is known as the cast vote record, which is the record of how the ballot tallying machine counted the vote on election day. By showing these side-by-side, anyone can instantly see whether there are any discrepancies.

“I can’t even dream up how we can be more transparent than this,” says Tripple. “There isn’t anything else that we have that the public cannot see.”

Ballot images and cast vote records, both details about elections barely ever mentioned prior to 2020, have become a focus for election conspiracists trying to prove widespread voter fraud conspiracies.

In some cases, election conspiracists have even built programs to look at ballot images. Well-funded groups like True the Vote have built online tools based on voter rolls, previously reported on by WIRED, which they are urging their tens of thousands of supporters to use and then erroneously claim voters should be struck off the voter rolls.

“It's very different if [an online tool] is coming from an independent group, like True the Vote, that obviously has certain political leanings, and information that they're providing is through a lens,” says Seyler, as opposed to “something like [Ballot Verifier], which is available to everybody and truly transparent.” The data, the team says, is also private. “There is nothing that is printed on this ballot other than the individual markings, [nothing] that would tie it to a particular voter,” says Tripple. “The ballot is completely private.”

Still, some election experts have voiced concerns about the potential for systems like Ballot Verifier to pose privacy risks for voters, particularly in small precincts or in cases where voters leave notes on the ballots that could identify them.

“Despite the clear benefits to transparency of releasing cast vote records and ballot images, making these records public comes with trade-offs,” researchers from the Bipartisan Policy Center wrote in August. “Voters’ privacy might be compromised, and vote buying becomes feasible when ballot secrecy is violated—an extreme, if less likely, potential ramification of making ballot images public.”

There have also been some prior efforts to give voters access to ballot images, such as in Pueblo County in Colorado in 2021, but these efforts were not as comprehensive or technically proficient as Ballot Verifier.

At the same time that Tripple and Seyler were trying to think about a better solution, Idaho had been using a tool called ElectionStats to give voters access to statistics around election results. That tool was created by Civera Software, a civic technology company that ended up working alongside Ada County election officials to build out the new Ballot Verifier tool.

And even before the system went live, Tripple invited O’Donnell and other skeptics to be among the first to test it out.

“I think it's really good. It's more than I thought would have happened, because when we request our images now, we just get a data dump of files,” O’Donnell tells WIRED, adding that the Telegram group has responded positively to the launch of Ballot Verifier.

WIRED also tested the Ballot Verifier tool, looking at specific precincts and races, filtering votes by type (mail-in ballot, absentee ballot, etc.) and found that the system worked smoothly and instantly displayed images of every ballot cast.

US elections have never been safer, and the 2020 election was declared the “most secure” by Trump’s own officials. But a lot of people still believe unfounded conspiracies about elections, and the roll out of this tool in one county in one state is not necessarily going to change that overnight. Indeed, a review of O’Donnell’s 400-person Telegram channel by WIRED this week shows that many within the election integrity group are still regularly sharing widely debunked conspiracies about voting.

Adam Friedman, Civera’s founder, believes part of the reason for this is a lack of transparency, something which Ballot Verifier can address.

“A lot of the conspiracy theories and divisiveness and toxic rhetoric and mistrust around elections in America goes hand-in-hand with people not being able to see enough and people perceiving voting as being a black box experience,” says Friedman. “Ballot Verifier is really a way to turn a black box into a glass box.”

Friedman says that Civera had already signed a contract with several counties in Texas to provide the tool to them, and was in discussions with counties in multiple other states. The tool is also of interest to academics, and Friedman says the company is in preliminary conversations with two prominent universities and a number of political scientists who study cast vote records.

But Ballot Verifier is not cheap. Friedman and Civera provided a “large discount” on the research and development costs for this tool, but it still cost Ada County $40,000. While there are no current plans to roll the tool out nationally, Seyler says that while every county could benefit from using a system like it, election budgets have been historically underfunded. While all the backend work to upload new election data is handled by the company’s employees, the company is also currently building tools to allow local election officials to do this themselves, and go even faster.

The next big test for the Ballot Verifier tool comes later this month with the statewide primaries in Idaho on May 21. This will be the first time the officials will be working with recent election data rather than historical data, and they know there will be pressure to get that information online as soon as possible. Seyler says the current projection for getting the data uploaded is four to six weeks, though it could be quicker if Civera can finish some additional tools they are working on to improve efficiencies.

Looking further ahead, Tripple even foresees a point when data is available in Ballot Verifier so quickly after a vote that it could be used by candidates or parties to decide whether a recount is necessary, potentially avoiding the expensive and drawn-out recount process.

“That's not going to be possible now because of the speed at which we're uploading this data, but I think that's something that could be happening in the future,” says Tripple.

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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Pink Scarf - PART 17 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEXXX. Verbal Abuse. Assault, both sexual and physical. Blood. Violence. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 10k

A/N: PREPARE YOURSELVES, cuz this is an INTENSE roller coaster ride, y'all. Also, PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. I'm not gonna say much else, other than this is a beast and I cannot wait to hear the unhinged responses after. And thank you for your patience!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

“You need me?” you question him, honestly taken aback by the sentiment, even though he has said it before. It’s just still so hard for you to believe that a man like this needs a woman like you. Running your fingers through the soft, damp hair at the nape of his neck, you look at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, baby, I do. I really do,” Elvis says, wrapping his arms tight around you and pulling you close. His head buries in your neck, in your hair, breathing you in.

“Show me,” you whisper in his ear, surprised by your own boldness. But his declarations have you some kind of way and that coil is still like hot coals smoldering in your belly. You feel his body stiffen against you, knowing that he is even more stubborn than you and doesn’t want to give in to you just yet.

You run your hands over his exposed chest and under the deep V of the fabric, grazing over his nipple with your fingernails. He twitches and jumps under your touch, despite his efforts to stay neutral.

“I need you,” you breathe, pitching your voice up the slightest bit as you look into his eyes. And you do. You desperately need him, in every way. If you could crawl inside of him, you would. You need to believe his promises are true, that he will take care of you and be everything you need. You need him to show you.

This must read on your face, because he cannot seem to mask his response this time, his azure eyes widening and pupils dilating.

“Take care of me,” you say, your voice nearly a whine.

That’s the ticket. “Fuck, okay…yeah, let me take care of ya,” Elvis breathes in your mouth as his lips find yours, your sins forgotten for the moment, if not forgiven completely. His lips devour yours and your hands can’t get enough of him, starved from before when he had you tied up. They roam over his chest, wind around his neck and into his hair before scraping down his back and clawing at his waist.

Elvis pulls back for a moment and surveys the space in the room. You can see his wheels turning, then how his lips curve up in a smile as he figures out how he wants you. He leaves you hanging for a moment as he pulls a chair right in front of a huge, floor length mirror. Sitting in the chair, his legs spread wide, he beckons you to him.

“Come sit on my lap, baby,” he purrs at you, and you immediately obey, settling on one of his strong thighs and burying your head into that deliciously long neck of his. The salt of his sweat stains your lips. His strong scent surrounds you, magnifying your need for him. You suddenly feel very small in his arms in addition to that need. He seems to sense this, letting you first cuddle into him a bit before winding his large hand below your jaw and peppering kisses down your neck.

“Gonna be a good girl and do as I tell ya?” Elvis asks, his voice low and gravely as he grabs your chin.

You nod. He truly fucked the fight right out of you before, over there against the wall.

“That’s my girl. Now turn and face the mirror for me,” he says, guiding your hips to swivel in his lap. He pulls your dress up and over your waist, leaving you in your lacy panties. You feel a little self-conscious looking at yourself perched on his lap like this, your cheeks a flaming shade of red. You are very close to the mirror, too close. But you watch as your eyes go wide when he grabs your inner thighs, spreading them open with his large hands while sliding his strong thighs in between to keep yours apart.

The lacy fabric of your already-soaked underwear strains as he massages your legs from your knees to your hips. The groping shoots fire through you and you press back into his lap, encouraging him to continue. When he ghosts over your core, it steals your breath away, and you are so incredibly ready for whatever he has to give you.

“Let get these off,” he says, tapping your clit over your panties and causing you to jump with the sensation. Nearly frantic, you shuck them down and off with lightning speed, along with your heels. Elvis chuckles, spreading you open even further when you sit back in his lap. Your muscles strain with the stretch, but you don’t care.

“Be a good girl and put your feet up on the mirror for me,” he instructs, and albeit confused, you do as you’re told. “Nice and wide for me, honey. Yeah, just like that.” He scoots your hips down a bit as you adjust and cradles your upper body with his, his head resting over your shoulder, looking at you both in the mirror. You are completely exposed and utterly vulnerable before him once again.

“Now look at that,” he breathes almost reverently, “You’re stunning, in every way.” You both watch in the mirror as he runs his fingers down your face, your jaw, then over your body. You shiver in his lap, earning his famous lopsided smile in return.

Elvis gets more serious as his fingers reach your core. “But ain’t this the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in your ear, running his pointer finger ever-so-lightly over your folds as you watch. The combination of sensation and the visual you are not used to seeing has you squirming in his lap, aching. He locks his other arm around your pelvis, pressing you against him and immobilizing you.

“Be good, baby. You promised,” he says in your ear, and you watch yourself nod furiously, stilling. He commences his lecture. “I wantcha to see what I see, baby. Look at how pretty and red you are for me like this, all slick and swollen and needy,” he says, watching intently, hungrily, as his finger grazes your lower lips, up one side and down the other. You whine and grip his arm for purchase, feeling like he is calling all the blood in your body to gather in your cunt. It feels heavy and pulsing, burning with need for him.

Elvis brushes up to your clit. “Hmm, one of my favorite little spots,” he hums, circling it softly, making you keen as you lean back into him. Then, obscenely, he uses his first two fingers to spread your lips apart. “Christ, baby, look at that,” he says, voice filled with lust and awe, “You’re fuckin’ weeping for me.”

Your eyes travel down to your exposed hole, and sure enough, you are literally dripping with arousal, both yours and his. It glistens as it gathers, a slow, eager little drop sliding out. You cannot stifle the low moan that escapes your lips at the erotic nature of this little show, your pussy buzzing with heat and want, on display for all to see.

Elvis senses you need more, and he lets your folds wrap around his long middle finger, dragging it up and down through your slick as you watch.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, thankful for the friction, your hips automatically rolling for him.

“Touch yourself, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he says, moving your hand over your mound and guiding your fingers in slow circles over your clit before he returns to rubbing in between your slick lower lips. The wonderful combination makes your eyes flutter closed and your head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Nuh uh! Eyes open!” Elvis nudges you, and your eyes pop open. “I want you to watch yourself come, baby. I need you to see what I see.” He smiles, and it’s almost boyish in its mischievousness.

It’s not going to take much, considering how primed that coil was before you even sat down, and how strangely erotic this whole scene is. How it’s making you feel lightheaded and buzzy and hot all over. You begin to work your clit furiously, watching as Elvis runs his fingers over then through your sopping, swollen folds. When he dips one long finger, then another into your weeping hole while you watch, the string of curses that leaves your lips is utterly filthy.

Your senses are overloading, which you imagine was his intention. The sight of you swallowing his fingers so needily, so readily, your arousal shining, the wet suckling sound coming from your cunt as he expertly works his fingers in and out of you pushes you headlong to the edge. Coupled with this and your barrage on your clit, you hit your climax hard with a loud cry, pressing your heels into the mirror with such force, you’re afraid you might crack it.

“Look, look, look, baby,” he pants, forcing your focus back to him, back to what he’s doing to you. “Look at how you flutter around me!” He’s right; you watch, mesmerized as your hole clenches at his fingers through your orgasm, and fuck if that isn’t amazingly hot.

You whimper at the sight, shuddering and panting at the exertion. He chooses that moment to curl his fingers, pressing that special spot inside you that is only his, and another wave of pleasure shoots through you so strongly that you lose your breath. You crest the hill again, stars shooting through you, forgetting that you ever came here to break this off, to run away from him.

There is a wild, desperate look in your eyes that you’ve never seen before as you writhe against him in your ecstasy, keeping you fucking down onto his fingers even though you are sore from before. You can’t stop the waves that keep crashing over you, engulfing every inch of you as you watch it happen before your eyes.

And Elvis looks gorgeous, those blue eyes flashing with his magnetic sexual energy, his pouty lips open and pink and panting right along with you. He is hard again, his length pressing into your spine through his suit as you furiously roll on his fingers, and you can feel him begin to shudder underneath you. You know he gets off on watching and this is quite the show. You rock your hips more deliberately now, feeling the length of him slide between your ass cheeks, and he groans.

“Am I gonna make you come in your pants, E? Gonna make a mess for me?” you mewl seductively, wanting to push him over the edge, too. “You like watching me get off on your fingers, don’t you?”

“Jesus, baby, yes,” he moans, “but I need to watch you come again. Come with me, honey.”

You’re not sure you can. You are overstimulated and over stretched and near hysterical with pleasure. Your heart is thrumming so fast you can barely breathe.

“You can do it. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you, baby. Watch me take care of you,” he pants heavy in your ear, his eyes glassy, unable to take his eyes off your pussy. He moves his hips in tandem with yours now, then without warning, slides a third finger inside you.

Your eyes are glued to the mirror, seeing just how well you take him. You automatically adjust to him, and he works you as only he knows how. You work your clit and grit your teeth as you feel that coil poised to spring again.

“E-El-El-vis…F-f-fuckkk!” you cry breathlessly, coming completely undone around him again.

“Oh, fuck, honey…GodDAMN!” he groans into you simultaneously as he slams his hips up with a violent shudder that matches your own. You can feel the heat pulse under you, dampening the fabric of his suit.

But you continue to shake and shiver on top of him, your orgasm ripping through you, stealing everything you have left, draining every ounce of energy from your reserves, which isn’t much considering the insanity of the last 24 hours. You sense much too late that your body cannot keep up. Your heart is too fast, your breathing too labored, and your muscles too weak.

You shouldn’t be surprised, then, when your body goes limp, the blood drains from your head with a cold rush, and the world goes dim and then black.

“Y/n! Y/n! Jesus, Satnin, c-come on baby, w-w-wake up!” you hear Elvis’ panicked voice from far away, but you are so very tired and just want to sleep, thinking maybe it’s a dream.

…no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I lo…The faraway echo of long-ago words in this too familiar panicked voice fades away like a dream. You slip back into darkness.

It’s the piercing fear in his voice when he calls your name again that has you finally coming back into yourself. You blink a few times, willing the world to come back into focus, confused.

“O-oh, shit. Oh, t-thank God,” Elvis breathes. He is right above you, his eyes bright and flooded with fear, near tears.

“Wh—what happened?” you murmur, feeling buzzy and strange, and like things aren’t moving fast enough.

“You scared the shit outta me is w-what happened!” he looks down at you, now placed on the couch, his eyes quickly shifting from fear to anger. “You—you just fuckin’ collapsed!”

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to remember what happened. You’d come here to break up with him, to tell him you were leaving…then you argued. Then you fucked. The mirror.

Oh, god, had you passed out from coming too hard?

You start to giggle at that, uncontrollably.

“Baby, what the fuck? It’s not fuckin’ funny!” Elvis fumes, leaning over you.

That just makes you laugh more. “I came…s-so h-hard I p-passed out!” you hiccup out.

“That’s not normal!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air.

Another peal of laughter at the absurdity of it rolls through you. He’s not wrong, but whatever is happening to you seems to be overpowering your sense of self-control.

“Are you on something?” he asks suddenly, grabbing your jaw to get you to focus. He looks over you carefully and then a flash of horror comes over him at what you assume is the thought that he’s somehow taken advantage of you.

“N-no, of course not,” you finally manage to get out. You are shivering now though, and suddenly freezing. “S-something’s not r-right,” you finally chatter out.

“No shit,” Elvis mumbles, eyes narrowed, obviously trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. “Baby, when was the last time you ate?” he asks.

You blink at that, trying to run through the last day in your mind, but all the days have been running together. You honestly don’t know.

“I-It’s been at least a day, I think,” you finally eek out. “Maybe l-longer?”

“’Maybe longer?’ Goddammit, y/n, you can’t just go without fuckin’ eating!” he yells, getting up from the couch and storming over to the phone at the other end of the room. You hear him ordering someone to bring food immediately as you attempt to sit up, but your dizziness has you lying back down quickly.

Yeah, well, maybe if I wasn’t in a constant swarm of emotional and physical upheaval for the last week, I would remember to eat, but who’s fault is that?

Elvis slams down the phone and paces back over to you. “When was the last time you slept, y/n?” he angrily asks now, his eyes a churning gray-blue, as he pulls your dress down modestly and throws one of his plush robes over you.

“Um, on the r-roof,” you get out.

“Christ, that was barely sleep,” he mumbles, obviously frustrated as he continues to pace the room. “You have to take better care of yourself, y/n!” he erupts.

You recoil a bit but are touched by his anger, knowing it is fueled by concern. But you are also annoyed because it isn’t all your fault.

“Well, I’ve been a b-bit busy,” you manage.

“Not that fuckin’ busy!”

He’s not getting it. You shake your head, tears coming to your eyes.

“Th-this is part of the problem, E. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, I’ve been so s-stressed, I don’t know which way is up…” you shiver out.

He halts. Your words must be sinking in because the blood drains from his face and you’re suddenly afraid he might pass out.

“This is because of me,” he finally says. The way he phrases it, you’re not sure if it’s a question or statement.

“It’s not—” you start, not wanting him to spiral more than he already is.

“Goddammit, you’ve been tellin’ me you’re strugglin’, and I been yammerin’ at you to trust me to take care of you and then I did the opposite. Shit,” he curses. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Elvis deflates onto the couch next to you and pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids.

You are too tired to respond other than to brush the errant tear that runs down his cheek with your thumb. You wish you could see this sensitive side of him more often.

“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna get some food in ya, then I’m sending Jerry with you upstairs so you can rest—”

You open your mouth to argue.

“There’ll be none of that,” he hushes you. “There’s no way you’re doin’ the show tonight. And Jerry’ll get you woken up before we come up after the show, and everybody’ll be none the wiser.” He gives you a stern look.

There’s no point in fighting him or telling him how his plan could go wrong. You’re still confused exactly how things with Jack are going to be handled or if anything Elvis said while fucking your brains out earlier was going to come to fruition, but you’re not in the frame of mind to try and solve that this minute. So instead you just nod.

The food comes, somehow all of your favorites. He knows my favorite foods? runs through your mind, but you are too hungry to dwell on it. Then, as he instructed, you head upstairs with Jerry, who without judgement, sends you into Elvis’ suite to rest. You think your mind won’t possibly let you sleep, but between the food and your exhaustion, you drift off before your head hits the pillow.

Circle G Ranch, February 1967

You wake up early, your eyes blinking out the dull winter morning light streaming through the window. Well, it’s not early for normal standards, but in Elvis’ world, most haven’t even gone to bed yet, you think, looking at the clock. You being awake now is likely due to the fact you couldn’t keep up with the partying last night and had excused yourself much sooner than usual to go to bed.

It takes you a moment to realize where you are. Being at Elvis’ newly acquired ranch in Mississippi has been a welcome change of scenery yet is still a little disorienting. You are used to Memphis, and even occasionally California, but this place is new for you all.

Completely dissatisfied and not having any semblance of control with his career, Elvis recently decided that he wanted a place in the country, a place where they could all come to relax and ride the horses he’d bought for all the men and their wives. A place where they could work the land and have a little fun. And you wonder if he just wanted to feel a little normal for once, thinking that a ranch would do that for him, that it could give him the control he so desperately craved. That maybe it might bring him some of that happiness and zest for life that had been bled out of him for all these years, turning him into someone you barely recognized.

So, Circle G Ranch was purchased, and you’d all arrived to take in its splendor and fresh air. And it was working. Elvis seemed happier here than he’d been in a very long time, the sparkle beginning to return in those expressive eyes of his. And when Elvis was happy, everyone else was allowed to be happy too, theoretically.

You think maybe all that horseback riding and fresh air is part of the reason you were so tired last night. Turning over, you notice that Jack hasn’t come to bed. Your heart sinks, though out here in the middle of the country, it’s not like he can get in too much trouble. It’s just likely the guys are still awake.

Either way, there is an emptiness in your chest that misses your husband. Each time he leaves with Elvis, less of the man you knew returns. You are hoping that some leisure time on the ranch will help him, too. There is less temptation out here, and more opportunities for you two to spend time together.

Unfortunately, he has not been very receptive to that so far, opting to hang with the guys more than you. But considering that he has been drinking more, part of you is glad for it. If the last couple of years have shown you anything, it’s that Jack is a mean drunk, just like his father.

With that thought, you decide to get up instead of dwelling on things you cannot change. As you get dressed, you hear the door of the trailer slam.

“Jack? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” he replies belligerently. The tone of his voice tells you immediately all you need to know. Your heart speeds up as a warning discomfort blooms in your chest. You steel yourself before walking out into the living area.

“Morning, sweetie. Want me to make you some breakfast?” you ask in a light and easy voice. If nothing else, food might help sober him some.

Jack’s response is a grunt in the affirmative, and then he shoots you a glare, his brown eyes dull but cutting all the same. You have no idea what you may have done to upset him, but he is obviously not happy with you. The tightness in your chest increases and you force a smile, not wanting to set him off. If you act like everything is fine, he might forget what is bothering him. It happens that way sometimes and is generally the best-case scenario when he’s like this.

“Okay, I’ll get that started,” you smile, and he settles with a huff on the couch. Scurrying off to the kitchen, your smile falls and you get to cooking as quickly as possible. Steak and eggs, you think. That’s his favorite and will help clear his head.

Your mind races as you cook, trying to find a reason for his ire. You dissect every moment from the day and night before but cannot pinpoint anything in particular that you might have done to make him upset. This has you feeling uneasy, on eggshells. If you knew what you’d done, you could apologize and make up for it before things get out of hand, but it occurs to you that he might be too far gone for that anyway.

Lost in your thoughts, it takes until you smell the meat smoking to realize you may have cooked it too long. You are hoping he is too drunk to notice. With renewed focus, you plate your breakfasts and walk to the tiny table.

“Soup’s on, babe!” you say in a cheerful sing-song voice. Part of you cringes inside to hear yourself like this.

He grunts off the sofa and stumbles to the table, plopping down with a screech of the chair. You keep yourself from wincing at the sound, wanting to stay as sunny as possible as you begin to cut into the meat. You’re unable to keep from looking up at him to check his body language, his affect, as he begins shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth without so much as a word to you.

You pick at your own breakfast, your appetite low because you feel so on edge. You can sense the tension in the room and know better than to speak at this point.

“What the fuck is this?” Jack grumbles, throwing his knife and fork clattering onto the plate.

You look up quickly, your heartbeat skipping. He’s fuming now, his eyes bloodshot and narrowed at you, his scar an angry red with the flush on his cheeks. You don’t have time to piece together whatever has happened before he continues, his voice shaking low with anger.

“First, you embarrass me by taking off in the middle of everyone having a good time last night. Everybody asking, ‘What’s wrong with her, is she okay?’ blah, blah, blah,” he says with a mocking venom that sends a chill right down your spine. “And now you can’t even make me a decent breakfast. Can’t even get that right,” he growls, pounding on the table.

The table rattles and you start to shake a little, frozen to the spot. You realize that maybe Jack is more than just drunk, that maybe he took something on top of it that has him worse than usual.

“I…I’m sorry, I was just tired from all the activity yesterday, and I can make you a new—” you sputter out quickly, but still unable to move, trapped in his furious gaze.

“I don’t wanna hear your fuckin’ excuses, you stupid bitch!” he screams, exploding out of his seat, the chair toppling over behind him with a clatter. “What I want is a fuckin’ steak that’s not cooked to death!” he roars, then picks up his plate and hurls it over the table near your head. You barely have time to register what’s happening, leaning out of the way at the last second on pure instinct, and the plate careens into the wall behind you with a crash, sending food and ceramic flying everywhere.

Your brain misfires and your heart leaps to your throat, the terror in your veins pulsing through you so intensely that all you can do is turn and run. You have to escape because you don’t know what he’s gonna do, he’s never thrown anything at you before, and he’s yelled, yes, but not done anything to hurt you, and oh, god, you have to get out, get out, GET OUT.

You fly past Jack, his rage too consuming and his senses too dull to catch you as you go, and you are out the door of the trailer in a flash, not stopping to see if he’s following you. No, all you can think is you have to get away, you have to escape, and you fly through the rows of trailers housing the other men and their wives. Your heart slams against your ribcage, fueling your body forward as you sprint down the dirt road towards the barn in the distance. Your socks stick to the cold ground as you run but you don’t care—all you need is to get to the horses. You’re not sure why, but you just know that if you can get to the horses, you’ll be safe.

You run and run, only hearing the crash of the plate in your ear, feeling the splatter as it shatters behind you. Only hearing Jack’s screams, “You stupid bitch! You stupid bitch!” You don’t even register the tears burning down your cheeks as you finally reach the barn, flinging open the door with what little strength you have left and frantically looking in the stalls for the horse that Elvis gave you.

Moonbeam. You finally see her near the other end of the barn, her gray and white coloring standing out in the sea of darker equines. You skid to a stop in front of her. Knowingly, as if she can sense your distress and your need for her large, calming presence, she turns and pokes her head out of the stall, nuzzling your tear-stained face.

“Oh. Oh,” you gasp, completely out of breath from the exertion. You cling onto Moonbeam’s strong neck, her coat soft and warm under your shaking arms. Your chest heaves, desperately trying to take in air. If you could, you would jump right on Moonbeam’s back and ride as fast and as far as you can, but she is not saddled, and you have no idea how to get her ready.

The light tap on your shoulder sends you flailing into the stall door with a shriek.

He’s found me he’s found me he’s found me, is all that runs through your head, though if you were anywhere near logical, you’d know that Jack was in no state to chase you all the way to the barn.

“Hey! Hey, y/n, it’s okay! Honey, it’s just me!” You turn toward the warm, familiar voice and are met with concerned deep blue eyes, a far cry from Jack’s bloodshot and brown glaring ones.

“Oh,” is all you can manage to huff out as you look at Elvis, your muscles starting to burn and shake. Your heart is still beating too fast.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” Elvis says worriedly but gently, looking over you, seeming to sense how on edge you are. He goes to touch your shoulder, but you reflexively shirk backwards, knocking your elbow into the door with a thud. He quickly backs away a step, putting his hands up in a non-threatening way.

You suddenly slam into the present moment, realizing that you must look insane. Your hair is windblown, you are makeup-less with tears streaking down your face. It’s the dead of winter and you are without a coat or shoes, your socks dirty and torn and bloody from your sprint. You have food splattered down your left side, and you are gasping for air like you’re drowning.

“Y/n, I need you to tell me if you’re okay,” Elvis says, quiet and calm, as if talking to a spooked horse.

You glance over his shoulder, suddenly afraid that Jack could stumble through the barn door at any moment. Wide-eyed and frantic, you look back at Elvis. You realize he’s between you and the door and that gives you some comfort. Jack would have to get through Elvis to get to you, and while you know you’re not in your right mind, you are completely certain that Elvis wouldn’t let Jack hurt you.

With this relieving thought and your adrenaline beginning to wane, you suddenly feel extraordinarily tired as well as embarrassed that Elvis is seeing you like this. You realize he’s waiting for an answer, but you cannot speak. You don’t want to bother Elvis with any of this, so you nod your head, bobbing it up and down quickly.

Elvis tilts his head and looks at you perceptively. Of course you’re not okay, and Elvis reads it all over your face and appearance. You finally give up under his watchful gaze, shaking your head. It falls back against the door behind you, and you choke back a sob. Your exhausted body shakes with cold and the remnants of your fear, and you slide down the door, unable to support yourself any longer.

“Oh, shit, okay. Honey, it’s okay,” Elvis coos at you, stepping quickly to your side but not wanting to touch you and invade your space, lest you freak out again. Instead, he slides down the door with you, letting you lean into him for support. And you do. As you reach the cold, straw-covered ground, you lean your head onto his shoulder, his warmth radiating comfortingly into your side. You begin to shiver.

“Here, baby,” he says, taking off his thick coat and wrapping it around your shoulders. Immediately, you feel calmer, as the heat and his distinctly Elvis scent of musk and Old Spice, coupled with the woodsmoke from last night’s campfire surrounds you like a blanket.

You both sit in silence for a while as your body comes back down from the fear of Jack’s outburst. He’s yelled at you before, even called you names, but he’d never gotten so close to actually physically hurting you.

He must’ve been on something, you think. Jack would never hurt me.

I should’ve been more careful with the breakfast. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve stayed up last night with him. The thoughts run through your head, as though if you examine them enough, you can possibly avoid setting him off in the future.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elvis asks quietly, sensing the wheels turning in your head as only he can.

Humiliated, you shake your head vehemently. Elvis does not need to know the specifics of your marriage. He does not need to know of your failures.

But part of you wants to tell him he’s created a monster.

Without Elvis, Jack might never have gone into the bottle. Without Elvis, he wouldn’t be taking other shit that makes him fly off the handle at any moment. Without Elvis, without Elvis, without Elvis…

You are too exhausted for blame and anger right now, though, so you bury it instead. It is what it is.

Elvis doesn’t push you, though you can tell he wants to know everything. You can practically feel that he’s quelling some deep instinct to protect you, his muscles tensing and releasing, his jaw working. But maybe he begins to piece it all together himself because he remains quiet. You are safe now, and that’s what matters, right?

And perhaps it is your heightened emotions, but you suddenly crave the nearness of the man who used to be your best friend. The man that, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, time and circumstance somehow stole from you when you weren’t looking.

So you lean into him, into his strength and sensitivity and his unique power to draw you to him, even when part of you wants to blame him for everything. Even after all these years of confusing behavior and emotional distance, you can’t begin to imagine your world without Elvis Presley in it.

And now you sit here on the cold floor of a horse barn in the middle of the Mississippi countryside in the dead of winter, wondering how in the hell your life became this.

Jerry wakes you gently with a whisper and a poke on your shoulder but you startle anyway, pulled out of the dream violently with a gasp.

“Sorry, y/n, but everyone is on their way up soon. EP told me to wake you,” he says apologetically.

The room is dark, and you are still exhausted, but you are somewhat grateful to be pulled out of that dream-memory. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and a sick feeling in your stomach. You can’t help but chastise yourself for letting Jack grovel the way he did after he’d sobered up that day, for how you forgave him so easily because it certainly was not the last time he went crazy like that on you.

“Thank you, Jerry. I’ll be right out,” you say blearily. You blink the sleep from your eyes and stagger into the bathroom to make yourself presentable.

Anger at Jack festers like an open wound, but the dream has also reminded you of your anger towards Elvis about all of it. That makes you feel uneasy, especially coupled with that nagging feeling that he is hiding something from you. You don’t want to feel angry at Elvis, but some of his actions over the years have contributed to your overall dissatisfaction with your life.

You didn’t fully realize until now how upset it had made you that he just stopped being your best friend one day. You still don’t understand all of it, though you feel like these unearthed memories are trying to get you there. But it doesn’t change the fact that both he and Jack abandoned you in different ways. And this pisses you off.

Fucking men, you think, touching up your makeup and straightening your dress. Your unease deepens when you realize you are going to face the group very soon and you have absolutely no idea what Elvis is going to do or even if he will do anything. Is he just going to pull you to his side and tell Jack to go fuck himself? Is he going to act like it never happened at all? You’re not sure which is worse.

Your stomach churns and you desperately need to talk to Elvis before he does something stupid. Panic rises, but you slam it back down, willing yourself to just be normal for the time being.

Be normal. What a laugh. As if any of this is remotely normal.

Steeling yourself, you head out to the living room just as people start walking through the door. Sandy finds you immediately, giving you a concerned and questioning look. You can’t tell if she’s surprised to see you or not, but you turn from her, still annoyed that she ratted you out (even if it was in an attempt to help you).

As the room fills and bustles, something is itching at you, poking at the corners of your mind. You think maybe it is paranoia. It feels as though Red keeps shooting knowing, snide looks your way. You can’t help but examine everyone around you, searching for signs that they know. You squirm in your skin, unable to get comfortable.

It doesn’t help that Jack slides in behind you when you aren’t looking, wrapping his arms around you a little too tight. He reeks of whiskey and cigar smoke so badly you choke. “Where you been, treasure?” Jack asks a little too pointedly, suspiciously, as if he knows something is up. Your heart plummets and you resist the urge to push him away but can’t help but try to worm your way out of his clutches as Elvis strolls in the room.

Elvis’ intense eyes find you immediately, and you watch his jaw clench as he keeps himself in check. You manage to slip out of Jack’s grasp and Elvis relaxes a bit, distracted by one of the guys. It seems like he doesn’t want to make a scene over the two of you in front of the group, which has you breathing a sigh of relief.

What doesn’t have you relieved is that Jack is once again all over you as everyone finds a seat. You feel trapped as the conversation begins to flow, wanting nothing more than to go hide in Elvis’ room, far away from the fumbling hands of your husband. His hands are heavy on you, creeping up your thigh, drawing circles on your shoulder with his fingertips. It used to be a comforting gesture, but now it feels possessive.

He knows. Maybe Red already told him, you panic. Your heart gallops in your chest and you try not to lose it.

No, don’t be an idiot. He wouldn’t be this quiet if he knew, right? Jack is a few drinks in at this point, and the more he drinks, the louder he generally gets. Though based on his hands, you think that he is feeling something else altogether.

You can feel Elvis’ jealous eyes bore on you as Jack touches you, but you are caught between a rock and a hard place. If you shirk your husband’s advances to obviously, it will seem strange and garner attention, but if you don’t, you fear Elvis will give you both away. And you aren’t ready for that, not before the two of you come up with a cohesive plan.

If you are going to leave Jack (no, when you leave Jack, you remind yourself), you certainly don’t want to do it in the middle of an afterparty with the whole gang listening in.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” you finally whisper, excusing yourself with a forced smile, needing to escape Jack’s clutches. “You need anything?” you ask.

“Oh, I need something alright,” Jack breathes sloppily in your ear, attempting to be seductive and failing. But it has an edge to it that worries you.

“You’re hilarious, babe,” you say as sweet as you can while standing to make your escape. Jack takes the moment to grope your ass and you can almost feel the wave of irritation coming off Elvis from across the room. “I’ll get you a drink,” you sputter out, sliding out of Jack’s grasp, shooting Elvis a quick, warning glance to not do anything stupid. Then you scurry away as fast as you can without seeming strange.

Instead of heading to the kitchen, you make a beeline for the bathroom, desperately needing a moment away from all the eyes you feel are on you tonight, wanting things from you that you cannot give.

Fucking men, you think again, closing the door behind you.

To your shock, it doesn’t close. Jack pushes in and your heart drops into your stomach. The look in his dark and muddled eyes bodes nothing good.

“Hey, treasure,” he slurs with that disturbing edge to his voice, grabbing your waist and pulling you in for a sloppy, whisky-tinged kiss. You try rather unsuccessfully to not cringe at the feel of his lips on yours.

Maybe he’s too drunk to notice, you hope.

“I thought you were going to get drinks,” Jack says suspiciously. He locks the door behind you, warning bells exploding in your brain for a multitude of reasons, one being Elvis breaking the door down, another being whatever Jack expects of you.

“I had to pee first, babe,” you say as evenly as possible, “Now get so I can!” You playfully swat him on the shoulder, as you’ve done a million times before in your life together, but this time is different. This time, Jack’s chocolate eyes blacken as he grabs your wrist.

Your breath catches, and your heart starts to speed up as Jack’s hand tightens. “Honey, you’re hurting me. Let go,” you whisper.

His dark eyes rake over your body with what you think is lust, but it is tainted with something frightening. “Oh, I think you came in here because you wanted something else,” he says, backing you into the vanity. “You know, some of the guys are saying that you’re stepping out on me. Can you believe that?” His head buries in your neck, his lips dragging roughly against your skin.

Fucking Red.

“W-What? That’s ridiculous,” you manage to eek out, trying to lean away from his touch, but there is nowhere for you to go. Your heart is in your throat, but before you can say anything else in your defense, he’s changing the subject.

“You’re wearing this scarf again?” Jack questions because it impedes his barrage of his mouth on your neck. He unties it and you watch the pink and black silk flutter to the floor.

“It goes with my outfit,” you reply. You attempt to push him away but get nowhere, his broad chest stubbornly immobile. “Seriously, Jack, I need to pee,” you whine now, hoping that will do the trick. Every nerve in your body is on alert as he kisses your skin, as he presses into you. You can feel the bulge in his pants growing, poking into your pelvis.

Every fiber of your being wants out of this enclosed space, a space that only a moment ago felt like a refuge but now feels like a prison. You don’t want this, and if Elvis finds out, there will be hell to pay. But Jack is too far gone to listen and too strong for you to move.

Jack picks you up easily and places you on the counter, his hands pushing the unyielding fabric of your dress up your thighs so he can spread them open and step between them. It feels cold—nothing like the warmth and passion you felt when Elvis did the same thing earlier.

“I told ‘em, ‘Not my treasure. She knows her place. Besides, who else would want her anyway?’” he laughs cruelly, grinding into you. The words cut, as he intended, and you become fully aware that you are in trouble. Your stomach rolls, nausea consuming you.

“Jack, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to do this right now. You’re too drunk,” you protest, pushing your palms into his chest to try and put space between you.

But he seems to take your protests as being coy, or perhaps he just doesn’t care, and chuckles darkly into your neck. “Didn’t stop you from sucking my dick the other night.” He lathes his tongue against your collarbone, causing an icy shiver down your spine that he interprets as positive, smiling on your skin. His hands roam to your back and unzip your dress.

You squirm, but it only serves to assist in his attempt to undress you, his hands roughly pulling down your sleeves and bra straps.

He stops abruptly, to your relief. “What are those?” Jack asks, suddenly on edge, his tone changing completely. He pulls back from you and for that you are grateful but confused.

“What’s what?” you reply as he stares at your chest, his eyes narrowing, the lust being replaced fully by anger.

Jack is on you in a flash, too fast for you to register what’s happening and then he’s yanking down the front of your dress, your bra, exposing your breast.

“Jesus Jack! What are you doing?!” you shriek, trying to pull away as he manhandles you, but you have nowhere to go.

“What the fuck are those?” He pulls you roughly off the counter and spins you around to the mirror, pointing to the series of purple welts on your breasts.

Oh, fuck.

“I…uh…I…,” you sputter incoherently. Your brain misfires, too panicked to think of anything clever or even anything at all. There’s no logical explanation for the dark bruises other than them being what they are. Your mind flashes back to the other night, how Elvis had claimed you, his pouty mouth suckling your skin roughly as he’d fucked you into oblivion on the couch.

You hadn’t even thought to cover them with makeup, since Jack hadn’t seen you naked in eons.

“You stupid fucking slut! Who are you screwing?!” Jack screams, ballistic, swinging you back around to face him.

You’ve never seen him this angry, his face and scar turning beet red, his eyes like daggers. But this reaction is rich coming from him, which triggers your own anger as much as your fear.

“Really, Jack? You barely come home and when you do you smell of cheap perfume, but me, I’m the slut?!” you yell back at him, your body shaking all over, as you pull up your bra and dress. You certainly hadn’t planned to do this here, now, but you’d known in your heart for days that this was coming.

The vein in his forehead pulses dangerously, and he looks like he truly wants to hurt you. He grabs your wrists painfully as you try and zip up your dress. You’ve never seen him look at you this way, even in his worst moments, and it send a shudder of fear through you. “You’re my goddamn wife! Nobody touches my wife!” he yells, his spit flying in your face, ignoring your reasoning completely, too far gone.

Then, he unlocks the door and yanks it open so hard it slams into the wall with a crash, and then pulls you into the hallway, dragging you behind him.

“Jack, stop. You’re hurting me!” you say, trying to wrench out of his iron grasp. “What’re you doing? This isn’t the place for this,” you hiss frantically, scared of what he might do or say next.

Jack manhandles you into the living area where people are conversing and laughing at someone’s jokes, and roughly pushes you into the middle of the room.

The laughter dies out quickly as all eyes turn towards you.

Your heart pounds in your chest and heat burns your cheeks. You are furious and scared and now embarrassed, the back of your dress undone in front of everyone. You watch as Sandy’s eyes widen, immediately gleaning what’s happening, and she starts to stand, but Jerry grabs her arm to stop her.

You rub at your raw wrists, but you don’t turn to look at Elvis, who is behind you. That would give it all away, and for now you at least have control over that.

“Who is it, huh? Who are you fucking? All of them?” Jack shouts at you in front of the group, pointing aimlessly at the men. There are confused and alarmed glances on most faces, though Sandy, Jerry, and Red all attempt to cover their knowledge with surprise. Some are better than others at concealing it, but Jack is too busy looking at you to see them.

“Hey, man, cool it,” Elvis says from behind you, trying to be nonchalant and deescalate the situation, but you can hear in his voice the effort it’s taking him to be calm.

Jack whirls you around roughly by the arm to face Elvis, as though he’s trying to shame you at court in front of the king. Elvis looks at you, unable to hide his concern and budding fury completely, and you shake your head the smallest amount, for only him to see, telling him to lay low and not give himself away. You may be fucked, but this can still be contained, at least until Jack has calmed down and not everyone is watching.

“This ain’t your problem, EP!” Jack yells. It’s as though the most obvious has escaped Jack’s rage-addled mind, since he’s not even considering Elvis when he’s the biggest threat of all.

But one doesn’t yell at Elvis. Not without repercussions.

“The hell it isn’t, not when you come in here drunk and hot like this, fixin’ to ruin everyone’s mood,” Elvis warns, standing slowly. He’s not yelling yet, but his eyes are starting to turn hard and dark. Elvis can be incredibly patient, but if his temper turns, it won’t be pretty. And he was already done with Jack before this wretched display. The tension in the room thickens to a heightened degree, leaving everyone on edge.

So hot with fear and embarrassment and anger, you think you might burst into flames right here. Your heart is thundering against your ribcage and you can barely breathe. Your legs itch to run, but you are surrounded by prying eyes, trapped between the two most important men in your life.

Jack is incensed, fuming, and not backing down. He’s gearing up for a fight, which is bad. His grip on your arm tightens and you can’t help but wince. You watch as Elvis takes a step towards you both and you shoot him a look to stay put.

“Jack, stop this,” you say as calmly as you can. “Let’s just take a breath and talk somewhere else and let the party go on.”

Jack’s chest heaves and he turns on you. “Shut the fuck up, you whore!” he snarls.

Then his fist brutally collides with your face.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion after that. The pain is instant, radiating through your cheek and your jaw, up into your eye socket. The metal of his rings snag at the corner of your mouth and scrape your face. Shock and disbelief course through you as the air rushes out of your lungs and hot tears spring to your eyes. The momentum of his strike sends you careening to the floor, and you manage to throw your hands out to catch yourself just before you hit the carpet.

A stunned silence falls over the group.

He hit me. He fucking hit me, you think in disbelief, through the pain, through the ringing in your ears.Jack had never, ever laid a hand on you before. You reach your hand up to your face, and it comes away bright red, bloody, your lip split. You can’t hold back the choked, shaking sob that escapes your lips.

Everything explodes at once.

The roar that comes from Elvis is like nothing you’ve heard before. The anger he’d shown you is but a fraction of what you see now as he crosses the room, a menacing bull after a matador. He strides so quickly and fiercely with those long legs of his that Jack barely has time to register what is happening before Elvis punches him square in the jaw, then rapidly again right in the nose. You can hear the sickening break of it which turns your stomach. Or maybe it’s your own pain doing that, you’re not sure at this point.

Elvis doesn’t even say anything, so blacked out with rage that he can’t even speak. You watch from the floor as Jack stumbles back and his eyes widen in shock, then confusion.

“EP? What the—?” Jack starts to say, holding his nose as it starts to bleed down his face, but before he can get it out, Elvis has him by the throat. Those long fingers wrap around and begin to squeeze as Elvis walks Jack back into the wall. Shocked, you watch from the floor as Jack’s face begins to turn red and he begins to sputter, clawing at Elvis’ hand and arm. True fear begins to play over Jack’s features.

Suddenly, the guys are all yelling and rushing around you. Sandy’s hands yank you up and back out of the fray, and you feel dizzy, swaying on your feet. You’re not sure how, but she manages to get you on the couch, zipping up your dress in a flash, and then examines your injuries.

“Are you okay? Y/n, are you okay?” she asks frantically, but with the commotion in the room and the fuzzy white noise in your head, she feels a million miles away. Your eyes are locked on the insane sight in front of you, freezing you with shock.

The guys are desperately trying to pull Elvis off Jack, but his hand is like a vise around Jack’s throat. He’s strangling him, truly choking him because you can see Jack’s face start to go purple and his eyes begin to roll back.

Three of the guys are on Elvis’ back now while Red chops at his arms, trying to break his hold on Jack’s throat unsuccessfully.

Oh my god, if Elvis kills him, I’ll lose them both and it’ll be all my fault, you realize.

You rise to your feet, ignoring Sandy’s protests, ignoring the dizziness and throbbing in your head, and you somehow, through pure will, push yourself through the throng of men to Elvis’ side.

“Elvis! Elvis, you have to stop this,” you say firmly, staring into his beautiful, terrifying face. His eyes are black and unyielding, almost unrecognizable. His jaw is so clenched in his murderous fury that you think he’ll crack his teeth. You’re not even sure if he can hear you because he doesn’t give any indication that he can, but you have to get him to stop.

“Baby, you can’t do this. You’re killing him. You can’t kill him. Satnin, I can’t lose you and if you do this, we’ll both be lost,” you murmur, pleading in his ear for only him to hear, hoping against hope it gets through to him.

You watch Elvis blink a few times, as if waking briefly from his trance, his shoulders relaxing just enough that when Red slams down on his arms again, they give way. Jerry pulls you backwards with a yelp, as Jack coughs, sucking in deep, rattling breaths as he slumps down the wall.

You do not go to him.

Elvis’ lapse in rage is short lived, for he sees Red and turns on him quickly with another roar, throwing brutal punches. You see on Red’s face that he knows exactly why Elvis is coming for him. A few punches land hard, and you hear more of the crack of flesh on flesh. You can’t help but smile a little inside at Red getting what’s coming to him, but horrified at yourself, you push that thought right out of your brain.

But there is a reason Red is Elvis’ bodyguard. He’s tough and scrappy and much more prepared for a fight than Jack was. You can see he doesn’t want to hurt Elvis but blocks and dodges some of his punches more readily. Four of the Mafia surround Elvis now, grabbing his arms, his waist, holding him back from Red, holding him down.

Elvis struggles against them and lets out one last terrifying primal cry before they get him subdued, pushing him to his knees. His chest heaves as they continue to hold his arms, his chin lowered, those lethal blue eyes peering out from under the black hair falling in his face. They still home in on Jack and Red, who are licking their wounds at the other end of the living room.

Adrenaline courses through you, your heart threatening to pound through your ribs, the blood rushing in your ears, as you watch four men have to hold down the man you love to keep him from killing the men that hurt you. And you aren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. A small part of you is frightened by this side of Elvis, how he is gone so deep into his rage that the man you know is barely there at all. And you can’t help but feel responsible for this turn in him.

But another part of you feels vindicated and relieved and almost proud of his defense of you. Part of you swells with so much love for him that you want to fall to your knees and kiss him as if your life depended on it.

“You sonofabitch. You fucking wife-stealing asshole,” Jack rasps out bitterly at Elvis, cowering on the floor with Red and a couple of the other men surrounding him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” some of the guys cry, having to hold Elvis back from going ballistic again. His glare at Jack is so fierce, you think the look alone might kill him from across the room.

But you don’t stop to find out because you wrench out of Jerry’s grasp and somehow make it over to Jack before your brain catches up with your body. You don’t even have time to think twice before your hand pulls back and slaps open-handed across Jack’s cheek, the smack reverberating in your ears and stinging through your hand and up your arm.

But you don’t care.

Silence falls over the room once more. Jack stares up at you wide-eyed, with shocked indignation.

“Shut the fuck up, Jack,” you seethe, now fully infuriated that the man you once loved had hurt you so badly, in so many ways. “You lost me a long time ago, and Elvis had nothing to do with it, you cheating, lying, drunken bastard!” You lean over into his face, your voice low and biting, “And don’t you ever, ever, lay your hands on me again, or next time I won’t stop him from tearing you apart.”

You watch the mixture of surprise and contempt and fear play over Jack’s features for a moment before stepping back. You look back at Elvis and see his lip curl into a sly grin.

And then it all hits you at once. All your mistakes. Everyone staring at you in shock. Your dirty laundry aired out for all to see. The blood and pain bruising on your face, your head pounding, your vision hazy. The mortifying violence that has occurred in your name. Your lover almost murdering your husband.

Oh, god.

Suddenly, vertigo hits you hard and you are so dizzy that the room swims and sways in front of you. The bile rises so quickly that you don’t even have time to process what is happening before you are hurling your dinner onto the shag carpet.

Something is quite wrong, you realize. All your anger and doubts and regrets and love drain from you with a tingling coolness, and everything and everyone feels very far away, their cries muffled by the pain in your head. Then you fall into a dark oblivion, leaving the pain and consequences of your actions far, far behind, and you wonder fleetingly if it was all worth it.

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