#the way you described her past life and the little ‘issues’ she had was

[tothosewholisten]

Forever Healed | TUA insert

Chapter: 00

next chapter>>

Masterlist

…

On the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989. 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began.

Sir Reginald Hargeeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible.

He got seven of them, yes seven.

..

MARCH 21, 2019

I have to be at least somewhat proud of myself for lasting this long. I thought as I sat on the bus, not everyday you are born with magical powers and are destined to save the world from evil. Yes, hearing myself think that sounds crazy. But that's normal in my life.

I had reached my stop after a half an hour of sitting with my earbuds in, listening to nothing at all. I just wanted to seem unapproachable on the sketchy city bus.

My destination was a terribly designed office building, the space was so crammed and ugly it made me want to turn right back around and get on that bus again. But I didn't because I was trying to convince myself that this would be good for me, but I didn't believe my words.

I was about to have a therapy session with some middle-aged white lady who has glasses and tell her all of my life issues, starting every week at 5pm..

It's not like I had anything else going on, I haven't had work for days now. So I thought I'd give it a shot.

The waiting process made me anxious as hell, I finally got the courage to walk up to the front desk and gave the man who sat there my name. And now I have to wait for this lady to get done with some other patient.

I sat on a chair and frowned, like she is really going to be focused on "my" problems and not the 30 other people she sees today.

I swear it was only a second into me zoning out when I heard my name yelled. "Y/n L/n? It's so nice to meet you!" A woman said, when i looked up at her i saw the exact lady i was describing earlier to the closest details.

I let her lead me to a smaller room that looked way better than the lobby. It had two chairs, a water machine, some fidget items and a large window view of the city. Gloria, I learn to be the name of my therapist, asks me to sit with her.

She clears her throat, "I know this is our first session so you may not be the most comfortable sharing details. But I'd like to know a little bit about you if you're okay sharing."

“Well, I’m 29 years old and a home care nurse.” I say slowly. Hearing the words leave my mouth I knew I haven’t amounted to a lot in my years.

"Oh wow, 29? I would've never guessed that Y/n, you don't look a day over 21" Gloria complimented me i give her a tiny smile in return.

I'm not sure why that is, I get that a lot in my working field. Older women saying that they wished they looked as young as me.

"That's a great start for today's session." She smiles, "A little bit me is, you know my name already but I'm 56 years old since Monday. I have 3 children and a cat named Mr. Furball."

I regret what i said earlier because I think I already like Gloria and not just because of Mr. Furball. But the fact that she has a calming sense about her. I find myself listening to what she's saying, and I rarely do that with people nowadays.

"But I would like to hear more about your upbringing, how’d you become the fine young lady you are today?" She says.

Oh, she wants to hear about my childhood. I mean I knew she would ask but so soon, I'm worried about saying anything. So I told her that.

"I'm worried about opening up to someone about my past cause well I've never done it before." I said.

She hands me a cup of water. "That's okay Y/n, we can take it at your pace."

“I grew up in a small house with my mom and dad until I was twelve. When I was scouted by Reginald Hargreeves because of my unique abilities. And I've been there ever since I was 18 when I moved out to live on my own.” I waited for the burst of confusion I was about to get from Gloria. Not everyday one of the Umbrella Academy walks into your office.

“Oh wow…” she says, eyes wide. “You're one of those superheroes? That’s amazing wow.” She nervously chuckles “I’m sorry I’m normally not this shocked about things, and I hear a lot on the daily.”

“It’s okay” I say, staring at my hands.

She clears her throat. “I'm sure being apart of the Umbrella Academy was big but could you tell me about your life before that?”

I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds, pictured my childhood in my brain and opened my mouth.

"Well, I'm sure to this day my father still thinks that my mother cheated on him, due to his "daughter's" virgin Mary-like creation since they were just newlyweds. He held it against my mother all of her life." I took a sip of water and continued.

"I'm not sure why he turned to alcohol. But that turned out as you could expect. He turned on everyone around him and acted like a beast. He regularly attacked my mom for anything she did wrong. But what made him more angry was that his freak of a daughter could heal her mother, after every beating."

"My mom told me before I left I had made her so much happier and in her words. She didn't even question these strange occurrences; she knew her baby was special." I smiled a bit.

I could tell that Gloria was painting a picture in her head of what I was describing too.

"And by the age of 8, I was standing up to my father, even if it didn't end so well. I'd get the beating instead but by the next day, my bloody body would be as good as new. On the surface at least, I had lots of internal issues from that time. But none of that stopped my father from trying to get equal with me.." I stopped talking after that.

My eyes could only focus on my right hand as it was picking at my left hand's skin. It was a habit I picked up as soon as I started to use my powers because I knew my skin would be right back to normal in the next few minutes.

"That's awful y/n I'm so sorry." She frowned. "Would you be okay with continuing?"

I blink up at her. “Yes, that would be okay,” I said. “Then there was this one day..”

..

17 YEARS AGO

“In five, four, three, two. This is Jim Hellerman, reporting live for channel 2 News outside of the Capital West Bank at Main and Sixth. A group of heavily armed men stormed the bank not three hours ago and took an unknown number of hostages.”

That was the big news update of September 2002, I remember. Well I don’t really have to think about it much because I was there with my mom at the bank. She planned on making some deposit when we were screamed at, not to leave by a man who had his gun pointed at us along with so many other civilians. He taped us up and told us to stand in a corner.

That was the first and only time I feared for my life. Police didn’t want them to start shooting, so they didn’t come into the building. Meaning that we were on our own and could die at anytime

One of the armed men walks into the scene unfolding. Sirens blaring, people getting shoved around and threats being made to the innocent.

“Now you’ve put me in a position where I gotta do something I don't want to do. Hmm?” He said talking to another person on his walkie talkie.

My mom brought me closer to her trying to use her body as a shield if things went south. And to us we thought they were about to be.

But strangely, a girl walked up to the man. She’d looked to be around my age in a school uniform and cartoon mask. Her loose curls bounced in the wind as she skipped up to him.

“Shit!” He screams putting his device down. Not noticing the girl until a few seconds after his outburst. “Hey, get back with the others.” He told her, trying to sound intimidating but she didn’t seem to fear him at all.

“I heard a rumor.” She spoke out.

He bent a little to reach her height and get in her face. “What? What did you say?”

She leaned in and cupped her hand to mimic whispering in his ear but loud enough for all of us to hear. “I heard a rumor that you shot your friend in the foot.”

Without any hesitation he did what she commanded and shot the nearest armed man who happened to be trying to rough up my mom. We screamed as he kept shooting.

“We just heard shots from inside the bank. It’s uncertain if any hostages have been harmed in that.”

“There’s some movement on the roof. Possibly law enforcement.”

A loud crash and a boy landed down from the roof. It was crazy he wasn’t harmed at all from that high distance. He was also wearing the same mask and uniform as the girl but he had blond hair. From where he landed he jumped on one of the robbers and started beating him to a pulp, and then throwing him out a glass window.

“Looks like one of the armed robbers had been thrown from the bank.”

Another boy with brown hair runs in from the opposite doors as the girl and yells. “Guns are for sissies. Real men throw knives.” He then threw one of his knives and it curved in the air hitting a robber no where close to where the knife had originally been heading. It was incredible.

“I've been in many hostage situations like this, and it can escalate very quickly.”

The original man hops on a table pointing his gun out at the two of the before seen children plus another one. “Get back you freaks” he says walking back and forth in fear.

“Hey, be careful up there, buddy.” The knife boy calls out.

“Get back now!” The man screams.

“Yeah, I wouldn't want you to get hurt.” The girls mocking voice says.

Right before my eyes another boy teleports behind the man, sitting criss-cross on the table. “Or what?” He said calmly.

The man turns around and shoots at him but before the bullets could hit he teleports again. This time standing up with his arms crossed, clearly not impressed. But the man tries to shoot again.

“Ooh! That’s one badass stapler!” The boy laughs. The man no longer had a gun anymore but a stapler placed in his hand by the kid instead. The boy shoves the stapler into his face and the big man falls back, head hitting the floor before his body does.

“Although there’s been no activity for a few minutes, we’re gonna stay live on location to make sure we don’t miss a thing. In this hostage situation at the Capital West bank.”

The five already counted for children make way for the last and shortest one to make his move. “Do we really need to do this?” He talks quietly.

The blonde one replies to him. “Come on, Ben. There’s more guys in the vault.” So his name was Ben huh?

Ben sighs, “I didn't sign up for this.” Before walking into the room with more people. Large black tendrils illuminated the room as men screaming could be heard behind the door. And a beast roars but then the sound stops and Ben walks out again, this time covered in blood and guts.

He breathes heavily. “Can we go home now?” I felt bad for him.

The kids untied our hands and told us to run. And once it was clear to go my mom started to run out of the doors thinking I was right behind her.

“Now we see the hostages. They— They’re free. They’re scared clearly but they do seem to be unharmed.”

But I was behind her trying to help this older woman who’d slipped on the floor. As I was helping her, the kids walked out too.

“People are coming out now. It’s not the armed robbers. These are schoolchildren in uniforms with masks on. Jim Hellerman, Channel 2 News.”

But there was one not accounted for robber, the one from earlier who had been shot in the foot. I started to run out and call out to my mom who was outside. When the man got up from the floor, cocked his gun and shot at the kids.

Fortunately, he missed them but the bullet hit me.

Questions being asked to the children stopped when they saw my body flail onto the floor outside of the bank doors. I was shot right in the chest. There was blood everywhere and it started to leak over to where the kids were standing. They turned around to see where it was coming from..

Everyone looked horrified and there was a bunch of screaming. Mainly from my mother who was wailing as she ran over to hold me to her chest screaming for me to wake up. And that will be engraved in my memory forever after this day, I never wanted to hear her like this ever again.

Police started to rush over but in a matter of minutes, a miracle seemed to happen. At least to the city that is. There was a yellowish glow around my chest and the blood seemed to have reversed back into my body. Even the stains on my blue dress were gone. The bullet even spit out of my chest; it was truly witchcraft.

My eyes then shot open as I started to breathe in and out.

I don't exactly remember what I felt during those moments but I'm sure I left those people around me stunned. After all this was their first look at powers.

I couldn't care what the paramedics were talking about above my body. I was focused on the 6 children looking at me bewildered as well as the old-looking man with them and whatever my mom was saying at the time.

I was put on a stretcher and rushed to a hospital for evaluations after the pandemics came but they never found anything. It was like everything was perfectly reattached.

But as I was leaving I could see the news reporters zeroing in on the kids trying to get the details on how these children saved the bank from thievery.

“Our world is changing.” The man spoke to the crowd. “Has changed. There are some among us gifted with abilities far beyond the ordinary.” He said looking back at the children. But they weren’t paying attention, some were staring at my ambulance and some eyes were on the ground.

“I have adopted seven such children. I give you the inaugural class of the Umbrella Academy.”

I now realize thinking back, the seventh person he was talking about was me..

..

PRESENT DAY

My mouth felt like it was moving faster than my brain so I took a pause and chugged the rest of my water cup.

Once again Glorias eyes were wide open. As she took some notes down in a notebook I never noticed beyond this point.

"Uh once I got home I remember the house phone noise filled my house with its nonstop ring, the other person on the phone would change my life forever when he came in.”

“And who was that person?" Gloria asked.

"Reginald Hargeeves, eccentric billionaire and caring father from what the public knew.." I rolled my eyes.

"So I'm guessing it wasn't really like that" she asked carefully.

"He was never a father really, more like a hard state-national basketball coach." She wrote that down.

"I guess it was a hard decision for my parents to make well, my mother. My father was ready to give me up as soon as Reginald stepped foot in my small house."

"And I'm sure they thought there was nothing bad about the offer they were given, he promised I'd be raised in a steady environment with the best schooling and my powers would be used for the greater good. And in exchange, my parents would get a large sum of money for my absence."

"What were you doing during this?" Gloria worried.

"I think I was just sitting right there next to my mom actually. I definitely didn't understand at that point what was happening to me. Still thinking about the events of that day.”

"And then I was being taken out of my only home in the blink of an eye. I resisted the people taking me, starting with screaming and then kicking and then running. Back to my mom's arms, Reginald himself had to pull me away from her. The deal had already been struck and there was no taking me back."

Now looking back at my hands I could only see small teardrops on my palms. Gloria reached for a tissue from the other side of the room. "Thank you," I said as I wiped my eyes.

"I like to think that my mom was upset that day but the memory has already started to fade as I reached adulthood.

You know after that day I was no longer 'Y/n L/n' no, I was known by my new name.. Zero Hargeeves."

..

I decided that was the end of my story, at least for now because I couldn't place the pieces together anymore. I was full-on sobbing at that point.

Gloria decided to bring up something more light to talk about next but I don't remember what it was because I'd zoned out and thought about the cat she'd told me about earlier.

The two hours seemed to fly by because the last thing I heard her say was if I didn't have anything else to talk about then that would be the end of the session. My legs seemed to move on their own as I walked out of that building. I would come back at the same time next week and honestly, I think therapy was for the best. I forgot about how I felt about all these things for the longest time.

I started the journey back to the bus stop, stopping to look in the windows of shops.

Shops like bakeries and bookstores and other things like that. Until I came to a stop in front of a store with a TV sticking out in the window.

My eyes scanned the screen and they went wide. The lady on the news had a somber expression as someone died. I was feeling sad for the person's family, but then I read the red-blaring headline.

The person who died was Reginald Hargeeves...

...

Aug 14 update:

If you'd like to be added to the tag list for rest of the series (starts at chapter 10) say taglist in the comments!

[wanderingelvis]

Hey I don’t know if your doing requests rn but I had this idea. Maybe like an innocent reader x Elvis and she broke a glass and cut herself on accident and she keeps apologizing because her dad would get mad at her for that and he has to convince her it’s not her fault. Maybe ending in smut? Whatever you wanna do I just thought it was a cool idea

Thank you for the request! I really hope you like it! 🧚

🧚 Masterlist 🧚

Word Count: 2,649

Pairing: Late 60s!Elvis x Innocent F!Reader

Warnings: PTSD, mentions of ab*se (verbal and physical)

You were a little ball of sunshine in Elvis' life. A sensitive little ball of sunshine at that. You quite often reminded Elvis of a little puppy dog, just eager and desperate for his love and attention, always looking at him with those big, round eyes of yours, filled with admiration and adoration for the big old man. 

Your love for Elvis didn't come from nowhere though, he equally showered you with affection and love from the moment he first interacted with you. He became enamoured with your playful and soft giggles and your incessant babbling that he found utterly adorable.

Elvis picked up early on that you had some underlying issues. He would notice you flinch at a loud noise or a raised voice, the way you'd instantly stop talking if someone began to speak over you, the way you'd trip over your words when any sort of confrontation would occur. He knew that there must have been something in your past that had created those behaviours and he was right.

You opened up to him about your past and your upbringing early on in your relationship with Elvis after Elvis had asked you about your childhood. You'd told Elvis tentatively, all about the tense and aggressive environment that you grew up in, and even when you'd trip over you words or start to feel anxious when recalling the events, Elvis hushed you, telling you to take your time, everything was okay and that you were his special girl now.

Since then, you'd really gone from strength to strength, you were this little diamond on Elvis' arm, charming everyone just like Elvis did, and together, you really were the new 'it' couple. 

You were so eager to please everyone but most importantly Elvis, that you would wear yourself out, trying so hard to impress him that you'd often end up becoming drowsy at 8pm, nodding off in Elvis' strong hold as he would laugh and chat with the Mafia. 

Elvis didn't mind one bit, he thought there was no cuter sight than you drifting off whilst clinging to him as if he were your security blanket or nighttime teddy bear. Once Elvis was sure that you'd be fully asleep, he'd always excuse himself from whatever was going on to carry you to your shared room and put you into bed, knowing that the worst thing for you would be to fall asleep only to be woken up by someone getting drunk and starting to holler and wake you up and mess up your routine. 

You truly were Elvis' little baby, he treated you like a princess and you truly were head over heels in love with the big, old, rockstar.

The two of you being the social butterflies you were meant that you loved a crowded house, hosting parties for any event, Christmas, Halloween, 4th of July - heck, even if it was a Friday, that would be enough to warrant an extravagant party.

And that's exactly what had happened, a lavish party in December had taken place in Graceland where the Mafia, their wives, a few fans and fellow musicians had all attended in what could only have been described as an 'early Christmas' in Graceland, with endless drinks, cigars, and laughter. 

It was about 3am and everyone had left apart from a few members of the Mafia, Lamar, Sonny, Charlie and Joe, all in the Jungle room relaxing with you nestled into Elvis' side, completely wiped and a little tipsy from the expensive champagne that Elvis had let you drink.

"Why dontchu be a doll n'go n'get us some drinks eh, Y/N? Might wanna make a start on the mess while yer at it?" Charlie laughed, nodding at you. 

You blinked a couple of times and rubbed your eyes, the excitement of the party taking its toll on your little body before you nodded, pushing your body up from where it rested by Elvis. 

"That how you talk to a little girl huh, Charlie? No wonder you're goddamn single," Elvis retorted sharply, with an ever so bitter chuckle at the end of his pointed comment, clearly agitated at some other fella telling you what to do.

See, Elvis knew that you craved praise and even more so, you were absolutely desperate to avoid any sort of conflict or trouble, so you'd always do anything that anyone asked of you. Naturally, this could lead to people taking advantage of your sweet state but that's where Elvis was perfect for you. His authoritative and dominant presence meant that people would seldom cross him just to get you to do some task they were too lazy to do. 

Elvis reached over with his cold, ring clad fingers wrapping around your tender wrist, holding you in place. "Uh-uh." Elvis tsked, making you stop in your tracks. "Don't you move baby, Charlie's a big boy, he can get himself a drink if he needs one."

"Oh, no, Elvis it's okay! Really, I don't mind, it's okay!" You said earnestly.

"I know you don't mind darlin', but you're readin' your fun little magazine, no need for you to be bothered hm? Charlie can do it himself just fine." Elvis said, just about managing to shoot Charlie another stern look.

"S'okay! I was gon' get myself a drink anyways! A hot lemon and tea, I think I hurt my throat from how much I was talkin'!" You sleepily giggled, the angelic sound quelling Elvis' frustrations, you were just so heavenly. Elvis equally knew that you'd just be sitting and feeling anxious if he kept you by his side so he released his tender grip on you, tapping his cheek with his finger, indicating he wanted a kiss from you.

You complied docilely, bending down to press a kiss on Elvis cheek, a soft giggle leaving your lips afterwards as you skipped off to the kitchen, leaving Charlie to the wrath of Elvis.

You carefully prepared the tea and got Charlie's favourite drink sorted too - an Old Fashioned, biting down on your lip as you tried to get the measurements just right! 

It wasn't until you were carrying the tray of tea and cocktails that everything fell apart - quite literally. 

The damned carpet corner wasn't properly pinned down, making you trip over your own feet just like Bambi, sending the tray, along with its contents flying and tumbling down onto the pristine carpet, the glass and china shattering  everywhere. 

You gasped and immediately your heart dropped and sheer panic set in. Your clumsiness, whilst adored by Elvis, had not been your fathers favourite trait of yours, with violent punishments incurring whenever you'd make a little mistake and those punishments had had a lasting impact on you. Obviously, this caused your body to go into automatic panic and defence as you knelt down, trying to clear up the glass and china shards before anyone that heard the accident came running through.

As tears began to pool in your eyes, making your vision cloudy and your breathing became erratic with panic and fear of being punished, you didn't even register the shards of glass cutting through the skin on your knees and the palms of your hands. 

You began to create more mess than tidy it as droplets of blood now began to drip onto the carpet as you frantically tried to wipe away your tears, smudging the pretty black eye makeup Elvis had so lovingly put on you for the party. 

That's when you began to hear footsteps and you dared not look up when you heard Elvis' familiar deep Southern voice.

"Baby?" Elvis said lowly, concern lacing his voice that you mistook for disappointment.

"M'sorry, m'sorry, p-please don't be mad, p-please, I didn't m-mean it," You stuttered with a shaky, cracked voice, stopping every couple of words to sniffle as you cowered into yourself like a frightened little puppy, scared of anything that might approach it.

As Elvis' concern grew rapidly, his demeanour softened, knowing that you were now in an extra fragile and sensitive state and you needed to be treated delicately.

So that's how the big man ended up slowly walked over to you, rolling up the sleeves on his silk shirt and crouching down so that he could be on your level - even if he was still towering over you. 

"Ssh baby, s'okay, I'm not mad with you princess." Elvis hushed, reaching out to gently to push away the hair that had fallen in front of your pretty face, making sure to be as tender as he could be as to not startle you as he knew you were frightened of any sudden contact.

You flinched ever so slightly as Elvis touched you, sniffling as you tried to steady your panic, your wet lashes fluttering up to meet Elvis' concerned gaze. 

"Do ya think you can tell me what happened little one?" Elvis asked as his eyes scanned the scene, realising how badly you'd hurt yourself.

Your eyes widened as you began to recall what happened. "I-I-, um, I, tried to get the, get the drinks and I got um, um, tripped over, by the carpet, I didn't mean it, I didn't m-mean it, I p-promise!" You said shakily, panic beginning to set in again which Elvis picked up on immediately.

"Uh uh baby, you're gettin' yerself all worked up aren't ya?" Elvis soothed, and you nodded, your chest still erratically rising and falling as you hiccupped through tears. You nodded feverishly, your shaky hand wiping away snot and tears. 

"M'sorry! It was just an accident, I promise, I'll c-clean it all up, I p-promise." You whimpered.

"I know it was an accident baby, we all have accidents don't we hm?" Elvis cooed, trying to soothe you and calm you down. "Accidents happen, it's okay honey, I ain't mad, I ain't mad at all." Elvis tried to reassure as you trembled opposite him, your hands still in a bloodied mess along with your knees.

Elvis knew that your sudden panicky and frightened little state was the result of your father, beating you and verbally abusing you at any possible chance he had, particularly when an incident like this would happen. He knew that you'd revert back to the child-like state that you'd first experienced the abuse in, but he knew it was now his job and responsibility to look after you and take care of you and make you feel better and feel loved.

"I d-didn't mean it, p-promise." You mewled softly, growing calmer but still tender and frightened. 

Elvis nodded understandingly, holding eye contact with you, wanting to make it absolutely clear to you that you weren't in any trouble and nothing was bad was going to happen to you whilst you were in his care. 

"I know you didn't sweet girl. You were just doin' yer best weren't you honey? You did nothin' wrong, you were busy bein' a good girl and gettin' Charlie a drink for him." Elvis praised, knowing you needed it. "What happened to yer hands n'knees little one?" Elvis asked, pointing to your injuries.

You hadn't even acknowledged that you were hurt or bleeding, your mind far too occupied with fear. Your eyes widened cutely as you blinked a few times, realising how bad your hands really were as you held them up in front of you. Elvis watched you, his attempt to get your mind to stop panicking was working.

"I, um, I hurt them," You said quietly, your voice trailing off as you studied your hands. "They hurt." You whimpered slightly, the realisation of what had happened setting in, as well as the pain. 

"They look sore don't they honey?" Elvis observed and you nodded, successfully distracted from the internalised fear that had consumed you. "I think we need to get you cleaned up little one, make you feel all good n'better? What do you think princess?" Elvis asked calmly.

Again, you nodded, your habit of becoming ever-so-slightly more non-verbal kicking in when you were upset and scared and overstimulated. "Okay..." You replied, with the small word being all you could muster.

"Okay." Elvis repeated in confirmation with a reassuring nod. "Now, I'm gon' help you up little 'un, then I'm gon' get the fellas outta here, they've had enough partyin' for one night, then we're gon' get you cleaned up and into our nice big, warm, bed, how does that sound Y/N?" Elvis said to you gently. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat as your damp eyelashes fluttered and you scanned the mess around you on the floor. "B-But I need to clean up my mess." You stuttered.

"Oh little one, no, no this will all get cleaned by the staff who are comin' to sort out the mess from the party 'kay? Your only job is to let me clean you up and feel better, okay little girl?" Elvis said with a raised eyebrow as you sniffled and reached out for him, desperately craving physically affection from him. "Careful pretty girl, I don't wanna hurt yer pretty little hands now, do I? M'gon pick you up from your elbows, okay?" Elvis told you, standing back up before leaning down and slowly hauling you up from under your arms, making sure as to not cause you any more harm.

Once you were up, Elvis quickly dashed to the Jungle room to get rid of the remaining guys, explaining the situation to them before they all told Elvis that they hoped you were okay. They all thought of you as a little gem of a girl and they all had a soft spot for you. They were also protective of you, perhaps not as much as Elvis was, but they all knew you were a sweet girl and they all sincerely hoped you'd feel better as quickly as possible.

Elvis then carried you up the stairs and straight to your bathroom, setting you on the bathroom counter where your legs dangled and your cheeks were sticky with dried tears and smudged eyeliner. 

Elvis spent the next couple of hours cleaning you, carefully getting rid of any glass that was stuck in your skin and applying cream and ointment onto your wounds, pressing a comforting kiss to your forehead every time you winced from the anti-septic. 

"Hurts." You cried as you recoiled every time Elvis applied anti-septic onto your body somewhere. 

"I know it does baby, I know it does, but you're bein' such a brave girl f'me, aren't you? That's right, bein' so brave f'me, m'so proud of you." Elvis cooed. "But this is going to make you better so you gotta keep bein' a brave girl for me, just a little bit more medicine and then we'll go to bed little one." Elvis assured.

Sweet nothings and words of comfort and praise kept coming from Elvis as he continued to clean you up, change you out of your sweet little pink party dress, put your pyjamas on for you and get you all cuddled up into bed. 

Exhaustion consumed you, overwhelming you and making your whole body feel heavy as you sank into the big, plush bed that you and Elvis shared. 

You glanced up at Elvis who settled in next to you, your big eyes gazing up at him. "Promise I didn't mean it, promise I'm sorry." You mumbled feebly.

Elvis sighed, looking down at you as he cupped your face with his large hand that had so delicately looked after you all evening. "I know baby, you ain't got nothin' t'be sorry about princess. There ain't no need to be worried little one, yer with me now baby, I ain't ever gon' be mad atchu, okay? Now, you need to rest, you're overwhelmed baby, but m'gon be right here when you wake up and m'gon make you pancakes for bein' such a good girl f'me tonight." Elvis smiled, watching as a sleepy smile crept onto your face.

"Love you." You lazily hummed before you closed your eyes.

Elvis didn't sleep until he knew you were sleeping soundly, his little sunshine.

[darkdemeter]

☾ phases collection issue #4 IN THE HEAT OF HER MOMENT

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x GN/Female/Male Mafia!Werewolf!Reader SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI — MxF version pairing — FxF version pairing — unprotected sex — mutual oral receiving — P in V sex — knotting — marking —profanity — pet names: Lamb, Mate, Baby, etc — established relationship — minor depiction of mafia activity — married couple fluff and love — reader is just a softie for Wanda — I think that's it? ✎ 3.1k Happily married to the woman and mate of your dreams, where else to spend your honeymoon as newlyweds than the stunning resort beaches in the tropical islands. But first, you and Wanda have to take care of some heat.

✎ a note from the author, Bit of a mafia au because I just can't escape it, and I wanted to write some more mafia wandawolf.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

IV.  What is a mated life but the promise of commitment? A wolf’s life can oftentimes be lonesome and hollow, with no special one to turn to. And it’s far more unlikely that the pairing between two opposites could be so right. With a mate for the wolf to call their own, special needs are required to be met, till death and beyond you cannot part. 

  If there is one way to describe Wanda, it’s that she’s needy. Perfectly needy. After landing in the tropical retreat of your private island, a treat for your wife, you’d taken swiftly to the villa in order to settle her eagerness to consummate your marriage. Not that this will be the first time you’ve both had sex, far from it. Back in your estate towards the city it wouldn’t be put past you both to have thoroughly broken in every room. 

  As evidently showing, you both were quite the couple. How Wanda hasn’t mothered several litters by now? Well, your parents and their old schooled tenants decreed that you both be married first before you both go siring a dozen or so pups to grow the family. 

  Almost a year later after that little sit down, here you are, closing the door to the villa with Mrs. L/N sauntering inside, hands smoothing down the curves of her body and her fitted, white gown. 

  You’ve barely begun loosening the collar of your shirt when she’s on you, pulling you in by the lapel of your jacket into a heated, passionate kiss, one of many you have already shared and will continue to. Seeking the comforting weight of her in the palms of your hands, you seek out her hips, massaging slowly with a low groan she melds with a moan of her own. 

  Her heels clatter to the polished floorboard hurriedly, meanwhile, her slender hands comb through your hair, dishevelling its tidiness and down your front, she practically is pawing you to remove your clothing. 

  “Dammit, Lamb,” you chuckle against her mouth. She slips her tongue past your teeth, tongues wrestling at the behest of her challenge. 

  “I need you,” she sighs into the kiss breathlessly. 

  Ring adorned fingers press into her hips firmly at her pleaful cry. “I know, darling. I know.” Your lips move to caress the cute curve of her jawline, taking care with every inch of her precious skin down her neck, she leans into you as she tries to capture your lips once more. 

  “Sure you don’t want to pay a visit to the beach?”

  Shaking her head, she’s pulling you towards the loft’s staircase. “Tomorrow. Right now, I want you.”

  “No complaining whatsoever,” you retort with a cheeky wink, following her insistent lead. 

  She giggles as she begins to race up the stairs with you close at her heel, the ghost of your presence haunting her lovingly, no sooner do you both reach the upper floor do you sweep your wife into your arms and she playfully shrieks in surprise. You hoist her up and spin, her arms encircle around you tightly, your embrace one of comfort and assured strength. 

  A promise, just as the gold around your fingers, that you’ll be for each other. Protect each other. You meet with another kiss, slower but no less passionate. 

  The glimmer of gold suits her finger. For you, it’s a precious addition that pales the rest across the bottom of your knuckles. 

  You carry Wanda over to the empty bed and lay her down, her hair fans around her with a cherishing, silvery-blonde halo she’d dyed before the wedding, and a smile that could warm the coldest days of winter and cure you of any level of anger. Wanda Maximoff has been a very influential figure in your life from day one. 

  From first meeting her, circumstances unlikely, you’d always felt your chest become alight with a flutter you always dreaded the absence of when she was gone. 

  And the more she visited, the more you experienced that flutter in your chest that came to bloom throughout your entire body and soul. But also the more her mere visits left a deep and dark burrow of void in your heart. At some point or another - and you were sure it occurred after a bit too much in the indulgence of whiskey and meeting with the Stark and Barnes Families to discuss business - you realise that Wanda is meant to be with you. No matter who else you met, they never gave you that same feeling. 

  Wanda was your destined mate. As frightful as it was, her rejection had been nothing but a case of anxiety and doubtful, nightmarish thoughts. Because the moment you asked her under the stars and full moon if she’d be your girl, her happy shrieks that filled the entirety of Central Park confirming your deepest wish, you became whole. 

  She blinks at you. Curiosity fills her beautifully serene and creamy jade hues that glow in the setting sun’s light. “What is it, Wolfie?”

  You shake your head at the memories that consume you. You shower her with a toothy grin she cannot help but reciprocate. 

  “You’re just so beautiful.”

  “Kiss me…”

  Mouths connecting with a symphony of low groans and purring moans, your bodies meld together, sliding against each other as your hands explore each other, slowly peeling away the layers of formality, discarding them to the floor until the two of you were bare before the other. 

FEMALE

  She whispers your name across the skin of your neck, hands running over inked landscape, each single mile holding a memory to her, just as you do for her. One hand comes between the two of you to stroke her, tender and affectionately attentive, she curls into you with a pleased whine.

  “Yes, Wolf,” she coos softly, “just like that.”

  You work her gently at first, soon growing a bit firmer with rubbing, circling her clit that makes her spine arch and her toes curl. 

  You slide your middle finger into her tight pussy that clenches around it, her heat pulsing that it makes you sigh with a chuckle. 

  “Baby, you’re soaking.”

  She hides her face in the crook of your neck with a pout, mumbling something amidst her pampering of kisses along your shoulder. You bend and curve your finger, in and out, in and out until she pants quietly to the shell of your ear, her nails embedding crescents into the muscle of your shoulders. 

  She begs you for more, encouraging you that she can take more. Obliging your mate, you slip two more fingers inside and begin to ever so faintly stretch her walls. 

  She pushes herself into you, soft gasps on the tip of her tongue and entangled in finery of pleasures. You curl your fingers inside her, pushing them further and to the knuckle. Her hands run down your sides, her touch is feathery, taking in every detail that maps your body, every mark, scar and tattooed line until she reaches the small of your back. 

  “R-right there,” she winces blissfully, hips abrupt in their suddenness to meet your thrusting fingers. Her release a coiling rubber band that’s bound to snap at an instant. As you perform on her, she reaches one of her own hands down, fingertips stroking along your equally sickened folds. “A-ah… hah,” you grin, and so cutely she admits to herself, shyly. 

  “I want to please my wife as well,” she says with a light tune. Her thumb rolls over your clit smearing the aroused juices of your pussy and your hips jerk again. Her hand cups you and she begins to massage her middle and ring finger against your entrance and then slips them inside, working to match your pace. 

  Rocking into the motion of the other, the rising of your releases are woven together, her sounds alone to get you off; her fingers only aided with hastefulness. 

  A series of intermingling moans shatter to the air, breaking the oath of stillness to the flood of your orgasms. You hot breath fans over her face and she smiles wistfully, her chest rising and breasts pushing to yours, the connection bringing a sense of electricity between you. 

  Her legs wrap around you the moment your fingers slide back inside her cunt, your claws bringing a more daring edge that leaves her utterly breathless in her lungs.   “Y-yes! More, more! Just like that.”

 Her eyes roll back and her dark lashes flutter erratically, her voice strangled by her moans and her body becomes tense, hips rolling into the thrusts of your fingers before her mouth flies open with a pleasured cry. Barely over the first and already she is taken hold by her second wave.

  A moment of pure stillness and then immediate relaxation, her body finds itself floating high in the clouds as the hot, white flash consumes her. Your nose finds the juncture of her neck and your canines graze the delicate spot and she leans her chin to the side, providing more access for your leisure. 

  “I love you,” she gasps again and again. You answer, voice a husky octave, “I love you too.”

Your teeth break the surface of her skin and she winces, the riding of her high tunes out the sliver of pain, only to find her body unnaturally calmed by you. Your scent becomes stronger to her senses, the aroma of your expensive cologne is drowned out by the natural tranquillity of your natural smell; that of the pine forests, heavily wooded and hidden, the wild valleys of flowers and the crispness of freshly fallen snow. 

  Everything under her skin is warmed like nothing before. It’s not the same as a coat keeping out the cold, or feeling another’s warm skin against her. It is a feeling that envelops her on the inside like a warm, assuring blanket. A haven that guarantees she’ll be safe. 

  And then the coolness of stars line her vision. Something bright and full floods her and she thinks she’s floating in the dawning nighttime sky. Her stomach is taken over by a billion flutters. 

“How do you feel, Lamb?” you ask and press your forehead to hers. “Breathe for me. That’s it, in and out. Deep and slow… you okay?”

  “I feel… amazing.” Her dazed eyes find yours in the darkness that almost hides you completely. Her fingers brush aside the straying locks of hair hanging over your face. 

  “The best I’ve ever felt.”

  “You’re gonna feel like that for quite a while,” you say. Chuckling, you steal a quick kiss from her, rolling over until she lays on top of you, hands holding her hips to you. 

 “I know this must be a strange question,” she begins hesitantly, but your hum of curiosity nudges her to continue. “Do you have a knot?”

  “I do… as a wolf.”

  “Then… maybe we could try?”

MALE

  She whispers your name across the skin of your neck, hands running over inked landscape, each single mile holding a memory to her, just as you do for her. One hand comes between the two of you to stroke her, tender and affectionately attentive, she curls into you with a pleased whine.

  “Yes, Wolf,” she coos softly, “just like that.”

  You work her gently at first, soon growing a bit firmer with rubbing, circling her clit that makes her spine arch and her toes curl. 

  You slide your middle finger into her tight pussy that clenches around it, her heat pulsing that it makes you sigh with a chuckle. 

  “Baby, you’re soaking.”

  She hides her face in the crook of your neck with a pout, mumbling something amidst her pampering of kisses along your shoulder. You bend and curve your finger, in and out, in and out until she pants quietly to the shell of your ear, her nails embedding crescents into the muscle of your shoulders. 

  She begs you for more, encouraging you that she can take more. Obliging your mate, you slip two more fingers inside and begin to ever so faintly stretch her walls, to get her ready to accommodate your cock that now stands hardened between her legs. 

  As you perform on her, she reaches one of her own hands down, fingertips stroking over your length and your hips jerk. “A-ah… hah,” you grin, and so cutely she admits to herself, shyly. 

  “I want to please my husband as well,” she says with a light tune. Her thumb rolls over your tip, smearing the beads of precum down the base, your hips jerk again. Her hand wraps around you and begins to massage and carefully tug, working to match your pace. 

  Rocking into the motion of the other, the rising of your releases are woven together, however before she has a chance to pull your orgasm from you, you stop her with a tut of your tongue. Her eyes shine with that concern, brows furrowing.

  “I wanna be inside you for that,” you breathe in reply, “I would like to finally experience that first, if you don’t mind.”

  She smiles at you. “Of course.”

  Nodding and still grinning, you usher her to her first climax of the honeymoon period. Her eyes roll back and her dark lashes flutter erratically, her voice strangled by her moans and her body becomes tense, hips rolling into the thrusts of your fingers before her mouth flies open with a pleasured cry.

  A moment of pure stillness and then immediate relaxation, her body finds itself floating high in the clouds as the hot, white flash consumes her.

  “So fucking wet, my little Mate.” Her slickness pools around the knuckles of your fingers, the whisper of her juices gushing from her tight hole as you withdraw paint a beautiful picture. You raise your fingers to your lips and allow your tongue to taste her, a hum of approval as your eyes shimmer in the setting darkness. 

  “You taste good, Lamb.”

  She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip with a bashful giggle followed by a moan of your name. Your lips part and she can taste herself on your tongue, you steady your weight above her with one hand beside her, the other guides your throbbing cock to her entrance.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” With her assurance you press your waist forward and with a gasp, she spreads her legs wider as you push inside her. Walls wrapping around you, inch by inch, you succumb to the radiant heat of her cunt around you. For a moment you find yourself still. 

  Her tongue surrenders to you with the first initiated thrust, lost to the small noise creeping up the back of her throat and you nip her bottom lip playfully. Your cock strikes her, kissing her cervix until she’s chanting your name like a prayer, and you begin to drive more force behind it. Skin meeting against skin in a coursing pattern fills the room, growing louder with each thrust becoming harder and faster, you grunt and groan lowly.

  “I love you,” she gasps again and again. You answer, voice a husky octave, “I love you too.”

  “Cum inside me. P-please… cum in–side me.”

  To hear her talk so desperately sends your wolf brain into overdrive, your canines graze the juncture of her neck and she, accepting of your long-awaited mark, cranes her neck to the side. 

  “Cum with me, little Lamb. Come on, you can do it,” you pant hotly, “cum for me.”

  Her back arches off the bed and your legs wrap over your waist, hugging you closer as her walls clench around you like a vice. A howl passes a suppressed groan in your chest, eyes burning brightly of amber, her orgasm being the last straw for you. Your cock twitches and explodes, releasing your seed to paint her walls as you practically rut into her with mad intent.

  Your teeth break the surface of her skin and she winces, the riding of her high tunes out the sliver of pain, only to find her body unnaturally calmed by you. Your scent becomes stronger to her senses, the aroma of your expensive cologne is drowned out by the natural tranquillity of your natural smell; that of the pine forests, heavily wooded and hidden, the wild valleys of flowers and the crispness of freshly fallen snow. 

  Everything under her skin is warmed like nothing before. It’s not the same as a coat keeping out the cold, or feeling another’s warm skin against her. It is a feeling that envelops her on the inside like a warm, assuring blanket. A haven that guarantees she’ll be safe. 

  And then the coolness of stars line her vision. Something bright and full floods her and she thinks she’s floating in the dawning nighttime sky. Her stomach is taken over by a billion flutters. 

  You slow the grind of your hips to a pause and pull your teeth away from the mark, thumb wiping over it and her body jolts at the action, a reasonable reaction. 

  “How do you feel, Lamb?” you ask and press your forehead to hers. “Breathe for me. That’s it, in and out. Deep and slow… you okay?”

  “I feel… amazing.” Her dazed eyes find yours in the darkness that almost hides you completely. Her fingers brush aside the straying locks of hair hanging over your face. 

  “The best I’ve ever felt.”

  “You’re gonna feel like that for quite a while,” you say. Chuckling, you steal a quick kiss from her, rolling over until she lays on top of you, hands holding her hips to you; your knot strict in its place inside her pussy.

  “So once the knot goes down, I’m thinking we could try…”

—

The next morning would have been peaceful. Should have been peaceful. It was your fucking honeymoon after all. However, your phone interrupts the moment at the brink of dawn, the sun painting the sky with vivid pinks, purples and a colourful bow of deep orange. 

  You groan, hand fumbling aimlessly on the nightstand for the irritating noise. Finding the device, you clench it on your iron grip and raise the voice on the other end to your ear with a less than pleased huff.

  “The fuck you want?” 

  By your side, Wanda stirs. Her eyes peek open, the bare minimum of the sunlight gracing her angelic face, still showering her with comforting darkness, your arm that’s around her assuringly pulls her to your side, herskin melting under the contact with yours. 

 “Boss,” Sam says with relief, “I know it’s—”

  You growl deeply into the speaker, “My honeymoon. So this better be good.”

@alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz

[vanillawurld]

༊*·˚How To Disappear

✧.* Pair - Johnny Cage x Fem! Reader

✧.* Tags & Warnings - Cursing, angst, pregnancy, acceptance, distance, love, slight fluff(?)

✧.* Summary - Y/N remembers the life she had with Johnny. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the beauty. After a while of being a young single mother, she finally realizes that in order to move on, she needs to accept her past.

✧.* Extra - FINISH ME JOHNNY also I'm bad at summaries... also "D/N" means daughters name :3

✧.* Word Count - 1,884

Y/N hated reminiscing on her past with Johnny cause if she thought about the good things that happened, she also had to think about the bad things. She hated thinking about the ugly part of their relationship. Every time he was upset with her, she felt like she failed him as a girlfriend and a person in general. Every time she was upset with him, he felt like the shittiest man on earth. Their arguments didn't make things any better.

But even through all the tears, anger, and arguments, Y/N loved Jonathan more than anything in the world. Johnny Cage was just his persona that all of Hollywood knew, but in her arms, he was just Jonathan Carlton. He had no issue with it either. People described Johnny as a sarcastic actor who wanted all of the attention on him, but not in Y/N's eyes. In her eyes, Jonathan was a loving man who was nothing like what the people said.

Y/N still remembers the night they met. They met on Venice Blvd on a summer night which was lit up by the cars passing by and the street lights. Y/N wasn't at her best when they met. She felt like everyone was out to get her and life was treating her unfairly. She couldn't help but cry at the fact that her life was going downhill. Johnny saw her sitting on the sidewalk and felt like he needed to do somethin in order to cheer her up, or get to the bottom of why she was so upset.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" Y/N heard a deep voice ask her. Y/N looked over her shoulder and saw a handsome man that she recognized.

"Oh... I know you. You're Johnny Cage," she smiled a bit "My little brother loves your movies." Johnny smiled at the recognition, but he ignored his pride and ego to make sure the woman in front of him was okay.

"Are you okay?" he gently asked her.

"Oh, I'm fine. Thank you." She said while wiping a tear away, but she wasn't fine and Johnny knew this.

"Well, if you were fine, you wouldn't be sitting alone on the sidewalk, crying at night," he sat next to her and took a good look at her face. She was gorgeous. Johnny was taken aback by how stunning she was. Even though her face was full of tears, slightly puffy lips, and she was feeling very vulnerable, she still looked like an angel according to Johnny. "Come on pretty lady," he commented "hit me. What's up?"

Y/N looked at him and realized that he actually wanted to listen to her. She looked down at the road in front of her and couldn't get her reasoning for feeling miserable. She managed to say one vowel before breaking down crying. Y/N was never good at expressing her bad emotions. Especially sadness. Before she can say anything while she's crying, her throat closes up and her mind just keeps telling her to cry.

Johnny furrowed his eyebrows, feeling concerned and bad for her. He gently guided her head on his shoulder and let her cry it out. It was the least he could do. He knew he couldn't force her to tell him what was wrong.

From that day forward, was a beautiful, blossoming relationship. Johnny would contact Y/N any way he could to get her to hang out with him and sometimes his friends. Y/N only liked hanging out with Johnny. She didn't like his friends. They were all so aggressive and she never understood why Johnny would hang out with people like them. Whenever Johnny and Y/N would hang out with his friends, she would watch them hit each other "playfully" and spew insults, while Johnny just watched and drank beers.

Throughout the whole relationship, Y/N was there for Johnny. No matter what he did, she was always there. When he would practice martial arts with someone, she was there to heal the wounds. When he was drunk after a party, she was there to help him sober up. When he was having any trouble, she was there for him. And that's one thing that Johnny always acknowledged.

Johnny admired how strong Y/N was. She was always there for him even if he managed to fuck up. He realized that Y/N was actually in love with him and not after his fame. For the first time in a good while, he had someone who was willing to be there for him. She wasn't like his ex who would point out his every flaw or his friends who would just mess around for the fun of it. She was a unique woman who managed to capture his heart.

Their relationship seemed perfect. Both Johnny and Y/N believed there was nothing in the world that would pull them apart! Which was what Y/N believed. When they hit their 3 year anniversary, that's when things started to go downhill. The more Johnny started to fuck up, the more tired Y/N was getting. She developed a bad habit of trying to make excuses for him. She hated it. She hated hearing him say "I'm sorry baby, I'll change for you." Every time he would say that, it was like nails to a chalkboard. Every time he would say that, she knew he was bullshitting. He never changed.

Y/N believed that his Johnny Cage persona was taking over. She didn't recognize her Jonathan Carlton. The same man who was there for her on Venice Blvd. He used to be so kind and welcoming to her. She never understood what happened to that man. Every time he would make her cry, she just wanted to disappear. From him, from herself, and from the world. Y/N believed that Johnny made her cry more than she cried when she was a kid. Every time he made her cry, she wondered what she did to deserve the treatment he was giving her.

'Is it me? Am I not pretty enough?'

'Is he talking to someone new?'

'Am I too possesive?'

'Is he tired of my jealousy?'

(Granted, Johnny never talked to any woman in any way. He never cheated on Y/N because he thought cheating were for weak and ugly people.)

Whenever Johnny found Y/N crying because of him, he would feel like complete shit. He hated making her feel that way, but he didn't understand why he kept unknowingly doing it.

When the relationship ended, it felt like both Y/N's and Johnny's world were crashing down. Johnny knew the day was gonna come, but he never knew when. He begged her to stay and try to remember all of the good times they had, but Y/N just wasn't having it. Johnny still remembers what she told him that made him realize it was all his fault.

"No, I'm done. For years I've been defending you not for the public, but for me. I would give myself multiple reasons not to be mad at you and try to figure out... everything, but all you did was make things worse! I'm tired and honestly, I've been tired. Of you, the fame, and everything. I tried to make things right with you and it seemed like you didn't want to."

What she told him on that day, will forever be engraved in his head. He lost the love of his life on that day.

Y/N didn't want to leave, but she had no choice. Even when she walked out those doors, she still loved him. Even though she was upset, she still wanted to run back into his arms for one last moment of comfort. But she held herself back, which she both hated and was proud of herself for.

What Y/N didn't know was when she was walking out of Johnny's life, she was entering a new one. She was pregnant with Johnny's baby and she didn't even know it, neither did he! When she did find out, part of her thought her life was ruined, but the other part thought this was a new start for her. She wanted to get rid of it but decided against doing so since she believed she would live to regret not taking advantage of the chance to become a mother.

When she had the baby, it was a living hell for her. She had family that helped her out, but the person that she needed was Johnny. She needed Johnny on her side, but she couldn't just show up on his doorstep randomly and give him the baby. She hated the fact that she still missed him. She let that hate consume her and pledged to do motherhood on her own without "that low-life Hollywood scum" in her life. Even though deep down, she knew she needed him back.

A few years forward, Y/N managed to get a beautiful home with her beautiful daughter and two adorable Siamese and Siberian cats. She was doing well in life. The new city she lived in was just as beautiful as Venice. She loved her life. She loved her daughter, she loved her cats, she loved her home, and she loved... her Johnny. Y/N accepted the fact that she will always love Johnny and in order to move on from her "hatred" she had to accept she had a life with him.

Every time she looked at her daughter, she saw a bit of Johnny in her. Which made her smile every time. From time to time, Y/N regrets the fact that she never tried to get in contact with Johnny to tell him about their daughter.

"Mommy, you got a letter!" D/N said. Her voice made Y/N snapped out of her thought bubble. She grabbed the letter and realized the handwriting on the envelope.

'No... is it really him?'

She grabbed a knife to open the envelope. Every second it took for her to open the letter, her heart began to pound harder. When she finally opened it, she felt like crying. It really was him.

'Dear Y/N, I know it's been years since we've even seen each other. A lot has changed since you've been gone. I went on this wild adventure that I'd love to tell you about someday. If you even want to meet up. The last time we spoke was a depressing day and I understand if there is still hard feelings there. Anyway, I got in contact with one of your cousins and they told me that you're now a mom! Congratulations! I asked about the father, but they wanted to keep that private which I understand. The only thing they told me was that he was out of your daughter's life. I hope you're doing well in life. If there is any trouble, don't be afraid to contact me (XXX-XXX-XXXX). There's so much that I want to discuss with you, but again if there are still hard feelings, I understand. I hope this letter reaches you. The last thing I want to tell you is that, no matter what happens, I will always be there for you.

Sincerely, Jonathan Carlton"

˖◛. *. ⋆ Vanilla Speaks

RUSHED ENDING WOMP WOMP

also I was too lazy to proof-read so, oops

im back i think... idk i'll write if i feel like it tbh

[natt-writes]

~5 Writing tips that actually help~

(These tips are meant for fiction books, especially fantasy. so if you’re writing nonfiction a decent amount of these won’t apply to you. Sorry!)

Find your writing voice.

one of the biggest issues I find in things written by beginners is a lack of emotional connection with the narration. Sure the story can be great, but without personality, without looks into the characters minds, without little quips here and there, it really isn’t all that interesting. Something that really helped me to realize this was a book called the tragical tale of birdie bloom. It’s a kids book but it honestly has such a good narrator (and storyline tbh) that you can look past the little kiddy-ness. I recommend you check the book out if you’re looking for some inspiration. I will be making a post about how to develop your writing and character voices soon so if you want some extra help with that, stay tuned!

2. Get to know your characters.

I know that you all probably already know this, but characters are one of, if not the most important part of a book. Readers don’t want to read about a flat, boring character who just feels like a vessel for the horrifying amount of trauma you add to your story. They want to read about people that feel real, people with flaws and feelings and hobbies and backstories. When I wanted to develop my characters I started going through the drafts, the plot outlines, everything and seeing what the characters did, said, felt. Then I took their basic backstory and started lining things up. Like if a character decided to get into a fight with another character, I would see what had happened to them that might have caused this. Maybe they had been abused as a child and thought that any disagreement meant they had to fight for their life. Maybe this person reminded them of a former enemy. After you start to figure out what connects the characters to the big plot points, you can then start to develop subtle things. You could start writing something, realize this situation would have triggered a character, and then drop subtle hints towards them feeling uncomfortable. Go nuts with it, after all you can never over-analyze a character.

3. Describe things uniquely.

Descriptions are what help us to understand what’s going on in a scene. They can tell us about the tasty drink a character is enjoying, the slick dress that someone is wearing or the way a characters muscles tense when a certain someone enters the room. But sometimes descriptions a fall a bit flat and that can ruin the experience for the reader. Something I always try to remember is to try and come up with new words describe something, for example; “her eyes were a beautiful shade of brown.” Is a very basic and over used description, instead you could try; “her eyes sparkled as she sat across from me, gleaming a rich chocolate shade as the light from the candles reflected off of them”. This is a much stronger sentence as it gives both environment hits and a description of the eyes, all while staying away from overused terms. I often see this theme in stories written by beginners, things being described in a very straight forward manner. And of course this is ok once in a while, especially if this isn’t a very important topic, but it still sounds better when you branch away from that basic sentence structure. I always like to use descriptive sentences to push things forward. Here is another example; “she was wearing a fluffy green dress with lots of lace. She walked over to the door and opened it.” Vs “the lacy trim of her green dress dragged on the floor as she walked towards the door. She smiled wide as she held it open, inviting her guests into the building.” Making strong sentences is very important, so please toy around with different words, structures, etc, until the sentence fits the type of book you’re trying to write.

4. Make trauma realistic.

Yes, even if you’re writing a fantasy book, characters experiences have to be realistic. Something that always gets on my nerves is when writers come up with a good idea for some trauma, so they just give to a character, even when it doesn’t suit them at all. if you are going to give a character trauma you need to explain it, set it up so it actually fits into their character arc, then have the character actually be affected by it. They can’t just randomly be like “I got shot by a dude.” And that’s it if there is no way that character could have gotten shot given their life experiences. Also if you want a character to be relatively unaffected after an extremely traumatic event you have to plan it out so that they have a specific and consistent trauma response that makes them not react shortly after an event like that. Characters are supposed to be like people, and no two people react to trauma the same way, so you do have some leeway if necessary, but people also don’t just stay the same after something horrible happens, they are affected by it and that has to be accurately portrayed. This does get easier the more you get to know the characters though, as soon you will know how they react to things and how to plan trauma that suits them.

5. Make a plot outline.

I cannot stress this enough, make a plot outline. Making a plot outline literally saved my book, and they are really easy to make! I recommend you download a spreadsheet app like XL spreadsheets or Apple numbers but you could even use google docs if you want. You want to put in all the chapters and then give each chapter at least six spots to write scenes. Add a spot for adding the main event of the chapter/a summery of what you have to write. This will help you to understand what you have to write for that chapter and how it fits into the next chapter. After that you start to fill all the scene boxes in with your plot information. Having a plot outline is great as it can be super vague and messy, but still hold all your ideas. It also helps to prevent unnecessary rewrites later, as you can just edit the plot outline before you start writing the first draft. You can even make a plot outline after you’ve started writing your book. That’s what I did and I promise, it still is very helpful. (Example of a plot outline below.)

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.3 (Daffodil) a2d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 3,060

Notes: Happy very late birthday to my dearest moot @thatgirlangelb! Thank you for always letting me babble away in your DMs <3 You give me so much motivation to write whenever we talk, I swear over half of BFP wouldn't be written without you. You're a magical and special human being and I hope life treats you so incredibly well <<<333

This chapter is on the shorter side, but it's longer than I was expecting it to be? That seems to be the trend for SG lmao. This one actually came out pretty smoothly and there weren't as many small edits as usual. Ofc I say that and then I'll come back in 4-8 business days and absolutely abhor it lmao. I tried to make it pretty obvious who Reader encountered in this chapter before the little reveal, but y'all'll have to lmk how I did. I tried to do it with actions instead of descriptions bc I'm rlly bad at describing body shapes.

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader, allusions to past domestic violence?

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)

Taylor spends all of the next morning bugging you about your soulmates.

It’s mostly friendly teasing, you know. A fanboy excited that you’re connected to his idols and a friend who wants you to feel more at ease in a difficult time.

It’s still annoying as hell.

Over breakfast, “Listen, I know men ain’t shit, but these ones have benefits! For me. Maybe give them a chance?”

While you brushed your teeth, “I’m all for independence! Feminism and all that. But they’ve got crazy money.”

Through the door while you were getting dressed, “They’re dancers! I’ve never met a dancer who didn’t know how to use their hips.”

Even as you were walking out the door for work, “They produce their own music, they might even write songs for you!”

You finally turn around to face him, the lucky bastard still in his pajamas since he was smart enough to get the day after the concert off from work. You place your hands on your hips and cock your head to stare him down.

Immediately he starts to stumble and sweat, your quirked eyebrow a hint to your waning patience.

“I-I just- I mean- I was just sayin’-”

You roll your eyes at him and quickly slug him in the shoulder. Ignoring his yelp of pain, you relieve him of his stuttering misery.

“Listen, I know you’re excited because I’m your Idol’s soulmate and whatnot, but I don’t even know them.” You chide him. “Besides, only Bangchan is for sure my soulmate right now. For all we know the other seven are completely unrelated.”

Taylor just gives you a flat look for that. Neither of you believed in coincidences very much, and you knew as well as he did who your remaining soulmates were.

“But you could know them,” Taylor counters, “Soulmates are a lifetime kinda thing.”

“Exactly why I don’t want to meet them right now!” You nod as if to agree with your own point, “We said we’d let fate do it’s thing and we’re gonna let it.”

Taylor opens his mouth to start bargaining with you again, so you cut him off before he could annoy you too much.

You and Taylor didn’t fight much. You’d quickly learned each other’s limits way back when you'd first moved in. Unfortunately for him, you'd woken up with a migraine this morning because of everything that had happened the night before.

He was lucky he still had a head.

“And anyway, what would I even do? Track down their hotel? Chase down their plane? Email JYPE? I’m sure they have fans claiming to be their soulmates all the time. Bangchan didn’t even seem to notice the bond forming, they’d probably file a restraining order.”

Taylor finally deflates at your argument. He’d know even better than you what kind of environment surrounded celebrities and their soulmates.

“I’m just saying,” He whines, “that you don’t have to run from them when you meet them.”

You feel your ears burn with embarrassment at the reminder of how you’d panicked last night.

After you’d dropped the Bangchan bomb on him and closed your door to get to bed, Taylor had thrown it right the way back open to interrogate you. You’d spent another hour explaining the whole harrowing tale before he’d finally let you go to bed.

It was a good thing your hours were as flexible as they were, you’d have been waking up seconds after you’d gone to sleep otherwise.

“I wasn’t gonna run!” You mutter petulantly. Taylor just raises a brow at you. You’re getting tired of how communicative his face is.

“I wasn’t!”

“If you run,” he smirks at you, eyes glinting meanly, “You owe me twenty bucks. If you don’t, I’ll owe you.”

You pout and protest, but end up shaking the devil’s hand anyways. Letting fate do it’s thing included not fleeing when you were confronted by it’s design.

You leave the house a grumpy mess, Taylor seeing you off with a blinding smile.

The rest of your day goes about as swimmingly as the start of it.

You’re already grumpy, irritated, and hurting. Your soul mark prickles at your side every now and again, as if annoyed at you for ignoring it.

You hope Bangchan isn’t experiencing the same thing, the poor guy deals with enough.

Work goes as smoothly as you always expect it to, which is not at all. There’s always some emergency to deal with, another fire to put out. Always started by someone higher than you on the corporate ladder so you can’t even yell at them.

The relief you feel when your lunch break rolls around could power a city.

You leave the building with haste, avoiding all of your coworkers as you went. It’d be a tragedy to be flagged down with more work at this exact moment.

You make your way out to mix with the crowds of L.A, letting the flow of people carry you to your destination a few blocks away: A quaint little coffee shop at the mouth of an alley.

It's quite possibly your favorite spot in the whole city. Decked out with a jungle of plants, walls crowded with framed art from a variety of local artists. The lighting was always warm and natural, large windows at the front making the tiny space feel so much larger than it was. You could even buy the pieces on display if you wanted, prices carefully stuck onto the frames.

Your point being, the vibes were immaculate.

You also swear they put something extra in their coffee. No other place carries you through your day in the same way.

When you enter your little midday safe-space, greeted by the charming bell above the door, you’re faced with a busier interior than you’re used to.

Usually at this time of day you can march right up to the counter to chat with the barista while they make whatever caffeinated atrocity your brain cooks up that day. Today, though, it seems like half the city’s population has decided to give your little spot a go.

You’d normally be happy for them. More business; more money and all that. But today the low din of chatter filling the air just scrapes across your brain like a rusted spoon. Your headache from this morning had only gotten worse throughout the day, and you wished you could just call it quits and go home.

Unfortunately for you, you have bills to pay and only so long of a lunch break. The walk here ate up enough of it for you to suck it up and join the line.

When you join the que you’re basically halfway out the door, practically plastered to the back of the man in front of you. He doesn't seem to pay you any mind, yapping away on his phone in quiet Korean.

You study the back of your new line neighbor with bored interest. Your eyes trace the slopes of his shoulders, drifting down to his waist, before moving back up to gaze at the back of his beanie’d head. You notice the straps of a mask around his ears and wonder how the person on the phone can hear him with his voice so muffled and low.

Apparently the person on the phone can’t hear him very well, because soon he’s raising his voice a bit more. It has you wondering if his tone is just naturally that soft, or if he’s just conscious of the space he’s in.

Soon enough you’re two people closer to the counter, halfway into the coffee shop now, and your line buddy has entered into a full blown argument with whoever he has on the phone.

He’s speaking way too quickly for your barely conversational Korean to keep up with- not that you’re trying very hard to- but you can guess from the keywords “Jagiya”, “Soulmate”, and “coffee” that it’s the usual lover’s quarrel.

From the sounds of it, it was a very “We’ve already talked about this” sort of conversation as well. Poor guy. You hope his soulmate and lover get cool with each other soon.

The conversation goes on as the two of you inch closer to the counter. You’re fully invested in the drama at this point, absorbing what little bits you can to rehash with Taylor later. Your own mini soap-opera.

After a bit more back and forth with what you assume is his partner, he begins resorting to some very creative threats to express his displeasure.

You wonder if this guy might be a bit too comfortable speaking a foreign language around English speakers, because if he didn’t sound so damn fond while he was doing it you might’ve needed to tip the police off to a potential murder. Via tissue, if your line neighbor had anything to say about it.

That sends you down a path of your own creative murder options, wondering what sort of other common items your murderous que friend might use. Stabbing their partner through with a straw, maybe? Perhaps a fork, if the straw proved too flimsy.

You can’t see his face from where you’re stood, but you’d bet it’s the face of someone who stabs. Just one of those “don’t mess with me, I can and will put whatever I’m holding through your nearest body part” type of looks. You can feel it in your bones.

You're shaken from your revery as the line moves forward and the potential murderer snaps at his phone for his partner (presumably) to put a "Lixu-yah" on the line. This sparks another argument, and though you can only hear one side of it, it seems that the desired "Lix" is unavailable. Bummer for stabby-guy.

You might be entertaining yourself too much with a stranger's conversation. You can’t feel too guilty about it though, this is the best mood you’ve been in all day. You’d entirely forgotten about your headache there for a minute. Laughter really does heal all ills, you suppose.

It's a bit of a relief when it becomes Stabby's turn and he hangs up with a grumbled declaration of love. If they were fine enough to say their 'love you's then they’d probably make it through whatever soulmate-related rough patch they were going through. You silently wish them luck.

When your stabby friend (who doesn’t know he’s your friend, but you’re endeared now) steps up to the counter it becomes very clear why he’d asked for a particular person to be handed the phone. You assume this “Lix” must have been an English-speaking friend of his, his own halting English giving him trouble with placing what seems to be a behemoth of an order.

He manages the first part of his order alright, a whopping five drinks already, when he finally reaches the limit of his English vocabulary and begins trying to describe what you think might be a shaken caramel macchiato with some extra bits.

He and the barista go back and forth for several moments, a mix of pantomiming, alternative words, and guesses from the poor flustered barista. You watch him grow more and more frustrated, though he remains very soft spoken and polite about it.

Finally, after another moment of watching them struggle, you can't take it anymore.

You gently tap the stranger on the shoulder, earning a startled little jump. He turns to you with weary eyes and you confirm that there’s a mask covering the lower half of his face. With his beanie pulled low over his eyes, you wouldn't have been able to even tell the color if you hadn't been just that bit shorter than him.

As it is, you get lost in deep pools of brown for a moment before you manage to collect yourself.

"Hi," You chirp in Korean, "Do you need help?"

The man seems to war with himself for a moment, clearly stuck between stranger danger and relief at hearing his native language. After a long moment he accepts your offer.

"Yes, please." He gestures back to the counter where the barista is also clearly relieved by your intervention. "I have a large group and they enjoy making my life difficult."

"No problem," You assure him, "where were you at in your order?"

He takes a moment to check a note app on his phone and begins to slowly relay the final 3 drinks in his 8-drink order. It takes some time, even with you translating, but the energy is a lot less frantic.

He's finally able to pay and you catch him give the name 'Lee' for the order. You wonder if it's his first or last name.

He thanks you for your help as he moves off to the side, and you just give him a small smile and a nod in return. You quickly order your own drink, waving off the barista when she also thanks you. This place was haven enough for you to owe them six times over, anyway.

You and Stabby Lee end up waiting next to each other by the pick-up counter. You feel a bit awkward, having entertained yourself with his private conversation, and end up idly rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet with nerves.

He must have realized you’d heard his entire conversation, right? You hoped not. As fun as it had been, you really hadn't meant to invade his privacy.

Besides, the only serious thing you’d heard was the soulmate thing! You defend yourself in your own thoughts, pursing your lips and nodding your head to your invisible argument. The rest of the argument had seemed to be about a vacation plan. The threats didn’t start until someone said “Zipline”.

You thought that was kinda valid. Heights weren't for everyone.

His name is called before yours, but just for one of the simpler drinks from his massive order. He takes a simple iced americano over to the table with the creams and sugars and begins to doctor it to his liking. Your name is called shortly after and you take your red-eye over to do the same.

The two of you quietly shake and stir your drinks for a moment before he speaks.

"Thank you again for your help," he says, "I really do appreciate it."

You're kind of enchanted by the softness of his voice, now that's directed at you. You’re becoming convinced that this really is just his usual tone. He's speaking normally, but you honestly feel like he's murmuring directly into your ear. He could be a hypnotist or something. An ASMR person, at least.

You wave away his gratirude as you pour unholy amounts of creamer into your drink. "No worries!" You dismiss, "I should be thanking you for the chance to practice my Korean."

"Your Korean is very good." He compliments quickly. You laugh a bit and shake you head.

"I doubt it's that good, I'm really put of practice. It's been a while."

"No, your pronunciation is great." He flashes you a bit of an eye smile to show his sincerity and you find yourself even more charmed by a perfect stranger.

You chuckle bashfully as he finishes up his drink, turning to lean against the table so you can continue to talk. You can't help the way your eyes are drawn to the way he moves, enchanted by the simple action.

"I'll make sure to brag about it everywhere." You assure him, earning yourself another eye smile and a soft chuckle.

Good heavens, you think you might be halfway in love.

"Please do."

Scratch that, you might be all the way in love.

You do your best to contain your smile and push down the blush on your cheeks. You don't think it works, if his amused gaze is anything to go by. It’s not your fault this random guy has rizz for days!

"Well, I gotta scoot." You finish turning your drink a pale tan and shoot him your best 'excusing myself from an ended conversation' smile. You're kind of sad you probably won't run into him again after this.

"I wish you good luck getting that monster order to wherever you're going." You say, shooting the pick up counter with it's growing mountain of beverages an amused look.

He huffs another little laugh and you swear your heart skips a beat. "Thanks, you take care." he offers you a tip of his cup and you tip yours right back.

You do your best to scootch past him in the tight space between the tables and the little counter, but don't quite manage not to bump him on your way. Your elbow meets his forearm and you apologize as you wiggle through.

You're already two steps out the door when the pain of flowers blooming across your right side registers in your brain.

Your face scrunches up and you let out a hiss of pain, the hand not holding your coffee automatically going down to press down where it hurts. Your eyes naturally follow it, and when you finally process what just happened your head snaps back up to the glass door. It's still swinging shut.

You meet eyes with your second soulmate behind the glass, his gaze just as wide and startled as yours.

For a moment, you’re lost again in the depths of his stare.

For a moment, you can almost smell something sweet and floral.

For a moment, you feel peace wash over you.

And then sunlight bounces off the swinging glass, breaking eye contact between the two of you. Spell broken, your soulmate moves, takes just a single step toward the door, and memories of shattered glass and echoing yells ricochet across your brain with all the power of a rocket engine.

You turn tail and book it.

By the time Minho exits the coffee shop, drink abandoned on the counter, you're already lost in the mid-day crowd. A glimpse of your bright blue sweater is the last thing he sees of you before you're gone.

He reaches behind himself to gingerly rub the sore parts of his back and pulls his phone from his pocket.

When you get home that evening, you slam a twenty down on the counter in front of Taylor and storm off to your room without a word.

Perma Tag list: @mbioooo0000

[chimcess]

Waterlog || pjm (2)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 11.5k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: PINING, sexual tension, sad backstory, parental issues, more than likely bad swimming terminology, probably some bad work out advice, i'm trying my best lol, tae is too much but i love him, talks of past drug use (not reader or jimin), strong language, mental health things, medication use, allusions to depression, did i say pining?, reader is horny and awkward 99% of the time, can we blame her?, mood swings, i think they are so cute together, i promise more romance is coming soon A/N: Howdy. I know we're having a pretty slow start, but I think it'll be worth it in the end. I enjoy a good slow burn, especially when there's so much awkward sexual tension involved. Thanks for reading!!!

prev || masterlist || next || playlist

Waking up the next morning, I was greeted by a loud knocking on my door. Stumbling, I told whoever it was that I was on my way. The knocking stopped but was quickly followed by Violet’s loud voice. My things were here, and I needed to let the movers inside.

“Christian and Kook are here already,” She added. “Managed to get an extra pair of hands, too.”

I changed into a pair of jeans and threw on a pull over. It was not supposed to be as cold today, but I did not think a short-sleeved shirt would be enough to keep me warm. Sliding into my boots, I opened the front door.

Violet was there, her hair in a braid again, wearing a blue plaid shirt and bootcut jeans. Beside her was Jimin, a large smile already on his face. Two other men were here. I was certain I had seen one of them before. He was very handsome with a heart shaped face and soft chin, large, asymmetrical brown eyes, and downturned lips. His hair was very obviously dyed, the blue so bright when the sun hit it my eyes hurt.

The other man was less familiar. His hair was black, styled into a trendy wolf cut, with his bangs pulled out of his face into a ponytail. He had a pure, youthful, and elegant look about him, and a few piercings. There was one on his eyebrow, one on his bottom lip, and so many on each ear I could not count them all. If I could describe him in a single word, it would be cartoonish. His eyes took up most of his face, large and doe-like, with all of his other features soft and small. Like the blue haired man, he was very handsome.

This upset me more than it should have, because despite how wonderful they both looked, all I could think about was how much I preferred Jimin. It was incomparable, actually. While they were certainly my type, I could only see how not Jimin-like their features were.

“Good morning,” I greeted them awkwardly, my voice scratchy. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you both.”

“It’s such an honor to meet you,” The blue haired man’s enthusiasm caught me off guard. Despite me never making the move to shake either one of their hands, he reached for mine anyway. He reminded me of a labrador retriever, and I could imagine a tail wagging in time with his vigorous handshake. “I’m Taehyung Kim. I used to watch you, like, all the time back in the day.”

I knew that name. Studying his face a little more, it hit me. Taehyung Kim, a.k.a., The Seal of Michigan, a.k.a, V. I never understood why he had been given that last one, but it must have some sort of meaning to him because the guy lights up when anyone uses it. He was a famous snowboarder and had been to the 2020 winter Olympics. He was just a few months younger than Jimin.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” I gripped his hand back a bit more now. “I watched you at the last Olympics. You did great.”

He blushed and let go of my hand, “I didn’t win anything, but I had a lot of fun.”

That was true. The kid was brand new on the scene and let some of his nerves get to him. I had learned the hard way that hesitation could ruin a great performance, but I was sure he would do better in January. The Winter Olympics were always a few months ahead of summer, and I would surely be watching Taehyung this year. If I was going to spend time with Jimin then I would need to get along with his friends.

“It’s not always about winning,” I tried to comfort him. “I didn’t win every time either.”

That placated him. Jimin quickly introduced me to Jungkook after. He was an NHL player for the Red Wings. I admitted that I had no idea who he was and never really watched hockey before, but that only made Jungkook swear to make me an avid fan before I left Michigan. For some reason, I believed him.

It did not take long for the movers to get all of my furniture and boxes into the house. With the boys’ help, I was tipping the two men much earlier than I anticipated. All three of them insisted on helping me unpack despite me telling them I could do it on my own. The place was entirely too small for the four of us, but we managed to make it work.

I had told them my bedroom was off limits. I unpacked my clothes and put my underwear away. My room was the largest in the house. With enough space for my full-sized bed, nightstands, and dresser, I was pleased. The only downside was not having a closet, but I did not bring anything nice enough for it to really matter. It was inconvenient but not the end of the world.

I was, however, happy to see more color. My blanket was dark orange, pillowcases covered in baby pink cow print, and the otter plushie Namjoon’s mom made me was resting right in between them. I installed some simple shelving above my bed, warmly lit Christmas lights wrapped around the bars, where I displayed my books and a few of my plants. The rest were lined up on the windowsill beside the bed.

Brightly colored art now hung on the walls, a large mirror above my dresser, and a peg board for my earrings made the space feel lived in. Whatever books could not fit on my shelves got stacked and put on the nightstand. I still wanted to buy a rug and curtains, but that was on the bottom of my list of priorities.

The boys were all talking and laughing as they worked which helped me relax. I hated being trapped in quiet spaces. Finished with my room, I went to check in with them and move things around. I doubted any of them would get the knick-knacks just right.

“Don’t worry about the decorations,” I said, announcing my presence. Taehyung was staring at two of my paintings with mild panic. “I’ll take that.”

Snatching the photos, I smiled at him. The living room was coming together nicely. Jungkook pushed the dark green loveseat against the wall and all of my throws were on top of it. My largest potted plant was beside it and I decided then I would keep it there. Moving the throw pillows to the floor, I started to put my wall art up. Hoseok complained that I was going to become a hoarder if I bought any more shit. Andrea, however, said that I had great taste, so I listened to her instead.

“You’re a big face of Earthy colors,” Jungkook said, looking around the house. “Lots of plants, too.”

I shrugged, “My fiancé had a lot of succulents and stuff, so I guess it rubbed off on me after a while.”

In truth, Namjoon not only had succulents and cacti, but an entire apartment filled with plants. He had a small garden in the back, vegetables and herbs growing in despite the weather in Colorado making it difficult. The man had a green thumb and loved taking care of things. I had been in charge of them once we moved in together and learned to love it. Even after he died, I couldn’t imagine not having at least five plants in the house.

I noticed the room had gone eerily quiet. I realized then what I had said. It was the first time I had spoken about Namjoon with any of them. Knowing I had made the atmosphere awkward, I tried to break up the tension.

“What colors do you like, Jungkook?”

I could physically feel the mood lighten.

“Black,” His reply was quick. I groaned. He laughed. “What? I like the clean look.”

“It’s not clean,” I argued. “It’s depressing.”

Taehyung took my side, “My house isn’t as decorated as yours, but I have more going on than either one of them. I’m a huge fan of video games and photography so I have a lot of stuff hanging up.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Jimin chimed in from the bathroom. He placed himself in charge of getting that room squared away. “His place isn’t as nice as yours. It’s all cluttered and disorganized."

“Nu uh,” Taehyung argued childishly.

“Dude, you have stuff everywhere,” Jungkook shot back, handing me another picture frame.

“They’re lying,” Taehyung told me.

“You’re so full of shit, Tae,” Jungkook sighed.

“Literally the dumbest thing to lie about,” Jimin snarkily threw in from the bathroom.

“Bullies,” Taehyung was addressing me again and this time I could not help my chuckles. “They always gang up on me.”

As the boys continued to bicker, I worked. I finished hanging up the art above the sofa and got to organizing the throws. Taehyung had already pulled out my rug, and I started figuring out how I wanted to place all of the floor pillows. Namjoon never used the couch, no one in his family did, and I had become so conscious of their comfort that I always had a large array of pillows on the floor for them to use. After a few years, I had joined them, and I kept up the trend once I moved to the Springs. The sofa was little more than decoration.

“Damn, these are nice.”

Looking over my shoulder, I was surprised to see Jungkook holding up one of my medals. I was positive I had not packed it and the box he was hunched over was completely unfamiliar as well. Embarrassment and anger swelled up in my chest. I had placed Minho and Tilly in charge of coordinating with the movers so I could focus on work and training Hoseok before I left. If I had to guess, Tilly had thought it wise to ship over a large package of my most prized possessions for some God forsaken reason.

“I don’t know why those are here,” I hoped my voice sounded playful and carefree. I did not want another tense moment. “One of my friends must have packed them.”

“Holy shit,” Taehyung was now holding the medal. “These are heavy. You have so many.”

Walking over to the box, I took out the rest of the medals. Tilly had only packed four of the eight Olympic medals I owned, probably running out of room. Framed photos of me swimming, with the rest of my team, and my coach were also in the box. My swimsuit from the last Olympics I competed at was folded at the very bottom of the box, my goggles and cap wrapped up in the fabric, and underneath it was something I had not been expecting. A framed photograph.

I remembered that night as if it were yesterday. I was eighteen coming off the back of two major wins and making my mark in the athletic community. I had just moved to Denver; Victor had gotten divorced the year prior and his ex-wife moved to Colorful Colorado taking his daughter with her. My coach demanded he was close enough to see her every weekend. It really did not matter to me where I lived, so it was one of the easier decisions I had to make.

I knew Hoseok lived in the area, and we had always been friendly at the meets we had in common. I ended up getting his number from Ozzie and after getting coffee I knew we would be friends for life. The picture was taken at his New Year’s Eve Party. I needed to get laid, he had said, and he knew a few guys he thought I might hit it off with. That was where I met Namjoon.

He was a college student, fresh faced and stumbling over his words. I was charmed by him almost instantly, even if Hoseok was positive the two of us were too different to last. I could recall the smell of fireworks in the air, the way his voice cracked whenever another one would go off, and how excited his eyes looked whenever I asked him about his major. Namjoon spoke for hours about Philosophy, all of his favorite poets, and the way he believed the universe worked. He was so clumsy it was practically a disability, and the loud sounds were so nerve wracking, he flinched whenever the fireworks boomed.

Picking up the small picture, I smiled. It was taken right after midnight. Hoseok’s sister said we looked so sweet that she could not help herself. I had all but ripped Namjoon’s hair out when the countdown began, kissing him before midnight ever came. His hands rested gently on my hips, and he huffed like he had run a marathon when we finally pulled apart. His breath was hot when he went back in for more, panting into my mouth as I clung to him like an addict. It was a beautiful moment. It was a moment I would never forget.

Suddenly, I was no longer mad at Matilda. I was sure it had been her who did this. Minho would not go through so much trouble if he thought it would upset me. Either way, I was happy to have the picture. While I was no longer in love with Namjoon, my heart slowly healing itself and making space for someone new, I would never forget our time together. It was too perfect, too magical; too loving to forget.

“Is that him?” Taehyung asked. The way he said it told me that he knew what had happened. I doubted there was a person in our world who didn't know. “The guy who died?”

I nodded, “His name was Namjoon.”

“Damn, that’s rough,” Jungkook’s voice was very gentle, and I could hear the compassion in it. “Sorry to hear that. Hope you’re doing okay.”

I smiled at him and nodded, “It was a few years ago.”

Taehyung was the one who broke the moment this time and I was grateful for the reprieve.

“These aren’t all of them, right?” He pointed at the medals still in the box. "Olympic medals, I mean."

I shook my head, “No but I guess she just grabbed the ones I had at my house. The other four I keep at my school. They’re in a case in my office.”

The ones Tilly had packed away were from 2012. Andrea had been the one to convince me to bring my other medals to school. Before that I had them all stored in a box in the deepest corner of my basement. I hated looking at them. Hated everything that they represented. The only reason these had been hanging up was because I could not be bothered taking them down.

“Where should we put them?” Jungkook asked.

I shrugged, “No idea. Just keep them in the box for now.”

Truthfully, I had no intention of putting them anywhere. While happy to have the photo of Namjoon and I, my feelings on dragging these things around had not changed. I would be very upset if I lost or damaged any of this stuff. Putting everything away, save the picture, I closed the box back up and placed the photo on my coffee table. I would find a better place for it later.

Like all of the times I had been around him, Jimin bled into the background. I listened for his voice, waited for him to add something to the conversation, but he kept to himself. Even when he left the bathroom and joined the three of us, he only answered in one-word sentences and made sound effects to show he was listening. Taehyung and Jungkook seemed used to it, so I had to believe this was just how Jimin normally was.

“You should come and grab some drinks with us,” Jungkook smiled at me.

The boys were going out for a late lunch since we finished a little later than we had thought we would. I was appreciative that they had invited me out but declined the offer. All of them were disappointed.

“Why not?” Taehyung wiggled a large set of keys at me. I could not imagine what all of them could be for and the sound they made when they moved bothered me. “You worried the food’s going to suck or something?”

I shook my head, laughing, “No, it’s nothing like that. I just don’t feel comfortable going to a bar.”

Jimin smiled at me, a small, tight-lipped smile, and I almost laughed at myself when I realized I was holding my breath. I was being ridiculous. I would call Hoseok tonight to get my head screwed back on.

“It’s not a bar,” It was heavenly to hear his voice again. “Taehyung and I don’t drink. Jungkook just likes to sit at the bar so he can watch the games.”

“Oh,” I replied dumbly. “I guess I can come along then.”

Jimin offered to give me a ride while Jungkook and Taehyung rode in the hockey player's beat up Jeep. He was just as quiet on the ride to the restaurant as he was back at the house, and while I wanted to break him out of whatever shell he had put around himself, I had no idea how. We were supposed to work together and barely spoke. Ozzie was not going to be happy about this.

“What time are we getting your car?”

I jumped, not prepared for the question. His eyes were still on the road, and it looked like he was forcing himself to not look my way. It hurt my feelings, but I knew I would have to get over it. Whatever his problem was, it had nothing to do with me and I would not let it get in between our working relationship.

“Whenever you want to go,” I replied, going back to looking out of the window.

“We’ll pick it up after we eat. My mom invited you over for dinner. by the way. If you're up for it.”

This had been the most he had said all day, but his voice was off. It was embarrassing how quickly I had become attuned to his little mannerisms, but I was so sure that something was wrong with him it was eerie. His tone was flat and disinterested, and I knew I had done nothing to upset him. Something was obviously bothering him, and I would have to silently support him in my own way. I was not comfortable being more upfront and something told me that Jimin would not like my overstepping.

“I might,” I purposely kept my tone light, hoping he did not realize I could see the darkness in his eyes. Looking at him, I asked, “What is she making?”

“Beef and radish stew,” The mundane topic seemed to ease his frown. “She got a yellow corvina from the Asian market yesterday so she’s going to roast it. Do you like fish?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “It sounds nice. I’ll go.”

A ghost of a smile graced his pretty face and I felt like I had won the lottery. Carefully composed, I looked back out of the window, hiding my little smile behind my hand. He was quiet again, the only sounds in the car being our breathing, but it felt lighter. Finally, I let myself admire the scenery.

Taehyung and Jungkook were already at the bar when we arrived and as soon as we sat down, the snowboarder was quick to hog all of my attention. While Jungkook watched a baseball game on the big screens, Taehyung talked animatedly about his family. Jimin was quietly sipping on a Coke in the seat next to me. It was strange to see how easily his friends ignored him. Like they knew he did not feel like talking.

“My sisters are both in college,” Taehyung continued to ramble. “Twins. It was a nightmare being the baby brother.”

I nodded along and tried my best to keep up with him. I kept getting distracted by Jimin. He barely moved and seemed to be mindlessly watching the tv. He looked so sad it broke my heart. Still, no one else said anything so I kept my thoughts to myself.

“Oh!” Taehyung gasped, noticing a few people who walked in. “I’m going to go say ‘hi.’ It was so great meeting you.”

With a bright smile, Taehyung told the boys about the group and Jungkook decided to join him. Jimin did not even acknowledge he had said anything. Leaving us alone, the restaurant was loud and filled with their chattering.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, trying to make conversation. Picking up the menu the bartender had left with Taehyung when we first arrived, I gave it a quick once over. “We can split an appetizer.”

Jimin looked tired and sad, but I did not know what to say or do for him. We were not lovers, not even friends. We were a pair of strangers who were expected to work together. This seemed much easier over the phone. I took a nervous sip of my drink.

“What are you thinking?” Just the sound of him talking eased my anxiety.

“Uh,” I had barely looked at their menu and pointed to a random item. “Fried pickles?”

Jimin smiled lazily and looked at me, his eyes amused.

“You don’t sound very sure of yourself.”

I shrugged, embarrassed. “I just said the first thing I saw.”

Putting his cup down, Jimin grabbed the menu from my hands and laid it flat on the bar. We leaned over the small paper, our knees touching. I could smell his cologne now and my mouth watered. He smelled so good I struggled to focus.

“Most of the shit here is awful,” His voice had more life in it now and I was glad to see the corners of his mouth pulled up. “Only things worth getting are the chips and salsa, fried cheese, and pasties. The pizza is fine, too, but not worth the money.”

Talking distracted him from whatever had been on his mind, and it made Jungkook and Taehyung’s behavior odd. They were obviously very close, but if I could see how much happier he looked when he was shooting the shit, how couldn’t they? They probably knew something I didn’t, but it did nothing but rub me the wrong way. My friends would annoy me until I had no choice but to talk back.

“Chips are usually pretty safe,” We both agreed on it. “Do you just want chips? I don’t mind getting you a burger or something.”

He shook his head, “Like I said, most of the shit here is awful. Don’t waste your money.”

I ordered the chips for us, and the bartender was happy to help us out. This place was pathetically empty save us and the group Jungkook and Taehyung ditched us for. They were very loud and rowdy, something Jimin said was completely normal. Apparently, they all knew one another but he hadn’t felt like spending time with any of them.

“Are you feeling alright?” I asked, heart pounding. My anxiety over the question was ridiculous, but I felt like this was a good moment to ask. We were both comfortable and the tightness around his eyes was finally eased.

“Just one of those days,” He replied, voice soft.

I sighed, “I get them, too. They’re the fucking worst.”

He chuckled darkly, “It’s like you wake up and that’s already taken all of the energy you had for the day.”

“Why’d you come to the house?” I asked, flagging the bartender for a refill. “I wouldn’t have been upset if you bailed.”

Jimin flushed, “I said I was coming so I came.”

No, I thought, you thought I was going to be mad if you hadn’t shown up. Hamilton had this poor kid so fucked up and scared it pissed me off. As long as I knew Matt, he had always been an ass, but to think he had his trainee putting shit before his mental health and wellbeing made whatever sliver of respect I had for him vanish.

I took a long sip of my drink, “We can’t work together if you don’t talk to me. That will piss me off way more than you canceling on me.”

“Okay,” He let out a very large breath. “I’ll let you know next time.”

As we ate our chips, we moved into safer waters. Jimin was still less talkative in person, but nowhere near as tense as he had been all morning. I found that music was one of his favorite things, and I discussed my own interests in more depth and detail than I ever had before. Jimin’s taste was varied but stuck mostly in 90s R&B and soft Indie artists I had never heard of. At some point I ordered spicy wings and had to admit Jimin was right- they really were awful.

We left the other two behind to go and pick up my car. Jungkook and Taehyung seemed more than happy to watch us leave and the large table barely acknowledged my presence. Jimin accepted their happy shouts when he approached, hugging the ones who stood up to greet him, and forced one of his small, pitiful smiles at a particular brunette who kept batting her eyelashes at him. He introduced me but none of them seemed to really care. Especially the brunette.

“Let me get your number,” Taehyung said to me, holding out a hand for my phone. “We need to hang out again.”

I was nervous about giving him a way to contact me. He reminded me of Tilly, though ten times more energetic, and she always found a way to get on my nerves (the box being one of many examples). Taehyung had yet to overstep the imaginary boundaries I had, but his complete lack of personal space etiquette was astounding. He touched me more in one day than any of my friends in an entire year. He seemed like the type of person to text every day and send a million pictures of himself doing random shit. Even with that in mind, I handed my phone over. He was too nice to say no to.

“Do you like sushi?” Taehyung asked, handing me my phone. “There’s a great place in Detroit we can go to.”

The idea of being trapped in a car with the snowboarder for 45 minutes was not appealing. I could only imagine how much he could talk when he was really excited about something. I would entertain the idea if Jungkook or Jimin came as a buffer, especially if one of them could sit up front. Taehyung yapping away in my ear would give me the biggest migraine I had ever had, and my anxiety over not being entirely focused on the road would make me snippy and rude.

“Only if I can come,” Jungkook piped up. “You’re not going to Bash without me, dude.”

“Well yeah,” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Y/N has to meet Milo and Darcy,” He looked at me, grinning happily. “I think you would really get along.”

I had no idea who either of those people were, but I did not want to ask any questions. Jimin was inching back towards me and telling the others goodbye, and I did not want to hold him up. Taehyung started making plans that I did not pay any attention to. He could always text me when he figured out what he wanted.

“We have to get going,” Jimin was back beside me. “Y/N’s car is sitting at the dealership. It was good seeing everyone.”

I waved at the table and started walking away before Taehyung could touch me. He was definitely a hugger. Jimin was quick to catch up with me, giggling about my “escape.” It had started to snow again, gentle flurries twisting and turning in the wind, and I had forgotten my heavy jacket at home. The long sleeve I was wearing would do nothing to keep me warm.

“Here,” Jimin taking off his jacket. “You need this more than me.”

Draping it over my shoulders, Jimin told me to zip it up. Stunned, I moved on autopilot and shoved my arms through the sleeves. Everything smelled like him, oranges and spice, and his warmth was still clinging to the thick fleece. I could not remember the last time someone had given me their jacket. Dazed, I followed Jimin out to the parking lot, eyes locked on his back. He was in nothing but a thin, black and white striped shirt.

“Thanks,” I said once we were both in the truck, already shrugging out of the light beige jacket. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He held up a hand, “Keep it. The heater is out.”

I shook my head, “What about you?”

He reached into the back and held up a purple hoodie.

“I’ll be alright.”

I put the jacket back on and buckled in. Jimin slipped into the sweatshirt and started the truck. After buckling up, he backed out of the parking lot. I caught sight of the brunette as we left. She was red faced, shouting into her phone. I looked away. Whoever she was angry with was definitely getting an earful.

“Wonder what Tom did this time,” Jimin mumbled.

“Hm?”

“Tom’s Annie’s boyfriend,” He supplied. “They’re always arguing. Worse than Jungkook and Darcy, they break up every other week, but Tom and Annie are at each other's throats every other day.”

I grimaced, “Sounds like my friends. They finally called it quits last year, but they were insufferable.”

Jimin chuckled, “So, what’s Colorado like?”

I talked to him about Andrea and Seokjin first, how we met and how much I loved their daughter. Hoseok and I’s friendship got quite a few laughs out of him, but those quickly died off when I brought up Namjoon. I told him about the day we met and the coffee date that happened a few days later, and that seemed to brighten up the mood again. Namjoon stories were bittersweet but took up such a large chunk of my life it was impossible to gloss over.

“When’s the toxic couple coming up?” He joked.

“I’m getting there,” I replied.

Hoseok and Matilda had known one another longer than the rest of us. Growing up together, no one was surprised when they finally hooked up in high school. It was, however, short lived bliss. Matilda got caught up in the wrong crowd and began doing drugs. Hoseok had tried to help her get through it, but they could never see eye-to-eye. That started their toxic cycle of getting back together, Tilly going to rehab, her relapsing, and them falling out again. It was not until she went two years ago that it managed to stick, but their relationship was too tumultuous to make it very far. They decided to stay friends and she became a constant member in our group.

“That’s crazy,” Jimin shook his head. “Happy she’s doing better now.”

“Me too.”

The rest of the drive was spent talking about Colorado and how beautiful it was. He stayed away from swimming, mostly wanting to hear about the school I worked at and the places I went to in my free time. He kept me talking for the entire 45-minute car ride, question after question keeping me on my toes. He did not like talking about himself, whenever I tried to switch the conversation to his own interests he barely responded before going back to his interrogation. Before I knew it, we were pulled into the dealership and getting down.

“You can leave,” I told him.

“I want to make sure you’re good before I go,” He replied.

The cashier was lovely, her voice bubbly and sweet as she helped me out. Jimin lingered longer than he needed to, helping me fill out my paperwork and making small talk with the dealer. I took my keys and went for a quick test drive before I was finally able to convince Jimin to leave.

The drive back was quiet. I was used to the silence when I drove, but Jimin’s voice had been soothing. Frankly, I was a bit bored without him around. I decided to call Matila and ask about my medals. She apologized but I doubted how sincere she actually was. After catching up with her, hearing all about the guy she went on a date with, and a five-minute rant about Hoseok spending way too much money on Minho’s birthday present, I hung up before she could give me a migraine. As much as I liked Tilly, she was someone I had very little patience for and her voice, high pitched and loud, was like nails on a chalkboard.

I got back in town a little after 3. Violet and Calvin were both home and watching some black and white Western. Calvin offered to make me lunch, but I was quick to decline. I just wanted some space.

As soon as I got in my apartment, I curled up in bed to take a nap. I was overwhelmed after talking so much and desperately needed to recharge. I set an alarm for 5 so I could make it over to the Park house in time for dinner. Quickly sending a quick text to Hoseok, I turned on thunderstorm sounds and closed my eyes.

Na-Yeon and James were both excited to see me, talking about their days and asking how I was settling in. Eloise was there as well, the twins in the back room playing again. Jimin was going to be late. He had gone for a last-minute swim with Milo. When I asked them who that was, it was Eloise who answered.

“That’s Vincent’s fiancé.”

“Who?” I was even more confused.

“Taehyung,” Na-Yeon answered. “You know he hates that name as much as Jimin hates his, Lou."

Eloise blushed, her entire face turning a bright shade of red.

“Sorry,” She scratched behind her ear. Looking back at me, she sighed, “We went to school together. Old habit.”

Now V made sense. It never occurred to me that Jungkook and Taehyung could have their own American names, and neither one introduced themselves that way either. James came to take the seat beside mine, the dining table more crowded then was reasonably necessary.

“Does Jungkook have a second name?” I asked.

“Ian,” Eloise replied. “He goes by both, so I don’t think he cares as much as Tae and Jimin. I know his girlfriend uses both.”

I assumed that was Darcy. Why else would Taehyung assume she would go with us on a day trip to Detroit?

“They call him Ian on the team, too,” James chimed in. “His name is too hard.”

Namjoon never had an American name, at least, not one I had ever heard. The only person I could think of was Hoseok. A lot of his friends called him Jay, something about an old nickname from school, but that was it. Seokjin just went by Jin, Namjoon went by Joon, and Minho went by…well, Minho. None of their parents used American-Friendly names, and Seokjin’s father’s English was still poor even after living here for so long.

“Y/N,” Na-Yeon brought me back to the conversation. “What banchan do you like?”

“My eomeo-nim made these delicious, braised potatoes,” I answered, thinking back on our dinners together. “Kimchi, of course. My ex made the best braised lotus roots. They were always yummy.”

Na-Yeon seemed pleased by my answer. James and Eloise started rambling about their own favorites. Unlike Namjoon, Mr.Park was a big fan of seafood. He grew up in Busan near the Jagalchi Market, which, according to him, was the largest seafood market in South Korea. Eloise talked a little about her favorite Korean dishes before jumping into what she grew up eating. Her father was Scottish and her mother French, so one night she was eating Scottish Pie and daube niçoise the next. It was fun hearing more about Eloise. I would have never guessed she was a first generation American.

“It’s something Tony and I had in common,” She added. “He learned quite a bit of French before he died. Unfortunately, my Korean is taking much longer.”

“Mine isn’t that great either,” I admitted. “Namjoon’s family spoke English and never liked to make me feel awkward. I can follow a conversation fairly well, but only if you speak slowly.”

James laughed, “I will remember that.”

The front door opened, and I could hear loud talking. Eloise sighed. Whoever was with Jimin did not pass her inspection it would seem. She and James seemed to have a small conversation with their eyes. The men were still at the front of the house. Finally, Eloise looked away and scowled.

“Must have brought Milo and Tae over,” She muttered. “I’m going to go check on the twins.”

Eloise left the table. James told me to ignore her. She and Milo did not get along for whatever reason and she chose to ignore him. It was not my business, so I accepted that explanation.

I prepared myself for a bad interaction. So far, Eloise was such a quiet and sweet person I could not imagine anyone actively disliking her. Then again, this was Taehyung’s fiancé, and he was the nicest, most bubbly person I had ever met. It did not seem likely that he would hang around bad company. It could just be a case of personalities clashing.

“Annyeong,” Taehyung greeted us brightly, immediately finding me. “Babe, come say hi.”

A massive, pale man followed in behind him. Milo was a good-looking guy, bright blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, with a solid build. He reminded me of the male swimmers I worked with, his huge size and bulging muscles intimidating. His fashion sense was not as good as Taehyung’s. Ill-fitting black bottoms and a Rick and Morty t-shirt that made me want to roll my eyes. I was definitely biased, my loyalties already in Eloise’s corner. I did not need to know a backstory to be weary. The dude looked enough like Matthew Hamilton to make me dislike him just off principal.

“Milo, Y/N,” Taehyung introduced, gesturing between the two of us. Behind him, Jimin snuck into the kitchen and gave his mom a kiss on the cheek as a greeting. He looked nice in his gray tracksuit. “Y/N, this is my fiancé, Milo.”

I managed a disingenuous smile, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” He replied. His voice was smokey.

“Where’s Lou?” Jimin asked, coming around to greet his father.

“Checking on Harper and Cam,” James told him.

There was not enough room for all of us to sit at the table and I ended up giving up my seat to Na-Yeon. Jimin helped her set the table while I was put in charge of gathering Eloise and the kids. Walking down the hallway, I found the kids’ playroom and knocked.

“Dinner’s ready,” I announced, poking my head inside.

The room was bigger than I thought it would be. Each side was decorated in stereotypical boy and girl colors, Cameron’s bed and wall art a wide variety of blues and teals with dinosaur decals on the walls, while Harper’s was a mix up of baby pink and white. Her bed had more stuffed animals on it than I could count and all of them seem well loved. Their toys split the room in half, a large, circle rug in the middle of it all. Most of the toys were thrown on the floor and Eloise was telling them it was time for them to clean it up.

The children looked so cute in their little matching outfits. Harper’s black hair was braided down her back and the ribbon tied at the end of it matched her cream-colored overalls. Cam’s hair was on the longer side as well, falling to his shoulders with a slight wave. His bright red converse stuck out against the rather plain outfit he was wearing, and I had to assume he put up a fight behind them. Harper started to sing the Barney song as they cleaned.

“Feeling, okay?” I asked their mother. She was sitting in the chair on Harper’s side. “You ran off pretty quickly.”

She shook her head, “It’s nothing. We’ve never gotten along.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Do you want to eat here? I’ll sit with you.”

She smiled, “We can play nice, don’t worry. Thanks, though. I appreciate you asking.”

Dinner was as uneventful as Eloise said it would be. She and Milo greeted one another and then acted as if the other did not exist. I stood up to eat, Taehyung, Milo, and Jimin with me while the others sat down. Cam was excited to talk about school and Harper rambled on and on about her imaginary friend Butter Squash. They were both very sweet and it made me miss Dani. The last time I saw her was when we went skating the weekend before I left.

Taehyung was as talkative as ever. His touches also become bolder. By the time I left, he had an arm around my shoulders and his body pressed against my side. Milo was unbothered by our closeness. He and Jimin spoke the most and again the guy I knew when no one else was around seemingly vanished. This one was too put together, too closed off, and no one, and I mean no one, seemed to care. Every time he laughed half-heartedly or nodded along with whatever Milo was talking about, I felt more confused. Why was he so hot and cold all of the time?

During my drive back home, I tentatively attempted to listen to the radio. I only lasted around a minute or so before I switched it off. I needed silence. The Parks were such a lovely family, but tonight was too much. Between unpacking and Taehyung, I was drained. Hoseok had asked me to call him when I got home but I was going to wait. If it was important enough, he would call me himself.

I fell asleep as soon as my face hit the pillow, my medication making it a dreamless night.

The rest of the week was quiet. I called my friends back home to check in Thursday morning and was happy about Hoseok’s progress. The kids were really liking him, and he thought he may have a permanent job for next year if I decided to keep working with Jimin. I told him not to get his hopes up.

Jimin and I spoke through text daily. He was still going about his normal routine while I brainstormed training and scheduling. By Saturday I was ready to start testing out different ideas. We both seemed eager to get started, actually. Sunday, like I expected, was very quiet. That was his mom’s day, so I tried not to bother him. Violet and Calvin kept me company.

The Andersons were nice people. Violet was always coming to the back and inviting me to join them for breakfast, and her husband enjoyed asking me about my life. Calvin was far more personable than his wife was, but they managed to balance one another out. Sunday evening was the first time I noticed Calvin’s memory issues. He had no idea who I was. I came inside and Violet had to tell him I was their daughter Nancy’s babysitter. He was under the assumption that she was still 10. I left them alone when Violet asked me to pick her up from school. She came out back a few hours later to thank me for going along with everything, and I made sure that she had my phone number in case she needed me to help out if things got out of hand.

It was still dark outside when I left Monday morning. Jimin and I agreed to meet up at 6 am to start our day, but I wanted to get to the gym early. Time to set up and get myself in the right headspace was important to me.

The location he had sent me was more remote than I had originally anticipated. Jimin owned the little gym. It had been a swim school in the past and the place he had first learned he loved the water. He and his mom went to classes together when he was young. The place had been too expensive for the previous owners to keep up with and they were planning on selling it, but Jimin bought it off of them and converted it into a public gym/pool.

In our text exchanges he called it his retirement plan, but I was sure the place meant more to him than that. He had no interest in it until after the cancer diagnosis. If I was to over analyze it, I would say he was trying to hold onto a happy memory. This was their place before sickness and death ran through his family. I would imagine anyone would want to keep something that held so much sentimental value if they could.

Pulling into the parking lot, I was first struck by two things. One, it was open and there were people inside, and two, it was huge. Most of the building was nothing but windows giving me a great view of the muscled men inside. Bright fluorescent lights made my sensitive eyes hurt, and I could hear the faint sound of music coming from somewhere near the gym. The small group of men were together, all of them lifting and spotting each other while talking, and a sense of dread filled my belly.

I was always anxious when I went to a new place, but a new gym was a nightmare. I had bad experiences in the past. Overly friendly creeps who liked to stand around and watch me while I worked out. None of the guys inside gave off bad vibes, but I was still in my car and none of them laid their eyes on me. A woman in a gym was like a drop of blood in water. I had to hope they were not sharks.

Gathering courage, I grabbed my duffle and made my way inside. A pretty, dark-skinned, young woman was sitting at the receptionist desk, and I felt more at ease. If they left her alone then maybe they would not cause me too much trouble either. The music was louder inside, and I recognized the Ciara song. It was a great one for cardio. Fighting the urge to dance, I greeted the receptionist. She put down her magazine and gave me an award-winning grin. She had a nice, dimpled smile.

“Hi there,” She had a thick, Southern accent and I could not tell you where she might be from. I was awful at telling them apart. “Do you have your membership card?”

I laughed nervously, my grip on my bag tightening. “No. I’m here to train with Jimin Park. He said I should have something on file.”

She nodded, her smile unwavering as she looked at her computer and asked for my name.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” I replied, foot tapping along to the Lil Wayne song that came on. I had this one on my own workout playlist back in 2008. I could not help mumbling the words under my breath, “She-she-she lick me like a lollipop.”

“Found you,” The girl grabbed a few sheets of paper from a pile on her side of the desk. “Just fill these out for me and we’ll get your card printed. Your fees have been paid already so no need to worry about that.”

I nodded, half listening. This song was great. Why has it been so long since I last heard it? I went to the gym all the time. I needed to put it back on my playlist. Honestly, the entire Carter III needed to find its way back into my rotation.

“My name’s Giselle if you need anything,” The receptionist pointed to a cluster of chairs right at the front entrance. “You’re super early so Christian isn’t here yet, but I’ll give you the key to the pool room so you can do whatever you need before the boss gets in.”

I smiled at her, “Thank you, Giselle.”

“Anytime, ma’am.”

It took me a few minutes to fill the paperwork out and scan my ID, but Giselle made everything as quick as she could. One of the men working out had come by to ask for some wipes to clean off a few of the machines but left without anything more than a ‘good morning’ thrown in my direction. When we passed by the rest of them on the way to the pool house, we were completely ignored, so it was safe for me to say that they would not be a problem for me in the future. Creeps were never subtle about their creepiness.

“I have to double check with Christian, but I think I’m supposed to give you a spare key,” Giselle said, unlocking the pool. “I’m just going to be sure before I promise you anything. Don’t want to get fired.”

I could tell she was joking. Jimin did not strike me as the type of guy to fire anyone over something like that. It only made sense for me to have a spare key since we would be coming around so much, and I would feel bad about disrupting the staff whenever I needed to get inside. They did not get paid enough to deal with that on top of all of the rest of their duties.

“We keep it locked until 9,” Giselle continued, leading the way inside. “Then we close it back up at 5. Maintenance comes in every Tuesday to treat the water, so you’ll have to be out of here no later than 7. Boss man knows this already so you shouldn’t have any problems with that.”

The pool room was very bland and bare bones. The smell of chlorine hung heavily in the air while the lights around the pool walls illuminated the dark room. It was very big, and I itched to go for a quick dip. The coolness of the water would be nice against my skin. I had grown hot with nerves and gotten a little sweaty.

“We have a few other staff members that will be in around the same time the boss man comes in,” Giselle continued to give me the rundown. “I’m sure he’ll introduce you to everyone just in case you need anything. I’d say make nice with Yoongi first. He’s our in-house massage therapist.”

Pointing to a door on the far-left wall, Giselle let me know that was the pool locker room and the door right next to it was a shortcut to the back offices. Management, marketing, and facility supervisors were usually all back there and I would more than likely never see them. They were not the most social people and worked from home a lot. I could tell by Giselle’s voice that she did not particularly care for management.

“Drew should be here by now,” She checked her smart watch. “She’s the general manager. I’m going to go and grab her and see about that key. She might come back to say ‘hi’ but don’t hold your breath.”

I chuckled, “That bad?”

Giselle rolled her eyes, “Drew’s fine, but Dominic is usually following her around everywhere and he’s annoying. You’ll get what I mean if you ever see them together.”

I laughed, “I’ve had my fair share of weirdos. Thanks again. I appreciate you showing me around.”

She beamed, “It wasn’t a problem. You gave me a reason to get up from the desk, so I’d say it’s a win.”

We spoke for a few more minutes until a very large, bulky man popped his head in looking for her. His black t-shirt clung to him tightly and his shorts were a hideous neon pink color. He did have a nice smile, one that took up most of his face and teeth so white they looked fake. Giselle introduced me very quickly, and the man, Sam, turned out to be one of the personal trainers on staff.

“You’re the Olympian, right?” Sam asked. Jimin must really like people who talked a lot, because I had never met more outgoing people in my life before moving here. Everyone he surrounded himself with was just full of energy, and I wondered if it was purposeful. Jimin himself was a rather quiet and sad person. “Jimin talks about you all the time.”

I laughed awkwardly, face heating, “That’s me.”

“Sick,” Suddenly an image of Sam surfing in California flashed through my mind. He just seemed like the type. “Well, I have to go and help out a client, but it was nice meeting you. Gigi, can you go back up front before Drew pitches a fit?”

Giselle sighed heavily, “Tell her I’m coming,” Looking at me she asked if I was okay on my own. “Come and get me if you need anything, okay?”

After assuring her that I was fine, Giselle left behind Sam. The two of them bickered like an old married couple, and I wondered about their relationship. He did call her a little nickname. I shook my head. Regardless, I had other things I needed to take care of before I could get lost in thought about two strangers.

Unpacking my duffle, I threw on my whistle and stopwatch before getting to work on my schedule. I had brought a lot of my personal swimming gear with me like training bands, coach communicator, and forearm fulcrum. Back in the day, I was the brand ambassador for Finis, so I had a lot of their products. The tracksuit I was wearing was from Speedo, and I had so much of their stuff for the same reason. Being a famous swimmer had its perks.

I had planned on doing a lot of drill and some short-burst efforts with Jimin. He had been without a PT for a few weeks now, and while I trusted him to stay in shape, it was no secret someone would be performing less on their own than with guidance. I did not want to over work him when he was, for all intents and purposes, been on a vacation. So, while I wanted to rush head-first into training, I would try to ease into things a bit before going full asshole on the kid. Like Victor would say, “Three times a week for three weeks.” After that, he was going to be at my mercy.

It was just past 6 when Jimin walked into the pool room. I was flipping through my training plan for the day and humming along to the music blasting through the speakers, echoing off the walls. Whoever was in charge of the playlist had a thing for the early 2000s.

“Morning,” His soft voice brought a smile to my face. He sounded tired. “What do you think about the place?”

Stealing a look at him, I had to hold back the gasp that I wanted to let out. He was wearing a black tank top and shorts giving me a great look at his skin. Embarrassed by my reaction, I internally scolded myself. I needed to get over this crush already. I was about to see a lot more of his body once he went to the back to change. I bit my lip. I had no idea how I was going to deal with him in a speedo.

“It’s very nice,” I was happy with how nonchalant I sounded. “Wasn’t expecting it to be so big.”

I wonder what else is big… I nibbled on the inside of my cheek. I really needed to get my mind out of the gutter. Scratch that- I should have dealt with this problem the second I realized it was there. I was going to force myself to call Hoseok today. He would know what to do, and if not, at least I could vent a little.

“Sleep okay?”

I jumped out of my ever-degrading thoughts.

“Yeah,” I sniffed. “Had fun with your mom? I wanted to give you two some space, so I stayed to myself.”

He smiled and I melted. Yeah, this needed to stop. I was too grown to be acting like this around a man.

“I appreciate it. We missed you at dinner, though. My dad kept complaining that things were quiet now.”

I chuckled, “Eloise and the kids not loud enough?”

He shook his head, “She didn’t come over.”

He tossed his sports bag next to mine and pulled out his swim gear. I caught a flash of his speedo and quickly looked away. The visuals going through my mind were distracting enough.

“Do you want to go over everything before I get changed?” Asked Jimin.

I shook my head, “No, go ahead. It’s going to be a chill day.”

“You got it, coach.”

I did not breathe until I heard the locker room door slam shut. Tossing my clipboard onto my bag, I roughly rubbed my face. I needed to pull myself together.

My attraction was easy to ignore and forget about when he was not in my face, but the second I got my eyes on him it was all I could focus on. I was awkward and fumbling all over the place whenever he was around. I focused on him far too much, far more than I should be due to our relationship, and it was driving me insane. I needed to take a breather, but I did not have enough time and I did not want to make him worried. Jimin seemed like the type of person who would become consumed by anxiety if he thought I was upset with him in any way. No, I would have to suck it up and get through this training session like an adult.

The locker room door opened. Jimin’s bare feet were loud against the gray, stone floor. I refused to look at him. I wasn’t ready yet. Bending over, I grabbed the clipboard and cleared my throat. I was hoping to get him in the water first, and then I could safely conduct myself in a professional way. The less skin I had to see at a time the better. I pointed at the pool.

“Like I said, it’s going to be an easy day,” He was walking away from me, and I felt the tightness in my chest lighten. “You’ve been without a trainer for a bit, and I’m not sure how intense your workouts have been since. Your warmup is just 10 minutes of easy swimming, and then we’ll go over our main set.”

I heard him get into the water with a splash and relaxed. I could handle him in the water. No one looked good with those stupid goggles on. I walked to the edge of the pool, clipboard in my hand, and stole a quick look.

As suspected, he did not look as potent like this. His hair was hidden beneath a red and white cap, and blue goggles obstructed most of his face. It was impossible to make out most of his body as he glided through the water, but I got a great look at his arms. He was more muscular than I gave him credit for. He was smaller and more lean than other swimmers, but I could see why he was able to dominate.

He was very fast, but I could already tell he was pushing harder than I wanted him to. Blowing my whistle, I let him know I only wanted him swimming at 80% effort. Jimin pulled a face and lifted his goggles up. Now that he was stagnant, I got a clear look at his chest and swallowed thickly. He needed to start moving or else I might have a heart attack.

“Why?” He was incredulous.

“Like I said, I don’t want you to overwork yourself. You’ve been on a vacation for four weeks now and we need to work our way back up to more intensive sets. It’ll only be for a couple of weeks.”

He pushed back again, “I’ve been coming here every day for hours. I think I’m fine.”

I shook my head, “I’m not trying to be a dick, and I’m not calling you a liar, but I am skeptical of the quality of the training.”

“But-”

“I haven’t been here to see your routine,” I cut him off before whatever smart ass comment he was planning to say could even come out. Jimin’s annoyance was plain as day, and I was not about to put up with a tantrum. “I’m known for being a hard ass, and I’m going to push you harder than you’ve ever been pushed before. You can ask Coach Bunch about me if you want. I will make sure you’re in the best shape of your life this year, but not at the expense of getting you injured.”

He took a deep breath before responding, “With all due respect, I’ve been putting in a lot of work by myself. I don’t think I need kid gloves.”

I smirked, cocking my head to the side. “Is that what you think this is?”

“Isn’t it?” He shrugged, pouting.

He was cute when he was mad.

“Humor me,” I replied. “We do things my way for the week and if I think you’re good to go by Friday then we’ll get back to normal training. How does that sound?”

Jimin thought for a moment before smiling at me.

“I can live with that.”

I chuckled, “Good to know. Now, put your goggles back on and finish your warmup. We’re wasting time arguing.”

As I suspected, once we started our drills, he did not perform up to the standards I had for him. Even at 75% what he was capable of, I could already see the areas he needed to work on. His butterflies were beautiful, but I could pick apart his breast and back strokes. I was happy with his free swim at the end, and I was going to start there the next session. I was hoping by starting off with compliments that we could become more comfortable with one another before I had to get serious. Those breast strokes would drive me insane until he could execute them perfectly every time.

“How am I doing?” Jimin asked during a cool down, doing a few laps before we started our drills again. “I know my breast strokes aren’t that great. I’ve always struggled with them.”

At least he was self-aware, I thought.

“We definitely have stuff to work on,” I replied. “Don’t worry too much about that right now. We can start talking about it more next week.”

He sighed, annoyed, and I laughed. He was very grumpy when it came to his swimming. Not wanting to upset him again, I decided to give him something.

“I would like to watch you swim a bit more and make a plan before giving you my opinion. My coach used to do that with me, and I found it helpful.”

We trained until eight-thirty, and I looked over my notes while Jimin cooled down. We did not talk as much as I would have liked, but it was probably for the best. His body was distracting, and I did not think I was doing a very good job at hiding my reactions to him. He did not seem to notice, or he was simply sparing my feelings, either way he was happy to keep relatively quiet. We only talked about training while he was in the water, and I was grateful he was maintaining his professionalism.

“When will we be back again?” Jimin asked, his last few minutes running down on the timer. “You said Wednesday, right?”

I nodded absentmindedly, in my own little world as I flipped through my notes. I had more than I thought I would have, all of them having to do with fixing his form and how we could go about it. New exercises, grueling training days, and a few new tools that I was not sure he had ever used before, would mold him into a swimmer I would glow with pride over. Park had always been a talented man, but I wanted to see if we could reach for something more. Something bigger and better than he could have imagined. I wanted to make Matthew fucking Hamilton look like the incompetent bastard I knew him to be.

“We’re done for the day,” I sighed, clicking the alarm off. “Do you want me to come for your night swim?”

Jimin ripped the goggles off, rubbing his eyes and already going to release his cap. I bit down on the inside of my mouth. He was so pretty and soft, and the way his muscles flexed as he swam to the edge of the pool made my stomach flutter. I looked away before he hoisted himself out of the water. I did not need that image floating around in my already depraved head.

“You can come if you want,” He replied casually. “I’m mostly hitting the gym when I’m here in the evenings. I only take a dip for thirty minutes and leave.”

I hummed, fighting the urge to look at his body. I focused instead on my breathing and writing down what he had just said. I did not want to forget that. It might be useful for me in the future. If we could exercise together, it would give me an opportunity to guide him through some of my favorite tricks to help with swimming.

“Will someone else be with you?”

“Probably Jungkook and Darcy. They’re my usual gym buddies when Milo is working.”

“Darcy’s his girlfriend, right?” I wanted to see if my hunch from the other night was right.

“Yeah. They’ve been going out for a couple of years now. She’s alright. Not as shy as you.”

I snorted, “You think I’m shy?”

Then I made a critical mistake. Looking over at Jimin, I nearly choked on my own spit. His skin was perfectly smooth, not a blemish in sight, and cream-colored. His body was just as pretty as his face, smooth abs and a tiny waist that led to toned and thick thighs. The tiny scrap of red fabric covering his private area did not stop my eyes from glancing. I looked away before I started to stare.

Hoseok was going to have a field day with this.

“I know you are,” He teased, his voice so soft and sweet. I briefly wondered what he would sound like in bed. I fought desperately to rid myself of that imagery. This could not be happening right now. “You’re so shy you can’t even look at me right now.”

His cocky attitude should have annoyed me, but instead it only further fueled my lust. Every time I had seen this man, he gave me such tonal whiplash it was beginning to drive me insane. First it was this innocent little angel facade that quickly became sarcastic and witty when he decided he could play around without me getting angry. Then it was the whole sad puppy thing he had going on for the last week. Now here he was, practically naked and getting riled up over me telling him what to do, and puffing his chest with confidence I never thought he was capable of. It would have pissed me off if I did not find him ridiculously attractive.

“Go get dressed, Park,” My voice was clipped and too harsh. I winced and quickly worked to soften the blow. Getting defensive only made me look worse. “We can get breakfast if you’re not busy. My treat.”

“Sure, coach.”

When I heard the locker room close, I let out a deep sigh. My sexual frustration was getting in the way of my work, and I hated it. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I sent Hoseok a text.

Me: I think I’m crushing on Park

Me: Help me get rid of it

The reply did not come until I was done packing up my things. The workout stuff I had brought with me had been useless today, but I was afraid of forgetting where they were the next time I might need them, so they never left the bag. My phone vibrated just as I was done zipping up my bag. I could hear the shower in the locker room and clenched my thighs together. I was still thinking of how pretty his belly was, the tattoo on his ribs pitch-black against his pale skin, and how solid his calves looked. I unlocked my phone and nearly cried laughing when I saw the response.

Hobi: HAHAHAHA

Hobi: Sex is always the answer

Hobi: Never thought I’d see the day you became a cougar

I have no idea why I thought he would be any help. So, I licked my wounds and messaged Andy (like I should have done in the first place) and knew whatever she had to say would be far more helpful than my stupid best friend’s word of “advice.” I just had to hope it would be enough to make all of these feelings stop.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio @tae-with-some-suga

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[rosenotactuallyquartz]

some rose quotes from the recent q&a 😭😭😭💔

thank you so so much for sending these! i still haven’t gotten around to watching the livestreams because of tiring medical stuff, but i’ll hopefully have the time & energy to watch soon!

these quotes tell us so much about rose’s character & the issues she struggled with. she’s described as being very extreme, and she lives in the moment… but she’s always running away from the past. i remember rebecca talking about how rose & greg have similar personalities and coping mechanisms, which led to enabling and avoiding some really important conversations. they both like escapism—living in the moment. the past is in the past; all that matters is who you are now—but what happens when there’s self hatred connected to her past? what if stuff from her past is continuing to hurt her in the present? what if constantly running away from herself is one of the ways she’s self destructive, what if this is a pattern for her? what if she believes she’s unlovable if her loved ones know about her past as pink? this was how they enabled each other.

there’s also the final order. the please, let’s never speak of this. rose wanted to live in the moment and start a new and better life with pearl. but what happens when she looks at pearl and remembers that this person knows who she used to be? she lived through her past with her. pearl is the type of person who really urges rose to tell her everything. but they both have trauma from homeworld. rose isn’t being honest about other things and she’s guilty about the fact that pearl is keeping this secret for her. it makes her avoidant & it makes her struggle with communicating. unlike greg, pearl knows about most of her past—which leads to rose dancing around issues, feeling unworthy of love from someone who knows these things about her, and just all around avoiding and not communicating.

as for spinel! i love these quotes so much. especially when you connect them with older quotes:

"spinel is also based on a stuffed animal that i left in the garden when i was a kid. i found it months later, lying on its back. it was a black rabbit, but because it had been left out in the sun, its belly had faded to a light gray. it wasn't better or worse, just different. it was the first moment i realized that things could change without me, even if they stayed completely still. i wrote a song about it for adventure time, called everything stays. partway into working on the movie, while drawing spinel, it suddenly hit me that i was writing about this toy again. i suppose i still feel guilty for being so careless with something i thought i loved so much." - rebecca sugar

"everything stays, right where you left it, everything stays, but it still changes. ever so slightly, daily and nightly, in little ways, when everything stays. go down to the ocean, the crystal tide is raising, water's gotten higher as the shore washes out. keep your eyes wide open, even when the sun is blazing, the moon controls the tide, it can cause you to drown."

the way that rose felt about herself caused so much pain for the people around her. she didn’t think she mattered, she believed she was powerless and was made to feel that way, and she felt that if she disappeared, people could really only benefit from that. it’s heartbreaking and it’s a very ongoing thing for her.

thank you so much for sending me the quotes, and i’m excited to watch the livestreams soon!

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then…Gigi

Part 4 - A Big Daddy Elvis Fanfiction

Previous chapter link for context, picking up where we left off

I owe so much thanks to my friends for all their help and input and the joy they bring me, thanks to them and my precious followers this fluffy/wacky little universe even exists. I’ve never had so much fun on a collaboration before in my life, I love y’all so.

Warnings: 18+, sexual content and heavy themes… ok so this is smutty and fluffy, right? But still there are some things that might be offensive regarding narrator’s voice so I want to warn about those and distinguish them from my own opinions. For much of this part we are in Elvis’ head and, due to it being summer of ‘77 -it’s a bit of a rollercoaster in there. Please be warned there are throwaway lines reflecting poor self esteem, depression, misogyny, severe health issues and the use of the word fat to describe oneself negatively.

Enjoy

💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄

Elvis feels a pang of sympathy for his boys’ hysteria when he runs into a crowd of fans as he himself sits panicked in the Stutz, engine off and his shades on, watching Gigi check that the coast is clear on the sidewalk and buzz into her apartment building -in just his jacket and panties. Her sandals are gone somewhere, too, probably back at Graceland. Only that anklet left on like some harem jangle.

Her sooties must be burning on the sunbaked concrete, maybe that’s why she’s skipping everywhere she goes like a damn foal. His blood pressure feels like it’s skyrocketing just watching this show and the fact she looks like she’s in her element terrifies and excites him and -getting to know Gigi is a dangerous hobby.

As shameless as a toddler that one, and every bit as unpersuaded about needing to give a shit about things like flashing her butt cheeks for all of Memphis.

Her tanned butt cheeks.

Which brings up all sorts of questions he’s too scared to ask and will have to address with Tammy. He’s sure she’s to blame for nude sunbathing, he just hopes that wildcat has enough decency to do it privately. Very privately. Hopefully in a bullet proof bunker if Gigi is with her. This girl has been directionless and fatherless for too long; Elvis’ mouth dries out in anticipation of being that guiding, molding, firm hand in her life -the rest of his body too sedated to respond normally although he feels that weird ass dribble his pecker has recently started to do when it’s very much willing but can’t physically swell to poke a gal. He thoroughly regrets not wearing underpants to catch some of this… horny… pre-cum…incontinence…the baby blue of his tracksuit showing a small stain on his leg. Just the size of a penny. Maybe a quarter.

He takes his glasses off and rubs at his sweaty eyes.

Gigi is standing in the opened doorway, waving him in with a huge, expectant smile on her face, and feeling something he hasn’t felt since 1955 sneakin’ into Barbra’s room, he lumbers out his side of the car and doesn’t even bother to make sure no one’s looking, even though she whipped her head around to clock their surroundings like top paid security for his sake. If someone sees and thinks he’s going into a college girl’s dorm to corrupt her then they’d be right, and it'll make far prettier gossip than what’s coming out in Red’s book next month.

He slips past her and she runs her hand along his chest as he goes by, giddy and fond. She waves to someone behind his back,

“Hey Paolo! Good afternoon!” Elvis turns just in time to see an old shriveled man in an undershirt waving wildly at her as the door shuts.

“Who’s that?”

“Our repairman. Sweetest little man.” Gigi gushes and Elvis motions for her to lead the way up the stairs while speculating with nauseating surety on what Gigi might be found wearing -or not wearing- when dear sweet shriveled perverted Paolo makes up a problem with her sink and comes into her apartment. “He’s taught me how to make Limoncello jello! You won’t find anything more refreshing!”

“How very epicurean for a regular, ole handyman.” he can’t help but grumble, usually highly self-aware and unbiased for the potential learnedness of common folks. He knows he’s one. But right now he wants to make a carpet from Paolo’s nose hair.

“What does epicurean mean?” Gigi doens’t without missing a beat as she unlocks her own front door.

Now they’re back on solid, Elvis-worthy ground, he can smile indulgently as he enters her space and explain, “Somebody who likes to in-duuulge in the luxurious and the sensuuaal, it was a whole philosophy.”

“Oooh, that explains why I didn’t understand.” she giggles, “I’ve flunked philosophy twice and I’ve got a whole pile of papers over there that’s supposed to be homework but a hero of mine invited me to go swimming at his place so, there they sit!” she shows off a rather alarming stack of papers next to the poorly made up bed, half hidden by the swim suits and cut offs strewn about the carpet. “Sorry for the mess, a lotta the girls got ready over here and wrecked it. Half of it is mine though, you should’ve seen the things they suggested I wear for you! Thongs, Elvis! Actual thongs! And here I was unsure if you felt just fatherly towards me or what so I- I didn’t wear a thong.”

Elvis takes a seat on her bed since he figures they’re now past being modest about what they’re gonna do and asks, “What’s a thong?”

“You don’t- it’s this sorta thing.” Gigi is a little shocked that this man of the world doesn't know such a thing and spins around a few times before finding a very small scrap of fabric and bending over, she picks it up. Elvis forgets what she was getting off the floor for a few minutes before she starts spreading the fabric strings apart and pronouncing, “This is a thong!”

Elvis squints his eyes as if trying to see a ship on the edge of the horizon or something, “I don’t get it.” he says at last, “How’s it work? Go around your neck?”

“No, silly!” she giggles even harder in shocked exasperation, “It’s panties.”

“No way in hell.” he sounds awed, “No way, how in tarnation does that work?”

“They’re like…very little, small, tiny panties!” she explains with a hyped tone as if the more enthusiastic she is the quicker he’ll get the mechanism.

“That -those ain’t gonna hold or cover nothin’.” he insists, “Now you’re the one pullin’ my leg.” he notices there’s a magazine with his face on it stashed under the teetering bedside lamp and makes mental note of that before leaning back against her massive stuffed bear.

“They’re not supposed to work, they’re supposed to be sexy?” she tries again before playfully putting them on her head and striking a pose.

“Sexy, hmm?” he rumbles, his eyes twinkling and she knows she’s got his interest at least, whether he’s fibbing ignorance on knowing about thongs or not, she can’t tell. Suddenly it strikes her that Elvis Presley himself is lounging on her bed, leaned against the stuffy she grinds herself on to the thought of him pretty regularly. Suddenly having his jacket zipped at all feels oppressive from the rush of heat that sight floods her with.

“If they were for comfort we’d just go without.” she laughs, “They dig up into your…” she looks about before dropping her voice and taking a couple steps closer to him, “butt crack.” she blushes furiously at having to name it and his fingers itch to do unspeakable things to this little girl.

“Show me.” he says, low and steady and a little removed, just cool enough to be commanding, just warm enough to make her feel (very) admired. He sees her sweet blush turn into droopy lidded arousal before his very eyes and with meek acceptance she hooks her fingers into her swim bottoms without a pause.

They drop to the floor in a nylon puddle between her legs. Just like that. Simple as that, her bare little pussy lips are peaking out from his jacket at him and she smiles gently at his shock as she hooks her legs through the thong’s leg holes and shimmy’s the stupid excuse for lingerie up her stems. “It’s just you, daddy.” she explains in a confidential whisper that melts his heart.

“Yeah, jus’ f’me, baby girl.” he makes a pronouncement of his own, hushed and boyish and her own heart feels too big for her chest at the way his blue eyes somehow soften in wonder at her exposed self. She had expected something rougher, ravenous, impetuous. Not this revenant appreciation that bends his whole frame towards her with open mouthed puffs of longing. He aches, wishing he’d brought his Polaroid to snap this memory forever, add it to his collection. A little something tangible he could thumb at it in the future and remember this night when an terribly hot, painfully young, big tittied woman had wanted him.

“Will ya do a lil spin f’me? Wouldn’t want that wedgie to go unappreciated, now would we? So sweet to try it on for me.” he coos and then hums deep and appreciative as she does a couple slow spins for him, that humm she’s only ever heard in amplified concert footage sending sparks to her very toes.

“You like them?” she asks, toes curling in nervousness for his verdict.

He lounges back and strokes his mouth a few times while cocking his head to the side. She’s breathing so heavy he thinks if he even blew on her she’d come. “They’re practical.” he decides definitively.

“Are they?” she sighs with relief.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles soberly, “quite. For what we’re up here to do, they’re practical.” he adds this slowly and doesn't miss her shudder or the way her eyes light up in relief that they’re getting to the point. He likes that she’s letting him lead, she’s a good girl. “Step closer baby.” he stays lounging so she does all the work and when she gets to the edge of the bed he keeps motioning with his fingers until she’s kneeling on it herself, clambering forward over his lap. “See, when a man makes a meal of a lady’s lil garden, s’real important to have unrestricted access.” he proves his point by slipping his index finger along that abominably small seam of fabric that’s poofy and filled out with bare labia lips.

“Daddy.” she wails at the contact, shaking apart already and that along with her little place has his head thudding some kinda way. She’s gripping onto his neck, near clawing whatever part of him she can grab, close to tears again like a child not getting what she wants. The art of the tease seems lost on her, she’s so hungry.

He’s gotta ask. “Honey, y-yo- honey you ain’t actin’ younger for my sake, are ya?”

“Oh no,” her face turns down again and he’s done it again, insulted her somehow, “you find me immature?”

“No!” he shouts and then tries to moderate himself, “No, no it’s jus’ that -you’re a baby, thas all.”

“Well,” her grin is guileless, “you’ll just have to bear with me, big daddy, I’m all so excited I’ve got Elvis Presley in my room! Elvis Presley! You’re Elvis Presley.”

“I-I-I am.” he admits, perturbed, “What’s wi- why Big Daddy?”

“Cause that’s what you are!” She says it like she’s assuring a pageant queen she won the prized title. “Elvis Presley’s about to eat my pussy.” she murmurs to herself as she kicks her feet and he recalls yet again that he is sat down on her fluffy pink bed for a reason. He tips her over into the sheets.

“So uh, you’ve thought of this before, hmm?” he smirks slyly and reaches out to clasp an ankle in his big, ringed hand, his tanned digits encircling it entirely and he thumbs at the veiny soft spot beneath the ankle.

Gigi moans at his slight pressure.

“That’s a pressure point for the reproductive system, did you know that sir?” she is as eager about information as he is, and clever too.

“So that’s why all the girls lose it.” he hums with a laugh, “No, Gigi, I didn’t know tha’, you like gettin’ rubbed?”

“YES!” she sighs so loudly it’s like a little wind tunnel through the room, “Though it doesn’t happen much.” That makes his heart hurt in sympathy and he adds his other hand to knead her toned calf, those legs of hers spreading jello, just like he calculated they would, “I love to rub folks though! Love givin’ people rubs.”

“Who do ya rub?” Elvis is cross at this new information.

“Oh, anybody who needs it!” she makes it worse.

“Lotta demand for that at Uni?”

“Yeah, so many sore athletes after games.” she is perfectly sober about it, while so enthused he wants to murder every person those sweet hands have descended upon in soothing kindness. “But I think you’re the best I have ever had do it to me, oh Lord you’ve got magic in those hands.”

He’s tempted to tell her how true that statement is but he can’t bear her laughing at him right now so he leans further across the bed and inches towards her knees with his squeezes and tries to elicit more of those moans.

“Oh god I can’t believe Elvis Presley is rubbing my legs.” she gasps again to the ceiling and it’s this youthful narration of her life happenings that makes him think of his Yisa and if he could he’d put both of these little darlings back into their fragile eggs to keep them away from the cruel world.

“So, you done thought of this before, baby girl?” he asks, casting a little smug look over at that ponderous stack of his records and the TV set stationed right at the foot of her bed. He knows the answer already, thanks to Tammy, but it nags him, the question of which Elvis she was touching herself to after her first visit to his house. Her closed eyes and near drooling mouth give him the idea that if he’s good enough at this, puts enough effort into being what he used to be naturally, she can keep those pretty eyes closed and he can morph back into whatever daydream she’s once had. He could give this pretty little girl a little time capsule and before she’s fully awake, slip away again, leave before she recalls it was the gift of an old man, his potency gone to seed but his love for women and their secret parts just as strong.

He bends over, gut digging into his diaphragm and knocking out his wind, presses a kiss to the inside of her knee. “Tell’me ‘bout when you thought of me.” he murmurs into her warm skin. He notices he leaves goosebumbs in the wake of his touch.

“Mmm?” she’s goners with just this firm kneading of her limbs, breathing heavy and sedated from lust.

“Have ya thought of me when you’ve played with yourself?” he’s a little sterner than he should be, just because he knows the answer and wants an honest reply.

“Oh yes.” she gives it, unabashed.

“Is it my movies? Ya watch my movies when ya touch y’self?” he prods, working up to that baby soft stretch of inner thigh that still seems like the most fragile of all God’s creation, like cotton Candy holding ligament and muscle together by some miracle. “Or ya prop up that record right there?” he pulls his head up long enough to point at the foremost record cover in the stack -Live From Madison Square Garden, it reads, and features him silhouetted against black, crouched in a white jumpsuit.

A more mature option; interesting.

Gigi opens her eyes and cranes her head to see what he’s pointing at. “Oh, yeah, sometimes that one,” she nods, “it’s the closest thing I could find.”

“Closest to what, the genuine article?” he snickers in judgment, “It’s goddamn cardboard, at least watch a movie like a normal pervert.”

“The closest to how you are now!” she pouts adamantly, “You’re so…smooth… in all your movies. Nothing like how I know ya when you drive past on the street.”

Well, that’s something else, even if Elvis doesn't quite get what that something is. It’s absurd, the fact she existed all along on some sidewalk he sped past. “How’s that now, honey?” he asks.

“I couldn’t find anything closer to what you are now!” she explains, “Nothing since Aloha and -well I like that one, don’t get me wrong but I,” she bites her lip and a skittish flinch settles into her eyes.

“What about that one, darlin?” he begs softly.

“Well I like how hairy and strong ya look but,” she doesn’t look down or away when she gets to her point, instead she bends forward to be nearer to him, to hold his hands as they lay on her legs, to peer into his eyes gently, “you seem too sad in it for me to -to use it like that.”

He’s touched, so much so he swallows hard and dips his head to kiss her knobby little kneecap. “T-that were a rough time in my life.” he admits and his voice has gone wrecked. It is odd beyond words how he feels like she’s a child to be protected but just like a child at a sleepover he can duck under the covers and admit his worst fears to her.

It all goes back to being proportionally heartbreaking as Gigi leans forward and makes him lean back, clambering methodically back into his lack as if she owns the damn space, holding his furry cheeks tenderly as she licks those luscious lips and slots them against his. This he is familiar with, nothing odd at all about this age old ritual of him being seductively depressed and a girl soothing it away with her tongue and hands in his hair.

He allows himself the liberty of stroking her bare back beneath his jacket, figuring if he’s gonna lick beaver he might as well do a little seducing beforehand, cherish her like she deserves, give them both the works. As much as he can give with this dull headache and the meds making him feel so leaden he could fall asleep in seconds. He takes a breath and tries to clear his head, focusing on kissing her well, kissing her better than any of those stupid young jocks ever managed.

Back at making a case to her that he could make her happy. He doesn’t know why he keeps trying that argument when a couple decades worth of broken hearts and homes behind him suggest otherwise.

“Wanna see what I used to pretend it was you?” she tempts against his lips as they surface for air, sounding so demure yet utterly unrepentant even as she confides, “After you petted me and sent me home I needed you so bad, couldn’t find anything that felt like you now, so I shut the tv right off. Grabbed my stuffy ‘cause he was fuzzy and had a belly like you and then I grabbed…here, wait here, don’t you move now!“

Her little butt is already bouncing out the room into the en-suite before she finishes the sentence and he is left to sit on the bed and await her return, processing the fact she had wanted hair and a corpulent figure.

Bizzare taste, definitely dealing with father issues, painfully sweet.

He groans in recognition that she’s entirely to his own taste.

She comes back holding the most bulbous bottle of shampoo he’s ever seen in his life. The size of his damn fist easily, bright yellow and shaped at the top like like a lemon an- hell it’s even named “Lemon-Something-Or-Other”.

“I used this!” she proclaims with a giggle that jiggles her whole body.

Elvis just stares, torn between impressed and horrified. “You’re tellin’ me that…thang…fit up your lil cooch?”

“Well, no,” she admits, mood immediately deflating in disappointment with herself, “but I’m working on it! Or maybe I don’t have to, now that I’ve got the real thing, as you call it!”

Gigi bites her lip and winks in an attempt to be seductive and it’s the most ludicrously jarring thing Elvis can imagine, he roars with laughter at her art of being a cock tease without trying and a total clown when she does try.

Oh fuck he’s in love. Yeah, already established that awhile back but, it’s just, it’s hitting him again.

“I think you’ll find the real thing a bit disappointin’ by comparison.” he wheezes, too amused to be insecure.

“Oh really?” she perks up in palpable relief, “Oh thank jesus! That thing’s huge and I was gonna try for you but- but -but it’s huge! And I was just gauging from what I saw floppin’ around in your tracksuit that night and I was trying to not be obvious, so I couldn’t exactly clock it real good but it looked awfully wide, like a paper towel roll when it’s halfway gone and this was the only thing I could find like it, I wasn’t going to use anything of Tammy’s and besides they weren’t fat either so I just…” She trails off with a shrug, still standing there before him holding the fuckin’ Lemon Drop Shampoo.

She’d tried not to be obvious, she says, but he’d caught her staring well below his belt half a dozen times in two days. “So,” Elvis is still wiping the tears of amusement from his eyes, “so ya used a shampoo bottle and a teddy bear.”

“Yeah.”

“And did it work?” his eyes darken at the prospect of hearing her tell him this naughty story.

“Sorta.”

“How can it ‘sorta’ work?”

“I came,” Gigi sighs, “but I felt so empty..after. Cried myself to sleep” her embarrassed giggle does not deceive him from the certainty that she’s telling the truth.

“Oh baby, what’re we gonna do with you?” he asks her and God Almighty all at once.

“Hold me, please?” she whispers.

“Course, baby. Nothin’ I’d rather do, get over here,” He holds out his arms and she cruises in at a deceptively fast speed, colliding back into his chest and tucking her face into the crease of his neck, she’s pressing kisses there into that sweaty fold and he rubs her back, traces the dip of her waist, the slow curve outwards of her hips, thumbs at the flimsy material of her panties. Feeling her soft skin and treasuring it. Wondering what she’s thinking and not knowing she’s thanking God she gets to be held by him.

“You make feel so safe.” her breath ghosts over his face and he’s not sure how it’s so fresh and lovely after scarfing down burgers and cherry coke but he can’t get enough and he grabs her face as gently as he can manage with this much wonder filling him in a rush.

He’s pretty sure she ain’t ever had a chance to kiss with tongue, she’s eager to slip hers in but she’s got that petrified immobility of a gal who’s never gotten the chance to give and take, just give while some stupid rash boy slobbers and knocks her teeth.

Elvis is quite good with his tongue.

He flicks at her tongue, he waits, taps her butt until she gets his prompt. She flicks. He trails it alongside her own, he waits. He taps. She mimics. They get a good commerce going and soon she’s squirming and writhing in his lap while he stays put, his patience and experience a buoy for her as she flounders with so much desire she doesn’t know how to cope beyond undulating against him and tugging at his hair, their mouths wide and uncaring, devouring.

It’s fun with a girl leveraging down on him from his lap, one might think it would put him at a disadvantage but it doesn’t, he turns her silly head with a firm hand at the nape of her neck, and she’s just a dolly up there for him to work against his mouth. Rather like how he’s gonna work her pussy if they make it that far. For now, there’s this age old dance and her pretty breaths.

He sucks her tongue and she lets out a cry that’s distorted by the absence of any control over her own tongue and suddenly he can feel her move more frantically, fumbling between them until he hears the zzzz of the zipper as she undoes her jacket front and frees her full breasts like the thin cloth was suffocating her. It becomes clearer what she needs when she continues to fumble between them, unsatisfied, until he feels his own taught closure opening and the fan air hits him and goosebumps spread and shame flares and then it’s unity. Their chests meeting, pressing, soft and warm and she shudders against him like she just touched a force field.

She mewls into his mouth again and traces his puffy lips with the tip of her tongue while he breathes. “Feels so right.” he realizes in a mumble.

“Mhmm.” she says as she presses more kisses to his panting mouth. Gigi reaches between them once more and he watches cross eyed from the closeness as she hefts one boob up and presses it between them more firmly, before repeating the procedure with the other until, until they are smashed to her satisfaction. Then she starts grinding, those fat titties of hers, against him with the rest of her- against his hairy, saggy man boobs, she’s dragging her nipples across him and worrying them red with his rough texture, her toes curling from the friction. Her nipples are pebbled and she’s crying out, can’t stop moaning or calling for God because he feels so good against her. Cradling her boob her fingers press selfishly against one of his own nipples and lil Elvis wants to fight against his induced state, desperate to twitch for this pretty girl’s attention. “Oh god, you’re so hairy, like a nest! So perfect and manly and, I’m gonna, let me, let me please, please oh god, feels so good!” she’s working herself up to a squealing frenzy going over one particular patch of ratted curls… from…rubbing her pretty nipples on his chest hair.

Elvis just sits there and computes, watches, like a green boy, Gigi’s cradled boobs, her gaping mouth, her long throat and her cramping widdle sooties. God, what he’d give to suck those curling little piggies.

He’s hot as a furnace, this man, and those coarse, wiry curls are zapping her already throbbing nipples until Gigi can’t seem to breathe, so much sensation crowding her senses but not where she needs. She grinds down on him, where they’ll join so perfectly, and she feels that perfectly fat cock of his wedged on top of his thick thighs that he can’t manspread for once with her on top of him. She reaches down and positions him through the silky track bottom until she can slide along, feeling the width of him parting her pussy lips even with the thong’s fabric obstructing. His pants are sticky to touch, even though he feels too heavy and floppy to be fully hard.

Elvis should kiss her again. Warn her he ain’t good for nothin’ before she gets her hopes up and he gets to humiliate himself like some useless old fuck.

“Daddy, daddy fill me up, daddy.” she beats him to it in the prettiest little beg he’s ever heard.

“Oh Gigi.” he groans compassionately before grabbing her hand and bringing it up away from his messy lil pecker, “I’s gone lick you, don’t you recall?”

“Yes but I’m past that, I need you inside me!” she gasps, grin growing by the second.

“Ah, yeah, well baby it’s a big deal, takin’ innocence and uh-“ he scratches the back of his head and she escapes his hold and her hand is back to it, squeezing his cock and it really does feel nice, in a head scratch sorta way. “Look, Gigi, honey, I’m sorry but lil Elvis is shy tonight.” he holds his breath as she slowly processes this.

She doesn’t retract her hand as she registers what he’s saying. “Aww, but I can kiss him!”

“M-m-maybe some other time?” he pleads like he’s asking a child to please let him get away with just five bedtime stories. Six is overkill and Daddy has work tomorrow.

She pouts briefly before bringing her sticky hand up to her mouth and licking her fingers like a barbarian. That sight alone almost fixes his damn ED. Gigi likes the light taste of him, humming in approval at the first taste like a baby trying candy for the first time.

“T-t-that means he likes ya, though.” he assures her like an idiot and she smiles around her digits.

She’s very sober and a little mournful, the way she keeps looking at him, not at all petulant or even the slightest bit contemptuous, just concerned and it primes some pump inside him to explain more than he ever should but he can’t seem to stop the words as they come out, “Had a migraine this mornin’ before ya came over and I wanted to be in ship-shape for some fun -fun with you- so I had to take some lil helpers for the head and they, well, they, they mess with…that.” he motions to his lap.

“Awww,” she laments, heartbroken as if he had to endure having his head sawn clean off, “you had a migraine? And you still had us over? Oh poor, sweet daddy!” she shifting in his lap to rub at the back of his head and into his hair and he tries to mumble assurances that it’s better now but they get lost in the glorious blubber of her frankly unnecessarily huge breasts that happen to be smashed in his face as she attends to his head. “I’ll put some oils on it- I’ve got a bathtub, we could put you in tha-”

“-Baby girl,” He laughs, excavating his chin from her cleavage, “it’s better now, I was just explainin’ the faulty mechanics. I ain’t always so stove up, didn’t want you thinking-“

“Oh I wouldn’t care!” she gushes intensely and he’s very worried that streak of the insane fan in her is larger than he thought but it’s too late, she’s caught him in her big tittied, huge nippled, anklet wearing trap, “I’d lick you and suck you and wiggle you inside me soft no matter what, all my days! I don’t care!”

“T-that’s real touching.” he murmurs in a daze. She’s perfect, every man’s wet dream - and he’s the damn lucky bastard that gets to have her. And he can’t even make full use of her.

“I’m gonna give you a back massage with some marjoram oil-“

“No, no you’re not.” he grabs at her to keep her forcefully on his lap, “I don’t need no hippy potions, I ain’t no witch’s experiment or an ole man. I’m here to eat beaver. Or…baby seal, with that bald thing.”

“You sure? I-“

“Gigi, be good.” he puts his finger to her lips and she freezes like a chastised bambi. “Good baby girl. Now you lay back f’me and spread those pretty legs. A man needs room to work his magic.”

“Ok.” she agrees in an excited whisper and tips out of his lap sideways onto the sheets, giving him a full view of her -nearly- naked self for the first time, completely serene and without artifice. He knew she'd be even worse without clothes, worse for his obsession and his indulgence and everything else but this -this is an Angel.

God, he really adores women. Best idea ever to make ‘em, and to make them with fat boobies and lil holes to rub peckers into and sweet faces to paint slimey and cute widdle toes to rub your balls against.

“Ok, let’s see what we’re workin’ with here.” he smirks and gets on his belly with a grunt, heaving himself up the bedsheets and in between her long legs, taking his fingers and moving aside that stupid little string they call underwear these days. “Oh lord, look at that.” he appreciates the pretty pink beauty of her and the smooth pale skin of her kitty, so delicate and girly and -he’s a little smitten. More than he expected. Which was an oversight with the way she keeps blowing his hopes out of the water.

“You’re the prettiest thing I ever did lay eyes on, sweetheart.” he swears with his whole heart, shuffling in closer and kissing her thigh.

Gigi cranes her neck and unsatisfied with the narrowed visuals says, “Wait, lemme prop up.” and stuffs a few pillows behind her back and sits up, legs spread wide and her smile pleased like she’s about to watch her favorite film, “Ok, now I can watch you. Go ahead, daddy.”

“Umm, alright.” he clears his head once more at the thought of her wanting to watch and dives in. Somehow he gets the feeling if he doesn’t go for it she’ll come in seconds anyway she’s so high strung and then he’ll have barely gotten his taste.

Furry, silky, warm -that’s how his hair and head feel beneath her hands, his fuzzy sideburns and his hair so little styled after the pool fluffs and tufts adorably and his cheeks puff out with his vigorous exertions and his sideburns chafe her thighs and his hands are everywhere at once -Gigi watches all these things and marvels in her heart at it. He’s very voracious about it while still having a great deal of -nuance- to it. Like a man who is in a watermelon eating competition, he may look rabid but if he’s won a few then he must have a calculated method down amid the mess.

The predominant feeling is comfortable intimacy. They are both surprised by it, she by the naturalness of watching the most famous face on planet earth smeared from her pleasure and rapturously content with her taste, he with the pleasant rightness of her legs squeezing his shoulders snuggly and her hands petting his hair away from his sweaty forehead. His scalp sweats the more he works and she rubs his neck as if mindful of the lurking migraine, as if she can only thank him for his touches by returning them.

She praises his tongue in breathy awe, “so long and pink and wet and oh-“

Nose buried in pink and wet and sweet womanliness Elvis hums his agreement. Peeking up through his lashes he can see the one hand not cradling his head is industriously tugging on those dark, large nipples of hers. He grinds himself against the bed on pure instinct. Another day, another night, he’s gotta get those large nipples of hers in his mouth.

She calls him beautiful. Again and again. “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful, worse in person, more than I ever imagined, in my wildest-“

Again and again. Beautiful, she says. More than dreams. More, he’s more and more till Gigi’s praise dissolve into shrieks and pants, screams that whimper out into the low apartment ceiling as the afternoon sun dims, as he keeps going until they build again. And again, her hips are nothing if not insistent on grinding up against his mouth. The room smells of sweat and pleasure and sun-in. She’s vocal in her gratitude, persistent in returning his touch, petting him to say thank you when she finds she can’t form coherent sentences.

Eventually there is no more.

Just peace, and him, heaving back his breath against her thighs in a pussy-drunk stupor, and her shaking from seizing one too many times. His scalp is burning beneath her hands, his neck too. Inflamed and angry, she thinks of how much he loves to give. Wished she’d looked at the clock, something to tell the girls about. Just how many minutes, hours, days? he’d spent pleasing her.

“Good?” he asks in a hopeful little slur and the pink of his cheeks and the shiny glimmer on his nose is so childlike and content in his pouty snooze that her heart melts and she curls over him as best she can and squeezes.

“It was everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes into his burning ear, “I’m hooked.”

His laugh rumbles the whole bed, “Me too, baby girl.”

Their skin is sticky and tacky, they adhere to each other in their embrace. He is soothed by such a clasp as theirs while the longer he lays on his stomach the more keenly aware he is of how it hurts. Now’s the time to roll over and mention something about needing to get back. Now would be it, but for some reason the words don’t come and he lays on his knotted gut, suppressing winces and biting his lip against the pinches, trying to recall the sweetness of her, what made this worth it. Her breath fans his neck, wafting across his cheek -cuddle bug, he thinks, fond. Home, he should go home, but never has it felt so utterly foreign. Like a figment of what he wants and needs, like Christmas morning without your mama. A house is just a shell without heart. He wonders if his boys have got the front den cleaned yet of barbecue and would-be-in-laws.

“Do you need to get off your…head?” Gigi whispers softly and it startles him. She’s got a point, all his blood is rushing to his brain the way he’s laying.

“Probably should.” he grunts and slowly, like a pair of cats, they uncurl from around each other to be face to face for the first time since they shared such pleasure. They’re both a little pink and their smiles are too wide. He wonders at the happiness she’s releasing, marveling that he put it there. He’s got to be careful or it won’t be too long before this little girl realizes she’s got him wrapped around her finger already.

She rubs her nose against his. Another way to kiss.

She asks him if he needs a drink.

“I’ll help you with your philosophy homework.” He promises instead, it’s a reason to see her again. And soon. A reason to see her again and a hint it can’t be tonight.

Tonight he needs his pills, his bed, an enema and god knows what else just to make it till morning. He could cry from how badly he wants to be spontaneous, to go to a girl’s place, make love, cuddle like this and when he says he has to go and her eyes well up with tears at the prospect of his absence -he’d like to be able to say he can stay.

“Hush it’s alright, I’ll stay. I’ve got you, no one’s gonna ever leave you cold again.” something like that. Instead he says he can help with her test. Instead he tries to fool himself into being something less than heartbroken at how even the simplest thing in his life has to be a big production.

“Will you really?” Gigi’s face lights up at his piss poor offer.

“Promise.” he repeats.

“And will you promise me you’ll let me repay you?” She presses slyly, her hand petting down his chest and over the swell of his gut. Some childlike weariness in him wants her to rub it better. He remembers feeling the same way as a child regarding his mother’s touch and despite the fact that Gigi’s a baby girl - his baby girl - he trusts she’d make one Gladys Love Presley proud, doing her best to take care of him.

“Mmmaybe.” he looks down at her with playful suspicion.

“Promise me!” she demands, kicking her feet and flipping over to look down at him, swinging a leg to straddle him again.

He can’t help the wince his face flashes at the pressure of her hands from that high vantage. She flings them off him like she’s been burned, likes she’s the one who got hurt. “Oh shoot, sorry, sorry.” she gasps, her eyes wide and blue and tearful, “It’s bad, huh?”

As if not being able to get it up weren’t chastisement enough for his ego, now there’s this. “Uh huh.” he grits and the stab passes for the moment.

“Do you have something for it?” she hopes, “Do you need to go home?.”

There’s the out he needs. Didn’t even have to say it himself. Melancholy descends like fog over his soul but he reminds himself it is what is, he’s better off than most. So what if he can’t have sleepovers on whim or shit like a normal human or skip having his blood pressure checked every goddamn morning -he has a lot, and he got to eat Gigi’s silky smooth bare pussy. Today was a good day. Not even a wash, it was a good day, she made it a good day.

“Yeah, I need to get home.” he sounds every bit as despondent as he feels about it and he hopes she’ll take that as the compliment intended.

“Ok!” she chirps without missing a beat, jumping up in nothing but his open jacket, skipping out the bedroom door, left turn into what seems to be the kitchen.

Well, she handled that better than expected. Elvis almost hopes she’s still orgasm-happy and it doesn’t reflect her readiness to have him out of her place. He idly flicks at the stack of papers to get some impression of where the test is stumping her. He fidgets with his zipper and closes his jacket back up, coloring at the memory of letting her expose him like that.

She comes bouncing back within the minute holding a glass of water and presenting it with authority, “Now you just drink this daddy, it’s got fennel tincture in it and will help your stomach. You just drink that while I pack my bag. I’ll be fast, don’t worry,” she goes on as he tries to compute what she means and sniffs her concoction warily, “I pack light anyways and we can always come back for the rest of my stuff later.”

Come back. For her stuff. Don’t worry -she packs light.

The fennel wafts around him, the smell of licorice and fairgrounds and his mama’s hand in his and daddy winning him that stuffed tiger. Fennel, for his stomach. He shakes his head. His tongue feels fuzzy.

Come back. For her stuff. She packs light.

She is coming with him. That’s what she must mean, he realizes as he drinks her awful drink and watches with teary eyes her bare ass bend over to grab jeans from a dresser and throw them in a duffel bag. Like Graceland is summer camp.

Come back for the rest later, she’d said. She is coming back with him, just knowing she’s welcome. He didn’t even have to beg, to ask, to suggest, to hint. Send a limo, nothin, just eat pussy and now she’s gonna live with him. Let her press her skin against his own just once and suddenly, he’s never gonna be lonely again.

She bounces into the bathroom and comes out with the damn lemon shampoo, to match the lemon conditioner abandoned on the floor.

Cheap drug store shit.

“Hell no, you’re not bringing that stuff into my house.” he lays down the law, his one condition and the first time he’s vocalized any acknowledgment of her entitlement to his hospitality, “You’ll use mine till we get you sorted.”

“I like the way you smell.” she admits, dropping the bottles there in the middle of the floor. That's that sorted.

It’s still not sunk in fully as Elvis drives his quite recognizable beast of a car through Memphis’ now dark streets, while Gigi sits beside him with her white stack of papers catching the street lights glare as they pass. His giddy joy at her willingness and her entitlement to stay with him is overshadowed by the cold lump in his throat, panicking about how to keep a shred of dignity intact or retain an iota of her attraction for him when she becomes aware of his routines.

“You’re gonna teach me how to help, right?” she asks very soberly from her side, as sober as he’s ever seen her.

“Whatcha mean, baby doll?” he tries to keep his tone light.

“You’ll teach me and show me how to care for you, right?” she presses again, “I wanna take care of you, like you take care of me.”

Simple as that -for her. He grunts out something she mistakes for a yes.

Elvis puffs harder on his lit cigar and feels like he’s gonna choke, ends up rolling his window down, gulping in fresh air as Gigi does it on her side too, hanging her head out the window and whooping into the night. He wonders what might distract her while he slips away this evening, maybe a movie or maybe the hot tub or maybe the horses. Maybe Tammy is still there like a bad penny and will keep her distracted. Tonight Elvis would welcome that. Only tonight, and his hand tightens on the steering wheel in frustration over his own worn out body and how it just can’t walk this stuff off anymore.

She’s still hanging out the window, she looks so young like that. His vision blurs.

Somehow Gigi’s feet have ended up in his lap by the time Sam’s letting them into the front gate. She wiggles her toes under his belly, rubbing at the soft skin. Grinning at him suggestively, like a fat man’s belly is the most sexy thing imaginable. He wants to snort.

“Think they saved us any barbecue?” she grins.

“No, it’s all in Gingersnaps’s hair and I ain’t touchin’ that ever again.” he allows himself to be a bit of bastard, it can’t be wrong when it makes Gigi giggle in maniacal glee in the passenger seat, secure now in having her Daddy’s attention. “I’m in the mood for peanut butter anyway.” he retorts.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

@helen06dreamer

@returntopresley

[sapphic-agent]

Why is Simon able to see Maddie?

I've been thinking about it for a while, and I think I might have an answer.

*SPOILERS AHEAD*

Let's start with what I don't think it is. I'm 99% sure that it's not because Simon's dying. There's speculation that he has a tumor or undiagnosed cancer causing him to slowly die and that's why he's able to see Maddie. But I have two issues with that:

Why is he only able to see Maddie? If him approaching death is what enables him to see and talk with a ghost, why is that only extended to one ghost? At the very least, wouldn't he have some kind of connection with the other ghosts? Maybe if not outright seeing them, then sensing their presence or something? But he's never given any indication they're there, we've seen that. If he was dying, he'd have a connection to the entire metaphysical plane, not just Maddie.

Why does he only start seeing her at that exact moment in season 1? If he was dying, wouldn't it have been sooner? Maddie was "dead" for three days before Simon saw her. And it was only at this specific time that he was able to do so.

What this tells me is that this isn't possible because of anything from Simon's end. Or, not completely from his end.

To answer this question, we need to look at the only other instance of a living person and ghost interacting. What enabled Maddie to see Janet and Mr. Martin arguing? What allowed Janet to steal Maddie's body in the first place?

I think it's a combination of things. Mr. Martin says to Janet, "What did you feel? You have to tell me." This implies that she did something that was completely unexpected by him. We don't know what it was exactly, but we can assume that it has to do with blurring the lines between life and death even if it was just a little. But I don't think it was just this that allowed Maddie to see her and Mr. Martin.

When Maddie describes her altercation with her mother to Simon, she says very deliberately, "She killed my spirit." Maddie wasn't just feeling upset in that boiler, she was broken. A lifetime of being battered down by her mother's alcoholism and negligence and this was the final straw. She wasn't physically dead at that point, but emotionally she might as well have been.

I think that these two things happening at the same time created a sort of passageway between Maddie and the metaphysical plane. The hollowness Maddie was feeling coincided with whatever Janet had done to blur those lines, and that's how Janet was able to push her soul out.

Now, if I'm right about all of that, what does that have to do with Simon?

Well, remember what Simon said to Ms. Fields, "I don't know how I'm going to survive this place without her." It's important to remember that Simon had a feeling she was dead, or at the very least seriously hurt/in trouble. He accepted the possibility of her being gone as fact, which is why he never questions her being a ghost. It isn't such a stretch to assume that he was feeling the same hollowness that Maddie was concerning her mother.

(This also answers why he was the only one. Sandra and Nicole still believed Maddie was alive, they weren't broken in the way that Simon was. And when Sandra did receive the news that there was a good chance Maddie was dead, she was at home, not the school. So her and Maddie wouldn't have been able to connect the way her and Simon did. Also, Maddie's relationship with her mother is very complicated. They don't have anything close to the bond that her and Simon do)

But like I said above, the connection has to be on both sides. Not only did Maddie watch him have this breakdown and was probably feeling similarly to him in that moment, she also had a tether to the living world; her body. So, the combination of their emotional bond, Simon's emptiness when faced with a world without her, and Maddie still technically being alive allowed them to connect past the limitations of death

[spookypete-94]

Up in the Air

Gaz!xGN!Reader

Have had this thought for awhile now, and really figured Gaz could use some love on this blog. Such a beautiful man and character in the series. Generally I like the rugged and rough men (daddy issues anyone?) but Gaz is just so lovely to look at.

Nerves boiling and shot, hot and bothered. Home had called and your mother was ill. Normally, you would drive back home but with your mother being sick there was urgency to get there.

That left flying. How you hated flying. This isn't your first time (more like 6th), but it sure feels just like it. There was something about the take off and the landing that terrified you. Maybe it was the turbulence, maybe it was the feeling of your organs being pushed back into the seat past your spine.

The surreal feeling had not hit you yet that you were going to have to board soon. Instead, you tried to focus on the many shops in the airport, avoiding food or drink as much as your stomach requested it. You knew you would pay for it later if you gave in.

Impending doom was the best way to describe it. Building up like a volcano, ready to erupt. Each step by step, boarding the plane. Watching your feet, like the floor could give out at any moment. This a trap, it has to be a trap. You were doing this for your mother, you had to get home to your mother.

You were fighting a battle inside. Two voices yelling at little ol' you. Still you did your best to function, stepping through the plane door. Nodding to the flight attendant with a crooked smile, pushing through this.

Placing baggage in the up above cubby, you sat in your seat and looked down at the floor, thumbs twiddling together. You never noticed that the seat next to you was soon filled. You just needed to focus on yourself. The flight attendant's voice not loud enough to drown any of your worries out as she explained what to do if the plane crashed. Better yet, just ignore her all together.

"You alright there?" A gentle and smooth voice asked next to.

Looking up, you saw a beautiful specimen of a man next to you. Tall, skin so wonderfully bronzed with toned muscles. Eyes bright in contrast with a set of full lips.

Great, just great. Not only were you now on the plane having a full panic attack, you were now on the plane having a full panic attack next to a man that looked like a Greek God.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Just hate flying." Your voice quiet meek, barely there.

"I understand that," he said with a smile and a sarcastic chuckle.

"I don't generally fly alone, I normally have someone with me and I can hold on to them."

Without hesitation, he lifted his arm out to you offering his bicep.

"Can hold on to me." Warm, sweet and kind.

Carefully, you took it, both hands wrapped around his arm.

"Thank you," you tried to smile at him.

"It's alright love," the hand from the arm you were holding squeezing your knee.

About halfway down the runway you heard the engines kick on, a heavy sigh leaving you while he squeezed your knee tighter.

"Its ok," he said again. Squeezing your eyes you hunched forward slightly. He adjusted using his arm to push you back into the seat worried the turbulence would be uncomfortable for you.

"You know i fell out of a helicopter one time."

Who starts off a story like that you?

"What?" you asked wanting him to repeat himself not sure you had heard him right.

"Fell out of a helicopter, was dangling from in with a rope." 'His free hand animated in a motion like you would use... you know life if you fell out of a fucking helicopter.

"Like a skydiving accident or something?" you asked trying to understand why.

Unknown he couldn't fully tell you why he limited his answer to. "Yeah, you could say that. What I'm trying to tell you, if I can fall out of a helicopter and still be alive, I'm going to make sure you live through this flight... alright?"

It made you laugh slightly, smiling and and nod back to him.

"Ok... Thank you...?" you said in a way asking for his name.

"Kyle."

"Thank you, Kyle."

The entire conversation had distracted you long enough to get up into the air without realizing it until you looked out the window. The city underneath you and clouds beside you.

"Can you shut the shade for me? I don't like looking out the window."

You shut the window upon his request, understanding why he would ask such a thing. Where is the irony of two people afraid of flying sitting next to each other on a plane? Better yet, what are the odds of them helping each other?

Masterlist

[astrangetorpedo]

On New Year’s Eve, during a house party at her home in Richmond, Virginia, Lucy Dacus had her fortune told. She thought why not. On a personal level, 2017 had been a wretched year – a steady conveyor belt delivering the 22-year-old bad news.

“This girl, who I didn’t even know, came to the party and gave me this year-long reading,” she explains. “Month-by-month it was so specific. So far, it’s kind of lined up.”

In the past Dacus has been sceptical about the prophetic powers of the tarot card deck, and was taught that the pentacles (coins) were a symbol of Satan. “It’s hard to look to the future and see nothing, to know nothing,” she muses. “I still don’t know what’s going to happen, but having something to have your mind bounce off is nice. That’s why I like tarot. It gives you something to reflect on.”

It’s all part of a fresh way of thinking for Dacus, a new “mood of just trying to be open to new things.” For so many reasons the past year has been one Lucy Dacus is keen to put behind her. “I guess I could just list things,” she says laughing, but not joking. To begin, some of her close family suffered health problems, compounded by her own serious issues including a bout of appendicitis that forced her to have surgery. She was attempting to buy a house for the first time, a process that proved “trying”. Three of her tours got cancelled.

“It was a little bit miserable,” says Dacus, sitting in an east London cafe. “Towards the end of the year, I just had to laugh… Like, come on!”

Interwoven with these practical challenges she was having to navigate something much more troubling. “I got out of a relationship in 2016, which I was waking up from in 2017 – realising that it was abusive,” she begins. “Letting myself say that, it took many months to come out of the numbness… to stop being brainwashed. So, that’s all been a growth. It’s ended up being positive, but it is difficult wondering how I let that be a part of my life for so long.”

Deepening the ordeal, still, this year of personal upheaval was set to the backdrop of Trump’s first 12 months in office. A vociferous supporter of Bernie Sanders through the 2016 election campaign, Dacus is a passionate advocate for equal rights, attending marches and collecting donations for community organisations at her shows. To have Trump sat in the White House representing her country, she says, felt – feels – “horrible”. “It’s just absurd and I feel like I’m in an alternate universe,” she says. “It’s really hard maintaining hope.

“Coming to Europe I’m embarrassed to be an American sometimes, but then I just have to hope that people know that I am not part of Trump. I’ve thought about wearing shirts at the airport – just like ‘not my president’. In little ways I just want to assert that opinion.”

And then there were the disturbing revelations surrounding Harvey Weinstein (and subsequently many other men) revealed in Autumn 2017, that opened out into a global conversation around the abuse and harassment of women.

“It’s been nice coming out of that really terrible relationship during a time when women are speaking up more. It feels like I’m allowed to say these things now,” says Dacus, crediting the #MeToo movement. “All these horrible, heartbreaking stories of women being mistreated are at the forefront but the solace that people are doing what they need in order to find closure and help each other prevent that happening ever again. For one of the first times I’ve been noticing male friends of mine actually examining their past behaviours.”

While there are some early shoots of positivity, the truth is, the culmination of all of these factors left the songwriter dealing with anxiety for the first time. “2017 was a new state of mind for me – and not really in the best way.”

Lucy Dacus was raised in Richmond, Virginia, about two hours south of Washington D.C. on the east coast. It’s a place sometimes described as “the biggest small town left in America.” The family home was in the rural suburbs and she travelled into the city to go to high school. “It’s hard to tell you in one answer how my whole childhood was,” she says. “It’s a large variety of things. Overall, I’m coming out with my thumbs up.”

In her household music was always there. Her mother is a piano teacher, as was her grandmother. Picking up songwriting was never a big deal, like a second language that was spoken around the house. “That’s how music is – like, it’s just part of my life,” she recalls.

Yet the dream of being a professional artist seemed almost so unattainable that it was invisible. In her late teens, Dacus went to college to study film but dropped out, primarily because she’d end up saddled with huge debt. “That, paired with the feeling of being misunderstood in my programme,” she confirms. “I just didn’t have a lot of like minds in my classes.”

That prompted a move back to Virginia where she took a job in a photography lab developing kids’ cheesy school photos. She’d been writing songs in her spare time and gathered nine of the 30-or-so she had together when her friend Jacob Blizard (now her touring guitarist) asked her to record them for his school project. Her 2016 debut album, ‘No Burden’, was made in one day in Nashville. Blizard passed school, and that album received rave reviews. NPR called it “vulnerable”, while Pitchfork said it was an “uncommonly warm indie rock record”. As a result, 20 different record labels reportedly scrabbled to sign Dacus. She settled on Matador, and began to prepare for what should have been a joyful 2017.

The first time Dacus remembers assuming the role of historian she was seven or eight-years-old. She was writing in her journal – and she smiles now recalling her first entry. It complained about how the babysitter spent the whole evening on the phone to her boyfriend. “There’s a point where I realise I’m journaling and so I stop and go, ‘I should probably introduce myself… I’m Lucy’” she laughs, remembering it clearly. “It’s really cute.”

More than a dozen notebooks, and many years later, she still keeps a diary now. Sometimes she writes every day, other times, weeks go by and then she fills 20 pages. Occasionally she flicks open an old one to either “laugh or cringe” at her younger self.

‘Historian’, then, isn’t just the title of her latest album, but also the way she thinks of herself. A chronicler, of her own experiences, but also those around her. Those pages aren’t just a document of a growing maturity, but also a therapeutic habit that helps make sense of many life events, including that recent damaging relationship. “Seeing that it had been broken for the whole time but that I was just oblivious to it, [reading about] it helps to accept that things didn’t change,” she says. “I just saw it for what it was finally, and so perspective is good.”

Those handwritten journals are sacred, which is why, when her tenth one was stolen on tour a few years ago along with a bag of possessions, it was the notebook she replaced first.

The album itself is a recent history – a narrative burrowing through those myriad dark times. Dacus knew that she wanted it to form a complete story, and wrote the track list before some of the songs. “It’s an arc” she says, that begins in a “relatable place” with the only break-up song she’s ever written (‘Night Shift’) that subsequently delves “deeper into darkness.”

“Then the subject matter gets a little more intense,” she tells me, “– going through identity crises, or loss of home, or loss of faith, loss of a loved one, loss of your life. I feel like I’m pulling people into an uncomfortable space.” She pauses. “There’s then a change where hopefully I’m turning on a light and saying, ‘Yes, all of that exists, but it’s a foil to joy.’”

It is an extraordinary piece of work. Musically it’s a colossal step up, reminiscent of recent albums by Mitski (‘Puberty 2’), Angel Olsen (‘My Woman’) and labelmate Julien Baker (‘Turn out the Lights’). The subject matter is heavy, but it’s never a dreary listen. In fact, it’s charming, funny even – like a brave smile emerging through a curtain of tears. And Dacus has a gift for lyric writing; like the eloquent way she pays tribute to the humility shown by her dying grandmother on ‘Pillar of Truth’. From first to final note it’s evocative and powerful. “The first time I tasted somebody else’s spit I had a coughing fit,” goes the LP’s opening line in ‘Night Shift’. “If past you were to meet future me,” she sings on the final line of the closing title track, “would you be holding me now?”

It’s heartening to hear that the contents of Dacus’ NYE tarot reading were largely positive. The forecast noted that she should enjoy the proceeds of her hard work, but that “something horrible happens in the summer, then there’s kind of a rebirth, growing back into, like, life in an even more knowledgeable and peace-oriented way.” Dacus is about to leave, and picks up a bag of books she’s been keeping underneath the cafe table.

“It could be wrong,” she says. “I’m not superstitious. I’m taking it in. When that does happen I hope I can take my own advice – let it be what it is, and look past it eventually

(x) 3/14/18

[maskedlotus65]

HERE ME OUT!!!! I MADE A SMURF AU!!!!

(admittedly I got the idea while on Char. Ai, BUT STILL!)

What if...

Neither Gargamel OR Papa Smurf...

Changed Vexy and Hackus into real smurfs?

What if instead they were found by....

I'm calling it my Mother-Willow AU, still working on it a bit.

For some context:

The AU starts before the events of the Smurfs The Lost Village movie.

Gargamel makes Vexy and Hackus using the Smurfette recipe, hoping to make his own smurfs instead of catching them all the time. However, due to either a smudged ingredient or failed memory, he is unable to repeat the results. So he ends up with, as he says; "Two utterly useless failed experiments."

Vexy and Hackus don't have the best first months or years with Gargamel, since, as expected, he isn't the world's best father. He insults, ignores, and pushes aside their issues at any chance. But since they don't have any other role models, or at least a positive one, they take whatever pride Gargamel very rarely shows. Other than that, they spend their days tormenting Azrael or looking for anything to do that would make their creator proud.

One day, while Gargamel is out collecting mandrake, Vexy and Hackus leave his hovel to explore he forest, but end up lost. As they wonder what they should do, wandering the forest, Willow stumbles upon them. Taking pity, Willow brings them to Smurfy Grove, and is able to change them from a dull grey to a Smurfy blue.

She takes them in as her daughter and son, making sure they come to no harm after hearing how they described their past life with Gargamel, and the two never returned to Gargamel's hovel, living in Smurfy Grove instead. They learn the ways of the village, and soon the others accept them.

Vexy and Hackus are very close to their new mother, having never felt such caring love in their lives. Though it took some time, the two are able to put what they know and do to good use. Vexy is often helping Willow with her natural remedies, magic, and spells, while Hackus takes on more heavy lifting duties like building or self defense. Vexy has also taken a liking to stork and dragonfly flying. The two still occasionally prank others, but it's no longer out of maliciousness.

I'm planning on doing some doodles of the AU with more details, maybe even a comic version of the movie with Vexy an Hackus in it. Though it may take a bit since the AU's a little work in progress, I don't want it to be a "and Bumblebee" situation.

I imagine Gargamel, when his future captures Smurfette instead of a different Smurf, he makes an offhanded remark of "Would've been worse if you had gotten the other two," making Smurfette think about that in the back of her mind. I'm also working on how they'd react to Smurfette as well, since Gargamel would occasionally mention to them about having a sister who "abandoned" him when they were still living with him.

Anyways, hope you like my little au, I hope it's not too much.

[my2phetaliaheadcanons]

I am not exactly sure if your request are open or this account is abandoned because I don't wanna bother.. But how do 2p Prussia, 2p America, 2p Italy, 2p Canada to their darling s/o walking around, talking by themselves and running around when their alone, especially listening to music and do that.. People usually called it maladaptive daydreaming?.. And I again I'm sorry if I bother you

+ This comment: Oh if you don't know maladaptive daydreaming.. You can search it on google, maladaptive daydreaming is usually caused by mental health issue

Ah! I’ve heard of this, and I relate to a lot of the symptoms. Honestly, the process helps me with a lot of my writing, but I’ve never really had it overtake my life.

And you’re no bother hun! Also, as long as the ask box is open you can submit until your heart’s content (this goes for everyone!). Adult life sometimes makes it hard to be consistent with my writing. Even though life’s made it tough, it just takes longer than I thought. Which I am sure we all understand.

Also, if you ever want, you are welcome to ask me questions, or just check in on my status. I don’t consider them the same as a request/ask. Honestly, I’ve always wondered if I should share the menu of questions. Like the ones of lists where people request a number/shape/phrase from a menu of questions and the author answers them.

Note: (F/Br) = Favorite Brand

Anyways on to the event~

(Y/N)’s head rocked to unheard music as she moved through the house. A large basket, full of dirty clothes, was in hand as she muttered to herself. Like a plane on autopilot, her legs took the barefoot woman down the hidden, wooden stairs toward the basement.

With her mind lost to the clouds, she was unaware of the encroaching shadows. One that slunk along her walls and blended in with her home’s hidden corners.

The man’s ears were perked, eager to pick up on her muttering as he remained out of sight; but as he tried to make out each, exact word, all he could do was scrunch his face in confusion. She was uttering pure nonsense. Curiosity continued to knock at his brain, as he realized the muttering and occasional grunt sounded like someone in a fight. Part of him wondered if she hated laundry. Or was she somehow hurt, that a mere load of laundry caused her body to ache so, maybe she was complaining about that event? Perhaps, during the hours he had left her, someone said something to piss her off and to alleviate the feeling of failure she was repeating the moment but with her winning?

Brushing off the momentary flare of anger at the possibility of something going wrong, he decided to stalk closer. His presence unnoticed as he fell in line with the darkness to follow the woman further into the unfinished basement.

Remaining between the darken beams of an empty corner room, the man watched as she bounced past the laundry room. He choked down the chuckle that threatened to bubble out as she seemed to forget what chore she was doing. He watched as her quirked lips and blink of confusion reminded him of a puppy denied a bone via a simple magic trick. But after a moment she stepped backwards and moved inside to complete the chore.

For hours, he watched from the dark places of (Y/N)’s home as she continued in what he could only call her own wonderland. Little sounds and words came from her as she auto piloted her way through the evening. Each of her movements could only be described as light and spacey. 

Soon enough, (Y/N) had finished her day. Her head hitting the cold pillow and slowly giving up consciousness in return for a more vivid fantasy as she cuddled her blanket close.

As her breath settled into sleep’s pattern. The man left the shadows and stood over (Y/N). He looked down, his eyes softened by worry as he brushed away her hair.

The whole day. She had not noticed him once. Not even reacting to the feeling of his eyes tracing her form.

Oh, what to do with her.

HIS.

SWEET.

LITTLE.

OBLIVIOUS.

ALICE.

Prussia: Once again, (Y/N) moved on autopilot. Her mind lost to wonderland as she cleaned the front room windows. A dance to step as her inner adventure rose closer to its climax. Ignorant of the eyes on the outside.

 “Another day, another fantasy”. thought Wilhelm as he watched her from his dark Audi. His thumb tapped along the steering wheel as he bobbed to her beat. Waiting for her.

Waiting for the next point of her set schedule. The subconscious pattern he had identified weeks earlier. The key to bringing Maus home was a simple afternoon walk.

His cornflower orbs flitted to the car clock. The neon numbers changed to fourteen hundred. At its brief flicker, to signify the change of the hour, Wilhelm looked back to the house.

(Y/N) opened the white door, and Wilhelm felt his heart stop. Her beauty alone froze the breath within his lungs.

The summer sun reflected off her (H/C) locks and the (F/C) headphones helped create a beautiful halo. Her eyes were refreshing pools of (E/C) that offered relief from the ruthless heat. The baggy, mesh, basketball shorts and simple graphic tee made her seem like an angel failing to blend in with mortals.

To view her so openly felt like a sin. But Wilhelm couldn’t ignore the serpent’s call. Not when the house had been prepared, and the wedding planning was in the final stages.

No, he thought as she walked past his car. Not when her mental wonderings made it so easy for him to snatch her away.

He opened the car door. Following the distracted woman down the suburban running trail.

Not when he could make his own daydreams a reality.

America: Over the next few weeks, (Y/N)’s mind continued its wandering. Those mental walks felt like a summer, sun-dappled path as she made her way through the elaborate stories. After all, they prevented a dull moment and allowed her to complete her days and tasks while tranced.

It was perfect.

If only you didn’t ask Allen.

On each visit to her home, he was ignored. His presence was treated as nothing more than a fly on the wall. Allen would agree that it was nice, it allowed him to get closer. To be bolder in his actions.

Even with all he learned and all he was able to do, it wasn’t enough. The information lacked intimacy. The kind where Allen could slide into (Y/N)’s life. To build a bond that would take them from friends to a couple, and finally end with marriage.

Just him and her. Forever.

If she wasn’t so damn lost within her own mind.

The process of focusing her hazy eyes on him would take too long if he went the organic route. No, he wanted her attention.

And.

He.

Wanted.

It.

Now.

Italy: The grocery store bustled with life as (Y/N) pushed her cart forward. Her lazy stride as her upper body leaned on the cart handle. Her eyes felt that the world was so distant as she glanced along the shelves like her dedication to the dream prevented the world from coming into focus.

A sudden crash of zincified steel and a punch to the gut caused (Y/N) to choke as her lungs struggled to regain their air and her stomach to keep its contents down.

A groan mumbled its way through (Y/N)’s clenched lips as her mind caught up with reality. She had been wondering about the snack aisle for chips, but at its lack of (F/Br) and at her mental moment of failure, she decided to check the next aisle in case they were moved. Initially, there was no one at the aisle’s end that (Y/N) had seen, so she exited. But, like a teen driver with a brand-new cellphone, her glance up was not long enough.

“Non ci posso credere!”, came from the owner of the hand that was now rubbing her back. His gentle touch helped calm her body’s panic as she looked back at him.

(E/C) widened as a heavy blush warmed her cheeks.

He was handsome.

His copper hair that had the smallest hints of crimson in the highlights the shone like bloody pennies in the florescent lights. His eyes were the deepest pools of maroon that pulled at her brain like a siren’s song. A sharp nose that complimented the soft smile that crinkled the corners of his beautiful eyes.

Yet, her brain couldn’t ignore that something was off. Was it in the way he looked at her? Or the gentle, but tight grip on her arm? Either way, it made (Y/N) feel like she was viewing a shadow from above the water’s surface. That underneath lay a predator in wait, urging her to jump in. To embr-.

“Tesoro?” The man interrupted. “Are you alright?”

She ummed with a nodded as she scurried to collect her cart and stand straight. A stuttered “Yes” as she began to turn her cart away and after a silent moment of staring, an “I’m sorry” as her steps led her away from the attractive Italian.

(Y/N) should have looked back.

Because Luciano stepped forward. His voice was soft as he called for her to look back. It had enough power that only (Y/N) should have turned to look at him. To bless him with another conversation. To give him his anchor point into her life.

She should not have let her dreams dull her senses as her wondering took her around the aisle’s corner.

Because he frowned. A frown so deep that the creases pulled his lips downward. She was lost again. Not even thirty seconds after bruising her gut. Not allowing him the chance to smooth over the pain with the promise of pleasure.

Being ignored burned him. A blaze that flittered like black flames from his heart to his head with horrible ideas.

Ideas that concluded this ‘dream-walking’ could be trained out. Or at least, change them. Maybe, dreams that were filled with only him, could be a better anchor. Even if they would quickly become nightmares.  

Canada: Large shelves were covered in books. Each varied in thickness, texture, color, and quality, but with one thing in common. They were all blank.

Matt’s scuffed hand reached for a leather bound, brown journal. He turned it over in his hands before flipping through the pages. It seemed sturdy. A book that could handle a lot of pages turning, folding, and writing, but he grimaced. Its paper was rated for matte, which was the standard.

“No.” He muttered. “It’s too light.”

His boot-clad feet carried him further into the book aisle of the art store. As he approached the end, his lilac eyes were drawn downward to a small, black book on the bottom shelf.

Gently, Matt picked it up. His hands carded through the paper and looked over its binding. This one was a lot stronger than the last. Pausing at the book’s middle he noted that it’s pages were tightly bound with glue and white tread that released the smell of glue as he closed it with a small slam.

‘One final thing’, he thought as he flipped the book over for it’s specs.

Hot Pressed Watercolor

‘Finally,’ He sighed as he tucked the book under his arm. ‘Now, all I have to do is finish her studio.’

With a nearly, unnoticeable pop in his step, Matt left the store.

After all, with one more thing checked off his list.

That meant he was one item closer to bringing (Y/N) home.

One more thing closer to a happy home with children.

And after all, (Y/N)’s dreams could mean happier children. All he has to do is encourage her to record.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hello. I'm writing fanfiction and I'm very thankful for your blog, it is helping me alot.

So one problem I'm finding in my writing is that paragraphs don't feel "flowy", they feel "choppy" and dull. Like there isn't a flow between the sentences, and it feels like they are shoved together. Here are examples from my writing to make it clearer:

1.In his 25 years of life, Sara was the only woamn to occupy his heart and mind. Every woman looked dull in comparison to the divine torrent that was her. She had full possesion of him, and she didn't even know it.

2.And today was his first event as a teacher. The event was taking place in 'X school' this year, but he was sure next year it will be in 'Y school'. He trained his students well enough to beat 'Y's' students.

Did you feel what I'm talking about? Or is it all in my head?

Writing Feels Choppy/Not Flowing

It's hard to tell overall flow from a few snippets, and when a paragraph is separated from the rest of the narrative, it can be difficult to tell whether something is an issue or is clarified in the surrounding context. Here are some potential issues, though, if it helps to give you an idea of what to watch out for to make things feel less clunky. Just keep in mind, this is my subjective interpretation with limited context, so use your best judgment if it feels it doesn't apply:

Paragraph #1 - "In his 25 years of life, Sara was the only woamn to occupy his heart and mind." This is probably clearer with the surrounding context, but as a snippet, going from the pronoun "his" to the name "Sara" was immediately confusing. But, as long as it's clear who "he" is prior to this sentence, it's fine.

"the divine torrent that was her..."

This is certainly an evocative description, but without any context it feels a little clunky. As long as there is context for why he'd think of her as a "divine torrent" and what that means to him when he describes her that way, it should be fine.

"She had full possession of him, and she didn't even know it."

I see what you're trying to do here, but "full possession" feels a bit heavy in a paragraph that otherwise feels like it's trying to be romantic. So, I think that lack of tone agreement makes it feel a bit clunky. If that's your intention, to illustrate a love that has obsessive and even dangerous qualities, that's fine. Otherwise, you might consider rewording to something that fits the romantic tone a bit more, something like: "She held his soul completely, yet she didn’t even realize it." Paragraph #2 - "And today was his first event as a teacher. The event was taking place in 'X school' this year, but he was sure next year it will be in 'Y school'. He trained his students well enough to beat 'Y's' students."

Using a present tense word like "today" or "now" in the past tense is tricky. It doesn't work great here because we go from the present tense "today" to past progressive "was taking place" to past "he was sure" and "he trained," so it's kind of all over the place. Also, using both "today" and "this year" to refer to the event in question is confusing. Also, it's confusing that he's at the event at X school today, but he's focused on his students beating the students of Y school next year, at an event that hasn't even been decided for sure yet. You could shore things up a bit by doing something like:

"Today's event, which was his first as a teacher, was taking place at X school. They had the best team in the state, so he knew the odds of his students winning were slim. He was sure next year the event would be held at Y school, and he was confident his students were trained well enough to beat Y school's team." So, some general tips:

1 - Make sure the sentence/paragraph makes sense within the surrounding context. 2 - Make sure you have tense agreement within the sentence/paragraph. 3 - Make sure your evocative descriptions have meaning.

4 - When using pronouns rather than names, make sure the subject (who the pronoun belongs to) is clear.

5 - If your character should be focused on the present events, make sure their thoughts and feelings are relevant to what's happening.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[fyrefrostanimus]

More Slay The Princess posting because I had an AU idea that was so simple yet so stupidly funny to me.

Suburbia AU. All the Voices and Chapter II Princesses are not inside The Construct and are instead people living in a little suburb town: since the Voices are not voices and the Princesses are not really princesses here, I'll just refer to them as their titles. The Narrator is not counted as he does not have a parallel Princess.

I'll start with the Not-Voices as the drawing of the player character I posted earlier today inspired these headshots, which later spiraled into this AU.

To start, Hero and Princess are a newlywed couple who just moved here. The others are also technically married to each other (except for Hunted) but I wanted to specify these two. They saw the housing prices were low and moved here, not knowing the batshit crazy things that go on there. Hero always tries to do the right thing, to varying degrees of success. He'll listen to all sides before deciding if he can, just as in game as a voice.

Contrarian is a funny guy. He's always cracking jokes with Stranger, and whenever someone visits (or, in the case of Hero, moves in), he calls this place a normal town. Because compared to the things he has seen with his multi-headed wife (wives?), this is normal. Ask him and he will describe the most bizzare things you have ever heard, leaving you to question if this is actually something he has witnessed or if he's making shit up for fun (he has been known to do both).

Stubborn originally concerned everyone when they heard physical fights break out every night from their house. Then they realized that this is just how him and Adversary usually act. They both like fighting each other and yes Stubborn got fired from a job at one point for starting a fight club. If you manage to break his fighting spirit, Skeptic woukd like to talk to you to ask how the hell you managed to do it.

Smitten really can't see the problem with most of the odd couples in town. He really believes in treating your wife how she wishes to be treated, whether that be daily brawls or something that escalates further than that. Really he only has issues with Cheated, since he can't tell how Razor feels.

Cold killed his wife. Let's get that out of the way. Only he can see and hear her ghost and he's genuinely surprised she still loves him. He moved to town because the law was on his tail and they couldn't do anything in this little town. He talks about his wife in past tense but everyone knows he talks to himself like she's still here (he's actually talking to Spectre).

Opportunist and Witch always think the other is up to something. This causes the Pygmalion Effect to go into action, retroactively making both of them right. No one on the outside understands how they're still married, but Smitten somehow has concluded this is a game they play with each other, no matter how much Skeptic tries to tell him they are not kidding each other.

Cheated has to keep Razor locked up because she will kill everyone else she can if she's free. The only reason he's not dead is because she can't bring herself to kill him: not that she'd weep at the idea, it's that killing someone she loves would feel slightly weird when there are other possible victims. The problem is that no one understands why he has to keep his wife in the basement.

No one believes Broken when he says his wife is a goddess. Smitten says all of them are, but everyone else has picked up on the fact that Broken is being completely serious. Everyone thinks it's part of his religion that his goddess is his wife as he is her priest, but Tower refuses to tell them because she finds it funny that they don't just take his word for it. It's entertaining enough to her that she's fine with being in the background. For now.

Hunted fears for his own life. Beast is deeply obsessed with him and knowing her, you can see how this is going to go. He always carries a weapon on the off chance she shows up, and sticks with grouos whenever he can since she'll only come after him when he's alone. Ironically he's more paranoid than Paranoid half the time.

Skeptic likes setting up escape rooms and letting Prisoner test-run them before giving everyone else a go: if she can't solve a puzzle, there's no way in hell anyone who doesn't already know the answer can. He's also usually the last one to come to a conclusion about anything.

Paranoid knows that he needs to be careful around Nightmare, because she could easily kill him by accident. He's also been sure to tell everyone else how to survive being around her since he'd feel extremely bad if they died because they didn't know.