#this ask just reminds me how lucky i am

[raichoose-moved]

SEND MY CHARACTER A ★ AND I’LL BOLD EVERYTHING THEY FEEL TOWARD YOUR CHARACTER. - Not Accepting

@dctcnation​ asked: ★ (for Kabuto!)

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I want you to like me // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I trust you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // I’m upset with you // You’re nice // You’re mean // I’m envious of you // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I think that we’re equals // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

[xmedicus]

Send a 👫 and I’ll write four head canons I have about our muse’s relationship - Accepting

@dctcnation​ asked:  👫

Deidara sees more genuine smiles than most other people Kabuto’s ever met. This is especially important because it’s before Kabuto takes the steps necessary for his mental health - Deidara makes him feel like a real person, something only a certain Sannin had really gotten him to feel prior to his and Deidara’s meeting, and Kabuto is really making an effort to be the kind of companion Deidara deserves. 

Kabuto likes when he and Deidara fly together on one of those giant clay birds. He absolutely keeps his arms wrapped around Deidara’s waist and maaaybe stares at him more than he does the effects of the art decimating some seaside town or wherever they’re flying presently.

After the war, Kabuto insists that Deidara stay at the orphanage with him. Because it’s close to ruins, a forest, and a grassy field, there’s plenty of space for Deidara to safely test out his art if needed. It will also give them time to reaffirm bonds and to reconnect after the war and Deidara’s faked death. 

They don’t have their first kiss until after Kabuto’s returned to work at the orphanage. This is partially because Kabuto was still wrestling with remaining feelings for Orochimaru, mainly because Deidara seemingly died before Kabuto could even have a chance to voice his feelings. Once these two reunite, he’ll both kiss our favorite blonde and finally vocally declare his love, not wanting to run the risk of losing him again before Kabuto can say how he feels. 

Bonus - Kabuto will not rest until he finds a way to restore Deidara’s hearing 

[bellflower-goat]

<:]

[dcmainlybillythoughts]

Consider if you will: Billy gets hit by some spell that sort of shows the gods who are in his head All the Time. Not exactly though, mote like misty gray human shapped blobs. Like someone took the Smooth tool in photo shop to them to erase all the details and faces. They still have different body shapes, postures, and voices though. Everyone can see all seven- wait seven?

Everyone there, especially those who don't normally have bodies of their own are Very excited to be there with Sort Of Bodies. Mercury immediately jumped on the table and started to sing while doing the Freestyle Dance Teacher dance. Atlas and Zues are brawling in the back and Hercules cheers. Achilles talking to Billy who is Not Responding while trying to figure out how to copy the dances Mercury is doing on the table. Solomon is simply giving some long winded lecture that Billy is already tuning out as he introduces each of his patrons to his coworkers and says, "and yes. They are always Like This. 24/7. Actually I'm surprised Hercules isn't trying to over power Mercury's singing with his own."

Hal points to the 7th and final figure who is yet to be introduced, A very small and skinny figure tucked between Marvel's cape and his legs, face to blurred and smooth to know but clearly glaring and body language frightening, and asks who this one is and what power they give. Thinking fast and maybe with a touch of help from Solomon sending a bit of extra power, Marvel says, "oh this? He's shy and doesn't like his name being given out. And he may not be the strongest or the bravest or the fastest, but he is undoubtedly one of the most important blessings I have. The Heart and Mind of a child. He keeps me honest and nags me about doing the right thing simply because it's The Right Thing. He also reminds me of the beauty and wonder in the world in small and simple ways. Like the time he got so excited about finding a 5 leaf clover that he made me preserve it and keep it in my pocket because the 5th leaf *clearly* means it's *extra* lucky. Or he'll point out things like how pretty the sun set is or how nice ice cream is on a hot day and just. All the little things that remind me of why I fight in the first place. He's a good kid, even if he didn't get to be a kid for very long." Billy feels a bit awkward patting his own(?) Head but he's got to sell the illusion.

Everyone is awwing almost enough to not notice when Murcury starts singing "FROM THE WINDOW, TO THE WALL!" And gets the the shit smacked our of him by Achilles before he can finish the next verse.

This is so cute. Imagine that when Cap was introducing Billy he put emphasis on his job by telling them "He is the only difference between me and Black Adam" because that is why Shazam picked him.

Also I am living for the chaos the gods are bringing to the table, or on the table if you're Mercury.

[navybrat817]

Did you see the Sebastian photo with him in the leather jacket and Bucky hair? The black and white one? He looks so good!!!!!!!!

Is it the image below, nonnie? If so, yes! He looks amazing. So much that I had to share more rocker!Bucky. If not, I'm happy to receive the pic.

Everybody Wants a Taste

Pairing: Rocker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Are you really Bucky's girl? He thinks so. Word Count: Over 1.5k Warnings: Implied explicit sexual content, oral implied (m. and f. receiving), possessive behavior, slight jealousy and insecurity, swearing, slight feels (it's me), sort of getting together, communication is key, Rocker!Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Some White Wolf and Luna that no one asked for! This can also count for Week 4 of the @the-slumberparty for Across the Universe!❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner by the amazing @sgt-seabass and banner by the lovely @rookthorne . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

When word got around that you were seeing Bucky Barnes, some of your friends back home told you to be careful. Not because you couldn't keep up with the rockstar, but because they didn't want him to throw you out when he eventually grew bored of you. Touching as it was, it was also insulting.

"We're having fun." you said in the group chat. "Nothing wrong with that."

"But everyone wants him!" one of them replied. "What makes you different from the rest?"

What makes you special?

"Nice fucking pep talk. Really. Appreciate the vote of confidence!" you sent.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I'm a big girl. I can handle myself."

That was the last thing you sent in the chat.

You may have given your phone the finger, too.

As if you needed another reminder that girls, and guys, lined up to get just a glimpse of the man you somehow got to call yours. Some were better looking than you and others were nicer, but you refused to let it shatter your confidence. They didn't click with Bucky the way you did. If he woke up one day and decided he didn't want you, it wouldn't be the end of your world.

You took care of yourself long before you left home and wouldn't depend on a guy for anything. That was something you made clear when you started spending more time with Bucky. At least, you told him once you could form a coherent sentence since he fucked every sane thought out of you.

"It's okay to keep wanting me, Luna."

Being addicted to him wasn't something you anticipated nor did you want to admit that he had a hold on you. If you did, he'd have the entire deck stacked in his favor. But the cocky fucker knew he had you in the palm of his hand and you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Not when you were on your knees worshipping him like the god everyone made him out to be.

You waited for Bucky after rehearsal, knowing he could do with a bit of stress relief. Steve gave you a knowing smirk as he walked by. "Hey, baby," he teased.

“Hey, blondie,” you winked back.

"Don't call my girl 'baby', punk," Bucky said as his friend laughed.

Am I your girl?

Shamelessly allowing your eyes to roam his body as he walked closer, you wondered how he even got his jeans on some days with the heat he was packing. The rest of the band nodded to you as they passed by, knowing exactly what they'd witness if they stuck around.

"I don't remember texting you," Bucky said when he stopped, running his ringed fingers through his hair. "You don't have anything better to do than wait for me?"

Asshole. You're lucky I adore you.

Your eyes narrowed as you pushed yourself off the wall. "Plenty of other things I can be doing that don't involve you."

"C'mon, baby. I'm fucking with you," he smiled as he moved to stand in front of you. "I just figured you might be hanging out with Alice and Sunshine."

"Oh, we did each other's nails and had a pillow fight. Almost fell out of my top as I jumped around," you smiled, leaning against the wall once again.

You liked Alice and Sunshine. You'd be a bitch not to and they understood things that people back home wouldn't get. Jefferson was certainly more cheerful now that he had his girl back in his life. And Hal still adored his high school sweetheart just as much as he had the day before.

What's it like for someone to be loved the way they are?

"And I missed it? That's too bad. Didn't get a facial?"

You arched an eyebrow as he moved a finger along the swell of your breast. "How could I when you weren't there to give me one?"

"I can give you one now," he smirked.

You laughed and shook your head as you tugged him closer by his t-shirt. "I don't know if I want one anymore. I could find something else to quench my thirst."

"We both know you love the taste of my cock."

"Almost as much as you love the taste of my pussy."

He placed both hands on the wall and looked into your eyes as you bit your lip. "My favorite treat. You gonna let me get my mouth on you so I can have my fill?"

"Maybe after you fuck my throat. Maybe," you said before he brought a hand to your throat. He held it there, but didn't squeeze. "So you'd rather choke me with your hand instead of your cock?"

"Luna, baby, don't tease me."

"Isn't teasing just another form of foreplay?" you asked.

The flirty, fun banter never got old with him. Even on the days you didn't have sex, you found yourself smiling at his words and antics. It made it difficult to protect your heart. But like your body, it was yours to give the person you wanted and he had the key to the lock before you knew it.

"I want to see those pretty little lips wrapped around my cock," he stated, tightening his grip when you moaned. "Want you to choke on me before I make a mess of you."

The mere suggestion was enough for your thighs to rub together, tour panties dampening more at the thought of him using your throat to get himself off and paint your face. His thick cock filled every hole of yours to the brim time and time again, reminding you that you belonged to him. But you couldn't always give in so easily. Call it pride or a power move.

You'd both get off in the end.

"Sure you don't want one of your other groupies to suck your cock?"

Everybody wants a taste.

His smirk vanished instantly as he leaned in close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips. You didn't shy away from his gaze, captivated by the blue of his eyes. He liked that you didn't try to hide.

Caught in his trap, you couldn't duck and run if you wanted to.

"I haven't fucked anyone else in weeks," his voice dropped as he shoved his knee between your thighs without warning, your core pulsing as he brushed his lips against yours. "Thought I made it clear that you're my girl."

You swallowed hard enough for Bucky to loosen his grip. If Bucky let you in, that meant something because he didn't give himself away lightly. Sex, he could find that anywhere. Someone to stick around through the highs and lows after was another story.

One you wanted to write with him.

"You never actually asked," you said above a whisper.

It was weak to say it out loud and make him put a label on it, but you wanted to hear it.

"I didn't think I had to ask," he said, kissing the spot between your eyes with a small huff. "I thought you were already mine.”

Your stomach swirled with butterflies. "I thought you were mine, too."

"Because I am. I’m all yours," he whispered, playing dirty by rocking his knee a bit more. You were tempted to slide up a bit more and ride his thigh and weep from knowing he was really yours. "C'mon. Be mine. Be my fucking girl, Luna."

You whined when he brought his lips to yours again. You would have said "yes" regardless. "I'm your girl, but don't you dare break my heart. 'Cause I'll hunt you down and make you sorry if you do. I'll curse that glorious dick of yours, too."

Bucky threw his head back and laughed. The sound brought a smile to your face. "I'd expect nothing less. You better not curse my dick or break my heart either."

His casual tone had an underlying vulnerability that you wouldn't dare joke about.

"You're my guy, Wolfy. I won't hurt you."

And I'll be your Luna no matter what.

"Don't let anyone hear you call me that," he grinned, pulling his knee away to leave you wanting more. Tease. "I have a reputation to uphold."

You smiled as the atmosphere shifted back to the sexual charge. He didn't need to dwell on the emotions for the moment and neither did you. Your heart was full and that was more than enough for today.

"Guess you better shut me up then," you suggested as you reached for his belt.

"Oh, no. Still wanna hear you moan and whine when you take me in your mouth," he stated, stepping back so you could unzip his pants and sink to your knees. "When I'm done, you're gonna sit on my face and sing for me. Those pretty sounds of yours might inspire our next song."

"Call it 'Howl at the Moon'," you smiled up at him. "Dedicate it to me," you added with a wink.

You'd find out later that Bucky already had.

Oh, these two. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[earthtooz]

·˚ ༘ MIKAGE REO BF HEADCANONS

warnings: fluff with angst + argument scene, mostly fluff tho but reo grovels bcthat'sjusthowilikehim, swearing, cw for food and alcohol, making out, hickies, sfw tho :p, 4k+ word count, gn!reader and pro soccer player!reo

a/n: I AM SOOOOOO NORMAL ABOUT HIM GUYS I PROMISE HAHAHA WATCH ME. WATCH ME *proceeds to write 4k+ words of what it'd be like dating this man*. enjoy &lt;3

💳💥💳💥 100/10 BOYFRIEND 💳💥💳💥 ARGUE WITH THE WALL.

sorry i just really love him (a lot).

anyways ! personally, i’ve always perceived a friends to lovers sort of situation with reo- friends. as in, he’s liked you from the get-go and was never shy about vocalising it. he often asked you out on dates and you’d kindly reject his offers.

despite your countless rejections, it never deterred him. lucky for reo that you didn’t seem to mind much, happy to spend time and be around him despite his blatant showcases of affection for you. 

reo was fuelled even more when you constantly turned him down, loving the ‘push-and-pull’ relationship surrounding you. his whole attitude surrounding fighting for things he wasn’t handed to at birth hasn’t exactly dwindled with time, proving apparent even now as a pro-soccer player. 

this meant that he loved how stubborn you were, declining his invites no matter how tempting the offer might have been. could have been a free meal- his treat, at a michelin star restaurant and you turned it down without hesitation.

to reo this only made you more worthwhile to chase because ever since he could remember, he's had the frustration of only being appealing to people because of his wealth. he got use to it after a while, coming to terms that his name would just be synonymous to money, but to have someone break this mould felt liberating.

selfishly enough, he wanted to be by your side forever.

(you were in love with him too but thought he was way out of your league) so yeah. ‘friends’. 

when you finally accepted a date after so long, reo was ecstatic. couldn’t hide how enthused he was when he finally heard the word ‘yes’ slip through your mouth. literally picked you up and spun you around, stuck in his little world of delirium and happiness for a few moments as you laughed with him, admiring his expression of pure elation whilst trapped in his arms. 

he was raised with proper gentlemanly etiquette so definitely a few dates before anything big happened with him. 

reo is absolutely the kind of boyfriend to memorise milestones. i kid you not, he has the date you finally agreed to go out with him memorised. it’s on his phone’s calender- he will always gift you flowers on this day that serve as a little reminder. when you ask him what’s the occasion he’ll shrug and act all nonchalant. maybe he’ll come clean about it one day, but for now, reo will savour how happy you are every time you receive a beautiful bouquet from him.

he’s the definition of down bad and he’s not at all ashamed to let you know. you had his heart in a chokehold before you even started dating can you imagine him now… like yo… what spell did you put on him.

must be the water he drinks because not even you know how reo got to the point he is at now.

bf that opens door for you, bf that understands the sidewalk rule and won’t have it any other way, bf that carries things you might need around - chapstick, hairtie, reo even has a change of shoes for you in his car just in case. and clothes!

bf that looks at you as if you put all the stars in the sky. bf who wakes up a little earlier just so he gets the chance to hold you, especially with how busy reo is. bf who admires you openly and freely.

‘don’t go where i can’t follow’ bf (he’s so dramatic).

reo is a mix between clingy and independent - he’s always open to spend time with you, but if it’s space you want, he’s more than ready to give it to you.

has no problems entertaining himself and not worrying about whatever you might be doing. he's not controlling and in fact, loves a partner who is independent too!

100% a gentleman so expect a lot of gifts from him. never lets you pay- not that you’re complaining, but if you even think about fishing out your wallet, he’s grabbing both your wrists in one hand and tapping his card on the machine instead. 

it’s a slow relationship, you’re both just trying to take your time to learn more about the other before things begin speeding up, and even though reo has been wanting you- wanting this for the longest time, he’s content with the pace. so long as he has you. 

the photos of you two are INCREDIBLE. mirror selfies are a must, but you’re definitely the kind of relationship that’s more on the private side. reo makes sure that your face is hidden save for side-profiles, silhouettes, or ¾ angles, but it’s just for media peace of mind that he was taken.

that said, if you’re going to an event together, he absolutely loves showing you off. your ultimate hype man.

also loves bringing you up whenever he can. ‘how’s practice?’ ‘oh amazing, i love going home to y/n.’, ‘what’s your favourite cheat day meal?’ ‘one of y/n’s childhood favourite dishes, i have like five plates in one sitting’, ‘where’d you get this from? it’s nice’ ‘y/n saw it in a magazine’.

asks you to move in with him five months into the relationship when you both realise you’re over way too often. when there are too many trinkets of yours left around his penthouse that his heart aches at your absence, yearning for your presence through little things that are attached to you.

reo gets so ecstatic when you accept, practically scoops you into his arms, unable to contain his excitement and glee.

ABSOLUTELY the couple that’s like ‘your secret is safe with me… and my partner!’ 

gossip sessions are a weekly occurrence. every saturday you sit down and begin revealing everything. doesn’t matter if you have a party to attend to, you will be gossiping at the party or leaving early to have it at home. you could literally be having a shower and reo would join, seated atop the toilet seat whilst rambling and you’d listen intently.

nothing comes in between your gossip sessions!!! don't even think about interrupting. nagi is more than welcome to join, he knows quite a bit of tea himself so ;) the more the merrier in his case.

chigiri, bachira, and isagi are also all-time favourites. ALL THREE of them are nosy ass fuckers and cannot keep their mouths shut.

it’s like the second you walk into his apartment, he’s giving you a kiss in greeting before sitting you down on the couch, hands and legs pressed together and he begins with ‘i have more to tell you about otoya and his fling’.

and you immediately throw your stuff away and lean into his couch, ready to listen.

speaking of parties, you would absolutely be that couple. the ones who always look flawless and will never be caught lacking !!!!!!!

he’s so proud to be able to walk by your side; that he’s the one who gets to hold you and show you off. so proud in fact, that he never likes to stray too far from you. 

could be doing shots with bachira and stumbles around to find you when he’s done. you have the time of your life filming him in this drunken state. 

definitely had the ‘only my partner is allowed to touch me’ conversation with him once. 

reo is the definition of all five love languages, there is not one of them that he does not like - words of affirmation? absolutely. a must. . physical touch? he’s not ashamed to be needy. gift giving? who do you think he is? acts of service? loves doing things for you and vice versa. quality time? can never get enough of it. 

so yeah. sticking to his ‘thing’ about being a chameleon, he’s very adaptable and willing to listen to your needs.

(i’m going to throttle him he is so perfect)

also reo just really really adores taking care of you- those he loves in general too, but especially you because you’re at the top of his list of favourite people (suck it, nagi)

takes care of you and loves doing so too. whenever you’re sick, he’s at your beck and call 24/7. if he has a meeting or practice to attend, you have to literally force him out of the apartment, threatening him to go but as soon as he returns, he’s back at your side, probably came back with a bunch of things for you as well.

if you take care of him though? goodness he’s ready to pop the question even though you’ve never even discussed marriage.

suddenly cough medicine is a lot easier to drink if you’re the one offering it to him, and the soup you made him must have super healing properties because he thinks he can jump up and run a few hundred laps (goodness reo, please, sit your ass back down and rest). 

OKAY HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE: reo never learnt how to drive because he’s always had a chauffeur, but since dating you, he’s had to get a licence lMFAOOOO let you pick out his car too xoxo such a considerate boyfriend 😣

he suggested as a joke to get a personalised number plate and even though he was clearly goofing around to make you laugh, you couldn’t help but sense there was some sort of truth in his statement… just a slither.

also reo’s definitely the slow-dance in the living room kind of guy like… not a lot can change my mind on this. 

you could literally be putting away the dishes and he’d drag you by the wrist into the living room- he bought a vinyl player just so he could turn on some romantic songs and slow dance with the love of his life. 

he’s not a good dancer btw.

HE LOVES SHOPPING WITH YOU. 1000/10 BOYFRIEND TO GO SHOPPING WITH, doesn’t mind being your personal coathanger when browsing and also doesn’t mind carrying any bags you may have. 

it’s cause reo loves shopping too. loves it even more if you think about him whilst shopping. you could go buy some home appliances and if you returned with the silliest hat with bunny ears and he’d wear it for the next few hours.

return with (expensive) necklaces of each other’s initials and reo is never taking his off, proud to wear the letter of your name around his neck at all times.

takes it off during practice though because if he broke it then goodness is he going to go emo. 

no date with him is a boring date! partly because he’s a considerate and thoughtful person who plans everything out, but also because reo’s company is a fun one to have. every moment with him is fun (except when he’s checking his stocks. you’re kinda left to just wait for him to finish).

(that’s also an ick- that he checks his stocks on dates but whatever 😒he still gives you attention though so it’s fine)

adores going out and staying in! prefers going out though just so he can show you off but also hates going out because he loves to see you dressed up only for him. he’s a perfect paradox.

speaking of staying in, off days with reo are very domestic. you both promise to use this as a work-free day, reo can’t check his business statistics or stock patterns and you’re not allowed to answer any calls or emails. he is allowed to workout though and you have quite a bit of fun blatantly admiring him. you're too comfortable with each other at this stage to get embarrassed.

but other than that, the day is just spent lounging around and doing nothing- a nice reset from how hectic both your lives are.

“there are still some chocolate chips left. wanna snack?” you ask once you put a tray of cookies in the oven, going over to see how many pieces were remaining in the bag.

reo hums, wrapping his arms around your figure, his sturdy chest meeting your back as he plays with the fabric of your shirt. “sure. might as well finish them.”

“bet you can’t catch 10 in a row with your mouth.”

“okay. bet.”

he ends up catching 12 successfully and the rest of the waiting time is spent with you throwing chips into his mouth. there’s a heap of chocolate on the floor but neither of you really mind when the home is warmed with laughter and giggles.

when you wait for the cookies to cool, you somehow end up on the counter with reo in between your legs, holding you closely to him whilst making out to pass the time. the cookies are cold when you get to them.

reo’s jealous. like very jealous. and a little (lot) possessive - do you see the way he is with nagi… c’mon. 

but it comes from a place of good intentions, he's genuinely just in disbelief that he managed to bag someone like you (as if he's not a one in a million too)

he’s very into hickies ;> doesn’t matter if it’s on you or on him, it feeds into his possessiveness all the same. ok next headcanon. 

reo’s got a little bit of an ego to him (he’s a leo. ofc he does) so he secretly loves it when people fawn over him, but not just exclusively you. 

which has been the cause for quite a bit of arguments between you where you were uncomfortable because of the way someone was treating reo and he’d dismiss your concerns, stubbornly rooted in the belief that you knew that you were different. definitely thinks that his love and adoration for you makes it obvious that you’ll always be superior to anyone else. which, you are, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when you don’t see him brush off anyone.

genuinely doesn’t see the issue with this, even when the media is being invasive and speculating too much.

it’s loud.

it’s so very loud, tormenting you as the hurricane of your thoughts can’t seem to quiet down, rattling even stronger as you keep scrolling through the ‘#reo mikage’ tag that was currently trending. each time you see the pictures, your chest constricts even more.

unbelievable how a bunch of pixels could have this much of an effect over you. how your phone mockingly presents several photos of reo and one of japan’s golden models spending time together at multiple events, the headlines only worsening rising assumptions. she’s all over him in each photo, whether it be decked out in formal gear at a promotional event, after a dior runway where reo was invited backstage by the creative director, or- most recently, at a brunch he was invited to by blue lock friends, she seems to love invading his personal space.

the worst part is that he doesn’t seem bothered at all by it.

you know reo and you know how much he valued your presence in his life. you know that before each event, he asked you how his outfit looked and if you approved. before each event, he threw a mini-tantrum over you're inability to accompany him to each one. that he only stopped whining when you promised that you’d be waiting for him after each one.

but you don't know the feeling of betrayal that settles in your gut and it terrifies you.

“y/n?” comes a voice from down the hallway, one that causes your breath to hitch in your throat, all words lodging themselves in your windpipe. reo’s head appears from behind the bedroom door frame and he smiles widely upon seeing you, immediately walking over so he could lean down and place a kiss on your forehead.

it doesn’t do much to stop the tornado in your brain. 

“are we going to watch the latest episode or what?” asks the purple-haired, whose doe eyes are looking at you so innocently- so lovingly. 

“we are,” you whisper, voice slightly broken and ragged, turmoil settling itself crystal clear in the heavy air of your shared bedroom. 

reo notices your pained tone and immediately looks at you with concern gleaming in his eyes. “what’s wrong?” 

so innocent. so ignorant. you wonder if it was appropriate to shatter his purity. but a relationship rooted in honesty will have more positives than negatives and even if it seems like being open with him will be detrimental, you should fix the cracks now before it worsens; splits apart too much to the point of it being unfixable. 

“pictures of you and a model are circulating online,” you mutter, scouring through what’s left of your sanity to express what you’re feeling, but you can tell you’re already failing through the perplexed scrunch of his eyebrows. “and y’know, it just got me-”

“-why are you looking at them?”

you flinch at his defensiveness. “wh-what?”

“you know that they’re just some pictures, don’t you? it’s not that big of a deal.”

something’s telling you that this conversation won’t progress how you want it to so you give up, dropping your shoulders in defeat. “okay, sure.”

he’s not happy with your response. “what? what did i do?”

“it just feels so… horrible looking at these,” you mutter, dragging a hand over your face. “whatever. let’s just go watch the episode or something.”

“let’s not. are you seriously pissed right now? over some photos of me and someone else? i didn’t think you’d be this insecure.”

“i’m not insecure!”

“yes you are! you’re getting angry and upset over me being seen with someone else as if you know they’re nothing more than just a friend! am i not allowed to hangout and be seen with whoever i want?”

“it’s not a matter of being seen with them, reo! it’s about how okay you seem being that close with someone! she’s practically all up in your personal space and you’re okay with it!”

“why wouldn’t i be okay with it? you’re the only person i actually care about for it to mean something.”

“that’s not how it works!” you exclaim abruptly, curling your hands into fists. “it’s so disrespectful seeing this, it’s clear that she has no respect for our relationship and our status as a couple, can’t you see?”

“why should we care what she thinks? everyone else knows. ‘s all that matters.”

“sure, but she’s actively trying to pursue you! and you’re not doing anything to solidify any boundaries against it! do you know how demeaning that feels? especially against someone who is so well-known by your fans too.”

reo narrows his eyes. “so this is a conversation about insecurity-”

“you’re not listening to me!” you cut him off, trying to maintain your composure despite the way anger and frustration brewed freely in your stomach, threatening to spill over. “i’m not insecure! i’m upset because you’re not valuing our relationship publicly, and as a result, it’s stirring up so many unsolicited assumptions online!” 

“you shouldn’t care about them because i only have eyes for you, fuck what the internet is saying.”

“no- that’s,” you ball your fists even tighter, “that’s not the solution to this problem!” 

“then maybe you should just get over it!”

“is asking you to be a little more assertive about brushing off people like this too much?”

“it’s natural, y/n! these people just want me for my fame and reputation! there’s no point brushing them off when they’ll just continue this shit,” there’s a hint of insincerity in his tone, and from the way he’s evading your request makes your stomach churn.

rubbing your temples, you decide to surrender. “fine. if you just want people to fawn over you then they can. just, leave me out of the picture.”

swiftly standing up from where you were seated on the bed, you’re even faster brushing past the purple-haired, shutting the door behind you with a noncommittal slam.

realisation pours over him like cold water and he’s awoken into action. immediately, he turns to rip open the door and rushes into the hallway, panicked as fear strikes him like a lightning bolt. it’s like the rational side of him had finally woken up after a night of dormancy and he curses himself for its horrible timing as he prays he can make it to stop you in time. 

reo feels stupid. so, so stupid.

you’re in the living room already when he catches up, phone in hand as you quickly try to make a beeline for your shoes before your boyfriend can stop you.

unfortunately for you, you’re too ambitious, and reo manages to step in front of you, hindering your exit. the anxiety he’s feeling is expressed clearly in his eyes and devastation is plastered all over his face, a sight that makes you stop in your tracks. 

“where are you going?” he whimpers, no louder than a whisper.

you glance down at your phone to see the time. 10:41. “away. i need to cool my head.” 

“you can do that here, can’t you?” he’s trying to sound sensible, really, he is, but the fear of losing you is too strong that his voice cracks. “i’m sorry, i’m really sorry, i was being stupid and i wasn’t listening to you, i realise that now-”

“-it’s too late for that,” you grumble, trying to sneak past him only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder, one that you brush off. “don’t touch me!”

only a few, simple words yet they hurt reo like spears to his heart. his palms itch with the need to hold you because being able to feel you would remind him that you’re here, that you haven’t left just yet. that reo still has a chance to fix the mess he just created.

“i’m sorry, i’m really sorry, you're right.”

you probably don’t want to hear it, but he grovels nonetheless, contracting his fingers to stop them from reaching out to you. he doesn’t want to make you feel even more disrespected than he already has tonight, especially when you so clearly stated that you didn’t want to be touched.

“don’t go,” the purple-haired pleads weakly. “we can figure this out.”

“so now you want to talk about it?” you ask, all ounce of pettiness you had left melting into your tone. you to cross your arms. “i’m tired reo, and i need some time.”

“i’ll give you time, space, whatever you need, just please don’t leave.”

the penthouse is so quite and devoid of its usual vibrancy, the one that your relationship brings to the home.

reo doesn't want to think about what the place would be like if you leave. he doesn't want to think about what his life would be like if you leave, so he repeats 'please' over and over again, scrambled with some apologies here and there as he leans closer to you.

the urge to be as close as you'll allow him is irresistible.

the breath you exhale is shaky and you can’t look him in the eye as you think about what to do next, gnawing your lip in contemplation. what captures your attention is the feeling of his fingers ghosting over your hands, causing you to glance back at him with a surprised expression.

traces of love frame his expression and he’s looking at you like he’s savouring this moment, as if it'll be his last few with you, but he can only plead and pray that that's not the case. desperately, he succumbs to the force of his affection for you with the light thud of bone meeting floor. it’s a sound that makes you cringe briefly before reo experimentally takes your hands in his, waiting for a reaction. 

there is none.

so he holds on to you like a lifeline and your resolve crumbles, fury and irritation melting away a lot quicker than you would have liked it to. it’s ridiculous what reo’s capable of.

“stay,” pleads the purple-haired, resting his forehead in your hands as he tightens his grip. “please.”

in front of you is a man on his knees. not just any man, but a world-class soccer player who came from 24k gold, real diamonds, and an unfathomable amount of trust funds. yet, something's telling you that he's willing to give it all up for you.

“reo,” your call of his name is broken and entirely wobbly, but he looks up at you nonetheless, eye shining as he waits for your next move. waits for either a strike of the palm or an affectionate kiss, both of which he’d readily accept. 

neither happen as you sink down to be eye-level with him, hoping to help him stand up but like a tidal wave, he consumes you, wrapping an arm around your waist with a strength that indicated he had no intention of letting up. “reo,” you delicately repeat, holding yours and his weight up with one hand whilst the other goes to play with his hair. “i’ll stay.”

the sigh of relief that he releases causes his whole body to shudder. “thank you,” he whispers.

you’ll talk about your problems soon, but for now? you'll continue holding him as he silently weeps, hands clutching your sides like you'll disappear and slip away from his grasp.

yeah. i think reo would be the type of person to get too overwhelmed by his own emotions and ego that he doesn’t consider the other party's feelings, but the moment that he realises he’s fucked up, it hits him like a truck. 

has abandonment issues (from nagi) that he never addressed and as a result, has a huge fear of losing you. 

that said, this argument ^ happened within the early stages of moving in together so this was probably the first big argument that really established how important communication is. sure reo may be confident and assured, but he’s self-aware and more than willing to change and constantly better himself, especially if it’s for you.

back to your regularly scheduled hc, reo doesn’t spend a lot of time on his phone, so he’s not very active on social media. he’s too busy attending to his stocks, reading business books, and spending time with you to care about the internet, so a lot of drama that circulates around online doesn’t reach him until two weeks later.

not that he cares LOL.

speaking of social media, here's what his private account looks like!

yourlocalfinancebroreo close up that the love of my life took

yn: smash ╰┈➤ epicgamerseishiroooh pls no horniness on the priv ╰┈➤ yourlocalfinancebroreo hmu cutie xx ╰┈➤ epicgamerseishiroooh guys pls ╰┈➤ yn nagi what the 😭😭

OH AND he’s so interested in all of your interests. listens intently and rambles passionately, he truly is just perfect :( 

anyways, encourages anything you want to do and is often the one who helps you make the terrifying jump. reo supports you so much in your day-to-day and whatever achievements you accomplish, no matter how big or small, he wants to hear about it from you.

never shy away from being honest with him!!!!

also because the support you show him makes him so happy every time. whether it’s showing up to a soccer match and cheering him on to dropping off some tea and a platter of fruit when he’s stuck in front of his monitor for too long looking at big numbers, he wants to reciprocate this energy and make sure you know just how special you make him feel.

the whole world could be praising him yet none of it could compare to when you do it.

y/n and me vs the world forever type of beat when it comes to you two. 

yeah. i think that’s all i have for now. so, to sum it up: PERFECT, INCREDIBLE, AMAZING, ALL YOU COULD EVER ASK FOR boyfriend. give it up for mikage reo everyone <3

[inkskinned]

language has bias in it; and often we don't recognize it unless we're very close to it.

i am funny. i feel confident about that. my brother will make the same exact jokes i make - and he is called funny. i'm more often called "sassy", despite the fact i rarely actually talk back. i don't even use sarcasm as much as he does - if you actually look at the jokes i'm making, i am not sassy. but i am femme-presenting.

i googled it once. it is supposed to mean lively, bold, feisty. all of these are less demeaning than the ever-feminine sass. it feels kind of stupid to be annoyed by that simple word.

i'm a nag, also, if i'm being honest. i nag. in my body, nagging is whenever i remind someone repeatedly to do something for me that they are not-doing-currently. in the past, with boyfriends, i've felt myself become hyper-annoying. "please," i'd say. "this is the third time i've asked this week. please just do the dishes. i don't have time in the morning." this is nagging.

i can't actually feel comfortable with the idea i might be smart. i often say i'm clever or fast or quick-witted. i will shrug and say i'm well-read and i got lucky in education. smart people are doctors. smart people don't choose an art as their career. smart people don't look or act like i do. and they don't let their life be ruined by their adhd, not like i have, i know that for certain.

it came to my attention about 10 years ago that there's a racist paradigm in writing of lightness/whiteness as "pure" and darkness/blackness as "associated with crime". i had just gotten out of high school and hadn't really been exposed to critical reading yet. i took a long look at my own work and started to be very, very careful about what descriptions i applied to "good" and to "evil." it was important to me to continue this research - to make sure that i actually listened to what i was saying; and how i was saying it. i won't always be aware of the connotations/origins of a word - there are thousands - but i always take the critique whenever one i missed is shown to me. i understood - okay, this is the work that i should do and take care in. and the work is ongoing. there is no "final line" to undoing one's societal learning.

but. despite all this. despite all the academic application and the research and the logical actual knowledge: i allow the language inside of me.

i know i'm not pretty. i know i am also not thin, i'm average (which is to say, to most people - i'm not pretty). i am not graceful, delicate, or "wife material". i am shrill and grating (feminine connotation), i am loud (feminine connotation), i am immodest. i am a feminist (which is to say, to most people - i am going to cause a problem on purpose).

i know each of these might not worry other people - they can be loud on purpose. they have a roguish charm - there's no such thing for them as being immodest.

a few days ago a person i had just met gave me a strange look, laughing at something i said. "you know," he cocked his head, "for a woman, you're really... brazen."

there are people out there who would have taken that as a compliment.

[vampiretendencies]

request; reminding them how lucky you are to have them, with jj?

pairing; jj x fem!reader

warnings; fluff

authors note; writing blurbs rn to cure my writers block, you may request from the list below or send in your own idea, as well as any other requests for one shots, imagines, etc.

other ways to say i love you prompt list

A jab to the ribcage was no way to rest.

Feeling such pain in the middle of your slumber, has you jolting upward to merely peer at a wide-awake JJ. Hard to make out— the shared room being dimly light, whilst the street lights from outside peeked harshly through the blinds.

As much as JJ could watch you sleep on repeat like it was his favorite movie.

He had something on his mind, that must be released at this very second. So, unfortunately your sleep was a bargain, but he’d be sure to make it up to you.

You were pressed delicately to his chest, legs intertwined symbolically wrapped up in each other, now facing one another. But now you are passively staring into his soul, wondering what could possibly be wrong at 3:30 in the morning.

“What?”

You hissed, such an idiotic shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He’d awoken a beast, being sure to tame it at once.

“What, baby?”

“Did you just fucking poke me?!”

Still he looks onward to you, besot filled eyes— such infatuation for one person.

People have given away pieces of their heart to multiple other people, but not JJ. He beckoned for this moment.

To be transformed and stupidly, insanely infatuated with someone.

You, that is.

That’s why, he’s proding you from exhaustion this late.

He just could never let you go too long without knowing so.

“That I did do but … but for good reason.”

“It’s never a good reason with you.”

Annoyance filled your voice, but he gave you the benefit of the doubt. Eyes awaiting his response, that seemed to take hours, when it was really two minutes.

“Never told you that before we met, I told John B I saw this moment right here … right now … with you.”

“You’re telling me this at almost 4 AM, because …”

“Because m’ a fuckin’ genie baby … shit, or is it psychic?”

He heard a small giggle erupt from your figure; a sign that he needed to continue talking, pulling you in closer if that was even humanly possible. The urge to be inside your skin overwhelming— as it’s filled with warmth and, the closest he’ll ever get to seeing and knowing your heart.

“Seriously though, I think you healed a part of me I never thought could be fixed,” JJ swallowed the lump in his throat, fingers combing through your hair, cooing at you with such remembrance. “I’ve always been searching for this stability … but I knew that once I didn’t want to run from this, you’d be my one … the one person I physically could not breathe without.

“J, you know ‘m not going anywhere-“

“Not finished, pretty girl,” He hushed you softly through pursed lips. “It’s a privilege to even be in your presence … m’ so Goddamn lucky.”

JJ would rather be caught dead than talking about his feelings, not now, anyway. With you, he’s constantly spewing out the most obscene, off-the-wall thoughts. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“And I love you, okay ?”

He reassured, as if you asked for it. Speaking his words directly into your lips, hungering for you to know those thoughts, to taste that and swallow them whole. Never having to question his utter devotion for you.

“And I love you, J,”

There was no ‘too’, no that was pathetic. The love shared was equal, no in between.

Just equal.

[raichoose-moved]

Unprompted - Always Accepting

@dctcnation​ asked: Deidara took Kabuto by the hand on a hot summer day, standing on a clay bird as it took a dive, and as the clouds parted, the clay bird flew just right over a field of sunflowers. He smiled wide. "I like to come here, when I feel sad, hm!" (for Kabuto)

Kabuto’s arms are wrapped securely around Deidara’s waist. He looks down at the flowers from atop their avian perch, a gasp of delight leaving his lips as the clouds part to reveal the fields below.

“Oh, Deidei, it’s beautiful!” Kabuto takes the opportunity to lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his fiancé’s cheek. “I can see why you come here. Sunflowers truly are lovely ... I would know. I’m engaged to one, after all. My dear Sunflower ~”

[joonberriess]

·˚ ༘ 💌 IMAGINE┊the boys thinking you’re the sweetest thing on this earth and can do no harm. namjoon has a few words to say about that.

TAGS — spit kink (mentioned), choking, reader gets (lightly) slapped, degradation, creampies, unprotected sex (duh)

WORD COUNT — 1.8 k

"Where's y/n?" Hoseok asks over the loud music as he takes a glass from the server offering everyone drinks.

Everyone's gathered for the pre-release party Hoseok's hosting. It's barely kicking off and the crowd is getting more and more wilder. Hoseok had gone to talk with his band mates when he noticed something off. You weren't there, and wherever Namjoon went you did too. It was strange.

"That's what I said." Seokjin pipes up as he takes a sip from his drink, "Is she coming later?"

"Nah." Namjoon checks his phone for any messages from you, "I left her at home because she wasn't feeling too good. Probably a stomach bug or something." He shrugs it off like nothing.

Hoseok makes a noise of agreement, "She probably been hanging out with Yoongi too much." He jokes softly, "Yoongi got a fever and couldn't make it either."

Namjoon's phone lights up and he excuses himself to take the call some place else where it isn't loud. "Hello? Baby?" He says as he ducks into the nearest hallway.

"Just calling to remind you to take it easy on the drinking. Oh and I sent a gift for Hoseok in the trunk of the car."

"I know, I know," he leans against the wall with a soft chuckle, "you feeling any better?" He smirks.

".... You're a jerk. Can't believe you," you laugh on the other side of the line, "you knew I was looking forward to Hobi's party."

Namjoon bursts out laughing as he looks behind him to see if anyone's in the hallway with him, "Nahh you were the one begging for more baby, you dug your own grave now lie in it." He lazily drawls out.

"Ugh whatever, have fun baby I'll see you when you come home. Stay safe."

"Alright, bye baby." Namjoon smiles as he hangs up and heads back. "Sorry, it was y/n. She sent a gift for you, it's in the trunk of the car you wanna come with?"

Hoseok smiles apologetically at Namjoon, "Yeah," he pats him on the shoulder and walks with the younger, "hope she feels better soon Joon."

"Nah she'll be okay Seok, she's bummed out she couldn't make it. She was looking forward to this for a week." Namjoon wraps a arm around Hoseok's shoulder as they walk out of the party together. "Told me to tell you she loves you."

"You ass," Hoseok laughs, "how the hell did you get so lucky with such a sweetheart like her? What am I doing wrong?"

Namjoon shrugs as he presses the button to the elevators, "You can start off with the shoes," he snickers, "have you been hanging out with Jungkook too much? Shit looks like you're getting ready to walk through snow or some shit."

"Fuck you." Hoseok laughs as he steps into the elevator, "They suit my outfit, you're just jealous."

"Yeah, pass on them stompers." Namjoon rolls his eyes and presses the garage.

Before the doors close Jungkook's tattooed hand comes into view as he steps in, panting like he just ran (most likely did) all the way there. Hoseok and Namjoon look at him crazy and shake their heads because that's Jungkook for you.

"I was alone," Jungkook says, "Min with his friend and Tae's talking to someone else too. Where are you guys going?"

"y/n sent a gift for me, it's in her car and Namjoon invited me to come get it with him." Hoseok says as he eyes Jungkook, "Don't drink too much if you're driving later." He warns.

They talk some more in the elevator and make their way into the garage where Namjoon parked the car. "Tell her I said thank you once again, I'll take something to your house later." Hoseok softly says as he watches Namjoon open the trunk.

"It's no big deal Hobi, you already know how she is." Namjoon smiles back and lets Hoseok look at his gift.

"I want a gift from y/n too," Jungkook whines as he stares at the big box with a black and white bow wrapping around it, " 's not fair. You get to have her all day let me hang out with her for a day."

Namjoon snorts, "What are you five?" He says as he shakes his head and leans back against the car. "Nobody, not even you Jungkook, can have my sweetheart."

Hoseok laughs, "Look at you all whipped and shit, you really lucked out with her. You got stuck with an angel." He teases as he opens his box, Jungkook cooing in amazement as he leans close to get a view at the present.

Namjoon chuckles to himself under his breath as he looks to the side, "Yeah, angel." He smirks.

+

"Mmm," your body shudders in delight when Namjoon bottoms out in one go.

You feel stuffed, your cunt is full of Namjoon's cock and slick dribbles down the sides and down your inner thighs. Namjoon has your thighs pinned back on your body as your knees bend and feet dangle in the air. He's watching the way his cock looks every time he bottoms out balls deep.

"You like that baby?" He mumbles in that deep voice of his, "Slutty pussy stuffed with my cock?" To emphasize his words he snaps his hips upward in a deep body roll that leaves your mouth watering.

You nod slowly, "Mm-hm," it comes out a little high-pitched as you reach down to stroke over your swollen clit, "can feel you so deep inside me baby.. want you to stuff me full of your cum."

Namjoon grunts softly and leans down to press gentle little kisses on your lips. "Yeah?" He whispers softly as he stares into your eyes, "What else baby? C'mon, talk to me."

You're a little shy when he stares at you like that but a sudden rush of boldness courses through you. "Sometimes–ahhn–I think about how it would feel like if you choked me," you softly admit as more moans poured from your lips, "wanna feel your big hands wrap around me and–mmm..!–squeeze." You arch your back when his cockhead brushes against your g-spot.

Namjoon's eyes darken at the words, never in a million years did he think a sweet thing like you would want him to do nasty things like this. He sets his hands on the curve of your hips and thrusts a little more forcefully, "Baby wants to get choked?" He licks his lips, "What else? Tell me everything your filthy little mind thinks of."

He fucks you faster, building rhythm as his thighs smack into your ass. "Call me your dirty slut, want you to tell me how filthy I am.." you whimper as your tits bounce in tandem with his thrusts, "spit in my mouth and call me your good girl."

Namjoon growls lowly, "Fuck.." he closes his eyes and shudders at the mere thought of fucking you like that.

You don't stop there, "Slap me Joonie, I'm all yours." You say as you pout a little and reach for his hand that is on your hip, "All yours.." you mumble and take his finger into your mouth as you suck on the digit.

He completely switches, forgetting he was just trying to hear you dirty talk. He yanks his hand away and grabs your chin roughly as he plows into you at a punishing pace, "Here I thought you were my sweet girl, turns out you’re nothing but a little whore who wants to be slapped around like one. Is that what you want baby? You want me to slap you around and spit on you like the useless cumdump you are?”

You cry out from the way his hips slap into yours, the pleasure hits you hard and it leaves you boneless on the bed. “Y..es..!”

“I can’t hear you.” Namjoon growls and lightly slaps your chin a couple times.

“Yes!” You whine and arch your back.

Namjoon suddenly pulls out as he flips you on to your front. He twists his hand in your hair and yanks it back with a strong grip. One that makes you ache pleasantly. “Lucky this pussy is so good to me, you’re nothing but a fleshlight to use. I have no need for you apart from that,” he says as he slips back and thrusts harshly. “wonder how people would react if they knew the world’s so called sweetheart liked it sloppy and nasty? I wouldn’t put it past me you if you wanted a whole audience to come and see the kind of person you are.”

He emphasizes “kind of person you are” with a set of hard thrusts that send you rocking front to back on his cock. “This what you wanted?” He rasps out.

You can’t answer, only garbled moans and whines escape your lips as you drool. “Open up,” he speaks up as he pushes two fingers past your lips.

You’re too fucked out to comprehend, eyes slipping shut as your eyes water. You choke around his fingers and reach up to grip his wrist as spit and drool runs down your chin. Muffled whimpers and moans fill the room along with sloppy slurping noises. Namjoon’s enjoying this a little too much.

“That’s right baby, get ‘em nice and wet for me.” He whispers as he rolls his hips. He’s not going to lie, this little power play you guys got going on is making his cock twitch with interest. He can feel his stomach coil in pleasure as he gets close to his orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” Namjoon’s hips stutter and he presses deep against the curve of your soft plush ass.

His fingers slip out of your mouth and you gasp in relief. You clench tightly around his cock, causing him to cry out as his hands grip your waist tightly. “C-Cum… in me.” You whimper out and rock your hips back on to his.

Namjoon steadies you as he fucks into your sopping pussy a couple more times before he cums hard. His cock throbs deep inside of you, a long groan leaving his lips as he relaxes and loosens his hold on you. You reach below to rub your clit slowly and inch towards your sweet orgasm. It comes in slow waves, your body shudders as you close your eyes and quietly moan into the pillow.

You both stay like that for a bit, harsh panting and soft mumbles filling the room as the high comes down. You didn’t think he had it in him to be this degrading..

“Can’t walk.” You mumble.

“I can see that.” Namjoon grunts as he pats your ass, “Shit I gotta get ready.” He says when he sees the time on the clock. He knows for sure you aren’t going, by the looks of it you looked like you got the train ran on you.

[just-dino-maggie]

Washing their hair

Sitting on the counter watching them brush their teeth / shave in the morning

Wearing their clothes

With Luke Hughes

Thank you so much for the request!! I really like this one so I hope you like it too!

Luke is constantly busy. School, hockey, and the guys take up so much of his time. There was a point on our relationship where I felt like I didn’t fit into his schedule. Like we just couldn’t work, then we started a routine and it’s perfect for us.

I wake up on my side with Luke’s body pressed against my back. We’re in his dorm squeezed into a tiny bed but I don’t mind it one bit. I try to pull away but he tightens his arm around my waist.

“Don’t leave,” He says. His voice is raspy and it’s incredibly attractive. The way he sounds in the morning always gets me.

I turn around a plant a kiss on his neck, “We need to get up. Will you take a shower with me?”

He doesn’t respond he just moves us off the bed, he takes my hand and walks me to the bathroom. He has his own connected to his dorm and I’m so grateful for it. We take a moment to brush our teeth. Standing next to each other in front of the small sink.

He starts the water for the shower, allowing it to warm up while he undresses me. I’m standing in his large t-shirt and some underwear. Still, he takes his time stripping me of those clothes planting soft kisses on my skin the entire time. He ushers me into the shower while he takes off his sweats and his boxers.

When he joins me in the shower we kiss softly for a while under the running water. Nothing feels better then this. “Can I wash your hair?” He asks holding my face in his hands.

“Please,” I respond. I turn my back to him allowing him to massage the shampoo into my scalp. It’s heavenly. His hands are so big yet so gentle. He rinses my hair and adds some conditioner to the ends. He waits a moment then washes it out as well. “Can I wash your hair now?”

He chuckles, “You can try.” Luke is quite a bit taller then me so I have to stand on a ledge. I steady myself by holding on to his sholder. I use the same shampoo on him. Taking my time to play with his hair.

He groans. “That bad?” I joke moving his hair under the water.

“That good,” he replies.

We take our time cleaning our bodies, moving in tandem. Washing each other or washing ourselves. As we stand there I let myself admire him. He works so hard to be the best and his body shows it. His body is made up of harsh lines and defined muscle. He’s stunning.

When we get out of the shower he drapes a large towel over my shoulders. I cross it over my chest and sit on the closed toilet. I watch him get out his shaving cream, after shave, and razor. He applies the shaving cream evenly and begins shaving his stubble. He doesn’t have much facial hair so he prefers being clean shaven.

He works quickly yet carefully moving the razor. His sharp jawline comes back into view when he wipes away some shaving cream. I forget that him and other boys my age are men. Like fully young men. Luke exemplifies the qualities of a good man almost all the time. Moments like this remind me how lucky I am.

When he’s finished he applies some after shave. He smells amazing. We tumble back into his room exchanging sweet kisses and even sweeter words. All that can be heard is breathless I love you’s and You’re perfect’s.

Leaving to go to class is a heartbreaking thing but it will be okay because we will do this again and again. Holding on to this time forever, the early mornings with the love of my life.

[welcome-to-tracy]

Obey Me Headcanons. MC jokingly says: «Spank me, please».

GN!Reader. All brothers.

TW: suggestive? a little smut with Belphegor. 😳

A/N: at first I wanted MC to slap one of the brothers on the ass, but then I changed my mind.

Hint: MC and the character are not in a relationship. So when they asks to be spanked, they is just joking, but in fact it is frankly clear that they would really like it.

all subsequent actions take place with MC consent.

Lucifer:

— You're talking to Lucifer in his room when he asks how you're doing at RAD.

— «I know that you have already settled into the Devildom enough, but if you need help with your studies or you would like something specific, you just need to ask».

— The moment seems to you ideal for a light joke, because Lucifer is obviously not tense and this is just a friendly conversation.

— «Something I want? Then... How about you spank me, please?»

— You can see how Lucifer's eyebrows are raised questioningly, trying to evaluate what you just said.

— In fact, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind and now, understanding the meaning of these words, you blush deeply and immediately add: «Of course this is a joke!»

— When Lucifer sees you blush, on his face a proud grin appears.

— «Joke? Really? Didn't I just say that you just have to ask if you need anything?», – he leans over your ear and quietly whispers: «What an interesting request. But if this is what you want, then I will do everything to make our exchange student comfortable».

Mammon:

— You were resting in your room when a message from Mammon flashed on your D.D.D. screen.

— «Not that I care at all, but I know that your birthday is coming soon, so (you should thank the Great Mammon) I'll condescend to present you something».

— Of course, a minute later he sent a message saying that it should not be too expensive and preferably with his own hands.

— Without hesitation, you tapped your fingers on the keyboard and sent a message that if the "Great Mammon" wants to do something for you with his own hands, then he may well spank you.

— «WHAT?! ARE YOU DELUSIONAL?».

— You could almost imagine Mammon's excited face, considering the speed with which a huge pile of messages were coming to you.

— You didn't even bother to clarify that it was just a joke, hoping that later he would understand it himself. And after a couple of hours, it completely slipped your mind.

— But then, a few days later, your birthday came.

— After receiving the gifts and finishing with the party that the guys threw in honor of you, you returned to your room.

— A few minutes later, Mammon (in the most brazen way) also barged into your room.

— «No. I'm not letting you sell MY gifts».

— «Even the one I gave you?!», – you looked accusingly at, – «Okay-okay! That's not what I was going to talk about at all! It's about the second gift. The one you asked for».

— The tips of Mammon's ears turned bright red and he cleared his throat.

— «That what you wrote about in the chat. If you still want it, then... Don't think, not that I was going to do it, but still now I, Mammon, am doing you a favor, so... I think it would be more convenient if you took a different pose and since I am infinitely generous to you, I will do it...».

Leviathan:

— You both played some old co-op game on the console, agreeing that the loser fulfills one wish of the winner.

— Maybe your fingers were trained well enough, or maybe you were just lucky, but this time the victory was yours!

— «NOOOOOOO. It's impossible for this normie to win. This is a scam!!»

— You shrugged your shoulders in response to Levi's whining and (stealthily) stuck out your tongue at him.

— «I won, which means you fulfill one of my wishes!~», – you reminded him of your contract and he instantly wilted.

— «It's not fair... Surely it will be something stupid...».

— «Okay, Levi. What do you think about spanking me?»

— You said it quickly and jokingly, just to see the reaction of the Avatar of Envy (lol, of course, you knew that he would squeal and be embarrassed, but you really wanted to tease him), but, lmao, it looks like you really broke this boy.

— Waving his arms and muttering something, he backed away, tripped over the wires, fell, appeared for a moment in the form of a demon and hid in the corner of the room.

— You don't know it (maybe you can guess), but right now he remembered all the possible hentai that started exactly the same.

— «Henry, you... You just can't say things like that! A similar situation occurred at the beginning of the seventh chapter of the first volume of „The Lamb-Girl: My indecisive lover”, but we live in the REAL world and if you ask someone for such things, then you should be prepared for the fact that it will end badly. A nasty otaku like me just shouldn't touch you like that, especially when our relationship hasn't reached that level yet, you just–».

— Most likely you stopped listening to him. Leviathan was in his demonic form, waving his tail and blushing terribly. On top of everything else, the guy was bleeding from his nose, but he did not stop his long tirade.

— (If you offer him a napkin, he'll faint, lol).

— To stop disturbing the wild imagination of the virgin-demon, you just went to your room, hoping that later he would calm down.

— A few hours later, Levi will definitely self-destruct, but he will also scroll through your proposal in his head and imagine his palm on your body.

Satan:

A/N: it turned out fine and a little crumpled, but okay, sorry. :(

— Well, maybe you're crazy or you just want to die, baby.

— Even with Lucifer, this thing could have been safer, but you chose Satan.

— You both fight when at some point you say something like: «Damn, if I'm that bad, then just spank me».

— Lol, you said the first thing that came to your mind, but now you're both in a stupor and blushing.

— «Spank you? Is this some kind of provocation?», – he raises his eyebrows, but before you can answer, Satan pulls you towards him.

— «Wait, it's...».

— «I think it was a good idea. Maybe I should really punish you so that you behave yourself next time?».

— He's definitely just scaring you, but if you agree, then Satan will really spank your ass.

Asmodeus:

— Okay, if not both of you, then at least Asmo is constantly joking about such things. Not that this is anything new.

— You put on the dress that the demon bought you as a gift and spun around on the spot so that he could appreciate how it fits on you.

— «It's just gorgeous, honey! As soon as I saw him, I immediately realized that you would look wonderful in something like this. You're amazing!~ ♡», – he claps his hands and smiles contentedly.

— «But isn't it too short?»

— «No, no! Just right! You look so lovely that I want to kiss you. Or spank», – Asmodeus puts his hands on your waist and seductively grins.

— You briefly say something like «can I choose both options?», deciding to play along with him. But you didn't expect he to go beyond the usual teasing this time.

— He gives you a short kiss near the lips and you blush with surprise. When Asmo sees your reaction, he smiles and his cheeks also turn a delicate pink shade.

— Overcoming the awkwardness, you quietly ask: «Well, the kiss has already been. How about the second option?».

Beelzebub:

— God, he has incredibly cute reactions to any teasing.

— If you suddenly tell this kid to spank you, I swear he'll choke on what he's chewing right now.

— You'll just watch a blush spread across Beel face as he realizes your request, but then he looks down and sighs.

— «I don't understand why you want me to do something like that. I don't want to hurt you».

— He's really afraid he might hurt you because you're so small and he's so big and strong. 🥺

— If you explain to him that this is just a joke, he will smile and say that he is glad because he would not like to hit you.

— If you continue your joke and start explaining to Beelzebub that it might even be nice, then he will nod seriously and begin to finish his meal.

— After that, he'll shoulder you wherever you are and carry you to your room, because he doesn't mind if that's what you want. :>

— (When Beel start spank you, he will be a little scared that he may not calculate the strength, but then he will even get a taste and on your ass there will definitely be traces of his huge palms).

Belphegor:

— Just wanting to annoy Belphegor a little, you woke him up and decided that it would be nice to tease the Avatar of Laziness a little.

— Every now and then, absolutely jokingly, you put your hand on his thigh or whispered ambiguous phrases in his ear while he sighed irritably.

— His displeased expression seemed so funny and cute to you that you could hardly restrain yourself.

— «You're being disgusting, you know?».

— «Really? Well then take it and spank me».

— «Your jokes are so tiring. Don't think I'm going to fall for that», – he yawned significantly and you puffed out your cheeks.

— «Well, if you refuse, then I'll go», – of course you were bluffing. You of both were not in such a relationship and it would be strange to suggest something like that, but... you were so turned on by his quiet, irritated growl.

— Oh, it looks like you've awakened something bad in him.

— You get out of bed and wink at him, intending to leave, but Belphegor grabs your wrist and pulls you to him so that you fall on your stomach on his lap.

— You flinch when one of his hands gets under your t-shirt and lies on your lower back.

— «It was so audacious. If you woke me up, then why don't I listen to you, especially since it sounds fun», – you hear his soft teasing voice and a quiet malicious grin.

— With his other hand, Belphie lightly slaps you on the ass and briefly holds his palm on your buttock, squeezing it through the fabric of your clothes.

— You feel him tense up a little under you, and then the next ringing slap is heard, much stronger than the past.

— You let out a low moan and he runs his index finger along the inside of your thigh.

— «How depraved... If you wanted me, you should have said so earlier. And now take responsibility for your actions, because now I don't want to sleep at all...».

— There is another slap.

A/N: AHHAHA, idk what I wrote! Sorry about this crap. I did it for a very long time and sat with the dictionary, lololol. 😭

[lazybutsmexy]

Bird hunting

Ghost x fem!reader x Soap

Chapter 1: The Snare

Series masterlist > Ch. 2

Warnings: kidnapping, drugging, violence

Summary: It is a beautiful autumn afternoon to go for a last run before reporting back to base, until it isn't.

Do not read if you're under 18. This work contains mature and triggering themes.

Word count: 1400~

Task Force 141 member sheet

Name: [REDACTED]

Call sign: Canary

Rank: Corporal

Specialty: Sniper. Infiltration.

Status: On medical leave until November 18th XXXX

November 17th

Socked feet padded across the cold ceramic floors, a soft amber hue bathing the living room in the late afternoon sunlight. Canary readied herself for her run, the last one before her reinstallment in the task force after a two-month medical leave.

There was now only a faint scar where her shoulder injury had been, a reminder of a mission almost gone terribly wrong. She had been lucky, nonetheless, as she was allowed to carry most of her leave at her own apartment. She appreciated the six weeks of almost-civilian life she was granted, being able to buy her weekly groceries at the nearby farmers market, and catching up with old friends. But to say she was anxious to return to her military routine was an understatement.

Besides, she would be able to see her lovers once again after so long. Just as she was hospitalized, both Simon and Johnny had been shipped off who knows where. All communication had been nonexistent ever since, and every day she dealt with the dull weight in her chest of not knowing where or how they were. One of the reasons why she had requested to carry her leave out of base, was actually not being able to sleep at her barrack, knowing that the one next to hers was quiet and empty. Price had assured her that they would be back around or at the same time she returned to her duties, which may or may not have caused her to count the days down until her leave was up.

Canary whistled a tune that resembled a catchy pop song that had been playing non-stop on the radio for the past week as she secured her running shoes with a double knot. She felt light and airy, all her belongings were packed and her fridge had been emptied. The apartment was sparkling clean and ready to become unused again for who knows how long. The only thing left to do was to get herself takeout dinner on her way back and go to sleep early, to be up at 4 AM sharp to report an hour later on base.

She grabbed her running hoodie - which had been Johnny’s until she refused to give it back - and her gloves. She took a moment to admire these with a blossoming smile.

~~~~

Canary had just sat down on her bed when the door knocked. After an awfully eventful day as a newly appointed corporal in the infamous 141 task force, she barely had any energy to take off her boots, but she still swallowed the groan that nearly escaped her and called out for the person to walk in.

An instant later, Ghost - her Lieutenant and the protagonist of her dreams as of late - was inside her barrack. She stood up straight, but he dismissed her before she got to salute him. Was this a surprise inspection? Canary resisted the urge to look around her own room to see if anything was out of place. She felt a wave of panic rise when she realized she couldn’t remember whether or not she had picked up her dirty socks from under the bed.

“How can I help you, Lieutenant?” she asked, almost regretting it when he locked his stare on her eyes and her heart rate spiked.

“...I came to bring you this,” he said after what seemed like hours - but were probably just a few seconds - and extended his arm to her, on his hand was a box roughly wrapped in yellow paper.

Canary gingerly took the box from his hands and inspected it, before looking up at him again with a questioning tilt of her head. She thought she heard him gulp before crossing his arms over his chest.

“...It’s from me,” he explained, “and Soap.”

She blinked and nodded, carefully unwrapping the box and opening it from the side, sliding its contents onto her open hand. They were a pair of tactical gloves with bone designs - a replica of his own, she noticed. She looked up at him again, this time there was a slight warmth on her cheeks. She wouldn’t know until much later, but the same flush sat on his own cheeks, beneath the balaclava and skull mask.

“...Happy birthday, Canary.”

~~~~

Whenever she thought back to that moment, the warmth returned to her chest. And whenever she slid the gloves on and adjusted them to her wrist, she imagined Simon and Johnny holding her hands.

With her gloves adjusted, she secured her ponytail and walked out the door, saving her keys in the pocket of her hoodie. She greeted Marian, her elderly neighbour, and left on her run.

Her route wasn't a complicated one, it was a long road that crossed the University campus and ran through the forest, then turned before the bridge and led back into the city. In total, it was about 10 kilometers long. It was often frequented by other young people, mostly university students, who chose it to exercise. This didn't bother her, she tended to prefer this as it made her running route less solitary.

However, an unusually long weekend and the closeness of final exams made the route more solitary, as students either traveled home or shut themselves into their homes to cram. Canary didn't mind this at all, taking the chance to do more sprints and put herself back into the mindset she would be in during her missions soon enough.

Her rhythm was good, cutting through her route like a sharpened knife. She imagined herself at times doing a sprint race with Johnny, like they would during training. It wasn't the same without his taunting and their bickering, but she knew they would do it in no time, any day now.

Canary crossed a few people during her run, but the crowd dwindled even more when she crossed the forest. The trees blocked most sounds from the city, allowing her to enjoy the chirping of some birds that hadn't migrated, and the brush of a breeze in the forage. It was a calm day, the sound of her breathing and the crunch of the fallen leaves beneath her feet being the only disturbance in the area.

Out of nowhere, the hairs at the back of her neck stood and a chill ran down her spine. She was being watched. Canary stopped and looked around, trying to find whoever was looking at her. She decided to continue this time being more mindful of her surroundings, although her instinct screamed at her that she was walking into a trap.

As she got closer to the road near the bridge, Canary felt a sharp pain on the right side of her back. She swallowed a cry and reached for the object that pierced her skin. It didn't feel like a bullet, but something with a needle. Her blood turned cold when she pulled it out and examined it.

A tranquilizer dart.

Judging from the direction from where it was shot, she realized it had come from the forest. Soon she heard a rustling of leaves, and she now had only seconds to reach the road and hopefully flag down a passing car for help.

Canary abandoned the trail to run in the muddy grass, nearly slipping twice. She was still gripping the dart in her left hand, when she realized that the drug could knock her out at any moment now. Her pursuer was gaining terrain on her, and a quick look over her shoulder didn't help her nerves. She unfastened her glove and secured the dart in it to make sure she wouldn't lose it, when she felt a weight being thrown on her back.

Both her and her assailant tumbled down violently onto the grass and she struggled against him, only to find out her legs weren't moving. In her panic, she tried to move around to try and get a better look at the man, but her face was shoved down in the mud. Soon, her arms felt numb as well, the only feeling was the sensation of being zip-tied, and a fog began clouding her eyes and mind. She tried to scream for help, for Simon, Johnny, anyone, but her voice was hoarse and weakened, her breathing growing shallow and heavy under the weight of her attacker.

She barely caught the sight of a gray van pulling up in a hurry, and male voices shouting to each other, then her world went black and silent.

Do not repost, translate, or transcribe any of my works in this or any other social media. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated though ♥️

[wilwheaton]

I know we took a picture together after the interview. I remember asking, not wanting to overstep, how grateful and relieved I felt when she said yes. I remember Annie taking one with her phone, and how shy she was about asking me, which was so damn charming. I've spent a lot of time looking for one of those pictures and I am coming up empty. So here is a blurry screenshot of our interview on Ready Room, which captures a bit of the genuine fun we had together, talking about being part of Star Trek. I didn't get to know Annie like her classmates did. In fact, this was the only time we shared more than a moment or a quick hello. But I instantly liked her. I felt this kind, gentle, enthusiastic, warmth just radiating from her. She reminded me of Jeri Ryan and Michelle Hurd, in that way, and I was so envious of the people who got to work with all of them. I saw Annie just one other time, at a big Star Trek con. She was wearing a green, glittery crown. It was beautiful and it suited her. I felt like it was one of her first cons, and remembered how overwhelming that feels, and I didn't want to add to it. Her castmates were there, and I didn't want to intrude. So I said hello and stayed out of their way. They all looked so happy together. We form that bond in our casts, when we are lucky. They were lucky. I very much hoped that I would get to know Annie a bit more, through the situational relationships that some of us form on the convention circuit over many years. It's not necessarily friends, but it's more than coworkers. It's a common language that's expressed in more than words, an understanding of this very specific, kind of weird thing, that we all have in common a few times a year.I figured there was plenty of time for that. My heart and my love go out to Annie's friends and family. May her memory be a blessing. https://www.instagram.com/p/CoA-fUUPZBx/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[crash-and-cure]

Would it be a Sin? (Yandere! Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Gif credit to @troubleinapinksuit​

Summary: Your Husband will forever keep you safe, no matter the cost.

A/N: Full disclosure, I am a Latina, specifically my family is from Mexico. When I first got this request from @ilovehobi101​ I worried as to how I could frame the conflict that some members felt comfortable bullying reader (y’know aside from casual 60’s misogyny) but also why reader wouldn’t really speak up about it. And then I saw my profile picture and was reminded of the serious lack of Latin!reader fics in this fandom, and voila. Also I understand the utter swaglessness of having a latin!reader that starts off as a maid, but trust me the occupation has relevance to the plot. Reader does speak spanish and I will acknowledge that some of the spanish spoken is very specific to the Mexican dialect. Also I love how I was asked for soft!yandere and my thoughts immeadiately went to murder. I got in right under the wire to was able to post this on Elvis’ birthday.

Warnings: Smut, though more towards the end, and not while reader is pregnant (but does include depictions of Hand kink, cockwarming, vaginal fingering. Pregnant!reader. Implied murder, hiding and burying of a body featured. Period-typical xenophobia, racism, and microagressions galore toward a poc!reader as well as the use of some racial slurs. Sexual harassment depicted, though not from Elvis. Yandere!Elvis themes of obsessive, manipulative, and gaslighting behavior, as well as some controlling and isolating tendencies as well, though, softer and not as overt as I have written before. Traumatic birth is described and as well as descriptions of a pre-mature baby. ANGST galore here. Blood and Injuries from a fall depicted. Symptoms of PTSD.

Word Count: 14.5k

My Masterlist

You love Elvis Presley. And you were lucky enough to be the woman that he loves back.

There was no doubt in your mind. 

It almost plays out like a fairy tale. The King that fell for the maid. 

When you were just a maid that cleaned up after him and his friends in Beverly Hills, you didn’t expect this house to be much different from the other houses you’d worked at. You’d been working working as a maid for a few years now, so you knew the deal. Rich people liked their big houses to be clean, but didn’t want to actually think about it being clean, so you were to be seen not heard. They rarely ever spoke to you, mostly they handed a list to one of the girls, and left the house for the day, and you would leave before they returned. When you did on occasion actually see them it would mostly be them calling for you, usually by the wrong name, and pointing to a mess, before leaving the room, truly thinking you were stupid and could only take the simplest of commands (you would on occasion meet these people again after you and Elvis became official, and they never remembered you).

Elvis at the very beginning proved to be no different. You were in his house constantly and yet you didn’t even see him in person until maybe a month or two after you started. As you understood it he was a busy man, especially as he was trying to make a movie career happen, after being gone for so long. 

You wouldn’t exactly call the first time you met him magical, or even anything really special for you. You and a few other girls had entered the house and immediately you saw evidence of a party from last night and you could also hear some pretty explicit sounds coming from where you knew the master bedroom to be, one voice pretty distinct even if you had never heard it in person, the other a mystery to you. You and some of the girls got a little giggly, while the others seemed pretty annoyed by this whole thing.

Your tía was on the annoyed side of this situation, which grew even more when one of the tasks was cleaning the stairs and polishing the railing. You're the one that ends up volunteering to do it seeing everyone else was too embarrassed to even try to get near there. 

“Suena como si estuviera puliendo la baranda también,” your friend Linda would snicker.

You smacked her arm, and said “pinche puta,” between laughs. Though you can’t say you were any better because you couldn’t help but be very curious as to whether or not the girl upstairs is someone famous or not. Not because you plan on sharing that information with the others, you’re just very curious by nature and always have been. It’s gotten you in trouble in a few places, but you’ve been able to pull the “no hablo ingles” card and it’s usually enough. 

And that’s how you met your future husband, crouched down to get to a hard to reach place on the bannister pretending you’re not interested in what’s going on in the other room, as he walked out of his bedroom in only his boxers, hair a mess, scratching his ass while yawning. It throws you a little how handsome you still think he is in person, even in this less than glamorous situation you find yourself in.

“Hola señor,” you said, trying to hide your embarrassment as you got right back to work to get a particularly stubborn spot. You’re also praying he’s not so uptight as to have you fired for seeing him like this, and your hope is that if you act like nothing's wrong he’ll barely even notice you.

“Um… uh… I-I,” you hear him stutter out. You turn around, prepared to either be given a task or be fired on the spot, but to your surprise you find one of the most desired men in the world stuttering over his words while his ears turn a bright red. That color transfers almost entirely to his whole face when you both hear a feminine yawn coming from his room. That manages to shake him out of his stupor as he scrambles back toward his bedroom and closes the door.

Well… I’m fired, which you’re actually sad about, because of all the houses you work he definitely gives the best tips. You know that girls have been let go at other houses for less than this, so you quietly make your way closer to the door, still near the bannister, hoping at the least your curiosity won’t be in vain and you’ll be able to see if it's someone famous.

“...you said I could stay awhile longer,” the girl says. Her voice isn’t so breathy, so you doubt it’s Marilyn or Jayne, but not so posh sounding that you think it’s a Debbie or Audrey. 

“I-I know darlin’, but somethin’ came up,” you hear him say. He sounds guilty, as though he was just caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. 

“Are we still going to that place you were telling me about later?”

“Mmm…” is all you hear from him in response. English may have been your second language, but even you recognize a non-answer when you hear one. You can’t help but cringe at that and for her sake, you hope, for her sake, she drove herself here. 

Down below you hear Linda calling and asking you to bring down the duster, but as you grab it intending to make a quick exit from the situation, you realize you neglected to finish the job you were sent to do and you lose your balance at the very top of the stairs when your grip fails you from all of the polish. 

There isn’t really anytime for your life to flash before your eyes as someone snatches your wrist and brings you upright again. “You alright there darlin’?” Elvis would ask as he guides you away from the stairs sounding genuinely worried for you while you try to catch your breath. Your heart skips a beat when you see how blue his eyes are, and you quickly try to gather yourself.

“Thank you,” you say. You notice he’s wearing a robe now and also how he’s gazing at you, not saying anything. “You want me to clean in there?” you say to break the tension a bit, which works as you see his cheeks redden a bit as he looks back at his bedroom.

“No, no, I-I uh…” he stutters, before clearing his throat. “If you don’t mind, my uh gir-lady… friend, needs to leave and she uhh…” 

“You want me to distract the others while she leaves?” 

“Y-you don’t mind?” 

“Well you just saved my life so I think I owe you.” you say to him as you lean over the bannister and confirm that they were all in the living room. You go to grab the railing, but quickly snatch your hand back. “Not falling for that one again.” you say looking back at him, and you see that gets a half smile out of him.

“Wait,” he says as you’re halfway down the stairs. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

It’s rare that you’re ever asked that on the job, so for perhaps the first time on the job, your smile is genuine as you tell him.

“Y/N” he repeats, apparently liking the way it rolls off his tongue. And surprisingly enough so do you.

So you make your way down to the room you know they’re cleaning and let them know that the boss wants all of you to clean the kitchen right now. They’re annoyed but nonetheless comply and once you make sure they’re all out you look back up the stairs and give him the thumbs up. He gives you a dopey smile as he gives one back.

Rather than being fired over the incident, he surprises you by actually giving you and the others even more hours. And the hours you worked for him, he so happens to be home. Your tía warns you to be on your best behavior, because typically this means that they think that one of you stole something so they’re keeping an eye on you. With the way one of his friends kept looking at you when you were in the same room as him you figured she was right. But the way Elvis was acting around you, was what threw away this notion.

He was always going out of his way to talk to you, always finding excuses to be in the same room as you, even offering little gifts in the form of sweets. Mix in the fact that you also became the only one who was allowed within places that not even his friends could go into like his bedroom, this all told you that he liked you, but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions as to what way.

After he finished shooting his movie he would ask you to house sit for him while he was back in Memphis, stating he felt he could trust you to keep the house clean and to be responsible with it unlike his other friends. Even after you saw what he was willing to pay you for essentially living alone in his mansion for a month, you hesitated because who just offers that to someone they just met and your tía’s warnings about men like him didn’t help either. You eventually caved when he promised to consider you for a full-time/live-in maid if you did a good job. 

Then two days after he left, you got a late night call from him. You were honestly happy for it, because the house felt too big and too empty with just you there. It didn’t help that the room he left for you was far too nice, and you missed sharing your bed with your little sisters. Suffice to say, being all alone was unsettling for you

“Sorry if I woke ya’ Y/N, I-I just…” he said, nervousness clear in his voice. “I-I just been lookin’ for somethin’ and I think I forgot to pack it.”

“You want me to look for it?”

“If you could be a doll,” he says, relieved. “Ju-just take a look in my room, and see if you can find it there. It’s a black cowboy hat, and I think it was in a white box in the closet.”

You set the phone aside and made your way up there. When you do find it you let him know as much, but decide to have a little fun with it now that you’re up. “I found it Mr. Presley. But there is a problem.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It looks better on me,” you say as you look at yourself wearing it in the mirror. 

“I bet it does,'' he says between laughs. This does create a bit of a pause between you two as you recognize that you’re essentially flirting with your boss, and to your horror he’s flirting right back. 

“So is this for a movie or are you just going to run away to become a cowboy?” You say in an effort to change the subject. 

You hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Much as I wish it was the last one, it’s for my next movie. Dolores del Rio’s gon’ be in it.” 

You’re floored at that. “¡No manches! She’s my favorite actress. I thought she wasn’t ever coming back to Hollywood.”

That gets the two of you talking about movies for hours. It was easy to forget that you’re talking to one of the most sought after stars in Hollywood right now as he gushes about his favorite actors the same way you do. What surprises you most is when he asks you who you’ve met while working in LA. 

“I’ll never tell,” you tease. 

“What, you hate ‘em that much Darlin”?” he laughs.

“Yes,” you jokingly agree, ignoring the way your heart skipped at that nickname.

“I ain’t surprised though,” he says. “There’s some crazies livin’ out there. Ones that’ll ya’ call in the middle of the night ‘bout a cowboy hat, and have you on the phone ‘til… wow 3 in the morning.”

“And some maids are crazy enough to lay in their bed and let them,” you counter, only to clamp up and realize how bad that sounded from the strangled noise he makes on the other side of the phone. You quickly try to backtrack and promise you didn’t mean it that way. 

He reassures you that he takes no offense from that, but he does sound like he’s breathing heavier now, and you worry that you accidentally took the harmless flirting with him too far. You quickly give an excuse to leave, “I have a busy day of sitting on your house tomorrow.” You're glad he laughs at that but it does sound a little stiffer than the other one he’s so freely given. After you hang up you tidy up what you can, and make your way back to your room, hoping to pray some dangerous thoughts away.

The next day you try to act like nothing happened, but that’s all thrown out the window that night as Elvis calls again with a similar request to find a pair of his boots that he couldn’t find, and it proceeds much like the previous call. Eventually after the second week of nightly calls he drops the act entirely and calls just so he can talk to you. And you welcome them, because it made the house feel less empty when he did.

When he got back to LA you didn’t know what to expect from him anymore as the late night calls turned into late night talks in the kitchen. That turned into daylight jokes and conversations between the two of you. And honestly even more open flirting between the two of you, but it all came to a head one day as the two of you were walking down the stairs. 

“So wait? Your character hears a song on the radio that you, Elvis, sang, and he doesn’t talk about the fact that you look exactly like him.” 

“It ain’t Shakespeare, but it’s gettin’ me back out there,” he says sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. 

“That’s too bad,” you say as you reach the bottom of the stairs. “I think you would make a great Romeo.”

“Oh…” he says, his voice going low for a moment, as in the next moment you find yourself trapped between him and the railing. “Tell me Satnin, what ‘bout me reminds you a Romeo.” 

Your heart is pounding in your chest and your breathing is a little heavier than it was before. The smirk on his stupidly plush lips tell you he no doubt wanted this reaction, so you decide to show him what it was that reminded you of Romeo, and kiss him fully on the mouth. It was a quick peck on the lips but you could still see the faint traces of your lipstick on him. “Those are what remind me of Romeo.” 

He’s stunned at your boldness but no less welcoming as he brings a hand to your face to bring you back, but you use that opportunity to step on to the bottom step and away from him. You leave him on that staircase, your face warm at what you just did, biting your lip to keep from fully laughing at Elvis’ frozen state on the steps. 

Later that same day, he would tell you how his upcoming movie was going to be shot in Hawaii, and how coincidentally, he felt that you were in desperate need of a vacation. The rest was history for the two of you. 

You love Elvis Presley.

You love everything about Elvis Presley, save for one thing. 

His friends.

You will admit you like a few of them. Most of the others are fine, but indifferent towards you. Some of them get on your nerves but otherwise you can live with them, like when they tease you over your accent or snicker under their breath when you forget words. You don’t like it, but you put up with it. 

One of them you absolutely hated, with all of your being: Eric. 

He’s the one that has been around the longest with Elvis. He went on tour with him in the early days, went to Germany with him, and now he’s here in Hollywood with him. He even brags he was the one to give Elvis the final push he needed to get on stage. Yes he was more partial to the party lifestyle than the others, and had a tendency to speak without much thought, but Elvis reassured you that he was deep down a good guy.

You find that hard to believe, because you don’t know what it is about you that Eric finds so offensive, but whatever it is, it’s apparently unforgivable in his mind. 

Even though you spoke it just as well as Spanish, most people assumed you didn’t speak English at all. You let this slide mostly because you’re nosy and people are a lot freer with their words around you when they think you can’t understand them. You begin to regret that decision when Eric got comfortable enough to tell you how badly he wanted to fuck you and what he would do when he did. Usually your go to tactic was to start speaking rapid Spanish, which like most white people, made him confused and very uncomfortable, pick up a cleaning tool and walk into a different room, usually one where you knew Elvis was.

“You’re a lil’ fuckin’ whore you know that?” he would seethe while you cleaned the kitchen the night you were all set to leave for Hawaii. “Just like the rest of ‘em. He’s only taking you because he wants to fuck you.” The foul smell coming from him tells you that he’s been drinking, so you’re on edge right now. Everything about this is setting you off right now, and you know you have to get out of here right now. 

…But not before you got the last word in.

You look him right in the eyes, and as he sees the understanding in your eyes, you can also see him realize before you speak your first word to him, that you knew this whole time what he had been saying to you.

“Probably,” you say, and then you turn right around and make you way to Elvis that night.

You don’t if it’s embarrassment for what you heard him say to you, shame that you heard what he said or fear that you could and would tell Elvis at any moment what he’s like to you when no one was around. Whatever the case may be he would spend the next few years making comments under his breath about you, passive aggressively handing you plates to and glasses to clean, so on and so forth.

As did a lot of his friends, as they didn’t take you seriously at first, thinking you were going to eventually be replaced, that was until the argument that had his former manager walk away. When the press had learned about you, they had called you Elvis’ “Hot Tamale,” which you didn’t love, but what you loved even less was the threat that this story posed to his career.

But that’s also when you know you fell for him completely. Even you had fully expected him to drop you the moment the press got wind of you, because celebrities as big as him simply don’t end up with the maid, let alone a maid that looks and sounds like you. But he didn’t. He didn’t flinch at any of the things they threw at him: Not when his manager walked, not when the studio threatened to pull his contract, not even when a veritable mob stood outside the gates of his home demanding he be arrested for “indecency.” He took all of it, all so that you two could be together. 

Colonel Tom Parker wanted you gone, and forgotten. The last time you ever saw him he was saying shit like how he didn’t want Elvis to be so “controversial,” and how he would ruin his image as a “good American boy,” over quote “some little wetback.” You got the pleasure of seeing his face turn from angry to murderous as those words left that man's vile mouth, and the way every other face in that room drained of color as he went off on him had you breathing a little heavier by the end of it.

Though it all worked out for the better in the end as Elvis had ten new offers from people who worked with Brando and Dean before he was even out of the gate (all asking for a lot less than what he was paying the Colonel). None of them were afraid to take such a “scandalous” client, and were even able to work it in his favor to get more serious roles he had always been after.

Eventually most people seemed to get over it, and you became the new “it” girl, as magazines went from criticizing you for every little thing that was “unamerican” about you to praising how “exotic” and “spicy” you were. It doesn’t matter what they think, so long as you were with Elvis, you were untouchable, you believed. 

That is why you put up with his friends, it felt like after all that he does for you, the least you could do was fight your own battles. 

You had woken up today well-rested and your baby moving beneath your heart. You would have labeled it a perfect morning if it weren’t for the fact that your husband was absent, as he was currently doing reshoots for his movie half a world away right now. 

He had been furious at the studio for this, and tried everything he could to delay shooting because he wanted to be with you as much as he could right now. He had made it no secret how he wanted a big family, and having grown up in one you couldn’t help but agree eagerly. You were engaged for about a month in total, he was so impatient to start trying for a baby, but you were no better in all honesty.

It eventually took when you were with him in Hawaii for the original shoot of the movie. As appealing as being with him there right before your baby is due sounds, you can’t think of anything worse than a more than ten hour flight. You barely survived the flight back home when you were just barely into your pregnancy, you doubt you would be able to make it this late. Besides, you're saving your patience for flying for your upcoming stay in LA, as you had made plans to have your baby there. 

Graceland has become home to you, but Memphis has not. You’ve known since the moment that Elvis decided you were it, that the two of you would be toeing the line. Because being latin, the law here didn’t technically make it illegal for you two to be married, but certain people here made it very clear that they take your marriage as some cardinal sin. As a result, when you are here, you never leave Graceland without him. 

Usually you loved being here. When the house is filled with friends and family it actually does feel like a home, and even when it’s just the two of you, neither of you ever feel lonely. But without him, you now feel the way you did when you were just house sitting for him.

This is why, when you learned about the reshoots, you insisted on being in LA, so you at least wouldn’t be as cooped up there as you were in Graceland and you would have your family nearby. That was one of the biggest fights you’ve had in all the years you’ve been together, as you hated the idea of being in Graceland without him, and he hated the idea of you being in LA without him.

You didn’t relent until you found out why he was so reluctant to have you there. He didn’t want to scare you, but he had learned a while ago that someone had broken into the Hillcrest house. Nothing was taken, but it scared him nonetheless, and he wanted you to stay in Graceland just so he could have the peace of mind. And for all that it made you feel restrained, you can’t help but agree that Graceland is safe so long as you stay within. Red and Pat as Elvis didn’t want you without protection and Pat was pregnant too, so you didn’t have to feel so alone in the house. But Pat, unlike you, was free to leave at any time she pleased and you can’t begrudge her for doing so.

Of course Elvis has been trying to make your confinement easier by calling you every night. He missed you just as much as you did, and didn’t want to go a day without at least hearing your voice. Some calls are sweet, where he asks you to hold the phone to your belly so that he can talk to the baby, and funnily enough you notice that when he does the baby kicks like crazy. There are of course less than sweet calls, the ones that have you be as vocal as possible as you grind down onto his pillow.

Last night's call was different though, just from how much of a mood he had been in already. He had called to tell you that Eric and Joe were on their way back early, and with the venom dripping from his voice, you knew it had to be bad. He didn’t go into detail, but from what you understood is that Eric had been “fucking around” and now Elvis wants nothing to do with him. So much so that he was sent back to Memphis a week earlier than the rest of them, all so that he can get all of his things from Graceland before Elvis’ return. Joe’s only coming to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. With Red already here you figure that the two of them should be able to take him, but you doubt he’ll try anything now of all times when Elvis is so mad at him already. 

Eric had been like a looming black cloud over this whole experience, making jabs that he now understood the rush to get married so quickly and how Elvis is now trapped. Elvis was able to deflect these comments by joking how if anything he trapped you. Though in the few times he’s gotten you alone, the comments turned into how Elvis should best make sure you’re having a baby, to how he better make sure it’s his baby. You didn’t like what he was implying but you also knew that he was just saying shit to see what stuck, and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Most of the other men had taken the hint when you and Elvis were gushing about how big of a family you wanted and had quietly moved their things out of their designated rooms, and into their own houses, while Eric seemed to dig himself in like a tick. You know Elvis is never about to ask someone to leave, and much as you would like to see this man off for the last time you decided it would be best not to counter him and to just stay upstairs for the time being.

The uppermost floor was your and Elvis’ own little world, where you two were just a young married couple awaiting the arrival of the first addition to your family. This is where the two of you could retreat away from everyone and just be. But with one of you gone it felt wrong, and you find yourself restlessly cleaning and organizing the floor above trying to make everything absolutely perfect for his return.

Though being roughly a little over seven months, you’re almost immediately exhausted and you find yourself resting your feet in what will become the baby’s room. It’s quickly become your favorite room in all of Graceland, with the little stuffed animals everywhere and the music notes painting the wall. You have no idea if the baby is going to be a boy or girl, but Elvis swears that he’s ready to pull the trigger on a theme the moment you figure it out. 

“¿Qué piensas?” you say to your bump, enjoying the breeze from the open balcony door. “Una patada para los vaqueros o dos para las princesas.” The baby kicks three times, and you laugh while rubbing your belly. Later on you would recognize this to truly be your last moment of peace. 

“How precious,” a vile voice sneers at you. 

Your smile instantly drops and rather than acknowledge him, you look out the window with your hand protectively over your baby. They're kicking up a storm, almost beat for beat matching your heart rate. “Elvis says, you’re not allowed to be up here,” you say curtly.

"He also says to keep the dogs outside, but I see a little bitch right in front a me." 

"I think big bitch would be more appropriate," you say, all the while rubbing your belly. He's always hated not being able to get a reaction out of you, or how you've never gone to Elvis about what he does as though he's not worth the air it would take to do so. Counter to what people believe about people like you, you’re very capable of keeping your cool and you save your passion for your love not your hatred. And you have no love for Eric.

“You must be so goddamn proud a yourself, being able to get your claws in him like you did,” he spits out. “Struttin’ around here with that little bastard in your belly like the cat that ate the canary.”

“Wait, I thought I was a dog?”

“...What?” 

“I’m confused because you said I was a dog and now you’re saying I’m a cat.” you say coyle while sarcastically throwing your hands in the air. “Tell me Eric, what am I?”

“You’re a little fuckin’ whore is what you are!” he shouts. “You know damn well that there wasn’t no break-in at Hillcrest. He just doesn’t want you in LA because he don’t want you fuckin’ around behind his back! I tried tellin’ him as much, but he didn’t want to hear none of it.”

You stand up and walk out of the room, not willing to hear anymore lies of a sad miserable man that has been digging his own grave for years. You weren’t even there, so he cannot seriously blame you for whatever he did to get himself fired. You know better than most how hot Elvis can run, but you also know how quick he is to forgive, so whatever he said or did to get Elvis this way, must have truly been something. 

You make your way to the office, hoping to lock yourself in there and that his outburst caused enough of a commotion to get the other men’s attention. He’s still spewing vile at you, but you’re simply blocking it out until you feel a hand yank your head back hard. 

Everything happens quick after that, as you feel the back of your being yanked away from your intended destination and being led to a different direction. You try your best to scratch at the hand that holds your hair, but his grip is too tight and suddenly you’re flying. 

And then you’re not.

You’re frozen at the landing, not wanting to believe what had just happened. Your heart is pounding in your ears, you feel your face get wet, and most horrifyingly, your baby is not moving. The carpet on the floor begins to be dotted with red but you don’t understand where it’s coming from until a little blood makes its way into your eye. As you hear the heavy footfalls coming down the stairs you start hyperventilating, trying to get a hold of the bannister and praying that he’ll stop. 

Getting to the railing you hear someone shouting what was that!?!? And someone else shouting where’d he go!?!? You see the others finally at the bottom of the stairs and for a moment the nightmare is over and you think he wouldn’t be so stupid as to continue now, but then you feel a foot firmly place itself on your back. You’re thrown off balance and you’re plummeting down once again. You’re abruptly put to a stop as Red and Joe meet you halfway up the stairs, and they share a worried look at you. You feel fine now, but you will admit that the slick feeling coming from between your legs is uncomfortable. 

You’re confused as to what’s going on, Red rushes his way up the stairs to your tormentor who only gives you a cold look as he’s being restrained. Joe is helping you to your feet and rushing you out the front door while Pat grabs your purse and yells at Mary to call Elvis. 

They’re taking you to the cars and you’re not sure why, you just need to clean the blood off of yourself and you’ll be fine. It isn’t until you look down and see the dark red that stains your blue dress do you realize what’s happening. 

Joe was able to get you to the hospital without issue, but your journey didn’t get any easier from there. The whole experience was nothing but a nightmare for you. Your accented English and skin tone has the nurses trying to direct you to, quote, a more “appropriate,” hospital for you. Even the blood staining the front of your dress and the clear pain you’re in doesn’t seem to sway them. You’re ignored by the staff, as you beg to be seen by a doctor and it’s not until you slap your driver's license on the counter and they see your married name do they suddenly care very much about you and your baby. Or at the least they don’t want to be known as the hospital that turned away Elvis Presley’s wife.

They get you in a wheelchair, and as they take you to the maternity ward, they repeatedly ask you questions and you’re positive you’re speaking English, but none of them seem to understand you. Not even three hours ago you were complaining to Mary how the baby was giving you heartburn, and now you’re in a hospital, with not a single familiar face in sight, begging incoherently for someone to save your baby. 

This is why you had wanted to be in California, where you would have a better chance of having a doctor that spoke Spanish with you. But now here in Memphis, you’re more likely to get a unicorn to deliver your baby, than a doctor that can speak your first language. 

Your legs are held apart by nurses, who don’t care to be gentle with you, as you desperately cling to the rails of your hospital bed, feeling like you’re going to crack your teeth as you desperately push the baby out of you. The pain you feel from the rest of your injuries is nothing compared to this, but you feel like you're seconds away from passing out after each push. But you know you have to keep going because every second that the baby is still in there, the less likely they are to make it. 

And with one final push it’s all over. Amá told you how long the whole thing could be, but your baby came into the world quick and so quiet. You can feel yourself bleeding out more and more, but you still want to see your baby and you ask as much before you pass out. 

When you come to, you don’t know where you are, you don’t know how long you’ve been there, and all the staff is willing to tell you is that you're restricted to bed rest due to the fact that you nearly died from a hemorrhage, and that your baby girl is alive. That’s how you find out you have a daughter, and all you know about her is that she’s alive and you can’t see her. 

You allow for visitors, and the only ones who do come to see you are Pat and Joan, Joe’s wife. Despite your wish to not be alone, seeing Pat’s baby bump only gave you an empty feeling. They let you know that you had been given birth two days ago, that Red and Joe are holding down Graceland, and most importantly Elvis is going to be here soon. 

You don’t ask about Eric. 

You’re glad they’re here even if all you can do at the moment is cry, and feel hollow on the inside.

He looks awful, is your first thought when you see your husband for the first time in almost a month. His eyes are bloodshot, his outfit is wrinkled, and you can see a hint of stubble even from where you're sitting. The girls quickly make their way out as Elvis makes his way over to your side, his chest heaving and his breathing ragged. 

Elvis is not one for tears, but you can only watch helplessly as the love of your life falls apart in your arms. You thought you'd cried yourself dry at this point, but even now you find yourself holding back even more tears as you try to wipe his tears away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whimpers against your palm. Your heart is  in your throat at this point, knowing he only ever calls you by your name when it’s serious. “I shoulda been here for ya’, this is all my fault.”

“Amor… Amor, please look at me,” you beg. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Y/N, please tell me what happened,” he pleads. 

“They didn’t tell you?” 

“They did… I-I just,” he takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I need to hear it from you.”

You’re trying to get your breathing under control, but finally you whisper to him what happened. You’re saddened and humiliated as you tell him how your own pride got you into this mess. The pride that liked to frustrate and rile up Eric, because you thought it was funny. The pride that prevented you from telling Elvis, because you wanted to feel like you were the one handling it. The pride that made you turn your back on a man you knew to be dangerous, because you thought he would never do anything to you. And now people are suffering because of you.

You beg him for forgiveness in the part you played in this, and you’re honestly surprised when he sticks by you and you bury your face in his chest. He tells you there is nothing to forgive, but you can see the dangerous gleam in his eyes as he asks if you want to press charges against him, and you shoot that down just as quickly. 

You don’t trust the police, something that has been with you since your earliest memory, Apá telling you about his scars that he got for having the audacity to wear a Zoot Suit as a young man. Navy men had beaten and stripped him in the streets and then afterwards policemen who saw the whole thing arrested him as though he were the problem. It was a scary thing to tell a little girl, but the older you got the clearer the story became: the police aren’t there to help people like you. 

That’s why you told Elvis not to take it to the police, just to have Eric leave Graceland and never come back. It’s going to be a hassle getting the state to acknowledge your daughter as his, let alone getting them to recognize that anything bad happened to you. You just want to put this whole thing behind you and never have to think about this again. Elvis frowns at that, but you doubt after everything you went through he’s gonna deny you this. 

After things have settled, the doctors make their way to your room, now that Elvis is here, they’ve decided now is a good time to tell you what’s happened. They tell you that the fall caused something called placental abruption and as a result you went into labor prematurely. It also caused internal hemorrhaging that caused you to pass out. None of that mattered to you really, you simply wanted your baby with you, and you let them know as much.

The doctors share a look, but they allow you to leave the bed and Elvis wheels you to where they’re keeping your baby. There is a whole team of doctors and nurses to greet you and tell you how you can see her, and what to prepare for. They escort the two of you to a private room farther away and with private security guarding it.

And then you see her… Your baby girl. 

You never thought babies could be so small.

She lies there, wires attached to her and tubes up her nose. She’s too small to even know how to eat and they have to use a tube in her mouth and a needle in her hand. Her little feet kick at the air, her tiny fists are clenched, and her eyes are shut tight, but you're glad to see it all, to know that your baby is still fighting, still daring to live. 

You want to be able to hold her, to let her know her mamá is there with her, but they tell you she’s not ready to be outside of her box yet, and they warn you of how delicate she is right now, and that the slightest change in her environment could be devastating, so touch is to be limited. The doctors told you that they had almost lost her in the beginning, but she’s a fighter and things are looking up. 

They leave the two of you alone with her, when one of the nurses playfully suggests Erica as a first name on her way out. All at once it hits you like a freight train, why your baby is the way she is now and who is to blame. You weep silently, so she can’t hear your grief over the situation: your baby is weak, so you have to be strong for her now. 

“I hate him. I hate him so much.” You sob, your hand pressing on to the warm glass that separated you and your child. Elvis wraps his arms around you, he doesn’t need to ask who you’re talking about. 

All this time Elvis has been so quiet, and he swiftly wraps you in his arms as he promises to take care of everything, and as he wipes the tears from your face he swears that he will make everything better again. 

You know, in spite of the horror that it was to get her here, you’re both overjoyed to finally be able to meet her. But all too soon the both of you are escorted out and away from her. They explain that once you’re discharged, you and only you will be able to stay with her on a long-term basis, but policy prevents Elvis from being able to do so as well. No amount of money or argument will change that. 

The next few days you vaguely register the visitors Elvis brings to see you, but you can’t bring yourself to care about any of it. They all come with well wishes and promises to do anything the two of you need during this time. The men look haunted to see you in such a state and they promise you that they’ll personally make sure Eric never does anything like this again. It’s little consolation to you considering it already happened once.

Finally you’re discharged and you walk yourself straight to the NICU. You visited her as often as you could, as did Elvis, and getting to be with her throughout the day is a step in the right direction. Being there with him makes it easier, but soon Elvis has to leave and your heart breaks all over again. You part with a long sorrowful kiss and you save your tears, knowing that of all times, this is the moment you need to be strong, for both him and your daughter. It was a hard, sleepless night for you and one look at the bags under his eyes and the bruises on his knuckles when you see him the next morning, tells you that Elvis had a similar night to you. 

He smoothes out your brow, as he softly pleads with you not to worry about him and instead to focus on your daughter, as she’s the one who needs you the most. And as he gives you a kiss on your forehead and you wonder what you did to deserve such a loving husband. 

You begged Amá to stay home, not wanting to have to worry about her being this down south without you. She’s apparently been praying everyday for you and the baby, and she’s begging you for the name. You want to tell her so badly, but you can’t risk telling her fearing it will somehow get back to the world at large.

You and Elvis had thought long and hard about the perfect name for your first-born and with everyone seemingly wanting to have a say in it, it was a little overwhelming (with how easy your pregnancy was going you stupidly thought that this was going to be your biggest hurdle to overcome. You wish you could go back to those days).

Eventually though you were able to come to some agreement born from your mutual love of I Love Lucy, though the names mostly stemmed from a joke when some of the magazines started calling you two the new Lucy and Desi. Neither of you could figure out who was supposed to be Lucy and who was supposed to be Desi. And as a play on that, the two of you ultimately decided on Lucía for a girl and Richard for a boy, as a fun little reversal. 

You had been so eager to tell the world about your beautiful baby not even a week ago and now it feels like the last piece of this whole ordeal that you can control. Even the hospital staff only know her as “Baby Presley,” promising that you would only name her once she was discharged. Someone had snuck into the hospital and was able to get a picture of your baby in a box attached to wires and fighting for her life, while the newspapers excitedly announced “It’s Girl!” to all of America. Your husband saw his own daughter for the first time on the front of a newspaper walking into the hospital before he could see her in person or even know if you were dead or alive. It felt like the whole world saw your baby before you did and that hurts you in a way that you fail to find words for in either language you speak. 

That entire stay, you didn’t leave the hospital once, and you rarely ever left her side, and even then it was only when Elvis could be in there with her in your stead. The days all seemed to blend together for you, you would eat so she could eat, you would sleep when she slept, singing and telling her stories everywhere in between, and touching her as frequently as you’re allowed to do so. 

Early when you tried to speak Spanish to her in front of the doctors, they immediately shut you down, “warning” you that doing so has the potential to hold her back if she has to learn another language in the long run. You internally roll your eyes at that, having grown up speaking both, but nonetheless you comply, but save it for when you’re alone with her. On the list of things you absolutely do not need right now is the media turning on you for being a bad mother by not complying with doctors orders. They already make comments on how you should have been more careful in the situation, because as far as anyone outside of Graceland knows, you simply fell down the stairs.

You wouldn’t say it was all bad, you love the moments you’re all together. Moments where you both hold her hands at the same time and feel her delicate skin, where you hear her gurgle as she’s being tickled, and especially the way she wiggles her arms and feet as Elvis sings to her, are ll moments you would never trade trade regardless of the fact that you’re in a cold sterile room and not in your warm home. Elvis even brought a record player and the nights became a little more bearable as now you’re both able to hear him when he’s not there. 

Finally you’re able to get the all clear from the doctor and Lucía finally gets to experience the world outside of her little clear box for the first time in short bursts. You’ll be able to hold your baby fully and not be limited to just holding her hand. In many ways you were not ready to lose being so close to her so fast, and this was only made worse by the fact of how limited you were in touching your own baby during this whole time. And still you worry that maybe she’s still not ready, as you’re still roughly a month away from your original due date.

But as you’re finally able to hold her and you feel her latch on and nurse from you, these doubts and fears all fall silent. Your baby was almost completely ripped away from you, by someone who only had cruelty and spite in their heart for you. But now as she rests in your arms and feeds from you getting stronger, and your husband holds the two of you close to him everything feels as it should be now. 

Not too long after that, Lucía is finally able to be discharged and you can finally take her home. Elvis was nervous no doubt, from all the times he questioned the doctor if he was sure that she was ready and if she couldn’t stay a little longer just to be sure. You have similar thoughts but you’re trying to think on the brighter side of the situation, for the both of you.

Of course you and Elvis still have to do that photoshoot for the press. You hate this, but also recognize that getting this out of the way now will sate their curiosity about your baby and get them to leave you alone, at least for now. You and Elvis recognized this would be the case when you saw them go into a near frenzy the moment you stepped off that plane from Hawaii with an obvious baby bump months ago. 

Ironically enough the only thing that has gone according to plan was this aspect, as you were able to get photographers you’re familiar with and Elvis brought the outfits you picked out months ago. His fans were also willing to give the two of you a wide berth so that you could leave the hospital. You are far too enamored with Lucía to really take notice of any of it, until the two of you are already in front of home. 

Your mood drops once you see where you are, and Elvis takes notice of that. He squeezes your hand and reassures you that everything's been cleaned and that the trash’s been taken out. Still, walking through the front door, you held onto his arm for dear life and your hands were shaking so bad you had him hold Lucía, as you were afraid you would drop her. You're greeted inside by a few friends and his family, but your eyes immediately narrow in on the stairs and you're relieved to see that it’s completely clean. Without the bloodstains, it’s easier to forget that anything terrible happened here. 

Everyone wants to get to see her and the two of you are immediately, but a squeeze to his arm from you and the subsequent single look he gives them has them back up a little. You’re able to sit down in the living room, and hold your baby in your home for the first time, but not all is right in the world. No one has said anything about the big Eric shaped elephant in the room, as they all no doubt know why you went into labor so early.

The women do their best to distract you from it, talking about their own experiences being a new mother, and how this has been a stressful time for everyone, especially the men who’ve been jumpy for weeks now. But no matter what your attention keeps being drawn back to the stairs, as though any minute Eric’s going to be trotting down to finish the job any moment now. You try to distract yourself with anything else in the room, and that’s when you notice something off about the carpet. You figured that the carpet would have been replaced but what’s odd is the fact that you remember going straight from the staircase to the car as you were bleeding, so you don’t understand why the carpet in the den had to have been replaced too. 

You shake these concerns from your head and begin to make your way outside to get some air, because the walls are making you feel like you’re going to suffocate. That’s where you find the men, as all smoking within Graceland had been banned for the foreseeable future, and Elvis still insisted on finally using those cigars he got for the occasion. What’s weird is that they don’t surround the patio or even the pool area. No, you find them more out towards the field, surrounding a large unsightly hole in the ground.

“Amor, what did you do to the backyard?” You question your husband when he makes his way back to where you’re sitting.

Some of the men tense up at your question, but seeing Elvis not really react to the question other than a slightly nervous laugh, makes you disregard anything’s amiss.

“Well…” he says rubbing the back of his neck, “after I got done with the nursery. I-I wanted to add something to the backyard so it wasn’t so empty to look at.”

“... and you decided the best way to make it less empty was to dig a hole?”

“It ain’t gon’ stay a hole, Darlin’,” he laughs, wrapping an arm around you. “I was plannin’ on puttin’ in one a them Gazebos in the back for our little princess here. It… It kept me busy the nights I couldn't sleep.”

You soften at that answer, knowing that with his sleep issues, the nights must have been torture for him. He was always the first visitor to arrive at the ward and the last one to leave, and only once did you ever dare ask what he did when he went home at night. You worried about him, how could you not? And so one day you gathered the courage to ask him how he was handling the nights?

All he said was that he “keeps busy.” At the time you didn’t want to know what he meant, as it was a stressful time for the both of you, so digging holes in the backyard is far from the worst thing he could have been doing.

You give an amused sigh saying, “Next time, get professionals to do it.”

He grins at that, “Don’t worry baby, we got a crew comin’ in to fill the hole in a few days. I wanted to have it done before you and the lil’ one got back home.” You shake your head at him and kiss him on the cheek. You don’t really notice the way most of the men take a simultaneous sigh of relief at your acceptance of Elvis’ answer. 

Later on you’re putting Lucía down in a little bassinet Elvis had set by your bed (you’re both reluctant to be away from her), and you feel him make his way behind you. The both of you lay beside each other and watch her sleep, and now, not having to be obscured by tubes or glass, you get to really see your beautiful baby girl. She’s sleeping with her arms straight up, her little chest rising and falling on its own, and the two of you nearly melt as she yawns and rubs her little mitten covered hands over her face. 

“You ready to sleep yet?” he whispers to you. 

“No, I just want to look at her some more.”

“Me too,” he hums. 

You sit with your husband and bask in this perfect moment.

You didn’t really notice the off-atmosphere that surrounded Graceland in those days, until you noticed that a trunk of yours was missing. You think you had packed some old baby things your mother had given you the last time you had been in LA. It had been with you in Graceland before you left the hospital, and it had also been where you were storing the outfit you wore when you left the hospital, so the fact that it’s gone is odd to say the least. Considering Elvis was the one that brought the outfit to you, he’s the one you end up asking. 

“What trunk?” he asks. 

“The big white one,” you say to him as you change Lucía into her pajamas. She’s trying to eat her fist and you’re trying to get her to smile by nibbling on her fingers a little. “The one you got me the first time in Hawaii.” 

“Oh that one,” he responds. “Didn’t you leave it at Hillcrest?”

“No, I know I brought it here.” you say confused. “I asked you to look in it to find the pink outfit I wore at the hospital. It’s gotta be here somewhere.”

He furrows his brow at that and he looks deep in thought, “Didn’tcha say that you didn’t want to pack clothes that don’t fit no more?” He says as he brings Lucía to rest on his bare chest. 

You do vaguely remember saying something along those lines when you were packing, but still you remember having it here with you. “Maybe… but I did bring it here,” you say, though not as sure as you once were.

“Y/N, why you wanna know so bad?” he says, as he gently pats Lucia on the back trying to get her to fall asleep. This question throws you a bit, not for the words themselves, but the way he said it, as there was a severe lack of humor or warmth in his tone as he said that, that you weren’t used to. 

“I-I was looking for a few baby things that Amá gave me last time I saw her.” you say, suddenly feeling guilty for pushing the topic. 

His eyes soften at your answer, realizing he scared you. He holds up your chin and gives a quick kiss to your forehead. 

“I-I think, I saw ‘em when I I was lookin’ for the little pink get up a yours,” you see him jump a little. “Though you might wanna save the lookin’ for tomorrow,” he says, a slight grimace on his face, as he looks down at your baby girl. “‘Cuz lil’ one here is trying to tap a dry well.” You burst out laughing as you see that Lucía has a good grip on one of his nipples and is trying desperately to bring it to her mouth. 

“Esos son para mamá, chula,” you jokingly scold her, as you bring her close to you so she can latch onto you, and Elvis tickles your side in reprimand. Still even with that moment of levity, you still can’t let go of what just happened. If it were anything else you would have written it off but that trunk was special to you because of the fact that Elvis had given it to you on that fateful trip to Hawaii. He had insisted you pack light, which confused you until about a week later when by that point he had already gifted you twice as many dresses as you had come with. By the end of the trip he gave you this trunk just to pack everything he had given you. (Smooth operator that he was, when the trunk found its way into his room when you got back home, he insisted it would be easier for you to move into his room, rather than moving the trunk into yours).

It has been a pretty constant presence in your relationship with him, as it went where you went, and you went where he went. But… you didn't go with him to Hawaii, and you did leave a lot of old clothes back in LA… maybe it is just baby brain, and you’re overthinking this.

Things only really seem to click that something is off a few days later when you caught Charlie staring out into the backyard. If it were anybody else from the group you wouldn’t have noticed or cared too much, but you liked Charlie. He seemed to be one of the more genuine ones of them all, and he’s also one of the few of them who's at least picked up on some of the more common Spanish phrases in all the years you’ve known him.

But now Charlie seems distant, as though he’s somewhere else in his head. He’s staring off into the same direction as where that pit is now. 

“Charlie, ¿qué pasa?” you ask, and he seems to jump ten feet in the air. 

“Y/N, hi-hello… um…I-I, d-do ya’ need something?” he manages to stutter out. 

“Yes umm…” you say slightly embarrassed about what you’re about to ask. “I want to put Lucía down for a nap, but I need someone else to help carry her up there with me.” You would have asked Elvis, but he’s upstairs already and you’re not about to leave her alone to go get him.

“Sure, but… why do you need help,” he asks, genuinely confused over the request. 

“I… well, since the fall, I… I don’t trust myself to hold her on the stairs,” you say, your eyes going a bit glassy. You shake your head to gather yourself, “I ju-just need someone else to carry her on the stairs. I’m fine on my own.” If by fine you meant having to have both feet on each step going up and down, and never letting go of the railing, then yes very fine. Elvis was heartbroken when he saw this the first time, but didn’t say anything about it, just offered you his arm and let you take your time. 

Charlie has the same reaction and wordlessly helps you with her. Though you do trail behind him you eventually are able to make it up to the landing, where you see Elvis whispering something to him. You think he says something to the effect, you understand now? Charlie would give a small nod in response as he hands Lucía to him and makes his way down the stairs after giving you a quick hug. 

You’re about to ask what that was about, when you see something on one of the steps that knocks the wind out of your lungs. You see a familiar looking rust colored spot on one step, and you force yourself to sit down, feeling unsteady on your feet and your eyes welling up all of a sudden. 

“Baby what's wrong?” Elvis says trotting down the steps, Lucía still in his arms. Your hands are shaking and your breathing quicker than you should, and you're filled with the same dread that you felt as Eric walked down those same steps. “Goddamnit, I thought they got all of it” he whispers when he sees where your eyes are fixated. He crouches down beside you and takes you in his arms as he whispers in your “You’re okay sweetheart,” he says, “You and Lucía are okay.” 

Gradually you feel yourself steady as you breathe in the scent of his cologne, and feel the way Lucía clutches around your finger. That brings you back down and you’re able to stop your weeping as you focus solely on the two most important people in your life.

You wouldn’t know this, but at the bottom of the steps, just beyond your view several men would come to the same understanding as Charlie did in that moment.

What did he mean about understanding? You would ask yourself later after Lucia had been fed and put down for a nap. You’re laying down in his arms, having tired yourself out from that episode, and just wanting to rest, but this question that rings in your ear, still eats at you making you unable to do so. 

These thoughts are halted as you feel him run a finger down your spine and you on reflex push your chest into his. You also feel as he brings his hips closer to yours, and he hooks your leg around his waist, lightly trailing his hand back up your skirt to rest comfortably on your ass, as you let out a shuddering breath against him, making as little noise as possible, as not to wake your baby.

He’s gentle with you, you just had his baby after all. There was no tearing so you’re healed physically, but you're glad nonetheless as you become reacquainted with his touch again. His fingers lightly trace the edge of your panties, as he nibbles on your bottom lip the way you like. 

You’re reminded of your first time with him. He had been having trouble with one particular scene in Blue Hawaii, and he asked you to come on to the set that night. He had you sit as an extra behind Joan Blackman and he kept stealing glances at you as he sang. As the scene cut there was not a dry eye on set and Elvis was heaped with praise for his best take yet, but what he was more interested in was your reaction to his song. 

He was gentle with you then as well. You confided in him before that you were untouched, and he made sure to make it as tender as possible. Careful, as he learned (as did you) what made you whimper, what made you moan, what made you scream. 

Knowing he’s gone just as long without it as you have, you want to. God, do you want to, but as you grind yourself onto his still clothed length, he makes the mistake of tugging your hair back and suddenly you're paralyzed with an overwhelming sense of dread as he kisses your neck. It takes him a second to realize that this is bad heavy breathing, but he stops the moment he realizes it. 

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” His worried look only makes you feel more guilty, while you try to even out your breathing. This feeling only made worse as you watch his heartbreak all over again when you tell him why you freaked out when he tugged at your hair like he did.

“I’m always gon’ protect ya’ Satnin,” he whispers to you, mindful of your baby sleeping a few feet away. “Nothin’s ever gon’ hurthcha again.”

You want to believe him. You really do.

It all comes to a head when the day before they’re set to fill the hole in the backyard, you finally find your trunk. Embarrassed at your reaction to being on some stairs, you decided to try to break this habit by confronting your fears. So one day as Lucía slept, you made your way to the attic stairs, but your fears were quickly forgotten as you stared at the previously missing trunk. It’s hard to comprehend its presence as it’s supposed to be on the other side of the country right now. Or… at least that’s what Elvis had told you. 

Whatever the case may be you can’t exactly leave it alone, and you go to inspect it a little closer. It won’t open and a brief brush on the keyhole tells you that it had been locked and the key lodged inside. You also see some dents and dings here and there, but the most noticeable change were some rust colored stains dotting the outside of it. You don’t immediately recognize what they could be, but even as your mind conjures up similar looking stains that are still on the stairs, you can’t really accept what it is.

“Whatcha doin’ up here baby?” a familiar voice behind you says, startling you for a moment. You turn to see your husband, but something is … off. His smile is a little too big, his eyes a little too wide, and if his jaw was clenched any tighter he would have cracked his teeth. It’s all far too unsettling

“I-I was practicing with the stairs, and I found this,” you say, pointing to the trunk.

Somehow he’s able to clench his teeth even tighter as he sees what you found, “I didn’t want you to find out like this, sweetheart. But I,”  he says , pausing to think on his next words. “I-I… Forget it you caught me. I broke the lock on it.” he says with a guilty look on his face. 

“...That’s it?”

“That’s all, baby. I wanted to try to fix it, but I just made it worse and now it won’t open.”

Maybe… maybe he is telling the truth and he just broke the lock… but that wouldn't explain why everything kept in there was taken out or why it was up in the attic, or why it’s covered in blood. Why is he hiding this from you?

“C’mon Satnin, it ain’t nothin’ to get so worked up about? I’ll getcha another one soon,” he says as he wraps an arm around you.

You don’t have time to really question what is going on as you hear Lucía below and you're able to stamp down that curious part of yourself. You make your way back, your feet feeling so unsteady that you clutch onto him with both hands. 

But it still eats at you, the fact that he was able to lie so easily to you, and convince you of that lie when he knew full well it was up here. And why hide it from you? These are all questions you ask yourself as you lay in bed with him, you wonder who exactly you are sharing it with. 

Your blood goes cold as you feel the bed shift right next to you, and you slam your eyes shut, genuinely fearing your husband for the first time. But these feelings of fear dissipate as feel the  quick kiss he gives your forehead before whispering to you, so low you barely hear it, “No one’s ever gon’ hurtcha and get away with it.” You’re paralyzed with fear, and have to remind yourself to breathe lest you give away that you're not actually asleep as he makes his way to the bathroom. 

You open your eyes and stare at the door and the longer you listen the clearer it becomes that he’s not using the bathroom. You also hear as several feet try to quietly make their way up the stairs and then you hear the tell-tale creak of the attic door. You silently make your way to the door and listen against it as you hear them 

You stare off into darkness as the noise gradually lessens until you’re left hearing nothing but the crickets outside and your baby’s steady breathing. You stay there frozen in place, debating internally whether you should follow them. You know in your heart that something is wrong, but you don’t want to confront it. Still after some time you find yourself in the kitchen making your way outside.

As you round the corner, you're hit with the pungent scent of cigar smoke in the air mixed with the unmistakable smell of a campfire, and you see him and all the other men stripped down to their underwear. You crouch down out of sight and you see they are all surrounding the fire pit in the backyard, piles of clothes sit next to each of them, and on occasion one of them will throw something into the fire. All of them seem to be shaking from the cold or from nervousness you can’t quite tell. All of them… except for Elvis. You know he’s prone to getting jittery when he’s nervous, but here, you’ve never seen him so collected. 

“Eric was one a my oldest buddies, and he threw that all away ‘cause he had to be a shithead to the most important person in the world to me.” Those words, cold as a grave, mixed with that vacant look in his eyes, sent shivers down your spine. “There’s a lotta things I can forgive, but what he did sure as hell ain’t one a them.” 

“EP…” Jerry says. “You don’t gotta explain yourself, we-we all woulda done the same thing.”

“I’m goin’ ta hell because that sack a shit, and I look forward to seein’ him again, just so I can beat the crap outta him again.” You can hear the smile in his voice as he says these words, as he seems to rub his knuckle, the ones you remember seeing so badly bruised when you were in the hospital.

It’s unsettling how similar this is to when you met Elvis for the first time, you crouched down, being nosy, him in his boxers trying to hide someone from you. It would be funny if you weren’t one hundred percent sure that your husband wasn’t admitting to murder right now. You don’t stick around for much longer, your curiosity is sated, but you don’t feel any better knowing. 

You don’t know when or how you end up there, but you find yourself on the stairway landing. Once upon a time you thought of Graceland as a safe haven surrounded by shark infested waters, but now you realize that that couldn’t be further from the truth. You’re swimming in it, but the biggest shark had decided that you were never to be harmed. 

You want to say that there was some internal debate on that landing, where you contemplated leaving and never looking back. How you wanted to do the morally right thing and report them for all the good it would do. How there was a part of you that stared longingly at the door feeling the desire to leave from the love that has driven him to do this for you.

You would say that… but you would be lying. 

No. You sit there taking in the new reality that the man who has repeatedly physically and emotionally hurt you is gone and it was at the hands of the man you loved the most. You feel something at this moment. A feeling that has eluded you for a while now. You feel… safe. 

It’s an odd feeling to have again. It was something you had always felt with Elvis, but not something you were ever able to verbalize. But now looking back you were always safe with him, when people got too close, when their words hurt, when their stares burned, you could always retreat into him and feel protected from the world. 

There’s a lot of conflicting emotions running through you all at once, pain and sadness at what Eric had done and all the subsequent heartache his actions brought clashing with the almost euphoric relief that is knowing he’s gone for good and it’s all due to how loved you are by a single man. If anybody were to see you right now, they would see a woman with tears streaming down her face while simultaneously giggling like a maniac. You’re only broken from this manic episode when you hear the shrill cry of your baby girl.

You feel lighter as you make your way up the stairs, so light you don’t bother to hold the railing as you usually do and you find your baby right where you left her. Your husband would return later while she’s still suckling at you, and he would make his way to sit behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder, neither of you acknowledge how long he’s been gone. No, in the soft light of the room you both bask in each other watching the little wonder you both made get a little bigger and a little stronger by the moment resting in the bassinet by your bed.

“I just realized something,” you say. You feel him go rigid behind you, but you quickly break the tension by lightly running a finger along the ridge of his nose. “She got this from you.” 

“No, she didn’t,” he says with an amused huff. 

“No, it’s the same shape, just smaller. Look,” you insist. You take one of his hands to show him, careful not to wake her. 

He concedes to your point with a soft, tender kiss to your lips, while his other hand rubs circles on your hip bone. 

You should be disturbed at where his mind is at right now, and you would be if you weren’t just as hungry for him as he was for you. It’s been too long without him, and as he runs a finger along your jaw bringing your faces closer together, you welcome him back home. 

With the straps already falling off of your shoulders, you shiver as he uses a single finger to drag the silky material over your nipples, already begging for his attention that he’s all too willing to give. He languidly laves at them, using the occasional scrape of his teeth to get you to jump, all the while pressing down on your clit through your panties, before removing them.

You're laid on your back and you feel as he spreads the delicate petals of your pussy and even you’re taken aback as to how wet you are right now. You hiss slightly as you feel him probe lightly at your entrance, and he rips his hands back afraid he had hurt you. 

You take his hand in yours and bring his fingers to your mouth, tasting yourself on him, only to bring him closer to you as you whisper against his mouth “not bad, just slower papi.” You think, in a way, you both need this: to be reminded that his hands can do more than hurt. You’re not scared of him or what he’s capable of. 

He rolls so that you're on top of him and you bite your lip at his straining cock within his boxers. You run a single finger up his length and he bites down on his knuckle as you circle around the damp spot already forming. As you spread kisses along his length, he quietly pleads to be inside you, and after all he’s done for you, you won’t deny him.

Finally you sink down on him, and a long, satisfied moan escapes from your mouth and you chance a look at your baby relieved that she’s still asleep. He gives a cheeky grin, biting down on his bottom lip to keep quiet, and you grind down on him in retaliation, though that quickly backfires on you as it feels way too good and you have to concentrate on not doing that again, as you don’t want this to end so soon.

Neither of you are in a hurry at the moment, just choosing to indulge in the connection that circumstances had denied the two of you for so long, sharing lazy kisses and secret jokes in equal measure until you can’t take it anymore. You set the pace for yourself and he is all too willing to oblige and let you chase your peak, as he’s not too far behind. You may very well be in bed with a monster, and yet you’ve never felt safer.

The next day you watch from the Balcony as the men fill the platform with concrete and you get one last look at that trunk, and hope to never see it again. Elvis joins you there, watching and holding you and your daughter, both secure in the knowledge that he’ll always be able to protect you.

You don’t end up thinking about him as much as you thought you would have. In those early days after construction had finished you had feared that the slightest slip up and everybody would know. You felt you could hardly breathe when you looked at it those months, and you were surprised and more than a little disturbed that Elvis had no such reaction to it. 

Though eventually a good memory would come to almost completely scrub out the sour taste that the Gazebo leaves you in the form of Lucía’s baptism. Even over a year later she was still so small compared to other babies her age and the doctors warned you to expect some developmental delays, but you still worried over the fact she still has yet to crawl. Most times she seems content enough to sit where she’s put and play with the toys within her reach and getting someone’s attention to get her what she wants. It’s almost as though she’s aware that Elvis is called The King, making her a princess and so she expects to be treated like one. 

Recently she’s taken to standing up using whatever’s closest, bouncing up and down on her little legs for a bit then sitting back down. You sat there letting Lucía hold your hands and do her thing, while you talked to some of the other women. Your husband on the other side of the platform, surrounded by Lucía’s godfathers (they helped him hide a body after all, this felt like the least the two of you could do to honor them), talking business.

When you felt her let go your immediate instinct was to grab her, but you stop yourself when you see that she’s not only standing on her own but shakily taking her first steps forward. You and the other women go dead silent as you watch her make a slow but sure beeline, her eyes set on her Daddy. You hold your breath so afraid that she’ll fall, but all of your muscles are tensed ready to dive in and catch her if she so much as stumbled.

Elvis was looking away, not noticing what was happening until she finally got to him and wrapped herself around his leg. Seeing her next to him throws you for a loop, as over a year ago, she was so tiny that she fit almost entirely in one of his hands, and now she stands on her own at his knee, and you really do see how much she has grown. Elvis finally turns around and sees her looking up at him, but with no one around to have helped her he doesn’t put it together until he sees your mile wide grin, and it finally dawns on him what just happened. 

You and Elvis would later joke that she, just like him, wouldn’t do something so big without an audience. And for that entire day you didn’t think once about Eric. Your little girl's first steps were over a grave, and you couldn’t be happier about it. 

When she was four, you had explained to Lucía that her father had had it built after she was brought home in celebration that the two of you had pulled through. After that she started calling it hers, and it just stuck, even when your other children were born it was always Lucía’s Gazebo. Birthday’s, barbeques, family dinners, many of them were held underneath that gazebo, and only occasionally would you even spare a thought toward Eric. 

And now as you watch your daughter dance with your husband underneath the gazebo, celebrating her quinceañera you’re glad Elvis did what he did. If that man had had his way you wouldn’t have any of this, and you refuse to feel anything close to guilt or sympathy for him.

Eventually Elvis breaks away from her to stand next to you as she now embarks on the arduous journey of dancing with her many, many padrinos. You welcome him with a tender kiss, and he holds you from behind as the two of you watch your little girl who is now becoming a woman.

“I swear she was this small yesterday,” he says while rubbing your two-year old son’s back as he rests on your shoulder right now. Elvis had been close to tears all day, with the doll ceremony nearly doing it for him as he always loved spoiling her with toys, so the idea that this would be the last one was very bittersweet for him.

For you it was the shoe ceremony that did bring you to tears, as you held her hand as she took a few shaky steps in her new heels, not so much for the first steps she took as a baby, but the painful reminder of all the things you thought you wouldn’t get to have with your little baby that couldn’t leave her box. You refuse to let that man ruin anything special for you again, and over his grave you whisper in the love of your life’s ear how it’s not too late to have another one. His eyes widen at that for a moment before he gives that devastating grin of his that won you over years ago and agrees to later.

You love Elvis Presley. And you were lucky enough to be the woman that he loves back.

@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz  @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2  @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates  @immi547 @thatbanditqueen   @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno @itlover8000​ @isthlsfate​ @mgparker​

[redahlia-writes]

andante, andante | steve harrington x reader

Summary: you cannot sleep and it’s driving robin crazy - luckily for her, steve knows what to do

Words: 1.2K

Content: established relationship, fluff, i mean tooth-rottin’ fluff, steve singing you to sleep, she/her pronouns used but no other gender specification, mentions of stimming, anxiety and insomnia, college steve (and robin)

Author’s note: have i been listening to djo for the whole day? yes, and this is what happened. no one can convince me that steve is not a abba fan, sorry 

also on AO3  - masterlist

2:13 AM.

It blinked on the screen of your clock as you paced up and down the room, mumbling to yourself as you tapped your fingers, index to pinky and back again. Five more minutes, you told yourself. Five more minutes and then I’m done, I’ll go to sleep.

You’d been saying so for an hour, the dates you were supposed to have memorized for your next exam escaping you - you’d studied for so long, so long, you should’ve known them as if they were your parents’ birthdays.

The first ring of the phone almost made you jump out of your skin, jumping towards it to prevent the loud noise from waking up Robin, her room on the other side of the corridor.

“Hello?” you breathed out, heart hammering in your chest.

Who on Earth would call at 2:16 in the morning?

“A little bird told me you couldn’t sleep,” Steve’s voice was soft, a little hoarse, as if he’d been either about to fall asleep or just waking up. It made your stomach flip, suddenly thinking about just how long it had been since you’d spent the night with him.

“What?” you frowned, glancing at the clock. Yep, still the middle of the night.

“Robin can feel you walk around your room and it’s driving her insane,” he chuckled, and you screwed your eyes shut. “Shit,” you muttered - then, careful not to shout too loud so the whole building wouldn’t despise you: “Sorry, Robs!” Steve chuckled again, a low shuffling on the other end of the call.

“Everything alright?” he asked, the shuffling ceasing. You could almost see it, shifting his position on the pillows - always one too many, a reminder of your stays there. “Yeah - yes, just stressing over this exam, it’s fine,” you shook your head, resuming your pacing with the phone held in your hand, kicking the cord lightly.

“D’you need anything? I can bring cake,” your boyfriend offered, a little smile in his words that made you grin as well, eyes lowering towards the floor. God, you’d gotten lucky.

“No, it’s too late for you to be driving,” you protested, though you wanted nothing more than to see his face - the pictures you had around the room not enough to satisfy you. “I’m fine, Steve. I’ll go to sleep soon.”

“Last time you said so you were up until 5 in the morning,” he retorted, making you stop your pacing for a moment, a pout taking over your face. “You get cranky when you don’t sleep, sweetheart.”

“That’s not true,” you protested right away, mouth falling open in offense. “I’m not the one who’s cranky - last time you spent the whole morning sulking, and we went to sleep at like midnight,” he snorted, and you couldn’t help your own smile. “Actually, you should go to sleep now.”

“Not until I know you’re alright,” his voice was soft, so tender. “I have an idea,” he announced then, and you groaned lightly. “Nothing good ever started with you claiming to have an idea,” you protested, and Steve gasped in mock offense.

“You’re lucky I love you,” heat spread across your chest, the words so familiar by then but still making you feel giddy all over. “Now go lie down,” he ordered.

“Who says I’m not already?” you shrugged, and he sighed. “I can hear you pacing, love,” you stopped in your tracks again, foot hovering the floor. “No wonder Robin’s going insane.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you retorted then, bringing the phone to your bedside table. Holding the receiver between your ear and shoulder, you slipped under the covers and leaned back against the pillows before taking the handset again. “Alright, all tucked in. What next?”

“Next you stop bouncing your legs like a cricket,” he announced, and you looked at the covers shifting with the movement of your knee, biting down on your lip. Steve laughed, and you knew there was a smug expression on his face. “Lights off.” “Yes, sir,” you mused, reaching for the small lamp and switching it off.

“Eyes closed,” he instructed, and you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling in your chest. “Don’t laugh, this is serious,” he protested, causing you to laugh only laughter, a hand slapped over your mouth to attempt to contain it for Robin’s sake.

“You creating a guide to falling asleep for me on the phone? Very serious,” you mused, and Steve scoffed. “Now what, I just turn on my side and fall asleep?”

“You don’t sleep on your side if you’re sleeping alone,” he argued, then cleared his throat. “Now you listen - and you listen very closely, because this is the biggest proof of my love to date.” “Steve,” you kept laughing, hand moving up to your eyes - if anything, he’d been able to get your mind off of the dates and the exam.

He shushed you, cleared his throat again - and then, voice slightly distorted and distant, he began humming. Singing, his voice so familiar it made you melt against the pillows with a growing smile on your face, laughter slowly subsiding.

I like it when you sing to me. It’s relaxing. Maybe I should sing you to sleep every night - how’s that sound?

Months had gone by since that interaction, you’d moved in with Robin once classes had started, and Steve had been unable to visit as much as he did during summer - you’d been prepared for it, both of you, yet your heart ached for his absence.

When had you become the type of person who was so codependent with her boyfriend?

“Take it easy with me, please / Touch me gently like a summer evening breeze,” you let your eyes flutter shut, turning your head a little to keep the phone firmly against your ear, cheeks beginning to hurt for your smile - of course Steve Harrington would pick an ABBA song to sing as a lullaby. “Take your time, make it slow / Andante, Andante / Just let the feeling grow.”

“You’ll wake up your neighbors,” you hummed between a bridge and the chorus. “I don’t care,” he retorted, then started again. “Make your fingers soft and light / Let your body be the velvet of the night. / Touch my soul, you know how -”

So you let him sing you to sleep, his soft voice like an extra blanket, an extra pillow as he went on, song after song, humming here and there when the lyrics escaped him or when he started dozing off himself.

“You asleep yet?” he’d ask, voice lower and lower as the clock ticked. “No,” a quiet murmur before he started again.

I'm your music / I'm your song / Play me time and time again and make me strong.

“Sweetheart?” Steve whispered - you didn’t snore, exactly, but every now and then when you were asleep he’d hear these soft, low sounds, like a cat dreaming. “Did you fall asleep?”

The line was silent except for your slow breathing - still, he remained on the phone a little longer, humming the rest of the song under his breath.

Andante, Andante / Oh please, don't let me down.

 The following morning, Robin found you sleeping on your side, arms wrapped around a pillow and face buried towards it, one hand still weakly holding the handset, the ghost of a smile barely visible on your lips.