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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Note

So request kinda if not just sharing my thoughts in general.

Alex. My boy. What if reader is a civ or even another soldier in a different squad and the whole thing with him joining Farah’s forces indefinitely. I think this can really lend itself to some angst and that good old misunderstanding. Kinda leaning towards civ!reader just because the more miscommunication. I guess it’d have to be an angsty ending though 😳, but regardless-

Love your writing and, as always, feel free to change anything or do whatever gives you the most inspiration

World Caves In

PAIRING: Alex Keller x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Perhaps it would have been better if your husband had died - at the very least you could understand that.

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, misunderstandings/miscommunication, hurt/comfort, vulgar language, abandonment?, Alex being an adorable husband, fluff, etc.

A/N: I was gonna make this an angsty ending but I got my period and thinking about that made me cry so here we are, lmao. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you’d been escorted out of work by two uniformed men, you knew the news wasn’t going to be good. Sitting in the back of a large black car, you spare nervous glances as the vehicle jumps, its wheels going over the last speed bump. Your work building begins to become a fraction of a memory and disappears faster than your resolve.

The men sit on either side of you, silent, and the only comment is to the driver as you all enter the main road. Swallowing, you part your lips and mutter, plain dread in your tone, “Is he alive?”

All you get is a glance from the front mirror and nothing more. You hunch more in your seat and stew in agony, mind far off on the topic of your husband.

Alex wasn’t overly reckless, you’d managed to snuff most of that out over the course of the many years you’d expressed concern to him about it, but a large chuck of the blond was still too selfless for his own good. It was hard not to think the worst.

From training to advising, your husband was always off on one mission to another, far from your quaint and quiet home here—where you waited day after day for even a sliver of contact from him. Alex specialized in so many things that trying to wrap your head around it was impossible.

Even now, you only knew the bare minimum.

The soft-smiled man worked in the SAD division of the CIA. He’s an Operations Officer. Currently, he’s somewhere across the globe.

Away from you.

Thinning your lips, you take down a deep breath and settle back into the seat, pulse flying. The men were obviously Agents—you’d looked closely at their badges when they’d first shown their faces at the front desk and had kept within view of your work’s security cameras just in case this was a ruse. When you could find nothing out of the ordinary, you had tensely asked them what was happening.

They would be holding his dog tags if he was dead, you had reasoned, desperately, a flag.

It was frantic, the way you had thought that up; how could you not be like that? Alex was the light of your life! With him constantly putting his life on the line, it was inevitable for him to get hurt, sometimes seriously. It was ingrained into your mind the way you would help clean his wounds in the middle of the night when the pain woke him up with a grunt stuck in his throat. The way you would sit half-asleep in his lap and re-wrap bandages while he told you to go back to bed half-heartedly. His hands drifting over your warm skin like he was cascading his fingers up and down the spine of an old book.

You never listened.

“It’s late, Bug, I can’t keep you up like this.” His drawl echoes in your ear as you rub a heavy palm into your eye. Alex’s hands are both on your hips, squeezing the flesh just below your tiny sleep shorts. You have him sitting on the floor, back resting on the wall and shirt discarded to the side only wearing loose gray sweatpants. A long cut up his left pec is the center of your blurry attention—a wet rag held as you dab at it. Blue eyes narrow at you. “I’m just fine with doing it myself, y’know.”

“You’re being stubborn again,” you utter, the soft light of the bathroom placed at half-capacity to at least try and keep some of the veil of sleep over your heads. “I told you to wake me up when you needed it cleaned.” Your skin brushes his and Alex shivers under you, sighing breathily. “And you’re not keeping me here—I’m helping.”

A small flash of that full smile, mustache flinching up, “Well when you look so pretty sleepin’ I can’t just shake you awake and tell you to fix me up.”

You take your free hand and pinch his nose, yawning as he grunts out chuckles. A delicate glance is thrown his way as the rag lowers from reddened skin. Like a butterfly's whisper, you study his face gently; reaching and cupping his cheek with your palm.

Alex’s lids flutter, heavy weight falling into you as if waiting for this—lips pressing to your inner wrist in reverence. You hold back a tired giggle and feel the corner of his mouth pull up when he feels it.

“All that talk, and yet,” pressing a smooch to his forehead you take your hand back and hear the grumble he lets out after, “you still like it better when I’m the one that’s working on you.”

“Can’t complain too much,” he admits slowly as his head leans back to tap the wall, “my wife’s hands are way softer than mine.”

Alex’s grip on your flesh tightens when you sipe away the last line of crimson from the wound, tattooed arms flexing.

“Sorry,” you whisper, watching his eyes slightly awash with pain. “Got caught on a stitch.”

“Ah, well,” the blond sighs, shifting “I suppose I can forgive you.”

Laughing quietly as the house settles, you shake your head and rest your forehead on his.

“Such a saint,” your lips utter teasingly as Alex smiles wide, his hands moving higher to your waist. You lean into him, stealing his warmth as your tired eyes flutter; feeling his thumbs run circles over the flesh of your lower spine.

A content breath escapes you.

“Go back to bed, Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, lips brushing yours like silk, the bristles of his facial hair tickling you. “I can do the rest, promise.”

“Know you can,” your mutterings are barely heard, but the man seems to register them, sea-glass gaze incredibly soft. He chuckles at your sleepiness, one hand leaving your waist to capture the back of your head; weaving into your hair and gently massaging your scalp. You practically melt into him, limbs going slack, slurring out, “Quit it. Wanna help, Alex.”

His laughter shakes you, and with a huff escaping, you bury your burning face into his neck and lean into him, careful of his wound even in your fatigued state.

“No offense, Bug,” Alex shifts, grunting as he easily maneuvers you until you’re laying in his arms, inked forearms under your knees and behind your shoulders with vivid images of grim reapers, snakes, and angels guarding you close. A kiss is firmly pressed to your forehead as the blonde smirks downwards, “But you’re about as helpful to me right now as an empty mag.”

You grumble, trying to disappear into his skin and letting him dig his stubble into your cheek.

“If you bring me back to bed before you’re done,” you yawn and close your eyes, “I’m divorcing you.”

He laughs deeply into your ear, body shaking as he pulls back and sends you an incredulous look.

“Hell, we can’t have that, can we, Mrs. Keller? I’d lose my damn mind.”

It’s a long drive, and you worry through the entirety of it. A primal, whole-body-shaking type of fear. You’d built a life with Alex and loved him more than anything or anyone that had come before. Even if he was gone a lot, that had never dulled what the two of you had—your marriage was nothing short of something you would find in a fairy tale; flashing pictures on pages with vivid colors and tender glances. The very cover itself is made of the finest leather and inlaid with gold calligraphy.

Please, Alex, you plead in your head as you remember his loving gaze—his back as he makes supper in the kitchen and hums to himself. Please be okay.

The men hold open the car door when it comes to a stop outside a very obviously abandoned apartment complex near the outskirts of town. You get out quickly. Looking around, you take in the overgrown grass and the broken concrete with a knife in your lung; holding back the flood of anxious tears.

Though, confusion takes president.

“Where did you…?” You turn to look at the Agents, but they’re already clambering back into their car and snapping the doors shut. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed you watch them speed off as a cloud of dust drifts into the air.

Pulse echoing in your ears, you watch the vehicle speed down the road and disappear.

Swallowing, you whisper, “What the actual fuck?” Turning in circles, no one else is around. A part of you starts to worry less for Alex and more for yourself.

They were CIA, you reiterate, I checked their badges—Alex showed me the standard ones. Could I have missed something?

Expression nervous, you shift on your feet before your stuttering legs take you closer to the abandoned building, not really seeing much choice here. You could imagine the scene from The Wizard Of Oz—when the man pulls back the curtain and all is revealed.

That said, you could really only hope that was what was actually happening to you and you weren't getting kidnapped or shot. Taking a deep breath, you clench your fists and enter the building through the open front door.

It was in the wide lobby that you locked eyes with Kate Laswell. You blank, mouth parting as the scent of concrete and decaying furniture get stuck in your nose.

The woman seems highly agitated, brows tight and jaw clenched. Her white blouse had been flattened multiple times by rough hands, lanyard swaying on her neck like Alex’s dog tags would. She holds a file in her hands; the paper bulky as if holding something more than just paper inside its manila clutches.

“Kate?” You ask, confused, “What are you doing here? What’s all of this about?” Taking quick steps forward you splay your hands as your voice grows more serious. “Where’s my damn husband?”

You didn’t know Laswell personally, in fact, when you had first got a glimpse of her here, you’d forgotten the older woman’s name for a moment. The first meeting between the two of you had been at a CIA get-together that Alex had been forced to go to because of his position—some celebration because a group of ICBMs had been taken back into US hands after being stolen. Your husband had introduced you to the Station Chief over a drink with a hand on the small of your back.

But it didn’t stop you now from talking to her like you’d known her for years. Not when fear was flooding your veins.

“What the hell is going on?” You say harshly, glancing around the room for any sight of someone else here.

Kate sighs heavily but wastes no time in speaking, her professional tone and serious face leaving your already fast-paced heart racing.

“Alex isn’t coming back to the United States.” Your eyes blank, staring into icy blue. She holds out her manila folder, jaw tight. Blunt. “He’s a deserter.”

It’s like your entire being halts; your skin suit feels as if it’s sagging on your bones with the weight of a cinder block connected by hooks to the floor.

What did she just say?

Opening and closing your mouth you stutter, lids blinking rapidly.

“I…” Fingers flinching in the air, an exhalation from your nose sounds more like a wheeze. Kate watches stiffly, taking a look at the floor before returning her attention to you; emotion flashes in her eyes. “...W-what?”

“Keller deserted his post—I tried to speak with the Colonel but there’s only so much I can do.” Laswell takes a deep breath as you continue to go through shock. Alex wasn’t coming home? How, why? “He’s staying in Urzikstan to fight with the Liberation Force.”

“Urzikstan?!” You gape, but the woman continues.

“For all intents and purposes, I shouldn’t be here, but Alex asked me personally to hand these to you.” Again the manilla folder is shown to you, but when you only glare and fight the fear and confusion rampaging in your gut a sigh echoes out and it’s placed on a termite-eaten side table. “Even communicating with you could put you in danger now that he’s gotten on the bad side of the entire SAD and CIA branches. This is all I can do.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hand coming up to capture your mouth.

“If Alex re-enters the states—he’ll be arrested and tried in a court of law. If he’s not shot on sight for what he knows.” Kate watches you closely, shaking her head in pity. “I’m sorry,” there’s a strained pause, “but he’s made his decision.”

As she brushes past you, leaving the folder on the side table, you feel your wide eyes well with tears—confused and horrified. But he’s coming back to me, right? Alex…Alex wouldn’t leave me here alone.

It was common knowledge that over the last years the blond had gotten more agitated at his line of work; the orders that he didn’t want to follow but had no choice. No voice. But he can’t just abandon you...could he? You’d taken vows. Had a happy marriage and relationship. Loved each other.

He can’t just…he can’t…

Your hands shake and you’re unable to stop them, gaze locked on that unassuming manilla folder. Kate pauses in the doorway, peeking back and seeing your sickly-looking face, the agony written in the lines of your forehead. Like the picture of a loyal wife being told her husband was never coming home. And Alex wasn’t even dead. Resentment begins to burn.

But he made his bed.

“He told me to tell you that he wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to leave him,” was all she said, a final knife being stabbed into your heart and being ripped out like a live wire. Electricity makes your back go stiff in an instant. “It would be best to never tell anyone that we met.”

You were alone, full body shivers and bile stuck in the back of your throat. Cold sweat coats your palms, a sticky mess of your barebones disturbance.

“He…” your voice is hoarse, bouncing off the far walls. “Alex left me here? He left me.”

It was easier to say that the sun had exploded and you were waiting for the last beam of light to incinerate you. Inside of your skull your brain pounds as, in a mad dash of desperation, you rush to the manilla folder and rip it open with vibrating arms.

Having Laswell tell you that Alex wouldn’t be mad if you…if you…the hairs on the back of your neck rise and suddenly you’re angry beyond a sliver of a doubt. It was insulting.

“Alex fucking Keller,” the paper opens to the bulk of your husband's dog tags and a flip phone—reports like his own personal file and the patch that he had once worn so proudly on his combat vest. Red, white, and blue dig into your retinas; it was old, worn beyond measure, but that little patch was something that was never removed. Not even to be cleaned.

“The dirtier it is,” Alex had commented on the American flag patch when you’d offered to mend it for him, cringing at all the blood stains and dirt flecking off it as he slipped his vest off in the foyer of your home. “The luckier I am.”

“I think the stench of it alone will frighten off anyone who comes near,” you had raised a brow, smirking up at him as he walked over, laughing. A kiss is placed on your lips, Alex’s bright smile transferring over to you as if able to spread from his mouth to yours that simply. You sigh dreamily.

He pulls back with a tiny wink as you gaze up at him, cheekily stating, “That’s the plan, Sweet Thing. Gotta make sure I come home to you in one piece.”

You brush your hands over it and think that maybe it would have been better if he had died. Then you could understand why he’s doing this to you. Anger spreads into rage.

Looking next at the phone and dog tags, all you do is shake your head and slam the folder shut, bitter tears tracking your face. You can’t read anything—can’t see his name imprinted on that metal that used to press coldly into your skin as you both slept in bed. You don’t care about the phone or the files.

None of it mattered.

“He fucking left me here,” it’s like you’re a broken record replaying over and over again. “You absolute bastard, Keller!” Yelling, you press your fingers into your face, hands spreading over your eyes and mouth to muffle your enraged sobs.

“You’re still alive and you left me alone.”

Only the abandoned building echoes your pain; replaying it back over and over again as your wails echo around the lobby like a symphony of laughing jesters.

—

The phone that Laswell had given you had been going off at least three times every day—morning, noon, and at night. You had stared at it with fury, knowing exactly who was calling even if the thing was displaying an unknown number. By now you had steeped in your anger enough that you had found yourself snapping at friends and family alike when asked if you were alright.

You wished Alex was here so you could hit him upside the head for being so stupid. So you could hate him until you had the pleasure to love him again.

Urzikstan.

You’d looked up the country after you had spent two days straight in bed, afterward manically cleaning the house with a glare that could light fires. The far-off place was a land utterly divided by war. Russian occupation, a terrorist group; the force that your husband had joined. Mass against mass against mass.

Brick meets wall.

And Alex had chosen to stay—without a doubt because he’d seen the dire situation and had used that damnable good heart of his to empathize to the max. Forget donations, humanitarian work, or anything else, the man had fucking decided to join in a Liberation Force.

As much as you wanted to say you hated him; had wanted to slam your gold wedding band to the table with a good riddance for betraying you like that…you still had his dog tags around your neck, and the ring was still on your finger.

“Too good for his own sake,” you grumble, shoving dirty clothes into the washer like they had tried to attack you. “Deserted the fucking CIA, Jesus Alex. Do you even think when I’m not around?”

There were only so many times you could curse his name until you felt a deceiving needle of pride slither itself into your skull. You could describe Alex as many things but he would always be steadfast in causes that truly needed his help. He often told you that the best missions were the ones where he could do so much more than take out a target—he strived to help the individuals he met. Form bonds.

God forbid something came in between the blond and the ones he’d chosen to give his loyalty to.

You slam the washer shut and stomp into the living room after starting another cycle. Stress cleaning was really not a good look on you—the entire house was without a single spec of dust but you yourself felt like you’d run seven marathons. Clenching your teeth, you go and drop to the couch, a grunt falling from your lips as your head hits the pillow.

Staring at the ceiling, you finally take in the utter silence of the house—not a home, because it could only be that if Alex was here—with a pained crease forming on your brow. The pipes spit water, and the washer grunted its mechanical garble…but there was no humming man making food in the kitchen. No blond hair visible as a head rests on your chest; your fingers playing in the locks that act like silk as you part them, the man on top of you purring. Body a weighted blanket.

“Was it really that easy,” you whisper to nothing, lip quivering. “Was it really that easy to stay away, Alex? I thought…I…”

Eyes wrenching shut, you hear the phone right at noon again as it sits on the coffee table. And you let it.

There were voicemails, no doubt, but you hadn’t thought to listen to those either. This small act of rebellion was all you could act on but for the simple fact that it also harmed you. Barbed wire steadily digging deeper as it kept your hands wound to your sides—neck plastered to the pillow as bright silver spikes glinted. You stare at the unknown caller who really wasn’t all that unknown and watch the screen light, vibrating over the wood in steady intervals.

What hurt the most was that if he’d asked you to come along—become an Expat just for him—you would have said yes. You could find a new job, a new place to call home. Humanitarian work would have been at the top of your list and Alex…well….he would still be fighting, just as he always had.

But at the very least you would have been there to clean his wounds. Together. You’d both promised on that altar to do nothing less. He could’ve asked. He should have asked.

Alex…

“Urzikstan,” you mutter for what seems like the fiftieth time. When the ringing stops a few moments later the new voicemail icon flashes. Placing your arm over your mouth, you clench your hand so tight it starts to shake, whispering into your skin, “Fine. I guess you did make your bed. And…and I won't be there to lie in it with you.” No matter how much I want to.

You slip the wedding band off of your finger and place it beside the phone before turning and burying your head into the cushions; feeling more numb than you ever had before.

—

It carried on like this for three months. The ring didn’t move from the coffee table and neither did the flip phone; the file had all but been tossed in the trash as it sat teetering on the living room desk. You carried on as well as you could, all things considered.

Work was a blur, going out with friends even harder to enjoy, and any enjoyment of hobbies or activities was dulled to an almost gray existence. Like a ghost, you wafted through experiences with dog tags and a withering appearance. Eventually, you just stopped going out unless it couldn’t be helped. You still bought meals for two at the grocery store out of habit. You placed blankets where Alex used to sleep beside you. You went to work.

And still, the calls never stopped except for a brief pause after the first month. You’d thought he’d finally given up, but no. Back at it.

It had gotten to a point now where the device was automatically deleting all recent voicemails—too little space in the inbox.

Angry curiosity was tempting you. It would be easy, you reason, to simply play the first message and listen. The worst part of it was that you’d begun to forget Alex’s voice and perhaps that was why, on that dead-aired Saturday, you snatched the phone and brought it into the kitchen.

Firmly planting it on the counter, you stand behind one of the island chairs and glare, hands tapping into the wood.

“I’m giving you three minutes, Alex,” you speak as if he’s still here, as if his form stands right behind you, head tilted like a damn dog with that infectious smile and those sea-glass eyes. “Three minutes,” your fingers snap the device open and you go to your voicemails; jaw tight, “and if you don’t hear you groveling, Keller, I’m deleting all of them and chucking this phone into the sink.”

You go down the line to the very first message, small buttons clicking, and before you can stop yourself you press play.

It begins with a small moment of silence. A cough.

“Hey,” he says your first name, not one of your epithets. Your brows deepen their annoyed furrow, but you can’t help the uptick in your heart rate. Inside your flesh, the sinews of your throat close in on itself like a balloon. “I…I’m guessin’ I have a good enough ass-kicking waiting for me since you didn’t answer.” A strained laugh before another pause. You feel acidic tears boil behind your lids. “I’m not surprised—not really. Done some stupid things but never something like this.” You can hear him shake his head, voice going lower in defiance. “But they were asking me to leave Urzikstan in a worse place than when I entered it. This Liberation Force, Bug, it…they’re good people and what they’re asking me to do…” Alex huffs, growling under his throat. “I can’t stand by that. The man you chose to marry, he can’t stand by that. They need me here. I’m not asking you to not be angry—to not hate me for this. I know I damn well deserve it.”

You let your tears hit the counter, head slightly bowing over. That was your Alex.

“You need a leash,” your strained voice hits the walls, bouncing off picture frames and your husband's cooking utensils. The small pieces that make up the whole picture frame of your life. “God,” you huff wetly, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I know I should have talked to you first, figured out some plan. But, uh,” Alex’s throat gets choked up, and you snap a hand to your mouth when you realize he’s close to tears. He clears his throat. “Hell, I should have done a lot of things, Sweetheart.”

You can hear shouts in the background, calls in Arabic. The pounding of a door and a woman’s voice.

“Alex, we need to move! Everyone is ready—Barkov’s lab cannot be left standing a moment longer.” The hurried hand to the line muffles the words, but you hear him anyway.

“Affirmative!” He comes back. “I don’t have time to explain more, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… everything. I’d understand if you don’t use the passport Laswell’ll give you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stop calling.” Alex laughs and your face freezes.

“Passport?”

“What kind of Husband would I be if I just let the most perfect woman in the world go without a fight, huh? I’ll be waiting until you call to tell me to shut the hell up and leave you alone or that you’re down in the airport waiting.” There’s a large sound of combat vests being clicked on—pistols being situated into holsters and a rifle strap slipped over a chest. Alex suddenly pauses and you stare at the phone blankly. “I know this is a big ask, Doll, and I know I’m horrible for even springin’ this on you when I’m half a world away from our bed. But I had to try, even if it was selfish. I just…I just really need to hear your voice telling me if I’m an idiot or not for thinking this up. Call me back soon…or when you run out of my clothes to burn in the firepit out back…I love you, okay? More…more than anything.”

There’s a minute or two of nothing, just Alex’s ragged breathing, and then there’s an older man’s voice ordering him to hurry up. The line clicks.

Your ears ring as it does, wide eyes dripping tears from your bottom lashes as your lungs chill over. Hand slowly flinching out, you ghost over the keys before clicking on the following voicemail. As it plays, your feet start to take you backward at a snail's pace, your spine flattering against the wall as blood drains to your feet.

“Hey, it’s me again. I still haven’t heard from you—that’s alright. Take your time.” Steadying yourself with a hand, you look out of the kitchen and get a glimpse of the manila folder on the desk, its tan hide sucking you in. Pulse in your throat, you rush out to grab it as Alex’s voice echoes. “I know Laswell gave you the file, I trust her that much at least.” A sigh. “But even if it’s just to yell at me, please pick up the phone soon. Let me save some of my dignity and give me a chance to beg on an open line, huh, Sweetheart…? But I guess that’s all—gotta go. I love you.”

You don’t play the next message because you’re ripping open the file with rabid hands, seeing exactly as you had when Laswell left it for you. Alex’s mission report; his patch. The dog tags around your neck clink together like a song, some brutal rhythm.

“Passport?” Grasping the mission report you pick it up, flipping through the multiple pages of blacked-out words and more confused than ever. “Airport?”

The words come out as whimpers, hands so shaky that the pages slip from your fingers. They slam to the floor in a flurry of bond paper and you curse loudly, snatching for the remnants futilely. Grasping on your hands and knees hitches build in your breath as your fingers dance rapidly before they slip across something distinctly not paper.

Small, tiny, and blue. Laminate.

Your very blood seems to stop in your veins. Pushing back one last piece of paper, you come face to face with a singular American passport. Gasping down mute breaths and licking your lips, you pick it up lightly, leaning back on your legs as if you’d just slammed your head into the concrete.

“Alex…” you whisper to no one.

Flipping the hard cover open, a small, palm-sized piece of paper slips out to your lap as your own face stares at you in image form. You blink for a moment before going to take the note and separate the ends. Formal script is inside, stiff lettering. Not your husband's handwriting, but you didn’t have to guess who’d written out these directions for you.

Laswell.

There was a destination in fountain pen ink—an airport near the Urzikstanian and Georgian border. Seeing as Urzikstan was on the travel-ban list due to the turbulence of the government and terrorist threats, you wouldn’t be able to get there directly.

But you supposed Kate had your back for that too.

Georgian safehouse - wait for Keller there. It’s secure. More directions and then a small gap. A pause. Good luck.

You don’t know how long you stare at that paper—that passport. The first thing you think about is how could Alex ask you to do this. Uproot yourself with the snap of a finger. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything beyond what could fit in a few suitcases. No furniture, no large amount of clothes, or even sentimental items. You’d have to quit your job; leave behind family and friends to travel to a war-torn country.

But he’d said it was your choice, and he wouldn’t push you to make it. He’d said you could leave him if you wanted—keep all of this that you’d built here.

…But you’d built it together, hadn’t you?

You think of Alex’s bright smile and his mustache. His tattoos. How he’d hold you so tight in the long hours of sleep that you half-believed he thought you’d disappear if he didn’t; nuzzling his nose into the back of your head and grumbling out nonsense. The way you could trace his scars and watch as he willingly submitted to your praise, delicate lips curving into sheepish grins as you place soft kisses on the raised skin. Red cheeks.

This place wasn’t a home without Alex in it.

You look over at the coffee table and lock onto the gold of your wedding band.

—

Getting into Georgia was a long affair of paperwork and screenings—not days but months of legal jargon that Alex had dodged entirely because of his desertion. By the time you’d landed in country, you were wholly exhausted down to the very marrow of your bones. You get through the checkpoints, pick up your bags, and look out at the entirely new world outside of the airport’s windows.

“Okay,” you swallow saliva and nod carefully before looking down at Laswell’s directions to the safehouse.

You slip the paper into your pocket after memorizing the address, tips of your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the flip phone. Clenching your eyes shut, you take your hand back out and go to try and hire a driver. You were here, but that doesn’t mean all of this was forgiven.

After you find someone able to drive you to where you need to go, you end up standing with a quaint hostel ahead of you, home far behind. Gazing slightly nervous at the strange place you’ve found yourself, you think of Alex’s hand on the small of your back and sigh; caressing the cool metal of the ring around your finger.

Walking forward, you hitch your bags over your shoulders and grit your teeth against the hot sun. When you meet the owner at the front desk you state your name and ask for a bed.

The man’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks at something on his countertop, raising a brow in thought. Grabbing at a stack of papers he holds up a finger and begins digging. Too tired and overwhelmed to ask what was wrong, you just watch and rub at your face.

“Ah,” the man snaps his fingers and laughs to himself, “here it is! I knew I had placed the note somewhere, Mrs. Keller.” You blink, confused, but the man just takes a key from the wall and motions for you to follow. Sparing a glance around for a moment, you slowly slink after, not really having a choice.

“I remember your Husband coming to me—the blond with the tattoos.” The owner looks back, making sure you’re following. He motions to his right side with splayed fingers. “Scars on the side of his head, to reserve a room.”

Alex was here? How much had he done already pertaining to the chance that you would show up?

“Y-yeah,” you chuckle stiffly, “that was him. Sorry for being so long I was…preoccupied.”

“You’re lucky he kept up on payments,�� the man grumbles, opening a door with the key and motioning you inside. “My pleasure to finally have you, regardless.”

Entering the small and sparse room, you take the key from him with a thankful smile and a quick thank you before he closes the door. As the barrier thuds, you sway on your feet. Blinking. Breathing hard. You drop all of your bags with a heavy thump that echoes off the walls in a single instant. Heart pounding at everything that was striking you in an instant, you walk slowly back to the bed. You don’t bother to take a shower or brush your teeth; even change.

You fall down on the mattress and pray you don’t have to dream about Alex sending money to this place every week simply on a suffocating hope that you’d come back to him. You pray you don’t dream at all.

The phone wakes you up only thirty minutes later.

Groaning, you shift your body so your hand can snake into your pocket, grasping it and tossing it to the pillow beside your head. You’d never made it through all of the voicemails without crying, so you just deleted all of them and let the inbox fill back up again.

Feeling the dog tags press against your chest as you form your chest into the bed, you shove your head downward and listen to it ring.

Bring-bring, bring-bring, bring-bring

It happens in a flurry of a sleep-addled mind and a horrible desperation to see your husband after nearly a full year of no contact. You flip it open and answer with your nose pressed deeply into the pillow below you. Ears straining and pulse running like a starving cat after a mouse.

Dead silence.

“...Sweetheart…?” It’s pitiful how fast the tears flood you at Alex’s shocked and tiny voice. Tight breathing sounds over the line from his end and your other hand digs into your scalp. A small, cut-off laugh. “Hey…I—”

You hang up with a vicious slam of the screen and let the silence settle again. People walk the hall; the sun dims as night sets in. This isn’t home. Dropping the phone back down to the pillow you curl into a tight ball and cry yourself back to sleep.

If you had to guess, you’d say the small curse was what woke you for the second time, though you didn’t register it until minutes later. That muffled ‘shit’ as a foot hits your dropped bags near the door. But then it’s silent again and your ears only twitch to the gentle sigh that brushes against your face; a thumb and forefinger caressing your cheek as hair is placed back over your ear.

Perhaps the only reason at all as to why you don’t wake up screaming bloody murder is because of his calluses. They burn your flesh as they slide over it—as ingrained into your very being as your own heart is. As if Alex’s touch was another organ that was needed to survive. More important than a liver or a spleen.

When your eyes slip open he’s leaning back in a chair he had turned to face you, built form shifting as the rickety wood creaks. No more than five feet away sits your husband, and all you do is suck in a tight breath and lock gazes with soft sea glass.

Alex freezes at the same time, strong brow line peeling back and mustache stiff as his lips immediately thin. You both stare for a good while, a thread of tension entering the air. The night deepens.

He speaks first, in the dense hours of confrontation. Your heart feels like it’s been stuck with a spear, vignette at the sides of your vision, and a blooming center of only Alex’s body and his messy hair. The scarf around his neck. The combat vest.

Had he driven all this way to see if you were here? Because you’d answered the phone? But you hadn’t even said anything. Your head stays on the pillow, wondering if you were hallucinating.

“Hey,” Alex forces a chuff before he glances away, nervous arms crossed. “Hey there, Doll. Sorry that I woke you. I…ah,” your eyes bore into him, hand on the sheets slowly clenching into a fist. “I figured there was an off chance you would be here.” He clears his voice, throat closing on a trying laugh. “Guess I’m glad I looked. You should remember to lock your door, by the way.”

At the sight of your rising glare, his tone drops, expression falling even more than it already was. Deep well of sadness grew in his eyes, lips pulling back in a strained agony.

Alex’s gaze drops to the floor.

“I know,” is what hits the air, “I know, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it,” you push your body up as his large shoulders tighten—such an accomplished and strong man brought to a squirming heap when his wife’s sharp words hit him in the chest. “What the hell were you thinking, Alex?!”

Heavy feet hit the floor as you stalk over, fatigue and tiredness pushed all the way to the back of your mind yet also enhancing your emotions. Bitter rage was sparking—held in far too long. Alex’s eyes don’t meet yours, so you grab him by the chin and angle his head up to you.

At the sight of your red sclera and the baggy gaze he stills. Under your grip his beard tickles you, the soft grip of flesh that makes you want to wrap your arms over him and weep; make him promise to never leave like that again.

“I…I wasn’t…”

“That’s the thing isn’t it—you didn’t think.” Sea glass floods over, going glossy; hurt etched into both of your faces as if carved from the same stone. But you don’t stop now, growling out as your skin burns. Alex isn’t sad that you’re angry, he’s sad he’s done this to you. “You disappeared, Alex. Laswell had to just drop all of this shit on me. I thought you had died.” You growl. “Do you know what that feels like?!”

“Sweetheart—”

“Shut up! You let me talk,” he falls silent, hand delicately coming up to grab your wrist. Not to pull you away, just to hold you. To feel your skin and the heat of it. You sniffle and his eyes break. “And the worst part of it was that if you had just asked I would have followed you right then and there.” Alex sharply looks back at you. “But the biggest insult was that you thought I would leave you—that you even considered that.”

Shock slowly gives way to a blank expression. He was confused, now.

Was that what you were angry about?

“You’re an idiot, Keller. Hot-headed. Cocky.” You shake your head, but a tiny smile begins to bleed onto Alex’s face. Watching you like you’d just sprung a million dollars on him. His grip slightly squeezes, calloused thumb running the span of your knuckles as you shake his head with your hand. “Damn nuisance to my health, is what you are.” Trying to remain angry is tough when he’s looking at you like that—starstruck—but you spit out, “It’s insulting that you thought I’d just give up on us that easily.”

“Most women don’t want a man who’s wanted for desertion, Doll,” Alex whispers, testing a smirk on his lips with his expression still strained.

“Arrogant!” your voice snaps. “Not a single brain cell in his stupid little head.” You let go of his chin and grip the sides of his skull, feeling the dirty but still soft strands of hair before you huff at him.

But he just looks at you and smiles, face smooshed.

“...You really came?” Alex asks quietly. You fall silent and after a moment you deflate.

After the silence of trying to keep the sneer on your face, you let it drop, lips quivering slightly. Anger glints with pain. “I should hit you upside the head, Keller, for all the worry you’ve put me through,” you grunt, eyes flashing over every new bruise on his face—every cut you’d have to re-learn. He looks tired.

Oh, Alex…

Before the blond can respond to you, you’ve captured the back of his head and shoved it into your chest; face burying itself into his scalp to bring forth that scent of dust and cologne. You whimper out as he grips you around the waist with just as much fervor, “Did you think that I would stay away?”

Alex says nothing, only the slight tremor in his bicep betraying him. You firmly kiss his skull and run your fingers through his hair, the both of you so tight together there’s barely enough room in your ribs to allow your lungs to inflate.

But holding him was more important than air, a sentiment that Alex seemed to share entirely.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Bug.” He mutters into your skin. “Feels good to be able to hold my girl again.”

You stay like that for a long time before you pull back and capture his cheeks, face pulling closer before you kiss him deeply. It’s not a fast-paced or desperate thing—no clashing teeth or tongue. That wasn’t what you needed right now.

All that you needed was Alex. Your home.

You both separate and the blond grabs the back of your neck, forcing you back so he can lay another on the side of your mouth; nose, cheek. Anywhere that he could reach as his mustache tickled you to a smile. Giggles worm out and you wiggle out of his grip to wipe at your cheeks, spreading away tiny tear tracks and saliva.

“Quit it,” you whisper, and Alex gazes up at you reverently from his chair.

“Negative, Ma’am,” he says, equally as soft, not even blinking. “Don’t wanna.” You roll your eyes, face hot.

The seconds draw long of only watching one another before you shake your head and move your hands to shimmy out of the dog tags around your neck. Alex’s gaze locks on the metal swiftly, smile shifting.

“You’re horrible.” You huff, quietly, before shoving his dog tags at his chest. “Now put them back on.”

“But I’m not in the—” Your glare shuts him up. Alex clears his throat sheepishly. “Yes, Ma’am.”

You nod and watch as they’re resituated around his neck. Right where they should be. When you take a step back to really take him in, there’s a moment where you skim over the state of his left leg. After all, the metal was barely noticeable in the dark. But when you do see it every little part of you shrivels up with confused pain.

Alex stands with a noticeable preference to his right and as he towers over you, fingers coming to grab at your face and slowly drag it back up.

A slightly apologetic look washes over him.

“I’m guessing you didn’t listen to all of the voicemails.”

“Alex…” you slowly cut off. “You…” Staring at the metal limb instead of the real one, you gape. “...how?”

“Y’know,” he laughs, but you don’t find this funny. He notices and kisses your forehead, tapping his scalp to yours and saying after a contemplative pause, “I think it’s better if I don’t explain it. I’m alright, just...” Alex smiles cheekily, the spark that you love coming back easily as it shimmers in his eyes, “just a little more carbon fiber and aluminum than I was before.”

You hug him tightly.

“I’m sorry, I should have come sooner—I was just angry, and I wasn’t—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Alex sighs, grabbing you and maneuvering the both of you to the bed. He sits and you end up laying in his lap like that moment in the bathroom ages ago. “None of this is your fault, okay? You deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have put such a burden on you.”

You sigh in his arms, head under his chin and heart finally able to return to a steady pace. Licking your lips, you ask, “Does it hurt?”

Sending a glance down, Alex’s lips twitch with a grin before it disappears. He hums.

“Sometimes.” Your hand grips his opposite cheek and you lay a kiss on his chin, caressing his flesh.

It’s a tentative kind of love. An understanding and a plea all at once.

The blond leans back against the wall and pulls you closer, closing his eyes. Finally relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. But his girl is in his arms, and he’s never been this calm.

“I have a home in Urzikstan,” he confesses lightly, fingers brushing your body and giving way to shivers. You listen, eyes fluttering at the vibrations of his words. “It’s safe—protected. I…want us to live there.” Alex nods against your head, swallowing. “If you’ll come back with me.”

“Yes,” your answer is immediate. “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.”

You feel his breath hitch, soft chuckles brushing your hair far better than any comb. There’s a small tremor in his voice as he says, “I love you. God, do I love you.”

Your lips pull up, body growing heavy with a final sense of home.

“I love you, too.” Soft kisses and tight arms. Shifting tattoos. “But if you ever do something like that again without talking to me, I’m telling Laswell she has permission to put a bullet in your ass.”

His loud laughs shake your body, and you press your face into his neck to steady yourself; smiling.

NEW TAGLIST SIGN-UP: Here

TAGS:

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1K notes · View notes

etsuven · 1 year

Text

rating: sm-t cw: none i don't think!! includes: current anemo men as of the end of 3.2 (venti, kazuha, heizou, scaramouche, xiao) modern au, reader is pretty and i'm saying pretty because i think it's gender neutral everyone should be allowed to be called pretty summary: let's rank the anemo men as least to most brattiest subs <3 (also them as lovers!)

note: lets rank the men of my favorite element, anemo!!!!!! we're not reallyy ranking them as bf's only as subs- but uh this is just a small headcannon thing to pass the time between my writing!!! should i do these more often?? maybe you guys should give me headcannon asks (???) idk how to explain it, but i just want to have them as something to schedule or whatever- anyways, feel free to reply with your opinions!! (repost AGAIN bc my last post didn't show up in any tags <3)

xiao

in my opinion, xiao is probably such a sweet boyfriend! even though he's not the best when it comes to talking to people, he always has you there to help him <3 (unless you're also quiet, then he'll be the one to talk for you.) he's not shy, he just doesn't like talking to people.

your innocent kisses on his cheeks and lips get him so flustered sometimes, and even though he's embarrassed by how you ended up catching him off guard so easily, the cute smile on your face makes up for it.

now, i feel that xiao is probably the sweetest sub. much like his in public self, he's not very loud- but that's only because he's hiding his moans. it works for a little bit, but every time you fuck, you end up touching that one spot that makes him moan louder than his hand can hide.

after that, he's unable to hide his noises anymore. instead- he opts for clutching the sheets next to his head or hips. his moans are breathy, with the occasional gasp or groan into the air.

he prefers receiving oral more than giving, but only because he likes how you can so easily reduce him to gasps and almost tears. (also he loves the look you give him from in between his legs)

i feel like he'd like it if you held his hand while fucking him- like he thinks it's intimate and it allows him to feel closer to you (well, he probably can't get closer than literally being inside him/you being inside him, but that's besides the point)

all in all, very sweet, not a brat at all!

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kazuha

kazuha my love my only limited 5 star besides the traveler who's higher than C0.... he's definitely a wonderful boyfriend. he's very kind, sweet, and he has a way with words that make you fall harder for him every time he says them.

he likes to give you sneaky kisses just to watch you jump in shock, and he's definitely the type to be like, "i'm sorry, love, but you were too pretty, i couldn't help it!"

kazuha is also a very sweet sub, and he wants to please you! you wanna touch him until he's on the verge of tears? go ahead! do you want him to sit in between your legs and make you cum as many times as you'd like? well, that's actually his favorite thing to do!

this pretty red clothed man LOVES to please you. in his eyes, he doesn't get to cum until you do. he's very good with his mouth and tongue, and it often leads to some situations where you're a little too distracted to continue your work. after all, how could you focus when there was a gorgeous man with furrowed brows and a flushed face sitting in between your legs?

when you finally get to touching him, you'll find that he has quite pretty moans. they're a bit more on the groany side, but they turn onto full on moans when he really gets into it. he doesn't hide his noises, in fact- he prefers that you hear just how good you were making him feel. you've almost gotten caught many times because of that...

he definitely likes it when you pull his hair. although he makes sure his hair is tied up perfectly when he's in between your legs, a ton of strands will always find their way outside of the previously neat ponytail thanks to your wandering hands... perhaps he should keep his hair down while like that? only to keep it from getting more messy- and definitely not to give you more to pull.

summary: he's very sweet, very attentive. if you'd like, get yourself a lover like him!

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venti

i feel that venti would be a wonderful boyfriend! contrary to popular belief, he isn't the type to date you only to abandon you in the name of freedom. he knows exactly how to cheer you up when you're feeling down, and he knows when to leave you alone when you need space.

he's very energetic, often times chatting your ear off when it comes to something he likes. he also loves giving you random things he finds in stores that remind him of you. you like a certain show? i can guarantee that he will buy a cute little keychain for you and give it to you when you're least expecting it.

if you're the more quiet type, he will gladly speak up for you. he wants you to feel as comfortable as possible.

now i feel that he's lowkey a tease in bed. he likes to leave lingering kisses on your skin just to get you worked up, and when you ask what he's doing, he'll pretend to be oblivious and walk away.

he wants you to throw him down, and the quickest way to get you to do that is to tease you until you can't handle it anymore. light teasing is all he does, as he doesn't want to accidentally annoy you and ruin the mood.

he has THE prettiest moans, kind of high and breathy, and he gets a bit choked up when you touch a particularly sensitive spot. he's also not the type to hide them, but he will do so if you request.

he loves it when you grab him by his hips as a way to keep yourself steady. you always manage to fuck him even harder when your hands are grasping his hips, something he very much enjoys when he just doesn't want to think anymore.

summary? very much a tease, but he knows how to tone it down when he needs to!

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scaramouche/wanderer

SCARAAA!!! thanks for you and your weapon but do you mind coming home one more time, i need you at c1- i don’t know what to call him here, but i’ll just stick with scara for now.

anyways, scara is such a good boyfriend he’s so sweet but it’s like backhanded sweet. like ‘i won’t admit that i really like you and i really want to kiss you but that’s embarrassing to admit so i’ll stay quiet until you do it first’ kind of sweet.

we all know from one of scara’s idle lines that he’s not afraid to speak up. he’s literally like “you didn’t like that? well that’s your problem.” so i feel like he would totally stand up for you if someone were treating you badly. but like he would insult them and leave them questioning if it was really worth messing with you.

he hasn’t experienced many romantic things in his life, as most people were too scared to even go up to him. so when you came along and absolutely turned everything around from how affectionate you were, he was quite shocked.

despite being bold and unafraid of consequences in his usual life, he’s quite shy when it comes to romance. holding hands gets him all embarrassed, the way you look at him like the answer to the life itself is right in front of you makes him so flustered. i can only imagine how he’d be like if you kissed him!

he’d be such an adorable sub, i can already feel it! he’s still a bit of a brat, thanks to remnants of his old personality being retained, he’ll talk back to you, but only because he’s flustered, and he feels that he doesn’t deserve to be touched in such a loving way.

he’ll try to egg you on, little things like “i bet i could do so and so better,” just to have you treat him a little bit harsher. he’s not glass, so don’t treat him so gently! he wants you to turn his mind into mush, he wants you to please him until forgets everything he did that day.

he loves it when you’re able to fuck him until he’s on the verge of passing out. he has quite a bit of stamina- due to not being human and all, so he’s able to go on for a while. he enjoys the feeling of everything building up until it eventually bursts, it’s overwhelming and he can’t help but get addicted to it. waking up to see you tending to him is just a bonus.

but there are times where he’ll be a bit vulnerable, and those are the times where you can be a bit more gentle with him. he won’t talk back, he’ll just embrace you and let you praise him for how good he’s being.

summaryyyyy: he’s a bit of a brat, but at the same time- not really. he’ll talk back, but at the same time he wants to be a good boy for you. it really just depends on what scara you get that day!

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heizou

pretty boy heizou <3 i have him but i don’t really read much on his personality and stuff, so i’m writing this based off of what i saw in his hangout quest.

he’s very much the flirty type of lover, always knowing what to say at certain times to get you all flustered. while he’s an expert at flirting at you, he gets quite embarrassed when you do the same to him.

forehead and back of the hand kisses are his fave, as they’re simple and sweet. though he isn’t opposed to a quick peck on the lips when you’re least expecting it.

as a detective, he is naturally attuned to your needs, knowing exactly what you want based on your body language. if you’re a bit fidgety in public, he’ll guide you away to give you a break. if your hands start to wander during what originally started as a small kiss? that was a sure fire sign that you wanted something more…

heizou is lowkey kind of a brat. the flirty nature of his doesn’t fade away when he’s about to get his brains fucked out, so prepare for him to sweet talk you and tease until he eventually can’t talk anymore.

he’ll always try to annoy you, whether that be by small remarks or outright disobeying you when you want him to do something. but unlike venti, he won’t tone it down. why? he wants you to wreck him. treat him like he’s just a toy for you to use.

his moans are on the sobbier side, as he cries pretty easily. he loves loves LOVES getting pinned down, so feel free to push his arms down into the bed as you’re fucking him so he’s unable to squirm away as he cries and pleads for you to let him cum.

summary: i don’t know much about him but he’s cute! very bratty, but he’s the fun kind of bratty. the kind where you don’t mind because it was so fun seeing him slowly lose his composure.

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byunpum · 1 year

Text

Picnic in the greenhouse

Pair: Neteyam & Loak x Human reader

Tags: teasing, trio, Smut, Semi public.

Warning: Pure smut, The characters are in their 20s.

REQUEST: @xreadersstuff : OMG HIII! I recently just started following you and I had a request! It would be awesome if you could do a Neteyam/ Lo'ak x reader but human?! SMUT OFC! I have not been able to find one! Maybe you can be my savior.

AVATAR MASTERLIST

Greenhouse visual " here "

A picnic, that's all you wanted. Since you had moved to the islands of the metkayina clan, you couldn't do what you liked to do most in your free time… little picnics in nature. Hey, it wasn't like the islands didn't have a forested area. But it wasn't like the jungle, and you were getting a little depressed. It wasn't until norm and max set up a greenhouse next to the small base they had. Ronal and Tonowari had allowed you to set up a small base, and Norm set up that greenhouse so he could have fruits and vegetables from the earth. And he also went to the trouble of setting up a few areas, where you could go and sit and enjoy yourself for a while. And that's what you were going to do.

Today in particular, you planned to have a picnic. You had invited neteyam, but if you invited neteyam, loak had to be there. It was always like that, if loak was there…neteyam would run to join the two of you. Literally everything. So here you were, waiting for the two brothers on the beach. You were playing with the waves crashing against the tips of your toes. You were wearing a nice metkayina outfit, which ronal had given you so you wouldn't feel uncomfortable with the other young people. -What's taking them so long," you complain a little, as you look up to see the two boys running in your direction.

"Sorry… neteyam was with dad and I was waiting for him" says loak, trying to ease his breathing. Neteyam is at his side, also fatigued. " You didn't have to run like that," you say, reaching over to give Neteyam a hug around the waist. And then to loak. "Come on… I've got everything ready" you say, jumping up and down, taking the two boys' hands to lead them to the greenhouse. They followed you without any problem, in fact whatever you said they accepted. " You will love it!!!" you continue to drag them closer to the greenhouse. As you approach the structure, the boys look at you in amazement. " Wow…this is really big" neteyam speaks, as he lets go of your hand to get closer to see the structure.

"Yeah, norm made it for both human and avatars…so they won't have any problems. You guys will have to wear your masks from time to time though" you say, still holding loak's hand. Reaching up to hug his waist, laying your head on his lower abdomen. You had always had this trust with them, you were always hugging each other, giving kisses here and there. "As if wearing masks was something new" loak teases, leading you with him to enter the greenhouse. The three of you enter, while you take off your mask, the boys put theirs around their necks. And they see how nice and warm it is inside.

"These are fruits of the earth. And there are also flowers from our planet" you speak excitedly, while showing them everything. They are just looking with amazement, touching various fruits and laughing. They liked to see you happy, you looked adorable in this state. "And here is the picnic tararara" you say, pointing to a place you had prepared with a blanket and pillows, the space was big enough for the three of you to be comfortable. There were desserts you had prepared and several pandora fruits. "These are the desserts I had prepared for you earlier" the boys watch as you sit down, and they follow you. "Is this the cream one? Is that what you call it?" asks neteyam, taking the small dessert in his hand. "Yes" you smile at him, as you watch him put it in his mouth. Loak didn't even ask, he was already taking what he liked and eating it. "Thank you for being here" you say as you look at the two boys lovingly. "You're welcome y/n, we like being with you" Loak says, he had a mouth full. You reach over and wipe off some strawberry cream that was on the side of his lips. "You don't know how to eat," neteyam teases his brother, lying down on one of the pillows. He stretched out his arms, and put them behind his head.

"Shut up you idiot!!!" loak punches him, in the thigh. Before neteyam could respond, you interrupt them. "Don't start fighting…please" you say, scolding the two boys. They both calm down. It wasn't long before most of the food was gone. You had your head lying on neteyam's stomach, while he was massaging your scalp. Loak is cuddled up on your stomach, you were also playing with his loose braids. The three of you were talking about anything, you liked these moments. It wasn't until Loak decided to make a quick move.

Loak turns his face to leave a kiss on your stomach, you laugh and push him away a little. This one is still settled on your stomach, to repeat the movement but now giving a kiss just below your belly button. "Loakkkkkk….. you are tickling me." You are giggling, as you watch loak sit up a little and continue down quick kisses on your stomach and thighs. In one swift movement you stand up, pushing loak off and climbing up neteyam's body. You and loak were so busy playing that you hadn't noticed that neteyam had fallen asleep. The poor man suddenly stands up, feeling your weight on him. And as you were hugging him. Loak was on top of you, tickling. "Hey you two… stop it" neteyam tries to push loak away, but his punch misses. And loak keeps attacking you, until his mouth meets yours, stealing a kiss. You push him away a little, pouting. "Loak… you can't tickle me and then kiss me" you say, pushing him away… but he had half his body on top of you. And you were on top of neteyam. Quite a compromising position if someone came in and saw you like that.

"No, we always do?" loak kisses you again. You hear neteyam giggle, and you feel his hand grab your chin and pull loak's lips away so he can kiss you too. "Guys…this is supposed to be a picnic" you try to get out of neteyam's grip. But it was useless he had you wrapped in his arms, while loak was on top of you. "Come on… yes, just a little" says loak while he starts kissing your neck, settling right behind you, to leave little kisses on your back. Meanwhile neteyam had already captured your lips, placing you more on top of him. He settled further into the fabric beneath him. So that his brother could settle on top of him and then adjust himself to be closer to you. Neteyam's hands squeezed your ass, causing you to moan. Loak was already sliding one of his hands towards your pussy. He slid his hand past the edge of your clothes, to start playing with your folds. " Ohhh bro, you have to feel this" says loak teasing voice, neteyam quickly moves his hand to accompany his brother. Your eyes widen as you feel both of their fingers playing with your nub.

Loak makes small, lazy circles on your clit, while neteyam slides his fingers over your wet entrance. " Like this…slow, have you noticed how wet it gets when in slow" neteyam murmurs close to your ear, you had your head buried in neteyam's chest. It felt so good, being between the two of them, touching you as they wanted. You began to feel loak's hips, moving on your ass, as he played with your clit lazily. Neteyam was pumping you with one finger, he wasn't rough. He was making side to side movements, stretching your walls with his finger. He wanted to get you ready before the main show. Neteyam was more worried about you, while loak was faster in his movements. " Mmmm it's a lot…" you moan, as you feel neteyam's movements stopped. To kiss you. "Easy baby…easy" loak settles closer to you. "Hey…careful. Don't crush my tail" neteyam says, giving a smack on his younger brother's thigh. For a moment you had forgotten that you were between the two of them and that loak was on top of you.

"Love… can I come in? I can't hold on for long" begs neteyam, kissing your neck. "Then I'll go in" says loak, humping your ass, his bulge was rubbing against your pussy. Loak was holding your hips, while one of his hands lifted your ass to get you closer. " Loak…it feels good" you cry out softly. " I know honey…I know" loak moans a little rubbing dry on your clothed pussy. Meanwhile neteyam was already taking off his loincloth to free his hard cock. "Move" neteyam moans, pushing his brother a little. Loak obeys, unbuttoning the knot that was holding your clothes. Leaving your pussy in full view of the two of you. " Hurry up…" loak settles back, watching as his older brother grabs your hips to lower you further onto his body. " neteyam, you have to make it soft" you are settling further into his chest, feeling the man's hands accommodate you so he can fit his cock into your tight entrance.

Neteyam begins to enter you, you run out of air. Your little screams escape from your mouth… as you feel one of loak's hands, squeeze your hips to help you lower yourself onto his brother's cock. " So big…" you scream, as you feel your walls stretch to their limit. " Look at the bulge forming… so good" says loak touching the bulge that was forming in your lower stomach. " I'm filling it up so well" says neteyam with his voice cracking. You were squeezing it so well, the man already had his eyes closed trying to control himself. You guys just stand there for a moment, letting yourself adjust to his size. " Mmm makes me want to go in too me… do you think you could handle it" mumbles loak on your back. The boy was on top of you, gently massaging your breasts. " I don't think I could… me" your voice is interrupted as you feel neteyam begin to move in and out of your little cunt. " ne… like this" you whimper, as you feel your walls stretch and his cock hit your sweet spot. " this way…" neteyam barely speaks, fucking you with a fast rhythm, but not enough to hurt you. Loak was holding you in place, so neteyam could get a better position of you. " Don't hold me… me" you squeal, neteyam's thrusts were constant and steady. "I'm so deep… loak wait till you feel how tight it is" says neteyam looking at his brother. Loak chuckled a little, sliding one of his hands down to play with your clit.

It wasn't long before you felt the lump in your stomach build up, and your orgasm carried like a waterfall. You cried out as you felt yourself being devoured on neteyam's chest. Neteyam's onslaught became faster and sloppier. as you listened to neteyam's moans as his high overwhelmed him. Loak was pumping himself a little in your ass, watching you guys reach your limits. Neteyam stopped his thrusts, staying inside you for a while. " You can come out of her…it's my turn." Says loak. "Hey…wait" neteyam tries to catch his breath, but he feels loak push his hips, so that he could get out of you and he could settle at your entrance. You were collapsed on neteyam's chest, as you feel your ass being lifted into the air.

Loak takes his cock in his hands, pumps a few times… and enters you. A little rougher compared to neteyam. "Loak… it hurts" you moan, as you feel one of his hands push you further into neteyam's chest. "Hey…,easy…be gentle with our girl" neteyam says, caressing your arms and thighs. Spreading them wider to make it easier for his brother to enter your cute pussy. "I know I know…but it looks so" says loak swallowing hard, when he feels you squeeze him. The man didn't let it take that long before he started fucking you quickly, causing the sound of his skins rustling to be heard all over the place. The sensation was so good… he was quickly hitting your sweet spot, which was already overstimulated. "loak…" you speak so low, you can barely hear yourself. Your tears build up in the side of your eyes, and you bite down a little on neteyam's chest. "You feel so good" loak speeds up his movements, seeing the image in front of him was pushing him over the edge.

He had you under him, his brother was holding you…squeezing and stretching your ass cheeks to reveal more of you. You couldn't move, you were letting him do whatever he wanted, neteyam was giving you some kisses on your hair. "you are taking my brother so well…you like it don't you?" neteyam teases a little, slapping your ass. You groan in response. "Ohh bro, it gets tighter at the thought…it's so cute" loak continues his fast movements. Your orgasm comes fast and hard. Triggering spasms throughout your body, loak continues to fuck you, reaching his own height. "Like this…like this" loak moans, as he continues to fuck you until he feels you fill him completely. You both collapse on top of neteyam. He was enjoying the view.

You are tired and you could feel the fluids of both men running down your thighs. "I have a question," says loak. You can barely speak, but you manage to look up. "Yes?" you say, as you feel neteyam massaging your thighs. You feel neteyam and loak's tails curl around your thighs, squeezing a little. "Do you have any more cream desserts?" loak speaks, you giggle a little, while neteyam raises his hand and smacks his brother on the head. " Why don't you just get up on me, and let me breathe" neteyam says pushing his brother away, but holding you so you could continue to rest on his chest. Wow…what a picnic you had.

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amethystfairy1 · 4 months

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✨Hello hello!✨

I'm Amethyst (she/her), and I'm your local fanfic gremlin. I've written a lot for a lot of fandoms, right now I am caught in the Hermit/Traffic/Empires brainrot, and if that's how you've ended up here, welcome welcome!

Right now, I have two WIP AUs!

Through the Sky-Blue Cracks 🌤️

My Hot Guy/Cute Guy, Over-City/Under-City AU that has a lot more going on in it now, it's grown pretty big and is organized in chronological order, not by publishing order, so I write up and down on the timeline filling in parts and pieces as I go!

TTSBC takes place in a modern/slightly sci-fi AU with superheroes, biotech, secrets to hide, trauma to unpack, and as much humor as I can attempt to fit in as well!

Features the local superheroes crushing on each other, anxious writer meets intrepid reporter, the drama professors who can't keep their hands to themselves, penpals gone wild, resident middle-aged married couple who happen to be a mobster and a mad genius, the local cottagecore lesbians, bad boy butterfly and cat lady, protective big sister, Zom-Mom and Sentient Glowstick, a very tired Guy-in-the-Chair with a permanent headache, and more yet to be added! I've got lots of plans left for this AU, so if you're interested, please come check it out!

Tags for the AU are:

#through the sky blue cracks

#ttsbc au

#ttsbc ficlets

Traveling Thieves 🪽

My dark fantasy AU! This one has some heavy themes going on, so I'd encourage reading the tags carefully before jumping in! I'm very proud of how it is turning out, dealing with breaking out conditioned headspaces, survival in a sick system, negotiating power imbalance, the power of friendship (no, really), and of course we've got elves, mercenaries, magic, swords, sorcery, rogues, redstone, and lots more fun stuff like that! Also lots of adorable birbs, one traumatized fiery boy, a mer with an attitude, a good doggo, and hurt/comfort galore! Giving everyone a chance to believe that they've all got a shot at getting lucky.

Tags for the AU are:

#traveling thieves au

#traveling thieves ficlets

Amethysts Scribbling Corner 📝

A little side project of mine to try and stretch my writing style!

Once in awhile, I will be running a poll with prompts that have been sent in via reblogs, replies, asks, and messages! Please send some in if you have any ideas!

Whatever prompt wins the poll, I will write and add to the series!

They can be as broad as a simple one-word prompt, or you can even give a brief description of a couple of sentences! Last thing: Feel free to request where you want the fic to take place! Especially when we're talking Hermit/Traffic/Empires stuff, if you want it to be within the Minecraft server world of that specific series, within a certain one of the Life Series, a modern AU, a fantasy AU, or even TTSBC or Traveling Thieves if you have ideas for them! Just know that if anything requested for TTSBC or Traveling Thieves contradicts or maybe overlaps with any future plans for those AUs, I might not be able to accept them 😓

As far as rules go...I do not write NSFW. I am happy to write romance and let things get a little spicy 🔥 but keep in mind I'll always end up fading to black...also no heavy gore, violence, body horror, things of that nature. I am very much a fan of writing whump and hurt/comfort though, so please send those ideas my way!

Tags for the series are:

#amethysts scribbling corner

I think that's all that going on with me right now...so yeah! I use this blog for my scribbling corner prompts as well as asks about any of my AUs or writing projects! I love getting the chance to ramble about my worldbuilding, so by all means, give me an excuse and I will make entire posts about that sort of thing!

Thanks for coming by! 💖

#intro post #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #hermitcraft #traffic smp #through the sky blue cracks #hermitshipping #worldbuilding #trafficshipping #life series #empires smp #traveling thieves au #amethysts scribbling corner

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eris-snow · 27 days

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𝐖𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

Tags: bakugou x gn!reader, meet in dreams, fluff

We met in a dream. Really? Really. Literally? Literally.

"You're here again."

Bakugou whips around, and he catches your eyes again. It's the same empty void, the same white, endless room.

And you're there again.

Waiting for him, it seems.

"Right back at you."

"You're insufferable."

Bakugou chuckles at that. He loves getting under your skin and loves the challenge you give him. Some people are just delightful to annoy, and you're one of those people.

"Rough day?" He asks, striding closer to you. Your face twists into a scowl, and he laughs at that. You wear your heart on your sleeve, no matter how much you try to mask your feelings.

It takes a second before you respond. "Don't laugh, idiot. You don't look any better."

Bakugou winds his arm up, feeling the ache in his bones. Well, you have a point. Training to become a hero isn't just your average high schooler's day-to-day 7 to 5. His battery is flat by the time he ends the day, and the next thing he knows it's morning again.

But this is a dream, his dream, and this isn't his first time here. The both of you have built mountains, painted cherry blossom trees and created sandy beaches straight from your minds.

"We can make anything," Bakugou says.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

You peer at him, a smile forming against your lips for the first time tonight.

You look so good when you smile.

"Well then what are we waiting for, Bakugou Katsuki? Let's get to it."

Bakugou remembers that night standing in grassy fields with you. It was your turn to set the scene, and you brought hazy green and a strong gale with you as the both of you stare at the moon from the grass.

Bakugou likes the feeling of it. the fields stretch on and on, and he feels free, like he could do anything.

"We can make anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

That's what you had first told him when he first dreamt of this place.

People think he goes to sleep early because he wants to keep his sleeping schedule intact, but his biggest motivating factor is his dreams. Dreams instead of nightmares of his kidnapping, dreams instead of the war.

He loves this, so, so much, and he's grown fond of you.

"Where is this?" He asks. You always have a reason for whatever place you take him.

"Nowhere." You tell him, arms cushioning your head as you stare up at the round, round moon. "I just like the wind in my hair the breath of fresh air. It's so wide, so quiet, and it makes me feel like I can do anything."

It's a good 15 minutes of talking before you sit up abruptly, causing Bakugou to do the same.

"What is it?" He asks.

You look at him before tapping his shoulder lightly. Then, without warning, you take off into the night.

It takes him a good 5 seconds to decipher what you just did. "Oi! You little shit, get back here-!"

He runs and runs chasing after your surprisingly nimble self. He can't use his quirk here, and he knows it'd be unfair if he did anyway, you'd never count it.

No matter, he can tag you without it.

Your voice bubbles with laughter as you dodge his attempts, scaling a sakura tree and watching him trying to grab your shoe.

"Catch me!"

Sakura petals drift down as you jump. Startled, he does, but your momentum causes the both of you to collapse on the ground with a loud thump.

You snicker, he sputters, yelling at you.

"What is wrong with you, dumbass? Does the word bruises exist in your vocabulary? What about injury? You're crazy, you know that?"

His ribcage throbs, but in a good way. The weight on him is good, because you're still laughing, and that's all that matters.

"It's a dream, silly. You don't get hurt in dreams." You reply, getting off his body.

"Come on, catch me."

With that you take off again, and he's racing after you, shouting the entire way.

You both do it more often than he'd like to admit. Chasing each other in the grassy fields, you laughing, him shouting, as the wind of eternal spring messes up your hair.

Sprawled on the ground without a care in the world. He loves it. He loves the way you make he feel.

He loves you.

"What are you looking at?"

He glances up, and he sees you hanging lazily from a tree.

You like trees.

Sakura ones, especially.

"You," His lips coil into a smirk, and he grabs a brunch and swings himself up there such that he's right in front of you.

You don't look fazed at all.

He leans in, and the kiss is short and sweet on your lips. You lean in too, and when he pulls back, he settles himself comfortably next to you, bodies comfortably pressed against each other.

"You're blushing," He notes. You try to smack him, but he catches your hand. "Look who's the one getting flustered."

"Insufferable. Downright insufferable." You mutter, yanking your hand out of his grip.

"Says the person who runs around fields for hours at a time."

"Yeah, love you too, asshole." You reply.

We can make anything.

And we did, Bakugou thinks, smiling fondly as holds you closer.

Let him have you, he tells the universe, let him find you.

A remedy for his nightmares, a medicine for his heart.

Catch me, you'd say, and he'd chase you for as long as it takes.

As long as you're here, anytime, anywhere, real or not, it'd be better than just a dream.

Author's note: I was gonna write angst but given the option, my sister chose fluff, so arghh-

#mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou fluff #fluff #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugō #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x you

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nxrdamp · 9 months

Text

Miguel O'Hara x Fem! Assistant! Reader | Unmasked

TW: language, no use of y/n, some google translate Spanish because I do not speak Spanish.

Word Count: 2,228

| Your POV |

Miguel O'Hara.

I'd use only one word to describe a man like him.

Arrogant.

Extremely arrogant in fact, so arrogant he hired me. Why is that so arrogant, one might ask, well he's arrogant because his personal hobby is to make my life a living, breathing hell! Why is this? Only his big, arrogant, sadistic mind knows. How is he arrogant? Well...

"I thought I said no cream," Miguel said, his eyebrows furrowing for the 20th time today. It's 8:30 in the morning. He sighed and placed the coffee down on his desk hazardously as if everything doesn't have a price tag with a pretty penny attached to it. Miguel O'Hara, one of the leading scientists at Alchemax, what does he do? I don't really know to be honest, I tried to ask once but that made him even pissier, saying something along the lines of "the fate" of something and "confidential to civilians".

"That's what I ordered sir," I said, picking up the coffee cup that was almost tipped over due to his carelessness. God, can this day really test me anymore? It's only the beginning and I've already had to go back for coffee twice.

"I don't care what happened, make it work. I don't want cream and I don't want decaf, I just want plain, black coffee." Yeah, plain like your soul O'Hara. Whatever, this assistant gig pays extremely well since, shockingly, he can't seem to keep an assistant. I wonder why.

"Right away sir," I say, rolling my eyes as I threw away the second coffee cup. Poor coffee, never had the chance. Poor barista who made it, a waste of time. Ungrateful, O'Hara is, he's so stuck up being rich and all from his dumb job in his big stupid lab that he expects someone to just wipe his ass.

"Ah, you said that last time, look where we are." He tutted, sitting at his desk in his office. You heard me, his office, he has a personal lab and an office. What does this guy even do?!

"You have quite a humor." I sarcastically reply, which made him furrow his brows once more. He started to say something, probably along the lines of "I'm your boss" yada yada, before I shut the door to his office, walking back to the elevator to grab yet another coffee from the poor stand on the ground floor of the Alchemax building. The Alchemax building is huge, probably all designed for O'Hara since everyone just adores him here, but it's right next to this....odd building. It's about the same size as the Alchemax Center, they even own it, hell it's connected to our building, but it's off-limits to everyone. Ha, even O'Hara. I'm glad at least some things don't revolve around him.

"Hi again," I said to the barista while monologuing I arrived at the stand, "I need a plain black coffee, please, just please don't put anything in it."

"Um, okay," She said, with her signature snarky attitude. This barista always gets on my nerves. She always screws up Miguel's simple order multiple times a day. I think she has it out for me, honestly. I watch as she is about to pour cream into the cup, smirking like it's the funniest thing in the world.

"Hey." I said, making her jump a little, "I've been down here three times today, four yesterday, you know that I know that you know how to make a damn plain cup of coffee."

"Fine." She said, handing me the cup," free of charge if you don't tell my manager."

"Free of charge for a month, this happened all of last week too," I said, grabbing the cup from her.

"Ugh okay." She said, embarrassment rising to her cheeks as she sees other people in line watching the spectacle.

I give her a smile. before dropping a ten in the tip jar. What, I just haggled the poor teenager into giving me free coffee for a month, while she was being an asshole and I needed a win, she's still a kid. Well now I feel bad, but I don't think I'm going to feel as bad as I am when I walk through O'Hara's office doors.

"So, you learn how to order a plain coffee yet?" O'Hara snarled, his eyes glaring at me. God, this guy sucks. His reddish eyes are just asking to test him, begging even, he must be so dreadfully bored that he just wants me to stick it to him.

At this point, I'm too mentally exhausted to make a witty comeback and I defeatedly hand him his cup, sighing as I walk away. Honestly, I think this job might be too much. This is a calm day compared to last week, running back and forth for food, because everyone everywhere in this building screws up his order. This...is odd, because instead of doing paperwork, ha, paper, that's funny, thinking the word 'paper' makes me feel old, like I'm from the 2020s or something like that! But regardless, my job requirements when I got the job was mainly to fill out his busy work, but 99% of the time, I'm running his errands!! So weird now that I think about this, but anyways, it doesn't matter, at least I hope it doesn't.

| Miguel's POV |

I watch as my assistant leaves, seeing her defeated look as she walks away from my office to go to what I assume is the break room. Even if it isn't lunch, I don't care, I just need her away. I don't need a damn assistant. It's all for looks so these nosy scientists don't meddle in my business, so it looks like I'm still acting as a geneticist. Honestly, if there was one word I'd use to describe her, it's insufferable. So very insufferable.

I would say she messes up my orders on purpose just to spite me, but I know that isn't true. Why isn't that true? Well

"You're so rude Miguel." LYLA said, popping up beside him, "I know she can't know your real work, but that doesn't require you to pick on her!"

"LYLA, go away," I grunt, furrowing my brows once more, that must be the twenty-fifth time today.

"Well Miguel, you're needed in Spider-Society, Jess needs you to conduct that mission report." She said, tilting her little heart-shaped sunglasses.

"Do it yourself LYLA, I don't have time for this. If I keep leaving this building, those scientists are gonna keep harassing me on 'how do I get extra time off?' when I'm working much harder than they ever will, especially that Dr. Ohnn-"

"Save it for Spider-Therapist." LYLA said, "I'll see you in HQ". She disappeared before Miguel could argue further about excuses on why he shouldn't leave Alchemax today.

"Ugh!" He groans, furrowing his eyebrows yet again, it's really a wonder he hasn't developed wrinkles yet, well, more wrinkles than he already has.

| Your POV |

I walk back to Miguel's office, ready to stick it to him. Frankly, I don't care if he's my boss, he can't keep treating me like this. It's a toxic work environment and I'm this close to reporting him to HR.

As I walk closer and closer to his office, I see him speedily walking down the hallway, so, in a moment of stupidity I follow him. Staying silent as I see him walk further and further away from the department of whatever the hell he does, walking closer to the biology sector, by the spider section. Gross, I'd hate to work with a bunch of spiders all day, they give me the heebie-jeebies.

He keeps walking, past where anyone works, and by the......sky bridge. What the hell? He can't go in there! That building is strictly off limits for everyone, even arrogant bosses.

I watch as he turns the corner, looking around to see if anyone was watching him. I duck behind a potted plant, praying he doesn't see me, and unfortunately, he does.

"Are you going to explain why you're hiding behind a snake plant?" Miguel asks, walking over to peer down at me. He cocks his eyebrow, smirking as if he'd found a cat in an amusing position like those old internet videos from a hundred years ago.

"You gonna explain why you're walking into that creepy, off-limits, building?!" I said, popping up from behind the snake plant, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"That's none of your concern, why are you stalking me?"

"I'm not stalking you, I am observing your behavior for the greater good of Alchemax! That building doesn't belong to you, sir!" I said, crossing my arms. The nerve of this guy, he doesn't own all of Nueva York!

"¡Que maravilla! We have a little security guard here! Go back to your desk or I'm docking your pay." Miguel said, scowling. Actually, I don't think his face even changed into a scowl. I don't it's ever not a scowl.

"Ha, that's funny." I say, crossing my arms," You have no control over that! Alchemax controls my pay, not you douche-bag!"

"Watch it." He threatened before his watch device dinged, must be some top-of-the-line Mango device, he always gets new, expensive gadgets. He got the ePhone 80 the other day, it hasn't even come out yet!

"LYLA, I'm busy." He said, turning his back to me like he has something to hide on that dumb, orange holo-watch of his. It's rather bulky compared to other holo-watches. Strange

"Instead of hiding secrets how about we finish this conversation, Miguel?" I said walking around to get face-to-face with him. "What does that thing even do? It looks way too big just to be a holo-watch."

"None of your concern, go back to your desk." He said, trying to cover his watch device. Before he knew it, the picture of the lady from the holo watch started moving around. Damn, this guy and his state-of-the-art stuff.

"Hey there!" She said, moving around, "Im LYLA, an AI assistant. I handle all of the nitty-gritty files, documents, and about everything else for Miguel and the rest of Sp...Alchemax! LYLA stands for LYrate Lifeform Approximation. Pretty neat huh?"

"What the hell, Miguel!" I said, scowling, I guess I'm becoming like him. Ew, scratch that, never say that again. "You have a whole other assistant thing and you make me run around like a dog fetching your food, and magically everyone always gets it wrong!"

"Well that's because Miguel asks them to get it wrong" LYLA answered, leaving Miguel frozen for a split second.

"I'm gonna kill you, Miguel O'Hara. Why would you purposely ask people to make my orders for you wrong?! Is this some kind of sadistic game you get off to? Huh?!"

"No." He finally replied, turning LYLA off before she could make him look any worse, "It's to keep you busy and out of my files." Okay, maybe he didn't even need LYLA to make him look bad.

"Why?!" I asked, throwing my hands up in the air. Thank god this is by that other building where no one comes because we're causing quite a spectacle here.

"Because you can't know!" He barked, gritting his teeth. His teeth...does he have fangs? I squinted my eyes to get a better look, and yes, he has fangs, which are abnormally larger than just some sharp canines.

"Why can't I know?" I asked, my eyesight flicking from his teeth back up to his reddish...no red eyes. Why are they red? How are they red? What is even happening anymore?

"Because no one like you can know. You're not a part of the few who get to know and you better be glad you aren't. This isn't a little day job where you run around with screwed-up orders, this is life or death."

"Just tell me dammit," I said, "it's probably not even that serious. What is serious is if you don't 'fess up, I'm going to report the screwed-up food, the trespassing, the verbal assault, and many other things my wonderful boss has done to me to HR. Then, you'll be fired and no more sneaking around the mysterious building. Spill."

"You could never begin to understand..!"

"Miguel! What is it! Why can't I view your files? Why can't I do my job? Why are you going into that damn building?!"

Miguel taps a few buttons on his watch, sighing. He has to do this Whether he wants to or not, it isn't up to him anymore. He has to maintain access to that building. It's vitally important. Alchemax knows what that building is and why it's Miguel's. It's the only reason he can't sue them for making this monster. How else would a man on a worker's salary, even a good one, afford an entire skyscraper in Nueva York.

I watch as Miguel's entire body fizzles softly before being coated in something anyone who has ever watched the news knows. Anyone who isn't dead or living under a rock so huge they might as well be considered dead. The two red lines that represent eyes look back at me, halting any movement, even my words cannot stumble out of my mouth. For the first time ever it feels as if I didn't have a thought at all.

"I'm Spider-man."

{ Does anyone want a Part 2? }

Read this on A03 : here

Read this on Wattpad: here

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cosmal · 1 year

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𝐇𝐨𝐭 — 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

day three of my christmas drabbles advent calendar

summary — you bring remus home to visit your family for the holidays. he grows to love spending christmas in summer.

warnings/tags — fem!afab!reader, she/her pronouns, reader goes swimming, reader has hair long enough to be tied back

note!! — this is a totally self-indulgent fic. and for all my aussie/kiwi marauders fans!!

“This is weird,” Remus murmurs, handing you a tray of prawns. Along with the water dish.

“They’re gross, I know,” you giggle. “My dad loves them.”

Remus shifts in his seat, “No, not that,” he’s smiling, “It’s hot. It’s Christmas. It’s Christmas and I’m in a t-shirt.”

"You can take it off if you want," you giggle over the top of your bottle, sitting back in your chair.

"I will not," he gasps.

You love this look on him. He's been here for a week and he's all sunkissed and glowy. If you weren't spending the holidays at your parent's house, you'd have already jumped his bones.

"You'll go swimming with me, though?"

The backyard is full of your family members. Cousins running around with sticky, red iceblocks in their hands - your aunty's chasing them in turn, with wet paper towels. They're loud. Really loud and they really love Remus.

You're not surprised, he's perfect. You think they might love him more than you do. Impossible, obviously. But your dad had sat down with him in the lounge room and seemed genuinely interested in whatever Remus was telling him about his work. Your father has never read a book in his life, but for your boyfriend, he'll listen to him ramble about writing processes and workshops. In turn, your dad will force him to watch the boxing day cricket match tomorrow because Australia's playing England, so Remus must know a thing or two about cricket test matches.

"I told your mum I'd help her with the desserts," he leans over to kiss you on the cheek. His lips a burning heat over your already warm skin. It feels nice.

"Then you'll come for a swim?" you ask hopefully, lips pouting. You know he will, he'll do pretty much anything to make you happy. Sometimes you despise him for it in a totally loving girlfriend type of way. He's already in his swimming trunks. His legs looking fucking lovely.

He gets up from his seat at your outdoor table and it scrapes along your deck, "I'll be 20 minutes," he says with one more kiss. Quicker than the last but still as fond. You think maybe, even more, when he presses his fingers into your scorched skin.

You let him and your mum dish up trifles and a pavlova that always seems to be bigger than the year before. Remus says something really stupid and it makes your mum laugh. A full-on, hearty chuckle that is usually only produced at the cost of your own father. You smile all the way to your room.

Once in your swimmers, a set that you know Remus loves, modest enough in your own backyard, surrounded by your own family, but enough that you'll expect to be stuck to your boyfriend's side for the rest of the day. You walk back out to your backyard to find him in the middle of your lawn.

A cousin wrapped around his leg, another climbing their way up his torso. He's laughing, you're not sure how, because they both keep kneeing him in bruisable areas as they climb him like a jungle gym. Eventually, they pull him to the soft grass and it ends up in a sort of tickle-fight. It's more giggling than anything.

Your chest fills with as much warmth as you think it can allow without you feeling the urge to cry. Watching him get along with your family so well is more than you'd ever expected. He keeps surprising you and then he doesn't because he's Remus. Your boyfriend Remus, and he treats you with so much love and respect that you know that's just him. It's second nature to him and you'd expect nothing less for the people he knows you love also.

You know you're staring, you can't help it. Your cheeks ache with how wide you're smiling. Remus walks up to you once he's toddler free and pokes you in the cheek. You snap out of the little lovesick bubble you'd found yourself in.

"He's strong for four years old," Remus laughs, kissing you on the cheek again like he can't help it. You know he can't because you kiss him just as often.

"My aunty thinks he'll be good at rugby," you giggle.

"Or wrestling."

You lean in to wrap your arms around his waist, he doesn't let you. You startle, confused.

"I've never seen this before," Remus can be smug when he wants to be, sliding a finger under the strap of your swimmers, snapping the tight material against your skin.

"Yes, you have." You go too shy under his loving gaze. His eyes droopy but still full of mirth. You can feel a heat eat its way up your chest. If he makes fun of you for it, you'll be sure to blame it on the sun.

"Right," he runs the material between his fingers, distracted.

"Remus, stop it," you mumble. Completely melted.

"Stop what?" Still smug.

"Just take your shirt off, please. I wanna go for a swim."

Remus doesn't have to be asked twice. He takes his white button-up off, a gift from your family, and you try to ignore the feeling you suddenly have to stare more than would be acceptable in your setting. You also ignore the wolf whistle your uncle let's out.

Remus genuinely blushes.

"I think my family really likes you," you tell him, tracing a scar in the hinge of his elbow.

"I'm really happy they do," Remus pulls the hair tie from your wrist, moving to tie your back from your face. His fingers tickle your neck and you shiver despite the temperature. Remus grins. "I didn't just spend fifteen minutes decorating a Pavlov for no reason."

You snort. "Pavlova."

"Hmm?"

"It's a pavlova."

"Right..." he chuckles.

"Pavlov was the guy with the dog theory."

It's Remus's turn to snort. "Dog theory."

"Yeah."

He traces a knuckle down your cheek, "You're adorable."

"Stop it."

"Really."

"Remus..."

"That's why I'm really sorry." He says. Suddenly serious.

"For what?" you ask. Also suddenly just as confused as he is stern.

He doesn't respond.

"For what, Remus?"

The squeal you let out when Remus throws you over his shoulder is loud and pretty, in his own opinion. That's why he has no problems when you tug at his hair to stable yourself. You're suddenly dizzy, blood rushing to your head. Remus feels worse when you giggle in his ear.

"Remus!" Your protests are broken up by peels of laughter.

"I said I'm sorry!" he laughs.

"Don't! I'm serious."

He jumps in the pool, pulling you under with him and you both come up, smiling like idiots. Your family roars with adored laughter and your smile widens.

You swim towards him where he's standing just before the deep end. His laughter dies down as you pull him down so the water's up to his neck.

"I hate you."

Remus lets you wrap your legs around his waist. Content with holding you up. "No, you don't."

"We're breaking up."

Remus gasps, "Don't tell your dad."

"I think he'd die," you giggle.

"I think I would too."

You press your face into his wet chest, "Don't die."

"Never," he sighs. He has zero problems with kissing you over chlorine-soaked hair.

Christmas in the summer is better, Remus thinks. But only if he gets to spend it with you.

#remus lupin #resmus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fan fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fanfiction #marauders #the marauders #marauderx reader #marauder fanfiction

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peach-and-bugs · 10 months

Note

Could you do an adult Van x reader with 10? Where the reader was in the crash and takes their niece to the video store nearby where she lives not knowing that Van works there.

🧡While You Were Streaming - Van Palmer x fem!Reader🧡

Fanfiction master list

disclaimer: don't repost my work. I only post on Tumblr and on Ao3. anything else is stolen and should be removed immediately

Summary: You're niece who's staying with you for a while convinces you to go into a store you haven't visited before in town only for you to meet a familiar face

Warnings: mention of divorce

Word Count: 2,073

A/N: Hello Loves! I finally got another fic for Van finished! Ya'll seem to really love how I write her and that makes me extremely happy because I adore my tall ginger autistic butch lesbian so much! This was such a cute request to write because I adore writing about kids and I think this gave a taste of what Aunt Van is like. but that's all I've got for right now! As always, feel free to leave questions or comments in my comments or ask box, and happy reading! 🧡

Vanessa "Van" Palmer Tag List: @blairfox04 @kyleeservopoulos

Yellowjackets Tag List: @frasersgf @minimickzy @damagnificentcookie

General Tag List: @summergeezburr

-🧡-

You loved your eight-year-old niece. You truly did, and noone could get you to say otherwise. But after this long weekend of her staying over, you felt like you were at your wits' end, but in no way was it her fault. Your sister was going through a messy split with her husband and had passed their daughter off to you so she didn’t need to be around listening and watching everything happen. But this meant you had to care for and occupy your niece on top of working from home and you’d both started to develop a bit of cabin fever. So, you'd gone on a walk together under your big umbrella due to the sprinkling of rain coming down.

You’re niece, Addy, was excitedly running ahead on the sidewalk, jumping into puddles and soaking her sneakers with the biggest smile on her face. You couldn’t help but smile yourself. Her mood had been very up and down these last few days due to everything going on at home. It was good to see her smile.

“Hey! Auntie y/n! What’s that store?” Addy yelled. She’d run up ahead and stood at the corner of the street, pointing to a standalone shop in town. You squinted, readjusting the umbrella that obstructed your view of the shop as you caught up to her. She waited patiently as you read the sign across the street.

“While You Were Streaming” you read out loud, a tone of consideration in your voice.

“What kind of store is it?” Addy asked as she took your hand.

“Pretty sure it's a video store,”

“What’s a video store?” She looked up at you with a funny furrow on her brow. Addy was young enough that she’s probably never seen a vhs tape in her life.

“When your mom and I were growing up we didn’t have tv like you do. If we wanted to watch a movie, we had to borrow it from the library or a video store,” you tried your best to explain. Addy stared at the store from across thoughtfully, like she was trying to wrap her little head around the whole idea.

“Can we go in?” She didn’t look up at you when she asked. You couldn't help but smile, trying to suppress a small chuckle.

“I dunno how interested you’d be, hun,” She looked up at you with a confident look that also seemed mildly offended.

“Please,” She began to pout and there was no way you could tell her no now. You smiled and nodded, pushing the button for the crosswalk beside you.

“We’ll do whatever you like, baby,” You felt Addy excitedly squeeze at your hand and start to tug at you to walk when the crosswalk turned on and no cars were coming. Her little feet splashed on the concrete of the street as you hustled to follow her. She began to bounce up and down as you approached the store, waiting as patiently as she could for you to shut your umbrella so she could run inside.

Upon entering the store there was a jingle of a bell on the door and you felt like you’d been thrust back to your senior year of high school in ‘96. The walls were lined with mounted records, VHS tapes, and other vintage memorabilia. Noone was in the main room, though they were open, so you decided to stay close to Addy till someone did show up, not wanting them to be alarmed by an eight-year-old running a muck through their store. Addy stood still for a moment, looking around the shop with mesmerized eyes.

“Wow! This is so cool!” she gushed before a shelf of vintage toys caught her eye. “Oh, look at this auntie!” she squeaked, pressing her fingers to the glass as she pointed to an old strawberry shortcake doll. You chuckled and followed her, leaning down to her level to look into the case.

“Yeah, I had one just like it growing up,” you murmured.

“Really?” you nodded.

“She smelled like strawberries,” Addy whispered with mesmerized eyes, turning back to the doll. You heard a rustling sound in what you assumed was the back and stood up fully, but stayed at Addy’s side. After a minute there was some loud bumbling in the back till a figure emerged with a large box in hand with another box stacked on top. They were on the other side of the room, clearly attempting to move the boxes through the crowded shop with little success.

“Need a hand?” you offered as they stumbled a bit. You could see them try and catch a look at you from behind the box before letting go of a sigh.

“Um, yeah. I could I think,” you patted Addy’s shoulder, silently letting her know to stay put before moving to take the second from who you could only assume was the store owner.

“Where do you want it?” you asked while taking the box.

“Just over by the register is fine,” you'd already started to turn away from them as they spoke, so you missed their face. You carried the box to the register as instructed and placed it on the floor. They followed and did the same and it wasn’t till you stood back up, brushing loose hair from your eyes that you froze. “Holy shit,” the redhead said, running a hand through her hair as she looked you up and down.

“Van?” you could barely make out her name from surprise. She looked too different. So much older.

“Yeah, in the flesh,” she wet her lip and gave you a familiar stupid grin that had you chuckling. She stepped forward and offered her arms open. You tentatively moved forward and hugged her. She still hugged the same. “Damn, how long has it been?” she asked, her hands resting comfortably on your biceps as you moved back from the hug. You felt yourself grow shy under her eyes.

“Probably about 25 years,” you scoffed, running your fingers behind your ear as she moved her hands to her hips with a nod.

“So, how've you been? What are you doing here?” she moved behind the register and leaned down, pulling tapes out of the boxes you'd helped move.

“I moved into a place just outside of town a couple months ago now,” She smiled, stopping what she was doing and leaning casually against the counter with a tilt of her head.

“Huh, small world, it’s it,” You shrugged and nodded your head, lips parted to continue talking till a small force shoved into your side.

“y/n look at this!” Addy ran up to you again with a book in her hands. It looked like an encyclopedia of old toys maybe. You smiled, running your hand over her hair.

“That’s very cool, baby,”

“They’re are a tone of other ones too! Can I keep looking?” she asked with a big smile. She excitedly scampered away and you turned back to Van who has a surprised expression.

“You had a kid?” she had a wicked smile on her face as she asked, as though the thought of you as a mother was bewildering. You scrunched your nose and rolled your eyes, walking closer to the counter.

“Oh, please. When have I ever come across as a person that takes any interest in children to you?" Van’s eyes sparkled with familiarity.

“I can’t believe you remember that,” she chuckled, recalling the time back when you were teenagers and you were telling her all about being forced to watch your little cousins at an old family reunion.

“My mind’s a steel trap,” you quipped, turning to check on Addy, who was flipping through another book. “But no, she’s my sister's kid. She’s staying over for the weekend,”

“That’s gotta be fun,” Van said, continuing the conversation as she organized her tapes. You leaned on the counter with crossed arms and sighed.

“It is, but I wish it was under better circumstances,” Van’s eyes traced over you, inviting you to keep going. “My sister’s stuck in this messy divorce. She didn’t want Addy seeing it if it got ugly,” Van hummed in understanding and her lips flickered into a frown. Just then Addy ran up again with something new in her hand.

“Auntie! Look at this,” she proudly held up an old wonder woman comic book wrapped in plastic in her hands. “It’s just like the ones daddy has!” she squealed. Van smiled, leaning across the counter with crossed arms.

“You a wonder woman fan?” she asked. Addy paused, getting nervous till you ran your hand across her back and smiled down at her.

“Addy, this is my friend, Vanessa,” Your niece perked up realizing Van wasn’t actually a stranger and she grinned again.

“Yeah! Daddy showed me her movie and it was awesome!” Van chuckled, her eyes darting up to you and then back to Addy.

“She was one of my favorite heroes growing up too,”

“You wanna get that, baby?” you asked Addy, patting her back.

“Really? Can I?” You smiled, nodding as you gestured for her to hand you the comic. She instead slid it onto the counter towards Van, but before ringing you up, Van held up a finger, asking you to wait a moment while she slipped into the back. She returned quickly with another comic in hand. She started ringing you up, but she didn’t scan the second comic she’d grabbed. She bagged everything, pausing with the second comic in hand, and smiled at Addy, giving her a wink.

“On the house,” she murmured, adding the comic to the bag. You gave her your card, finishing up the purchase. Van additionally nudged a bowl of candy next to the register toward Addy. Your niece looked up at you and you gave her a nod letting her know it was ok. She grabbed a lollypop and snatched the bag from your hand.

“Addy, wait for me,” You called after her as she pushed the door to the shop open, making the bell ring again.

“Can I sit on the bench?” she pointed to a bench sitting right in front of the shop's window.

“Alright, but don’t move,” She nodded and rushed outside, letting the door ring the bell again as it shut. You turned your attention back to Van. “thanks for that. It was very nice,” you nodded your head in the direction Addy had run out. Van shrugged, leaning on the counter behind her with crossed arms.

“It’s no problem. Sometimes I’d rather give something away to someone who’ll love it rather than someone who’s gonna stuff it in a box,” She paused, eyes training on you, studying you with a hard, yet warm intensity. “It’s really nice seeing you,” she finally said. Her eyes darted up your face, meeting your eyes again. You weren’t sure what part of you she’d fixated on prior, but you couldn’t mind it.

“I could always see you again…” you dared, speaking on impulse rather than thought. The redhead’s smile flickered and without a word, she reached for something tucked behind her register. She brought out a Post-it note and a pen and started scribbling, then she handed the note to you. In her chicken scratch handwriting, you read what you had to assume was her number.

“Don’t leave me hanging,” she smiled as she spoke, but there was a shyness to her words, as though despite the bold confidence she always carried, she was nervous you wouldn’t reciprocate. You held the note in your hands and had to stifle your grin.

“Have I ever?” You managed to quip back. Van’s smile relaxed and she shook her head with a warm laugh that you’d almost forgotten.

“No. No, you haven’t,” You were forced to say your goodbye's after that, reassuring Van you would indeed call. Addy sat politely on the bench, lollypop stick poking out of her mouth as she kicked her legs which dangled off the edge of the bench. She looked your way as she heard the door bell ring ans stood, reaching out to take your hand. the ran had stopped so you no longer needed your umbrella.

"Did you miss your friend, Auntie?" she asked you as you crossed the street. you stayed quiet for a beat, fingers still clutching the post it, now tucked away in your pocket.

"yeah, I did miss her,"

#◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ kay's at it again♡#yellowjackets #yellowjackets fanfic #yellowjackets x reader #vanessa palmer #vanessa palmer x reader #van palmer #van palmer x reader

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lightbarebunnies · 3 months

Note

requesting nazuna with an s/o he met at university who always tried to do things with him despite his busy schedule!!! could be hcs or whatever u want :3

a/n: bnuuy!!!! Partially basing this off of my own experiences in college. Personally? Do not go to school if you're trying to do an art-related career and already know the basics. Spend your time networking instead of going into debt to learn color theory. Sincerely, - an Interactive Media Design major tags: fluff, gn!reader - you/your pronouns, reader is a student in university (age and major not specified)

Nazuna wasn’t expecting to meet ‘someone’ at University… but lo and behold, he catches himself getting excited about going to the class he was blessed to share with you every week.

It all started when you ended up sitting next to him in one of his Gen Eds. A few weeks in, you noticed the mobile game he was playing, and it turned out you played too! Your friendship blossomed from there.

At first, you just chatted during class, discussing your favorite characters from the gacha game you both played.

You didn't seem to know too much about his idol career, or at least didn't make a big deal out of it, which was really refreshing. You started meeting up to get lunch before class, then walking in together.

As great as it was to spend more and more time with you... Nazuna wanted to see you more than just one time a week.

So he'd invite you over to his dorm under the excuse of 'studying', and eventually he got more comfortable just asking you to hang out whenever he was free.

He was the one to insist on getting your schedules for the future semesters figured out so that you’d share at least one class a week. Just so he can work on group projects with someone he knows is reliable- Y'know, since working with random people is a pain! That's all! Nothing more! (he is lying.)

The rest of Ra*bits were Nazuna’s cheerleaders when it came to him figuring out how to confess his feelings to you. He didn’t want to be too showy, or demanding… or just smother you with all of his feelings at once. He knows what it’s like to get out on a pedestal by the person who loves you.

He ended up waiting until after Valentine’s Day - Ra*bits had filmed a cooking show segment on making a few different chocolate flavored pastries, and he used those skills to prepare a little treat basket for you to give to you right before mid-terms.

In a note he included how appreciative he is on you and your constant support. He loves your company, is so grateful to have you as his friend, and wanted to let you know how he really feels. He’d accept your answer with no question.

To his delight, you felt similarly! After a quick talk about keeping your relationship secret from the media, you became a couple!

Of course, Nazuna’s lovely little rabbits all love you - once you were formally introduced. Some… more than others.

Hajime watches you like a hawk, and gave you the “If you make my Nii-chan upset, I’ll end you” look with a chilling smile on his face. You’re pretty sure he could crush you like a bug, but you don’t exactly plan on hurting the boy you love, anyways.

Oh, and Koppe… Nazuna melts watch you play and hold him. It’s two of his favorite things at the same time, and it really warms his heart to see that you get along so well with his precious baby. Koppe has started doing binkies when you come to visit him!

Study dates became a weekly occurrence, it gave the two of you private time to cuddle together while also being productive. Nazuna would apologize for not doing something more romantic, since he’s spread pretty think between his idol work and keeping up with homework.

You start getting snuck in to the green room whenever Ra*bits has a live performance, Nazuna always jumps right into your arms and gives you a kiss on the cheek when they’ve finished up. Seeing you there, knowing you saw him perform, and the fact that you’re such a big part of his life… it just excites him so much to have someone as supportive as you are, he doesn’t know what to do with himself sometimes.

#ensemble stars #enstars x reader #enstars #ensemble stars x reader #nazuna nito #nazuna x reader #nazuna nito x reader #ra*bits #ra*bits x reader #.hyacinth headcanons

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

Text

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

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You start to giggle at that, uncontrollably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, on the r-roof,” you get out.

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

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

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

“Not that fuckin’ busy!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You open your mouth to argue.

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

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

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

Circle G Ranch, February 1967

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jack? Is that you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking Red.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then his fist brutally collides with your face.

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

A stunned silence falls over the group.

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

Everything explodes at once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do not go to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t care.

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

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

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

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

Oh, god.

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

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

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