#anyways hopefully y'all will not stop thinking about it too

[reroseshi]

This is just crack but i cannot stop thinking about it

Since Achroite is basically Sweden and they make good furniture Matthias def owns an Ikea

[desireangel]

Dark Cherry [3] | Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: MDNI 18+!! smut, angst!!!!!!, unedited, infidelity, revenge cheating, oral (m receiving), kinda slightttt dub con if you squint w/ Aegon x reader, Aemond is frustrating, so is reader tbh, slight deviation from canon? again, if you squint, soft!aemond if you also squint. But also---angry Aemond (rahhhhhh), tell me if I've missed any warnings!

Author's note: my APOLOGIES on the wait, y'all. Hopefully this scratches an itch!! it's 11PM here, which is the earliest I've ever posted a fic funnily enough. I also reallyyyyy appreciate the love on this series so far!!! Love you all. As always, please don't hesitate to comment or to interact or hmu in my inbox w/ me bc I LOVE yapping with you guys. Send in feedback or criticism (but like I'll cry if it's super mean) or some headcannons!! or even your best dad joke. Anyways, xoxo kisses!!! <3

Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen was an intelligent man. Yet for some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been acting as the realm’s largest imbecile. 

Time and time again, Aemond had let his ego and his pride run ahead of his brain, and had failed to think of the effect that his actions had on people other than himself. Sure, he cared for those who were important to him. His sister, his mother, his grandfather, Ser Cole, Aegon (although Aemond may not have realised it) and even to some extent his wife. 

He realised, perhaps too late, that you may as well be a stranger to him. And at one point, Aemond had truly believed that keeping whatever unlucky woman he was to wed at arms length would be for the best. 

The first time he met you was insignificant. It was as per tradition and formality. Aemond’s interactions up until the wedding was mainly with your family, despite the efforts you made to acquaint yourself with him properly. You were much more timid then, shyer than Aemond had expected from the to-be wife of a weaponised prince. But then again, he had only assumed that a Lady like his mother would have been chosen for him; confident, cunning and strong-headed. 

At the time he had begun to understand you better, Aemond had lost track of himself. A sort of descent into darkness where he went from a young prince to a man, eager to prove himself at whatever cost. Satisfied by the control he gained through fear, strength and reputation. Now that he had stopped to think about his marriage, after you had left him hard and desperate in his own bed, Aemond came to realise a few things. 

You were a purity among the wickedness and politics of the Red Keep. An inherently good person and a woman of grace, kindness and compassion. He had already noticed the dwindling of those traits brought on by your new life, confined to the walls of a fortress that was littered with deceit, distrust and gore. Aemond was a far darker entity than you–he had accepted this fact after the first true conversation you shared. 

Corrupting you was both tempting and terrifying. Aemond had always been loveless–deprived of the affection he craved and deserved but also clueless about how to give that affection. And while he wished he could learn how to right himself and how to quell the carelessness of his temperament and the destruction that was left in its wake, Aemond didn’t know how to. 

Perhaps it would come naturally. He was a lot more open to that notion now, despite the fact that most of him was convinced he was incapable of such change. 

Aemond regretted–something he didn’t feel often–how he had pushed you away. Even if he had not intended to. 

Because now, he was starting to see you as you were. A woman who had far more of an influence over his emotions than he realised–a woman who he had begun to crave the affections of in such an intensity that it only served to scare him away from you. At one stage, you had been another stranger among the walls of his home bound to him in nothing but title but, at some point throughout this ridiculous game that he had stupidly encouraged, Aemond had started to see you as his wife. 

The whore that he had let into his bed was not actually a whore. It was a woman Aemond had known–a witch whom he had shared the pleasures of his body with before the two of you had wed. Alys was always eager for him and once, he would have returned it with his own enthusiasm. Not anymore. She was simply an easier option. A whore would never sully the sanctity of his chambers. It wouldn’t have made a difference if he had been honest and told you that Alys was not from the Street of Silk. 

To anyone who came asking, including you, Aemond would first admit to taking a whore into his bed than a lowly witch.

He cursed himself for letting his honour fall so short that this is what it took for him to wake up. For him to have tainted his loyalty to you, to have let a woman whom he could barely get it up for shatter the confines of his marriage, for him to have been left unwound with a hard cock, his hand and only the scent of you on his thigh to release the tension that was driving him mad. 

Aemond wished he hadn’t been so short sighted. He would subject himself to whatever punishment he deserved should it be the burn of a whip against his back or the sickening ache of starvation if you were to demand it. 

All of a sudden, in the days that had passed since your encounter on his bed, Aemond found himself looking for you throughout his day. He hoped you’d cross each other in the halls, cursed the world for keeping him too busy to spend an afternoon with you in the gardens, sworn at the war that was raging for binding him to his duties and keeping you apart. 

So at the first opportunity he had to take time for himself and for the first time in your short marriage, Aemond had called upon you to join him for afternoon tea.You stared at the young servant who had been sent to retrieve you, half wondering if you had heard the boy incorrectly. Had he called you simply one moon ago, you would have dropped everything you were doing to meet your husband for tea with a grin and a skip in your step at the prospect of finally spending time with him on his own accord. 

But now? It both excited you and infuriated you. 

You gave the boy a soft smile, holding your reserve together when his face dropped at your refusal. “You may tell my husband that I am otherwise attended to for my tea.”

It wasn’t a lie. You had important plans for the afternoon with the other Targaryen son. 

The servant stood still for a moment. “Yes, my Lady.”

“The rest of my afternoon is already engaged with the King,” you purposefully added, a mixture of adrenaline and excitement beginning to simmer in your belly. “Tell him I will take tea with him another time.”

You were walking away from your chambers before the servant had turned to leave. A part of you felt bad for him. Anyone would be wary of delivering rejection to a prince. It felt as if you were sending him to his death in a way, knowing that the seemingly innocent excuse was balancing on a wire that was already frayed. If the young servant had known of your sly plan for revenge, he would have spoiled his breeches. 

There was a chance Aemond would catch on straight away. There was a chance that he would take a little longer. 

Either way, so long as he caught on, everything would unfold in your favor.

Aegon had been waiting for you, a mischievous smile on his lips at the sight of you eagerly rushing towards him. He was an immature and distracted King, and he was definitely not without his flaws, but he had never been bad to you. Sometimes, you even appreciated Aegon’s efforts to involve you in conversation or to pull a smile out of you when you had clearly been distressed. Nonetheless, he was still an infuriating cad and you had often considered giving in to violent urges at the way he treated Helaena. 

Helaena. 

A stab of guilt in your gut at the thought of her. Sure, she had confided in you on numerous occasions and you knew she felt little care for Aegon’s outwards ventures with women but you knew she was saddened by the state of her marriage. And here you were, as wretched as the whore that Aemond had bedded. It was no different; you were doing the same thing as her. Only it wasn’t your job; you weren’t doing it for the money. 

The satisfaction of bringing Aemond down to the same level he had brought you to was all the motivation you needed. It would be treading a thin line but it would be worth it. 

“I had wondered how long it would take you to find yourself in my chambers, Princess,” Aegon’s voice held that boyish shrill he had never grown out of. The way he had stepped aside to let you pass, eyes holding yours through his lashes as he dipped his head with a grin. “For a cup of tea, of course.”

Comparing Aegon’s chambers to Aemond’s was instinctual. It was brighter here, messier and there was an unkempt feel to the furniture despite the servant’s having kept things relatively put together. A King’s chambers, it was; grand and large and adorned with all sorts of artistry. Aemond’s chambers had held a darker tone; presumably because Aemond was sensitive to light on his blind eye and somehow even the glow of light from the lamps were deeper and warmer. 

You liked Aemond’s chambers better. 

“It has been overdue, Your Grace,” you weren’t sure of that. “Thank you for indulging me this afternoon. I wager a King such as yourself is no short of duties to tend to.” 

Aegon scoffed, pouring himself a cup of wine as he watched you take a seat at the small settee from the corner of his eye. “My family seems to be taking care of my duties on my behalf. I am a king in nought but title, you see.”

There was nothing you could say at his unbridled honesty. Aegon was different to most of the people who presided here in that way. He cared little to hide behind a facade of false indifference and stoicism. 

He fell to the cushion beside you, close enough so you could smell the drink he balanced in his hand. Aegon laid back lazily, resting on his elbows and watching you as you sat pin-straight and brought the piping tea to your lips. “‘Tis not a concern. I would much prefer to have more comely company than those clueless cunts who sit on my counsel.”

“I do not doubt that, Your Grace,” you coughed lightly, growing alarmingly aware of the fact that you hadn’t thought about how this was going to play out. There was absolutely nothing that you knew about seducing a king. No less, a king with Aegon’s track record. “I beli-”

“You have been different,” He cut you off. Swiftly pushing himself up so that his face was beside yours, breath tickling the strands of your hair that had fallen loose across your cheek. Aegon’s lips were gently turned up as his eyes traced every curve of your face. 

Swallowing thickly, you will yourself to meet his eye with confidence. The curiosity in his familiar violet eyes was paired with an immature lust and you wondered if he had any idea how easy it could be to use his forward thinking cock against him were you a woman of cunning ambitions. You didn’t miss how his gaze flickered across your throat and towards the curve of your chest. 

But something in the way that Aegon looked at you in that moment, like you were a woman of such beauty that he would risk whatever consequences were sent his way just to feel your touch sent a slither of saddened longing across your chest. Not even your husband had made you feel as if you were so captivating. 

It made the knowledge of how ever long you’d be alone with him far easier to stomach.

“I do not know of what you mean, Your Grace.”

Aegon laughed, bringing his face so close to yours that the point of his nose touched against your cheek. His hand fell to rest flat just above your belly, brazenly close to where your dress tucked underneath the curve of your breasts. 

“I know well when a Lady is not…” he dragged his nose across your soft skin, eyes carefully watching your reaction. “Sufficiently satisfied by her husband.”

Your breath hitched at how quickly Aegon had set his target. “If you mean to-”

“Does my dear brother forego his duties for the comfort of whores, perhaps?”

Pursing your lips, you gently turned your face so that your lips were centimetres away from his, Aegon’s fringe brushing across your forehead. There was a ringing in your ears, a nervousness about how you were so close to betraying your husband and how you were unsure that you could handle the fallout of what was definitely about to happen. Things are much different for women; infidelity and adultery would be grounds for far worse than simply an annulment. This world was not so kind to a lady who partakes in the same treachery as a lord.

Above all, you were conflicted.

“It seems my husband is no different to any other man who does not hunger for his wife.”

“I hunger for his wife,” Aegon all but moaned at the way your lips nudged closer to his. He cocked his head to the side and pressed his fingers into your flesh. “But I am no fool, my Lady. Aemond has always been the sole object of your gaze. You are here for more sinister reasons, I suspect.”

You blinked. Why did these Targaryen princes so often seem to be one step ahead?

It was a relief that he had not moved away from your closeness. In fact, Aegon leaned further into it. His smile never faltered and he waited patiently for you, watching as you thought of your next moves. There was a flush of embarrassment that prettied your skin and it was clear that your facade was close to crumbling. Aegon was not a man you desired in such a way. Merely a means to an end. 

So you sighed, resigning to the fact that being honest with Aegon would be best. 

“You are right,” you muttered. He shook with a silent laugh at your bravery and the way your chin remained turned up. “I-I believe you are aware of my intentions, Your Grace. Will you have me dragged back to Prince Aemond’s feet or will you allow my scheme?”

Aegon was in front of you in a matter of seconds, bending down so that he met your height as you stayed seated. “I would risk meeting the wrath of a man whose temperament and pride are unchained.”

“Teach me how to make it worth it then, my King,” you held strong in forcing the tremble out of your voice. You didn’t want to bed him entirely–absolutely not. Just what you had seen through the gap in Aemond’s door would be more than enough and there was a bubbling gratification in your stomach knowing that Aemond would not be able handle what he had so easily served out. 

His hand held the back of your neck and he jerked forward to catch your lips, grunting when you turned your head from him. You couldn’t kiss him. You weren’t interested in kissing him–only fulfilling the steady thrum of excitement at the need to both experience what you had been teased with and show your husband that he should be sorry. 

In fact, and you were loathsome to even rationalise it, you felt sick at the thought of kissing him. And you felt a little drop in your gut at the thought of taking him in any kind of way but it was different. Less frightening than kissing a man you were trying so hard to convince yourself was sexy enough.

There was no man for your body’s desires aside from Aemond Targaryen-–

A deep breath and you looked at Aegon through your lashes, bringing your fingers to feel the softness of his lips. “I do not want you to fuck me, Your Grace. But show me how I may give you pleasure with my mouth. And how a man can satisfy me with his.”

Aegon became excited at your use of such foul language, his hand remaining behind your neck as he straightened and guided you roughly to his hips, groaning as your hands instinctively found his thighs and moved upwards. He was painfully hard in his breeches–he had been since the first moment you looked at him with that stubborn intent and purpose. 

There was a strong urge to push him away but you fought through it. 

“I am sure your husband is already searching for his brazen little vixen,” Aegon watched as you breathed heavily, your chest heaving and your soft breasts pressing against the tightly laced corset of your dress. “And I am sure you wish for him to find us. Very cunning of you, I must say.” 

His touch didn’t pull that feeling from you. The feeling of Aemond’s touch that had made you feel as if you were floating in lava and drowning in a molten heat that could only be quelled by him. But it made your blood rush down, growing sensitive between your thighs at the prospect of pleasuring a man who openly lusted for you and had no care for hiding it. 

Aegon didn’t care for games that shattered your self-worth. He didn’t care to make you feel lesser than a whore for your curiosity of how it felt to have a man tremble from your mouth. All he wanted was to feed his appetite for you–the beautiful Lady who he had envied his brother for having to himself.

“I want to learn how to do it,” you whispered, melting into Aegon’s guidance as he hastily fiddled with the embellishments on his tunic to undo half of it and push the velvet fabric out of the way. The laced belt at his waist was discarded in seconds and you took little time to pull him out of the confines of his breeches. “So I can–so I can show him.”

There was a certain light headed nervousness that you felt when you realised that you don’t actually know how to do what you wished to. It seemed easy enough when you watched how that woman had given Aemond her mouth but now that you were faced with trying it out yourself, you worried how you would fare. Aegon triggered a natural response from you, one that you had learned was instinctual of human bodies, but you just could not find him desirable. 

Momentarily, you doubted you could find it in you to disregard your aversion to the King. An aversion that suddenly became more pressing an issue than it was merely seconds ago.

Aegon must have noticed your apprehension because he guided you forward, the hardened length of his cock brushing against your face. He was breathing heavily when he spoke. “Lick it. Use your tongue first and then-fuck, that’s right-” you hesitantly followed his instructions, dragging the tip of your tongue across the sides of him, gentle flicks down to the base and then a long stripe up to the top. It was an invigorating thrill when you felt him throb against your mouth. His hips jerked when you hesitantly wrapped your lips around him. 

It was slightly uncomfortable but it was not a bad feeling. Aegon tasted musky and salty, and a little bit sweaty. You took a moment to find the best way to stop your teeth from grazing against him and started to move along him, watching as he threw his head back, eyes shut tightly. 

The image of your husband stayed ingrained in your head. Would Aemond taste the same? Would he feel the same on your tongue? Would his cock react to you in such a way? Would you enjoy taking him in your mouth more than whatever this was?

Shamefully or not, you let yourself pretend that Aegon was not the man standing above you. That it was Aemond instead, enjoying what you were keen to give him and praising you for being so eager to taste him. 

You wished so hard that it was Aemond instead, that for a moment, when you gazed upwards it was him looking down at you with his hair falling perfectly and his eyepatch discarded. Alas, it was King Aegon, who revelled in staring at you with an amusement coupled with bliss that only felt belittling. 

It did set your body into a light rush of arousal but you couldn’t stop the doubts that flooded your mind. Were you dishonouring the sanctity of your body out of spite? Were you betraying the man you almost loved just to have a jab at him? Guilty tickles grew in your ribcage but you distracted yourself from it, focusing on the way that Aegon steered your movements. 

“Shit,” he hissed. Aegon’s hand found the back of your head and he adjusted your pace how he preferred. “Use your hand. What doesn’t fit–hold it.”

It became slightly easier once you found your rhythm, following each instruction that Aegon gave, drinking in the way his thigh trembled under your hand that rested against it, holding yourself stable as you hollowed your cheeks. Whatever you did, it almost came naturally and Aegon seemed to be enjoying it far more than you had expected. 

But it quickly became too much–Aegon started thrusting in a way that didn’t match your movements and you gagged, eyes burning at the ache of him hitting the top of your throat. You made a noise, pulling off and gasping for air, whining as he tugged your mouth back to him and chuckling. Lungs burning, you tried to meet whatever pace Aegon was moving at in an attempt to make things more comfortable. 

You reminded yourself of why you were here. The image of Aemond, head thrown back and groans slipping past his lips as he let that woman take him in his mouth. The image of Aemond, head buried between her legs, the skin on his chin glistening as he smirked at you while pleasure another woman. 

The feeling when your courtly acquaintances who you once thought of as friends would slyly belittle you for failing to give your husband an heir, belittling you because word of his infidelity had reached their gossiping mouths, belittling you because the Prince who they loathed you for having was hardly yours after all. The looks that they had given you, the way that they snickered and sneered at your failures as his wife. Whispers you had overheard from Lords alike; that for such a pretty thing, you must have been dreadfully dull in the ways of pleasure if Prince Aemond of all men had resorted to whores. 

That was how they all saw you; a failure. Because it was never a man’s fault but always his wife’s. 

You loathe to think that Aemond harboured the same thoughts. But you would show him how mistaken he was and make him feel what you had felt so that he would regret it all. 

“Fuck-” Aegon let out a drawn out groan as he pushed your head down, pushing himself as far down your throat as he could. You struggled to breath and you gagged twice but let him move you as he pleased, a satisfactory moan vibrating against his sensitive skin when he threw his head back and grumbled about spilling himself down your throat. 

It was a chaotic moment. 

The protest of the kingsguard through the wall and the bang of the door slamming open and you didn’t even need to turn and look. Aemond was seething, barely given the chance to put the pieces together before Aegon simultaneously groaned and laughed, the salty taste of his seed gliding past a sensitive part of your throat and pulling another gag from you as you yanked yourself away from Aegon. 

Everything seemed to pause for a moment. And despite the obnoxious laughter coming from the King as he tucked himself back into his breeches, the heavy breathing of your husband and your gasps for air, everything felt silent. 

Your blood ran hot at the way Aemond looked between you and Aegon. Nonetheless you met his eye, holding your chin up and wiping a bead of Aegon’s peak from your lip. 

It felt good. Watching as Aemond forced himself back into his stoic resolve; only bothering to subdue the way his eye filled with the same betrayal you still felt in your gut at the thought of the whore who had been on her knees for him in an almost identical way. 

Stoicism and slow, simmering, silent rage. 

The air around you turned hot enough to light a candle. Aemond’s presence alone had proven to be enough to send you spiralling from the heat he encased you in whenever he was in the same room but this? You were choking, sick to your stomach and doing your best to keep your knees from buckling at his intensity. 

Aemond heard Aegon ramble out some hideous insult, watched how you frowned at him and heard the echoes of his cackle. But the ringing in his ears overwhelmed it all and he had no clue what his brother had taunted him with before his fist met Aegon’s cheek with a loud crack.

He didn’t bother sparing his brother a second glance. Aemond was stood in front of you and despite his obvious anger, he pulled you up from where you were seated with a gentleness which had your mind reeling. 

There was a threat hidden in his voice. “Come with me. Now.”

Perhaps you had made a mistake. The gentle fury in Aemond was terrifying and even though you knew he would never raise a hand at you the way he thoughtlessly did at Aegon, there were so many ways that a Prince could ruin you. 

You felt a pit of regret now that it was over and the curtain of lust had lifted. It was easy to see how simple it is to get lost in the touch of another but it was easier to see how simple it is to avoid it. 

There was satisfaction. And you felt it simultaneously with the adrenaline of being caught and the doubts of your actions. Princes and Princesses and Kings and Queens were so unaware of their hypocrisy until it was spat back into their faces. 

Aemond would never in a million years have understood what he was doing to you if you had just been a submissive little wife and forgiven him. But now? Now he would know. And now things would be balanced and your desire to hurt him as he had done you has been fulfilled. And now you could see how this marriage would really stand against such tests.

And now, you may finally know whether Aemond truly did not care for you. Because if Aemond did not care for you–or even in part; love you–then he would not be hurt and he would not be feeling such betrayal.

Right now, as Aemond silently walked you towards his chambers, hands fisted, jaw clenched tightly and his gaze fixed ahead, you were fearful of how things would fare. As strong as you wished for your resolve to stay, Aemond’s disappointment was showing you a new weakness. And his words, you knew, if they were used as weapons then you would stand little chance against them. There was a heavy weight against your lower back where his hand sat, pushing you gently so that you glided through the halls faster. 

It wasn’t a long journey back to Aemond’s quarters. But it felt like hours to the Prince, the nausea in his gut silencing him the entire way. He felt like a child again, presented with a pig instead of a dragon, the shrill laughs of his cousins and his brother striking him with flashes of humiliation. 

Again and again and again, Aegon would do whatever he could to see Aemond crumble. Aegon would always take Aemond’s dignity, his honour, his crown. And now he just had to take his wife? 

Aemond shut the doors to his chambers roughly and you were quick to put some distance between the two of you. There was a hollow ball of guilt and fear that caught in your throat but you couldn’t deny the elation at the mixture of emotions in Aemond’s eye as he turned to face you. 

It was a reflection of how you had felt upon finding Aemond in bed with another. He would finally understand. 

Only Aemond was worlds away from the damned arousal you had felt and instead it was replaced with a youthful dread, a panic that you had never seen from him before now. 

There was hardly a moment for you to register the harshness of Aemond’s grip on your bicep as he pulled you toward the bowl that was kept by his bath, filled with clean water and accompanied by a tray of freshening oils. He lightly shoved you toward it as he let you go, unfazed by the sound of shock that you could not hold back. 

“Wash your mouth,” he spat. Although your back was to him, you could feel how he suppressed the extent of his rage as he was ever so good at doing. “And then we will talk.”

You bit your tongue and did as he said, wincing at the ice in his words and the angry strain of his voice. There was a lot that you wanted to say, to scream at him. He was angry–and to some extent he had every right to be–but how could Aemond have expected you to be okay with something that he clearly could not take on the chin?

But the way he had held you, the tone of his voice and the harshness in his glare had you wondering if revenge was worth whatever comes next. Because, amongst the whirlwind of fear and guilt and regret was gratification and fulfilment. 

The prickle of Aemond’s glare had disappeared before you were ready to dry your mouth with a towel. Quiet as ever, he had snuck away and by the time you had realised, the sound of the door shutting and the click of the lock had notified you of his absence. 

Aemond had locked you in. When you had swiftly tried to push the doors open, unaware of where you would go and truthfully not intending to leave in the first place, it didn’t budge. And when you called for the kingsguard who stood at the other side of the door, you went unanswered aside from a curt reply that he had been ordered not to let you leave. 

So you had resigned yourself to sitting atop Aemond’s bed rather than the seating arrangements scattered around the rest of the quarters. It smelled strongly of lavender, leather and Aemond’s very own scent–the one that always had you on the verge of drooling. But it only sent your nerves into overdrive, afraid that the consequences of your vengefulness, no matter how satisfying it was initially, may be too dire to recover from. 

The thought of whatever Aemond had planned for Aegon was not nice. You were correct in assuming that your tryst with Aegon would only cut your husband deeper because it was Aegon. The depth of whatever issues these brothers shared was far beyond you but you had only assumed that all second born princes would be affected in such a way. And Targaryen’s were full of complexities, each believing that they were better than everyone. Even their own siblings. 

Aegon had known that his younger brother would become nothing short of murderous. But he had never been a man to avoid even the slightest of temptations. Both the idea of indulging in you and inflaming the ever unresponsive Aemond were far more than slightly tempting. It would be worth the bloodied nose, the split lip and the sick that he’d spewed over his shoes when Aemond had returned to grace him with an inhumanly strong hit to his balls. Somehow, Aemond had made that act of violence seem like child’s play with the threats that he had rained down upon Aegon. 

King Aegon, who simply did not know when to keep his mouth shut and had all but asked for it with the way he taunted Aemond with a sentence he never had the chance to complete. “Seeing as you cannot satisfy even your own wife-”

He wasn’t there long. Aemond’s angry mind was racing and he couldn’t think past the red of his rage. But Aemond still knew better than to stay where he would surely commit a treason he would regret. 

Whatever fury Aemond had unleashed upon Aegon in the short time he was away had seemed to calm him down. He was still clearly angry when he stepped back into his quarters but there was a far less frightening storm brewing in his eye. 

At his return, you had stood from the bed. The air was sucked right out of the room when Aemond stood right in front of you, so close that you could count the creases in the leather of his eyepatch. There was a tense silence in which he stared at you, waiting for you to fold but you only held your head high and met his gaze stubbornly. 

Minutes had passed before Aemond spoke. His voice was far softer than you had expected and he seemed to have settled down a bit as he dragged his knuckles across your cheek, only to grip your chin so that you could not look away from him. Aemond held you tightly but not tight enough that it hurt.

“Enough of this,” It was an order, stern and unrelenting. “No more. This was a step too far-”

You scoffed in his face. “A step too far? Had you not done the same thing?”

Aemond had never in his life apologised for anything. He never felt sorry. And he never wished to admit to his mistakes. But here he was, face to face with the effects of one of the biggest mistakes he had made. If there were anything he could have done aside from apologise, he would have done it. But it was the only thing that would ease the mess of guilt that had arisen inside of him. For what he had done with the whore and for everything he hadn’t done for your marriage. 

“It was a mistake. If I could undo it, I would,” I’m sorry. “This was childish of you. Vengefulness is unbecoming.”

There was a beastly disgust that Aemond felt when he thought of another man even looking at you. The image of Aegon’s cock in your mouth, his seed leaking from your lips made him want to burn the entire realm to ashes. Aemond’s eye trailed along your jaw, to your neck and then down past your stomach. Did Aegon touch you where only he was to touch you?

Fuck treason. Aemond would feed Aegon to Vhagar if he had indulged in your body. 

“It is more than vengeance. You would not have understood what I felt. How I suffered because of you and your whore,” you tried your best to keep your voice stable. The lump in your throat and the tears that blurred your vision forced you to pull out of Aemond’s grip and turn your back to him. “You promised me you would never do that. You dishonoured me. You insulted me. You hurt me–Aemond, do you have any idea the things that they say about me?”

Aemond frowned and you could not see how he reached for you, only to drop his hand back to his side. “I–”

“That I am a failure. That I am-that I am so repulsive and so dull that you cannot even lay with me to produce an heir,” you couldn’t help the sob that escaped you. “And I saw what she was doing to you, what you were doing to her. I could never even have imagined the existence of such an act that had given you so much pleasure-”

“There was no true pleasure with her.” Aemond mumbled. Pathetically. 

Pathetic was exactly the word. Aemond may have been good with a sword, in a fight, with his dragon and when strategizing wars. But he was a pathetic husband–a pathetic partner, a pathetic lover. And he had the urge to take out his good eye for being so mindless and so ignorant. 

Hindsight was his worst enemy, it seemed. Because in hindsight, Aemond would have done everything differently, right from the moment you were introduced to him.

“Lie. It was clear, Aemond. They are all right, are they not?” You felt him step into you, his warm chest against your back. Leather and lavender and him. “I have failed. My womb is still empty. The last time you visited my bed was moons ago. I know you do not love me, my Prince, but I have love for you. Men are not the only ones who need intimacies of the body–I needed that and you have never given me anything. Yet you gave it to her. I wished to hurt you as you had hurt me.”

There were no words that Aemond could find. So he settled for shaking his head and watching you as you sat yourself down on the edge of his bed, staring down at your hands on your lap. You were so wrong in your perception of him but he couldn’t find the words to explain that. But Aemond decided in that moment that he would show you, one way or another. He hesitated before sitting beside you. 

You couldn’t meet his eye if you tried. It was as if your body was telling you to stop talking, that these thoughts were too painful to share, feelings too abstract and tender to put into words. 

“It is wretched, I know–to have turned to Aegon,” you felt him tense beside you and against your better judgement, you placed a hand on his thigh in an attempt to give him some comfort. “I wished to hurt you but I also wished to learn. I thought maybe if I knew how to-how to do things that would make you feel good so that maybe you would feel for me as I have for you. Aegon said he could show me. It is ridiculous, I understand that now.”

Aemond took your hand in his, the heat of your skin against his was fierce for such an insignificant action. He hated that it was easier for you to turn to Aegon than it was to turn to him. “I could have shown you. I can show you so much more. If only we had been honest with each other from the beginning.”

“I thought you do not want me.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. It would be less painful to drive his own dagger through his heart. “I crave for you, my love. I was just too stubborn to admit it and too afraid of what it means. And I did not know how to show you how badly I burn for you.”

The sight of tears had never fazed him until they were yours. Aemond was not particularly pious, he prayed simply because his mother had raised him to pray, but he would be on his knees every hour of every day if it meant that he could take these feelings away from you. If it meant that he could take it all back and start over. 

“I am sorry. No more of this,” you said. “No more seeking out the touch of anyone else in place of each other.”

“I will be a better husband,” Aemond stated, as if he were telling it to himself as much as he was to you. “I will try for our marriage and our duty. And for you.”

“Your promises haven’t proven to mean much to me. All is not forgiven just because we have talked,” You sighed, but gave him a weak smile, turning to look at him. 

He gazed down at you with determination, his jaw tight and his eye glistening with tears that wouldn’t fall. There was no attempt to push you away when you reached up to take off the leather that covered his bad eye. You wanted to see him as he was, even if only for a moment.

Gods, he was beautiful. 

As you stood you forced your smile to turn lighthearted as you teased him through your heavy hearts. “Jealousy motivates you well, my Prince. I shall remember that.”

Aemond hummed, mostly serious as his hands tightly grabbed your hips. “Do not jest like that. I will not be able to look at Aegon without dreaming of murdering him for defiling you how only I should. I cannot afford such treasonous fantasies.”

There was a silent threat in his words. Nonetheless, you leaned down to his ear, gasping gently at the harshness of his fingers squeezing the flesh of your hips. Just his hands on your body alone set you alight. 

“Perhaps my husband should leave the door to his bedchambers open tonight,” you let out a small laugh at the way that he pulled you to straddle his lap so suddenly, gently nipping the skin of his earlobe. You weren’t quite done messing with him. 

“Is that so?” He smiled and you thought that it made him all the more beautiful. 

“Yes,” you smirked, when he groaned frustratedly at your next words, softly throwing you onto the bed. “I may wish to show you exactly what I have learned.”

[sinning-23]

Backseat Pillow Princess

Hey y'all! I like to call this game, "Guess what I saw and cant stop fucking thinking about?" Take this because I need them both carnally and I'm sure you do too!

Enjoy :D

Warnings: violence, blood, swearing, the reader is annoying and Logan pretends to hate it in a way that seems like he actually does, they should have fucked but uhhh they didn't, lots of tension, pt.2 coming soon hopefully?

PT.2 UP NOW

"Bae i love youuu, you my everythinggg~"

"Can she shut the fuck up"

"I'm your main bitchhhh, fuck a wedding ringggg~"

"Only if you ask her nicely,"

"Nah, I like when he's mean."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me"

The nonstop back-and-forth bickering had been going on for about 2 and a half hours now and the man the myth the legend, Wolverine was getting dangerously tired of it, unfortunately. Your shitty renditions of Sexyy Red matched with Deadpools incessant yapping was becoming too much to bear.

But little did he know, that was exactly your plan.

"Are we there yetttt" You whine from the backseat, sprawled out with your arm over your face.

It had been what felt like days (despite it only being a couple hours as previously mentioned) you'd been driving and the fact that you were in a small space filled with touch-starved testosterone(Wade and Logan) wasn't helping your case.

"If you shut up it'll go faster," Logan grumbles, Wade's chatting only worsening.

"No, it won't, you're just being mean! What's a sexy, super talented, immortal.. sorta, girl like myself supposed to do?" You whine again, an idea soon popping into your head.

If there was anything you loved more than seeing how far you could push this crotchety son of a bitch, it was stirring the pot.

Knowing the idiot riding passenger, a slip-up was inevitable and all it would take was the right pressure applied from yours truly.

"Hey Wade, wanna ask Wolvie what he's gonna do when he gets back? To his own timeline that is." You hum, resting your elbows on the middle console and your chin in your palms.

Ah yes, the fantasy your sick little brain conjured up was almost to fruition. All they needed were a few nudges and you'd all be at each other's throats with as much violent, sexual tension you could dream of.

"Yeah, what will you do if the TVA can fix your timeline?"

Bingo

You lean back, preparing for the absolute bloodbath that's bound to take place as the tension skyrockets.

Now up until this point, you'd be trying your damndest to get into Wolverine's pants, call it 'something you needed to scratch off your bucket list'. Anyway, from the "Mad Max"(as Wade put it) esque part of the void all the way here, you made your fair share of passes.

Unfortunately, all were shot down with a snark comment, the unsheathing of those gorgeous adamantium claws, or a growl...all of which only further fueled your desire. What could you say you liked a challenge?

"What did you say?"

You lean forward, making eye contact with Wade, his head shaking as if to say "No don't don't don't" but you were never good with social cues.

"He said 'IF' sweetheart." You retort, practically kicking your feet as the look in Logan's eyes grows wild, that growl barely bubbling in his throat as he and Wade converse back and forth.

"You shut the fuck up." He seethes, though directed at you his eyes stay focused on Wade.

You fight the urge to say 'make me" but you soon become quiet when Logan really starts to read your buddy in red. Oh, this fucker was definitely projecting...

"And you," He's got an accusatory, gloved finger pointing at the center of your face.

"You got some unresolved daddy issues or something? I don't know what hole or holes you're trying to fill but I can sure as shit tell you the harder you try to get under my skin the more it makes me wanna rip yours off that pretty-looking face." He growls, your heart practically beating out of your chest.

"Now I suggest each of you shut your goddamn mouths until we are where we need to be."

It's silent for a second again and you can feel the bridge about to break...anyyy second now.

"I'm gonna fight you now."

Three...

Logan chuckles, amused at the fact that Wade would even suggest he could getaway with something like that

Two..

And mid-sentence, Wade's fists make contact with Logan's nose.

One.

You scoot back, the car shaking as Wades head makes contact with hr car door and then the radio, each smack of his skull changing the station.

“Omg nooo don’t kill each other you’re both so hot and sexy and cool, nooo.” You yelp, your false concerned pleas falling on deaf ears.

And once the blood from each blow splatters against your face, you feel a bit opted to join in. Besides, he hurt your feelings, he deserved a little ass-kicking.

Question, when three seemingly frustrated and regenerative assholes get into a car fight with tensions, sexual or otherwise, that have been building for about 2 days now, what happens?

You slip past the pair of claws that just barely nick your side as you shove the driver's seat forward, effectively trapping Logan for a moment.

"You did this on purpose! You honry fuck!" Wade shouts, using his elbow to crack your skull and shoved you right back into your spot behind them before you can respond. Logan pushed the seat back again, now trapping you as his claws stabbed through the cushion, impalling you through the back of the seat.

"FUCK! This isn't how this was supposed to pan out in my head!" You yelp, gasping when the claws leave you feeling the worst kind of empty.

"I didn't even do anything he's the one that lied!" You seethe, using the heel of your boot to kick Wade's side in, the crack of bones bringing you much satisfaction.

"IT WAS AN EDUCATED WISH!" He defends, unloading about 3 bullets into your sternum before kicking Logan out the winsheild, glass falling inside and out.

You take a gulp of air, digging the bullet out before locking your arm around Wade's neck and the passenger seat headrest.

"You red-clad cunt! I was supposed to rizz him up, fuck him, and ride off into the sunset with my rugged fucking mountain of a man and you RUINED IT!" You shout, releasing Wade when six separate knives dig right back into you.

Taking the chance, you throw the back of your head at his face before pulling his claws from out your sides and kicking Wade's chest in. Looks like legs were your strong suit today!

"You said you didn't wanna fill any holes, yet here we are!" You growl in frustration, turning back around to shove your boot heel into this man's rock-hard chest.

He only grabs your ankle, pulling you forward, once again skewered by his claws. Your position is less than ideal, any other angle would for sure look l like you were on the receiving end of some damn good strokes.

And there it is, that stupid bloodied grin he gives while he watches your eyes squeeze shut and your head tilt back. A light, yet pained swear left your bloodied lips and the gasp that leaves your lungs when his claws retracted was just as erotic as you'd imagine.

"Would've been better off fucking at this point huh?" You joke, seeing Wade creep up behind the backseat door.

"Maybe." He responds a bit coy, the tension only dying down for a fraction of a second before you're at each other's throats again.

With your help, Wade is right back in the car, and the three of you are now waiting for the next move. Logan's up against the dash, Wade is heaving against the backseat by your side, the two of you manspreading with a dangerously hungry look directed at the man in yellow.

"This is pointless. We're gonna be here for hours regenerating and fucking each other up, but damn if it isn't fun." you chuckle, letting your head lull back against the completely destroyed headrest.

"So what do you suggest, 'sweetheart'," Logan growls, using your little pet name from earlier.

"Oh I think you know very well what I suggest, but I'm starting to believe you just can get it up can you peepaw?" You insult, Logan's face contorting in a sneer.

There's another silence, your gaze locked with Logan's as you both teeter on the edge of regular frustration and the urge to rip each other's clothes off. This fuckers love language was definitely acts of playful violence...if playful meant an absolute bloodbath in this stupid-ass honda odyssey.

"I feel like there's some underlying tension here that I definitely wanna be a part of.

"You shut the fuck up" You speak simultaneously, Wade doing just that.

"So what'll it be, bub. Fuck me or fight me?" You mock, seeing that smile right back on his face.

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

You would like to say that the remainder of the day, into the night, all the way into the wee hours of the morning were spent furiously love-making in the bloody and battered Honda, but that would only be half the truth.

The moonlight had shone so brightly down on the three of you, each movement calculated, as you continued to punch, stab, pick and damn near fuck each other in the enclosed space.

At one point your hands were pinned to the dented dashboard, Logan slotted between your legs, Wade right behind your oddly bent body....accept Wade's gun was at the small of your back and Logan had his hand wrapped tightly around your throat as your legs squeezed as tight as possible.

And at another, you'd been hovering above Logan, hands at his chest while Wade had a fistful of your hair, his grip lethal... a-although your hands were only at his chest cause you were double-fisting two knives that you had wedged to the hilt into each to his pectorals...and Wade was also pulling your hair to get a better angle at your chest since he deemed it was "only fair" considering you were going the same to the man beneath you.

It had only gotten worse, your comments ranging from rude to just plain nasty, and the farther along you went in the night....strangely enough, the better everything felt. The slight accidental/intentional grind of your hips against Logans, or the way you just so happened to fall back into Wade's chest, your bodies pressed so close together you could feel each breath you both took.

"Oh you just don't know when to quit, do you honey?" Logan grumbles, throwing you off him, your positions quickly switch.

"Not in my vocabulary sweetheart." You shoot back, gasping when Wade grips your hair again.

"Yeah, thought you were seeing the pattern ready peanut, she's hard to break." He chuckles, a filthy smile making its way over your bloodied face.

You were practically sandwiched, Wade behind you, his chest to your back, and your legs just barely make room for Logan who was kneeling one leg on the backseat, the other slightly off the edge.

"This is a little unfair don't you think? Feels like I'm about to get tag-teamed." You joke, the moonlight illuminating the current position just enough.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? You're sick." Logan scoffs, only feeding into your slight delusions.

"Yeah, I might be sick but you're a hypocrite, You want it too, don't you? I know for sure Wade does, 'cause that's definitely not his gun on my ass." You shoot back, body and brain stirring from the hours of activities.

He doesn't say anything, just tightens he grip he has on your hips.

“Cmonnn, we had our nice,” you glance over at the destroyed radio, your hopes of trying to get the time seemingly crushed.

“We’ll say 9 hours give or take, we’ve already been fighting and none of us are really satisfied.”

You can feel Wade adjust, his hands now secure at your shoulders, massaging the small of your neck with his thumbs.

“We all know what’s gonna solve that and we can put this whole debacle behind us.” You coax, your hips rolling a bit to meet his and he turn his head, jaw working as if he was seriously considering the offer.

And with a finally huff what really sounded more like a growl of last restrained, he’s on you.

——————————————————————-

YES IM MAKING A PART TWO YES THERE WILL BE SMUT BECAUSE WTF YALL. UHHH HOPE YOU ENJOY LMK IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED I. THE NEXT PART!

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

maaan it'd be so EASY for chaggie to end up with an adopted cannibal kid after the battle with heaven, tho

with Vaggie's past (and that being a Thing she can Charlie can talk about now), her having her big WAIT THIS IS EVIL IM BEING EVIL moment over a cannibal child she couldn't bring herself to kill....

add to that Charlie, who is now the DIRECT reason quite a few cannibals are Extra Super Dead, thanks to her inspiring them into battle with her song-

"Have you ever felt like you're willing to die-"

very rousing, maybe less fun for her to remember after some of them DID die-

oh hush y'all eat ppl im sure dying isn't the most shocking outcome of a night out that you can imagine

Charlie legit pitched facing final death as a "chance to travel" and "see more of hell" and she did it with a jolly song and dance and GOOD ON HER for getting a fighting force to protect the dream of sinners someday being redeemed! ....but yeah. kinda heavy for her to remember later on, i'd think

and Cannibal Town residents are so tight knit with each other that it's a literal PLOT POINT Charlie has to face off against- no way they don't have families, no way there weren't families broken up by the battle at the Hazbin Hotel- at Charlie's hotel

No way Charlie wouldn't feel guilty about and responsible as FUCK for any little cannibal kid who ended up orphaned as a result....

ahem

(is that kid wearing like frisbee on their head?? whatever. it looks kinda like a halo don't it. kinda ironic. isn't it)

Rosie would even have to SUGGEST anything! She's got a good read on Charlie now and she's 100% on board with Alastor's plans to "guide" Charlie (cough manipulate and use cough cough)

and what would make a better leverage point than introducing a little cannibal kid for Charlie to worry and feel guilty over? an ORPHANED cannibal kid. Orphaned by the same fight Charlie led the cannibals into. Orphaned when the kid's parents DIED fighting for Charlie

(great way for Charlie to always keep Cannibal Town in mind anyway. Good way to make sure she's protective of it)

but oh the irony if Rosie didn't even MEAN for chaggie to end up with the kid!

if Rosie DIDN'T fully understand- just how much Charlie would want to give a loving family and childhood to someone, when she herself had one and is now dealing (trying to deal) with all that crumbling away as an adult-

ALSO THO. IF. Hypothetically. the orphan was the same kid Vaggie spared. Like how many sinner kids are there in hell. Not too many running around. If it was the same kid. if Vaggie saw that

....if the kid saw her- or, no, even better- if when she tried talking quietly with them, and when they heard her voice like that they looked up at her suddenly like

cannibal kid: "...Go."

Vaggie: (instantly standing up) "Right, sorry- I'll go get Charlie, or- would you rather Rosie-" (stops) (looks down)

Vaggie: "...?"

cannibal kid: (is holding onto the end of her hair ribbon)

cannibal kid: (whispering) "Run."

cannibal kid: (hopefully) "Now...?"

Vaggie: "...you, remember?"

cannibal kid: (nods)

Vaggie: (slowly sits back down)

Vaggie: "Yeah, hey. That was... that was a thing, wasn't it. It's, been a while. Three years... didn't think you'd recognize me."

cannibal kid: "Didn't. Look different."

Vaggie: "The long hair, missing eye and missing wings is a lot of change, huh?"

cannibal kid: (shrugs) "You're happy." (sniffles) "It's different."

Vaggie: ".....well, Charlie's the one who did all that. She's, pretty great at that stuff. And she'd like make things different for you too now. If you want."

cannibal kid: "........if I stay at the hotel... can I play with Razzle every day? Not, not just when princess Charlie brings him over?"

Vaggie: "Kinda looks like your stuck with him either way to me. Maybe check he's getting enough air, stuffed down into your coat front like that?"

cannibal kid: (unbuttoning an air hole for Razzle) "But he belongs at the hotel, where Dazzle's murmur- marble- um- murder dial-"

Vaggie: "Memorial..?"

cannibal kid: "Where Dazzle's memorial is."

Vaggie: "If you're okay leaving Cannibal Town, you can belong there too."

cannibal kid: "I'm okay leaving town."

cannibal kid: (beat)

cannibal kid: "It's boring."

Vaggie: "Yeah well, the hotel is definitely not gonna be boring."

cannibal kid: "Does it get blown up EVERY week, or just on special occasions?"

Vaggie: "It sure felt like every week but we're trying to cut back."

cannibal kid: "Dang."

please imagine tho, Charlie seeing this sad orphan kid who won't talk to anyone, maybe even "hasn't so much as had a nibble on anyone, the poor little biter" according to Rosie, since being orphaned-

and the next time Charlie visits she brings RAZZLE

and she introduce the two of them, then stands back and watches her childhood plushy turned demon win over this kid SO FAST, disappearing into their tiny but fierce little hugs, getting them to share a donut with him, showing them how to do a little song and dance routine (one him, Charlie, and Dazzle used to do) bringing a bit of normalcy back to a kid who's parents are dead because of her-

Charlie thinking to herself, that the least she can do, really, is give this kid as many of the best parts of HER own childhood as she can

[cordeliawhohung]

“i really wanted to put in wife!reader begging price to let her have his kid to thank him for all he does for her”

i just want you to know i would’ve eaten that shit the fuck UP!!!!! Bc the amount of times I’ve thought of that exact scenario (but usually with regular John)???? 😩😩😩 I’m so obsessed with that ideA, I could spend days talking abt it *kisses your brain*

jfc like i have no desire to have kids irl right but??? put a cod man in front of me and i'm giving him a baby. it's just!!! too good of a scenario??? like??? actually no, let's talk about this. feral, unedited nsfw drabble under the cut because y'all are bad influences <3

christ, but actually imagine it with og john, good ol' captain price. always having to spend so much time away from his precious wife, leaving you home alone while he's overseas ): and every time he comes home, without fail, you're greeting him with kisses and a good home cooked meal because you just missed him so much! god, you missed him so much that you're on your knees for him! you're feral! and oh look! now you're riding him!

and god is it divine. you just missed him so so much and he just wants to do anything to make you feel good, to make up for all that lost time while he was away. imagine the look on his face when you're bouncing along his length and you tell him you stopped taking your birth control. imagine how his cock would twitch inside of you when you tell him you want to give him a baby, that you want him to make you a mom. because he's just been so good to you! working so hard to support you, you have to give him something in return ): let him give you a baby

as you're grinding down on him, you speak between moans as you tell him to just think about it. how cute you'd look wearing those maternity dresses, how adorable your child would look ): and hun, you've got his mind RACING. racing so fast that his hands grip your hips as he guides you up and down, now fucking up into you with such fervor that it's hard to keep your words straight, but that's alright because john's doing the talking for you.

"yeah? want me to put a baby in ya? that what you want? i'll make you a mama if that's what you need."

he fucks his seed into you that night, and every other night after that while he's on leave. and he's fucking crazy about it, insisting that you try different positions because some will help it take better than others. he starts to take over the cooking too because some foods will make you more fertile than others, and he's only got three weeks of leave before he has to go back and he refuses to leave before knowing if you're for pregnant or not.

and the night before he has to leave again, when you're holding that pregnancy test in your hand with that faint little line, he's got you on your back again, cock buried deep inside of you, just for good measure <3

anyway i'm a feral whore and i'll go back in my cage again to hopefully finish writing this mafia!price bit after dinner <3 but fr i didn't think i'd find myself so obsessed with this man i blame my moots :)

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #4 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Y'all this chapter took so long to write. This is NOT proofread once again me and Grammarly were beefing because she doesn't understand fanfiction. Nonetheless, it is 12 am MST and here it is. Now for an overall warning, this chapter talks about so much that I was to let everyone know that I meant for this to be a dark series. That was my goal. I'm so sorry if some of these topics seem like they're too heavy for you. If you feel overwhelmed, disgusted, or just find it hard to read please remember that it is okay and you are loved. This chapter mentions miscarriages, eating disorders, gunshot wounds, suicide, etc. I love you all and stay healthy. I will try to post my 500 followers post soon! Not proofread because eepy. YOU'LL read my chapter unedited and you'll like it! (hopefully). Thanks for reading. -Love you all, Em.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #3 > Next Chapter: Coming Soon...

WARNING: miscarriage, eating disorder, catholic guilt, bisexuality mention??, period underwear, stalking, marital problem, divorce, sexual harassment, guns, knives, gunshot wound, This bitch shoots someone, suicide, mention of a skull, blood so much blood.

Tape Contents: We briefly dive into Heather's past. Adeline makes a call that gives the team a reason to visit the suburbs. Heather makes a decision. You see something other than pink for the first time in four days.

Word Count: 6,296

Seven to Four Years Prior- January 10, 20XX

Heather had to get out of Norfolk. She felt suffocated under her father’s watchful gaze and helicopter ways. He was a hard man to love and hard to be around in general. When he drank, she used to pray that he would forget about her, so she became quiet. She didn’t have many friends here anyway, so she took you out of the equation and knew no one else would know her name. 

So, with a heavy heart, she moved her life away to Richmond. She changed her major to nursing and killed that quiet girl from Norfolk. She fabricated real lies that sometimes she couldn’t separate from reality. She stared at girls silently with longing and played it off as admiration if she was ever caught. Catholic guilt stopped it from growing into anything else. 

She was slow to open up about her feelings and showed people an extroverted sorority girl nursing graduate who liked to go to bars on the weekend and let men’s hands pull at her hips desperately in dark corners. 

Now, at twenty-four, she only thought about one thing: how good her stomach looked in this dress. She had thinned out tremendously since the move. At first, it started due to not having enough money to eat anywhere except the shitty university cafeteria. Then, it warped into something else. During its worst moments, she would log her calories or purge food moments after eating it. She could look into mirrors afterward and feel she was achieving something remarkable. Then, sometimes, she would also look at her face and think, ‘Is that what I look like’? 

But tonight, she wanted to do something different, something fun. Having told her sorority sisters this, they all jumped on board quickly, agreeing to meet at the bar around 10 p.m. that Saturday. They were thirty minutes late. 

Heather was gently fiddling with the hem of her short black dress, her eyes flickering towards the entrance every so often as she waited for them to walk in. This year, she wanted to be happier, less suffering in silence, and a little more smiley. So yes, she wanted to have fun with people she called friends. Despite all her efforts, she was sure they could see right through her sometimes. She swallowed nervously as she nursed a margarita. 

The next time she looked at her phone, she saw texts from her former sisters saying that work had been hectic and that they needed to reschedule for another time. So now, Heather Alexander was right back at square one: alone. She glanced down at her dress and frowned slightly at its tight material. It was the kind of dress that made her uncomfortable but made men comfortable. Something always felt wrong with that. Heather always secretly knew that she felt an attraction to women and men, but she always felt guilty at the thought. 

She sighed as she debated her next move when she saw him. He was the prettiest man she had ever seen. He had soft masculine features that almost looked slightly feminine, a uniform clad against his chest, and a charming boyish smile as their eyes met. Heather whispered a silent prayer that he would like her as he approached her and introduced himself as David Hernandez. How could she not fall for him instantly? Deep brown eyes, pink lips, dark skin, and a low rumble in his voice made her feel like giggling. 

It wasn’t long before the two of them were getting married. They spent a few months together in domestic bliss. He got some time off from work, and she kept her last name, and they were… happy. 

At least they were happy for six months, and then her world shattered around her as David was deployed to England. She cried herself to sleep the night she heard, and David stroked her back softly to calm her. Heather didn’t want him to leave her and see someone better overseas. She was sure that women would throw themselves at David’s feet, begging him to kiss them, touch them, fuck them, like whores in the street of Babylon. She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching him, looking at him the way she looked at him, talking to him the way she did in his ear late at night. She begged him to try and find some way out of it, scared to lose what was rightfully hers, but he couldn’t. He left that week.

At first, it was just six months, but then it stretched out into a year of deployment—a year spent being faithful to a man across the Atlantic. She called him when she had time, wrote letters to him, sent him emails, and constantly contacted him in any way she could. 

When he got home, it was clear that all her efforts had gone to waste. David was distant. He would sulk in corners of their home on his phone. He would lament on and on about how England felt like his home and how he missed it. She couldn’t stand it. This house they bought together was his home, and it always had been. Why was he struggling to see that? 

The more he talked of his deployment, the more Heather became frustrated with him. Then he started to go out more. At first, it was just to speak with some Army friends on base a few spread-out weekends in the month. Then it was every weekend. 

Heather found that the only thing that could keep him home was sex. So they had sex constantly, like animals in heat. Disgusting and rutting against each other any moment they could. However, the second that it was over, he would withdraw again. He would get dressed and say he had to get to the base. 

Then he was coming late, drunk and slurring, as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and woke her up with sensual touches and dirty talk. She took this as a good sign he was coming home to his wife. He was fucking her and no one else. But slowly, he stopped coming home. He would call her late at night to tell her he would stay with a friend for the night. The following day, he would come home smelling sweet. 

Heather felt lost, searching desperately for something to save her marriage. She was devoting all of her love to a man who no longer wanted it, and she could feel him falling out of love with her. 

Her saving grace was the morning that she found out she was pregnant. She called David with tears in her eyes and told him softly over the phone, and she heard him laugh for the first time in months. And just like that, he was back. 

His soft touches, kisses in the grocery store, and dancing with her in the living room were all back. Her devoted and dotting husband had returned home to her. She could feel the dark cloud of the past couple of months dissipate and the sun shining on her. 

That light lasted a good three months. Heather sat up straight as pain coursed through her body, thundering in her abdomen as she shook David awake with tears streaming down her face. Something was wrong with the baby; she knew it. He drove her to the hospital as fast as he could, but it was too late. She had already miscarried.

Heather took a small sabbatical from work and took time to think about her life. She would stare out of their living room window blankly for hours. David was attentive at first, coming home after work and tending to Heather’s broken spirit. But he soon became bored of that routine. 

When Heather returned to the pediatric oncology unit, David was notified that he was being deployed again to Okinawa, Japan. He was packed and ready by the end of that month. She didn’t see him off at the airport, picking up an extra shift at the hospital to distract her from the fact that he was leaving her again. 

David called her two months into his leave to tell her he wasn’t happy. He wanted a divorce. Then he hung up before she could get a word in. That’s when it all started. Her obsession with consuming anything romantic was almost debilitating. She would visit bookstores and attend readings at the public library, sometimes calling off from work to sit at home with her romances. That’s when she saw you again. She thought that you would have stayed in Norfolk. You had once told her that you loved the water. You liked how it could look gloomy and promising on different days, with mist rolling off the surface. 

She tried not to talk to you. She did. She didn’t want to scare you away like she scared David away. No, no, no, she was sure it would all work out this time. So she loved you from a comfortable distance, watching you from her car on the weekends at night, leaving you her gifts on your windshield—a silent courting. 

She couldn’t help herself on Valentine’s Day. She had slipped into Nicole Smith’s room without Adeline recognizing her, and she gave the table with Adeline’s purse on it a gentle knock with her hip. Heather apologized quickly, telling her not to worry. She promptly dropped to the floor to gather the spilled contents from Adeline’s bag, and she slipped a labeled key connected to a keychain that read ‘or die’ into her pocket. Once she had copied the key, she quickly returned the original to its owner. 

She felt electric when she entered your apartment on Valentine's Day in a dark outfit, a hood covering her face, and four dozen rose petals in a container. She breathed in your perfume as she perused through your bathroom. She traced the spine of every book she could touch on your shelves. She gently dove into your dirty hamper and quickly pulled out a pair of dirty underwear, blood on the inside of them as she shamelessly slipped them into her pocket. Then she got to work spreading the petals throughout your apartment. By the end, she stared at her work, panting lightly as she lay across on your rose-covered bed. 

She had to have you. 

Present Day- March 5, 20XX

Derek and Spencer managed to get to the public library an hour before closing. They pulled your coworker, Valerie, aside. She was a pretty brunette, glasses resting on her face delicately as she stared at the two men with a soft look of disappointment. She knew that if they were here, they had yet to find you, and the thought made her feel like breaking down in a fit of tears. She fought the urge to cry as Derek asked her a question, sliding a copy of the Polaroid you had received on your windshield. “Do you happen to remember anyone coming in with a Polaroid camera?” 

Valerie stared at the Polaroid with a soft frown, trying to remember something helpful. Spencer spoke quickly, “Sometime around January fourteenth, maybe?”

Valerie chewed on her bottom lip before the memory washed over her, “Yes! Yes, oh gosh, she was blonde, I think. I remember telling her we didn’t like flash photography in the library. I only saw the back of her head, but I remember the back of her head and the flash of a camera.” 

Spencer tilted his head slightly and nodded at Valerie’s words, processing the information silently.“Are you sure it was a woman?” Spencer asked softly before Valarie enthusiastically nodded. 

“Yes, it was definitely a woman who took the picture.” She confirmed in a soft voice before she looked down at the Polaroid with a gentle tenderness in her eyes. “She baked me cookies last week, you know?” She looked up at the two men with a sad smile and tears in her eyes. “My cat is sick, and she made me cookies to make me feel better.” She laughed sadly as the tears started to fall. 

Derek placed a soft hand over Valerie’s and gave her a tender look, “We’re looking for her,” The words caused a shaky sigh to escape Valarie’s lips as she pulled her hand away quickly and stood up. 

Her cheeks were red as she cried out a soft “Excuse me.” before she turned on her heel and hurriedly left the room. 

Spencer picked up the picture and stared at you in the photo. The way your hair shined in the fluorescent light, your eyes and smile trained directly on the person you were talking to. You were personable, and the thought made his stomach turn. He looked over at Derek as Spencer handed the photo back to him. 

The two men walked out of the library silently, and Derek let out a soft sigh as he watched the sun starting to settle against the horizon. Spencer walked beside him with his hand stuffed in his pockets, and his head hung a little low in thought. 

Derek broke the silence first, “We should get back to the station to see if JJ and Rossi have anything,” 

And then they rode back in contemplative silence after that. 

March 6, 20XX

You weren’t sure if it was day or night anymore. All you knew was that you were starting to feel uneven. Every creak of wood, settling of pipes, and rumble of the house had your back straightening against the bed. You were sure that Heather would fly in at any moment and touch you. 

A million options weighed heavy in your mind at the scenario; you could fight back again, but that would get you sliced again or worse. You could go with it, zone out as much as possible, let her have her way with you. That option made your head spin with nausea. You had to find a way to get out. 

You licked at the gash on your lip, gently exploring the cut with your tongue until you could feel the warmth of blood again. You pushed your tongue back into your mouth and looked over at your day-old apple on the nightstand, half-eaten and brown. You tenderly took a small bite that wouldn’t require you to move your lips too much. 

You didn’t have much of the day-old meal left; a half-full water and this apple was all you had. You chewed softly, fighting off the nausea that threatened to creep in due to the morphine. 

You tried to remember anything that could be helpful to you. It was hard to think of high doses of morphine. You had played with the knob often; when you were ready to sleep, it would go up, and when you were up, it would turn down. But lately, you just wanted it to be turned up. 

You tried to think of when Heather came into the pink room. She always stuffed her keys into her pockets. A plan was in the making: Get her out of her clothes, and you could get the keys. 

You nodded a little despite your discomfort with the idea of her touching you again. You just had to seduce her a little, which should be easy considering that she was ‘in love’ with you. The only problem with that plan was that you had a mangled ankle and a body running on morphine; she didn’t. Heather’s temper was quick when you talked back, and rage followed if you did something against her liking. 

Maybe begging would work. No, you tried that already. Why would begging work? Perhaps you could hurt yourself just enough to force her to take you to the hospital. But that didn’t work either; she was a nurse. She wouldn’t incriminate herself like that, would she? Maybe total submission would be the key. 

Convince her that you love her back and somehow ask to be let out with her supervision, but that could take forever. 

You started to cry softly as you set down the core of the apple and laid down, wishing to pull your legs to your chest, but the pain of one ankle and the chain around the other made that physically impossible. 

You cried until you felt your eyelids become heavy, tears still slipping out of your eyes as you fell into a morphine-induced sleep. 

March 6, 20XX

JJ paced back and forth in front of the bulletin board, occasionally flicking her eyes over to the photos pinned to it as she tried to chase what was likely to be a loose end. The number that had called yours and left a message full of sobs had been a burner. 

Spencer had tried to tell her to eat something this morning, but as the clock’s hands crept towards nine a.m., she still didn’t feel hungry enough to try. She sighed out another frustrated huff as Emily appeared in front of her. “If you sigh like that one more time, I think I might have to force a croissant down your throat.” 

JJ gave her another dramatic sigh before she put her hands on her hips: “I’m sorry, I just feel like we have no leads. We know it's a woman, but Adeline isn’t likely to be the unsub, and all her coworkers have alibis. It just feels like we are running around with our heads cut off.” 

Emily smiled and gave her a gentle nod of understanding, “I get it, but you pacing around like this isn’t helping anyone. Let’s get you a drink, coffee, or maybe something to eat.” 

“People who eat breakfast consistently are twenty-five percent likely to be more productive at work,” Spencer spoke up from a desk not too far from the two women. 

Emily pointed over at Spencer, “See? You’re making Spencer freak out.” 

“I’m not freaked out,” Spencer frowned at the comment before looking back at a file on the desk. 

JJ’s smile was slow as she let her hands fall to her side and let out a soft, “Fine.” She agreed as Emily walked over to the precinct's breakroom, JJ following her. 

Derek was clicking a pen obnoxiously in an off-beat rhythm. He was about to say something when his phone started to ring on his desk. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered it anyway. “Hello?” 

“Hi, uhm, is this Special Agent Morgan?” Adeline’s voice was shaky through the phone. 

Derek relaxed slightly as he set down his pen. “Yeah, Adeline. Did something happen?” He couldn’t think of another reason as to why she would call the number he had left with her if nothing happened. He was too focused on the case to think of any other reason anyway. 

“Yeah, maybe? I was talking to one of the nurses about something today, and I recognized one of them. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner, but it was an old friend from college. She was more Y/N’s friend than mine, but I talked to her a little.” Adeline’s voice dropped to a whisper as she continued, “I mentioned that she was missing, and Heather had a weird reaction. She smiled for a second. I swear, she said she was sad to hear that, but she looked… well, for a second, it just seemed like maybe she was happy.” 

Derek picked the pen back up again, ready to write down a name. It wasn’t much, but they could visit her. “What was her name again?” 

“Gosh, it was Heather something… Heather, Heather, Heather,” She bit her lip as she tried to think back. “Alexander! Heather Alexander.” 

Derek wrote it down and muttered quickly, “We'll look into it, thanks.” As a goodbye, he let Adeline quickly thank him over the phone before he hung up and called Penelope. 

Penelope, quick as always, picked up on the first ring. “Center of divine intellect,” was her greeting. 

“Good morning to you, too, baby girl. Listen, could you get Heather Alexander's address? Adeline Smith called saying that she had a strange reaction to hearing about our girl going missing.” 

“Easy,” was her answer before Derek could hear the sounds of keys being tapped against and a soft humming sound emitting from Penelope’s lips as she pulled up the address: “4432 Lake Margaret Pl., Chesterfield, Virginia.” 

“You are an angel, Garcia.” 

“I always aim to please,” 

“And you never fail, baby girl.” 

JJ had begged Derek with her eyes to let her go with Spencer. It was just an interview, not even an interrogation, just to see if the connection between you and Heather went deeper than old college friends. So why shouldn’t she go? 

Derek wasn’t one to put up a big fight, so he let her with Spencer. It was only thirty minutes away anyway, so if they needed the team it wouldn’t take too long for them to show up, right? He stayed behind on the phone with Garcia, who was doing her best to see if Heather had any criminal history on her record. 

As the car rolled around the cul de sac, Spencer’s eyes struggled to look away from the plethora of plants in the fenced-in front yard. Pink anemones were scattered amongst daffodils, and what looked like daisies were blooming side by side. JJ rolled the car to a stop, parking it against the curb. 

“Pretty yard,” She muttered as she took the keys out of the ignition. Spencer nodded a little; he had to admit that Spring came in a close second to Fall as the superior season in his mind. The flowers growing after frozen earth had kept them dormant, the welcomed feeling of the sun getting slightly warmer. It was still somewhat chilly at ten in the morning as he stepped out of the car with JJ, but he had to admit, it was shaping up to be a beautiful day weather-wise. 

His head tilted back a little as he stole a glance at the blue sky above them and smiled before stuffing his hands into his pockets and tilting his head toward the house. JJ smiled and walked beside him, happy to be out of the precinct and in the early morning air.

Heather was washing the paring knife she had used on you in her kitchen sink, facing a large bay window in her living room. She swiped at the hardened blood and frowned a little at the memory. Why was she so upset with you? She could hardly remember herself when she got angry like that. 

It was almost fitting, her flying off the handle over something so simple as you not being ready for her love. Was she no better than a man? Had she gotten so accustomed to men's vile and sharp ways that she had somehow forgotten how to be gentle? 

She felt her hands shake as a voice came into her head, whispering her worst fear: She was worse than her father. 

She let tears blur her vision at the thought as she rubbed the knife harder with a sponge, shaking her head quickly. No, no, no, no. She was not like that man. She was not cold like that man. She was lovable. She felt love. She felt overwhelming love for you. She had felt overwhelming love for David. 

Her downward spiral was cut short as she lifted her weeping head and saw a black SUV parked in front of her yard. She quickly wiped away a stray tear with the back of her hand and sniffled lightly as she gently slid the knife into the dishwasher, watching two people get out of the van. 

Heather’s eyes were glued to the blonde at first, pretty and fair in the morning sun before her eyes flickered to the man beside her. She recognized him immediately. She was sure it was the same man she almost ran into at the hospital yesterday. 

She dried her hands as she walked around the kitchen island. As they got closer, her head arched to see how close they were. Panic was running through her veins. Her gun was in her room upstairs, loaded. She just had to get upstairs; her feet were quick to try and run upstairs and stash it somewhere close before they could ring the doorbell. Just as the idea seemed plausible enough, the bell rang through the house. 

Heather let out a silent scream of panic as she smoothed out her shirt, fixed her hair, and caught a quick glance of her pretty face in the mirror near the front door before she swung it open with a pleasantly fake smile on her face. Her eyes quickly scanned both of their faces as she smiled. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, hi. My name is Jennifer Jareau. This is Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI, and we were just wondering if we could ask you some questions.” JJ spoke clearly as she flashed her badge at Heather, a slight smile on her lips as she looked into Heather’s eyes. Spencer recognized her, finding it strange that he had almost run directly into the beautiful woman at the hospital just the day before. 

Heather laughed softly and nodded as she stepped aside, opening the door wider to let the two agents inside. “Of course,” Her hands were shaking, but she gripped the edge of the door tightly, half tempted to slam it directly in their faces and go upstairs to shoot Catherine and herself to freedom.  

They weren’t on to her yet; she was sure of that– especially given their lack of people– just two against one. She was quick to shut the door behind them before leading the two of them into her living room. “Can I get you two any water? I have some juice.” 

The two agents shook their heads in a polite ‘no, thank you’ way as they sat on the sofa across from Heather. Heather sat on a chair with a soft “Okay” as she eyed them carefully. “Am I in some kind of trouble here?” 

“No, We just wanted to ask you a few questions regarding an old college friend of yours, Y/N L/N.” 

“Well,” She smoothed out her long skirt slowly, remembering to breathe normally, “What about her?” 

“Had you been in contact with her at all? Did she mention anything about someone following her?” 

Heather let out a gentle laugh as she shook her head, “I haven’t really had the time to reach out to old friends lately,” 

Spencer’s interest peaked as he joined the conversation, “How come?” 

Heather’s gaze became a little pointed at the question. Of course, the man has to ask her, “I lost a baby recently, and my husband was deployed soon after, so forgive me for not becoming pen pals with someone I knew at eighteen.” The words were direct and vicious, but she couldn’t help herself. She blew out a soft sigh before she let out a gentle and timid, “I’m sorry,” 

Spencer licked his lips nervously as he leaned back against the sofa slightly, trying to resist the urge to disappear into it. Self-isolation wasn’t uncommon for women who had recently suffered from a miscarriage. That feeling more than likely increased as her support system was ripped away from her. 

JJ gently touched Spencer’s knee before she cut the tension. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Alexander. We’re just trying to piece some information together.” 

Heather ran a hand through her hair before she gave JJ a tight-lipped smile. “I understand that; I’m sorry. Would it be alright if I ran upstairs for some medicine? I feel a headache coming on.” She spoke fast with a tense voice, trying her hardest to pass it off as pain with a rub of her temple. When JJ nodded, she stood up and headed upstairs as calmly as she could manage. 

JJ looked over at Spencer, watching Heather walk away carefully. “She seems angrier with men than anything.” Her voice was slightly amused before Spencer frowned. 

“Doesn’t mean she’s in the clear; stalking is often a form of intense infatuation, but it's also used as a way to control something. She’s struggling with two things that could be our stressors: she’s craving control or dependency. She-” The soft ringing of his phone cut off his whispered rant. He answered it, happy that at least it was just Garcia calling, hoping for a better lead than his ongoing hunch. 

He stood and looked at JJ, who was mouthing for him to go outside, “Hey,” He answered as he slipped out of the front door. 

“Hey, nothing is coming up anywhere on Heather’s record for criminal activity—sorority sister, wife, nurse, clean as a whistle. However, considering we don’t have much right now, I decided to see if she had any warnings at work.” 

“Right,” Spencer looked over his shoulder at the front door as he walked away to stand in front of the garage. 

“Well, last month, she got a write-up for stealing some morphine; her supervisor forced her to go see a therapist after Heather said that she was using it for some leftover pain she was experiencing after her miscarriage. But Heather never showed,” 

Spencer was walking a little further down the driveway as he listened to Garcia talk on the phone, counting the number of windows in the house. His eyes narrowed slightly to try and block out the sun before he looked away. He licked his bottom lip gently before acting on his little hunch, “Could you check her credit report? See if there are any purchases that you can find that seem odd around March third?” 

“Could I check her credit report,” Garcia repeated with a laugh, “Hold on, boy genius.” 

Spencer could see the top of JJ’s head from the bay window, and he turned away slightly, finding ease in the fact that she was still there. Something felt off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. “She went to the store, but nothing crazy. Bought,” He could hear typing, “Bleach and rubbing alcohol.” 

Spencer chewed on the inside of his cheek as he asked, “When was her husband deployed again? Did she buy anything from a florist around Valentine’s Day?” 

“Husband was deployed December first and,” she hummed gently before she sighed, “Bought some flowers on Valentine’s day, rose petals.” 

Spencer felt that feeling when something connected in his brain, a rush of adrenaline as he felt his hunch slowly turn into a plausible accusation. The roses were just that, roses. But the bleach and rubbing alcohol? That’s a recipe for chloroform right there. And finally, Heather’s husband was deployed at the beginning of December, stressor number two. It made him feel slightly hopeful about walking back into the house. “Thanks, Garcia.” He said as his feet reached the end of the driveway. He hung up the phone, walking back towards the house at a fast pace when the familiar and startling 'crack' of a gun reached his ears. 

His hands drew his gun out of the holster, running back towards the house. He pushed the front door open with his foot as he heard the thumping of footsteps running on the stairs. He rounded the corner to the living room before lowering his gun as he saw JJ bleeding from a bullet wound in her thigh. 

“JJ!” His voice panicked as he reached her groaning side, kneeling low to the ground next to her. “What happened?” 

JJ shook her head quickly, “I’m calling for backup. She ran upstairs. She didn’t even try to,” her eyes squeezed shut tightly as a sharp pain rattled through her inner thigh, “Just go!” She urged him as she reached down for the phone in her back pocket, her free hand pressing on her gushing wound to try and slow the bleeding. 

Spencer’s eyes were filled with uncertainty as he let out a soft, “No, I’ll stay here until everyone gets-” 

“Spencer, go!” 

Spencer felt his spine straighten at the second command. He gave her a grim nod as he stood up, readied his gun, and started for the stairs. His footsteps were soft and calculated as he ascended, pink light flooding the floor as he approached the top of the stairs. He could hear gentle begging in a voice too soft and thick to be Heather’s. 

“Please, Heather, please, my love. Don’t, please don’t.” Repetitive cries for mercy made his legs move faster until he approached an opened door. The regular-looking bedroom door gave way to a steel one just behind it before revealing the scene of what looked like a demented love nest. 

Spencer swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in the scene. Gun pointed carefully at Heather as he spoke, “Heather, put down the gun. You love her. You don’t want to hurt her. You know that.” 

Heather jumped a little at the sound, her pistol clicking softly as her sweaty palms tightened their grip. She was quick to turn her body around to face him with the gun aimed directly at him as she spoke. “Don’t pretend like you know me or her. You don’t know our relationship. She wants this just as much as I do.” 

“You know she doesn’t look at her. Look at what you’re doing to her.” 

Heather’s eyes drifted to you, chained to the bed, watching as you hyperventilate softly. Heather felt her bottom lip quiver before she looked back at Spencer. “She’s just scared. You’re making me do this. She knows you’re making me do this.” 

Spencer’s eyes drifted to your crying form on the bed, trying to keep your sobs quiet as you stared at him with wild eyes. He glanced over at the morphine drip next to your bed before his eyes settled back on Heather. His lips parted to say something more, but she cut him off quickly, “Put your gun down, and I won’t do it.” 

Heather’s body language gives her away as she motions for him to put his gun down, her eyes crazed and large, her hands shaking and rigid against her pistol. “I’m not going to-” 

“Put your fucking, gun down, or she dies,” Heather yells so loud that it elicits a soft sob from your lips, your arms coming up to protect your head, ready for the shot to be administered and for your brains to be blown out in front of Spencer in that very moment. 

Spencer holds up both of his hands at that; he swears he can hear the soft sounds of sirens in the distance as he lowers his gun to the floor slowly, his foot gently kicking the gun away with a soft ‘clack.’

“Now you,” his calm voice says as he raises his hands, inching closer. Tears stream down Heather’s face now as she shakes her head gently. 

“I have to,” Is her tear-soaked reply as she keeps the barrel pointed at Spencer’s head, her fingers twitching lightly as they move for the trigger. Your shaking voice cuts through the scene, and Spencer is pretty sure it’s the only thing that is stopping him from diving for his gun a few feet from him. 

“Heather, baby,” Your voice betrays you as you speak the pet name, coming off a little too forced, but you continue anyway. “He can help. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. We can be happy, and we can get away. He can help, right?” Your arms relax around your head slowly as you look over at Spencer, who nods silently. 

“I can, but you have got to put your gun down.” 

Heather chokes out a strangled sob as she looks over at you, watching as you smile at her. You know it’s forced, but Heather can only view it as the prettiest thing she’s ever seen—a great parting gift. 

She feels spit thick on her tongue as she evaluates her options: kill Spencer and go to jail. Kill you, and she might not have enough time to kill herself. Killing herself seems like the best plan out of the three, so she holds her gun steady at Spencer as she looks at your now bleeding smile. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft, almost so human that you feel your heart clench in pity before that clenching feeling turns into pure anxiety as you see the movement of her arm. Spencer’s feet aren't quick enough for him to tackle her to the ground as Heather raises the gun to her temple and pulls the trigger. 

Her body drops to the edge of the bed, sliding down it as you feel blood coat your legs. Your ears are ringing, and your mouth is wide open as you scream. At least you think you’re screaming. You can’t hear much but a pathetic muffle of the sound as the ringing in your ears increases.

Your hands are quick to try and wipe off chunks of what looks to be part of a skull off of your exposed stomach, and you can’t seem to stop staring at Heather’s limp body at the edge of the bed. The image of her mangled head oozing blood has you gagging softly, feeling yourself getting ready to be sick before you feel two hands cup your face. 

You’re screaming or sobbing; you can’t tell anymore as Spencer Reid’s face blocks the view. He keeps your face steady in his hands as you try to read his lips, your breathing heavy as he strokes your hair gently. His voice creeps in through the ringing until you eventually hear the soft repetition of, “I got you, look at me. Just keep looking at me; you’re safe.”

You feel your breathing slow, your arms reaching up to grab him before your eyes roll back as your body slumps against Spencer’s, and everything is engulfed in black.

Tag List: @dollykisses4reid @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333 @mmmunson

[imaginespazzi]

Our Little Corner of Eternity

A little peek into what happens after they find eternity

(In which an angst writer realizes maybe she kind of enjoys writing fluff and this is the outcome)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff, fluff and more fluff

Words: 2.0K

TW: Explicit-ish sexual content (right at the beginning if you want to skip like 10 line dents to avoid it)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 We're gonna keep doing these here because I think it works better. Anyways, I know I said I'd give y'all part 1 of the UCLA fic as "pick me up" and I tried so hard to finish it last night but everything I wrote was just so meh and I kinda need that series to be exactly what I want it to be. So instead y'all get an actual "pick me up" in the form of a Here's To Eternity epilogue/Valentine's day (week?) fic with fluffy happiness and cute little kids. Can y'all believe I chose to write fluff instead of angst? Like who am I? Anyways I wrote this all last night and so the editing exists but is *minimal* and so absolutely tell me any mistakes. One day I'll stop doing long author's notes I swear. Anyways (take a shot every time I say that), I hope y'all enjoy this and hopefully y'all get part 1 soon too! <3

***

“Happy Valentine’s day baby,” a voice whispers into Paige’s ears, followed by a litany of kisses being peppered onto her skin, starting at her cheeks and then to her neck. She smiles, eyes still closed, relishing the feeling of getting a rare quiet morning in her wife’s arms. Her hands come up to hold Azzi’s hips as she straddles her thighs. A low whine escapes her lips, when the younger woman bites against her shoulder, hands moving to caress Paige’s exposed stomach, fingers dancing experimentally against the waistband of boxers. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Paige warns; she doesn’t mean it one bit. 

“Who said I couldn’t finish it?” her wife retorts snarkily and Paige can hear the smirk in her voice, “when have I ever left you unfinished.”

Azzi continues to tease, sucking marks into Paige necks, her hands creeping into Paige boxers, hovering but not touching. Anticipation burns in her core as Paige thrusts against the brunette’s still fingers, trying to create the friction she’s desperately craving. 

“So wet for me already,” Azzi whispers, nibbling at Paige’s earlobe “but you have to ask for what you want sweetheart.”

She brushes her fingers lightly against the exact spot she knows Paige wants them, feather light and not anywhere near as hard or fast as the blonde needs it and is rewarded with a breathy moan. 

“Words baby, words,” Azzi presses her fingers a little harder as she places a kiss on the edge of Paige’s lips. She moves away immediately when the older woman tries to pull her into an actual kiss, giggling when Paige pouts, “morning breath.” 

“I hate you,” the blond breathes out, still not opening her eyes

“Do you now?” Azzi teases, finally swirling a finger inside, arching it just right and the sound Paige lets out is practically pornographic. 

She’s about to give in and beg like she knows Azzi has been waiting for her to do when a loud knock on the door throws any chance of morning sex out the window. 

“Mommy? Mama?” a small voice calls out. It’s almost offending the speed with which Azzi climbs off of her, immediately rushing into their ensuite bathroom to clean off her fingers. Paige groans at the loss of contact, eyes finally opening. 

“Maybe if we don’t say anything they’ll leave,” she says petulantly. 

“MOMMY? MAMA?” there’s two voices now, both screaming at the top of their lungs. 

“We’re sleeping,” Paige yells back but she can’t help the fond smile that appears on her face. 

“I swear I have three children,” Azzi mutters under her breath, as she reappears from the bathroom, shooting Paige a disapproving glance. Her wife raises her hands in mock surrender as she finally sits up. Shaking her head at Paige’s smirk, Azzi opens the door to reveal the two tiny little humans that she’s still a little shocked to say are her children. 

“Mommy,” the two of them squeal, grabby hands wrapping around Azzi’s knees and she can’t help but laught. She’s loved a lot of people in her life, her parents, her brothers, Paige but the love she feels for her twins, it’s a whole other level. She'd die for them in a heartbeat and if necessary, she’d kill the whole world for them. 

Paige’s heart swells as she watches Azzi fall to her knees and wrap their twins in a bear hug, pressing kisses that elicit happy giggles all over their chubby cheeks. She’s been lucky enough to earn plenty of accolades and awards but the three people tangled in a mess of limbs on her bedroom floor, this is her greatest gift.

“Guess you’ve all forgotten me,” Paige pouts, from where she’s still sprawled in the bed. That’s all it takes for the two children to catapult onto the bed, both of them jumping on top of Paige, their combined weight causing her to fall back down and laughter echoes through the bedroom. 

“We could never forget you Mama,” Sienna says diligently and she has a lisp from her first tooth falling out. Miles doesn’t say anything, simply burrowing his head further into Paige’s neck but she can feel him smiling against her skin. 

“Because I’m your favourite right?” Paige asks, voice very serious and it earns her an eye roll from Azzi. 

“Silly Mama,” Sienna shakes her head, tiny hands framing her mother’s face, “you can’t have a favourite mom.”

Azzi ruffles her daughter’s hair, coming to sit beside the three of them, “you’re so smart Si.”

“And me Mommy?” Miles peeks out from Paige’s neck, looking expectantly at his other mother. 

“You too Mi,” Azzi assures fondly. 

It’s funny how the couple of minutes of age difference between the twins shows so clearly sometimes. Sienna, the older one, always acts just a little bit wiser. Paige’s mom says she’s five going on fifty. And Miles is still a baby, one hand always attached to one of his mother’s as he watches his sister run wild. They couldn’t be more opposite. They couldn’t be more like a little part of Paige and Azzi. 

“We have a gift for you Mama,” Sienna says proudly jutting out her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, Paige can see Azzi grinning and her curiosity keens. 

“For me?” Paige pulls herself up, bringing her son who’s still clinging to her neck up with her, “what for darling?”

This time it’s Miles who replies matter-of-factly, “because it’s Valentine’s day Mama. And we love you.”

It shouldn’t affect her this much anymore, her son telling her he loves her. Miles has said it to her plenty of times at this point but each time he does, Paige feels her heart burst open in happiness. 

“Well, where is it?” she asks, pretending to search for it under Miles’s shirt and then behind Sienna’s ear. It earns her a shriek of laughter and to top it off, a radiant smile from her wife. 

“Go get it Si,” Azzi urges and obediently Sienna does as she’s told. 

“You know what it is?” Paige asks, raising her eyebrows. All she gets is a conspiratorial wink. 

“It’s a surprise Mama, Mommy can’t tell you,” Miles warns and Azzi immediately puts a hand to her lips and nods. 

It doesn’t take long for Sienna to come skipping back in. In her hands is a neatly wrapped box with a bow in it. It’s relatively small and Paige truly has no idea what it could potentially be but she knows she’ll love it no matter what. 

Sienna bounces back onto the bed, the spring of it all almost causing her to tumble backwards but Azzi’s instincts are far too sharpened to let that happen. She protectively pulls her daughter onto her lap, pressing a kiss against her temple. Of course they don’t have favourites but still it’s not hard to see how Sienna gravitates a little towards Azzi and Miles gravitates towards Paige. Azzi theorises it's probably because Miles is a little more like her and Sienna’s a little more like Paige. 

“Alright,” Paige says excitedly, as Sienna carefully hands her the present, “let’s see what this is.”

Two pairs of big doey bright eyes watch with bated breath as their mother carefully unwraps their present. The wrapping paper falls away to reveal a box covered in pictures of their family. There's pictures of her and Azzi, and pictures of them with the twins. Paige lets out a soft sob, as she realises by the slight messiness of it all that Miles and Sienna were clearly the ones to glue them onto the box. The little bits of glitter and stickers peeking out against the photographs gives it away. 

“You guys,” she whispers, “this is beautiful. I love it. Thank you.”

“You have to open it,” Sienna replies excitedly and Paige does as she’s told. She flips the lid open and gasps, eyes immediately darting towards Azzi. Her wife’s eyes are already moist as she smiles back softly. 

In the box is a set of four rings. Two large ones and two tiny ones. Not just any rings. Perfect replicas of that stupid ugly beautiful pink ring that Azzi had won at the pop-a-shot back when they were fifteen. And when she looks at them closer, Paige realises, her heart catching in her throat, that one of them isn’t a replica. It’s slightly rusted around the edges and Paige knows immediately that it’s the first ring she’d ever placed on Azzi’s fingers. 

“Baby,” she breathes, looking up at Azzi at a loss for what to say. A thousand and one memories are swirling in her head, all captioned with the thought of how did I get so lucky. 

“There’s four Mama,” Miles interrupts before Paige can say anything, “one for you, one for Mommy, one for Si and one for me!”

Paige lets out a tearful laugh at her son’s excitement as he points at each of them one by one, “I can see that Mi.”

“You have to put them on us,” Sienna tells her before thrusting her tiny hand out, “and then we’re gonna be connected for life.”

“We’re already connected for life you goof,” Paige says, as she slides one of the rings onto Sienna’s finger and then presses a kiss onto the younger girl’s palms. She turns to Miles and repeats the same actions. 

“Me first,” Azzi says when Paige turns to her, “you got to do it first when we got married.”

“It’s not a competition Az.”

“Says you,” Azzi smirks, before she grabs Paige’s hand and places the ring on her left hand, right above her actual wedding ring, “perfect.”

“You’re so cheesy. I can’t believe you kept it,” Paige says, her eyes shining as she slides the old ring onto Azzi’s ring finger. 

“It’s my engagement ring. Of course I kept it,” Azzi says with such sincerity, that Paige can’t help but lean over and kiss her. 

A chorus of “ew” breaks them apart and they’re met with two children and their crinkled noses. 

“Hmm what have I said about interrupting Mama and Mommy?” Paige asks sternly. 

“Not to do it,” the twins recite in unison. 

Paige turns to Azzi with a knowing smile, “do you think they’ve learned that Az?”

“You know what babe, I don’t think they have.”

“And what happens to children who don’t learn their lessons?” this time they both look at their children with matching grins. 

“They get TICKLED,” Paige and Azzi yell in unison. Miles and Sienna squeal with laughter as their mothers flip them onto the bed, poking at their stomachs. And it’s unclear whose hand is whose and whose legs are whose as the four of them become a pile of bodies, all of them meshing into one. 

“Okay, okay I think,” Azzi’s the first one to recover as always, “we should have pancakes for breakfast.”

“In heart shapes!” the twins squeal in unison. 

“Of course. How about the two of you go and brush your teeth and Mama and I will be down in a second okay?”

Miles and Sienna nod before jumping out of bed at their mother’s command. They sing some ridiculously out-of-tune song about pancakes as they skip out of the room. Immediately, Paige pulls Azzi back into her, slotting their legs together.

“You still owe me an orgasm.”

Azzi smiles, pressing her lips to Paige’s and then pulling away far too quickly, “I’ll give you plenty tonight. But you better match each one wifey.”

“You know I will,” Paige smirks, bringing her wife in for one last kiss before they both get up, ready for a not-so-quiet morning with their kind. 

Valentine’s day used to be different. Sometimes they never got out of bed. Sometimes they spent the day in another country. Sometimes they went on extravagant dates that felt straight out of a movie. Now, well, they’ll make pancakes with their kids and then probably watch some terrible children’s show that they’ve both, unfortunately, memorized the dialogues of. And in between, they’ll probably fall asleep on the couch and wake up to little guilty faces informing them about a spilled drink or a broken object. But it’s perfect really. As long as it’s the four of them and their little corner of eternity.

[u3pxx]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S 2024?!?!

next, you're gonna tell me it's gonna be some made-up year like "2025" next. tch, imagine that.

anyways, whoo! 2023! compared to both 2022 and 2021, i gotta say, my art style took a hard swerve in some direction this year. i mean, look at that klavier from january and that butch kim from just this december! (granted, i heavily referenced the portrait of butch kim but still, i didn't use to paint! mama mia!)

---

the way i drew faces has definitely changed, that's what i get for getting into something that's live-action and into smth that has realistically proportioned art lol

OH! OH! HOW COULD I FORGET!!! IT WAS (and still will be) THE YEAR OF THE OLD MAN!! i really learned how to draw aged faces this year! ach fraulein, i have not stopped drawing people in their 40's-50's! i would say "send help" but i'm actually having a lot of fun ASKSKS

---

i think a funny thing about these art summaries i've done is that they're mostly ace attorney but then there's just a month where i become a different type of ill LMAO this year it was four months for the price of two new interests!

cheers! here's to 2024!!! hope y'all have a fun art year!!!!

---

i'm gonna ramble more below about like, other art things i did this year but i'm gonna put it under 'keep reading' bc this baby is getting way too wordy now WHEEZES

1. FAVORITE THINGS I'VE DRAWN THIS YEAR (IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER)

⚖️ mea culpa comic [x]

drawing this one was so time-consuming and ambitious but boy, do i love the end result! i had fun doing the inks for this one but was it a lot! i usually color in lineart and render everything but i had to stop myself from doing it for this one bc man, i'll die asksks

this also has some of my favorite apollos i've drawn, definitely

also! the part about the lineart not being colored and no rendering ended up being a deliberate stylistic choice for this one bc i had like more freedom to do just shadows with inks without it looking too out of place.

💐 my lawfully wedded zine spread [x]

now this one isn't out yet but take my word for when i say that this is one of the most craxy things i've ever drawn for this year, on account of drawing a comic AND group shot all in one!

also literally one of the prettiest things i've rendered this year, lookit that klav...

🎉 aa4 redraw - 2022 anniversary [x]

kind of like my wedding zine piece, group photos are insane, and rendering like uhhh [looks at drawing] 11 CHARACTERS IS ALSO INSANE if i try and draw a group photo again you have to stop me DFGHDJ

🎨 my art fight stuff [x] [x]

was possessed in the month of july or smth bc i pumped out like how many drawings so quickly (before i got burnt out that is pftt)

pace yourselves and don't be like me pls ajshgdghhjk

💥 people park day [x]

my friend told me that it was very obvious i watched across the spiderverse when they saw this FDFGHJD

but yea! this is when i started getting really into like, thought bubbles or just like, panels or drawings within a drawing when coming up with layouts

i still love the colors on this one...

🪩 fem disco portraits

ok so i haven't uploaded these yet but you have to trust me when i say that something was in the water DFGHDJ

who knew that all it took for me to learn how to paint was butches

2. ALSO DID YOU KNOW THAT I SOLD STICKERS THIS YEAR IN OUR UNI'S ART MART?

THE ONLY GOOD THING ABOUT THAT SCHOOL I SWEAR PFTTT this experience has also awaken the merch beast in me and i need to make more physical things for my brain to be happy, that's just how it be pfttt

hopefully next year i can actually start like a shopee shop or whatever lmao

3. ART FIGHT

i'm actually quite happy i got to participate in art fight this year! very delighted for all the art i've gotten and very fun to have drawn for others too!!

4. ZINES

i got invited and joined so many zines from 2022 continuing to 2023 that i kind of got burnt out from participating for now ngl ASKSKSKS not gonna be joining much this year oopsiessss! (unless i lose self-control [very likely])

5. SCHOOL

i don't actually like a lot of the stuff i draw for art school bc i tend to cram and not have fun pftt <- adhd moment, tragic! but here are some that i actually kind of like lol

6. THAT'S IT!

i think that's it! thanks for reading all the way down here!! o(*￣▽￣*)ブ

[rubberfuckey]

summary: After a worried phone call from Wheezie, you decide to come back to Kildare.

wc: 1.3k

a/n: This is set right after season three, let's pretend the time skip in the show doesn't exist (: This is my first post since 2020! Let me know what y'all think <3333 part two??? ;)

Eyes snapping open and with a rush of panic, you try to locate your piercingly loud phone tangled in the sheets somewhere next to you. Who the fuck would be calling me at whatever ungodly hour it is? Finally finding it, you damn near blind yourself with how bright it is and how unadjusted your eyes are. Squinting, too tired and agitated to read it, you swipe to answer the call like muscle memory. 

“Hello?” you huff.

“I’m sorry I know it’s late… but I have a favor to ask.”

“Wheeze? What’s going on? Are you okay?” Hearing her voice sits you straight up in your bed, she has never called this late or has ever asked of anything from you.

“I’m okay, kind of. I’m alive. It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“Wheezie-”

“I know,” she cuts you off, “nevermind it was stupid anyways.”

“No, Wheezie, talk to me.”

“It’s just, Rafe,” you flinch at hearing his name, “I’m scared. I’ve never seen him like this before. We know he’s already a pretty angry guy, but this is something different.”

You sit there quietly listening. You left Kildare a year ago, after a nasty breakup with Rafe and trying to break apart the unhealthy codependency you both developed. You transferred to a different state college but you always stayed in touch with Wheezie. Before you and Rafe went wrong, you were close with both his sisters and promised to stay in contact with the young girl you watched grow throughout your time with Rafe. No one knew of course, you and Rafe were completely no contact- opting to block his number after one too many heartwrenching voicemails while obviously under the influence of his favorite white powder. 

Sarah hadn’t tried to reach out, but from what Wheeze had mentioned she got herself distracted with a pogue-turned cop killer-who was proved innocent. What a shit show. You knew it all, countless Facetime calls caught you up to speed. You consoled her through the “death” of Sarah, the “death” of her father and what other trauma presented itself. Sometimes it was too much being constantly reminded of your ex, whom you still loved very deeply, but being there for this poor girl trumped how it made you feel. The feeling went both ways, she stopped you from coming back to the island quite a few times when she told you just how bad things have gotten, insisting that she would be okay, when in reality she really just needed a hug from her honorary sister. He was never brought up, you didn’t ask, she didn’t tell. Something in your gut told you it’s just better if you don’t know what had been going on with him. You appreciated her respecting that boundary. 

“The club is hosting some kind of party in Ward’s honor tomorrow. It’s weird, he was supposed to be dead months ago and the island is just now doing something in memory of him. Probably Rose organized it or something, who knows. Anyways,” she stopped and took in a deep breath, “Rose wants us all to be there and speak about him in front of everyone. I went to ask Rafe what he planned on saying to hopefully find some inspiration but he just went on and on about how ‘the pogues killed him on purpose’ and how ‘they have another thing coming to them if they think they’re just going to get away with it’. I’ve seen him mad before, I’ve watched him punch holes through the walls, scream, yell, and cry. But this…” she trails off, inhaling deeply after her fast paced rant. 

You sigh, not knowing what to say, “Give me some time to get a bag packed and get on the road, and I’ll be there.”

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t bother you with his dramatics if I didn’t think it was important.”

“Hey, don’t apologize, I’m glad you told me. I’ll be there soon, just keep working on what you want to say. I’ll help you brainstorm tomorrow while I’m driving if you need me to.”

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re seriously the best.”

“Keep your head up Wheeze, get some rest and maybe steer clear of your brother for a little bit.”

After hanging up, you sigh and stare up at your ceiling. Shit.

-

The drive back to the OBX gave you time to think, what would you actually be walking back into? Was his grief manifesting itself into the kind of anger and violence that could be fatal to anyone he saw at fault? You shuddered at the thought. Pulling in to your parent’s driveway, you sent a text to Wheezie telling her you just got in and you’ll meet her at the country club. You could name about a thousand and one places you would rather be than under the same roof as Rafe Cameron for the first time in over a year, but you wanted to pay your respects and be there to support the people that had turned into your bonus family during your 2 year relationship with Rafe. 

“You ready honey?” your mom asks as you slip on your shoes to match the black dress you had chose. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

The car ride was quiet, your anxiety was palpable as you bit your nails down and bounced your leg uncontrollably. Walking in the familiar doors, all you saw was the looks on people’s faces as they realized you were back on the island and here no less. Pretty much everyone knew who you were, your family’s status not much different from the Cameron’s themselves. You were known as the sweet girl from the affluent family who smiled politely at everyone who looked in your direction and would never hurt a fly. Rafe’s reputation was quite the opposite. When you and Rafe had made your first entrance together at Midsummers at the age of 17, it was the talk of the island. Ignoring the stares and whispers, you held your head high and looked for Wheezie.

Standing next to a huge photo of Ward leant against an easel stood Rafe, watered down whiskey in hand as he blankly looked around at the people in the room. If one more person awkwardly gave him a tight lipped look of sympathy, he was going to lose it. He heard people murmuring and the looks in his direction seemed to increase. Shaking off the feeling like everyone knew something he didn’t, he downed his drink and made his way over to get another. Sofia caught him before he reached the bar and assumed her position under his arm. 

“Maybe slow down on the whiskey?” She meant well, but damn did he need another drink. Looking at her blankly, he kept moving towards the bartender. His father was dead, who gives a fuck how much alcohol his grieving son intakes. Kelce walks into the room from the hallway, looking around frantically, catching sight of Rafe as  he beelines toward him, out of breath. 

“Yo, Rafe, Y/N is here.” 

Rafe nearly chokes on his drink as he looks at Kelce with an unreadable expression, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Y/N, I just saw her walking in with my own two eyes bro.” 

He sets his glass back down and suddenly Sofia was right all along, he needs to slow down on the whiskey if you were really here. He thinks back to the last time he saw you, all the screaming and crying and pleading with you not to leave. Even with the past year's events, he puts losing you at the top of the list of the most painful things he’s ever been through. He understands why you left and couldn’t blame you, but damn did he miss you like you were the air he needed to breathe. You walked in, obviously looking for something or someone as he watched your eyes scan the room until they caught his. He immediately felt nauseous. I’m going to puke, you thought.

part two

[watchingblsnowandforever]

Hello!!!

Welcome back! =D

Part 2

Warning: long, long post (also a part 2 but I think y'all are used to it by now-) 😊😅

MattMick!! Also, Beer looking between them like that and Q and Toey peeking from behind cracked me up hehe

Also, does that mean Beer is single? Wait, maybe he's aroace. That'd be really cool.

I did see some hints of a throuple of him and MattMick, but I'm happy with either option.

SO CUTE 🥺🫶🏼

Poor QToey 😭

Their romantic moment got rained on so hard-

Exhibit: Here you can see three males from the species Homo sexuals. Two of them are already mated, and the third is in the courting process. We think the other male is interested too.

Oh- But I thought- oh, this makes sense actually. So the others know. I mean not really surprising when you think about it, to be honest.

With his unprecedented levels of obliviousness? Yeah, no, I get where you're coming from, Chain.

That's your biggest concern about getting a penguin?? 😭😭

Why does Peem look like the exasperated mom friend of the group 😭

After all the tiny crumbs of the past *checks notes* 8262 eps, this is a lot of progress.

HANDS. (I will never stop screaming about hands.)

Cuteee

Peem, babe, he hardly ever goes to class anyways. He's too busy following you around like a puppy.

Me, who holds handholding above everything else (yes, even sex): *DEEP BREATHS THROUGH THE NOSE* I'm fine. *SMOKE COMING OUT OF EARS* Totally fine.

Nothing to say, just a really good shot. (Also, Phuwin's exasperated smile seemed too real and then I learned Pond improvised that scene and yeah, that explains it)

ChainPun: only two people with matching pillow cases

QToey: missing (me?) [Sorry I couldn't resist 😭]

TanFang: peacefully asleep

PhumPeem: chronic insomnia, aggravated by Tan's snores

Matt: cuddling Mick

Beer: dreaming of him and his friends and their boyfriends all graduating with good grades

ChainPun. <33

Let me wrap this moment in my memory forever. (I tried to adjust the lighting a bit but it didn't really work out 😭)

AJSSHUJKJ!!!!! THEY GIVE ME TWO MAKE OUT SESSIONS WITHIN THE SPAN OF LIKE 4 MINUTES AND EXPECT ME TO BE SANE ABOUT IT???

No.

Look, we all expected this. I even said on record I wouldn't survive. And all that mental Muay Thai still didn't prepare me for this.

Till now, I have watched 60 BLs, give or take, so I've seen a lot of NC scenes. Compared to some of them, this is very PG-13, but this one really got me, like very few sex scenes have managed to. The intimacy, the palpable love, want. It all came together so beautifully in this scene.

Them saying 'I love you' during sex is canon! Yay! I knew it in my guts (wrote a fic about it) but feels so good to be right in canon hehe.

"I love you too, now kiss me again."

HANDS!!!! (It's canon now, they hold hands during sex, and so I can freely write a fic about it. Not that something not being canon ever stopped me but yeah.)

Fang: my brother is in safe hands. 😌

Also, love how Peem didn't hesitate to at the chance to kick both brothers and make it a streak 😭👍🏼

Honestly though, this scene shows that Peem is going to go to very long lengths to make sure Phum is okay, even kicking his own brother (which assures me that Peem maybe wouldn't hesitate that much to sucker punch their dad either, which is important information to have for possible future fics.)

How can one man be so goddamn cute??

The whimpering puppy noises- 😭

Cakes are so hard to bake, for real. This one is so cute though 😭😭🫶🏼

Puppy Phum- honestly is anyone surprised? No? Thought so.

This smile-

It holds so much happiness and the brunt of so many years of trauma. It's so beautiful. I'm probably gonna rewatch the heck out of this scene.

I end Part 1 here, Part 2 will be out (hopefully) soon!

If you got this far, thank you so much for reading! 😊 (All mistakes are mine, but in my defense, I literally fell asleep while writing this.)

Here, have a pie (of your favourite flavour) 🥧

[bellaxgiornata]

Omg! Happy anniversary for tumblr 😅? I'm so happy you've enjoyed the experience and as a fan of your work I wanna say congratulations!

It's a bit of a silly ask, but how would matt or Michael react to a reader asking if at their future wedding they could have a 'wing' bearer? Like, all du k with a bow tie waddling down the aisle to hand over the rings? A bit silly but a cute idea. Could be taken seriously or not, just wanna know your ideas for it?

Thank you for reading this, hope the pregnancy is going okay!

Ahh thank you so much!! 💕 It's been just over a year that I've been on here so I'm treating it like an anniversary/follower celebration thing because I've never done one before. They always seem fun though and I love interacting with y'all! And yes, the pregnancy is going a little better this week than last week thankfully! I'm nearing the end finally, too!

And you know what? I don't mind silly asks. This actually prompted two different fun dialogues in my head immediately, so hopefully that answers your question! The first one immediately had me thinking of Matt and Reader from FFTD specifically, but the dialogue with Mikey wasn't for any specific Reader. As usual, everything is below the cut!

“What if we had a wing bearer at the wedding?” you asked, lowering your coffee mug to the table.

Matt's head tilted curiously to the side as he paused at the kitchen sink, the dish he was cleaning currently forgotten at the question. “You mean a ring bearer, sweetheart?” 

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “A wing bearer. Like a duck waddling down the aisle with our rings. Maybe wearing a cute little bow tie.”

Matt turned more towards you, both of his dark brows rising up onto his forehead. “You're not seriously suggesting that are you?” he asked. “Do you have any idea how unreliable a duck would most likely be? It'd probably fly away with the rings.” 

“Okay, yeah, maybe,” you agreed slowly. “But it would be adorable. And how many people can say they had a wing bearer at their wedding?”

“Or we could just, you know, ask your nephew,” Matt pointed out. “Like normal people. I'm pretty sure he'd happily dress up like a duck if you asked, anyway. And at least he wouldn't fly away with the rings.”

“I suppose,” you conceded. 

“And honestly, could you imagine if the duck started attacking guests because it was afraid?” Matt mused, returning to washing the plate in his hand. He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “That'd be a disaster.”

“Well if that was the case,” you replied, picking your mug back up, “then I'd have to remind you of the promise you made to me on our first date. About protecting me from giant ducks.”

“Sweetheart,” Matt began, once more stopping mid-wash of the plate in his hands as he focused back on you from across the kitchen, “please tell me you're not over there actually considering paying to have a massive duck walk our rings down the aisle.”

When you didn't answer immediately, one of his brows quirked up onto his forehead. 

“It was just a thought,” you said in defeat. “But fine. You're right. I'll just ask Hudson instead. That makes more sense.”

“What're ya lookin’ at, love?” Michael asked, settling down onto the sofa beside you. He leaned over, eyes squinting at your phone. “And why does it involve ducks with bow ties?”

“Just working on wedding planning things,” you answered him off-handedly.

“But ducks?” Michael asked again. “What do ducks have to do with our wedding?”

“I don't know,” you said with a shrug, glancing up at him beside you. “I was on this site that had a bunch of wedding vendors listed and stumbled on something called a wing bearer. I was curious so I looked.”

“And what is it?” he asked.

“A trained duck who walks your rings down the aisle,” you answered.

Michael stared at you in silence for a moment before roughly shaking his head. “That's ridiculous,” he muttered. 

“I'm not making it up,” you countered.

“Well I'm tellin’ ya now, pet,” Michael told you, “there's not goin’ to be ducks at the wedding.”

Your eyes narrowed curiously back at him as he settled into the cushions. He somehow appeared to have grown tense now, a note of finality in his tone.

“What about–”

“No ducks,” he stated firmly. “I don't like 'em.”

Lowering your phone to your lap, you eyed him suspiciously. Out of all the time you'd known Michael, you'd never seen him shut a lighthearted conversation down so fast. 

“I feel like there's a story here,” you said slowly.

“No, there's not,” Michael answered, shaking his head again.

“Oh come on,” you pressed, reaching a hand out and lightly squeezing his shoulder. “It's me. You can tell me anything, Mikey.”

Michael shifted, looking at you sitting beside him. His lips were drawn into a straight, unamused line as he studied you for a moment. Then eventually he blew out a rough breath, shoulders sagging. 

“Fine,” he relented. “Back when I was younger I was pissed off my ass and stumbled onto a duck's nest once. She wasn' thrilled and the encounter was…rather unpleasant. Left me with a bruise on my face. Told Jimmy I'd gotten into a fight at the pub. Now I avoid ducks.”

You bit your lip, attempting to fight back an amused laugh as you nodded and tried to shoot him a sympathetic look. But Michael saw right through you, immediately rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“Forget I said anythin’, pet,” he muttered.

“No, no,” you reassured him, still fighting back a laugh as you patted his shoulder. “I won't invite any ducks to the wedding. I promise.” Clearing your throat, you couldn't help but add, “I couldn't possibly risk starting a war between a Kinsella and one of their known enemies. And on our wedding day, no less.”

Michael shot you a flat, unamused look which had you breaking at the sight. Throwing a hand over your mouth, you tried to quiet the laugh that slipped out. 

“Hilarious, love,” Michael deadpanned. “I expect ya not to tell anyone ‘bout this, ya know.”

“Of course,” you said behind your hand, still trying to fight down the laugh. “Your secrets are always safe with me, Mikey.”

He rolled his eyes again, but when you saw him crack a grin, you finally loosed the laugh you'd been holding back.

[ghostofthemost141]

Serene

Chapter 3

Gif credit to @eurodynamic

Ch.1. Ch.2. Ch.3. Ch.4. Ch.5. Ch.6. Ch.7.

Pairing: Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish xF!Reader

Word Count: 2,615

About: You were on vacation to the beach and you think you're about to die when you're caught in a riptide until an unlikely hero comes to your rescue. Precisely a Scottish man that bores a tail.

!Warnings!: Sexual Harrassment

Italics means Third Person POV

Notes: This chapter is mostly about your home life and backstory but the targeted enemy in this story is a popular character in the series but just cause I make him an enemy doesn't mean I hate the actor who portrays him. He plays the character well and is a great guy. Also, your uncle is another character that is a favorite character of mine in this series, guess who 👀, regardless of what nationality you are. Anyways, hope y'all enjoy it!!

“I'll see you den, Dove.” His words echoed into your mind over and over again. The second you left that beach two days ago, you were craving to see him again even though you just got done seeing him at that moment. And now tonight, you would meet him again at the time he said. You were just praying he would be there. Praying that he kept his promise. Praying that he- 

“Dove!” A booming voice woke me from my daydream. 

I looked up to find my professor peering his eyes at me. 

“Yes, sir?” I sheepishly said, knowing I was busted for daydreaming. 

“Were you paying attention at all?” He asked with disappointment in his tone. 

“No, sir I wasn't.” 

You knew it was best to tell the truth with your professor versus lying to him cause he knew you would be lying just by your body language. Your professor tsked at you, showing his disappointment in you. 

“See me after class.” He demanded. 

“Yes sir.” I answer, feeling my guts drop to my stomach. 

Anything but that. I am not sure what it is about my professor but he has this weird tick to him. He's not necessarily giving ‘pedophile vibes’ but there is definitely something off about him. And no, him being a near red head blonde has nothing to do with it. Guess I'll find out later. 

~

You wanted to find some kind of excuse to not meet with your professor after class. That nerve grew more and more in you the closer the clock ticked to the end of class. Gem and Pixie were not in this class with you so you were basically screwed. You're supposed to meet them after class but you had to race to the shore for only one person. As the final bell rang, you started to rush pack your belongings so you could disappear in the crowd of students. Just as you stood up to leave, your professor was already at the front door, saying goodbye to the students that passed by. You froze in your spot, feeling your heart race. You just did not have a good feeling about all of this. Once the last student left, your professor shut the classroom door, letting it slam loudly. 

“Professor, I need to be going.” 

“Just, just wait a second, Dove.” He said with a chill tone, but for some reason that unnerved me the most. 

Your professor approached you, standing a little too close for comfort. 

“Why weren't you paying attention in my class?” He asked. 

“Just..have a lot going on, sir.” I half lied, trying to maintain eye contact but it was hard when he unnerved me so much. 

“So much that you can't pay attention in my class?” 

“I'm sorry, sir, it won't happen again.” 

You snared your tone to hopefully get your point across but he just chuckled at you, letting you know that he wasn't intimidated by you at all. 

“Professor Graves, I need to be going now.” I snared once again, hoping he'd move out the way. 

“You've certainly matured a lot.” 

“Excuse me?” 

You nearly shouted at him as his eyes were starting to wander in places it shouldn't. You felt gross and disgusted with not only him but yourself. Is this truly how men saw you as a person? For your body? 

“Out of my way.” I growled, shoving my professor to the side with my shoulder and hustling outside. 

You didn't stop running until you made it to your car. You wanted to throw up, knowing that your damn professor saw you in that way. You managed to keep yourself from throwing up by doing deep breathes in and out, while trying to keep yourself from shaking too much. 

“Shit.” I mumbled, trying to pull myself together. 

Besides Johnny, there was only one other man in your life that you could trust. Your uncle that you live with. He was your greatest support system and you loved him deeply. You needed him, his support. You immediately texted Gem and Pixie and told them you were sick and couldn't meet up with them and you were going straight home. You were still going to go see Johnny later but that wasn't until dark had befallen. You had two hours until then. You saw your professor walking out of the campus so you immediately started your car and peeled out of that parking lot immediately, rushing home. The further you were from campus, the calmer your nerves got, even though the event still lingered in your head, making yourself sicker and sicker, both mentally and physically. The lingering nerves even remained when you parked in the driveway of yalls house. 

“Oh Remi ain’t home..” I said, taking notice of the absent car in the driveway. 

She must be doing a class. I took a deep breath in and then out, with my hand resting on my door handle. Before I could even step out, my uncle beat me to it. 

“‘Ello?? Anyone there?!” He called out, flashing his phone flashlight at me. 

I laughed as I stepped out of my car, shutting the door behind me. 

“I’m here!” I announce my presence. 

Once I got closer to the house, my uncle stopped flashing his phone at me, opening the front door for me. I stepped through, as he shut the door behind me. 

“You doing okay today, kiddo?” He asked me. 

“Yeah, Uncle Alejandro.” 

“You sure? I think you’re lying to me, estrella.” Alejandro, or Ale as I like to call him, said, peering his eyes at me. 

“I mean..” 

You paused, not sure how your uncle was going to take this. You knew he was going to be supportive and believe you no matter what but you were worried at how angry he would get about it. 

“Talk to me, estimada.” Uncle Ale reassured me. 

I sighed deeply as I went and sat down on the couch with Ale following me. 

Ale sat down next to me, staring at me with lots of concern. He could read me like a book and know that something was wrong. Very wrong. 

“Um, so, you know my professor? Uh, Graves?” 

Ale’s face immediately churned. Yeah, this is not gonna blow over well. 

“Hmhm.” Ale said, wanting me to go on. 

“Well, he caught me daydreaming in class.” 

“Cariña, we’ve talked about that.” Ale jumped in with. 

“I know, Ale. I’m sorry.” I apologize, feeling guilt that I disappointed him even though I know I didn’t. 

He just wants the best for me. I am his niece after all. 

“Continue.” He said. 

“Well he made me stay after class-” 

“Made you?” 

I felt chills go down my spine, hearing that near growl come from my Uncle’s throat as he said that. Shit. 

“Yeah, he did. And well he was just sorta getting onto me for daydreaming in his class. And then he made a comment.” 

“What kind of comment?” 

I almost don’t want to tell him just by the reaction of saying he made a comment at me. 

“He said: You’ve certainly matured a lot, while looking at my breasts.” I mumbled that last part, hoping he didn’t hear me but he did. 

Your uncle went silent, but he was fighting the urge to find out where this man lived and beat the daylights out of him. Yes it was just a comment, but it was still harassment. Especially since this wasn’t the first time this has happened. Finally, your uncle spoke. 

“I want you to go to the Dean tomorrow and report him.” Ale told me. 

“I-I will.” I said. 

Ale immediately brought me into a hug. You know like those kissing booths they have in movies? Instead of a kissing booth, Ale needs to open up a hugging booth because he gives out the best damn hugs. I hugged back, trying to hold the tears back. 

“You know I say that because I love you right, Dove?” 

“I know.” I croak through my tears, completely overwhelmed with what happened. 

Ale rubbed my back in comfort, letting me cry on his shoulder as I have many times before. 

“You’re going to be alright, Dove. Uncle Ale’s got you. And Remi too.” Ale mentioned his lady. 

I chuckled in response. 

“I know.” I said, pulling away from the hug. 

I wiped the tears away, hearing a car pull up into the driveway. 

“Speak of the Devil.” Ale said, wiggling his eyebrows at me. 

“Stop! You’re so weird.” I exclaimed, playfully hitting him. 

Remi and my uncle have been dating for about two years now and I love her. I consider her to be my Aunt even though they aren’t married. Yet. Remi entered the house and Ale immediately ran up to her, embracing her in his arms. 

“Bienvenido a casa mi amar[Welcome home, my love]” I heard Ale greet her, followed by many kisses. 

It warmed my heart to see my uncle in love and be with someone he loves so much. 

You could only hope that it will be you one day. 

~

“Where are you off to, Dove?” Ale asked me as I grabbed my coat. 

Your heart raced as your Uncle stopped you, with concern filling his eyes. Night has befallen and you knew Johnny would be waiting for you. Your uncle doesn’t even know what happened on your vacation due to Gem and Pixie pushing you to keep it a secret, for you knew your uncle would want to wrap you up in bubble wrap after hearing about it. 

“Just going to the shore, for a walk.” I told him. 

“It’s dark out.” He said. 

“I know, I’ll be okay Ale I promise.” I reassured him. 

I could tell Ale was a bit unsure but he trusts me. 

“Okay, well be back by ten pm okay, estrella?” Ale told me. 

Two hours was plenty for me. 

“Yes, sir. See ya.” I said, walking out the door. 

“See ya.” He said back as I shut the door behind me. 

You hurriedly jogged to your car, jumped into it, started it and pulled out of the driveway within two seconds. You were so excited to see Johnny again. He had you possessed in a weird way. He was always on your mind, especially those dreamy bright blue eyes of his. Little did you know, he felt the same about you. Even when he was with his best buddy Simon in the deep, deep sea, you were on his mind. The way your hair flowed in the wind, and how sparkly your eyes were, had him possessed as well. They are cheesy thoughts sure, but it was truly how he felt about you. Quick as a flash, you were at the New Orleans beach, relieved there was no one else here. You figured there wouldn’t be but you just had to be sure. You wanted Johnny to be your secret. You left your car and started walking along the shore until you got some miles between you and your vehicle. 

“Johnny? Are you there?” I call out to him. 

A big splash from the shore confirmed your answer. You turned to see a beaming smile and bright blue eyes appear on the sand. 

“Hello, Dove.” 

“Hey, Johnny.” I greet him, feeling a deep blush creep onto my face. 

Johnny pulled himself out of the shore and propped himself up against a big sand dune that would block your vision of Johnny. That’s smart, you thought. Johnny patted a spot next to him beckoning for you to sit next to him. You nod as you came and sat next to him, feeling the wet sand hit your pants, causing you to cringe. 

“You alright, lass?” Johnny asked. 

“Yeah, just wet sand.” I said. 

Johnny just beamed his eyes at you, watching every little movement or expression you were making. He was completely infatuated with you, he just wished he could find the right words to say to you. But he could tell you were acting off. Something happened. 

“What’s wrong, Dove?” 

“Oh uh nothing.” I lied. 

I didn’t want to put my bullshit onto Johnny. I am sure he has a lot going on already. 

“I can tell something is amiss. So what’s up?” He asked me again. 

I sighed deeply, seriously debating whether or not to tell him. 

“I just..have been having issues with my professor at school.” 

“How so?” 

“He has been advancing onto me so to speak.” 

Johnny immediately furrowed his eyes, understanding what you said. 

“Bloody wanker..” Johnny mumbled and I had to suppress my giggles from hearing that insult. 

“What class does he teach? And what campus?” Johnny asked. 

“Oh, it’s no big deal Johnny. I’m handling it, I promise.” I reassured him, but I could tell he was pretty angry. 

“He didn’t ‘ouch you did ‘e?” He asked. 

You shook your head in response, seeing Johnny’s face relax a little but still angry. 

“You know I can still turn into a human righ’?” 

“I know Johnny and I appreciate it but I don’t want you to get hurt.” I said, leaning on his shoulder. 

Just from that comment alone, Johnny knew how you truly felt about him. And he was happy. 

“You feel somethin’ for meh, bonnie?” Johnny asked smugly. 

“Maybe.” I returned the same tone. 

Your hand ended up grazing over his tail, feeling the bumpy yet smooth scales. Johnny watched as you did that, knowing you were doing that with good intentions. 

“Your tail is so pretty, Johnny.” I said, seeing the scales shimmer within the moonlight. 

“Not as pretty as you, Dove.” 

You giggled hearing Johnny’s comment, feeling absolutely flustered. 

“Oh stop.” You joke. 

“I mean it though.” 

“Do you though?” You question. 

Johnny gently grabbed your chin and moved your face to were you were looking deep into his blue eyes. 

“I do.” Johnny sincerely said. 

You felt your heart race quicker and quicker the longer you stared into Johnny’s eyes. It was as if he was hypnotizing you with those dreamy eyes of his. You wanted to do something, so badly, but didn’t want to spook Johnny, even though he was worried about spooking you. 

“Can I kiss you?” I ask, immediately cursing at myself  for even asking, but he just smirked in response. 

Without saying anything, Johnny leaned in and connected y’alls lips together, immediately feeling your heart flutter at the action. You shut your eyes and placed your hands on Johnny’s chest, while Johnny wrapped his arms around you, bringing you even closer to him. He pulled away for a second to get some air but immediately connected them back together. You didn’t want this to end, you wanted it to go on for forever. Despite him being underwater 24/7, Johnny’s lips were soft and nowhere near being chapped like you expected them to be. Johnny rubbed your back passionately as you could feel the tension in the air get hotter. You wanted to keep going, go even further knowing he can turn into a human, but you held yourself together. Not yet, soon, but not yet. You pulled away from the kiss first, but remained up close. 

“You enjoy that, Dove?” Johnny asked. 

“No, not at all.” You sarcastically reply back with. 

Johnny chuckled back, loving your style of humor. The two of you embraced in another long kiss and even though the tension was in the air, the two of you held your composure for each other and just kept y’alls lips together, not knowing there was a pair of eyes watching the two of y’all from the far distance. 

TO BE CONTINUED…

[analogwriting]

It Comes in Waves

Chapter 28: Closeout

Trafalgar Law x gn!reader word count: 2.1k a/n: well, this is it. this is the end. i didn't think i'd ever actually write and publish this but here we are. and i definitely didn't think people would like it but i see y'alls comments n likes. y'all got me cryin' frfr. anyway - i have a lot more in store. i have so many prompts on my phone. the dreams don't stop either sooo...here's to the next one ig lmao thank you all for reading n hopefully you'll stick around for what's to come ;a; (who knows, maybe I'll write a smutty epilogue in the future) first

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word eventually let out that you were awake, the Strawhats coming to check on you as well. They filled you in on their various battles and you were in awe of each one of them. It seemed, however, that not only was Luffy still out of commission, but so was Zoro. They seemed to have really pushed themselves this time around.

Fitting that it was the both of them, too.

Even when the Strawhats visited, Law didn’t leave your side, opting for sitting in the chair next to your bed. Nami and Sanji were giving you side eyes you were absolutely trying to ignore. Robin seemed to smile at you in a way that made you suspicious of her. She always had the knowing mom look, though.

Once they all filed out, you groaned, plopping back into your mattress. “I am so exhausted,” you mumbled, throwing an arm over your eyes. You felt the bed next to you dip, a tell tale sign that Law had moved back to sitting closer to you.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” You groaned, looking at him as you moved your arm. “I need to get out of this room. I’m getting cabin fever,” you mumbled, sitting back up.

“Then let’s go on a walk.” Your eyes lit up. “Really?” Law nodded. “I don’t see why not. You’re all healed up, I think you resting was just a formality at this point.”

In moments, you were out of bed, standing and stretching. A groan escaped from your lips as you did so. Your hands were above your head as you stretched yourself out and you felt a set of arms wrap around your middle. A quick glance and you saw the familiar tattoos that you loved so much. Your face warmed up and you smiled, your own hands, resting on top of Law’s. Your head moved to the side slightly as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re very clingy,” you teased softly.

“Well, now that I have you, I don’t want to let you go,” he mused, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and you leaned into him. You looked out the window to the town below. It was a serene feeling right now. Something that you wished could last forever. However, with both of you being pirates, that wasn’t possible, but you weren’t going to complain. As much as you were enjoying the moment, if everyday was like this - you’d get bored so fast.

You turned around in Law’s arms, looking at him. You pressed kiss to his lips, humming softly.

“FOOD!” You pulled from Law as you heard a familiar holler. Your eyes went to the door, widening. He was awake? You looked at Law, who let you go and nodded. “Go on.”

You smiled, but interlaced your fingers with him as you took off down the hallway and to where you were hearing Luffy chanting for something to eat. Law followed you, protesting the running, but going anyway. You stopped in the doorway as you saw Luffy. You had seen him earlier when he was all bandaged up and it almost brought you to tears.

He looked at you, a bright smile stretching across his face. “Y/N!” You let out a sigh of relief, seeing him looking just fine now. Sure, he still had some bandages on, but you knew he was just fine. “Luffy,” you said. “Good to see you’re doing okay.”

“Of course I am! I’m going to be King of the Pirates!” He cackled and you smiled. “Of course. You need to become the king first before you let yourself keel over, yeah?” He nodded as he stuffed his face.

“So, what’s that all about?” Zoro said, looking at you and nodding to your hand laced with Law’s. You felt Law tense and you snorted, looking at the greenhaired swordsman. “Listen, I know that you have no idea what it’s like to have someone love you, but surely you know what holding hands means,” you teased, smirking at him.

From somewhere, you heard Sanji laughing at your words. “Take that, mosshead!” You snorted, seeing Zoro narrow his eyes at you. “Why I oughta-”

“Try something and you know your captain will absolutely fight you,” you mumbled under your breath at him. He glared at you, but the two of you broke out into grins. “Good to see you’re doing just fine then,” he said. You nodded. “You too.”

You sat down with Law, catching up with Luffy and Zoro. You filled them in on other events that happened outside of their battles that you knew about and they told you about theirs. It wasn’t long before both the Strawhats and the Heart Pirates joined. After all, the captains were here, so it made plenty of sense.

Everyone delved into their own conversations. “By the way, y/n,” Shachi began, capturing your attention, “What was that giant flaming lady talking about?” You blinked, tilting your head to the side. “Yeah, I’m curious too,” Law said from beside you.

Then you remembered. “Yeah, I have absolutely no idea.” You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re not related to a god?” You shook your head. “Not that I’m aware of.” You smirk, shrugging. “Maybe my looks are just so godlike, they mistook me for one,” you mused with a laugh. 

It raised some laughter from others and Law leaned in. “Though, I don’t think I god could compare to you,” he murmured in your ear, making your face turn red. “You keep saying things like that and I’m going to have to take you into the other room to make you deal with the consequences,” you murmured right back. He just grinned, pulling away.

Once more, you had that feeling of absolute content. Everything felt like it was in the right place. You were officially part of the Heart Pirates, Law was by your side, another battle won, and you also found a little bit of closure somewhere along the way. You knew that somewhere, your father was looking down on you with a smile on his face. And you knew Corazon had to be doing the same for Law. 

You looked over as Shachi and Penguin seemed to be teasing him relentlessly about you. “I’m just glad it’s finally a thing - he would not shut up about you sometimes,” Shachi said. You raised your eyebrows. “Oh?” A grin slowly spread across your face and you chuckled.

“Yeah,” Penguin began, “You remember that one island? The one where you two had to race? He would not shut up about you after you left. Talking about how you were so smart and amazing.” You raised your eyebrows, looking at a very red Law. “Is that true?” you teased him softly, earning a glare - or what he tried to use as a glare. You just snorted, laughing loudly. “Didn’t realize I had such an impression.” You pressed your shoulder into Law’s and he grumbled. 

“Well, sometimes they wouldn’t shut up about you either,” Nami interjected, joining your small group. Your own eyes widened as you silently pleaded for her to not. She sat down. “You know my price,” she mused and you knew it was game over. You didn’t have enough berries to keep her quiet and the both of you knew it. Especially since this is something she had been hanging on to so long.

“I remember one night, you had been drinking, and you wouldn’t shut up about Law. Talking about, well, sounds like exactly what he did.” Nami laughed as you started turning red. “Sanji and I started taking bets on when it would happen. Usopp was even in on it.” Your mouth fell open. Bets? 

Penguin laughed. “We had bets too!” Both you and Law just stared at your fellow friends before looking at each other. “Was it really that bad?” you said, and, in unison, everyone chimed, “Yes!”

Both of you were redder than tomatoes at this point. Damn, you didn’t realize.

“Wait, so Traffy and y/n are dating?” You heard Luffy’s voice from behind you. You turned around and noticed he was talking to Zoro, who nodded. “Oh cool! They always seemed to get along really well - I’m happy for them!” You honestly were surprised he caught on in the slightest. You couldn’t help but smile as you turned back around. 

“I even still have that picture from the party,” Sanji said, holding up a photo. Penguin and Shachi were up so fast that they almost tipped over their drinks. “Picture?” they chimed, looking at the cook.

“Sanji, I’m begging you,” you began. “Luffy!” You held out your hand, Law looking at you in absolute confusion.

“Got it!” His sandal was in your hand. “What are you-” Law began, but Sanji yelped. “Not again, please! Fine, fine. I won’t show it.” You began to lower your weapon, glaring at him when a certain orange haired girl cleared her throat.

Nami grinned, holding up her copy. “How many do you have?” You groaned, knowing you couldn’t win.

“Enough.” However, you noticed Brook talking to Ikkaku. “I was just wondering if I cou-” You moved fast, flinging the sandal in his direction, smacking him in the head. He cried out, rubbing his skull where you hit him. “Leave Ikkaku alone!” you shouted at him.

Luffy cackled from behind you. “It never gets old!” He fell onto the floor laughing.

“What the hell is that all about?” Law asked, still confused on what he had just witnessed. He looked a little frightened and a little turned on. “Oh, it’s a secret technique of mine. I call it fuck around and find out, featuring Luffy’s chancla,” you said with a shrug.

Your new captain just stared at you in bewilderment. You heard Shachi’s voice. “Keep sandals away from y/n, got it.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Anything can be a chancla if you’re not a coward,” you warned, causing him to yelp and latch on to Penguin. You just grinned, laughing.

It wasn’t long before people were looking at the picture. “Aw! You look like a little family,” you heard Robin say. “Our little y/n…all grown up,” you heard Franky say from next to her, pretending to wipe away a tear. You groaned, hiding behind your own hands.

While the others were distracted, Law reached into his pocket and took out one just like it. “Wait, when the hell did you get one?” You looked at him in bewilderment.

“Remember when you were wearing my jacket? You stuffed it in the pocket and when you returned it, it was still in there.”

“And you kept it?” you asked, feeling your heart race. A sheepish grin spread across the man’s face and you just stared at him. That was so incredibly sweet and you had no idea what to do. You wanted to kiss him right here and now, but you knew the others would not shut up if you did. Maybe you were going to take him to another room and absolutely shag the life out of him.

You sighed, laughing softly. “Guess, under the circumstances, it makes sense,” you mused, looking to the others as they all celebrated. You knew you all would be setting sail soon. You’d be leaving with the Heart Pirates and saying goodbye to Luffy and the Strawhats, so you were going to enjoy this while it lasted.

You felt Law’s hand find yours, lacing your fingers together once more. You glanced at him, but he was currently engrossed in a conversation with Robin. A soft smile settled on your face as you turned your attention to the duo of troublemakers.

“Oh, we need to get you caught up on that romance. A new book came out and Shachi read it. Apparently…” Penguin went into a rant about the book series that they had started reading and discussing with you a couple of years ago. Damn, a couple of years already? Time seriously flew by. You felt Law squeeze your hand gently and you glanced at him. He gave you a small grin as he looked at you from the corner of his eye and you returned it before you both returned to your conversations.

This was the start of a new chapter of your life and you couldn’t be more excited.

[shae-mermaid]

You Are A Queen, Part 6 (FINALE)!!!!!!

PART 1! | PART 2!! | PART 3!!! | PART 4!!!! | PART 5!!!!!

A/N: WOO!!! IT'S FINALLY FINISHED!!! As voted on by my readers, this one ends with another song! Hopefully you guys like this song selection, cause I SURE DO :'D (Song was written by Caleb Hyles on YouTube btw, if y'all wanna check out his other stuff. His voice is truly amazing!) Anyways, enjoy! <3

PART 6 (FINALE)!!!!!!

  It had been about a week since you had seen Lucifer in person. Sure, he would send you the occasional text, usually just selfies of him with his fellow sins at a meeting or something. You quite enjoyed seeing his and Asmodeus’s silly poses and antics together. But you were really starting to miss the king. It was too the point that you started getting paranoid that you had scared him off. Or bored him off. Stop it, brain! But you just couldn’t. Those self-deprecating thoughts always came back to your mind with a vengeance. 

  One afternoon, Charlie had invited you to hang out with her and Vaggie in their room. You were sitting on the ground, petting Keekee while she rubbed her face against your hand and purred up a storm. You had a soft frown on your face, looking down at the purring cyclops-cat. You had gone a bit spiral-y, to be honest. But, as always, you kept quiet about it.

  That is, until Charlie noticed. She looks down at you, concerned. “...Anything wrong, Y/n?”

  Maybe, you thought. “It’s nothing important, Charlie. I’ll get over it eventually. 

  “Well… okay, but just to make sure you know, you can tell us anything, if you need to talk. It might help to vent.” Vaggie put a hand on Charlie’s knee, giving her a soft smile before looking back at you.

  You accept defeat, and sigh. “It’s just… I haven’t heard from Lucifer in a while. I thought we were friends, but now I barely get so much as a text from him. I know I’m probably being paranoid, but I just have this nagging feeling like… like he’s bored with me, or something.

  Vaggie chuckled a little bit, and sat beside you, joining you in petting Keekee. “Yeah, just a bit.”

  “Vaggie!” exclaimed Charlie, giving a teasingly miffed look to her girlfriend. Vaggie couldn’t help but giggle a little, knowing she wasn’t being serious.

  “...Okay, maybe just a teeny tiny bit,” Charlie added on. “But, I have an idea about what you’re feeling,” she says while joining you both on the floor, making a semi-circle.

  Charlie reached down, and gave Keekee some belly-rubs while she slept peacefully on the floor. “I know it’s hard, but try not to worry so much. My dad can get really busy with his job sometimes. He is the king of Hell, after all… Besides, he’s definitely not the type to just up and ghost someone! Especially someone he’s so bonded to!”

  You look up at Charlie, for once looking her in the eyes. It’s always been hard for you to do that consistently. “...You really think so?:

  Charlie smiles reassuringly back at you. “Oh, I know so. My dad’s been so much happier than he has been in literally years, and it seemed to start when you came  to the hotel. And, he brings you up a lot,” she adds, her grin growing wider (even for her).

  You blush slightly, smirking towards the floor. “Thanks, Charlie. I hope you’re right.”

  Charlie and Vaggie gave you a little group hug, while you all stood up and walked back towards your room. 

  A couple of hours go by, while you’ve been quietly crocheting in your room (a little Fat Nuggets, small enough to be a key charm for Angel), and suddenly, you jumped from the  sound of your phone vibrating on your nightstand. You let out a sigh to calm yourself, and grab your phone, to see that you had gotten a text from Lucifer.

  ‘Hey, Siren! Did you wanna meet me up in my suite? It’s been a while, and I figured we could hang out somewhere other than your room for once! =)’

  You chuckled to yourself, smirking down at your phone screen. You texted a quick ‘Be there in a bit!’, put your latest project down and headed out your door, mind racing with both excitement and anxiousness. 

  Once you got up the last flight of stairs, your mind is spinning with sudden panic. You force yourself to stop for a minute or two, making yourself focus on taking deep breaths. It’ll be okay, you tell yourself. But you just couldn’t shake that something about this time was… different.

  When you got to his front door, you heard something you wouldn’t normally have heard inside a hotel room. …Ducks? I mean, not unusual at all for him, but inside his room??

  You knocked on the door. “Lucifer??” you shouted.

  “It’s unlocked! Come on in!” you get a response back from a familiar voice. 

  You slowly opened the door, feeling weird about just walking into someone else’s space, but you froze in your spot. “Why am I heari- ?!”

  You saw a portal in the middle of his living room, leading to some sort of…beautiful garden! With a pond! And ducks! DUCKIES!! You squeal internally.

  You step over the portal threshold, eager to get as close to the ducks as possible, but you feel a tap on your shoulder, which makes you freeze again, like a deer in the headlights.

  “Oh! Sorry! I keep forgetting you get a little jumpy,” you hear in a low tone, with an almost flirtatious chuckle.

  “Oh! Lucifer! It’s ok, I-,” you start as you turn around, you see Lucifer dressed especially handsomely today, in a black with red pinstripe dress shirt that’s partially unbuttoned at the top, and tight black slacks. Not only that, but you see that he had laid out a little picnic for you both, on top of a quilted blanket with ducks all along the hem.

  “What’s all this for?” you ask Lucifer, a hint of excitement and curiosity evident in your tone.

  Lucifer blushed a tiny bit. “Oh, you know, I just thought it would be a nice change of pace from our normal little hangout routine… Plus, I’ve been meaning to show you my private garden for a while now,” He added, with a proud smirk and a slight puff of his chest.

    It was your turn to blush, raising your eyebrows in response. “Oh, wow! I shouldn’t have been so surprised, then,” you say as you look around at all the colorful flowers, trees, and the pond. “It’s beautiful…”

  “Yes…,” Lucifer stopped himself just in time before he could let out a ‘You are,’ and instead said “It’s my pride and joy. Well, besides Charlie, of course. I like coming here to think.”

  “And it’s not at all related to the little feathery friends over there?” you question, playfully. 

  “...Okay, they’re a bonus,” Lucifer answered as he looked away, getting a little shy whenever he saw your beautiful, sweet smile. “But they’re not the only reason!” he retorted.

  You chuckle and smile wider. “It’s okay, I get it. I’d hang out here all the time, too.”

  Lucifer tried to relax his tense shoulders for a second. “Anyway, shall we?” He gestures towards the little picnic setup, offering you his other hand.

  You responded  with a “Yes, let’s,” as you took his hand and sat beside him, knees brushing up against each other. 

  Conversation flowed easily, as you both ate, and walked around the little pond, feeding the ducks some leftover bread crumbs and some feed Lucifer had left by the pond for this exact purpose. One got close enough that you knelt down, trying to convince it to eat out of your hand. It did so enthusiastically, making you giggle from the tickle of its bill against your palm.

  You weren’t paying attention to him at that moment, and didn’t notice how Lucifer was looking down at you, a soft, blushing smile across his face. Your laugh was adorable, and almost as addicting as your singing. Almost.

  You finally stand back up. “I could get so much inspiration here.”

  Lucifer chuckled a bit in response. “Yeah, it’s nice for getting inspiration to write.”

  “You write?? What sort of writing?” You ask, surprised. You didn’t think he’d have the time to do more than just writing for his work.

  “Oh, y’know, mostly… songs I write here and there, when I have the time,” he says, trying not to sound like he’s bragging.

  Your eyes grow a little wider. “Really? Well, if you’re ever willing to perform one, I’d love to hear it. Maybe I can help you out with the lyrics or something?”

  Lucifer chuckles, blushing again. “Actually… I kind of have a song that I was… hoping you’d wanna check out?” He asks, looking to the ground, then back up to your shimmering eyes.

  “Oh! Uh.. okay,” you answer, trying to contain your excitement. You had never heard Lucifer sing, but Charlie had told you that he has an amazing voice! “Sounds great!”

  Lucifer smiled wider at you, took your hand and led you to a nearby sun room, connected to his manor. Inside, you saw a collection of his instruments, with his violin being the only one not hanging, instead sitting on a little stand in front of possibly the most beautiful piano you had ever seen! An all white full sized grand piano, with carved gold filigree on the legs, music stand,  and matching bench. “I love your taste in pianos!”

  Lucifer laughed wholeheartedly. “Thanks. I made it!” He claimed proudly, with another small puff of his chest. “It’s enchanted, so it plays by itself. All you have to do is think of the song you want, then touch the piano, and…,” he touches the side wall, and the piano keys start moving, as if an invisible pianist was swiping their hand on every key, from lowest to highest. “Voila!”

  Your grin grew very wide, and your stomach fluttered, as the ivories tickled themselves. The sound of a piano was something that was extremely nostalgic for you, reminding you of when your mother would practice for church, and when your dad would sometimes be tuning the baby grand your family owned. You close your eyes and sigh, “I’ve missed that sound.”

  “You did tell me that your parents were musicians, but you never told me what they played?” Lucifer questioned.

  “Well, technically, my mother was the pianist for our… local church. My dad knew how to play, but by profession, he tuned and rebuilt them. So, once I finally moved out, a home just… never felt quite like home without the sound of a piano being played.” Thinking about it makes you sigh again, only with sadness. Your mother passed away a few years before you wound up in Hell, and the sound of a piano being played, while enjoyable, after her, became a bit bittersweet. You had only just stopped crying whenever a church hymn was played around you, right before taking your journey here. 

  “... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something that was painful for you,” Lucifer put his hand on your shoulder, a concerned expression on his face. 

  “No, no, it’s okay,” you replied with a bit of a reflective smile. “If all those roads led to here, then I have no regrets,” you said, as you looked in Lucifer’s eyes with a half-lidded smile. 

  Lucifer felt his heartbeat going faster from that look, swiftly hiding yet another blush by turning his head and walking over to the piano. “Sorry if I sound a bit nervous. I had never played this song for anyone before, and it’s kind of… personal…”

  “Oh, trust me, I understand,” you replied with a sweet, reassuring tone and a bit of a chuckle. “But you know me. I won’t bite. In fact, I can close my eyes and face away if you feel more comfortable with that,” you offer with a caring grin.

  Lucifer chuckled softly back. “Nah, that’s okay. I like being able to see your reaction. Thank you, though.” He let out a deep sigh. “Well, ready?”

  You sat down on a small bench against the wall close by. “Ready!”

  Lucifer grins, and lifts up his violin to his chin, while touching the piano at the same time, never breaking eye contact with you until a few measures into the introduction of the song, when his violin part kicked in. The way he played along with the reverb of both his instruments instantaneously gave you goosebumps, all throughout your body.

“I was told that heaven's never too far gone

I was told my soul was meant to sing a song

But as I tarried through life

I learned that that was not quite so.”

  You couldn’t help but sigh with him at that part. You related to that, at least, in a bit more of a literal sense.

“Through right and wrong and perpetual sin

Forever bound to struggle from within

Was I sold a lie? Because if heaven are these people

Then I don't want to sing their song…”

  Lucifer closed his eyes at this point, lowering his volume for the dip in the song flow.

“But grace, how sweet it sounds

Claimed and loved for nothing,

Redeemed, was lost, now found…”

“Can I hope? Can I change?

Can I erase a past that has caused so much pain?

Wash it clean, white as snow

Surely there's hell to pay, but I'll never be the same…!”

  You open your eyes again, feeling another wave of chills. Charlie definitely undersold her dad’s singing capability, you thought. You saw Lucifer take a peak at you for a second, as he continued on.

“I was told that heaven's streets were paved with gold

I was told that I would never walk alone

But my hands and feet are bloodied

And no one wants a sinner's lot.”

  You look Lucifer in the eyes empathetically, wanting to go up and hug him, but you resist and go back to listening.

“If man cannot forgive what I have done

And man was made from who is up above

Then why give us a choice?

You know that I will lose control…!”

  Suddenly, you see a cloud of enchanted smoke form above the piano, showing silhouettes of Charlie, Vaggie, and…you?!

“But grace, it holds my hand,

And tells me I am worthy to love

And not hold back…”

  The image of you slowly turns to the side, with a silhouette of Lucifer stepping in from the left, holding imaginary-you in his arms. Your eyes and smile slowly widen, feeling yourself welling up with tears, but trying desperately to keep control of yourself for a little longer.

“Can I hope? Can I change?

Can I erase a past that has caused so much pain?

Wash it clean, white as snow

Surely there's hell to pay, but I'll never…!”

  You see imaginary Charlie and Vaggie’s silhouettes join Lucifer’s and yours, in a little group-side-hug, as you and Lucifer turn your heads to face each other, and… KISS?!

"Can you love? Can you change?

Can you erase a past that has caused so much pain?

Wash it clean, white as snow

Surely there's hell to pay, in this cage I won't stay

'Fore my soul's cast away, and I'll never…

…Be the same.”

  You saw your imaginary-selves sitting and watching the sunset, as the enchanted cloud slowly dissipates into nothing. You lowered your gaze to see Lucifer, looking down with a tear streaming down his cheek. He slowly looks up and over to you, with an almost pleading expression.

  “... Well?...,” he quietly lets out, with a sniffle.

  All those waves of emotion come crashing over you all at once, as you start to quietly clap, tears streaming down your face as well. You get up and walk over to Lucifer, and give him a very strong hug, burying your face in his shoulder. “... Are you saying what I think you’re saying, or is it just wishful thinking?... Was all this really…?,” you let out, your cracked voice muffled by his shirt and your own sobs.

  Lucifer wraps one arm around your waist, while his other hand lifts your face to him, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes, and oozing adoration. “Y/n, I know it might be hard, but would you maybe consider…giving me the honor of… being your boyfriend?..,” he says softly, still crying a little.

  You start to sob even harder, holding onto the back of his shirt with a tight fist. “Yes… I can’t believe this is really happening, Yes!!” you exclaim.

  Lucifer hugs you back, sobbing harder now as well. “..A-are you sure?... Y-you might have to be in the s-spotlight sometimes, i-if you’re with me…”

  You look up at Lucifer with just as much adoration in your eyes, as you wrap your arms around his neck, and he holds your cheek. You lean into his palm, as you say “Absolutely. It’s worth it…,” Another tear streams down your face. “... You’re worth it, Lucifer Morningstar.”

  Lucifer lets out another sob, while wiping your stray tear away with his thumb. You start giggling through all of the tears, which was apparently infectious, because Lucifer started to join you, hugging you back tightly and shaking your bodies around in excitement. Once you both calm down, he holds your face again and adds “You are worth it too, my beautiful Siren. And I’m going to keep reminding you of that, every minute of every day, for as long as you’ll have me…” he lets his gaze shift between your lips, and back to your eyes. “M-may I…?”

  Your smile grows wide enough that it starts to make your cheeks ache. You slowly pull his face closer to you by the neck, letting your lips crash into each other passionately at the last second. You grip the nape of his neck, while he very slowly rubs his hands up and down the curves of your waist, savoring this moment. His lips were sweet, soft, and…so intoxicating.

  You both felt like you were finally home, in each other’s arms.

Fin

A/N: YAY!! I'm happy with how this all turned out! I'm a little sad that it's done, though. I feel like an avid reader that just finished a series they got -super- engrossed in, like "What do I do with myself now?" You know? I got a LOT of inspiration just from having Caleb Hyles's song stuck in my head for -weeks- now. Not that I'm complaining. It's gorgeous! I'm just happy this final chapter came out of my obsession. @u@ I also got a bit of inspiration for the enchanted smoke scene by watching Btoon's animatic based on the song (THANKS FOR MAKING ME HAPPY-CRY DUDE IT WAS BEAUTIFUL)! Anyways, I really hope you enjoyed this ride-along with me and possibly my -biggest- hyper fixation in my life thus far! Please let me know what you thought about it in the comments! I haven't gotten very many, and I'd really like some more, at least now that it's done. ^u^'

~Shae <3

[thelastspeecher]

So today while driving for work I decided to put on some videos to listen to, and wound up listening to some videos about historic storms. I then decided to look for videos about the 2020 Midwest derecho (a horrible, horrible storm that got barely any national attention despite the devastation it caused). And that turned into me getting inspired to write Stan and Angie getting caught up in a derecho in Storm Chasers AU.

So, uh, here's that.

———————————————————————————————————–

                 Hail and rain pounded the roof of the Stormleymobile. This was supposed to be a typical severe thunderstorm chase, but Stan was starting to get the feeling that it might be a bit more. Not that he’d admit it. Angie looked out the window with a worried expression.

                 "It's awful ugly out there," she said warily.

                 "I've seen worse."

                 "It could get worse." Angie pointed at the trees lining the country road they were driving down. "Look at that! Look at how much they're bendin’!"

                 "I can't look if you want me to see where we're going," Stan said, rolling his eyes. He grinned. "Anyways, what's with all the concern? Are you afraid of a little wind?" he teased. "This is nothing, we're..." He trailed off as they watched a silo bounce across the road in front of them. "Shit, is this a tornado?"

                 "If it is, we ain't prepared," Angie said. Her voice ticked up in pitch. "We'd need to know its location to be safe and I don't have the foggiest where it could be!" The handheld two-way radio in the empty cupholder crackled on.

                 "I don't see any rotation on the radar," Fiddleford's voice said over the radio.

                 "What do ya see?" Angie asked as Stan quickly did a U-turn, speeding away from the now debris scattered path they had been taking.

                 "I ain't seen it before in person, but I recognize it from books. I think it's called a bow echo?"

                 "What the hell is a bow echo?" Stan asked. His knuckles were turning white holding the steering wheel in position against the winds.

                 "Bow echo..." Angie said. Her eyes widened. "Oh, shoot! This could be a derecho!"

                 "I really need to study up," Stan muttered to himself. "I can't keep asking vocabulary questions when we're in the middle of a chase."

                 "A derecho, well, super strong ones are s’pposed to be rare," Angie said. There was a loud crack and deafening crash. A massive pine tree collapsed by the side of the road, narrowly missing the car. "They have straight line winds, not rotation like a tornado."

                 "So they're not as bad?" Stan asked hopefully. Angie shook her head.

                 "They can have tornado or hurricane force winds. And some drop tornadoes, too."

                 "Y'all need to get to shelter," Fiddleford said firmly. Stan grimaced.

                 "For once, I agree with you," he said. Angie grabbed the map from the glove compartment and hurriedly began to unfold it. "We were prepared for a regular severe thunderstorm. Maybe a tornado or two. Not a- a landlocked hurricane!"

                 "There’s flash flood warnings poppin’ up,” Fiddleford said, sounding nervous. “A lot of rain is headin’ yer way.”

                 "More rain than we've already got?" Angie asked. She looked down at the map, then out the windshield, searching for road signs through the sheets of water.

                 "Visibility is already shit," Stan grunted. "If it gets any worse, we're gonna have to pull over and wait it out." Fiddleford let out a low whistle.

                 "It must be awful bad out there if yer willin’ to pull over."

                 "I don't wanna pancake against some semi in a whiteout, sue me!"

                 "Boys!" Angie scolded. She glanced at the map again. "Okay, we should be comin’ up on an intersection soon. Turn left."

                 "Got it." Stan sped through the stop sign without slowing down, but Angie didn't comment, too focused on finding them a route to safety. "Where exactly are you taking us?"

                 "That hotel we passed when we were gettin’ our bearings while we waited for the storm to hit. I wrote down the address."

                 "Why?"

                 "In case somethin’ like this happened and we needed shelter. It looked like a pretty sturdy building to me." Angie looked around. "It should be ‘round here somewhere..."

                 "I see it." Stan swerved into the parking lot outside the Holiday Inn Express. He parked the car and turned it off. Angie opened the door. Wind and rain roared, filling the interior of the car. Angie slammed the door shut behind her, her purse in her arms, and sprinted for the hotel. Stan grabbed his wallet and the radio, then followed suit.

                 When they entered the lobby, Stan couldn't help the amused snort that escaped him. People were clustered around the large windows of the lobby, watching the storm with fascination.

                 "Didn't y'all hear the sirens go off?" Angie asked the person closest to her.

                 "Yeah."

                 "And yer not shelterin’?"

                 "Whattaya mean? I'm inside!"

                 "Typical Midwest bullshit," Stan muttered under his breath. He followed Angie out of the lobby and into an interior hallway. Angie sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.

                 "You say that like yer not the kind of person to do the same exact thing," Angie said. Stan sat next to her.

                 "Sure, but when I do it, it's just me. One guy. Everyone in the hotel except us is standing right by the windows! I swear, there's something in the water or air or- or corn or whatever. Everyone around here seems to use the sirens as an alert to go outside."

                 "When ya grow up with it, it don't seem as scary as it should, I suppose," Angie said. She rested her head on Stan's shoulder. Her damp hair tickled his face. "Hopefully this will blow over ‘fore too long. I want to get back out there."

                 "Yeah." The radio crackled to life. "We got to shelter, don't worry."

                 "There ain't a force on Earth that can stop me worryin’," Fiddleford said. "But I'm glad y’all found somewhere to wait out the storm. Looks like ya have at least half an hour ‘fore it dies down to safe levels."

                 "Eh, we can occupy ourselves until then,” Stan said dismissively.

                 "Are ya goin’ to do some rescue type activities once it clears up?"

                 "That’s what I was thinking." Stan looked at Angie. Angie nodded. “Yeah, that’s the plan.” He scowled. "I kinda hate that we can’t do much for people that need to be patched up, though."

                 I didn't always feel that way, but after...

                 "You could get EMT training," Angie suggested. Stan looked at her in surprise.

                 "You don't need a medical degree for that?"

                 "No, you can get certificates in first aid and emergency medical whatnots without a full medical background," Fiddleford said. "I actually know a feller. Want me to ask him about classes for you?"

                 "...Yeah," Stan said after a moment. "Yeah, talk to him about what I need. Make sure you tell him all I've got is a high school diploma."

                 "I'm sure we can work somethin’ out with that. I'll call him. Let me know when you head back out or if yer sit’ation gets pear-shaped ‘fore then."

                 "You got it." Stan set the radio on the floor. Angie smiled at him. "What?"

                 "I think it's sweet that you want to learn how to help people."

                 "Nah, it's all self-serving," Stan said dismissively. "I'm sick of needing you to explain fancy long words. I want to be able to explain some to you." Angie chuckled.

                 After a few minutes sitting in silence, Angie's breathing steadied. Stan looked at her. She was asleep.

                 Might as well get some shuteye of my own. Stan closed his eyes. With the pounding of the rain and the howling of the wind, he drifted off in record time.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Chapter 5 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

TW: Allusions/emotional flashbacks to previous sexual assault/abuse. AGNSTY TENSION. Affection 'rehearsals' hehehe.The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: PG-13? (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: Oh, my darlin's, I'm sorry this took so long, but the next installment is FINALLY HERE! And it's hefty! Hopefully the ridiculous amount of angsty, yearning, slow-burny tension makes up for the delay. 😏 I think (hope) you're really gonna like this one cuz things start to get a tad steamier between our little Dolores and our handsome Elvis. Teehee 🤭 I honestly can't wait to see what y'all think of this chapter!

And thank you SO MUCH for the encouraging comments and asks coming in about this work. I was really afraid no one was interested in this one because it's such a slow burn, but y'all are giving it some love and that makes my heart sing! ❤️ Thank you for continuing to reblog, like, comment, and ask!

(BTW, I'm still working on fixing my masterlists and hope to have that done soon! Until then, you might want to visit my Wattpad or AO3, to catch up or reread...)

The physical pressure of hundreds of screaming and crying fans coupled with reporters shouting garbled questions has you feeling as though your head might burst. You don’t know how anyone could ever get used to this or find any semblance of safety in what seems like a riot waiting to happen, but even in his weakened state, Elvis smiles charmingly at the crowd. He seems unfazed by the way these girls reach for him with wild eyes, with a fervor unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Even more, the way he hesitates tells you he wants to stop in the throng to speak to them and sign autographs. You have to squeeze his hand and pull him towards the waiting train to remind him it’s not possible, not today anyway.

For the first time, you are grateful for the way his long, slender fingers wrap around yours, his hand tight around you. You fear if he lets go you will be lost and trampled by the crowd, unable to get on the train that will take you away from the hell that awaits if you stay. You try not to think too hard about the looks the fans give you, ranging between abject curiosity to outright jealousy from the way their idol grips you.

Finally, you all make it up into the large coach, and you let out the breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. You assume that Elvis will release you the moment you step into the relative quiet of the passenger carriage, but instead he wraps his arm around your waist in an intimate way that almost shocks you. It’s then, when you turn to shoot him a warning look, that you realize how pale he looks, sweat beading at his temples. He is using you to stay upright, to save face in front of everyone. Concern rolls through you. Looking over at him, your heart skips with anxiety of how to get him alone to check him out. But subterfuge is not your specialty and you falter.

Somehow, even in his illness, Elvis picks up on your dilemma. “Hey, we’re both tuckered out and are gonna get some rest,” he slurs out with a chuckle, emphasizing tuckered out and rest as though implying something completely unrelated to sleep. Normally, you would be appalled at the suggestive nature of the statement, but by the way he grips your waist as if his life depends on it, you know this has nothing at all to do with sex. He’s covering, giving you both an excuse to be alone.

Lamar gives Elvis what he thinks is a knowing grin, while the Colonel and Vernon try to hide the worry in their eyes.  

Elvis clings close to you, leaning on you as he guides you towards the next train car. You suppose to anyone looking, his weakness is confused with affection for the way he places his head on yours and holds you tight. And all this might make you uncomfortable if not for the fact that you know he’s in distress of some kind. Your mind is already whirring with what you need to do, which takes away from the fact that you’ve allowed more physical contact from Elvis in the last few days than you would have liked.

But such is the job, you think. This incredibly bizarre and unbelievable job.

In the next car, you both stumble into the narrow hallway on one side as Elvis looks through the little windows and into the private compartments until he sees his things, along with yours, on the floor. You are a little surprised at the size of the room as you both lurch through the doorway, it being equipped with everything from two larger-sized beds, a sink, and what you assume is a small toilet behind another door. You’ve never seen anything like it, considering your experience of train travel is limited to the subway and the Long Island Railroad. If you weren’t so preoccupied with helping Elvis, you might stop to admire how the other half lives.

Thankfully, someone had already retrieved your luggage, along with your medical bag, from the car and hauled it onto the train. You are suddenly mortified at the assumption that you are staying in the same quarters as Elvis. And, worse, by the looks of it, it’s true. A sick feeling churns in your stomach when you realize this won’t likely be the only time people jump to that conclusion; in fact, it’s what the Colonel and Elvis want people to think. In your haste to get out of New York, you didn’t have time to think about how such things might tarnish your reputation.

What reputation? I’m already damaged goods.

You think you might vomit at that.

Elvis plops down on the edge of one of the beds, with a sigh of what you think might be relief. “You look a little green in the gills there, honey…you all right?” he gasps out.

His words yank you from your dismal thoughts. “I’m fine,” you snap, pulling the curtains closed. Covering your embarrassment with ire, you know he shouldn’t be worrying about you anyway, not in his condition. Then you rifle through your bag for your thermometer, stethoscope, and blood pressure cuff, placing them on the bed next to him.

“Sorry I asked.” He holds his hands up in surrender.

“How are you feeling?” you ask quietly, changing the subject. “How’s your breathing?”

“I feel pretty damn awful, but I ain’t breathin’ too bad,” he responds, breathless, looking up at you with glassy, innocent eyes. Going through your mental checklist, you feel his forehead and his cheeks with your wrist. He’s cold and clammy, and a little too pale for your liking.

“You’ve got to be honest with me, Elvis, or else I can’t help you. I can hear you wheezing,” you say, popping the thermometer in his mouth before he can rebut. He shrugs instead, batting those infuriatingly long lashes at you.

You place your fingers at his pulse point and watch the second hand on your watch. Doing the math in your head, you realize his pulse is faster and more thready than you’d like.

“Can you…?” you motion towards his necktie and shirt. He nods, gleaning your meaning, and shrugs out of his heavy coat and uniform jacket, throwing them off to the side. In the meantime, you remove your own winter coat. Luckily, the coach is warm enough that you feel comfortable but not stifled by the heat.

You pluck the thermometer from his mouth. “No fever, though your temperature is slightly elevated,” you tick off, shaking the mercury in the glass out of habit.

Elvis unties his tie, pulling it off unceremoniously. “That’s good, right?” he asks, while undoing the buttons on his shirt. You notice his hands are shaking slightly and his shirt is soaked through with sweat.

“Well, based on the state of you, I’m thinking you had a fever at the base,” you say with concern, “but, yes, it’s better that you don’t have one now.”

He pauses, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his white undershirt.

“All the way off, please,” you command, and he raises a perfect eyebrow at you suggestively.

“Usually, girls are a little more excited when asking me to undress,” he says coyly, his lip raising in that smirk of his.

You roll your eyes, trying not to think about that, and hold up the blood pressure cuff instead.

“Ooh, one of those kinky types, huh?” he winks with a chuckle, which quickly turns into a hacking cough.

“Is it possible for you to be serious for more than two seconds?” you scoff, annoyed at the heat that’s risen to your cheeks despite yourself.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with faux seriousness, saluting you. He bites his lips together to hide his smile as you wrap the cuff around his bicep.

You try to temper your annoyance with the fact that he’s going through a lot and managed to put on a performance of a lifetime in front of all those reporters and fans, considering how awful he must be feeling physically.

It’s actually rather remarkable, you think, that he has that kind of commitment and fortitude. The man could barely stand a day ago and has somehow managed, through sheer willpower, to get himself out of the hospital. The hospital he should still be in.

A wave of unease washes over you when you realize you are the only one managing his care for the time being. If something happens to him on my watch…The pressure of that responsibility feels almost untenable after seeing the hordes of fans outside. Your stomach rolls again.

Distracted, you are reaching for the stethoscope when you hear the sliding door begin to move. Your heart skips a beat with panic because no one is supposed to know what you are actually here for and with your medical supplies out, it will be quite obvious to anyone looking in. Frozen and wide-eyed, there is only a second to look at Elvis before he is springing into action.

A little yelp escapes you as he yanks you down sideways into his lap and wastes no time in pulling your head towards him. When you realize he fully intends to kiss you, your entire body tenses because Gianni suddenly flashes in your mind. Fear courses through you—not again, please, not again—and you cannot seem to grasp what and why this is currently happening. Gasping, you turn your head just in time for Elvis’ pillowy lips to meet your cheek.

His large hands grip your waist tight to him, not allowing you to jump away as you attempt to flee his lap. But when his soft lips travel down your cheek and continue downward, your body suddenly lights up as though he’s set you on fire, and not at all in a way you expect. Tingles alight under your skin, circumventing your fear as he buries his head into the crook of your neck, lips pressed into your sensitive skin. Your pulse throttles ahead, a welp escaping your lips, and you freeze.

“Hey, EP, do ya want me to—” Lamar says opening the door all the way. Upon seeing the scene in front of him, he exclaims, “Oh, shit, sorry, sorry!”

“Jesus, Lamar! What have I told you ‘bout knockin’ before enterin’?!” Elvis growls, ceasing his barrage on your neck and lifting his head to glare at his friend.

You are flushing with embarrassment and confusion. But it only takes a moment for your addled brain to finally catch up to what is happening, and as to why Elvis deemed it appropriate to start necking you with no warning in front of his friend.

“I’m sorry, man, it won’t happen again! Go ahead and go back to…whatever y’all are doin’,” Lamar fumbles with a chuckle, then makes a hasty exit, the door sliding shut behind him.

The moment the latch clicks, you launch yourself out of Elvis’ lap, pushing him back as you do so. You have no doubt that not even your olive skin tone can hide the furious blush blotching your cheeks.

“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?!” you hiss at him indignantly, straightening your dress.

His voice comes out low and rumbling in a way you’ve not heard before. “Little bird, you cannot go tensing up like that every time I gotta kiss on ya. Makes it look like I was forcin’ myself on ya, and I can’t have that,” he says firmly, chastising you, his accent thick.

“Wh-what?” you sputter in disbelief. “You—you, there was no warning! How was I supposed to know what you were thinking as you…” you wave your arm at him, as though that is enough to express your jumbled thoughts, “…did whatever that was?”

Elvis rises from the edge of the bed, his eyes darkening with what you think is frustration. Your breath catches in your throat when he crosses the small space towards you, and you desperately want to counter by stepping backwards, but you force yourself to hold steady.

“I did what was necessary to hide that you are in fact my nurse and not my girlfriend.” He holds his arm, the blood pressure cuff dangling from it. “I didn’t have many options.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, your mind putting all the pieces together. It was clever, really, how he managed to conceal the cuff and all your medical supplies by the way he’d pulled you into his lap. You’re not so sure the kissing and the necking was entirely required, though he was trying to sell the ruse in the best way he knew how. No one was likely to question Elvis Presley kissing on a girl in his lap.

“I know I surprised you but being my girl in front of others is part of the job. And if you can’t do the job you were hired to do, there’s still time to get off this train,” he says, deadly serious, pointing to the door, those seemingly endless eyes never leaving yours.

“No!” you squeak. The fear pouring through your veins reminds you of the fact that Elvis holds your fate in his hands. You clear your throat before quickly following up, “No, I can…I can do it.” You force yourself to hold his gaze, to show him you are serious, too, because you cannot go back. You’ll do anything not to go back.

Elvis’ eyes search yours for a moment, and he nods. Then he looks over you almost quizzically, eyes softening.

That is when you realize you are shaking, badly. Frantically, you clasp your hands together behind your back, hiding as much as much as you can, willing your body to stop showing such weakness. You close your eyes, mortified at your behavior in front of the man you now work for. Because, as he made perfectly clear, this is your job.

Heart still pounding against your ribcage, you know the forced encounter on Elvis’ lap triggered a cascade of terror bottled up from your sickening experience with Gianni only a few days ago. Feelings you are usually able to compartmentalize are running rampant inside you and you feel upside down with fear that Elvis will unknowingly send you back into the viper’s nest you are desperate to escape.

A gentle finger under your chin lifts it, compelling your eyes up and open. Elvis’ oceanic eyes churn with concern and lock onto yours.

“I will never hurt you, Dolores,” he says, voice calm but firm.

The intuition behind his words startles you and flays you open. Your wounds are still far too fresh for this, which can be the only reason, you think, that your usual carefully walled-off exterior begins to crack.

Men have always hurt you. This one should be no different. The man is a consummate performer, a master of manipulating the masses. You have no reason to trust him, not yet.

Other than the fact that I hold his life and reputation in my hands, a quiet inner voice whispers.

But for the first time, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, it could be true.

It’s hard to look into his soulful eyes and not believe that he is good.

He holds you there a moment longer, then releases you. Your breath shudders out and you turn away quickly, swiping away the tears welling in your eyes with your still shaking hands. You force a deep breath, then another, composing yourself before you straighten and turn back to him.

Walls back up, you nod and point to the bed. “Settle, so I can take your blood pressure,” you order.

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiles.

*

The more miles that are put between you and New York, the less constricted you start to feel, and that tension that Gianni or your father will magically appear and drag you back home starts to dissipate slightly. Watching the wintery landscapes race by out the window, you still can’t completely shake the feeling that danger is lurking around every corner though.

In this, you are incredibly grateful for the private coaches reserved for Elvis. It’s relieving that you don’t have to worry about Lamar or Vernon, or even the Colonel, a man you still don’t trust but you feel will not undermine you when he has nothing to gain by doing so.

Now that there is time to think, the hectic frenzy surrounding Elvis on pause for the moment, jumbled feelings about last couple of days creep up on you. After you’d quickly read and signed the Colonel’s contract, Lamar had driven you home mid-morning when you knew no one would be there to stop you from packing up your meager belongings.

You can’t help but wonder at your father’s reaction when you never came home from work, what he must have done when he found the letter you left on your dressing table, along with Gianni’s ridiculous engagement ring. The letter stated that you’d found a good job elsewhere and couldn’t in good conscience marry a man you didn’t love. There were no specifics—nothing about Elvis or even mentioning Tennessee. You figure it’s only a matter of time before someone gets wind through the press of where you’ve gone off to, but until then, you hope to put as much distance between you and your old life as possible.

Something tells you your room had probably been destroyed in a fit of rage.

You’d left notes and a little bit of money for your brothers in their rooms. There is an ache twisting in your heart that you didn’t get to tell them goodbye in person. You try not to be worried about them, as the twins are all but grown men and will protect Paul, if need be, though your father has never shown them the violence he’d aimed at you and your mother.

It’s unlikely anything will change for them anyway. After all, they’ve been groomed to serve in the famiglia since they were children. Tony is the only one who’d expressed a desire, other than you, to get out. But as much as it pains you to leave them, your little consolation is that the money might help if they wanted to go themselves. The guilt sits heavy in your stomach, but the need to survive pushes you forward regardless.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, little Lo’?” Elvis plops down next to you, throwing his arm over your shoulders to pull you close into his side. He surprises you out of your thoughts and you jump a little in your seat. You are grateful to see that he seems better now, his color returned and his breathing normal. Your immediate instinct is to shrink away from his touch, but Lamar is sitting across from you both, watching closely enough that Elvis pulls you back towards him and grips you in the way that reminds you of the façade your job entails.

You let him hold you close, forcing a tight-lipped smile in lieu of the grimace that attempts to grace your features. “Oh, just thinking about how I’ve never been this far away from New York before,” you say, thinking on your feet. “I suppose I’m a little nervous about it.” It’s not a lie, you think, and it might explain your anxious behavior to Lamar. But after “catching” you and Elvis earlier, you don’t think Lamar even considers another option for your presence.

*

As the day and a half train ride to Memphis drags on, Elvis’ restlessness is concerning. You’ve told him he needs to sleep, or at least lie down away from the others, but he brushes you off at every turn. It’s not as though you haven’t worked your share of 24-hour shifts, but you don’t feel like you can truly rest until Elvis does—and he seems to interrupt you with conversation or bursting into song any moment your eyes begin to drift closed—that and his insistence to make an appearance at every train stop and his bouncing nerves have you irritable.

You are more than a little curious at the fact that he seemed to rebound so quickly after getting on the train and somewhat concerned that perhaps there is something more at play than you are aware of. Something behavioral? Pharmaceutical? you wonder. Or maybe he’s just excited to be going home. But you don’t know Elvis well enough yet to go throwing accusations and assumptions around. It doesn’t stop your analytical mind from trying to solve the puzzle, however.

This, coupled with your worry of what you’ve gotten yourself into and the need to keep your exhaustion at bay, has you distracted, to say the least.

So, when the Colonel corners you in the hallway of the sleeper car, your guard is down and you are not quite as prepared as you might usually be.

“Young lady, you are gonna need to improve your attitude towards our boy or else no one is gonna be convinced as to why you are travelling home with him! You think we don’t notice that every time speaks to you, you roll your eyes and when he touches you, you jump away like a startled cat?” the Colonel hisses at you. Gone is the silver-tongued man sympathetic to the plight of you completely changing your life in an instant.

Your heart catches in your throat. You didn’t think you were being that obvious. “I-I’m sorry. I am working on it, sir. I’m just not used to his-his type of affections,” you say, hating that a sliver of your fear shows in your voice because you know a man like the Colonel will use your weakness to his advantage at some point or another.

“Well, I suggest you get used to it and quick, or else we’re all gonna be in a world of trouble.” The way he looks at you suggests it is you who will bear the brunt of that trouble and your eyes go wide. “Do you understand me?”

“Oh, I’m sure she understands ya just fine, Colonel,” Elvis’ drawling voice comes from behind. You both whip around to look at him. “Don’t ya worry about a thing. I’ll get her situated before Memphis.” He seems so calm and sure of himself that you almost believe it.

The Colonel looks from Elvis to you and back again before he nods. “I’m sure you will, my boy,” he says with a warm smile, his demeanor changing on a dime. Elvis just looks at him expectantly. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He shoots you a warning glance before heading back down the tiny corridor.

Once he’s gone, you close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, praying silently, Please, God, give me the patience and ability to do what needs to be done.

“Now, Little Bird, you need to come with me,” Elvis says, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the private compartment you share.

You jerk your hand out of his. “Elvis, you really need to get some rest before we reach Memphis, and so do I. You’ve been up for more than a day, and you can’t do that anymore, not in your condition. We can talk about everything else later,” you say, worn. You point to his bed as though that will be enough to mollify him while you try desperately not to think about the fact that your bed is in the same room as his.

He looks at you as though you’ve grown horns. “I ain’t sleepin’ right now, and no, this can’t wait till later cuz unfortunately, the Colonel is right. You’re as skittish as a cat and look like you want nothin’ to do with me, and everyone’s gonna get savvy to that real quick if we don’t fix it,” he says pointedly.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, your fatigue and insecurity gets the better of you. “And how exactly do you think we can fix this, Elvis? I’ve known you all of, what, three days? I’m not—I haven’t been the kind of girl who…” you trail off, stopping before you reveal too much of yourself.

He’s right, and you know it. You need to be better at this. You need to do better, for everyone’s sake. And you hate that you are the weakest link when you need to be strong. Elvis just looks at you expectantly.

Something finally snaps inside you. “I don’t know how to do this! I’m not an actress—I’m just a nurse! And I’m completely exhausted, a-and you—you! You’re like a little child who won’t go down for a nap, running yourself ragged, and you’re not making my job any easier!” you ramble into a shout, heart pounding and stomping your foot.

Silent, Elvis cocks his head at you, taking you in from head to toe. “Okay, then, you do this with me, and then I’ll try to sleep, no arguments.”

At this point, you’ll do almost anything to get the both of you some much needed rest. “Fine. But not just 30 minutes, Elvis. You need real sleep, and so do I, at least a couple of hours—no trying to get out of it to—to wave at fans.”  

He huffs. He knows you’ve caught him out, but finally, he relents. “Alright.”

“Good. Now what exactly do you want me to do to fix this?” you ask, trepidatious but relieved that sleep is in your near future. You cross your arms over your chest.

“Alright, so, I remembered something an experienced actor helped me with when my costar and I got real nervous about sharing our first on-screen kiss. We was all stiff and awkward cuz we didn’t really know each other and were both a little shy and had never done anything like that before, and I kinda liked her a little…anyways, it was real weird,” he bumbles out excitedly.

You have no idea where he’s going with this, but you’re already feeling heady with the exhaustion and nerves, your patience thin.

“I was thinkin’, well, this is like a brand-new acting job for you, right? You ain’t never done this before and you’re not comfortable with me yet, but we gotta get you there cuz we’re shooting the scene real soon, ya know what I mean?” His blue eyes are bright and excited, and you think that, yes, maybe what he’s saying is starting to make sense.

You nod slowly.

“See, all we need is some rehearsal. A way to get to know each other without everyone watchin’,” he says. His body does that thing you’ve noticed—the one where energy seems to pulse through him and he has to move. His leg is going a mile a minute. Part of you wonders if he, too, is nervous about whatever this plan of his is, and you’re not sure if that is comforting or not. For a man as worldly as you assume him to be, he shouldn’t be nervous with you, of all people. Not when he’s been with movie starlets and models.

“Little Lo’, you’re gonna have to trust me on this…can you do that for me?” he says, stepping in close to you.

You can’t help the way you counter his proximity by stepping back, your eyes narrowing. “I don’t know. What are we doing?”

Elvis looks at you with a raised brow, waiting.

“Fine. I-I guess I’ll try my best,” you finally relent.

“Okay, good,” he says softly, stepping into your space. “Now you’re gonna touch me, nice and slow.”

“Excuse me?” you yelp nearly falling backwards in your haste to move away from him.

“No! No, not like that! Maybe I didn’t phrase that so good,” he says a little bashfully, and the pink on his cheeks tells you he didn’t mean it quite the way you took it.

“What exactly did you mean, then?” You hold your breath waiting for his answer.

“Well, you do have to get used to me being in your space, honey, but I realize it’s always me pushing in on you. So, I want you to get used to being in my space, to get used to touching me before I try to touch you. But not like what you was thinkin’ before, just affectionate like,” he scrambles to explain.

You aren’t used to affectionate touches. Touch of any kind, unless it’s related to your work, is usually uninvited and without good intentions. But he’s right, this is your job now, and maybe thinking of it as such will help you. And he’s being kind and thoughtful enough to try and give you a modicum of control over this strange situation.

Your heart begins to race. “How—I mean, what should I do?” you ask hesitantly, not at all sure where to begin.

“Well, maybe start with my hands, since you’ve held them before?” he says, quietly, as though he doesn’t want to spook you. His eyes are open and honest, and nothing about him conveys aggressiveness.

I’m safe. He won’t hurt me, you chant in your head. This is just part of my job.

You take a deep, shuddering breath, stepping towards him.

“Okay.” It comes out of your mouth as a whisper. Reaching out for him, you start to take both of his larger hands in yours but stop abruptly.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” you blurt out self-consciously, “or even been on many dates. That’s part of the reason why I’m not used to being touched by, or—or touching, a man.” You don’t know why you say it, only that maybe it’ll be enough of an explanation of why you are just so bad at this.

Elvis’ eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Really? A pretty girl like you hasn’t had one boyfriend?”

A flash of heat blazes your face at his compliment, which you push away. You scoff instead, “No boyfriends, and I-I can count the number of dates on one hand.”

“Your family religious? Or you just have strict parents or somethin’?” he asks, nodding, as if he knows all about girls and their strict, religious parents. But you are quite sure he knows nothing about la famiglia or the kinds of fathers who make men disappear for a living.

“Or something…and I didn’t really have time to date in nursing school. But the one man I went out with a couple of times, the one my father approves of, well…he’s not a good man,” you say quietly. Wringing your hands, you look away.

It’s all the truth you are willing to provide for now, and only because you think if you are going to try and trust Elvis, he needs to have some idea of why this is hard for you.

You look back to find his azure eyes narrowed, processing through what you’ve said, maybe putting some pieces together of why you act the way you do. There’s something almost protective in them, which shocks you, and then his eyes fill with concern.

“O-okay, then. I-I-I’m glad you told me. I-It, uh, makes more sense w-why you’re not used to this kind of thing,” he stutters. “Just take it slow. Get comfortable w-with me. I-I w-w-won’t hurt you, I promise.”

He seems more nervous than you now, and somehow that makes you feel better approaching him. You reach for his hands again, and they feel warm against your perpetually cold ones. Taking a deep breath, you settle into the feeling of his skin against yours.

This is fine. I can do this. This is easier than cleaning bed pans, you encourage yourself, your heart still pounding in your ears.

But now you don’t know what to do next and you look at him with panicked eyes.

His response is to bring his hands up, gently lacing his fingers in between yours.

Oh. Oh. This is feels more intimate than it should, but your logical mind tells you this is precisely the point of this exercise, for you to get used to it now and then outwardly show that you like it later. It doesn’t stop the other part of you from wanting to bolt from the room, however.

I’m okay. He’s not going to hurt me. Every woman I know would be clamoring at this chance to touch Elvis Presley. I can do this. I will do this, your inner voice chants at you.

After a moment, in this awkward position, Elvis clears his throat. “Um, maybe up the arms now?” he suggests softly. “Almost like you’re blind, sort of, like you’re trying to map out what I look like.”

Nodding because this actually makes sense to you, you begin trailing your fingers and hands up his long arms over his shirt. As you reach his shoulders, you realize you’ve done something similar when you helped him dress at the hospital. A moment where you had control and felt it part of your job. That gives you some confidence, knowing that you’ve done this before and it was fine, so normal you’d barely even thought of it at the time.

But now, hands on his shoulders, you’re not sure where to go. Down his chest feels very intimate and up around his neck feels even worse. You are breathing too fast, and then you feel it near your wrist—a steady thrumming. His heartbeat.

You are trained to feel and listen to heartbeats, and this focuses you, ripping you from all the terrible ‘what if’s’ of the situation: what if he hurts me? what if I can’t do this? what if he sends me back? You drag your palms from his broad shoulders and down his clavicle, seeking that solid touchstone of life. Thump, thump, thump.

It’s beating slower than your own anxious heart but a little faster than you’d like it to be from a clinical perspective. But the moment you look up into his eyes, you remember, this is not for clinical purposes. And you realize it’s not likely that the blush on his cheeks and the racing of his heart is related to his illness, but more so the fact that a woman is touching him in such a way.

Blinking rapidly, you look away from his openly dreamy eyes, forcing yourself to home in on that pounding beneath your palm. You take a deep breath, then another, trying to sync your heart to his. It staves off that brewing panic, enough to keep pushing forward past your comfort zone.

You remind yourself that when you started nursing, it was similar. You had to push through the fear of potentially hurting someone, despite your good intentions, especially in the beginning when you hadn’t known what you were doing. You’d had to push yourself to clean up disgusting messes without gagging. There were so many things you’d had to get used to that at the start felt insurmountable. This was the same, you reason, you just had to push through your fears.

Really? You’re going to compare cleaning up blood and vomit to touching Elvis Presley? your inner voice chides you.

It seems awfully silly when you think of it like that.

And perhaps that is what forges you ahead and makes you bolder. You guide your hands down his chest, feeling the heat of him under your palms, the slight ridges of his ribs on his decidedly lean frame. Without looking in his eyes, you circle your arms around to his back and step in as close as you can. The embrace is tentative at first, and you feel the way his breath hitches in surprise. It is only a second of hesitation before he wraps his arms around you in turn.

It’s foreign, this feeling of being held. You suddenly realize that it has been since your mother died that anyone has hugged you, truly hugged you, for more than a moment at most. Breathing in a shaky breath, you are enveloped by Elvis’ unique scent—a masculine but subtle, warm smell that is a far cry from the heavy, suffocating colognes of the Italian men in your life.

You close your eyes, pressing your ear to his chest, that thump, thump, thump a comforting lull to your overactive nerves.

Elvis is achingly gentle, barely touching you at first, until he realizes you are not scurrying away in your usual manner. Then he holds you a little tighter, a little closer, if only to steady you in this unforeseen moment of vulnerability.

He just feels so solid and steadfast in a time when you are feeling completely unmoored. An unlikely anchor in the hurricane of the past few days. For a moment, you allow yourself this small comfort. You are not sure how long you stay like that, timing your breaths to the beat of his heart. Probably longer than what is proper. But you are quickly coming to accept that this situation is far from proper.

You finally bring yourself to pull back from the embrace, knowing there is more work to do here, more ways in which you must launch yourself into the uncomfortable.

Seems like you were quite comfortable holding him, and with him holding you, your inner voice coos.

This is part of the job. It’s not like that.

Mhmm.

Ignoring that, you’re not quite sure what to do next, only that you feel a strange mixture of relaxation weaving its way through your anxiety. Elvis’ hands rest lightly at your waist, making no moves one way or another, as if knowing it could frighten you away.

I won’t be frightened. He will not hurt me.

It feels truer now, though it doesn’t stop the flutter in your chest when you loop your hands back around and up his regally long neck. Oh, it feels too intimate, the way your trembling hands trace up his chiseled jaw, his stubble rough under your fingertips. You can’t look at him, you just can’t face those handsome bedroom eyes while touching him like this, opting for examining him blind like he’d suggested. Your fingers flit over his impossibly high cheekbones, up the perfectly straight edge of his nose, mapping him in your mind.

He's safe. He’s safe. I’m safe. The mantra repeats in your head.

Of their own accord, your fingers cart gently into his wonderfully thick, soft hair, up and through, and it’s then that you hear the sigh escape his lips, the one you now suspect was held back this whole time. It ratchets up your heart rate, not because of your fear of what he could do to you, but because the sound sends a tendril of warmth down your spine.

The instinctive part of you wants to yank your hands away, but you don’t. Instead, you lean into the fear. While your fingers run through his hair, your thumbs fall down his cheeks until you are cupping his long face in your hands.

This is the moment you decide to open your eyes and look up at him. His eyes are closed, the look on his beautiful face serene. You are in awe of how gentle and trusting he is, and maybe that’s why you impulsively move a thumb up and over the soft bow of his upper lip.

His sapphire eyes flutter open in surprise at that, sending a shockwave of heat through you. As he catches you in his otherworldly gaze, your thumb snags on the fullness of his lower lip, dragging it down and opening his mouth.

You don’t know what’s come over you, but the feel of his hot breath on your fingertip has butterflies brewing in your belly in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s like a terrifying freefall and you pull back, almost ashamed, like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t.

Your first instinct is to run, but Elvis catches your wrist, his grip firm but gentle.

“It’s good,” he breathes. “You’re doing great, honey.”

The praise is genuine, and a shaky wave of pride rolls through you at being able to face your fears about this.

“Now it’s my turn, darlin’. We gotta get you used to the other way around,” he says quietly, as if knowing this part will be even harder for you. As if knowing that your heart begins to race even faster than before.

All you can do is nod. Keep going forward.

“Okay. I’m a very affectionate guy, Little Bird, and I’m gonna be real clear for you what I’m gonna do here,” he says, looking into your eyes in a seriously. “I’m fixin’ to act like I would with a girlfriend, but I ain’t out to molest you.”

You’re not exactly sure what he means to do, but you forge onward, trying to relax. “A-Alright.”

He’s still holding you by the wrist. “I’m gonna kiss your hand now.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach at the drawled words, and not from fear.

Then he is pressing those soft lips in an innocent gesture, first kissing the top of your hand, then the palm, then the inside of your wrist. It’s sweet, the way he does it, the way he checks in with you with his eyes after each peck.

You forget to breathe. You expected fear, the need to escape that which feels foreign or threatening, but you did not expect any part of you to enjoy this.

Running his hands up your arms, he reminds you of the obvious. “Breathe, honey,” he whispers.

You do. In. Out. In. Out. It gives you something to focus on as your mind goes blank.

“Gonna move down now,” he narrates. His hands move one of your arms, then the other, up over his shoulders and around his neck, as if you might start dancing. As if you might lean up to kiss him. Your heart knocks against your ribcage and you just know he can feel it as his hands splay slowly down your sides, fingers around your back, tracing your curves. Thankfully, he doesn’t touch your breasts, just brushes past them on the way down, but it sends shivers down to your toes regardless.

You feel utterly exposed, that familiar panic blooming amongst the unfamiliar feeling in your belly. Elvis seems to sense your tension and steps into you, embracing you once more. You feel that anchor again as his tall frame engulfs you. It should make you more uncomfortable, pressed up against him like this, but it doesn’t. Then, his left hand brings your right over his shoulder and holds it there, directly over his heart.

Thump, thump, thump.

Somehow he knows that steady rhythm calms you. He holds you there for as long as it takes for your breathing to level off, which is a while because you feel dizzy with the scent of him, the warmth of him, with the feeling of being touched in a way that doesn’t make you want to run for the hills.

You don’t understand these feelings. You should be afraid. Your history has taught you to be afraid of men. But for some strange reason, this near stranger, this idol to the masses, makes you feel safe and that scares you on a whole different level.

“Doing so well, Little Bird,” he says, pressing his forehead against your own. The pet name you loathed a few days ago sits differently with you now since you’ve come to understand that he has nicknames for everyone in his life, some that make sense only to him. It sits differently now that he’s holding you like this.

Oh, Madone, he is so close now. You force yourself to keep your eyes open, to remind you this is not the man who hurt you. That Elvis is nothing like Gianni.

It’s alright, I’m alright.

You do not expect this battle between fear and arousal in your body and your mind when Elvis whispers he’s going to kiss your face and then he does, carefully pressing into your forehead like you might break under his touch.

You do not expect to feel angry at the fact he’s showing you how men can be so unlike what you’ve experienced, that not every one of their gender is filled with hatred and violence.

And you certainly don’t expect the sigh that escapes your lips when he kisses your cheek, or when he then follows with light kisses down your jaw.

He freezes at that. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Y-yes. I’m fine. It’s, uh, fine,” you stammer out breathlessly, feeling the way his lips turn up slightly into a smile.

It’s an act. You are both playing a role. This is a rehearsal, you recite desperately in your head as your body flames with a nearly unbearable heat. And as his almost-too-gentle lips light little fires on your neck, you know that you shouldn’t like anything about this, and not just because it’s part of your new job. But your body bends to his will of its own accord.

Elvis pulls back slightly, his face hovering close to yours, and pauses. Your hands are fisted in his shirt and the only thing that cuts through the pregnant silence of the room is the near-panting of your collective breaths.

“I am going to kiss you now, Little Bird,” he says quietly, so close to you that you can feel the puffs of warm air from his mouth. His voice rumbles down deep into your belly, coiling there.

You can’t even begin to respond, because the way his words send shooting warmth blooming out from your chest seems to clamp off any ability to speak.

Then his warm hand cups your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek. He hardly has to move to reach your lips, and when he finally does, it is so chaste and tender you barely feel it.

You expect to freeze or flee, for your heart to be filled with icy, dark fear.

And yet…

And yet you don’t and it isn’t because it’s nothing like what you’ve experienced before. It’s not the clumsy teenage kiss on prom night. And it certainly isn’t anything like the harsh, horrible kisses Gianni subjected you to. No, this is soft and something else entirely, something you can’t piece through in this strange little moment.

You let him kiss you, giving in easily, and while you don’t know if you truly kiss him back, you don’t push him away.

Then it’s over. Elvis pulls away slowly. You look up at him, dazed, topsy-turvy from the multitude of feelings washing over you, all at once. For a second, you see what you think is a similar look stirring in his eyes.

But then it is gone, replaced with the neutral surety and confidence of a performer after the director yells cut.

“You’re a natural, baby! Didn’t even run away from me once!” he ribs you with a stunning, wide smile, then he turns more serious. “Did it help? Do you feel better, like you can do that in front of everyone else without jumpin’ out your skin?”

It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying. “I, uh, I’m not sure? I-I think so, maybe?” you finally manage to get out. You are honestly not sure about anything right now, the ghost of his lips still haunting on yours.

Elvis furrows his brow a little, unsure of your reaction. “Well, it’ll get better with practice, don’tcha worry, lil’ Lo’,” he says encouragingly.

Practice? This is going to happen again?

Of course. Because this is a rehearsal. This is part of your job. The part of your job that now involves kissing Elvis Presley and pretending to be his girlfriend.

Coming back into yourself, you try sliding your walls back into place, willing yourself to be professional and unphased. “I’m sure it will,” you nod, stepping back and smoothing your skirt. “Now, time to rest. You promised,” you say, changing the subject and gesturing to his bed, praying your hand won’t shake.

He looks like he might try to fight you on it, but then seems to think better of it. “Fine. A deal’s a deal,” he shrugs, casually throwing himself onto his bed.

With a silent sigh of relief, you slip off your shoes and climb into your bed and under the covers on the other side of the room. There is no way you are undressing into your nightgown, not with Elvis just feet away, so this will have to do.

“At least a couple of hours,” you remind him before turning your back to him.

“Yes, ma’am, I hear you,” he grumbles.

Taking a deep breath, then another, you keep yourself from looking back over at Elvis. Despite your overwhelming fatigue, your body is buzzing like you’ve had one too many cups of coffee. You force your eyes closed, but you are hyperaware of the man being so close.

You’ve never slept in the same room as a man before.

It’s a day of all kinds of firsts, now isn’t it? you think sardonically.

You try to even out your breathing, the memory of Elvis’ steady heartbeat thundering in your ears. The spicy scent of him lingers on your skin. You can feel the way his solid warmth pressed against you in a comforting embrace. And all you can see behind your closed eyes is the how he looked right before he kissed you.

You think you may have liked it, liked all of it.

But it’s not real, you silly girl.

Praying for much needed rest, you bury your head in your pillow.

A sudden, stabbing guilt then slices its way into your heart as a hideous thought threatens to drown you:

What kind of woman am I if liked that so soon after Gianni hurt me?

It’s your father’s voice that answers…

Puttana. Whore.

Tears pour down your cheeks until sleep finally takes you.

*

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