#colonel idiot has my heart

[soufflegirl]

I love Roy Mustang, because usually the "charming and morally ambiguous™" guy of the situation is that detached, cold, emotionally unavailable character who only shows his emotions in extreme circumstances. And then there is Roy, who is this pathetic moron who constantly picks fights with his 15-year-old employee and is useless on rainy days because his alchemy ,, does not work. And he is also this character who loves so fiercely that his affection for his loved ones is his greatest strength and also his greatest weakness. Roy does not want to rise to power because he desires power itself, but his ambition is dictated purely by a desire to establish a system in which people can protect each other so that he can in turn protect the people he loves.

The villains' way of neutralizing Roy the moment he becomes inconvenient is to dismember his team and place his subordinates in the four corners of the country and take his lieutenant hostage. What keeps Roy sane after Ishval are his friends - and also his plans, but mostly his friends. And when he collapses in Lab 3 after the fight with Lust, his first thought is to make sure Riza is all right and then send help for Havoc. When he re-emerges from the Gate and is blind, his first thought is to ask Riza how her injuries are. When he has a chance to recover his sight, he decides to do so only after Havoc is healed. Roy is absolutely destroyed by his best friend's death and he's consumed by the desire of revenge, and yet what stops him from crossing the line is the idea of losing the other person he loves the most.

Roy is an extremely complex character, a flawed man who has committed unspeakable horrors and unforgivable monstrous deeds and has paid dearly for his naiveté and idealism, yet that desire to protect people that drove him to enlist in the first place has never gone away and that's what keeps him moving forward. In Ishval he betrayed all his ideals, he betrayed himself, he betrayed Riza and the memory of his teacher and the very concept of alchemy in which he believed, but that part of him that wanted to protect people did not die. And when he comes back to East City and decides to start climbing the ranks, he hides his ambitions from his superiors basically by continuing to be the idiot and lazy and womanizer colonel who hates paperwork and dicks around in the office. And everyone falls for it, and meanwhile he quietly manages to become a freaking colonel at 29 !! I love this pathetic jerk so, so much.

[napoleonic-sexyman-tournament]

Propaganda for Michel Ney:

This man. THIS MAN HAD SO MUCH CHARACTER. HE’S LITERALLY THE KIND OF MAN THAT INSPIRES GOOD FICTIONAL CHARACTERS NGL!! Since he’s up against a british person, here is a description of him by the Times of London:

“... his name rendered illustrious by 25 years of eminent services and brilliant exploits, was dear to the country, and even the enemies of France admired in him the character of the Great Captain. All allowed him to possess as much generosity of sentiment as bravery and skill at the head of armies. No trait of weakness, adulation or rapacity, had ever cast shade over his loyalty and military virtues. His sole defect seemed to be a certain vehemence of character and expression, which rendered him little suited to public affairs.”

And his death was so tragic. In Waterloo, he had made a fatal mistake with the cavalry, and he decides here that he will die. We don’t know exactly what happened here. Did he have so much PTSD from russia and years of war that he made such a stupid mistake (AA ALSO AFTER the disaster of russia campaign he isolated himself so much. Poor man🥺)? But one thing’s for sure, this man wasn’t a coward. The Bravest of the Brave was not a man who’d mess up in the war and just run away. On those grassy fields, Ney tried everything to get his men’s attention and when all hope seemed lost he shouted in the faces of the enemies “See how a marshal of France meets his death!” It seems in that moment his greatest want was to be killed by english bullets. But Victor Hugo recounts this and adds the ironic line of “Unhappy man, thou wert reserved for French bullets!”

…😭😭😭😭ISN’T THAT JUST…. SO POETIC AND TRAGIC?????

AND DON’T EVEN. DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON HOW HE DIED!!!!

This man sobs afterwords he gets tried for treason against france basically for siding with Napoleon. But with how unfairly they zero-in on ney’s wrong doings, this was a blood sacrifice. To help him, his lawyer reasoned that the place Ney was born from technically was no longer french, since it has been annexed by Prussia from the 1815 treaty of paris…

But this guy. OH nOnoNonononononoNO, this red-haired, lion-looking, emotional honor-filled patriot has the audacity to interrupt his defender and say loudly without the slightest doubt or hesitation "I am French and I will remain French!"

….

Come on. COME ON!!!! How stupid is he???!! How idiotic!! He just closed another door to survival because of what??

because of honor….. Wow, can you imagine that? He has given everything all his years of service, all his years of being a husband, a father, a son, all his years of rest and peace of mind to France. He has done so much, and even when…EVEN WHEN FRANCE SLAPS HIM ACROSS THE FACE AND SAYS “you traitor” He shouts back “I am French and I will remain French!” aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OMG….. what the hek…who is this man????

So he is executed as a traitor. There are different versions of his death but here are a few:

By Rochechouart:

“He [Ney], of course, refused to kneel down and be blind-folded; he merely asked the Commandant Saint-Bias to show him where he should stand. He stood facing the platoon, who held their guns ready to fire. Then, in an attitude I shall never forget, it was so noble, calm and dignified, without bravado, he took off his hat, and availing himself of the moment when the Adjutant stepped aside and gave the signal to fire, he said these words, which I distinctly heard: Frenchmen, I protest against my sentence; my honour..." As he said these words he placed his hand on his heart; the volley was fired, and he fell. A rolling of drums, and the shout of "Vive le Roi" from the surrounding troops closed the mournful ceremony.”

Such a death made a deep impression on me, and turning to Auguste de la Rochejaquelein, Colonel of the Grenadiers, who was beside me, and who, like me, deplored the death of the bravest of the brave, I said: ‘There, my dear friend, is a lesson how to die.’”

By M. Laisne:

“He [Ney] took some steps, removed his hat, and in a loud and clear voice: ‘I protest,’ he said ‘before heaven and mankind, that the judgment that condemns me is iniquitous; I appeal from it to Europe and to posterity’ …. Before these words there was presented to him a handkerchief to bandage his eyes. He answered with exaltation, ‘do you not know that a soldier does not fear death.’ He advanced again four paces, laying his hand on his heart and said to the soldiers: ‘Do your duty. It is there that you must hit, do not miss me.’ Instantly he fell dead.”

And finally a very close person to him, Ida Saint-Elme:

“Ney got out of the carriage. He was wearing civilian clothes: a long dark coat, a white necktie, black breeches and stockings, a tall beaver hat with curved brim. He uncovered. His slightly raised head showed that his face wore a tranquil expression. He looked first to the right and then to the left. He caught sight of me. Then, as though fearing to compromise his faithful friends by the least sign of recognition, he bent his brow downward a trifle.”

“He walked on with firm step. At that instant I discerned through the mist, in the centre of the square of troops, and standing out from the dark background of the wall, the firing squad. I tried to rush forward. Belloc pulled me back, and forced me into the cab.”

“Then I dropped weakly upon the seat. A few minutes elapsed, each a whole century long. Then I heard a sharp report. I went into a dead faint."

His death is so tragic and amazing. It really shows out his character and was the initial thing that got me interested in him as a person. Anyways, basically, this dude is such a tragic glory-lover but also very heroic and inspiring.

So therefore HE ISS SEXY GO VOTE FOR NEY!!!

.

[bakugotrashpanda]

Tribute!Touya x Stylist!OC Word Count: 4.5k

Hunger Games AU

A/N: This was supposed to be a couple paragraphs, but here we are. No beta we die like men. Thank you @t-tomuras for the inspiration <3 I know it’s supposed to be self-ship, but I put an OC in for my comfort.

They escaped the Reaping only to be pulled back in.

The games have gotten boring. There's no shock in seeing kids fight each other in the arena any more. Sure, it serves as a reminder of the past and shows that no matter where someone is from, given the right circumstances, anyone can kill. Barbaric. But… the glamor of voyeurism, of watching kids suffer mentally and physically as entertainment, has lost its spark.

But pushing the age range for the reaping back? Giving kids more time to hope and dread, to understand what they're losing once they have a taste of a future – their future? Ripping families apart at an age where maybe someone is losing their parent rather than a sibling? Cruelly putting a decade of adults who thought they escaped the horrors of the Capital back into the running of dying? Delicious. 

At least in the jaded eyes of the Capital.

For Touya Todoroki though, it’s a chance for him to finally live up to his father’s expectations. Living in District 2 has its perks – if you’re seeking glory in death. The finest training establishments for Peacekeepers also means the finest training for careers who want to put their names in the stars or die trying. Touya wouldn’t even have to sneak into these facilities if he wanted that; he’d just need to throw his last name around and every door would open for him.

Special benefits of being a colonel’s son.

But he was never interested. He skated through life putting his name on the stupid ring out of some sense of duty and familial pressure only for it never to be drawn because some other idiot volunteers. Usually it was multiple idiots all clamoring to be first. 

He escapes his teenaged years unscathed. 

Adulthood means nothing to him. There’s no sweet relief he knows other districts must feel now that they have one less thing to worry about – for now, nor is there any bitter resentment at losing the opportunity at doing something great and having the eyes of the country on you. Life just… goes on. 

When faced with the prospect of needing a job, Touya’s options were to follow his father’s footsteps and become a low level military grunt and rise through the ranks, or join the miners in the quarries. 

It was a never-ending tirade from his father about how he ‘wasted his potential’ and ‘humiliated the family name’ by going into the quarries.

A couple years passed. Touya finally got a place of his own, left a string of broken hearts, and generally felt unsatisfied with life. There has to be more to living than just waking up, working, joining his coworkers at the bar, and then going back to his shitty apartment at the end of the day to wake up and start it all over again.

And then the rules change. It happens mid-shift. A roar rises above the normal work noise. He thinks it’s another truck rolling over – that would be the second one this week. But the angry cries work their way down the line to where he’s stationed. 

We’re back in the Reaping.

Fear. Chaos. Anger. 

Everyone around him is in a tizzy. And Touya feels numb. Back in the Reaping?

The site clears out. People panic and run home to hear it for themselves and not through the grapevine. 

Touya goes to the best source he can (unfortunately) think of; the Todoroki household.

Tensions are high.

His brother and sister sit ramrod straight around a rarely used dinner table that is more for show than anything else. Fuyumi fiddles with the locket around her neck – pictures of her new child no doubt. Natsuo’s clenched fists on the table are stark white causing the onyx band on his ring finger to stand out even more.

“It’s true,” his father says quietly. “You’re all back in the Reaping.”

Silence. 

Tears trickle down Fuyumi’s face.

As adults, there will be less bravado about volunteering. Less people will want to willingly leave their lives behind and–

“I’ll volunteer.” Shouto. Perfect fucking Shouto. Of course he would. Touya has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“You’ll make me proud,” their father says and fondly claps him on the shoulder. 

That’s that. Everyone disperses back to their own homes. If Shouto volunteers, then that’s the boys taken care of. If Fuyumi’s name gets picked, then she’s shit out of luck.

So why does Touya stand tall on the day of the Reaping? Why does his voice ring out loud and clear after the introductions are done? Why do his feet carrying him onto the stage?

Standing next to the announcer, his gaze flicks from his stunned brothers to his father. That’s why. Watching his father try and fail to control his bitter rage, his face turning dark shades of crimson. That’s why he did it. To rob him of what should’ve been a proud moment in his life.

There’s a mic in his face. He stares at the announcer who’s hungry for an answer.

“Your bravery,” they start again, “What motivates you?”

He looks at the screen behind him and smirks. He’s no longer the scrawny teenager internally mocking all the tributes. His years working have filled out his formerly lanky frame. 

“To show that the Todoroki name means something,” he answers condescendingly, “And that I’m not wasting my potential.”

There’s an outburst from the stands. He refuses to look. He knows who it is. It would only be the cherry on top if his old man keeled over and died from anger right here right now.

He did it. He volunteered. 

What a stupid fucking mistake. 

His goodbyes are awful and he spends most of it deflecting questions from his family. Yes, he’s aware Shouto was going to volunteer. No, he doesn’t have any remorse for what he did. Yes, he definitely is thinking of family, just not in the way they’re implying. Will he survive and win? That’s to be determined. 

His father doesn’t make an appearance.

The short train ride to the Capitol is spent silently with the mentors and the other tribute. His counterpart seems… alright. She has some training  and a determination that’ll maybe help her live past the first day. What can Touya do? Explosives. Operate heavy machinery. Swing a hammer. How much different can a skull be from a rock?

Peacekeepers escort them to a processing center with sterile white walls and bright overhead lights that give Touya a headache. How many of them were trained by his father?

The tributes from 1 arrive at the same time as them. He gets a glimpse of the duo before being whisked away to a slightly less off-putting room. A woman with matte black lipstick and electric blue hair styled in an angular bob waits inside.

He can feel her calculating brown eyes rove up and down his body. Taking stock.

“Like what you see?” Touya says sarcastically. She doesn’t respond, but walks up to him, the slightly dimmer light reflecting off the gold lining her gray suit.

The woman extends her hand. “Alex. Your stylist.”

“Great,” says Touya, ignoring her hand. “Just what I need. Fashion.”

Alex pulls out a tablet and a laser pointer of sorts and starts circling Touya. “Think of me as your personal storyteller,” she says and taps away on her tablet before returning to scanning him. “I use your body to tell the world about you.”

“I’m not one of the children you can dress up like a doll.”

“Good. No one needs another sob story in the lineup. There are enough people leaving spouses and kids behind that’ll try and use that to their advantage.” She stops in front of him and shines the laser from his left to his right shoulder. From this close he can see the layers of makeup the Capitol is renowned for. “Tell me you’re more interesting than that.”

“Got no wife, and no kids with my name.” Maybe a bastard or two, but who’s counting?

“And what do you do in 2?”

“Quarry work.”

“Which is?”

“You’re fuckin’ annoying. Rocks. Demolition.”

“Why not military? Your father is up there, right?”

“You do your homework,” Touya smirks, “I was on a train for less than two hours after I volunteered.”

“I have to in order to be good at my job.”

Touya crosses his arms over his chest. “What’s your real question?”

A smirk crinkles her supposedly flawless facade. “Why volunteer?”

“To be every bit the disappointment my father expects me to be. One final ‘fuck you’ just for him.”

Alex stands there for a moment tapping one perfectly manicured nail against her thigh. Lost in thought, she chews on her bottom lip for a second, the black lipstick coming off at the inner edge to reveal her natural lip underneath.

Fuck he wants to smear it. Take the perfection of the Capitol and ruin it any way he can. 

“I can make this work,” she says determinedly and taps furiously at her tablet. “Your first appearance isn’t for a couple days. I want something bold; something that’ll make everyone stop and stare and the first volunteer and wonder what was going through his head.”

“Don’t dress me up like a fucking gladiator,” Dabi says. He recalls that being the go-to in the past – a show of strength and closeness to the Capitol. Gaudy. 

Brown eyes meet his, and fingers that were flying fast over the screen are still for a second. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Back to work.

“Then what, want me to show you my work uniform?” Because nothing says ‘I’m here to win’ like beige coveralls.

“I have bigger plans for you. You’re not going to be something as archaic as a gladiator, and I’m certainly not playing up to your district’s masonry export. If I wanted that I’d go to 12 and deal with the coal mines.” She turns her tablet off and tucks it away to stare up at him. There’s a small spark in eyes otherwise devoid of life. “I know about the secret export that the Capitol overlooks. We’re going military chic.”

Touya’s face crunches into a sneer. “Why don’t you raid my father’s closet, there’s nothing but uniforms in there.”

“You do a good job of looking like a stuffy asshole on your own,” she counters. “I’ll make you look good. You just need to focus on making sure you can win.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Touya says sarcastically. 

Alex goes to the door and knocks twice. “I have full confidence in you Touya — if you want it, I believe you can win it all.”

The Peacekeepers return and escort him to the training grounds. More like a prison with shiny luxuries meant to distract them from the fact that they’re going to die in a few short weeks. 

When the tributes are rounded up the following day, they’re brought back to the harshly lit facility. Alex waits for him again in their room, hands clasped behind her back. Wisps of bright blue hair purposely fall out of the two buns at her neck and barely graze the white dress covering her lightly tan skin. The loose material is cinched at her waist with a thick golden belt. 

For someone who doesn’t want to dress her tribute as a gladiator, she pulls off the toga-esque dress well.

Alex raises an eyebrow and nods to a clothing rack beside her. Touya approaches it and nearly drops the only thing hanging there on the floor when he realizes what it is.

“You can’t be serious,” Touya says.

Alex’s smile drips with overwhelming sweetness that sets Touya on edge. “Today is all about you and making you look good. That’s what you’ll wear today. I’ll step out of the room for three minutes.” Her dress flows behind her as she walks out of the room.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Touya mutters to himself. Regardless, he pulls the clothing off the hanger and strips.

The black, lightweight bodysuit bends easily with him. He gives a couple test jumps with no hindrance. Black boots with thick soles remind him of his work boots – but much better quality. Something the Capitol can no doubt afford. A subtle dark blue honeycomb pattern runs throughout the suit and is only noticeable in the light. Silver metal plates are seamlessly worked into the chest area, forearms, and various points in the back.

There’s a small knock at the door. Alex slips back inside, her eyes greedily roving over Touya’s body again. The corner of her gold stained lips quirks up briefly.

“Is this it?” Touya asks. He extends an arm and moves his bare wrist around. A pair of gloves would help. Immediately he drops his arm. Help? Help what? This is just for show. It won’t help him in the arena.

“I have some accessories to try out over there.” Alex points to a table Touya didn’t notice before in the opposite corner. “You’re my dress up doll today.”

“And this?” Touya gestures to his outfit.

“You’re the future of Peacekeepers.” Alex reaches a hand out and hesitates. She meets Touya’s gaze and hesitantly asks, “Can I?”

He nods and fights the heat rising up his face.

“Naturally, it’s functional,” Alex says confidently. Her nails tap against the metal plating on his forearm. “In a real fight, this would help protect you without the clunkiness the current Peacekeepers have.”

“And protect the vital organs.” Touya can’t help but notice the not so decorative metal covering certain parts of his body.

Alex smiles impishly. “Precisely. Titanium-reinforced plating protects key organs, and a strong reinforced weave body suit resists knife and other close combat weapons.”

Touya frowns. This could actually be for a Peacekeeper in the future. Is he just her toy to promote her fashion line or whatever?

He should be angry. He should tear it all off and wear a his fucking work uniform. He’s going to die, and she’s using him as a model.

But it doesn’t matter. He agreed to this. He volunteered for this. And so what if she wants to use him?

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does…

“If you’re trying to get on my father’s good side to gain his favor, you chose the wrong son to align yourself with,” Touya says bitterly.

“Why would I get on his good side?” Alex tilts her head, “You’re doing this for whatever personal vendetta you have against him.”

“And possibly outfitting the future Peacekeepers hadn’t crossed your mind?” he quips.

“Of course it did,” she snorts, “But I have other avenues for that if I really want to. For now, I enjoy the freedom I get with you tributes.”

Freedom. Tributes. How ironic.

Alex floats over to her accessory table and comes back with a pair of black gloves lined with silver. “Put these on.”

She flits back and forth between the table and Touya, holding up various tools and having him put things on and take things off. It feels like an hour of bartering for different accouterments. No, the belts are overkill. Yes, the gun and knife harnesses are fine. Yes, kneepads are bulky, but they’d be practical. No, he will absolutely not wear anything that covers his neck entirely.

He thinks it’s over and he can go – where? He doesn’t know. Anywhere but here – but Alex drags Touya over to a full length mirror. He’s startled by his own appearance. Alex wanted military chic, and she delivered in a cyber punk, dystopian way. He looks like he should wear a faceless mask and keep the masses bent through fear.

He looks like a minion trained by his father.

He looks like someone his father would be proud of.

Brilliant blue fills the lower half of his vision. Standing on her tiptoes, Alex runs her hands through his hair. Her nails scrape his scalp lightly and send shivers down his spine. This close, he can smell her perfume — an amber and rose mix. To someone who has no time for luxuries like perfume, it’s an assault on his senses, but by Capitol standards it’s rather lackluster. 

“What’re you doing?” he murmurs before clearing his throat and asking the question again in a harsher tone. 

She frowns and runs her hand through his hair again, pinning it back between her fingers. “Trying to figure out how I want your hair styled,” she says absently. 

“Wouldn’t the mirror be better for that?” He gestures at the enhanced mirror, no doubt recording his every move. 

With a huff, Alex steps back and plants her hands on her hips. “Is that what you want?”

No. 

“It’ll make this go faster.”

“Fine.” Alex taps the mirror and pulls him over. Bright lights illuminate his face. Alex taps his hair on the reflection and a menu pops up. “I was thinking about having it slicked back or parted instead of this spiky mess you leave it in.”

She swipes through a couple hairstyles, pausing on a couple to see his reaction. 

Touya turns his head on a couple and stares at his augmented reflection. Slicked back doesn’t look half bad. Parted is a no go.

“I look like my brother like this,” Touya grimaces at the near perfect Natsuo hairstyle, “But slicked is fine.”

Alex studies his reflection. With a wave of her hand everything resets. 

“One more option.” Pulling up a color wheel she drags the color selector to black. Touya watches his hair change from stark white to inky black. “Keep it styled as you have it and change the color. Then during your interview go with slicked back.”

Hair dye?

He does look sinister with it. Deadly. 

“Do it.”

It’s a whirlwind of activity before the parade. Lambs being led to the slaughter.

He’s harnessed into the chariot with the other District 2 tribute who sports a similarly designed suit. Her hair is pulled back in a low bun and her face is caked with enough makeup to be mistaken for a Capitol native.

They’re the second ones in. Cheers and roars from the audience and the warm sun slam into him. When was the last time he felt the sun? On the day of the Reaping?

A round camera flies with them, zooming in on their outfits and faces. Without thinking, Touya raises a hand and makes a finger gun. This one’s for you, old man. Pulling the ‘trigger’, he smirks and goes back to ignoring the device. The crowd’s reaction is deafening.

He ignores the other chariots coming to a rest beside them. He ignores the President and his speech. He ignores the audience. 

Calm.

Cool

Collected.

Keep a level head.

Survive. 

With a jolt, his chariot is following District 1’s out. 

He’s plunged back into darkness and artificial lighting.

Unhooking himself, he hops down and purposefully walks back to his room. Keep the facade going as long as possible.

Silence is just as bad as thousands of people cheering for him.

Amber and rose teasing his nose is the only warning he gets before warm arms wrap around his neck. “Genius! Pure genius.” Alex’s hands trail down his arms. “You made this work for you and the audience loved it.”

He lets her prattle on but doesn’t listen. Instead, his eyes follow the curve of her cheeks and the spark in her eye. There’s even flecks of gold in her irises. How much of her is actually her and how much is changed for the Capitol? Does it really matter? He drinks up her essence and commits it to memory. 

A week passes. Much like the Peacekeepers training in his district, Touya’s kept to a tight schedule. Eat. Sleep. Train. There’s more to it though – layers and layers of politics; impressing the right people, finding allies to fight alongside, measuring up threats.

Trying not to get to know the people he’ll have to kill.

It’s after a brutal day of training when Alex whirls into the room, her eyes ablaze. 

“I heard you took a beating in training today,” she says. Walking over to the wall, she pushes a panel and drags a hidden clothing rack out.

“Is that concern I hear?” Touya taunts.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Bossy,” he scoffs but lifts his shirt knowing full well that if he doesn’t do it, she’ll do it for him. He turns and tosses his shirt in a corner.

“You have your final interview tonight and I need to see if there are bruises where-” There’s a pause. Touya smirks. He knows what she’s seen. “There’s a tattoo.”

One he got as soon as he was old enough and had the money. The first thing he purchased on his own. A dragon that starts at his left shoulder and wraps around his back, crosses his abdomen, and ends below the belt. “And?”

“I didn’t know you have a tattoo,” she says bluntly. He watches her eyes follow the scales wrapping around his hip. “How… How far does it go?”

“Interested in what’s below the belt?”

“I’m interested in how I can use it.”

“In that case, find out for yourself.” Touya expects some banter – a witty retort telling him where he can shove it. But nothing comes. With a sigh he pats the end of the art. “The tail ends on my thigh.”

“Okay. Okay.” Alex says, hands clasped together tightly in front of her mouth. Even with all her makeup, Touya can see the flustered glow rising in her cheeks. “I can work with this.” A pause. “I can work with this.”

“You sound so confident,” Touya says sarcastically. That gets her attention.

“I am a professional,” she snaps back, but it seems to be more of a reminder for herself. She clears her throat and marches over to him. Her eyes pinpoint every bruise on his chest from training. “I’ll cover those up, but we’re leaving your art on display for everyone to see.”

“What, no shirt?”

“No,” she smirks, “You’ll have a shirt… of sorts.”

Turns out ‘of sorts’ means ‘mesh shirt under a leather jacket. Much to Touya’s chagrin, his verbal sparring partner remained quiet during their time together – only answering questions when he asked.

In the end, Touya ends up in leather pants and jacket with neon blue lighting at the seams. Even his boots from the parade were updated with the same strips of light. The only alteration Alex made on site was removing the zipper of the jacket and installing more lights in its place to keep it open and exposing just enough of his tattoo to pique Caesar Flickerman’s curiosity.

True to her word, Alex slicks back Touya’s hair for the interview.

And as usual, he’s impressed with her work.

They’re the first ones to gather at the studio. The other tributes trickle in with their mentors and stylists, but Touya ignores them all. The general buzz of noise around him doesn’t compare to the frustrating silence between him and Alex.

“I don’t know what they’re going to ask, but the vibe I’m going for is ‘play boy’,” Alex finally says. “Make the women want you, and the men want to be you. Confident. Charismatic. Charm the money out of their accounts.”

He lets her ramble for a minute more before sweeping up both her hands in one of his own. Wide brown eyes framed by blue hair stare at him.

She’s shaking.

“Stop,” he says in a gruff voice. “You’re worrying. Where did the confident stylist who wanted to take on supplying the Peacekeepers go?”

“This is your last chance to make a good impression before you go in the arena tomorrow. You need them to like you,” she blurts out. As if he didn’t already know that.

“Whatever happens happens,” he shrugs. “Pull yourself together.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line.”

He hears his name and thunderous applause. Dropping her hands, Touya steps back.

“It’s my time.”

“Good luck,” she whispers. Was that meant for his ears? He almost stops. Almost. But she’s right, he needs all the money he can finesse out of these people.

The day of the Games is a somber affair. A bodysuit waits at the foot of his bed for him, and he wonders for a moment when that arrived. He pulls it on and waits silently in his room. No doubt his counterpart is in the main dining area with the mentors going over strategy. He should be there too. But starting this afternoon it’ll be just him.

So why not start being by himself earlier.

He even opts to wait in the arena loading zone by himself. Until Alex arrives to make last minute appearance alterations.

“No special outfit for me today?” Touya asks and gestures to his bodysuit.

“No.”

Right. And he knew that too, but damn, any conversation would be appreciated right now. “Any advice?”

“Don’t die.”

A voice booms through the intercom in the room. Two minutes, tributes.

“Alex.” Desperation rises in his gut. “Kiss me.” Don’t let the last thing I hear and see of you be misery.

“What?” Deep brown eyes filled with pain stare up at him. Fuck. It hurts to see. It’s not the first time he’s left a woman with that look on her face before, but dammit why did it have to be her?

“Just once, before I die.” He’s not pleading. Touya Todoroki doesn’t beg. “You can’t refuse a dying man’s wish.”

“Touya,” Alex smiles faintly, “You’re not going to die.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re going to win.”

“Alex…” 

“I know you will,” Alex says fiercely. “You have to.” He hates the way her voice starts to break and quaver. “I… I don’t want to watch you die.”

“Why?”

Say it.

“You know why.”

“You’ll regret it if you don’t say it now.”

Say it. For me.

The intercom goes off again. One minute, tributes.

“I won’t ask ag-”

Soft lips are on his. He wraps his arms around her body and pulls her close. Fuck the Peacekeepers in the room. He’s going to die, and he’s going to enjoy this last moment with Alex.

Nails rake through his hair and elicit a groan from him. He digs his nails in and deepens the kiss. One minute feels like an eternity, but Touya takes it all – her taste, her scent, her sounds – and commits it to memory. Breaking the salty kiss, he stands on the pad and watches the glass casing come down around him at the last second.

Drying her tears, Alex beams at him. Probably trying to stay strong until I’m gone. “Come back to me, Touya.”

And maybe he will.

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

"you're fired!"

You flinched as Mister Selfridge pointed at Norm and yelled.

Poor Norm.

He did a mistake on the computer data. He was smart in his own way being a doctor. But he can be clumsy

Grace wrapped her arms around Norm. "It's okay. I will find a way to make you stay?"

"how?" Trudy asked.

Grace then turned her head to you. You were the most prettiest young lady she ever seen. You didn't look human at all. Being so flawless you might as well be an anime girl or a doll. Too perfect to be real.

A lot of men at the base found you attractive. Maybe if the Colonel saw you ...

You nervously walked to a place of the base you never stepped foot in. So foreign. The place where the toughest soldiers were. The Marine. You avoided the way the jerks would whistle and ogle at you. You wished Grace or Max came for protection.

You gulped clothing the big profile you were carrying about Norm.

"are you lost?"

A man with shaven hair and lots of tattoos on his muscled arms blocked your path.

You nodded. "I am looking for a man named mister Quaritch l."

The guy grinned. "I know him. He is my boss."

He told you to follow him.

You did awkwardly.

The man stopped walking and pointed to the figure in front of him.

You thanked him and he left winking at you. "No problem, buttercup."

The man in front of you was lifting weights. Like perhaps 200 pounds.

You wished the shaved man would call for him. You have to do it yourself.

"um, excuse me. Are you mister Quaritch?"

The man stopped what he was doing and looked at you. He set his weights on the rack and sat up.

A tanned and handsome man with scars in his scalp looked at you.

Despite being old he was attractive.

He was looking at you rather odd. Like you were a weird animal under a microscope. Has he never seen a woman before?

He was running you in from head to toe. You felt insecure in your gothic boots and your green floral blouse.

The lab coat gave you protection from his scrutiny.

Should you leave?

"I am the Colonel and second in command." He started talking. Velvety and masculine. No nonsense.

"um okay " you smiled. "Doctor Augustine wanted me to give you the profile of Doctor Norm Spellman. He got fired by Mister Selfridge and she wants you to talk to him about it."

The Colonel raised a wrinkled brow. He held out his hand and you gave him the profile.

"I know Spellman." He shook his head. "He is an absent minded idiot."

You felt hurt in your chest. The Colonel noticed. Did you like him? Quaritch felt rage and jealousy in his heart.

"sir he is my good friend and a doctor. We need him."

Quaritch frowned and said nothing then nodded. "I will speak to Selfridge but let me show you something..." he got up from his seat and walked ahead of you.

You awkwardly followed him.

There was something what appeared to be a robot the size of a house.

"oh, my."

The Colonel smirked at your expression. *This armor suit can be destroyed if the wrong computer data is inserted. Waste of three million dollars of the bat."

You looked at the Colonel and held your breath.

"I can do it all for Norm if you allow me."

Quaritch looked at you. "Fine. He will stay. But not another mistake or I won't be so lenient."

"thank you, sir. I will tell doctor Augustine."

Quaritch ogled at you and nodded.

You turned around to leave but he placed his palm on your shoulder causing you to turn around.

"what's your name, kid?"

"name last name."

"Shouldn't you be in highschool?"

"I am eighteen., sir?"

The Colonel nodded. "such in a hurry to leave. You didnt bothet to give me anything in return. How rude "

"I am sorry, sir. I got excited and forgot."

Quaritch chuckled. How cute. "I am kidding, doll "

The Colonel said he and his team will go to the jungle to scout the area. He invited you and Grace only to come.

You beamed and smiled. "Thank you, sir "

The Colonel's heart leaped. He dismissed you and watched your graceful form walk away. What a fox.

He cannot believe he never seen you before. As if you were hiding and avoiding him. But it makes sense, you were with the science pukes and he hated them so much he would not go near their labs. You must be there too.

Out of all people, a nerd got his attention. You were scrawny, pathetic, weak. You looked as if you never did a single push up. Yet you managed to get his interest.

...

The trip to the jungle was fun. Like a field trip. The plants and flowers were too beautiful to be true. Grace collected some plants and you helped.

The Colonel watched you, he followed you wherever you went. Then suddenly your foot got tangled in a tree root which caused you to fall on your face.

The Colonel ran to you gun in hand. He put it down and made you sit up

You were in pain. He lifted your loose black jeggings to see your ankle swollen.

You whimpered when the Colonel touched it. "Clumsy brat."

"I'm sorry."

The Colonel then lifted more of the jegging to see your legs. Your skin was smooth and clear as silk. Damn. He touched it. So soft like jelly. A delicate angel.

No flaw at all.

You blushed when you saw your exposed leg flesh.

The Colonel saw your face turning red.

He hid a smirk.

He strapped his gun on his back. He then picked you up bridal style and began walking you to the chopper.

"Colonel, what are you-"

"shut up, brat."

You obeyed

[cats-and-fiction]

Demise and Ascension

Human Quaritch x Human Reader

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 (You are here)

The past couple days have been hard on all people living in Hells gate. The Na‘vi attacks have tripled over the last nights and everybody was on edge waiting foe them to finally start an attack on base despite Grace denying it and begging them to talk to the Na‘vi.

Her begging has been fruitless and the air was thick of anticipation and fear. You on the other hand had another fight going on. In a stuffy office with a thick headed idiot who was only interested in making money on the fast way. You yourself were interested in stopping the Na‘vi‘s attacks by making that idiot be reasonable and humane in getting the metal. Like usual it emded up with you getting angry and storming out of the room. Out of the central basis and through the corridors of the building. Your goal was to reach your room where you would get some quite time.

While walking in a fast pace you angrily spar out various profanities under your breath and with a look that could kill. Making most of the people coming your way do a wide step around you. Nearly reaching your destination you turned around the corner and got spooked seeing someone right in front you. Shocked you stopped in your tracks and pulling in a deep breath. Gripping your chest as if your heart would nearly jump out you found right in front of you an amused yet very tired looking Quaritch.

Deep bags were under his eyes and had a cup of coffee in his hand. That would have hurt if both you hadn‘t stopped. Some coffe burns and stains would have been enough to tip you over the edge. „Oh my, who looks like they are going on a murder spree the next second?“, you exhaled exhausted and shook your head as you looked up to the mans face with a displeased look.

„Please, Quarirch I have no nerve right now for any of your games“, you sounded and felt as exhausted as him probably. Now that the adrenalin was gone. Looking at him directly now you noticed a difference. His hair was longer, covering up more of his scars and he had a beard which surprisingly fit to him. „You don‘t look better Colonel. Are the Na‘vi getting hard to handle after desteoying more of their home?“, now you looked amused at him. A smile tugging at your lips.

„I‘m just doing my job. Those wild people don‘t make easy.“, how he didn‘t care about anything. You rolled your eyes. „If you listened to any of us your job would be hundred times easier. But you choose to ignore us.“, you crossed your arms in front of your chest and leaned against the wall.

Your eyes are fixed on his face. You expected him to get as close as usual with some stupid comment about how you shouldn‘t be a problem for him. Breaching your personal space and making all your emotions confused. At the thought of your former exchanges you swallowed the emotions coming up right down again.

„Maybe we should start listening to you and those labrats.“, Quaritchs voice sounded tired and exhausted. He took a step closer to you and his eyes wandered from your face down to your throat. „Maybe I come by and you can tell me what you want from us again“, your face started to heat up and the smug look on your face vanished. Exchanged by complete confusion. What? Your arms, still crossed, got loose and fell to the side of your body.

Quaritch grinned and continued his way like usual. Your face still hot and your stomach doing back flips you looked after him. Before quickly returning back around the corner. What happened? Did somebody switch him out with another Miles Quaritch? The rest of the way towards your quarters you asked yourself what the switch of demenour in this man was. Well, you two could easily talk as long as it didn‘t involve either of your jobs but this talk did, didn‘t it? Maybe you were just tired too.

The very next morning, you had barely got yourself to your room, at least that how you felt you got woken up by a knock on your door. Tight sleeps had never been your thing in the late days and every tiny noise woke you up, especially since you landed on Pandora. Laying on your back you stared up to your ceiling. Another knock. Pulling the blanket over your head and rolling to your side, facing your back now to the door you hoped the person was just at the wrong room and would leave you. Especially with how yesterday was you didn't want to step outside. Grace was already all up in your hair for not doing what you were send here to do and all the RDA people just looked at you amused. You couldn't blame them, you did look like a clown sent to the wrong party and now having to stay because there is no way home and the person coming to fetch you comes in a few hours. In this case months. A lot of months.

The Third knock. Groaning you threw the blanket of you body and made yourself stand up, your naked feet froze once you hid the cold floor. Shuddering you quickly made a detour to put on some socks and a jacket and opened the door. Very annoyed. "What? Who do you think you are waking me up that early?", you rant ended abruptly with meeting a familiar face. Surprise switched out with a rather unpleasant look. "Early? It's already 12", like usual he didn't seem to care where your personal space started as he invited himself into your room. Acting as if he looked interest in how it looked despite it being like every other room on this base. He still looked like yesterday but less tired. Not shaved, same clothes as yesterday and this time even some fresh bandages and scratches.

"Guess Pandora has reminded you again how awful you are?", you said amused and returned to sit back on your bed with crossed arms. No way you could force that guy out of your room. You knew how he was, not moving an inch. With slitted eyes you watched him careful. Quaritch turned your chair around and sat on it, facing you. He had been awfully nice to you the last days, less intimidating.

He leaned back, the chair creaking in disagreement. He elbows propped up on the armrest and hands folded together. He looked down on the floor rather than you before talking. "I told you I would stop by and listen what you think we should do to change", his voice sounded as if he spoke serious yet you noticed how what he said wasn't meant. He just wanted to know your opinion on how to make his life easier. That's why he was nice.

You laughed. "That's why gotten nicer to me? You know I still make trouble despite your warnings.", you leaned forward arms propped on your legs. He returned you laugh with a smile and finally looked at you.

"I just want to make our life's easier and keep us safe. Including you, little troublemaker.", he voice sounded amused. Copying your movement he leaned forward and moved towards you with the chair. "So, L/N, what did you propose again?", you gave him a little smile and came a bit forward until you sat right on the edge of your bed.

-

I don't know if it actually fits as a part 3 to the other two parts but I guess we go that way. Half of it was written in the middle of the night and I guess it's poorly done lmao. Hope you still enjoy and reblogs and likes are appreciated. We soon will reach the end on this multi parted one shot.

Part 4

[afrikakorpsmaedel]

AUGUST 22, 1939: The Obersalzburg Speech

“Decision to attack Poland was arrived at in spring. Originally there was fear that because of the political constellation we would have to strike at the same time against England, France, Russia and Poland. This risk too we should have had to take. Goring had demonstrated to us that his Four-Year Plan is a failure and that we are at the end of our strength, if we do not achieve victory in a coming war.

Since the autumn of 1938 and since I have realised that Japan will not go with us unconditionally and that Mussolini is endangered by that nitwit of a King and the treacherous scoundrel of a Crown Prince, I decided to go with Stalin. After all there are only three great statesmen in the world, Stalin, I and Mussolini. Mussolini is the weakest, for he has been able to break the power neither of the crown nor of the Church. Stalin and 1 are the only ones who visualise the future. So in a few weeks hence I shall stretch out my hand to Stalin at the common German-Russian frontier and with him undertake to re-distribute the world.

Our strength lies in our quickness and in our brutality; Genghis Khan has sent millions of women and children into death knowingly and with a light heart. History sees in him only the great founder of States. As to what the weak Western European civilisation asserts about me, that is of no account. I have given the command and I shall shoot everyone who utters one word of criticism, for the goal to be obtained in the war is not that of reaching certain lines but of physically demolishing the opponent. And so for the present only in the East 1 have put my death-head formations' in place with the command relentlessly and without compassion to send into death many women and children of Polish origin and language. Only thus we can gain the living space [lebensraum] that we need. Who after all is today speaking about the destruction of the Armenians?

Colonel-General von Brauchitsch has promised me to bring the war against Poland to a close within a few weeks. Had he reported to me that he needs two years or even only one year, I should not have given the command to march and should have allied myself temporarily with England instead of Russia for we cannot conduct a long war. To be sure a new situation has arisen. I experienced those poor worms Daladier and Chamberlain in Munich. They will be too cowardly to attack. They won't go beyond a blockade. Against that we have our autarchy and the Russian raw materials.

Poland will be depopulated and settled with Germans. My pact with the Poles was merely conceived of as a gaining of time. As for the rest, gentlemen, the fate of Russia will be exactly the same as 1 am now going through with in the case of Poland. After Stalin's death-he is a very sick man-we will break the Soviet Union. Then there will begin the dawn of the German rule of the earth.

The little States cannot scare me. After Kemal's [i.e. Ataturk] death Turkey is governed by cretins and half idiots. Carol of Roumania is through and through the corrupt slave of his sexual instincts. The King of Belgium and the Nordic kings are soft jumping jacks who are dependent upon the good digestions of their over-eating and tired peoples.

We shall have to take into the bargain the defection of Japan. I save Japan a full year's time. The Emperor is a counterpart to the last Czar - weak, cowardly, undecided. May he become a victim of the revolution. My going together with Japan never was popular. We shall continue to create disturbances in the Far East and in Arabia. Let us think as "gentlemen" and let us see in these peoples at best lacquered half maniacs who are anxious to experience the whip.

The opportunity is as favourable as never before. 1 have but one worry, namely that Chamberlain or some other such pig of a fellow (Saukerl) will come at the last moment with proposals or with ratting (Umfall). He will fly down the stairs, even if I shall personally have to trample on his belly in the eyes of the photographers.

No, it is too late for this. The attack upon and the destruction of Poland begins Saturday early. 1 shall let a few companies in Polish uniform attack in Upper Silesia or in the Protectorate. Whether the world believes it is quite indifferent (scheissegal). The world believes only in success.

For you, gentlemen, fame and honour are beginning as they have not since centuries. Be hard, be without mercy, act more quickly and brutally than the others. The citizens of Western Europe must tremble with horror. That is the most human way of conducting a war. For it scares the others off.

The new method of conducting war corresponds to the new drawing of the frontiers. A war extending from Reval, Lublin, Kaschau to the mouth of the Danube. The rest will be given to the Russians. Ribbentrop has orders to make every offer and to accept every demand. In the West I reserve to myself the right to determine the strategically best line. Here one will be able to work with Protectorate regions, such as Holland, Belgium and French Lorraine.

And now, on to the enemy, in Warsaw we will celebrate our reunion.”

I do not support or condone the actions of the Nazi Party

[0ladyred0]

AVATARTWOW

~FAN FICTION ONE SHOT~

[ Miles Quaritch x chubby f! Human reader]

<Hello again! So this is the final part of this one shot and it will get steamy~ please mind that the reader is plus size🙏 enjoy! >

[Y/ns] perspective:

Something white started to flash as my eyes remained closed. It felt quiet and the only noise was a beeping heart. I slowly opened my eyes to see a white roof with lights on the sides. I looked around to see where I was at. It seemed like a nursing room for a human, small but manageable. I started to stand up and i heard the door open. It was two people and an avatar, it's was Lyle! One of the corporals. (The bald one that quaritch hit when he woke up)

"Hello?" I said confused.

"Finally you're awake. Though we lost you there"Lyle said as people took off the syringes out of my half naked body.

"No need to be rude sir but, why are you here? I'm sure someone like you has much better things to worry about..."

"Oh well actually Colonel send me here to check up on you, seems to me that he's kinda pissed off" He said scratching his neck. 'Pissed off?' why is he mad? Then I realized the samples that I had to risk everyone's lives on.

"The plant samples! Do you have them?!" I stood up walking towards him. He seemed confused but then he realized what I was talking about.

Third person:

Now you we're currently storming thew the halfway. Not caring that you only had a black bra on. You we're thankful no one was awake. It was nighttime but you were damned sure Miles was awake. You finally reached his door. You can't believe you had to put everyone's live on the line and his idiot ass didn't get the damn plant! You didn't even had to nock you just walked in.

Quaritch on the other had heard the door open while he was sitting on his bed looking down exhausted.

"Ever heard of noc-"Quaritch cut his sentence because he saw you. Pissed off and without a shirt on. He seemed now fully awake but confused as to why you were here.

"Miss [y/n] what a-"

"Don't give me that crap! Why didn't you get the bag with the samples of the plant?" you said irritated. Quaritch actually forgot about that part. Which in his mind said 'shit' . But he wasn't concerned about the plants.

"A thank you would be very appreciated"he said looking away. He didn't want to stare because it was becoming quite a problem down there.

"No -it would've been nice if you grabbed the damn samples because all of us risked our lives for it" clearly to Quaritch you seemed more worried about a plant than your life, which made him irritated.

"If the damn plant's were so important... Then why did you save me?" he said. He started to stand up. You knew he was tall but seeing him getting close to you like that did something for you...

"You barley lived... So why... Did you... Save me..."

"Oh please you're more important than me-"

"But risking your own life damn life isn't!"quaritch said looking [y/n] in her eyes with anger. [Y/n] seemed scared at his sudden grab on her shoulders.

"I have been watching you for a long time [y/n] ...and I have to say that you are the most interesting woman I have even met in this damn facility..." Quaritch couldn't hold his feelings anymore. Yes, he has been watching you closely without you knowing. He even ease drops on you just so to hear you talk. He fell in love with your personality.And your body? He couldn't stop his starring from afar when you aren't watching. He love your body, and seeing you shirtless made his heart race faster. He started to breathe hardly and [y/n] noticed Imidietly.

"Are you okay sir?-"

"I'm fine!-" Quaritch then stood up and turned around. While he was turning, [y/n] had a glimpse of his pants and they were rather... Tight...

[Y/n] then realized what was going on with him and seemed embarrassed because she was shirtless. But she was still mad at him for not grabbing the samples and so she was gonna use that against him.

"Oh what? You think I'm not gonna scold you no more because of.. That?!.." you said serious and crossing your arms. Quaritch on the other hand was getting worse down there and was not feeling like arguing right now.

"[Y/n] don't you cross the line with me... You don't want know what will happen if you do..." he said grunting because it was getting uncomfortable in his pants. He had his back still turned to [y/n] but clearly he wanted her... You felt like you had him in control and so you said something that triggered his next act.

"Oh what are you gonna do? Your honesty pathe-" right before you could finish your sentence you we're aggressively picked up and thrown down on a big bed by Quaritch. You groaned and looked up to see him hovering on top of you and breathing heavily.

You looked down and saw that he was hard as a rock down there which actually made you turned on.

"What's the matter baby?... Cat's got your tongue?" he smirked at your sudden quietness. He let his left hand hold you neck while the other trails down your body giving you goosebumps. You didn't mean to, but you moaned slightly making Quaritch smile at your sudden submissive behavior.

"Wha-....what are you doing?... P-please-..."you sentence was caught off again by him holding you by the neck and lifting you closer to his face.

"You still wanna talk about how things should've ended?" he said forcing you to look at him just by squeezing your neck. You shook your head but he wanted to hear you day it.

"C'mon sweetheart... Use your words" you actually couldn't hold eyes contact with someone you liked and so because of that you were all weak and vulnerable beneath him.

"N-no..."

"No what?" he brought your neck closer to his teeth. You wrapped your legs around his waist before you even realizing it.

"No sir..." that's it. You we're defeated. Quaritch only smirked.

"Good girl..." for your politeness, he awarded you with a kiss. The kiss felt like nothing you have ever experience. Really! In all your year's you never had a kiss. Or a partner. Quaritch placed his hand on your lower back and pushed your body towards his. Now you could definitely feel his hard dick in his pants. Quaritch broke the kiss and while he was still holding you by the neck. He made his way to it and started to nibble on it making you squirm. You on the other hand. Because it was your first time and you felt embarrassed by that you didn't say anything about it because you wanted him so badly to fuck you even if it hurts.

You snapped back to reality when he bit you rather harshly by the neck. You moaned with pain in the mix... But mostly pain.

"Ow!... Asshole!..." and of course again, Quaritch showed your body down in his bed and held you with one arm while taking off his belt with the other.

"Really? You still wanna act like that?"

He said as you struggled to get out his grip but by god he was so much stronger than you. You gave up struggling, you act like you didn't want this. But slowly it showed it's way. Quaritch took off your your pants and bra revealing your tits which he really liked to look at. You really felt embarrassed and you actually thought he was only doing this because he was horny. You covered your chest with your hand and hug your stomach with the other. Quaritch stopped what he was doing and looked at your face. He seemed to notice your discomfort being naked.

"What?... Is this your first time?" he chuckled reaching his hand out to your hands. You stopped his hands, you didn't even want to look at him or yourself.

"No...well yes but...it's not that... It's...my body" you said closing your eyes waiting for him to laugh it up. Quaritch on the other hand was surprised that you feel this way. But only chuckled under his breath. Then out of no where... You yelped because Quaritch pulled you against his body again, grabbed you chin and made you look up to him.

"You think I fucking care? God dammit woman can't you see what your doing to me? Storming in without no shirt like that? I've kept my eye on you for a looong time" He said as you felt his hands grabbing your ass and squeeze it rather harshly making you blush.

"And I always was curious of how you would feel when i fuck you~..."

He reached a hand underneath your underwear and into your wet pussy.

"How you would squirm like a slut.."

Without warning he stuck his two fingers in your already wet pussy as you gasped.

"And how you would take me~"

God what was he doing to you? You felt like a ticking bomb. He started to move his fingers inside of you, making circles. He wasn't even inside of you with his big cock and you already started to have shivers. You put your head on his chest and tugged his shirt when he started to go faster. You felt his fingers almost hit your g-spot and you were close. When he suddenly pulled out his fingers out of you, making you whine and look up at him.

"Oh I'm just getting started, don't you worry sweetheart"he pulled out his pants revealing his big cock that was right in front of you. He again pulled you by the neck down but gently this time, and adjusted his dick in front of you entrance.

You moaned when he entered your pussy, stretching you out.

"Goddamn, look how well you're taking me" Quaritch said starting to move his hips very slowly as to tease you. You on the other hand didn't know how good it feelt to be fucked. You wanted him to go faster, you couldn't take it anymore.

"G-go faster..." you barley said your sentence but he heard you loud and clearly and didn't like how you were bossing him around.

"Now where are your manners?... If you want me to move faster then you have to beg for it slut..." he said and he slowed down his hip movements. You weren't a begger but you felt on edge even from his slow movements, and you wanted more. And so you couldn't resist it any longer.

"Oh please Miles... Please fuck me hard! I want to you feel all of you!..." you cried out with a few moans in it. Quaritch smiled devilishly at you.

"Now that's a good little slut~" he said as he started to thrust into you in a quicker paste while holding you by the neck. He throwed his head back because of the sensation of your tight walls around him and growled while doing it. You didn't feel anything to grab beneath you so you grabbed his hand that was holding you by the neck shakly and started to moan at the sudden hits he made inside of you.

"Who's in charge huh?..." he said forcing your head to look at him.

"Y-you are sir!~..." his other hand made its way to your tits and started to twist your nipples making you squirm even more. Quaritch couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to go faster. He stopped and turned you around doggy style. You gasped at his fast movements and didn't dare to look back.

"I'll show you your fucking place-" he said as he showed his throbbing cock inside of you making you moan very loudly. You we're lucky these walls were sound proof. You finally lost your virginity but by a tall blue man, and you didn't mind. He grabbed you by the hair and pulled your head back making you moan at his harsh thrusts.

"Fuck! -you like getting fucked by a man twice your size...don't you slut~" he slammed again with another hard movement. You couldn't even answer him anymore, only moans escaped from Your mouth. And Quaritch liked how he made you beg and moan for his touch. You couldn't take it anymore your legs started to shiver and you felt you walls getting tighter around him. And so did Quaritch,he felt the same. You released and cummed all of his dick while he was still thrusting in you. He hit you hard with the last one making him cum inside of you. He filled out and saw you drenched in his cum. You collapsed on your face. Your arms couldn't take anymore holding your body. You breaths we're short. Quaritch was breathing loudly, but he turned you around and held you up to him. Clearly exhausted you we're and he saw that.

"Good job sweetheart~" he said, making you face him and kissed you one more time before he got up and got himself a towel. He gave you one as well. You we're tired and weren't able to feel your legs or even move them.

"Woah there. You're not going anywhere..." he placed you on his bed again as you tried to move off it.

"I'm fine..." you said as you felt your eyelids feeling heavy.

"Yeah sure you are" he as as he turned off the lights and got into bed with you. He hugged you tight. His head over yours and his tali wrapping around your leg. You both fell asleep knowing that this changes everything between you too.

<That's the end of this one shot! Thank you all for sticking around and sorry it took me so long I felt burned out. Now that ik done with this one I'm planning to do a chubby Na'vi f!reader and would love some ideas. Please share them I wanna hear your take and ideas!! Will credit! >

[musing-and-music]

Royai week 2023 fic recs

In honor of Royai week in the Fruits & Roots server, I chose to highlight some of my favorite Royai fics I gathered these past years (not many years, since I've been on AO3 for 2 years and a half only). Each day, I'll recommend a few fics in a particular setting

Day 7: Happy Royai Day! Free for all - On-going fics

To end this series of fanfic recs, here is a list of a few on-going fanfictions that I love and think about sometimes. Go give them some love, because they all deserve it! And don't hesitate to comment, because you know what? Comments are the writer's fuel

Another point: this post is not here for you to pressure the authors to update their fics, but to give you things to give love to!

one single thread of gold tied me to you by fullmetallizard

Roy is a single father who is carrying a torch (terrible pun for the flame alchemist, I know) for his best friend, Riza Hawkeye. Is she carrying a torch of her own? Yes. Will they get together as a cute little modge podge family? Proabably.

One of my earliest bookmarks, it's fluffy, it's so good!

to heal by priscilladm, vadeofspades / @priscilla-dm @mayfieldarc

In the aftermath of the Promised Day, Roy Mustang ponders two things: how to ensure the wellbeing of Riza Hawkeye, and how to follow through on an offer made to him by the Xingese princess who saved Riza's life.

I love this one a lot!

Humanity hangs on a blood-iron cross by blackinkpen / @blackinkpen

Berthold Hawkeye built the first jaeger, an uncontrollable nuclear heart meant to take out the seven Kaiju. Alone, brutal—the first and last of the pilots to try maneuvering the giants on their own. Sins, they were named, coming in waves... Lust and Envy, Gluttony, with its bulging stomach and Pride, faster than the rest of them. Sloth slumbered until near the end, taking down three Jaegers at once... but we're not here to talk about them. Not yet, anyways. Berthold's work is commandeered by the military. Iron Prophet, the first of the Jaegers to rise, and the first to fall. A monster slices right through his heart, sending nuclear clouds shattering across the sky. Berthold makes it through that day... but not many more, as he hides the cough and blood and pain from radiation poisoning. Years later, Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye pilot his final work.

FMAxPacRim? I say yes! Filled with angst but also hope, I keep this fic close to my heart

memento amare by firewoodfigs / @firewoodfigs

Riza pays a hefty price when she’s forced to open the Gate in Roy’s stead.

Actually, my first bookmark. Angst for Roy, hope for Riza, slow burn for both

a study in reformation by firewoodfigs / @firewoodfigs

She doesn’t like him, doesn’t like his hair, doesn’t like his face, doesn’t like his conceited attitude and the way he’s looking at her like she’s wasting his time (and not the other way round). Roy doesn’t care. - or the college au where Roy is still a pain in the ass, a thorn in the flesh and the bane of Riza's existence

Does it show that there's authors I love? And their fics as well?

The flicker by Beryllium_Astatine / @beryllium--astatine

I'll sing of the years you will spend getting sadder and older Oh love, and the cold, the oncoming cold Riza spends a few of her young years with someone she didn't want to.

Young Royai, depicted with rich and poetic writing

Unexpectedly by waddiwasiwitch / @waddiwasiwitch

Riza discovers she is pregnant and confides in her best friend, Roy, who has got some secrets of his own.

I want to lock those two idiots in the same room until they've confessed their feelings. It's so good to read this one!

Five Times (series) by 13IceAngel13

Five times Colonel Mustang didn't kiss Lieutenant Hawkeye. One time Roy kissed Riza.

&

Five times Hawkeye didn't kiss Mustang and one time Riza kissed Roy. Companion piece to Five Times Mustang didn't kiss Hawkeye and one time Roy kissed Riza.

Mutual pining at its best, and 5+1 things!

Voices of the Court by Quietshade / @qs63

A meeting gone south spirals into a full investigation of one of East Area's most powerful Generals.

I love how Royai work together here, and the way the themes are approached

Show me a hero by GelatoSushi / @gelatosushix

As the Ishvalan conflict still casts a shadow over Central even six years after the Promised Day, Mustang and Hawekey are violently separated hours before Mustang is meant to be finally named Fuhrer. Now, Hawkeye is desperately searching for a man she's not sure is still alive, while Mustang still waits for a woman he's been told is dead.

Heavy plot and angst!

~~

Thank you to all the people who reblogged and liked these fic rec lists for the past week! I hope I gave you good recommendations!

[lesbiangummybearmafia]

Spoilers... on the last two episodes. More under the cut.

Ok first I have talk about the whole Turner situation. When she walked up to the whole Russell's clan like she thought she own the place on the arm of Colonel Sanders. I was like oh no she didn't... but well she did. I didn't like watching the color drain from Bertha's face though. Too bad she doesn't have Evil Queen magic, because she could of conjured up a fireball and throw it at her!! 😈

Wtf is Turners issue anyway with Bertha? Was it because she fired her, throw her out on her ear. Or could be revenge because she couldn't seduce George? Which it's like please bitch he has Bertha why oh why would he want your sorry ass. When she showed up in his bed naked I remembered thinking wow pathetic and desperate move there.

I wonder if Bertha going release the information of Turners ture identity out and ruin her? I think she may if Turner keeps messing with her!! Why do people mess with Bertha she will make them sorry, idiots.

Does anyone think that this new woman Oscar interested in could possibly be a lesbian? The reason I think this is Aurora mentioned that she has a female companion that goes everywhere with her. Now why we haven't met this female companion is beyond me. But it made me think, also wouldn't that be the best solution.

I'm really liking Marian with Dashiell Montgomery. I wasn't sure at first but so far I really like him. Now his daughter on the other hand, well she seems creepy and has anger management issues.

I'm so happy Peggy's back working for Aunt Agnes. I really liked her being at the house all the time.

They need to find a really good man for Gladys. Like her perfect dude! I really like her and I don't want to see them do her wrong.

Oh Larry needs to stop fucking Melania Trump!! Omg I thought that was such a slutty move when they bearly know each other she's already going to sleep with him. Especially back then. When Bertha wants it stopped and ask George to talk to Larry. I hate it when George all with the bullshit "boys will be boys" line. I started thinking about that, I can only imagine how different the world might be if men, young men in particular hadn't been allow to get away with shit just because they happen to be men. If they had been held up to the same high standard as women and young women back then. Larry can have sex with as many women as he wants as long it does bring shame to the family name. But Gladys couldn't even sleep with one guy before she's married or she would be considered wholly unworthy of marriage. 🙄 I really think everyone really needs to sleep with the partner you're going to marry!!! Especially then when being married was forever! Bad sex life for decades... no thank you!

But back to Larry and that woman whatever her name is. She gotta go, she's annoying, possessive, I'm sorry gonna say it too old for him (he looks like he's with his mom when they stand next to her. Never a good look). I don't know I just don't like her.

I personally want to watch Bertha crush Mrs. Astor like a bug. Bitch thinks people should just do whatever she said. No, Bertha don't play that way!!

Ok seriously George needs to buy Bertha a huge bouquet of flowers or some super lux piece of jewelry. Because no he didn't do anything wrong but he should of told her sooner so she didn't caught out by that gold diggin bitch. Who wouldn't of been able to make it out to be something it wasn't! Dumb ass doesn't he know anything happy wife, happy life! Because I do not like seeing Bertha upset, crying, sad, feeling like her husband may of betrayed her trust in one of the worst ways!! Just breaks my heart seeing her cry. 💔 Just want to smack George upside the head. Dude you have more money than God, do sometimes super special for your wife!!!

Oh Aunt Ada and the Preach man is just too sweet!! 😍 Aunt Agnes better not mess it up. We all know he's not up to Aunt Agnes standards, but I don’t think he needs to be. It's not like with Marian where that need for money is so great. With Aunt Ada, a man that's not rich wouldn't be an issue. I'm pretty sure the Preacher man makes enough for the both of them. Aunt deserves a romantic love in her life. She's so kind, sweet, loving, she just wants happiness for everyone she loves. She'd be friends with everyone if Aunt Agnes would let her. See she'll be the perfect preachers wife. I wish i.had an Aunt Ada in my life!

[blingblong55]

Y/N: Stabbing a table, they've made a person shaped hole into it

Rudy: ... <- not saying anything but wants them carnally

thank you for feeding my Rudy heart <3

I bet he just watches from a safe distance and when Alejandro passes by he pretends to be working or something.

Ale: what are you doing?

Rudy: eh nothing colonel

Ale: they’re still into the whole table thing huh

Rudy: *crosses arms and looks at you* yes, but doesn’t it look fun

Rudy: look at how they stick their tongue out

Rudy: awe, it looks like a silhouette of Soap!

Ale: just confess you idiot *hits the back of his head*

Rudy: no…ha look soap is getting near it!

Rudy: what a nice view

[aconflagrationofmyown]

You took Chapter 12 in a different direction than I was expecting but it was still everything I wanted. While he didn’t 100% believe her and kill the Colonel immediately *sigh* he was much more realistic and reasonable in his response especially after finding out she hasn’t exactly been honest. Still, the way in which they show they care for one another warms my heart. Poor Rosy, my girl really is always treated badly and left behind by the men in her life and I so desperately need her new Daddy to be different and continue taking care of her, when she was begging him to touch her and talk to her as he used to my heart ached for her. He now has to become accustomed to the fact that the woman he loves, caresses, is Maddy’s little sister, a child in his memories. I am impatient but I will continue to wait and hope for all the love and all the fluff and all the *taking* to occur. The line where he tells her to be careful and not get herself killed or hurt, it gave me hope. AND THE KISS WAS EVERYTHING! So elated to see them coming together as a couple one small, small, step at a time. Your vocabulary is perfect, your words exquisite, your mind absolutely brilliant, and this story consuming. Marina, I adore you & this came out today but I am already begging for more. ❤️

Thank you so much for this darling review. These two idiots really could make a great go of it if they could forgive themselves and have a quiet moment to come up for air…it just never seems to happen…but…. home isn’t always a place or a circumstance, it can be a person, they’ll learn that soon enough. I am so glad you enjoyed it so much, really it makes me giddy. I working on the next one as we speak. ♥️

[sagesolsticewrites]

“i can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” | Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

12 years ago, Elvis chose his career over you. What happens when he shows up at your door asking for a second chance?

a/n: this is entirely based on a dialogue prompt I saw from @twelvegods: “I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” apparently it was a really good prompt because it inspired all 8,735 words of this lol. I I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it <3 Thank you all again so so so much for 500 followers!!

Word count: 8.7k

Warnings: a couple swear words, lots of angst in the first half, Y/N has trust issues oops, I think that's it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

“I’m gonna marry you someday.”

That’s what Elvis Presley had said to you when he was just 20 years old and his career was starting to take off, thanks in large part (as Elvis said) to the Colonel. And you, being the young girl in love that you were, believed him.

What a fool you were.

You managed to stay together for another year before the Colonel, his claws digging into Elvis’s heart and soul to bleed all the green he could out of him, managed to convince him that appearing single would be what was best for his career— he had to let all those screaming girls believe they had a chance with him, after all.

“Baby please,” Elvis pleaded, “this is for my career. I promise it won’t be for long. We’ll get back together, you’ll see.”

You shook your head, “No, Elvis. I’m not gonna sit around waiting for you like some damsel in distress. If you want me, keep me. But otherwise…”

You paused, waiting for him to say something. Begging, pleading, praying he would say something, that you had managed to change his mind.

When he said nothing, you exploded.

You had screamed and cried, and he had screamed and cried, and you had taken your things that had made their way into his room in Graceland and stormed out of his life for good, only pausing to give him one final sincere “I love you” before you walked out the door.

The last image you had of him (that wasn’t on a tv screen or poster) was of him standing in the foyer in Graceland, tears streaming down his face, refusing to chase after you.

You hoped that time would eventually heal your wounded heart, but apparently whoever said time heals all wounds was a fucking idiot because it was now just over a decade later and you were still as in love with Elvis Presley as you had been when you were one of the only girls in the world who knew his name.

He, evidently, didn’t feel the same.

That much was clear, at least, based on the way he was still overly flirtatious with his audience in his shows, not to mention the rumors about relationships with his movie co-stars. In his shows, before he went off to Germany, he had taken to stepping down into the audience and kissing practically every woman in the room. That alone cleared any remaining doubts from your mind that he still thought about you in any capacity, despite that little voice in the back of your head that still held out some futile, desperate hope.

You’re about to curl up on the couch with some tea and your copy of Anne of Green Gables — exactly what you need on a rainy day like today — when someone knocks on your door.

“You expecting anyone, Y/N?” your friend Annie calls from the hall. You had been living with her for about 5 years down in Louisiana, after the memories in Memphis had become too much, and you loved it.

“Nope,” You call back, wondering who on earth would be knocking on doors in this weather. “If it’s one of those door-to-door salesmen, slam it in his face again.” You suggest with a laugh.

“Will do,” comes her reply, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

You turn you attention back to your book as the door opens, and nearly spill your tea all over yourself as you hear a sultry drawl you hadn’t heard in person in over a decade.

“Hi Annie… is Y/N here?”

There’s a moment of silence where you’re sure Annie is as stunned as you are, then:

“Maybe,” she replies curtly, “What do ya want?”

Annie knew the whole story of you and Elvis, and she had sworn that she’d never let you get hurt like that ever again.

“Please, Annie, I just wanna talk to her.”

“And why should I let you? You’ve got a lotta nerve comin’ here after what you did—“

You’re not sure what prompts you to set your book and mug down and sigh “Annie, just let him in,” but you’re just as surprised as Annie is that you did.

She reluctantly steps aside to let him in, eyeing him warily the entire time.

Your eyes drink him in; this is the first time you’re seeing him in person in over 12 years, and your mind automatically catalogs the differences since you last saw him. He’s tanned, with a few more freckles, a result of the California sun, no doubt, and tinted glasses hide his eyes. His burgundy suit is soaked, and his hair, which was no doubt carefully styled before, now flops onto his forehead, dripping into his eyes.

He takes off his sunglasses, revealing tired blue eyes. From the way his eyes track along your body, he was drinking you in the same way you had done him.

There’s a beat of silence, then his eyes finally meet yours.

“Hi,” he says softly.

You maintain a straight face, unwilling to be taken in so easily.

“What do you want?” you ask, your voice cold. You want nothing more than to rush into his arms, but you remind yourself: he chose his career over you, and never looked back.

“I fired the Colonel,” he blurts, after several moments of trying to figure out what to say.

“About time,” you snort, dropping your serious demeanor for a split second, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“I made a mistake, Y/N. A lotta mistakes, really, but letting you go was the biggest one I ever made in my life. I missed you so, so much, and I—“

You cut him off, “Elvis, cut the shit. You made it very clear you moved on from me.”

“Y/N, I never stopped thinkin’ about you, I promise.”

“Sure, and was that before or after you kissed every girl in the audience at the end of every damn show?”

“Y/N, I—“ he starts, frustrated, then takes a deep breath. He starts again, calmer, softer, “I know how that looks. But I… I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” He looks earnestly into your eyes.

You feel your cracked heart melt just a little at his words, and yet…

“I don’t…” you sigh, “I don’t believe you. You put your career before me over a decade ago, and I tried to move on, but I couldn’t when I was seeing your face and hearing your voice everywhere, and it hurt like hell. And now you walk back in here, tell me you just made a mistake, and… what? Expect me to take you back just like that?”

“Please, Y/N,” he says, an echo of his plea back when he broke your heart for the first time, “I know I messed up bad, but… it’s you. It’s always been you, with those girls in the audience, even with Ann-Margret… I was always thinkin’ about you. And I’m willin’ to do whatever I have to to fix this. Anything. I mean it.”

And you can see the conviction in his eyes, like he’s that little boy again who believed he was Captain Marvel Jr. and could fly his family out of poverty to the Rock of Eternity. You know in your bones that he’d buy you the moon if it meant he could love you again.

But you’d made the mistake of believing his promises before.

“Elvis, I don’t know if I can trust you. How do I know you won’t drop me when your next manager thinks that’d be ‘what’s best for your career’?”

He winces as you throw the Colonel’s words from all those years ago back in his face. “I know I ruined any kind of trust you had in me that day, and I can’t tell you enough how goddamn sorry I am, Y/N. But I’m not askin’ for you to forgive me right now, I just want a chance to try and fix this. That’s all, I swear.”

He waits as you process his words, practically holding his breath as you think of how to reply.

“I’ll think about it,” you say softly.

He nods. “That’s all I’m askin’ for, sw— Y/N,” he fumbles to avoid using the old pet name for you.

“I think you should go now,” you say, your voice cold again to hide how the almost-pet name brought a storm of feelings rushing back..

“Right, um..” he fumbles around in his pocket, producing a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it, “Gimme a call, if you want? I’ve gotta head back to Memphis in a couple days, that’ll probably be the easiest way to reach me if you, uh, decide anything.”

“Okay,” you nod, glancing at it quickly before stuffing it in your pocket. The number was for Graceland’s house phone; a number you’d never forgotten for a second, not that you’d be telling Elvis that.

“Well, um… bye Y/N, Annie,” he nods as he moves past your roommate towards the door. He pauses, hesitating for a moment before turning back to you. “You look good, Y/N,” he says softly before heading back out into the downpour.

The “you, too” you whisper in reply is lost in the sound of rain hitting the pavement outside.

The enormity of everything that had just transpired suddenly hits you and you fall back onto the couch, tears welling up in your eyes.

Annie rushes over, concerned. You look up as she fusses over you.

“Was that… did that actually just happen?”

Annie nods, “Yeah, it did, honey. I can scarcely believe it myself.”

“Did I do the right thing?” You wring your hands, suddenly second-guessing every decision you made during the interaction with Elvis.

“I know I’ve always said that I’d punch him in his smug face if he ever showed up here after what he did to you,” Annie says, “But I see the way you look at him when he shows up on the TV, and that ain’t the look of someone who’s just angry at an ex. You’re still in love with him, honey, I know it, and I feel like a fresh start is what both of you need. I don’t mean to overstep,” she drawls, “But if I can give you some advice: just start over as friends. Don’t jump back into a relationship right away. Try to make it organic. A clean slate.”

“A clean slate,” you echo, processing her words.

You mull over what to do for a few days, worst and best-case scenarios swirling around your brain, and eventually dial Graceland. Your foot taps anxiously as you lean against the wall by the phone, listening to it ring.

“Hullo?” A raspy voice comes over the receiver.

“Hi, Elvis,” you say, trying your best to sound casual, “It’s, uh, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh, hey,” he stammers, sounding less like the confident King of Rock and Roll superstar and more like the shy little kid you’d grown up with, “Uh, how are you?”

“I’m alright.” You reply, “Look, I did some thinking about what you said and, well… I’ve got a couple questions before I decide anything.”

“Sure, yeah, what is it?”

“Well, first of all… why now?”

“Huh?”

You sigh, “It’s been over 10 years, Elvis. What made you come back now? What made you fire the Colonel after all this time?”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t very happy with the movies the Colonel was signing me up for. And then he planned this whole silly special for NBC…” he sighs, “I’ve been lost ever since I lost Mama— before that, even, when I lost—“ he cuts himself off with an awkward cough, “uh, anyway; he wasn’t helping. And I finally realized that he didn’t really care what I wanted to do. It was all about profit for him,” he says quietly. He goes on to explain hiring Binder and Bones to help with the special, to “find himself” again, and the realization he’d had that he hadn’t truly felt like himself since he’d left you.

“Hm,” is your only response at first, trying to shove down the warmth growing in your chest. “Well, um… thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome. I want you to know, Y/N… you can trust me. I know I ruined that back then, but I’d really like a chance to try and rebuild it with you if I can.”

“I think I’d like that, too.” You say after a moment of silence. “Look, Elvis, I… I don’t think it would be a good idea, if we’re gonna do this, to pick up right where we left off. We need a… a clean slate. So what if we started over as friends?” You fidget with the phone cord as you await his reply.

There are several moments of silence, and you're wondering if something happened with the call before his raspy drawl comes over the phone once more.

“I’d love to be your friend again, Y/N.”

A wave of relief floods your body, and you smile. You think for a moment before speaking again, saying hesitantly, “I’m coming up to visit for Mama’s birthday next weekend, and… maybe we could see each other then? That would be a ‘friend’ thing to do, right?”

“Yeah, I’d… I’d really like that.”

“Great, well,” you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, “I’ll just give you a call when I’m back home and we can figure everything out then?”

“Whatever works for you is fine with me,” he assures you, “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

“Me, too,” you say softly, allowing a tiny bit of the warmth you felt earlier to creep back. “I’ll see you next weekend, then.”

“See you then,” he says and with a click, the phone is back to humming a dial tone.

You’re buzzing with anticipation for the next week, not only excited to see your family but also to see Elvis.

“Y/N!” Your mother rushes out as you pull into the driveway of your family’s Memphis home, “My baby’s home!”

“Happy birthday, Mama,” you smile as she rushes up to give you a hug, squeezing you tight.

“Thank you, darlin’. Come inside, honey, come in!” she insists, grabbing your suitcase from you despite your protests.

“Honey!” she calls to your father as she leads you into your childhood home, “Look who’s finally decided to come for a visit!”

“Mama, I was just here for Easter,” you remind her as you head to the living room to greet your father. “Hi Daddy,” you smile as he pulls you in for a hug.

“Good to see you, sweetheart,” he says, “Louisiana treatin’ you well?”

You nod, “Mhm. Everyone’s real nice, and Annie’s always lookin’ out for me.”

You fill your parents in on life in Louisiana, and in return they (your mother, mostly) regale you with all the Memphis gossip you’ve missed. Apparently the young couple next door had a baby recently, another young couple in town just got married, and oh yes, Elvis came back fr—

“Mary Ann, you know I don’t like talkin’ about that boy!” your father exclaims, cutting your mother off.

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do, Walter,” your mother retorts, “It’s not as if we can pretend he doesn’t exist, not when he’s such a big part of this town…”

As you listen to your parents bicker, you decide that now might as well be as good a time as any to bring up your new friendship.

“Actually, Mama,” you interrupt their bickering, “I’m gonna try and meet up with Elvis while I’m in town this weekend…”

Your father’s expression flickers between confusion and anger at your words, while your mother’s morphs into one of delight.

“Oh honey, that’s wonderful!” She exclaims, “Though I admit, I thought you’d’ve at least called to tell us you got back together—“

“Mama!” You cut her off, heat flooding your face, “We’re not back together, I promise,” you add with a glance over to your father. “He showed up at our place last week, we had a talk, and we’re gonna try to be friends again.”

“Well I’m glad to see the two of you are startin’ over, honey,” your mother says with a smile

“I still don’t trust that boy,” your father grumbles. “Just… be careful, alright?”

You nod, “Of course, you know I always am, Daddy.”

”When were you two planning on meeting up?” your mother asks.

You shrug, “We haven’t figured out the details yet. I was gonna call him today to sort everything out.”

”Well you should invite him over for dinner while you’re in town.” your mother suggests, with just a hint of a mischievous sparkle in her eye, ignoring your father’s clear alarm at the suggestion.

You groan. “Mama, no, he really doesn’t need to come for dinner—“

”Y/N L/N, inviting a friend over for dinner is a polite thing to do,” your mother scolds, “and in this house we are always…?”

“Polite and respectful,” you mumble, repeating the words that had been drilled into you in childhood.

She nods, satisfied. ”It’s settled then. You two will have your little meetup and then he can come over for dinner that night, or the next if it suits him.”

”Yes, Mama,” you say, resigned. “I’ll go call him now.”

You make your way over to the kitchen, dialing the number you’ve had memorized for over 12 years.

“Hello?” The same raspy voice comes over the receiver.

”Hey, it’s um, it’s me. Y/N.”

”Oh, hey. Um, how are ya?”

”I’m alright. I’m back in town now, and Mama’s bein’… well, Mama, so you can imagine.” you say with a soft laugh.

”Oh, I can imagine,” he agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “How was the drive up?”

The two of you make small talk for a bit, slowly easing back into being a part of each other’s lives, and eventually you remember the reason you called. “Oh, yeah, by the way; I was calling to see if there was a day or time that worked for you as far as meeting up this weekend?”

”Oh, yeah.” You can hear some rustling on his end, and you assume he’s checking his schedule. “I’m actually free this afternoon around 1 if that works? Or tomorrow?”

You weren’t prepared to see him quite so soon, but you suppose now is better than putting it off until tomorrow. “This afternoon is perfect. You still like that diner on Beale Street, right?”

He hums an affirmative, and you smile, “Great, I’ll meet you there at 1, then.”

”I’ll see you then,” and the line clicks back to a dial tone.

You head back to the living room, entering to see your parents doing a wonderfully poor job of pretending as though they weren’t listening to your conversation. You roll your eyes.

”I assume you already heard, but Elvis and I are meeting for lunch at 1, just as friends, Mama,” you say pointedly, noting the beam on your mother’s face. “I’ll ask him about dinner then.”

Your father harrumphs, but mainly keeps silent, a firm frown on his face.

”That’s wonderful, honey,” your mother beams, “You’ve gotta get goin’ pretty soon then, huh?”

“Huh?” You glance over at the clock on the mantle and sure enough, it’s already 15 past noon and you still haven’t changed out of the outfit you wore for the 6-hour drive up to Memphis. You grab your suitcase and race to make yourself presentable, managing to change into a dress that seems nice enough for a lunch outing (but not too fancy), fix your windswept hair, and reapply your makeup in a cool 30 minutes before racing out the door.

Before you can make it out to the porch, though, your father stops you, calling your name as you’re about to step out the door. You turn, “Yes, Daddy?”

He has a solemn look on his face. “Just… be careful, darlin’. You know me, I hold grudges like no one else, and I admit I still haven’t forgiven him for what he did to you all those years ago. If you let him in, and he hurts you again somehow I… I don’t know what I’d do.”

You step back into the room and envelop him in a hug. “Thank you for looking out for me, Daddy. I’ll be careful, I promise. I’m not the same girl I was when I met him.” You add with a sad smile.

He squeezes your hand comfortingly, “I know you’ll be smart. If he does anything, you come right to me and I’ll sort him out, alright?” You nod and, satisfied, he kindly shoos you out the door with a soft “Go on, have fun.”

You pull up to the diner to find that Elvis is already there, if the deep purple Cadillac parked nearby is any indication.

He waves from a booth near the back as you enter, his bodyguards seated at a table nearby. You slide into the seat across from him, pushing down the butterflies that threaten to stir. It might’ve been a bad idea to choose the place you went on your first date, you realize belatedly, but too late now.

“How are you?” he asks with a casual smile.

“Pretty good,” you reply, “My parents have been updating me on all the Memphis gossip I’ve missed since I was away, very exciting stuff,” you say sarcastically. “Mama says hi, by the way.”

“Tell her I say hi back,” he grins.

“Will do. Uh, how are you?” You say, trying to fall back into the rhythm of talking to him.

“I’m alright. There’s this big thing I’m gonna be workin’ on soon, I’m pretty excited for it.”

“Oh, big thing?” You ask, your interest piqued.

“It’s a…” he pauses, looking around, “no one really knows about it yet, so you gotta promise not to tell anyone, alright?”

You nod, and he continues, leaning in to whisper, “You remember that special I told you about, the one that Steve and Bones are helpin’ me with? It’s gonna be a TV special for NBC. A Christmas show, kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Well, it’ll have a couple of Christmas songs, but I really want it to be about finding myself again. Gettin’ back to the real Elvis.”

“Sounds exciting,” you reply, a genuine smile coming across your face at how excited he seems.

A starstruck waitress comes to take your order, and the conversation continues.

“So,” Elvis says, “how are you doin’ in Louisiana?”

“I actually really like it there,” you reply, smiling. “Annie’s great, obviously, and I found a job at a bookstore that I really love, things are goin’ pretty well. I do have the occasional grumpy customer, but that’s just how it is.” You finish with a shrug.

“Grumpy customer? Sounds like you’ve got some stories to tell,” he says, sounding genuinely interested, and you can’t help but launch into the story of a man who was sure that Stranger in a Strange Land was in the nonfiction section no matter how many times you tried to lead him over to science fiction.

You finally fall back into a rhythm of friendly conversation, trading stories for over an hour before you finally bring up what your mother had asked.

“Oh by the way,” you say, sipping your milkshake, “Mama wanted me to invite you to dinner tomorrow night.”

Elvis nearly chokes on the fry he’s just taken a bite of. “Sorry, what?”

“I told my parents that we were meeting up and she was adamant that I at the very least invite you to come over for dinner tomorrow— you know how she is about politeness—“ you explain, “but I promise, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I completely understand, I’d be more than happy to make up an excuse for you.”

“And refuse an invitation from Mrs. L/N? It’s like you want her to kill me,” he jokes. “I’d be more than happy to come,” he says, in a more sincere tone. “Besides, friends come over for dinner right?”

“Of course,” you say, trying to reassure yourself as much as him, “and Mama’s very excited to see you, so be prepared for that.”

“I always am,” he replies with a smile.

You arrange for him to come over at 7 the next night, and the rest of lunch goes smoothly until the check arrives, which starts off a round of bickering between the two of you about who should pay.

“Please let me get this, I want this to be a start to making it up to you,” Elvis argues.

“I appreciate it but I’m perfectly capable of paying for lunch, thank you very much,” you retort, and this goes on for several minutes before the two of you eventually agree to split the check.

“It was good to see you, Y/N,” Elvis says as you exit the diner, his bodyguards dutifully on alert as they follow you out.

“You, too.” You say. “I…” I didn’t realize just how much I missed you, is what you want to say, but instead, you go with “I had a good time.”

His face lights up as if those 5 little words were all he needed to brighten his day. He steps towards the Cadillac, throwing a friendly wave to you as he calls “See you tomorrow!”

You wave back, and you don’t realize how happy you are until your cheeks start to ache from smiling on the drive home.

The next day, your mother is practically frantic, bustling around the house making sure everything is perfect for when Elvis gets here.

“Mama, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever been here! And we’re just friends, please try to remember that.”

“Alright, alright, I know, honey. I just think it’s nice that you two are spending time together again, that’s—“

The doorbell rings, and your mother jumps into action, plucking microscopic bits of lint from your dress before hurrying to the door and opening it with a polite smile.

Elvis stands on your porch, bearing a polite smile and a bouquet of lilacs. “Hello, Mrs. L/N.”

“Hello, Elvis!” Your mother beams, “It’s wonderful to see you again. And you brought Y/N flowers, how sweet!” She looks pointedly at you.

Elvis lets out a nervous laugh as he steps into the house, “Actually, Mrs. L/N, these are for you. A birthday gift.” He holds out the bouquet to her with a shy smile, looking remarkably like the shy boy he had been back in ‘51 when you first became friends.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you dear. Wasn’t that kind of him, Walter?”

“Very kind,” your father grumbles in a tone that makes it seem as though Elvis had brought a pile of mud as a gift. He nods a greeting, “Hello, Elvis. California’s treatin’ you well, I hear.”

“Uh, yes, sir, it is. Thank you.” he replies.

When your father doesn’t respond, Elvis turns his attention to you. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you reply, resisting the urge to fuss with your dress.

The awkward silence that follows is broken as your mother ushers everyone to the dining room, arranged so she and your father are at the heads of the table while you and Elvis are sitting across from one another.

The meal begins, and the conversation that follows is strained but polite, with your mother eagerly asking questions about life in California and Hollywood and Elvis answering modestly then turning the conversation back to your family, remaining the picture of a Southern gentleman. The conversation remains polite apart from your father’s not-so-subtle grumbling about Elvis running off the California, and just when you think it can’t get any worse, he decides to bring up the rumors of Elvis’s womanizing.

“So, Elvis,” your father says casually, though his eyes remain calculating, “what’s all this I hear about you and… what’s that actress’s name, Ann-Margret? Or have you moved on to someone new by now?”

You feel your face flush, and you’re sure the mortification shows on your face as you hiss for your father to stop, please.

“Oh well sir, that’s really all just the tabloids tryin’ to get their stuff to sell, there’s no truth to that at all, I promise. Ann-Margret is a good friend of mine now, though.” Elvis answers politely, unfazed as your mother quietly scolds your father.

“Walter, quit it, you’re scarin’ the boy!”

“Well good, he should be scared after what he did to my little girl!”

“Dad!” you exclaim, mortified, “We talked about this! We’re friends now, you promised you’d be polite!”

“No, it’s alright, Y/N,” Elvis assures you, briefly breaking eye contact with your father to glance over at you, “He’s just lookin’ out for you like any father would, and I respect you for that, sir.”

Your father grunts a reply, and the conversation picks up again, still polite but even more strained than before.

Elvis remains as polite as ever, even offering to take care of the dishes — “Oh I can get those plates for ya, don’t you worry Mrs. L/N” — and despite your determination for a clean slate, your mind betrays you, reminding you of how shy and overly polite he was the first few times he was over for dinner, especially after the two of you first got together. Sure, he’s gotten a little more confident, which you’ll admit is kind of attractive, but— NO.

You firmly cut off that train of thought, no matter how badly that little voice in the back of your head (the one that practically melted at the sight of him at your door with a bouquet, reminiscent of your first date) wants to keep on track. Just friends, clean slate, you remind yourself.

After the dishes are done, your mother prepares coffee for everyone and the four of you head to the living room. At one point, Elvis gets up to get a refill, and your father follows him.

Your father approaches Elvis once it’s clear that neither you nor your mother will be getting up, and corners him.

“Now Elvis, I’m gonna try to be polite, because my daughter’s told me you two are tryin’ to be friends and I respect her wishes, but I don’t trust you after what you did to her. And if I get even a hint that you’re playin’ with her feelings, well… I’m afraid that won’t end well for ya, son.”

Elvis nods quickly, “Sir I promise you, I have no intentions of playing with your daughter’s feelings. She’s very dear to me, and I swear I’d do anything to make sure she’s happy.” He says, conviction clear in his eyes.

Your father eyes Elvis for several long moments and, apparently satisfied, returns to the living room with more coffee for you and your mother.

Elvis takes a breath to compose himself — he’s forgotten how scary your father could be when he wanted to — and exits the kitchen, re-entering as you’re laughing at some comment your mother made.

You turn as he enters with a wide smile on your face, and he’s suddenly slammed back to a time where you looked at him like that every time he entered a room— when you looked at him as though he’d hung the moon and stars just for you.

Fighting the urge to rush over and kiss you senseless — that’s not something a friend would do, he reminds himself — he moves to sit in the armchair across from you, turning his attention to whatever neighbor your mother is gossiping about tonight.

The night eventually winds to a close and Elvis thanks your parents profusely for “a wonderful meal and even better company.”

Your mother waves off the compliment modestly, “Oh it was nothin’ darling. We’ll be glad to have you back anytime. Y/N, why don’t you walk our guest out while we take care of these last few things?” she says, gesturing to the coffee mugs still sitting out.

Elvis gives one last wave to your parents, wishing them well, before stepping out to the porch with you.

“Well, my parents loved you,” you tease as the two of you make your way to the pink Cadillac looking more than slightly out of place in your modest gravel driveway.

He lets out a shy laugh, “They haven’t changed a bit, that’s for sure. Your daddy’s still as protective as ever.” His tone softens as he continues, “It was nice seein’ them again. ‘Specially your mama. She’s always been better to me than I deserve.”

Acting on impulse, you lean over and squeeze his hand as you remember his own mama isn’t waiting for him at home anymore. “You’re welcome over anytime. I mean it.”

“Thank you,” he replies in a near whisper. Your hand stays clasped with his, the warmth of him tempting you closer, and his gaze drifts slowly down to your lips before the two of you snap back to yourselves and create a respectable two feet of distance between you.

“Uh, anyway,” you attempt to continue the conversation, refusing to acknowledge that moment of… whatever that was, “Are you gonna be here for a while longer?”

He shakes his head, “I’m actually gonna be leaving for California again tomorrow.” he says almost apologetically, adding with a nod to the house, “But I’ll still be able to call ya for a bit, right?”

A frown crosses your face as you remember: “I’m actually headin’ back to Louisiana tomorrow. But,” you brighten, “I can give you my number for down there if you want?”

“I’d love that,” Elvis smiles.

You rummage around in your pockets for anything you can scribble on, producing some long-forgotten shopping list and a small pen. You scrawl your phone number down and hand it to him, determinedly not noticing the sparks you feel as your fingers brush.

“I’ll call ya every night,” he says as he stuffs it in his pocket, “I’ll need ya to keep me updated on all the Louisiana gossip, hm?”

A sad smile crosses your face at the memory of the last time he’d made a promise like that. Despite all your talk of a clean slate, you can’t help but remind him, “Let’s not make promises you can’t keep, Elvis.”

You give him one last wave, wish him goodnight, and walk back inside, his pleas of “What? No, Y/N, this ain’t gonna be like that!” falling on deaf ears.

You put on a brave face for your parents the next day, joking about what a coincidence it was that both you and Elvis happened to be leaving town on the same day, but behind closed doors, you’re unable to block the memories of the last time he had promised he’d call you every night: when he went along with the Colonel on Hank Snow’s tour.

1955

“I’ll be back in time for prom, darlin’, I promise,” Elvis reassures you over the phone. “I’ll bring you a corsage, we’ll have a great time.”

“Okay,” you reply, “I’m sorry, I know I must sound silly, but I’m just really lookin’ forward to going with you.”

“That’s not silly,” he assures you with a soft laugh, “I’m lookin’ forward to it, t—“ he cuts off, and you can barely make out what sounds like a knock on the door on his end of the line. “That’ll be Scotty again, no doubt.” he groans good-naturedly. There’s some shuffling as he makes his way over, yanking the door open with a “Scotty, how many times do I have to tell ya—“

“Elvis?” you say, concerned at how he cuts off mid-sentence, “Is everything alright?”

There’s a moment of silence, after which he stammers out a response.

“I, uh… I gotta go, I’ll call ya back, darlin’, alright?”

He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before hanging up, but in the split second before it goes to a dial tone you can just make out a woman’s sultry voice over the receiver.

1968 - Present Day

He had still called after that, but not as frequently; certainly not every day like he promised. And while you forgave what happened on tour, you had never quite forgotten what him being away for a stretch of time could mean.

Still. Clean slate. Maybe this time could be different, you reasoned, though you were barely convincing yourself at this point.

You head back to Louisiana, promising your parents you’ll visit again soon and that you’ll give them a call as soon as you get home. You stumble through the door of your little house, exhausted after the 6-hour drive. Annie rushes over to hug you.

“Hey honey! Good to have ya home,” she grins, taking your suitcase from you, “I’ve got lunch for ya, you go sit down. I’ll put this in your room. And then I wanna hear all about how that li’l meetup went,” she adds with a wink, gently shoving you towards the kitchen while she heads down the hall.

You smile as you enter the kitchen to see a little card with the words “Welcome Home” in Annie’s signature scrawl next to a plate on the counter. You take a bite of the sandwich waiting for you — grilled cheese, Annie’s specialty — and finally allow yourself to relax. At that moment, Annie slides in with a mischievous grin, plopping herself down on the stool next to you.

“So…” she leads, a sparkle in her eye. “How was it?”

“It was good,” you reply, purposefully misinterpreting her question, “We took Mama out for dinner and I made her a cake—”

Annie cuts you off with a playful swat to your arm, “Not that! Elvis,” she says, dragging out the ‘s’ longer than necessary.

You roll your eyes, “Fine! It was… fine. We met up for lunch at this old diner we used to go to, we talked… Mama had me invite him over for dinner, and he brought flowers for her” you say pointedly, noticing the gleam in her eyes. “It went well, all things considered. Daddy did have some things to say, he still hasn’t quite forgiven him for what he did, but Elvis was a real gentleman the whole time. He actually went back to California today, filming somethin’ for TV, but he said he wants to keep in touch.”

“That’s great, honey!” Annie squeals, “I’m glad y’all are doin’ well.”

You give a weak smile in return. “Yeah, he said he’s gonna call every day, but…”

“Oh…” Annie’s eyes soften in understanding, recalling what you had told her about your relationship before. “Y/N, I know it might be scary, but what if it’s different this time? What if he actually keeps his promise? He’s said he wants to work on trust with you again, right? This is the perfect opportunity for him to prove to you that he’s worth trusting. And if he doesn’t,” she adds in a lighter tone, “I’ll fly out to California and sock him right in his pretty face myself.”

“I know you will,” you laugh, “but you’re right, I’ll—“

You’re cut off as the phone rings, and you lock eyes with Annie. It can’t be him already, can it? No, it’s probably your parents calling to make sure you made it home safely, you reason as you move to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N,” the heavy drawl surprises you, and you nearly miss what Elvis says next, “I’m glad I caught you, I was callin’ a bit ago and got quite a tellin’ off from Annie sayin’ that you weren’t there yet.”

At that you turn to glare at Annie, who only gives you a smug, mischievous smirk in return.

“Yeah, I just got in maybe twenty minutes ago,” you reply, the shock slowly fading into a kind of warmth as his voice washes over you.

“How was the drive?”

“Long,” you say with a laugh, “I’m glad to be home now. How’s California?”

“‘S alright,” he replies, “I just got back from finalizing some stuff with Steve for filming tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah,” you recall your conversation from a few days ago, “The Christmas special, right? Or,” you correct yourself, “the not-entirely-Christmas special.”

“Exactly,” he laughs, “I’m actually pretty excited about it.”

“That’s good,” you smile, “I hope everything goes well.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says sincerely. “But anyway, enough about me. How are you?”

“Well, Annie had one of her famous grilled cheeses waiting for me when I got here so I’d say we’re off to a pretty good start. Tomorrow’s an inventory day at work, though, not nearly as exciting as filming a special for NBC.”

He sucks in a breath in sympathy, “I remember you never liked those days. Good luck with that,” he says, “and I’ll tell ya what: I’ll make sure to tell you all about the boring parts of filming so ya don’t get too jealous, how ‘bout that?” he teases

“Sounds perfect,” you laugh.

You don’t even notice the time flying by as the conversation continues, the two of you talking about everything and nothing, and you fall into a rhythm of talking for hours every night. Slowly, the nagging fear you feel that today’s the day he won’t call starts to fade, and you look forward to your nightly chats where you fill him in on any interesting customers and he tells you about the goofs he made that day during filming.

“I’m not kiddin’, I legitimately forgot the words!” he laughs.

Your only reply is to laugh even harder at the image of him surrounded by cameras forgetting the words to Heartbreak Hotel.

“Alright, come on, it ain’t that funny,” he says in a mock-hurt tone.

“Oh, I promise it is,” you say, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye, “I might need you to send me a copy or whatever of these goofs, I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.”

“I’ll see if I can arrange that for ya…” he replies, his voice trailing off as he seemingly turns away from the receiver for some reason.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just someone at the door,” he assures you, “Gimme one second.”

There’s some shuffling as he makes his way to the door, and your surprise at the thought of him carrying the phone with him across the room turns into a sinking feeling in your stomach as you hear the squeak of a door open and the muffled sounds of a woman’s voice. Your heart sinks as the memory of that day on his tour starts to play again in your mind, a cacophony of not again, I knew this would happen, I shouldn’t have trusted him filling your ears.

“-N? Y/N, you there?” You slowly blink back to reality as Elvis calls your name over the receiver, “Everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” you reply hesitantly as he dives into an explanation about some crazy fan sneaking past security to his room. He pauses, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice.

“Y/N… you can talk to me, you know that, right? What’s wrong?” he says softly, and he sounds so genuine you want to cry.

“It’s… it’s silly…” you reply, embarrassed at the thought of telling him that that memory from all this years ago still haunts you.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d really like to know if I can help,” he replies patiently.

You sigh, and launch into an explanation of that night back in ‘55. “You just hung up on me, and the last thing I heard was some woman’s voice, and I didn’t realize how much that hurt me until I started worrying about who you were with whenever you were gone for a long time.” You explain softly, nervously fiddling with the phone cord.

“So just now, when you heard that girl at my door…” he sighs, realization dawning on him, “that brought all that back, didn’t it? I’m sorry, Y/N.” He says, and the sincerity of his words does bring tears to your eyes this time.

“I’m alright, I promise,” you reassure him, “surprised you turned her down,” you tease, wanting to move on.

“I don’t do that kinda thing anymore,” he laughs, picking up on your attempt to move to another topic, “besides, why would I stop to talk to some stranger who thinks they know everything about me when I could talk to you?”

Your heart flutters at the compliment, and you hope he can’t tell how much you’re blushing over the phone, “Aw, you’re sweet.”

There’s a moment of silence; not an awkward one, but comfortable, like the two of you don’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company, even if it’s just on the phone. The moment is cut short, however, as Elvis speaks up again.

“I was thinkin’— and you’re free to say no, of course— well, Steve’s organizing this screening of the special before it airs. Right now it’s just Steve, Bones, Dad, Jerry, and me, but I’d like you to be there, too. Maybe get an opinion from someone who’s not family or paid to be nice to me.” He jokes.

“I’d love to,” you reply, “I’ll have to see if I can get off work, but if I can I’ll absolutely be there. And don’t worry, I’ll be brutally honest about the whole thing,” you add teasingly.

“I’m countin’ on it.” He laughs, “I’ll call once Steve has the day arranged and hopefully you can make it.”

The date Steve apparently figures out is November 19, two weeks before the special is actually set to air. Elvis relays to you that he’s arranged to do the screening at Graceland, and luckily you manage to convince your boss to give you both that day and the following day off for the long drive. Your parents are delighted to see you, of course, and you just barely miss the knowing smile on your mother’s face as you gush about how well your friendship with Elvis is going. Your father has warmed up to him the slightest bit, it seems, since your visit back in June, if the fact that he doesn’t scowl at every mention of Elvis’s name is any indication.

You take a deep breath as you pull up to Graceland. You force down the surfacing memories from the last time you were here, when Elvis officially put his career before you. Clean. Slate. you forcefully remind yourself as you step up to the front door.

The door swings open barely half a second after you ring the doorbell, and you find Elvis standing there, a nervous smile on his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

There’s a moment where the two of you simply stare at each other before he blinks, as if coming back to his senses, and steps aside to let you in. “Come on in, lemme introduce you to everybody,” he says, leading you to a room with not one, not two, but three TVs mounted into the wall, as one of his household staff comes to take your coat. 4 spaces on the immense couch taking up most of the space in the room are taken, one by his father and three others by people you don’t recognize. “This is Jerry, my manager,” Elvis says, gesturing to a man in a brown suit who looked to be in his late-20s with shaggy blondish hair, “and Steve and Bones, the masterminds behind this whole thing,” he introduces the two men sitting beside Jerry with a smile, one with neat brown hair and an ascot tied around his neck, the other with dark curly hair and round glasses. The three men give you various waves and smiles.

“And of course you know my dad,” Elvis finishes, gesturing to where he’s sitting next to Bones.

“Of course, hi Mr. Presley,” you say with a smile, coming over to shake his hand.

“Good to see you again, Y/N, how’ve ya been?” he asks as you take a seat next to him.

You’re hyperaware of Elvis sitting next to you as you make small talk with everyone, carefully leaning so that there’s a bit of distance between the two of you. As the screening begins, your attention is torn between the performance onscreen and real-life Elvis making jokes in your ear about “this is actually the take right after that goof I told you about—“ Your senses are full of him: the scent of his cologne, his arm brushing against yours, the feeling of his breath on your neck as he whispers to you, and it takes more and more of your energy to actually focus on the TVs in front of you.

About half an hour into the special, you excuse yourself and wander out to the hall, needing a break from the proximity. You don’t realize Elvis followed you out until his hand gently wraps around your wrist, making you jump.

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were alright” he explains, releasing you.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “just… needed a break.”

“It was that bad?” he jokes, “Damn, I’ll have to let Steve know.”

You shake your head, “No, no, it’s not that, it’s…” You hesitate, unsure if you should say what the real reason is. Your friendship is going so well, you’re not sure how he’ll react if you admit that your feelings for him were back in full force, that in truth they never really left.

“What is it?” he asks, concern in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, deciding it’s now or never.

“I’m in love with you. I never really stopped being in love with you, if I’m being honest. But being with you these past few months, being your friend again… I’ve loved it. I’ve loved talking with you on the phone for hours about everything and nothing, seeing you talk with my parents like nothing’s changed, and I… I wanna try again. For real this time.” You bite your lip, nervously gauging his reaction.

“You— you mean that?” Elvis asks softly, eyes wide.

“Yes,” you reply, “I mean it.”

“Y/N, I’d… I’d love that. I promise,” he says sincerely, “I’ll do it right this time. I’ll be the man you deserve.” He steps closer, his lips now just a breath away from yours. “Can I—“ his eyes flick from looking into yours down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you right now.” he breathes.

You nod your consent, and he swoops down to capture your lips with his, one hand cupping your cheek while the other grips your waist, pulling you close. Your arms wind around his neck up into his hair, mussing the carefully styled locks as you savor the feeling of his lips velvet-soft against yours. He walks you backward until you’re pressed against the wall, his lips never leaving yours as his body presses against you. Eventually the need for air gets the better of you, and he reluctantly pulls away, keeping his forehead and nose pressed to yours as if he can’t bear to be any farther away. His blue eyes lock with yours as you catch your breath.

“I missed you so much,” he breathes, lips brushing against yours, and the amount of love clear in those 5 little words brings tears to your eyes.

“I missed you, too,” you reply softly, a smile spreading across your face.

The two of you stay like that for a while, pressed against the wall of the hallway, before Elvis mumbles “As much as I’d love to just stay here with you forever, we should probably get back before they notice we’re gone.”

“Oh, right,” you laugh sheepishly as you remember the reason you were there in the first place.

The two of you slip back into the TV room, your absence seemingly having gone unnoticed, and assume the spaces you had occupied before you left, with one small difference: your hand is intertwined with his throughout the rest of the screening.

Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @anangelwhodidntfall @austin-butlers-gf @butlersluvbot @killerqueenfan @kittenlittle24 @beauvibaby @kingelviscreole @justjacesstuff @sweetheartlizzie07 @coldonexx @londonalozzy @kaycinema @annamarie16 @adoreyouusugar @djconde58 @mirandastuckinthe80s @luke-my-skywalker @tubble-wubble @apparently-sunshine @kisseskae @whotfatemywaffles @gyomei-tiddies @friedwangsss @shynovelist @sassy-ahsoka-tano @she-is-juniper

[asshlyyyy]

Number Deux Pt. 1 (Austin!Elvis x Reader)

No matter how much hate I'm getting I am still posting something out. Hopefully those anons won't find something wrong with this... and if you do... well... you got some issues. Also, if you ever interact with my page again I will be sure to block you.

Despite that, I am excited to announce my new series. Yes, Just The Nurse will get finished. I wanted to post out my new series before I finished off Just The Nurse. I hope you guys enjoy this one, because I have a feeling I will.

I hope it's okay that I used Austin!Elvis, but then again you can imagine Austin or Elvis for any of my works!

Part 2

Masterlist

Requested by: @bxbylexi23 "Can you pls make Elvis Presley x Assistant!Reader Forbidden love Series🥺🥺 I love reading your fanfic so much!"

Pairing: Austin!Elvis x Fem!Assistant!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Female Assistant Stereotypes, Harsh Words.

Word Count: 4k

You tapped your pen against the leather cover of your very messy, yet readable notes. You had down all the important dates and times... when you leave, where you leave. When you arrive... where you arrive at. Where you're staying... all the technical boring stuff. Well, it wasn't boring when your boss was a fool.

"Yes, so we need to be at the airport tomorrow early morning... about ten. I'll be here ar-"

"Elvis, my boy!" The colonel walked in and immediately interrupted you. Didn't surprise you much, that's all that idiot did. He felt that just because he was Elvis's manager he can act all high and mighty.

Elvis turned to look at the Colonel, an obvious annoyed look on his face. Elvis was known to have anger outbursts here and there, but when it came to someone interrupting you... especially when you were explaining the schedule... he tended to get a bit more mad than usual.

"What is so goddamn important, that you couldn' knock on the door?" Elvis spoke. 

"I got some great news. Scratch everything off the schedule. I got you on the Steve Allen show." You tossed the small notebook down on the top and shook your head. 

"We leave tomorrow at eight in the morning. Don't be late my boy! Big things! Big things are coming!" The colonel yelled as he walked out of the house. Did he seriously come all this way... to say that one thing? You have got to be kidding me.

"'m sorry 'bout him." Elvis apologized for his manager. You let out a sigh and shook your head.

"You shouldn't keep apologizing for him, E." You turned your gaze at him.

You knew Elvis before the Colonel stepped in. When he first appeared at Sun Records your father immediately pushed you to help him. At first, you were employed under your father, but after he sold the contract... you well... you lost your job. That was until Elvis wanted to keep you and employ you under himself. You were extremely grateful for that, not that there wasn't anything wrong with sitting in the recording studio waiting for someone to come in.

"Well, he ain't gonna do it... So, someone has to." He sighed and rubbed his face.

"So, Steve Allen? You're really moving up in the world." You smiled softly. He chuckled and shook his face.

"I don' know... I just want to go back home. They don' like how I move." Elvis shook his head.

"Elvis, they're just jealous because you're stealing the hearts of many." 

"It just don' understand why they want me on their shows, just to not let me be me."

"Well, you're rising up there quickly and well... when you get into your music... and your ya know... People mention how they can see your uh... ya know." Elvis started to laugh at that. You looked at him confused. Why was he even laughing? Was it something you said?

"Is it the people ya hearin', or is it your eyes." He winked at you. You rolled your eyes and let out a disgusted sound.

"You're disgusting," you commented and picked up your notebook. "Now, if you excuse me... I have to cancel some things." 

You picked yourself up from the couch and moved over to the phone. This wasn't the first time to happen, and you knew it wasn't going to be the last. The Colonel was always known to for canceling plans or prolonging a stay.

You've been in New York for way too long now and you missed the fresh air of Memphis. It was overly stuffy here and not to mention people were just plain rude. However, all the tv shows in America were all filmed here. Yet, people were getting tired of the way Elvis acted on stage. 

It was everywhere in the newspapers. There was talk they wanted to throw him in jail just because of the way he moved his hips. They called him a disgrace to all humankind. Elvis was far from that... he just moved the way he felt. It wasn't like he was doing it on purpose... it was his body... and his body was feeling the music.

Most of the time, your days were spent in an empty room overlooking the city. There was a piano and some foldable chairs around. That room drove you insane, even when Elvis was playing and singing... you felt trapped and locked up. It reminded you of a prison cell for some reason. 

"Elvis the Pelvis. That's one of the most childish expressions I've ever heard coming from an adult. Is Mr. Allen gonna cancel me from the show?" Elvis asked as he looked over at the Colonel, who was staring out the window.

"Yes. Yes, he is. He is replacing you with one of the country's greatest singers." Colonel responded as he walked to the side of the piano.

"Mario Lanza?" Elvis raised an eyebrow.

"Someone greater." Just then you heard a set of wheels and saw three people walking into the room with a clothing rack filled with suits with bow ties and tails. 

"The new Elvis Presley!" He boosted his voice, throwing his arms out... a wide devious smile on his face. 

Oh hell no.

"Yeah, I snowed 'em! You just have to put on one of these tails here, and sing the Hound Dog. It's a light-hearted, sophisticated family show." Parker explained like it was nothing. Elvis got up from the piano bench and walked towards the clothing rack that held the clothes.

"I can't move in one of these." Elvis pointed out as he stood looking at them.

"And that is the point. Mr. Allen agreed only as long as there is no wiggling of those hips" Parker explained.

"I can't figure it out. My own mother approves of what I do." Elvis shook his head.

"Mmm. You have read the papers, my boy?" Parker asked as he stepped closer to Elvis. Scotty came up behind Elvis and handed him a bottle of coke, to try and calm him.

"Yeah, I read the papers. The papers say that I shot my mother and smoke marijuana." Elvis shook his head and took a swing of his cola.

"Your movement's in the style of a black man, and you have broken the segregation laws. So, let's follow the plan. It's a good plan."

"I woul-" you tried to speak up, but was immediately interrupted. 

"The grownups are talking, Ms. Y/l/n." The colonel shot you a look before turning back to Elvis. You saw Elvis tense up by that. He hated every single time someone got interrupted.

"You do the Allen Show, family style, and then tomorrow we go back to Memphis and we snow them on the July 4th Children's Charitable Concert. And we put this whole unfortunate misstep behind us. Now, do you want to go into politics, or shall we stay in the show business?" Parker held a smirk on his face.

This was a bad idea... You can't just force Elvis to not do what he's good at. Not to mention... why would someone want Elvis on a family show knowing damn well his hips don't lie? You knew Elvis was conflicted... So, as you sat there watching those fashion people take his measurements, you spotted Scotty and Bill looking annoyed.

Much like you did, they weren't a huge fan of the Colonel. Hell, no one was. You looked over the contract and a lot of it was bull shit. The Colonel was really milking everything he could out of Elvis. In return, his friends and family were suffering. Not to mention, you got pushed to the side a lot. 

The colonel wasn't telling you any of the dates you needed to know. He wasn't telling you the locations and time. He didn't share any information with you because of your gender. He felt... female assistants were to be as they were viewed. Secret whores for their bosses, and oh boy you were there to prove that fat fuck something else. 

Sure, you were attracted to Elvis... and maybe felt something for him... but there was no way you were going to prove him right. You rather suffer than let the Colonel win. You hated when he won and he always felt like he deserved to win.

Plus, it was very hard to believe that Elvis would date someone like you. Considering he had literally hundreds of girls throwing themselves at them... and well... the Colonel said relationships were off-limits for him. Why? Oh because he wanted Elvis to always appear single in hopes fans will rise because they have a chance.

"Y/n, do you think I'm makin' a mistake?" Elvis asked as he sat down on the chair next to you. You turned your head to look at him. Everyone had seemed to left the room at that point. You were too stuck in your own thoughts to notice. 

"Well... it's not you." You started off. You turned to look at him. He looked... disheveled... annoyed... upset. You don't blame him. He was just told that in order to stay on the show he had to play the part of New Elvis.

"It doesn't seem like you want to do it either." You pointed out, which Elvis nodded in agreement.

"He wants to put me in fuckin' tails. I- I can't even move around. How am I supposed to perform without being able to move?" He asked. It didn't seem like he was asking you directly... more like himself. That was always the case with these things. People loved Elvis for his music but hated how he moved his hips and legs.

"You're his monkey, E... in the end, a snowman will always just want money." You brought up Colonel. 

"Do you think that's all he wants from me?" Elvis questioned. I mean, isn't that why anyone gets a job? There was something more to the Colonel though... It just didn't make sense. 

"It's what anyone wants from you. Money." You said truthfully. All these tv show producers... they knew if they had Elvis... well the viewership would go up and bring in more money.

"Are you tryin' to hint at something?" He chuckled lightly.

"Please, I was employed under my father and got paid nothing to be your assistant. I do this because we're friends and quite frankly... your life is a mess." Elvis chuckled at that and nodded. It was true, with everything the Colonel had him do... he never knew when he had a free day anymore. 

"Yeah, without ya... I wouldn' know what I'm doing." He confessed. You stifled out a light laugh and shook your head. 

"You've made your way into Sun Records alone," you smiled softly.

"That I did," he nodded, "something just... kept bringing me back after that first visit."

"Singing will do that to you," you stood up and straightened out your skirt. You looked over towards the clock. It was near four. The show was either at eight or nine. Eh, the exact time didn't matter. You were hungry, and you bet Elvis was also.

"Do you want to get some food?" You asked, a slight tilt to your head.

"Depends, are ya askin' me on a date?" Elvis teased as he stood up.

"In your dreams, Presley." You gave him a sly wink and picked up your things. Elvis let out a laugh and shook his head.

The two of you traveled out of the building and onto the busy streets of New York City. God, you wanted so badly to be back in Memphis. There was nothing wrong with big cities, they just weren't for you.

"You missin' home?" Elvis asked from beside you. You nodded your head.

"Yeah... I just want to be able to curl up in my own bed." You explained and wrapped your arms around yourself.

"I get what ya mean... New York... it's not for me." He nodded in agreement. 

"I don't think it's meant for anyone," you chuckled lightly. "This is home of Broadway... actors... Everyone is just rude also."

"Yeah, I get that." He nodded. 

"Not to mention it's so stuffy. I feel like I'm about to pass out at any point."

"I'll catch ya if you do," He smiled softly. You shook your thread. Hopefully, it wouldn't come down to that. You two walked for a bit until you found a diner that was just down the road. It wasn't too busy, but you preferred it that way. You always felt more important when it was just you and Elvis.

"I don't suppose you take all the boys here, hm?"

"Oh shush," you chuckled and looked over the menu. "I ain't got no time for any boys. I'm busy keeping track of your life."

"You didn't have to take up my offer." He held his hands up in defense.

"Had nothing better to do, why not." You shrugged.

Truth was... you didn't want to leave. You have gotten to know Elvis while he was at Sun Records. He was an amazing person, a great friend. Sure, you guys would've continued to be friends... but you knew he would also grow distant so... you decided to work for him. You stay friends, and you're with him all the time. Sounded like a good time to you.

"Do you want to just share some fries and a milkshake?" You suggested.

"Oh, so this is a date huh? Sharing a basket of fries and a milkshake? One or two straws?" 

"If you're good, two." You teased and pushes the menu off to the side.

"Ohh, treatin' me good tonight aren' ya."

"You'll need it, wearing those tails and everything." You chuckled lightly. Elvis stared at you and nodded. Sure, he didn't need an assistant, his parents could easily keep his schedule in check... but he didn't want you leaving his side. Ever since he first met you... he was quite fond of you.

"What can I get started for you two?" A waitress came over, trying her best to keep her excitement inside. 

"We'll just share a basket of fries and a milkshake, two straws, darlin'." Elvis nodded at the waitress. She nodded quickly and walked off.

"She was a fan," You smiled.

"Ya think? Didn' act like one." Elvis looked at you confused. You couldn't believe that he couldn't tell. Then again, he must've not seen the restraints she held on herself.

"She's working, Elvis. She can't exactly be like..." you clear your throat," oh my god, Elvis Presley! I love you!" Elvis chuckled as you made fun of his fans, which you weren't. He knew you meant it in a nice way.

"Man, maybe you're the only fan I need. Especially when you got the voice of thousands." If you didn't know any better, you would say he was flirting with you. Yet, you were stupid enough to not notice it, because... how could someone like Elvis ever want to flirt with someone like you?

"Here's your food," the waitress came back and placed the basket and milkshake down. A strawberry one with a white fluffy cloud of whipped cream on top along with two cherries. She was smart, had to give her that.

"Thank you," you smiled. She nodded and sent you a smile with her cherry-red lips. She nodded at Elvis and walked away. Immediately the two of you flung for the cherries on top. You both took one each and popped them in your mouth. You were sure you two looked like little kids. 

You two could talk for hours, and for hours you did. At one moment it was just over four, and the next you knew it was eight. You went through several baskets and several milkshakes. Your feet were perked up next to Elvis on the other side of the booth, and his hand was on your ankle, rubbing circles. It was like that for a long time, well... it felt like a couple of minutes.

Not to mention, your waitress was so nice. Elvis even gave her a pair of tickets to his next show. Well, mostly due to the fact that you were both probably extremely annoying. Staying there for hours upon hours. They probably never had that before. Most people came in, ordered a burger, and left. You and Elvis... oh no no.

"Shit, I- I can't believe I lost track of time. We have to get back." You stumbled as you noticed the time. 

"What do you mean? We still got- oh fuck-" Elvis muttered as he realized how late it actually was. Elvis was quick to pull out his wallet and drop down some money before standing up and grabbing your hand. He pulled you up quickly and out the door.

"Give me a second, Elvis! Jesus!" You spoke as you tried to catch yourself. Not only were your legs wobbly from keeping them up for so long, but you had just down so many milkshakes. 

"I'm goin' to get killed! We got to hurry!" He called back to you. If he was about to be killed you could only imagine way worse for yourself. The colonel would most likely point out how bad you were at your job. You were an assistant. You were supposed to keep track of time for god's sake. 

Elvis was supposed to practice before going on television and now he wouldn't have time to do that. He had to be on at nine! God, you really screwed up now. You knew you wouldn't lose your job, but you knew the Colonel would try to convince Elvis otherwise.

"Where is that boy?!" You heard Parker's voice the minute you walked... well ran into the building. People were running around like crazy to find where Elvis was.

"Sorry sorry! We're here!" Elvis called out and stumbled out of his jacket tossing it towards you.

"Where the hell have you been, boy???" The colonel walked up to him.

"Y/n and I, we went to get food. Lost track of time is all." Elvis shrugged it off like it was nothing. Parker turned and looked at you. You already knew he blamed you. He usually always did if Elvis was late... which was hardly ever. You made sure he was always present and before time... Today... well... things just got out of hand... 

"I'm terribly sorry... I- W-we really did." You stood up for Elvis. You didn't want him to get in trouble on your account. It was your idea in the end. 

"Shut it, Miss Y/l/n, we have got to get this boy ready." Before you knew it the two of them disappeared. You let out a sigh and shook your head. You folded Elvis's jacket over your arm and walked over to the viewing room and sat down. 

You were never really allowed backstage when he was on tv. You had to sit in the viewing room with everyone else. There was nothing wrong with that... you just wish you could've been there when he was most nervous. Helped calm him down a bit. You knew how he got... Especially at that Hayride so long again. He was more nervous than a fly on a boot. 

This was the last show... tomorrow you go back to Memphis... and then perform at the stadium. It won't be so bad. You'll be back home, which will lighten your mood drastically. Not to mention you'll see your family again. You'll see Vernon and Gladys... everything will be better before you know it. 

Before you knew it the show was starting. Steve was introducing Elvis and what tonight's show was about. Elvis walked out on stage with a massive smile on his face, though you knew he was dying inside. That's when you saw it... A hound dog being wheeled in.

"Oh no-"

You could tell by the look on his face that Elvis was horrified. He was embarrassed beyond repair. He wanted to sink down into the floor and lay for the rest of his life. This wasn't part of the deal... Parker just said he had to dress up and sing Hound Dog... not sing to a  hound dog! Everyone around you practically gasped. Everyone was just in the blue as you were.

This wasn't good one bit. Elvis wouldn't recover from this... no no… if you had to guess... he would probably storm off. Try his best to roll with it... but he would be pissed and would run off. You quickly stood up and rushed over to the room that held the piano. You knew he would storm into there first. 

You weren't scared when he got angry. You were used to you. Plus, he would never yell at you directly. He never wanted to yell at you. Sure, there were moments when something would come out, but he would apologize immediately. He cared about you and didn't want to hurt you. 

As if it was clockwork, the boys walked in. Elvis was the most mad out of all of them, but you knew Billy and Scotty were just as mad and embarrassed.

"God damn it!" Elvis yelled as he angrily and quickly took off his suit jacket. He balled it up and threw it towards the window. 

"He could've given us some warning. I- I- I know how to do a skit, I could've made it funny!" He paced around, arms flaring up in the air. He sounded like he was about to cry. 

"The most stupid, embarrassing, humiliating thing I ever did."

"Well, what the hell do you want me to do about it?" Elvis looked at Scotty, on the verge of a breakdown.

"We're musicians!" Scotty yelled back.

"All right just calm it!" You raised your voice, making the all heads turn towards you. You weren't one to raise your voice unless needed so... and well... you always kept to yourself, but it was no use for these boys to fight over something they had no control over.

"Now no one here knew what was happening tonight! Ya got that?! So don't you go and blame Elvis, Scotty! Now what y'all gonna do is get your stuff packed and ready to leave first thing in the morning ya hear!"

"You don't understand Y/n! You weren't up there!" Scotty yelled towards you. At this point maybe Elvis wasn't the maddest. Bill didn't seem to want to engage, but you knew how he was feeling. 

"Oh but I didn't watch now did I? I saw the dog and walked away, so no, I wasn't up there and I didn't watch. I know how embarrassing it must be for you boys, but you can't let this come between you two. No, go on! Get a drink and calm down! I'll see you guys tomorrow." With a huff, Scotty picked up his things and walked out of the room. Bill sent you a sincere smile.

"Turn off the light and lock the door will ya?" You asked Bill. He nodded and did as you asked right before he left. You walked over to Elvis and pulled him into a hug. His head crashed into your chest and his arms linked around your waist. Before you knew it, wet tears fell onto you.

"I know... I know..." You said softly and ran your fingers through his dark hair. "I know..."

This concert in a few days... you knew the Colonel probably wanted him to play the new Elvis. Whoever that even was. Because the new Elvis they put out on live television was not confident. He was... he wasn't even Elvis anymore. Elvis was conflicted... his head was probably a mess of knots right now. God, how you wanted nothing more than to know what he was thinking about.

You two sat in that room for hours. You couldn't even recall the time when you two walked back to the hotel. It was late enough for sure. The Colonel tried to barge in and talk to Elvis, but you weren't having any of it. Parker didn't have to go through what he had done to Elvis. He... He wasn't the one who was embarrassed in front of thousands upon thousands of people.

It wasn't funny... and it never will be. How Elvis would recover from this... you didn't know.

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[lacontroller1991]

Avoidant

On the first of each month, each member of the GFS will write a Drabble of 1k words or less based on a selected prompt and using a character played by Joel Kinnaman.

April 2022's Prompt Is: "Why are you avoiding me?" "Because... because I think I'm falling in love with you, okay? That's why I'm avoiding you."

Main Master List || March 2022

Warnings: language, idiots in love

You toss your phone on the couch with a huff. This is the 10th time Rick has purposely declined your phone call and you don't understand what you did wrong. Sure, you and him had a little fight a couple of days ago, but that was just because you had disobeyed one of his direct orders and it could've costed you your life. Sighing, you swing your legs off the bed and get ready for another day on the job, hoping to maybe see Rick and confront him.

----------

Meanwhile, Rick stares down at his phone and cringes when he sees your contact light up the screen. Denying the phone call, he turns back to his computer and continues the report Waller wants in her office for the upcoming mission. Noticing the fact that Rick is denying your calls out of all people, Economos raises an eyebrow.

"Why won't you answer her calls?"

"'m busy."

"Yeah, we all are, but we still take calls. Are you guys ok?" Rick turns to look at the tech with a scowl on his face.

"It's none of your damn business. She made a risky call and she seems to learn her mistake best when I ignore her," Rick easily lies and John can see right through it. Rick doesn't ignore anyone, not even his ex, though he knows he should, but it's just part of who Rick is, and him denying call after call is raising suspicions in the office.

"Yeah whatever man," Economos goes back to work as Rick sighs, taking off his baseball cap and running a hand through his hair. After a minute, he hastily stands up and makes his way to Waller's office. He can't have you running another mission, not when he almost lost you.

----------

The halls inside Belle Reve all look the same at this point. After working here for several years, you know the facility inside and out, which is why it's not hard for you to find Waller's office. Rounding the corner, you can make out Rick's shadow leaning over a desk as he speaks in a commanding voice to the woman herself. Sneaking over, you lean your head toward the door and eavesdrop on their conversation.

"I don't want her to go out anymore. She's not a great asset in the field. Maybe in comm, but not out in the field," your brows furrow at his words. There was maybe two other females that are in the same line of field as you, so he could really be talking about either one, but you have a suspicion that it's you.

"Agent (Y/L/N) is more skilled than most of your other coworkers, Colonel. She is a very valuable asset to me in the field and I would even say she is almost as good as you. So for you talk down about her only raises my suspicions on you Colonel, not her," Waller's voice remains impassive as you hear Rick sigh.

"Look, I just don't want her to go on any more missions with me, okay? I don't want to work with her," your heart sinks at his words. He doesn't want to work with me? Confusion and sadness take over and you fail to notice Rick walking toward the door. Stepping back, you go rigid as he stops in his tracks and eyes you up and down before walking away. That's it, what the fuck is his problem?

"Colonel Flag." You start to walk after him but he picks up his speed, not acknowledging you. "Colonel Flag." Still nothing. "Rick, please."

Rick sighs, stopping in his tracks but refusing to turn around and look at you, knowing that if he does, he would fall more in love with you.

"What's going on, Rick? What did I do? Why won't you talk to me? Why don't you want to work with me?"

What's said must be said. "I don't think you and I make a great team." Lies. "How can I have you on my team when you don't even obey my orders? I can't have that. I'm sorry, Agent (Y/N)." He moves to walk away and not look back but your hand reaches out and grasps onto his wrist, pulling him into you. Still, Rick doesn't look at you.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Rick weighs his options and choice of words as he makes the mistake of looking at you. Your normal (E/C) eyes are blown wide as they struggle to keep the tears in. Your lips slightly quiver as you struggle to keep the heartbroken sob from escaping. Rick sighs and turns around, placing two hands on your face as his thumbs trace across your cheek bones and he does not miss the way you lean into his touch.

"Because... Because I think I'm falling in love with you, okay? That's why I'm avoiding you."

"You what?" Your voice is small as you try to take in the meaning of his words.

"I am in love with you, and seeing you almost die on the field was too much for me to bare." His confession hangs heavily in the air as his hazel eyes dart away, afraid of what you could be thinking.

Except you're not thinking. No. You're just doing what feels right, and in that moment, the only thing that feels right is pressing your lips against his and so that's what you do. At first you're met with some resistance, but then when Rick recognizes what's going on, his hands hold your face close to his as the two of you lock in a passionate embrace. Who would have thought Rick avoiding you would lead to the revelation of your true feelings for each other.

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[heresathreebee]

Silver Ghosts

[A Rick Flag fic]

On the first of each month, each member of GFS will write a drabble of 1k words or less based on a selected prompt and using a character played by Joel Kinnaman. 

March 2022's prompt: The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to him was that she was alive.

Masterlist other GFS projects

Tag(s) 16+ | mature language, descriptions of sex, first person Rick Flag POV, noire overtones, vague religious references, implied necromancy. 

The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to me was that she was alive. 

Dubois was right, maybe I am whipped. 

The year is 2015, just before I met June. Everyone in the world is obsessed with Capes– all excitement and not enough fear. And I was supposed to be running black ops missions to hunt felony committing metahumans for capture. 

I was never meant to be here. 

Here. Champagne and an indoor hot tub, our shoes littered on the clean, carpeted floor. She tugs on the ends of my loose bow tie to pull me into another kiss, not caring that her $2,000 dress was soaked through. She'd steal another one, a better one. 

My hand caresses the back of her head to pull her deeper into me. She always wants to be close and I always need her closer. I had pulled her into the jacuzzi knowing come daylight, she'd be gone without a trace again just like always. 

Damn that woman...

Breaking the kiss, I can feel her smile against my lips as she whispers, "can you use those handcuffs on me tonight, Colonel?" 

She knows I love it when she calls me that. My pants are tight and it's not just the water making them so. When we fuck, it's slow and sensual. Every sigh that falls from her lips is soft, sometimes it's my name or a curse, and she doesn't mention that the fingers of my right hand are tangled in her bound ones. When I spill my seed inside her welcoming warmth, I cannot hold back those three little words that terrified me the most. 

"I love you," I breathe into her neck. I roll my hips harder as I come down from my high and say, "I love you darlin'", over and over again. 

She doesn't say it back, but I was sick with love and thought she meant it when she wrapped her legs around my hips after. I was such a hopeless fool back then.

I didn't see her again after that. 

For years after my failure to capture, Waller never stopped wanting her. "She could be the single greatest asset this country has ever seen." 

Magic users were our greatest allies in the purely hypothetical dogfight that Waller expected from Superman, who most considered a god amongst men. But my part in her life? That was over. I searched and I searched under the pretense of imprisonment at Belle Reve, but I never got close to her again.

Always one step behind. 

We both learned about each other during our time together. If she didn't want to be caught… then she simply would not be. It was a fool's errand we were after. She was powerful beyond limitation and could not sit still long enough to trap physically or emotionally. 

I tell myself I wish I had just another chance, but even while I was with Dr. Moon, I knew my idiot heart would have told her I still loved her all over again. 

It is 2021 when I realize just how stupid I've been. Waller's back up plan stabs me in the heart with a piece of ceramic tile and looks like he's going to cry doing it. I'm on my back bleeding out. I can feel every desperate and frantic pump of my heart like a feral animal trying to claw its way out of my ribcage and it hurts. 

The last thoughts on my mind are not of giant alien starfishes and corpsified Corto Maltesian children. They are of her and what could have been if she had just let down her walls and admit she loved me back. Did I ever truly think she would? I realize I never knew fantasy from reality when it came to her. 

I have no idea how much time has passed. All I know is the taste of copper and ash like dirt in my cottonmouth and a sharp ache over my heart. My lungs burn as they gasp for air and the world is dark grey around me. I cannot move my arms nor feel my legs except for a cold chill that creeps in on me. I have never in all my ears been so afraid. I am buried alive in what I can only surmise as rubble. 

When I try to scream, nothing but a troubling, quiet wheeze escapes. I try again, this time something like a pained grunt escapes. But who would hear me from my grave? 

There's ringing in my ears that decrescendos into the sound of shifting rock and something else. It sounds like voices from so far away and it stupidly gives me hope. I try to scream again but I can't– despite my desire to live, I have not the strength to beg for it, so I pray instead. It is the first time since my childhood I remember believing someone could hear me. 

I feel a weight lifted off of me. For a moment I believe I have died again as bright light spills over sensitive eyes, but the pain of breathing and seeing and being is too great and too familiar to be of heaven or hell. I can hear shouting but it's muffled like an ocean lives between myself and them, all I can make out is my name. 

Rick. Rick. Rick. 

I do not realize how cold my skin is until I feel warm hands on my face, each like a caress from the summer sun that makes your skin tingle. Something bumps my nose, something brushes my cheeks, something blocks the blinding light all around me. I open my eyes just a bit and see her. 

The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to me was that she was alive. I croak her name hoarsely. 

"I love you," I say, "I'm sorry…" 

I have so much to tell her that I'm not even sure what exactly I'm trying to apologize for.

In return, she shakes her head, tears pouring down her beautiful face as she replies and her voice is sweeter than any church choir and stronger than any hurricane, earthquake, or tsunami combined.

"You're not allowed to die, Colonel." 

And where she wills, the grass bends and the wind whips and the mountains bow. If she commands it, the universe obeys. So I will not die, at least, not today. 

[needleandhammer]

Fruition

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female!Reader

Word Count: 6216

Summary: You're the Governor's daughter and you've caught the eye of Boston's most eligible bachelor.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Unprotected sex. P in v. Reader's first time having sex. Cunnilingus. Dub con. Possessive!Ransom. Sort of Dark!Ransom. Historically inaccurate. Slight breeding kink. 18+ only!

A/N: Period au. I kept the time period and nobility ranking real vague because I'm not about to research and actually world-build a mashed 19th century American colonies and Victorian period au :D It's not quite as dark!Ransom as I had intended, mostly soft. Inspired by Bridgerton, yes. And the amazing debauchery of @stargazingfangirl18 for their Soft Dark 5k challenge. Congrats and thank you for such amazing stories!

Yet another season of balls, picnics, and courtship.

“Have you heard the news? The young Drysdale is to be named heir to the Thrombey estates.”

“That makes him heir to both Thrombey and Drysdale legacies.”

“Do you think he’s in search of a wife?”

“It’s Drysdale we’re talking about. The only thing he’s in search of is someone to warm his bed for one night.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. All that inheritance must require a wife to keep in order.”

“I wouldn’t mind warming his bed even for one night.”

“Shh! That’s scandalous!”

You heard your name and looked up to see your friend Vincenza approach. “Have you heard? Drysdale is to be—“

“Must I endure an entire evening of talk about that boorish man?”

She giggled at your complaint. “But it’s the talk of the city. Lord Thrombey has replaced his own son with his grandson as heir. And…” She glanced around, leaning close to you to whisper. “I heard that the transfer of inheritance was all due to Drysdale’s uncle’s inability to produce a child.”

Your brow folded, unsure whether such a decision was fair. “Well it’s not our business, Vinnie.”

“But that’s the thing!” Her whisper grew breathless with excitement. “It’s all of our business. Well, those of us not determined to narrow our marriage choices in the name of love.” She shook her head at you with good nature. “If Drysdale is to produce an heir, he needs a wife! It’s certain that all the available ladies of Boston will be trying to earn his favor.”

You sighed as Vinnie hooked her arm around your elbow, both of you weaving slowly through the ballroom.

It wasn’t like you weren’t used to this, hearing gossip about the infamous Drysdale son, the eldest grandson to the retired Lord Thrombey. How such a noble scholar could be related to the notorious heartbreaker sometimes stretched your comprehension. And even more ridiculous, autumn found you as Drysdale’s target for humiliation. You knew such a flirt had no intentions of settling down, yet, he had endeavored to make sure he danced with you at every ball thus far this season, and even called on you at your city townhome. You were quick to inform him that you were uninterested, yet he seemed unbothered. In fact, upon your firm rejection, Drysdale seemed to make it his goal to visit your brother as often as possible - as the two were college pals - ensuring you encountered him several times a week. Drysdale was not outright courting you, but he made his attentions evident to you. Most frustrating of all, he seemed to have a knack for cornering you under the guise of innocently keeping his friend’s sister company. It irked you that your family could not see what you saw.

You caught sight of your brother waving at you, so you led Vinnie in his direction.

Perhaps Vinnie was correct and you were closing doors that were better left open in the opulent realm of nobility courtship. Your chances of marrying for love were slim, but that didn’t mean you could not at least try to maneuver your way closer to those slim chances. Even in Boston’s ruthless high society of meddling mothers, envious debutantes, and arrogant “gentlemen.” But you were the Governor’s first-born daughter – beauty praised by all, poised and sharp, and most accomplished at a number of activities thanks to the Governor and your mother encouraging a diverse array of talents since you were young. Theirs was a happy and long marriage resulting in five children, and supported by a successful political career that you were proud to celebrate. You had no doubt that no matter the pressures of society, your parents would support you if you opposed an incompatible proposal in your search for the right person.

As long as you navigated the nobility’s courtship rituals with the wits you inherited from your own mother, there should be no reason you should lose the romantic interests of countless eligible bachelors, or heaven forbid, fall upon a scandal that may prevent a proposal of love.

Well, there was one reason you might end the season in scandal, by way of delivering a swift knee to the vulnerable private area of one particularly irritating gentleman in full public view of hundreds of good folk who have gathered to enjoy the Senator’s autumn ball. Alas, you were not going to bring that kind of shame to your parents.

The particular reason, the gentleman who irritated you so, was currently greeting your elder brother quietly, whilst his penetrating gaze remained on you. Determined not to be ruffled by his attention, you kept your shoulders back and chin high, sweeping your eyes through the crowd and dancers.

Your attention returned to your group of family and friends when your hand was captured. By him. Hugh Ransom Drysdale Thrombey.

“My, don’t you look breath-taking. It is my pleasure to get to see you tonight, Miss Y/L/N.” Drysdale’s eyes flowed down your form, and much to your chagrin, his smirk widened. No doubt the warm flush on your bare collar would be apparent to him.

You couldn’t help yourself, with those glowing azure eyes of his so clearly admiring your figure. The man was completely inappropriate.

“Yes, it surely is.” You offered a pursed barely-there smile and tugged your hand. He tightened his grip upon your fingers, raising them to meet his lips. You cursed yourself for choosing the delicate lace gloves this evening, as you felt his warm breath feather through the lace onto your skin. He deliberately kept his lips upon your fingers for longer than necessary, curved in that signature smirk.

“Mr. Drysdale, if I may have my hand back. I must obtain a beverage for my sister.”

Mischief twinkled back at you from his eyes. “Allow me to accompany you. I’m sure your brother and mother would both enjoy a drink,” he was quick to close down the objection posed on your lips.

Your brother thanked Drysdale with a clap on his shoulder and motioned for you to go on. You could only give Vinnie a frown as she preened at you with excitement. You proceeded without protest, knowing your brother’s attention was occupied, searching for a Miss Amarea Dane, whom you were certain you would welcome as sister-in-law very soon.

You smiled quietly to yourself, once again dreaming of following in your brother’s footsteps and finding a match so certain and true, so compelled by love and affection, rather than simply honor and title. To think, it had been Drysdale who had introduced the couple.

Suddenly, a man backed up straight into your path. You couldn’t avoid stumbling aside and directly into the arms of Drysdale.

“Watch yourself, Chen. Maybe go easy on the wine,” Drysdale called to the man who raised an empty glass at him with a laugh.

You attempted to straighten up, aware you were surrounded by several people and had just fallen into the embrace of Drysdale, who was notorious for seducing the city’s ladies.

“Let go,” you insisted quietly, dropping your gaze to your wrist which he held on to.

Drysdale gave you stern glance and led you close behind him, keeping his grasp on you hidden as he pulled you through the room.

When the two of you made it beyond the side entrance, you tried retrieving your hand.

“Mr. Drysdale, let go.” You had not wanted to draw attention with so many guests around you. You would die of embarrassment to allow anyone to see Drysdale’s hand on yours beyond the required polite greeting.

“Come, my lady. You cannot blame me for wishing to acquire your attention all to myself.”

“You are being most inappropriate.” You huffed as he pulled into the gardens. “Let go of me this instant.”

“So eager to return to your suitors? I’m sure I saw at least five gentleman who have called on you this month.”

“How can you know of the gentlemen who have called on me?” You dug your heels into the gravel, drawing up short when Drysdale stopped and rounded on you.

“Well, Barber makes no secret of his admiration for you. Or that idiot colonel’s son? And that Wilson fellow makes such noise at the gentlemen’s club about his intent to propose.”

You smiled at his apparent crossness. “Are you tracking my proposals? Are you requesting a fee for updating me about the intentions of my suitors?”

Drysdale stepped closer, his sharp jawline clenched. “So you’re pleased then?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” You bit back a gasp when he tugged you forward, his hands on your waist which pressed against his front. “If you don’t let go—“

“What will you do?” His smirk returned and your fists pushed against the solid muscle of his arms. “What would you do?” He asked again, dipping his face close to yours. “If someone saw the Governor’s honorable eldest daughter, the pearl of the city, alone in the dark with a man?”

“How dare you? You better let go or my brother –“

“Would only be too happy to welcome me into the family.”

You did not miss his meaning. If you were discovered in this position by anyone, your brother would demand that your honor be redeemed by marriage to Drysdale. As handsome as the man was, you had no wish to pair the rest of your life with a man who flirted with dozens of women each season and broke just as many hearts.

“Well I am certain, sir, he would never force me to marry someone so crude as yourself. He is familiar with your outrageous behavior, so he knows you would make an ill match and I would never consent to it.” You tried leaning back from Drysdale, feeling a growl work from his chest. You couldn’t show him fear, no. You had enough of this man making your life miserable just because he was bored.

He didn’t relent, his palms flexing around your waist tighter. “You think that just because your father protects you, you are beyond the pressures, the claws of people of our standing?” He chuckled darkly. “I assure you, if it was between your happiness and ensuring your family avoids falling from grace, your parents would not hesitate to throw you to the wolves, to sacrifice your childish dreams in order to uphold their status. That’s what you’re searching for, isn’t it? Behind that pretty face are the same silly fancies as all the other girls. Dreams of love.”

“I don’t expect you to understand, so mock me all you want.” You continued struggling, determined to not back down from his burning gaze, but drawing short of breath all the same to have him so close. “Everyone knows you’re too busy fooling around and playing with women who, yes, want to find love. I only pity them for believing you have the ability to give that to them.”

He whispered your name low in warning, his voice sending a flutter down your stomach. You arranged a fierce scowl at him.

“It’s the truth. All you care about are your family’s riches and living like you have no responsibility to your community. Well, go on. Find some poor woman and give your family an heir so you can secure your fortune and continue your wild ways in comfort. But rest assured, I’d rather be thrown to wolves than end up paired with a man like you.”

Your squeak of shock was cut short when Drysdale crashed his mouth on yours. He molded your lips, swallowing your gasp as he sucked your lower lip. You felt suffocated with an intense heat blossoming from your stomach and growing further as you sensed the wet lick of his tongue.

Drysdale knew every time he pushed your buttons he got to enjoy your soft features lighting up just the way he liked; and at the same time he suffered your blatant disdain. For months he had told himself he was only after some entertainment in the form of your admittedly beautiful displeasure directed at him to liven up the droll season. Yet, here he was, unable to restrain himself from touching you, your warm smile haunting his thoughts, the silk of your skin an insufferable craving that occupied him at every hour.

You tried to twist out of his arms, but he held you pressed against him, a soft whimper from you further igniting his desire to wrap you up and make sure no other man witnessed you like this. Breathless. Vulnerable. So, so sweet, just as he imagined you would be.

You were unsure how to respond, failing to escape from his hold. So you fought back with your mouth, lips pushing against his, much to Drysdale’s delight. He barely allowed you to draw breath as he tilted his head, hand caressing the back of your neck to keep you close, quickly sneaking his tongue into the hot cavern of your mouth. He felt you tremble at his invasion, your hands gripping his jacket. He opened his eyes, appreciating the moon’s gleam on your cheek, your lashes fluttering. Despite your drawn brow, he could tell you were no longer opposed to his ministrations. He groaned when your tongue whirled against his.

It was the familiar quiver in your core that struck you and had you thrashing until you had pushed Drysdale away. You could not allow this man to awaken desires within you. You covered your mouth, panting, feeling tears sting your eyes.

You heard your name from him.

“Don’t!” You kept your face hidden with a hand, as though you could hide what had just happened. “Don’t every come near me again, Drysdale.”

“You can’t mean that.”

You stepped back before he could reach you. “I’m sorry. I am to call you Thrombey now, correct? You’ve inherited a title and doubled your worth. Well, don’t for one second think that makes me care for you.”

You rushed out of the garden, praying he wouldn’t catch up. Drysdale breathed deep. Your words stung him.

He shook himself, making a vow. Darling, you’re not getting away from me.

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

No, no, this could not be happening. It was still early in the day and your life was ruined. Or, it would be very soon.

“If you don’t accept my proposal, I will ensure that the whole city hears about your little moonlight tryst with Drysdale. We all know he’s not the type to step up for a woman’s honor. So you’ll be left with a scandal and no further suitors, you can be sure of it.”

That was the threat from Mr. Mildred, the colonel’s son who creeped on the edges of parties and was known to mistreat the help of his household.

You couldn’t stand the thought of marrying Mildred. Yet, what were your options? Your parents would heed your wishes, but the shame of a scandal would be hard for your family to recover from. You father’s reelection might even be impacted. Boston may be a modern city but progress was slow when it came to the rules of courtship amongst upper social circles. And your marriage prospects, well, very few bachelors would come calling once they heard you described as a loose woman.

It had been too much to hope that no one witnessed what happened in the garden.

You stood, restless and angry with yourself. How could you have melted into Drysdale’s touch? That was just as agonizing to you as Mildred’s words. Ever since you first met Drysdale, heard of his leisurely bachelor ways and his aversion to marriage and family, you had vowed to never fraternize with anyone of his nature. He was everything you did not want for a stable, loving family and spouse.

So many months, you had been forced to hear him mock you with pleasantries, intrude on your homely comforts, charm your mother and sisters, monopolize your brother’s time. And yet. His broad form hovering close to you as you practiced pianoforte. His many glances with those sky blue eyes during park strolls. The low purr of his voice that followed you into your dreams. Drysdale had managed to worm his way into your subconscious. At one point, you had thought he was tolerable, kind, and perhaps capable of sincerity; but that night in the garden had shown you his true colors.

Two days later, you fared no better. Your mother summoned you into the parlor, sharing that she had encountered Mr. Mildred at a tea party and he mentioned a dreadful whisper he believed to be about you and a gentleman together without chaperones in the Senator’s garden.

Had Mildred run out of patience already? Your mother’s tight frown was your answer. You apologized profusely, tears escaping as you tried to hold yourself together in the presence of someone you had sworn never to disappoint.

Apparently, Mildred informed your mother that such a whisper had not spread far, but he could not be certain of preventing its spread.

You were interrupted by the house maid, bringing a letter to your mother informing of a dinner visit.

The rest of your day, your head ached with the decision you had to make. Drysdale would not be affected by the gossip but you would not remain unscathed for long. Even with the respect your father received as Governor, your prospects grew slimmer than ever. Yet you could not accept a sacred vow of lifelong marriage to the conniving Mildred.

And Drysdale, well, you told yourself you would not entertain the idea. You had rejected his advances once already. You told yourself he had only courted you to add to his conquests and he only continued to antagonize you to alleviate his boredom.

It wasn’t until you entered the dining room that you realized your mother’s dinner guests were the Drysdales, including Lord Thrombey. You lowered yourself into a seat next to your sister, forcing a smile at Lady Drysdale before her strident tones returned to a conversation with your mother. Movement to your other side prompted you, but your smile fell flat to see Ransom Drysdale beside you. He only nodded to you, though you caught his eyes glinting with purpose before he turned to your brother.

It was halfway through dinner that Drysdale made the announcement. He had requested your father’s permission and was proposing to you this very night.

You scarcely noted your two families’ reactions, excusing yourself from the table and winding up in the dimly lit back yard of your home.

“Why?” you asked as soon as you heard footsteps behind you. Turning to Drysdale, you demanded, “Why are you doing this?”

He watched you, eyes dark and framed by thick lashes. His jaw tensed and then he stepped up to you, looking down at you.

“As you said. I have to earn my inheritance. I need an heir for my grandfather. For that to happen, I need a wife.”

You shook your head, his words striking at your heart.

“You’ll do just fine, I suppose,” he finished.

“No!” You shoved at his chest, barely swaying him. “You don’t get to do this. This is my life.”

“I heard what Mildred was going to do,” he said, swallowing hard. “If I didn’t propose, you’d have to marry him. Or –“

“I would deal with the gossip however I see fit! How could you come to my home and propose in front of our entire families. How could you—“

He wrapped his hands around your biceps, dragging you close. “You can’t say no.”

Helpless, you could only silently deny his ruthless words with an anguished shake of your head.

“You can’t say no to me. No matter what you tell yourself about how merciful your lovely society friends will be. We both know if you don’t accept my proposal…” He glanced away with a chuckle before eying you, his grin cocky, sneering. “And don’t even bother thinking you might escape from this by actually marrying Mildred. He’ll back off as soon as he hears the new Lord Thrombey has proposed. Either way, looks like you’re not going to the wolves.”

One hand grasped your neck and jaw, drawing your lips to his. He could sigh with relief. He had not been able to rest ever since tasting you.

“Drysdale –“

“Ransom,” he whispered, rubbing his lips to yours before reclaiming them in a deeper kiss that consumed all of your senses. You couldn’t gather your wits to question how he managed to force all thoughts from your mind. Surely your anger was the source of the sparks lit in your breast as you felt his tongue sweep into your mouth roughly. You sagged against him. Ransom’s lips released you, trailing along your skin.

“Call me Ransom.” His order came firm as he dropped kisses down the corner of your mouth to your ear. It pained him to be the cause of your tears, but he would be damned if he let that weasel Mildred sully your name, or get to twist his fingers in your dark tresses, learn your curves, taste your lips. No, Ransom would be your villain.

“R-Ransom,” you gasped out, so aware of his body heat rolling against you, his thick arms encircling you.

“Accept my proposal.” He knew he had crushed his very slight chances of being on the receiving end of your kind heart, forcing your hand like this.

He pressed his forehead to yours, warm hands framing either side of your face. His thumbs stroked away your tears, and you were struck by the earnest plea in his eyes.

"Alright."

He took a deep breath and stepped back from you, his face a cool mask. "Let us inform our families."

This may be another game to him, an easy means to an end. For you, it wasn’t a choice.

--‐-------------------------------------------------------------------------

You made it through your short engagement and overly grand wedding by devoting your entire energy to convincing your family that you were the eager, blushing bride. You offered minimal answers as your dear sister asked about how Drysdale – no, how Ransom had claimed your heart. You dutifully picked out wedding bouquets with your mother and responded to the well wishes of your father’s friends.

All the while, your busy schedule served as an excuse to avoid your groom-to-be. With middling success. Now that he had claimed your hand, and more, proved your dreams were all for naught, he couldn’t resist reminding you to your face how naïve you had been. Worse, he took advantage of his status as your fiancé.

He took the opportunity at every lunch to sit close to you and toss that triumphant smirk your way. He invited you to the park with your family, leading you ahead and lacing his fingers through yours as he put on a show of holding you steady upon the walkways. He played the love-struck bachelor, dragging you between the far shelves of your father’s library and exploring your mouth with a frenzy that left you dizzy. Your resistance was no match for his determination to overpower you, to flaunt his victory. Yet, you could almost see the arrogant curl of his mouth morphing with each kiss as his eyes softened. And each time, you grew more hopeless - conflicted - as his touch grew familiar, satisfying a part of you which you could not control. You were truly out of your depth when it came to Ransom.

It mattered not. You could not take back your word. The Governor’s daughter that you were so proud to be could not collapse in your own despair. As far as anyone was concerned, you and Ransom had both discovered an unlikely, passionate love for one another and wished very badly to wed.

You should have been exhausted after the early day of wedding celebration you had endured with Ransom, the incomparably handsome and gallant groom. And after many hours riding out to Halifax, the Thrombey country home. Your new home.

But a new challenge was upon you this late night - your wedding night. At least, that had been your sole problem up until Ransom had deposited you in your marital chamber and excused himself. You had absentmindedly, nervously, glided around the room to admire the woodwork. Only to notice a parchment corner peeking from the drawer of an antique desk. Which led you to open the drawer and pluck at the papers with your name upon them.

The pearl of the city. An apt title, yet it fails to define your beauty, Y/N…

…Is it a gift or a curse that I should be visited with visions of your sweet face as I sleep…

Barry speaks highly of you, his sister, and your affinity for family, your desire for a true love. A shame that such an exquisite soul should be beyond my grasp. No, I have earned this torture. I could never deserve you, nor offer you what you deserve…

So many lines speaking of admiration for your character, yearning to learn what would be worthy of your affections, admissions that you were too sweet, too good to be burdened with him. Words hinting of curiosity, of desire for a future with you, a family unlike the one he grew up with.

…I can only laugh at myself for daring to dream God might have mercy on me and lead me into your arms, and lead us to the dreams you and I share…

The sound of the door swinging open had you looking up to meet Ransom’s gaze. He slowed in his entrance, seeing the pile you clasped in hand.

“Those are mine,” he said, voice tight. His hands curled with your big eyes shining upon him full of question.

“My name is on them. They’re mine,” you countered.

“Forget them,” he commanded. “They are only…”

“Fancies? Silly dreams of…love?” you asked. “You’re a talented writer.” You smiled seeing his flushed cheeks, his averted, shy grimace.

“I used to sit with my grandfather for long hours. Reading. Discussing stories.”

“Did your grandfather also help you practice writing love letters?”

He smiled without mirth. “No. I figured I wanted to make a fool of myself so I documented foolish musings.”

You closed the distance between you. Your face was uplifted, beseeching Ransom to meet your eyes. He could not ignore your presence, attention intense on him and almost more than he could bear.

“Is there truth in these words?” you asked quietly, careful not to spook this man, this loud, cocky man who had presented you with such a convincing disdain for anything sincere.

“It does not matter.”

“It matters. Because you chose me.” You pressed your fingertips to his lip, stopping his protest. Ransom closed his eyes for moment, barely believing you were touching him of your own will. He breathed in your perfume, disoriented by your proximity, your discovery. “Why did you never…?”

“Because I’ve always known such things were childish. My own parents proved to me a long time ago love has little value in a family.”

You shook your head in protest of such cynicism. But the bitter turn of his mouth reminded you of various instances in his family's presence - his parent's demand for recognition and power, his uncle scoffing at expressions of kindness.

“Because I felt foolish for even wanting something different. You were right. Anyone would be lucky to avoid me and my family. We’re a sham. There’s nothing beneath the surface for my parents and they’ve taught me well.”

“There’s more,” you insisted.

“Well then I’m a coward because I can’t bring myself to go in search for more. You were right. I am content with my family’s fortune. I would have been fine growing old alone, but I had to trap you with me. Now, you won’t achieve your marriage of love, your desire for a warm family.”

You cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. “I was the coward.” You drew him down, closing your eyes and pressing your foreheads together. “I saw more in you, but I was afraid. Afraid of risking my heart, afraid I might achieve the very thing that I have been yearning for.”

He whispered your name. You hushed him.

“Tell me. Do you truly love me?”

His breath feathered against your lips. “I love you.” There was such a raw vulnerability in his confession.

“Then that is all that matters. You and I will build the family we dreamed of. I promise.”

Like your vow had snipped him loose of his control, he yanked you in and kissed you hard.

“Be mine,” he murmured between sucks of your lips, drinking you in. “Give me all of you, and I swear, love, I’ll be your family. I’ll give you anything.”

You believed him. Cupped his head in yearning. “Yes. Yes, Ransom.”

His hands tugged impatiently at your gown, dragging the outer layers down. Long fingers pulled at your skirts. You worked at undoing his vest and shirt. Your hands trembled to feel his bare skin, the tickle of chest hair and such warmth emanating against you as he drew you close. You gasped to feel his hands squeezing your curves through your thin shift, seeking with greed for more. He walked you both to the bed and placed you in the middle, laid out for him as he had dreamt for months.

His touch dipped under your shift, setting your heart racing. As his mouth danced lower, he growled, tearing the top of your shift to expose your bare tits and mouth hungrily at them. You couldn’t stop wriggling, clutching around his neck and shoulders, arching up to his tongue that flicked a nipple before sucking.

“I’ve wanted you so long. Want to taste you.”

Before you knew it, you felt him panting at the delicate flesh between your legs, no article of clothing remotely hiding your body from him. He stopped you from closing your thighs, fingertips bruising as he held you open and licked broad stripes at your sex. You had never imagined such sensations, such a heat as Ransom so thoroughly pulled you apart with his mouth.

He watched through his lashes as you writhed, testing what you enjoyed most. His tongue teased at your entrance and then breached you to lash your inner walls. Your sharp cry had him groaning as his hard cock begged for friction. Your gasps bordered on sobs and he needed to see you fall off that edge.

His lips closed around your increasingly wet petals, shaking his head back and forth and sucking hard. When his teeth scraped your clit, your mouth froze open, your back arched off the bed and locked in feverish pleasure. Your rapture pulsed through you as he pressed his tongue flat to your throbbing bud.

“Darling, look at you.” How glorious you looked, soft and panting. Ransom climbed forward to kiss you, sharing the earthy tang of your pleasure. You hummed into his mouth, still drifting in a hazy cloud.

“Look at me, love,” he whispered. You opened your eyes. He watched you, lust and joy burning in his gaze. “You’re mine.”

You nuzzled his nose, whispered, “I’m yours.” Your breath left you as his cock, thick and insistent, pressed into you, pushing in and in until you felt nothing but full.

His lips never stopped kissing your face, your jaw, your mouth. As if he could tell the very instant the sting receded for you, Ransom moved, thrusting shallow. You found yourself wrapped around him, clinging as you had never been so desperate for another person before.

His moans and grunts joined you as he sped up. Everything he was doing, his hips clapping your thighs, his weight caging you, rekindled the thrill in you, the pleasure mounting more when he managed to slide his hand between you and swipe at your clit. You keened, unable to beg him to finish you off, but you knew he would do it. Knew he wouldn’t stop. His mouth sucked at your neck and he angled his thrust just so. You were lost to the world, grinding up against Ransom, chasing the pleasure that crackled from your core. Ransom nearly crushed you to the mattress as his rhythm rose to a frantic end and he released his seed through his swelling cock to fill you.

Your name rasped from him as he ground his hips into you with the instinctual need to ram his seed into your womb.

Long hours later, after Ransom’s need to claim you again resulted in multiple releases for you both, when you had caught your breath, you let him wind his naked form around yours.

You drifted off to his sleepy murmurs of, “I’m yours.”

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A month later and Ransom maintained firm control of your attentions, both mental and physical. He seemed intent on desecrating every room of the vast country home. One afternoon, the two of you had toured the family’s art collection. He had lured you into an alcove to view a Verocchio sculpture. You ended up with his face buried between your legs under the sculpture’s shadow, biting your fist to quiet your moans as Ransom’s tongue thrust into you. Right before you came, he slipped out from your skirts, bunching them at your waist and pushing you up against the wall. Your faced pressed into his neck with relief to feel his cock stretch you. Opened you up with rough jolts as your legs drew tight around him. His hips snapped urgently, quickly blazing flames within you until your explosive climax overwhelmed you. He fucked you until he came, biting your shoulder as he rutted hard to push his release deep into you, until you were overfilled and his spend seeped out and trailed between the two of you to mix with your own juices.

Tonight, his desire for you was unrestrained. Already, he had kissed and licked what seemed like every inch of your skin. Your release dripped from you and into his greedy mouth latched to your folds as you came down from your high, tugging his dark locks of hair.

“Ransom, please.”

“Yes, love?” His lips grazed a path up your stomach, then up between your breasts littered with red love bites. He rubbed his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

“Need to feel you.”

Ransom grinned. He pulled you upward, lifting and turning you so you rested in his lap with your shoulder blades meeting his chest dusted with fine hair. You arched your back, feeling his hard, leaking cock so hot against your skin. His fingers combed your hair aside, mouth nipping and kissing from your neck to your shoulder.

His hand cupped your sex, groaning at the soaked heat of you. He guided you, lifting up just enough to run the sensitive head of his cock through your folds. Your whine forced more precum to dribble from his slit. He could resist no longer, his cock splitting you open as he drew you down upon his lap until he was buried to the hilt in your tight heat. Soft curses met your ears. You bit your lip, grinding back and forth. Ransom squeezed your waist, held you still.

“Ransom…”

Damned, how he loved the sound of his name falling from you, needy and wrecked from pleasure. And still wanting more of him. He couldn’t begin to guess how someone like him could deserve your affections and loyalty. Good thing he was a greedy bastard, unrepentant of his actions that had blessed his home and bed with you.

Shivers wracked your spine when he cooed at you with his gravelly tone. “You want me, love?”

“Want you so bad.”

He smirked at your whimper when he swirled his groin slow beneath you. His tongue teased along your earlobe, driving a plea from you.

“Want you, Ransom. Oh, please.”

“And you’ll give me what I desire, yes? Will you, love?”

You managed jerky nods, choking when he slid agonizingly slow from your cunt and pushed back into you. Only to stop and hold himself there, speared maddeningly in you.

His breath tickled your ear. “You, love, are going to give me a baby. Yes?”

He drove his hips up, drawing a moan from you.

“Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Y-yes…Rans…ah” You stuttered with his deep, hard strokes.

“Is that what you want? Hm? Big, beautiful family with me?”

“Yes.” Your response rushed out, breathy.

“Love you. Want to fill you up over and over.”

You whined loud, his words and the drag of his thick cock inside you driving you crazy.

“Because you’re mine. You’re all mine.” His hand curled over yours, pressing your palm and fingers to your core where the two of you were joined beneath dark curls. “Feel that?”

“Oh god.” You surely felt what he wanted you to. His steely member claiming you again and again.

“Yes, feel me and you? This.” He kept your hand there, feeling every push and pull of his cock, from inside and out, so you couldn’t escape him. “Feel how you belong to me? All of you. You’re mine forever.”

“I’m yours….” You cried out as his rhythm sped up. “Ransom!”

You threw your head back, both yours and his fingers circling the nub of your inflamed clit, his harsh breaths beating against your neck as his words blended.

“Mine,” he grunted.

Your pleasure burst like a dam, your release splashed and squirted out, then throbbed with his relentless touch. The wave spread outward, tensing your muscles, buzzing upon your skin. Feeling you squeeze and flutter around him drove Ransom to the brink until all he could think of was filling you, rooting his seed into you so you grew soft and big with his child. You were the beginning and finish of his everything.

Ransom couldn’t stop himself. His strokes grew uneven but remained deep, hard, determined. His arm wrapped around you tight as he launched you both forward, driving you onto your hands and knees so he could rut as deep as possible. You moaned, overcome with the hot rush of his seed filling you and his cock pounding it deeper into you.

You both settled into the bed with tangled limbs, slowing your breaths and the ache of desire. Your toes curled, enjoying the pressure of his cock nestled in you still, content that you both were looking forward to your first child. To a family all your own.