#shoulda told you most of these are pain

[1d1195]

Protection IX

Read the rest here: Protection

Sorry about the drama, wish I could say it's over. However...

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort probably, some gooey stuff, some sad stuff.

Hope you'll all forgive me eventually <3

Just over 7k words.

Another big thank you to @freedomfireflies for pre-reading this part too to check for obvious awfulness.

The only solace he had was knowing she was the strongest wildflower he had ever met.

Groggy was an understatement. There was nothing she could compare to the feeling she had of waking up in a hospital bed again for the second time within three months. She blinked a few times and swore the beeps sounded almost like they were in her peripheral hearing if that were possible. But really, the most important sight and sound had nothing to do with the beeps or the hospital room at all.

Harry’s head was hung low. He seemed to be scrolling through his phone aimlessly. One of his warm hands was wrapped in hers so tightly, it made her palm sweaty, and it was so very perfect. He sighed softly—like he was in pain, and almost in response to the rhythmic beeping from the machine next to him. It took her a moment to realize the gravity of the situation. She only had a vague memory of what happened and how she got here because the only thing she remembered was Harry saying I love you before she fell asleep.

Of course, she didn’t have a concept of how much time had passed, but she was alive. So that was something.

When she first got her protection detail, one of the agents told her he thought spite alone would keep her alive long past her expiration date. At the time she snarled at him or something, but truthfully, she believed it. A little blood loss was nothing for her. It would mean more to her to outlive every one of the security agents. It would make her happy to make them cringe a bit more.

Plus, she had Harry to look at. She wanted him to touch her and kiss her. Harry was finally something she could look forward to. There was no way she could lose that—not for anything. She cleared her dry throat, gave his hand a squeeze as she spoke. “Feel like this’ll be more paperwork for you. Just shoulda died,” she whispered with humor dripping in her voice. Her throat was scratchy and broken with disuse. Her words slurred a little more than normal from the medicine swimming in her veins and having just woken up from a long nap.

Harry slowly turned his head toward her hearing her perfect, beautiful voice. Near black circles were painted on the skin below his eyes. His green irises contrasted sharply against the bloodshot whites. The stubble on his cheeks was approaching nothing like what she had ever seen on him. Harry was always clean shaven. Professional and proper. She smirked so cutely. Sleepy looking. Like Harry woke her up from one of her study naps. “Harry Styles,” she said softly. “Have you been sleeping?” She asked.

Harry stood up silently. His facial expression contorting into pain as he did. He pressed his free hand on her cheek before leaning down and pressing a long kiss to her forehead. It made her insides turn to liquid. There was no other way to describe it. Harry had been aching for the last few days waiting for her to wake up and it had been painful. But the relief his lips felt touching her skin was unmatched. His mouth ached in a whole new, perfect way.

Then he broke her heart. “I had t’see y’open your eyes, kitten. I have t’go now,” he squeezed her hand before he slowly began to release it. With his other hand touching her face, he stroked his thumb along her cheekbone.

The heart monitor betrayed her immediately because it skyrocketed. But she didn’t care. “Harry, no,” she croaked. “Please don’t leave me,” the monitor panicking like that caused an onslaught of nurses running to her room because they hadn’t seen it move above resting pace in nearly three days. But she didn’t know that.

“Oh, she’s awake,” a nurse said in surprise.

“Kitten. I have to go,” he repeated trying to pull his hand from her grip. “M’not supposed t’be here.” Her breathing turned to almost panting and she shook her head holding his hand as if her life depended on it. It certainly felt like it was. Harry outwardly presented a forlorn expression, but there was something in his eyes...

Was Harry smiling? She thought to herself. Smug bastard. Harry was wearing a plain black T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Inconspicuous. Normal. Utterly hot for no reason at all even with the dark circles and what she assumed was a severe lack of sleep. The nurses were fluttering all around her, but she waved her free hand at them paying no mind to their worry or cares. Her gaze didn’t move from those pretty green eyes that she loved with every bit of herself. “Love,” Harry said gently. “You have t’listen.”

“Don’t leave me,” she begged again ignoring his smugness. “Everyone leaves me.” He looked pained by her request. Completely conflicted by what he wanted and needed to do. Which of course she had no idea what that entailed. Again, she still hadn’t a clue how long she had been out. There was so much she didn’t know, and her brain was fogged over.

But the one thing she did know was that Harry was here and she wasn’t going to push him away or let him get away—or she would die trying. Especially now that she knew a thing or two about that. That much was certain.

“Sweetie, we have to do a few things; he promised he would leave once you woke up. Your father was insistent that you—”

The sound of her father made her eyes narrow while her heart rate shot off higher. She glared at the nurse that said it, all while keeping hold of Harry’s hand. As much as he said he had to leave she couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t protesting the death grip she had on his hand. Even with the fatigue and weakness she felt surprised she didn’t break one of his knuckles or fingers. Or maybe she did, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to care right now. He looked like he was beating himself up brutally both inwardly and outwardly.

She shook her head slowly at the mention of Mr. Secretary. “I will rip this IV out and I’ll rip my catheter out and walk out the door after him,” she growled out her threat.

“Sweetheart,” another nurse said already exasperated with her attitude. That had to be a new record. She wondered if Harry would ever laugh again because she thought about telling him such a statistic and hoped he would find it funny. Part of her thought he looked too distraught to care.

At the same time, she reached for the IV with her free hand to follow through on her threat. Harry quickly grabbed for it, pressing it above her head on the fluffy pillow with the hand that wasn't holding her wired arm. The nurses gasped at her reaction, and she imagined they were probably a little grateful for Harry stopping her. “Don’t,” he whispered gently to her. If he watched her bleed ever again, he would probably throw up.

It wasn’t the time, but it was quite hot the way he held her trapped against her bed. His voice was low and sultry without even meaning to be. The simple command of “don’t” would have set her heartrate higher if it wasn’t already thudding with anger at the mention of her dad. Moreover, the idea of him leaving didn’t give her much time to think about how nice it would be to be trapped under Harry’s body. She glared at him now, feeling betrayed by his diffidence to support her. “Don’t leave me,” she said evenly but Harry could tell she was mad...maybe even sad.

“He can stay.”

He closed his eyes and she saw his shoulders sink just barely. She knew he was relieved, and she would blame the dark circles on Harry’s lack of sleep. Obviously, he wasn’t thinking clearly, wasn’t understanding that they were just saying that. She glared at the nurses. “I swear to God, if I come back from whatever room you take me to and he’s not here I will throw the biggest fit you have ever seen you’ll have to sedate me again and then I will wake up even angrier and I will rip out every needle or tube you stick in me. I’ll refuse to eat. Don’t make him leave.”

They all looked at one another awkwardly, because clearly, that was the plan. “He shot you.”

Harry visibly flinched with his whole body. Oh, he’s going to hate himself forever.

“He saved my life.”

"He almost killed you."

Harry sighed, wincing and turning his face away from her, so he didn’t have to look her in the eye as they talked about him like he wasn’t there. He was never going to get over this. "There was no other way. I was dead no matter what. I trust him with my life. The second you let me out of here, I'm going straight to him. So, it's either you let him stay here and I do everything you ask, or I fight you on everything until I escape and go find him. Your call."

They were silent. Harry was still holding her hand above her head so she wouldn't reach for her IV. He turned back to look at her once she started her negotiation again. All while she argued he stared at her, like he was unsure that she was really alive. His face scanned for signs that something was wrong, that her eyes would flutter, or she’d seize or something from the cause of his stupid, terrible shot that left her without blood and oxygen in her brilliant, beautiful brain for so long.

But with each passing second and scanning every inch of her perfect face he was starting to believe she maybe, really, was okay.

He wanted to argue with her on behalf of the nurses that so kindly cared for her the last few days. Even when they wanted to kill Harry for hurting this perfect gorgeous girl and still being able to sit by her side. Frankly, he agreed with them—he didn’t deserve to be by her side. He should have been kicked out. He should have been fired.

Or they should have let her shoot him in the leg as well—something to ease his guilt.

But the idea of leaving her was going to break him. He wouldn't—couldn’t—have gone far. He already planned on stationing himself outside the main entrance so he could find her as soon as she was released.

"He can stay."

Harry exhaled all the air in his body. He was too tired to be skeptical, but apparently a three-day coma left her rested, skeptical, and feistier than ever. "Seriously?" She asked.

"Seriously. Please let us take you to get some tests."

She looked at Harry again; her expression was gentle. Harry adored her. "Please don't leave."

"I'll stay right here, love," he promised sitting back in the chair by her bedside. "Don't give them too much a fight."

She smiled. “Someone told me I’m so stubborn, so don’t hold your breath.”

He smirked and sat still in the chair. As if to say he wasn’t moving at all.

*

Harry intertwined his hands behind the back of his head as he tried pressing on some hidden pressure point that would ease the anxiety and headache he was getting. She’s awake. He had been texting his mum updates.

Oh, thank goodness! That’s great news, honey bun!! Send her my love.

Harry didn’t know how to reply so he didn’t. He would send another update when it was needed. Harry felt like pure shit. He was so glad—maybe ecstatic was the right word—that she was awake, but at what cost? The only reason he was here was because he was still listed as her emergency medical contact. Niall took his gun away from him almost immediately, but Harry was grateful because he didn’t even want to see it ever again.

“It’s protocol,” Niall said gently. Harry was going to jump out a window. He finally understood why she hated that word so much. “She asked you to,” he murmured quietly. Like Niall didn’t want anyone else to hear—and he probably didn’t. Harry gave the rundown while they sat in the waiting room...hoping and praying the surgeon would be able to fix her pretty, perfect leg. Harry grimaced at his words. “Harry, she’s...” he smiled shaking his head. “She might be the smartest person I’ve ever met; she wouldn’t have asked you to do that unless she was sure of it. It was an impossible situation. She has better chances of surviving a leg wound than a shot to the head and what very little I know of her, she probably calculated those odds herself,” Niall reminded him. “M’gonna have to tell them all but...” he shook his head. “If she could have shot herself, I bet she would have,” he smirked. Harry was too depressed to agree but the one little part of his brain that was waiting for her to be okay was still telling him that she was stubborn and lovely. Inwardly, he smiled at the thought of her shooting her own foot, literally because maybe Niall was right.

Once Niall did tell the others in the department, Harry was looked at like he was absolutely crazy. “Styles is probably the only one of us that didn’t want to shoot her,” one of them grumbled.

“Not the time, thank you,” Niall rolled his eyes.

“You’re suspended,” his supervisor said immediately. Harry nodded solemnly. Of course, he was. But everyone was forced to sit in the awkwardness that Harry was still her emergency contact. “Mr. Secretary doesn’t want you here.”

“Someone has to make medical decisions for her,” the surgeon appeared behind the wall of black suits of the men responsible for her safety.

“He’s the one—”

“He’s not even—”

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Is she okay?” Harry interrupted quickly. None of that other stuff mattered. She was the only thing that mattered. The woman that saved her life might be the only one that had any importance to Harry aside from her.

She smiled and nodded. “She’ll be fine. Definitely a lot of blood loss. We’ve kept her sedated... she... she’s a trooper,” she smirked. “She didn’t want to give up.”

Harry nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat, and tried not to cry in front of all his colleagues. He stared at the floor. “Yeah...that sounds like her.”

“The point is, that kind of blood loss...we worry about how it may have affected the brain, so we’ve induced a coma and we’ll wean her off as her body focuses on healing and feels ready to come out of it.”

Harry thought he might die. “Can I see her?” He asked.

“You are not allowed—”

“Listen, I don’t really care about any of your protocols,” Harry thought she would love her surgeon. “He’s the emergency contact. Is there anyone that she would trust more than him who is here right now?” She asked. “Anyone of you married to her?”

One snorted. “I don’t know if she trusts anyone,” someone muttered.

“Harry’s the one,” Niall said confidently.

He felt sick to his stomach. Because even if she, Niall, and honestly probably the rest of his colleagues, were right to agree he was the one to make decisions for her, Harry felt like he didn’t deserve her forgiveness. What kind of person tells someone he adores her, invites her to Christmas, and then shoots her in the leg?

Harry and Niall exchanged a look before Harry followed behind the surgeon. There was so much they had to discuss and figure out. But mainly, that look meant the most important thing that had to be discussed. The elephant in the room: which agents were corrupt enough to kidnap her and why?

*

She looked at her wrists; wires and tubes were protruding from her arms every which way. Not to mention the bruises wrapping the circumference of them—a reminder of the zip tie that held her in place. Harry was watching her with a pained expression. She glanced at him after looking at her side table in hopeful search. “This is not your fault,” she had so much to tell Harry now that the major source of danger had passed. She couldn’t wait to tell him she was right about DSS. Nothing made her happier than the thought of telling him all the awful stuff she found out.

“Love,” he shook his head. “Who’s fault—”

She checked her wrists again as if what she wanted would suddenly appear. “Can you find me my scrunchie?” She interrupted. “My hair is bothering me.”

He was on his feet instantly. Turned to look through the box and bag situated on the mini sofa below the window of the room. It was all her belongings from the past few days. Niall had taken it upon himself and went to grab a slew of things for her (and Harry as well). “For when she wakes up,” Niall said patting his friend on the back who wouldn’t move from seat. “Go shower, I won’t move,” he promised and situated himself beside her as he looked her over. There wasn’t much. But some of it was found in the warehouse she was kept in. He found the scrunchie. “Is it not in there?” She asked quietly. “It’s really pretty—all flowery and glittery,” she pouted. Harry smiled as he fiddled with it making sure there was no blood on it because he couldn’t remember if it was the one in her hair from the warehouse. He didn’t want her to see any reminders of that awful day. He didn’t want to see any of those awful reminders either.

“S’here, love. Jus’ a second,” he promised. “Jus’...don’t want any blood on it.”

She sighed. “I want to shower so bad. I must look disgusting.”

He shook his head, turning to her. Gently, he coaxed her to shift forward so he could gather her hair into a ponytail and wrapped the scrunchie twice around her hair. “You’re alive,” he reminded her. As if she forgot. “You’re beautiful, Miss Wildflower.”

She wrinkled her nose at his compliment feeling her face warm at his appraisal. She didn’t feel beautiful. She felt like she had six days’ worth of grime on her. Her shower at home seemed like a paradise. “When can I leave?” She asked. She needed to tell Harry that his supervisor was a dick when there weren’t witnesses who may also be corrupt. Part of her was a little surprised that neither she nor Harry figured it out sooner.

But between the lack of privacy and her mind slightly unfocused between the medicine and the coma, it was hard to keep track of the pressing issue. Plus, Harry looking so unbelievably pretty didn’t help her attention to detail either.

He snorted. “Love,” he rolled his eyes. Harry didn’t want her to leave until her leg was completely healed. But that would be weeks. So, that was a bit unreasonable on his part, but his intention was clear.

“Harry, I want to go home. I want to take a five-hour shower, watch a rom-com, fill out our spreadsheet, and make out with you until I think I might actually die.” He smirked immediately at her idea. Despite how crummy he felt about everything else it was nice to hear her cute thoughts.

That dimple of his, (the one that previously drove her mad because it always came with the word protocol) was now the most delightful thing she had ever seen. “Yeah?” He murmured. “Y’want t’make out?” He asked a tad smugly.

She nodded eagerly, allowing his smugness because she really wanted to kiss him so very badly. “Yes, and maybe we don’t even have to watch a movie,” she sounded pretty seductive for someone that hadn’t showered in six days and Harry thought that maybe she was sexier than she had ever been without even trying.

He chuckled and dropped a kiss on her forehead again. “I’ll find out when y’can go,” he skimmed the back of his finger over her cheek softly.

“Harry?” She asked quietly.

“Yes, kitten?” He would do anything for her. That much was clear. He would probably learn to tie balloon animals if she asked. He traced his fingertip over her lips, and she thought she might have a heatstroke. “What d’you need?”

“What’s your favorite song?” She asked so innocently Harry could have cried.

He sighed and smiled at her, shaking his head. “Free Falling the John Mayer version,” he told her.

“I like the Tom Petty one more,” she said knowingly, “But it’s a good song either way...Favorite movie?”

He rolled his eyes amazed she didn’t give one ounce of care to how she was feeling or the fact she had woken up from a coma less than six hours ago. “The Notebook.”

“Favorite TV show?”

He snorted. “Er...Family Guy,” he admitted shyly. She giggled. He waited as she thought of her next question. He wouldn’t leave the room without her okay.

“Can we still go to England?” She asked so quietly. There were security agents outside. She needed Harry alone before she could tell him all the stuff he knew. She hadn’t seen his supervisor since she woke up. She had to keep calm until they were alone.

Harry thought his heart would break. All alone. Just the two of them. Away from protocol, corrupt agents, and as far away from that awful building and memories as he could possibly get. He would take such good care of her and dote on her. He had no idea she was thinking the same things but for very different reasons. He nodded immediately, a pretty, perfect grin stretching across his face that made her briefly forget about why she wanted and needed to be alone with him. “Yes, honey. Whatever y’want. Mum and Gem are looking forward t’meeting you.”

She nodded with a smile, her expression seemed relieved, and he felt bad she was relieved by the notion. There wasn’t a place on earth where he wouldn’t find her nor take her if she wanted it. “Harry?” She whispered softly again.

“Yes, kitten?”

“Will you kiss me?” She asked, like he would reject her.

Never, in any universe, any lifetime, any dream, would he reject such a request. But he was too busy doing as she asked, to explain that to her.

But somehow, he thought she got it.

*

When she opened her eyes again, Harry wasn’t there. She could see two people standing in the hall just outside her door. More security. She finally got her shower, a nurse had to sit with her the whole time, so, it was awkward and uncomfortable. She almost would have preferred Harry had helped her. At least he would have accepted the discomfort she felt. (And maybe she could have snuck a few more not-so-subtle kisses.)

A small plastic cup sat on the table in front of her. Inside was a little bouquet of what could only be described as wildflowers: small little petals of violet, red, and yellow. She never had a combination of them on her walls or really thought about wildflowers ever. But right now, she wanted to. Her mind spinning with the need to purchase hundreds of fake flowers of this exact bouquet to remind her of this very arrangement every day. To remind her that Harry was still here despite how cranky and annoying she had been. Despite almost dying. She picked up the notecard propped against the cup.

The door opened but she was too busy admiring the flowers and reading the I adore you over and over to bother looking up for him. If August-Harry told her he was putting a tracking device in her clothes she would have killed him with her bare hands. But now she was comforted by the fact. She honestly would encourage it. “They’re really pretty,” she said softly.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

Her heart monitor once more betrayed her. The sound of her dad’s voice wreaked havoc on her, but it was worse letting him know that she was distraught by his company. Her brain started screaming for Harry’s name.

“Dad,” she blinked. He sat beside her where Harry had been keeping vigil for the last few days. She wanted to kick him out of that seat. It was Harry’s seat. Her dad didn’t once try to find her. He hadn’t so much as acknowledged the fact she was missing nor cared about her well-being and seeing him right now... she knew why.

He eyed her curiously. “You know, honey. You have thwarted every one of my plans. Every single one. Ever since you were little.”

She prided herself on being intelligent. It was how she often evaded her security detail, including Harry. It was how she was so successful in school and how she managed to balance all the things in her life up to this point. But nothing prepared her for her dad at that moment. And really, she should have known. The driver told her in so many words that it was him.

“What do you mean?” She asked calmly the heart monitor not sensing the anxiety coursing through her.

For as much as she had no idea of what was about to happen—what her father was about to say—not one bit of her was surprised when he did speak.

*

She was fuming in her seat. Zip ties around her wrists again. Part of her hoped that her father never released her because she was going to kill him herself. She wasn’t wearing shoes so there was no way Harry could find her now. If she wasn’t so angry, she would cry. Harry probably thought she was gone for good because there was just nothing—no note, no goodbye, no notice. Nothing. It broke her heart to think about leaving him; moreover, that he would think she left without saying goodbye. Her leg was aching without pain medication, and she didn’t trust herself that she could even run from the car fast enough even if she was brave enough to roll out in the middle of traffic. Which she strongly contemplated.

She looked at the man in the front seat. He didn’t speak as he drove. It made her so mad. Harry’s supervisor. She knew DSS was awful. She hoped Niall would leave the business. She hoped Harry would too.  She hadn’t seen her phone in almost a week (even if for her it was only three days), and she wanted it so badly that she could send her location to Harry. The only solace she had was that Harry would probably search every house in the city, door by door, looking for her. If she could stay alive and not pass out from the pain in her leg, she might live long enough to see Harry again.

That was if this man didn’t kill her first.

*

Harry nearly dropped her coffee in the doorway, seeing her empty bed. The flowers and note were still on the table. All her belongings were still neatly piled on the mini sofa under the window. He checked the bathroom, nothing. “She was just checked out by her father,” the nurse said behind Harry. “He had an event or something; they had to leave in a hurry,” she explained the remnants of his favorite person left behind.

No shoes. Harry groaned. At least she was with her father.

He texted Niall. What event does The Secretary have?

??? Niall responded.

Harry felt his stomach drop, seeing the question marks, but did his best to ignore it. Maybe Niall wasn’t privy. It would just make things more complicated. He could always go back to her place and wait for her. Maybe he’d make her those California burritos she kept showing him—the ones with French Fries in it.

She’s checked out of the hospital. The nurse said they have an event.

Niall called him almost instantly. “You’re off the detail still,” he reminded him in a hushed whisper.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “She doesn’t have her phone back because she was kidnapped if you recall. M’also the one that found her. Do me a favor.”

Sighing, Niall muttered curses under his breath. “There’s nothing on his calendar, Harry.”

He shook his head. “She wouldn’t just leave without me,” he said. “Not after that.”

“Harry, you know she does this. I know it’s different for you...but this isn’t uncommon for her. Plus, if she’s with her dad then...I mean...he’s probably mad despite,” Niall sighed heavily. “Look, I know what you did and why you did it but—”

“Niall, shut up,” he nearly groaned dropping his head back in annoyance.

The anxiety was increasing. His hand started to shake holding the phone to his ear, feeling something ominous before it fully registered. “M’not even supposed to be talking to you—especially when I’m at work,” he muttered. “There’s nothing on the schedule—oh...oh my God.”

“What, Niall?” Harry spit, seething already.

“She’s with her dad?” He asked tentatively.

“Yes, thankfully,” even if Harry didn’t like him and she hated him, at least he was her family.

Niall was silent. “No...” he shook his head. Harry could sense it. “Not thankfully Harry.”

Harry did drop the coffee cup then, struggled a bit as he grabbed her box and bag of belongings. He was only vaguely aware of Niall’s voice and the sound of the nurse shouting after him as he sprinted for the exit. Harry was all but public enemy number one at the hospital and for DSS. Without her defense, he had no leads, no help. Niall was listing the main points. Her dad paid someone. Her mom wasn’t supposed to die. But of course, her mom wouldn’t let her daughter die. It would bring a sympathetic vote.

He was going to kill her for more power, pity. A broken family man who would do anything to bring the people responsible for his family, his lovely wife and his beautiful daughter to justice.

Harry had a lot to make up for, given that he shot her no less than four days ago. It was a miracle she didn’t bleed out. He was never going to forgive himself, even if she already had. But he felt so totally helpless. There were no leads. No one knew where she was.

Part of him believed the division didn’t even care if she died because she was a pain in the ass. Harry was without a weapon, without resources. He made it to his car, dumped her bag of everything she had on the back seat and sifted through it all looking for a clue, the biggest clue he hoped could be there. Her dead phone, her jeans with the blood soaked through and through, her sweatshirt with her college’s name across the front also soaked with blood—he had to get her another one...why did he keep thinking about that!—a pair of Christmas earrings, and those perfect shoes with the little AirTag in them that saved her life once, but wouldn’t be able to save her again.

The only solace he had was knowing she was the strongest wildflower he had ever met.

And the tracking device he put in her scrunchie wasn’t in her belongings that he had spread out across his backseat.

*

“Why did he even have me?” She grumbled out the window. She was somehow calm. Probably because it was her father. All along. Someone she knew well...someone she should have realized was at the source of all this craziness. At least it wasn’t like the driver who held her at gunpoint.

“Your mother wanted you,” he stated simply.

“And his plan was to kill me?” She rolled her eyes. No wonder mom died. She would never let that happen to me. “Why didn’t he just...not be with Mom? Why did he have to ruin both our lives...all of our lives?”

“Love makes you do weird things. You should know that. Look what happened to you with Harry. Never thought I’d see the day you like an agent and here you are falling in love with one.”

She didn’t like the way he brought up Harry. She glared out the window trying to think of an escape. Something Harry told her when they went over her fail-safe ideas, it had to be somewhere in the back of her mind. Even the general safety tips from DSS that she hated so much, they had to come in handy now.

Would their loyalty to her father mean they couldn’t stop him from killing her? It was quite a humble moment for her. All those years of torturing agents and creating mountains of paperwork, building walls up so she didn’t even need protection...now they would probably let her die as the opportunity had presented itself.

Once more, she thought if she wasn’t so mad, she would probably just cry and cry and cry.

She wished Harry would suddenly appear and fix it.

She really wished he got to put tracking devices in her clothes before she was kidnapped.

Again.

*

Harry was trying to keep calm because the last thing he needed was a car accident on his way to her blinking little dot on his map. He impatiently watched it blip keeping a safe distance but not so far that he couldn’t get to her quicker if need be.

Where was he taking her now?

Niall informed Harry that the driver that he placed two bullet holes in, caved for a deal immediately. He told them exactly who he was hired by and even if her father got out of this situation, there was no way it wasn’t shady.

She’s never going to forgive me for tracking her.He thought to himself. Where on earth were they going? She’s never going to let me live it down that DSS is actual Hell.He thought. That’s good. Keep thinking about never’s. She’ll live just to say I told you so.

That, Harry was certain.

*

Mom liked the water. Her stories of growing up on the coast were one of the main reasons she wanted to go to school in a city by the water. There were tons of great schools of course, but it kept her close to her mom as well. She remembered her mom taking her for college visits nearby like it were yesterday and how she showed her all her old haunts and some of the best and most lovely places to get away for a bit and just be in nature.

It was poetic, in a way. Dying where one of her happiest memories with her mom would be. A nice overlook with some rough waves—especially when it was windy and winter.

Which of course it was.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Your father pays me,” he reminded her.

She stared at him. “You’re a coward,” she stated simply then looked out the window to keep from crying. She was not going to give him the satisfaction. “Why here?” She asked.

“A visit for old time’s sake; you and Dad just want to remember Mom...” He explained.

Other than the sound of the tires rolling on the road, it was silent in the car. She wished she could move her hands. Wished she could escape. Wished she wasn’t a sitting duck and could just do something, anything! Even if it was wrong. “Did you kill my mom, too?” She had to know.

“Your mom chose—”

She shook her head, this time the tears filled her eyes. “No, if you’re going to kill me, you’re going to tell me the truth. Did you kill her?”

He didn’t answer. But it was the only answer she needed.

Swallowing thickly, she silently prayed to every god she could think of, every spirit, every entity, every power in the universe. But mostly she thought so very hard about her mom. Like she told Harry, she believed she was out there, somewhere. Her spirit was too strong and stubborn to just fizzle out.

If her spirit was out there, there wasn’t a chance she would let something happen to her nor Harry if she asked.

“That driver you got is going to turn on you,” she said knowingly.

“Why do you think I’m here?” He parked at the little spot, pulled her out of the car, the icy wind chilled her immediately. With just socks on her feet, it felt like her toes went numb immediately. Her leg ached and she grimaced and groaned in pain as he pulled on her arm toward the edge of the cliff where she could hear the waves crashing against the rocky side. “He was just a pawn.”

“So are you...Dad will sell you out too.”

“Once your dad gets what he wants, anything I could be blamed for will simply be pardoned,” he told her.

Her heart was so loud in her ears. It was so cold tears were now in her eyes and she had no control over it. It was bad.

What was the last thing she said to Harry before she took a nap? She wished it was I love you. She wished so very badly that it was something of worth because this was horrific. Harry was never going to know she loved him. He had to know, right? She told him all of those personal things, how she asked him questions about his favorites, and all those things they did together even though they weren’t quite a couple but not quite the typical protector-protectee relationship. She needed him to know.

She hoped he knew.

“So th-this is it?” She asked, her teeth chattering. She couldn’t even wrap her arms around herself for warmth because of the stupid zip ties. It wasn’t fair. “You’re going t-to push m-me off the cliff? S-someone,” Harry for certain would never believe the lie he told. Whatever that was going to be, “is going to sus-spect—”

“No,” he smiled wryly. “It was an accident,” he explained. “You fell into the water looking too closely. Slipped. Banged your head. Tragic. After all your fighting to get better, too,” he shrugged. “It’s a real shame,” he said pulling her toward the edge.

She was unbalanced as it was; her leg was probably aching, and her hands couldn’t outstretch to support the awkward angle he was holding her.

Harry could practically smell her floral scented shampoo even from his cover of the trees. He had to park over half a mile away, in a turn off hidden by a bunch of trees. It was a miracle he wasn’t gasping for breath loud enough to be heard from how fast he sprinted to get to her little blinking dot. From his standpoint, he could almost see the determined look on her face. He had never admired her as much as he did as he watched her then.

If there was one thing she hated more than DSS, it was being underestimated. And more than anything, Harry knew that she was going to fight, as she always did, to her very last stubborn breath. He was only slightly less worried because at least she wasn’t bleeding profusely. He could get to her if he needed to in a graver situation. But he wanted his supervisor gone. Harry was also without a weapon and therefore at a severe disadvantage. The pocketknife he had on him wouldn’t do much against the gun he could see in his holster.

But he could see that beautiful glittering scrunchie twisted in her hair. Her favorite. His favorite. He was strongly considering (and hoping) asking her if they could just put a chip in her.

He hurried down along the side of the cliff. The drama of this setup was too much for Harry. There was so much history behind it. It was all plotted and planned perfectly—if that was the sort of goal someone terrible wanted to accomplish; Harry could admit that. He kept cover behind some rocks to make sure if anything went awry, they wouldn’t notice him—he couldn’t notice Harry.

Harry hoped she knew he would find her again. He wished she wasn’t scared because he knew behind that strong façade, she was probably terrified. With no way of communicating to her that he would never let anything happen to her ever again, bodyguard or not, she had to be more scared than she ever had been.

Harry could vaguely hear him still talking to her, taunting her. The words didn’t reach his ears because of the wind and the sound of the waves. He was desperate for him to shut up. But he couldn’t look. If he saw her fall...

The moment he heard a splash his heart nearly gave out. Within seconds the sound of an engine disappearing was enough for Harry to finally turn around to see her struggling to get her bearings between the waves and only one functioning extremity. Diving into the chilly winter water, he hoped it wasn’t too late to save her again.

--

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[ssinnerplazahotel]

╭──────────.★..─╮

*Chapter Eleven*

╰─..★.──────────╯

WC: 6k

Warning: 18+, age gap, smut, fluff, toxic elvis, manipulation, drug use, it’s the 50s/60s, dubious consent, painful-difficult-devastating-life-changing-extraordinary love

Pairing: elvis x black reader

Disclaimer: full of inaccuracies, inaccurate timeline, inaccurate depictions of Graceland, historically inaccurate themes and items

Masterlist: Prologue, Ch. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

You waited day after day for Joel to come back. You sat in the living room most nights hoping that the door would open and it’d be him.

You didn’t know where he was or if he was okay. You called Bibby to check on him and he told you that he’d called off work for an extended time. Bibby sounded more concerned about how many cars he had on the lot than he did about Joel.

You were worried sick and you had no one to talk to about it. You couldn’t talk to anyone, except maybe…

“Hello?”

“Aunt Dawn?” You felt guilty only calling now—now that you were alone.

She sounded confused when she responded. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” You said as you lit a cigarette on the front burner of the stove. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” She said. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Yes.” You sounded too unconvincing not to cave immediately. “I mean, things could be better.”

“What’s going on?”

“…Did you know that Jerry told Elvis where Joel worked?”

You took a drag from your cigarette as you waited for her response, although her hesitation was enough of one.

“I did,” She said eventually. “Why?”

“No reason,” You said. “I just thought you’d tell me.”

“Should I have told you?” Dawn asked.

“Not necessarily.” You felt like you were communicating in some kind of code. “He showed up there…at Joel’s job.”

“I remember.”

“That was when he invited us to Graceland. Remember?”

“I do.”

You fell silent for a moment. “I saw him one night…without Joel.”

Dawn shifted on the other line. “Did you?”

“I did.” Your voice threatened to crack as you held back tears.

She sighed, disappointed. “Does Joel know?”

“I told him.”

“What’d he say?”

“He left a few days ago. I don’t know where he is.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I-I know that you~ you’re close and he trusts you and I was just wondering if you could get in touch with him?”

“How?”

“…I don’t know.” You closed your eyes and leaned back against the counter. “I don’t know what to do.”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“I know.” You outed your cigarette and dried your eyes as best you could. “I’m so worried about him, I’m trying everything.”

“I’m sure he’s alright, wherever he is.”

“You’re right.”

“Give him some time, okay?”

“Okay.”

You tried Joel’s parents, they said a few nasty things about you calling but ultimately told you that they hadn’t heard from him.

It had been an entire week before you saw him again. In retrospect, a week away wasn’t a huge ask. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You were getting back from visiting Sinclair when you saw his truck in the driveway. He was there, bent over working under the hood.

You pulled in behind him and killed your engine. He didn’t look up from what he was doing until you approached.

He stood up straight, squinting against the sun. “Hey.”

“Hi,” You said. You didn’t know what to say. “Is there something wrong with her?”

“Just needed some brake fluid.” He wiped his hands on a dirty towel.

“Where were you?” You asked.

“Bibby’s.” He shrugged. “You?”

“Sinclair’s.”

He sighed, looking down at his hands. “We should talk.”

You nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

He threw the towel down before dropping the hood of the truck. He gestured towards the porch and you led the way. You sat on the top step, Joel sitting one step down resting his elbows on his knees.

“That starter’s gettin ready to go,” He said, breaking the silence. “I shoulda changed it a while ago, it’s an old thing, so…”

Silence settled over the two of you again.

“I don’t know what I’m sayin,” He muttered, pushing his hair away from his face. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say anything,” You insisted. “I’m listening.”

“I talked to him,” He said after a beat. “Elvis.”

“You did?” You asked, panicked. “What’d he say?”

“He called me at work,” Joel said. “…said Dawn told ‘im to.”

For a moment you imagined how both those conversations must’ve gone, but you were more concerned with what Joel was saying. You wanted to lean forward and inspect his expression more closely. Was he upset that you talked to Dawn?

“He didn’t say much,” He continued. “I didn’t want to hear anything from him, but…he said Dawn was worried about you, s-so I came to make sure you were alright.”

You nodded your head.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

The silence that filled the uncomfortable beats between his words made it hard for you to breathe.

You wanted terribly to comfort him in some way but you couldn’t find the nerve as you watched him struggle to keep his emotions at bay. You’d never seen him so upset and it made you sick knowing that you were the reason.

“He said I should try to make things right with you and that it wasn’t your fault, but I don’t know if I can. I-It’s just…I-I guess I thought I knew who you were, who we were…but now it feels like I don’t know anything.” He fidgeted restlessly, trying to articulate his feelings clearly. “There’s this entire part of your life that you never told me about.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Because you still love him?”

“Because I couldn’t tell anyone.”

Joel met your eyes and you fully saw his expression for what it was. “Tell me now.”

You couldn’t bear the pain in his eyes. “I can’t.”

“Why?” He shifted towards you.

“I don’t want to think about that time in my life. When we ran into each other I had been trying to forget everything from before. Because it hurt too much to remember. I loved him and he hurt me.”

“Then why did you go back?”

“Because I felt…” Your pulse soared and your breath caught in your throat. You struggled to breathe but you still forced yourself to say the words. “I-I felt like he took something from me, a-and I thought I could recapture that lost part of myself somehow. But as soon as I was near him, I… I felt seventeen again. I didn’t go there with these intentions. I thought I could show him that I was in control a-and that I was happy and doing well—despite him.”

Joel remained silent as he watched you stumble through your explanation.

“I know I kept it from you but it’s the only thing I’ve ever kept from you. Everything else is real, I’m still me. What happened, it was my fault. But I swear I’ve never been more sorry about anything in my life.”

Joel’s expression remained hard, his eyebrows drawn—conflicted. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

You casted your eyes downward. You failed to combat your tears, batting them away uselessly.

“I don’t know if I can work past this.” He worried his lip as he spoke. He stared off in thought for a moment before a humorless laugh left his lips. “I keep thinking about that day…when I first saw you at Graceland with Dawn.”

That first day instantly replayed in your mind. You had relived the day so many times—hyper-focused on your interactions with Elvis. Your memory wasn’t too clouded by him to remember Joel, freshly eighteen, rushing out of the house to meet Dawn. He shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of the memory.

“I love you.”

“Tell me you don’t love him.”

“I love you.”

“This entire time you’ve been in love with him.”

“Can’t someone love more than one person?”

Joel’s eyes narrowed in hurt and he stood up from the steps. “Sure. Just not at my expense, that’s all.”

“I don’t know why I said that.” You rushed to follow him as he stormed into the house. “I love you, Joel. I choose you.”

“You choose me.” He chuckled humorlessly. He walked into the kitchen and snatched the refrigerator open to grab a beer.

“I made a mistake. I-I messed up and I’m sorry. I only want to be with you. I love you.”

He sighed and leaned back against the counter as he cracked open the beer in his hand. He tapped the metal cap against the counter with a distant expression.

“I need to think,” He finally said before straightening up and leaving the kitchen without another word.

You watched him go to the living room and drop into the crease of the sofa. He turned on the television and watched it in a slump as he gulped his beer.

You silently retreated to the bedroom with unshed tears in your eyes.

There was a distance between the two of you that grew as the days wore on. Joel spent most of his time at work. He’d leave early before you woke up and get in late after you’d gone to bed.

No matter how many days passed without saying a word to each other, Joel insisted that you keep up appearances with Sinclair and Marcus. He didn’t want them knowing about your issues, he didn’t speak about them to Bibby either.

You went along with it, for him. You didn’t exactly feel comfortable discussing it with Sinclair and Marcus either.

However, it didn’t make it any easier to tolerate his distance when he would suddenly speak to you and treat you nicely around them. It didn’t help that he kept up his image as a doting fiancé in front of your friends only to turn around and not speak a word to you.

No matter how much it hurt, you tried to endure—hoping that the two of you would eventually reach some state of normalcy.

“What?”

You kept your back to the door as you slipped off your shoes with tears in your eyes. Joel sighed before you heard him walk into the bathroom. He killed the shower and returned.

“What is it?” He asked.

You batted your tears away and stood to walk to the closet. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Who’s fighting?” He asked, following you to the closet. “Why’re you crying?”

You dropped your shoes and grabbed something to sleep in. As you made to walk past him he blocked you in with his arm. “You know why I’m crying.”

“I don’t,” He argued. “I thought we had a good night.”

“What, a good night of you pretending that you want anything to do with me?” You narrowed your eyes and pushed past him. You threw your pajamas down on the bed before turning to the dresser to remove your jewelry. “It was a wonderful night if you consider that a good time.”

“I was just trying to~”

“It doesn’t matter,” You said, snatching your earrings out. “I can’t take this anymore.”

“What?” Joel asked, his voice nearer.

“This!” You faced him. “I can’t take this. Constantly feeling like I’m being punished by you. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

He remained silent and you sighed, defeated. You turned to continue getting undressed. You slipped the rings from your fingers and unclasped the necklaces from around your neck before reaching back to unzip your dress. You fumbled with the zipper, huffing in aggravation when it got jammed. “Can you~”

“Yeah~”

“It’s stuck~”

“I see.” His fingers replaced yours on the zipper and he worked out the kink before gliding it down your spine.

You expected him to step away then but he didn’t. He slipped the fabric of your dress from your shoulders and let it pool around your feet. You turned your head to look at him and found his eyes already on yours. The sudden change of pace took you by surprise and for a moment you were touch-starved enough not to care. However, another thought consumed your mind the moment it entered it.

“What happened?” You asked just as his lips grazed yours.

“What?” He asked, his eyebrows twitching in confusion.

“What changed?” You didn’t feel exposed as you stood in your underwear—searching his eyes for the truth. “I thought it was a part of the act, I thought you were just dedicated to the role of a delicate fiancé because you didn’t want Sinclair and Marcus to suspect anything. But I see now that the entire night you’ve just been buttering me up to sleep with you.”

“Are you serious?”

“I want to know what put you in such a good mood that you’d suddenly look past everything and fuck me. Or should I ask who?”

“….I can’t believe you’d even ask me that.”

You pressured him to answer. “Something changed. What is it?”

“Maybe I just feel like it.”

You crossed your arms. “Can we talk?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Your eyebrows drew together slightly.

“No,” He repeated. “Because I still feel the same.”

“How do you feel?” You asked in a whisper.

His jaw tightened once again and he fell silent, not answering.

“We can talk to someone.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“It could help,” You insisted. “We could talk to someone licensed to deal with this kind of thing.”

“I don’t want to talk,” He said firmly. His hands trailed around your waist and he pulled your body against his.

You shivered and parted your lips in a silent gasp as he kissed your neck, then your collarbone. “…J-Joel~”

He silenced you with a kiss—his lips moved against yours intensely for a moment before he pulled away. You were overwhelmed by his touch. He stepped forward until he forced you onto the bed, littering your neck with heated kisses once again.

Despite the way your body reacted you wanted to stop him—you didn’t want things to happen like this. The longer you went without actually talking about your feelings the more the distance between you seemed to grow.

He was finally speaking to you after days and you wanted to take the opportunity to discuss what really mattered.

“Joel.” You tried again, pressing your palms against his chest.

“Don’t ruin it,” He said breathlessly as he slipped his hand between your legs. “It’s okay.”

Your brain short circuited and you moaned brokenly. It wasn't okay, nothing was okay—but it felt good.

You swore in discomfort when he entered you but it was brief.

A sensation washed over you that caused your lips to part in a silent scream. His movements weren’t gentle or even familiar. You hadn’t seen this side of him. In all the time you had been together he had only made sweet love to you. This was something else entirely.

You felt like there was nothing tactile holding you to the earth as he fucked you so far into oblivion that you didn’t care if you ever felt grounded again.

You couldn’t register much outside of the intensity of the moment, but you felt Joel’s warmth deep inside of you when he came. He collapsed beside you and for a moment there was only the sounds of your labored breathing. He sat up eventually, tucking himself back into the jeans that he never took off. “You okay?”

You nodded, weakly pushing yourself into a sitting position. “I’m fine. I’m just gonna…”

“Yeah…okay.”

You stood from the bed and walked to the bathroom on unsteady legs. You cleaned up and slipped your bathrobe on before going back into the bedroom. When you returned, Joel was still sitting on the edge of the bed.

You sat with your back against the headboard, pulling your knees up.

“I’m sorry if I~”

“It’s okay.”

He nodded, looking off for a moment. “I’ll stay.”

He knew you too well. “Okay.”

He stood and walked into the bathroom. The shower ran for a long time before he returned. He didn’t say anything as he discarded his dirty clothes in the hamper and joined you in bed.

You fell asleep in his arms, and when you woke the next morning, he was gone.

*

“I’m leaving.”

“…Oh?”

Joel stood across the living room watching the rain pick up outside. He kept his arms folded across his chest—guarded. But something about his tone was more vulnerable than you’d heard in weeks.

You met him in the living room, sitting sideways on the couch so that you were facing him. He kept his back to you but continued when you didn’t respond.

“I‘ve been making arrangements.”

“What arrangements?”

“Bibby offered me a job in New York. It’s more behind the scenes and he’d pay me more for relocating.”

You waited for him to continue but he didn’t this time. “New York?” You prompted.

He faced you then—you couldn’t dissect his expression. “The offer just became solid today.”

“And you…don’t want me to come?” You asked, fearing that what you were seeing was reluctance.

“No, I don’t want you to come,” He said, confirming your doubts. “I’m sorry.”

“Joel…I-I know things haven’t been the best between~”

“That’s an understatement~”

“We can fix it.”

“It can’t be fixed. You…you broke my heart. Do you understand that?” You stood and tried to speak but he cut you off and continued. “You made your decision, now I have to make mine.”

“You’re running away? Just like that?”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Panic and anxiety swelled in your chest at the thought of Joel leaving you and moving to New York.

“You’ll have time to figure everything out. We don’t have to rush into selling the house.”

Your eyes burned with tears. “We don’t have to…”

He avoided your pain filled expression. “I have to.”

You could tell by the tears threatening to form in his eyes that the decision wasn’t one that he’d come to easily.

“I’m gonna tell Bibby I’ll go.” He sighed as he walked away. “It’s for the best.”

Elvis called you to apologize upon hearing the news from Dawn—you had been drinking your sorrows like usual when you answered the phone.

“Dawn told me what happened,” He said. He sounded remorseful. “I-I didn’t mean f-for things to turn out like this. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” You tried to sound sober, instead your voice was flat and shallow—and still obviously drunk. “It’s my fault.”

“I shouldn’t have pressured you,” He said. “I tried to tell Joel that it wasn’t your fault~”

“Of course it was my fault,” You snapped. “God, why are we even talking about this?”

“I feel horrible.”

“I’m sure you do…”

You sighed as silence settled over the line. You closed your eyes, waiting excruciatingly for him to say something.

“Maybe you should stay with Dawn in Memphis until you get things sorted out for yourself again.”

“What’s staying with Dawn gonna change?”

“I can put you up in your own place if you come back.”

“No.”

“Birdie~”

“I can’t go back to Memphis.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re drunk at eleven in the morning, honey.”

You glanced halfheartedly at the time. The curtains were still drawn and the house was cold and silent. It could have been any hour.

“I hate when you do this.”

“What?”

“You go around creating all these problems and swoop in to fix them like you’re the good guy.”

“…Can I do anything?”

You wished there was something that could be done about the miserable feeling in your gut. Your chest hurt from the amount of cigarettes you’d gone through and you were nauseous from the vodka-doused wine concoction you had going.

“I should be alone,” You said. “I deserve to be alone.”

“You made one mistake.”

“It was a lot of little mistakes that led up to one big one.”

“That still doesn’t mean you deserve to be punished,” Elvis argued.

“My life is ruined.”

“How can you say that?”

You struggled to internalize your emotions, picturing them retreating to a small corner in the back of your mind instead of erupting outwardly. You wanted them to go back inside until they were nothing, until they couldn’t hurt you anymore.

“What can I do?”

“I figured it out on my own before, I’ll do it again.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m not coming back to Memphis.”

“Why not?”

You couldn’t believe you had to explain.

“Because I don’t want to get caught up in your bullshit again, Elvis,” You said. “I don’t want to fall into the same routine. The fighting, the constant back and forth—it’s fruitless and repetitive. I want to actually live my life. That’s why.”

“You can live your life,” He said. “I’m not gonna lock you up once you get here.”

“Sure.”

“…It could be different this time.”

“‘Could be?’”

He fell silent for a moment. “It can be different.”

You waited for him to continue but he didn’t. “I don’t want to play those games anymore.”

“No games, then. No fighting—I mean it.” His voice was low and sincere. “Come back to Graceland.”

You shook your head. You wanted to, of course you did. You were in love with Joel but you loved Elvis all the same. It hurt—it made you feel fickle.

“I can’t.”

“What’s stopping you?”

You couldn’t tell if you were awake or dreaming when Elvis showed up at the house in the following days. He had made his appearance discrete, you didn’t know it was him when the black impala pulled into the drive. It was late and he came alone—only him and his driver. He didn’t say anything when you let him inside. You shut the door and leaned back against it as he stood before you. He seemed out of place and too grand for the room.

You must’ve flinched when he moved towards you, or retracted in some way, because he stopped. It was silent and you refused to meet his eyes. The silence was tense, like the air after a bad fight.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked when the quiet became unbearable.

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s not right.”

“I came for you.”

“You shouldn’t’ve.”

He didn’t respond, instead he turned and walked further into the house. He noticed the boxes full of your things crowding the living room.

“You’re packing?”

“He’s selling the house.”

“Where are you gonna go?” He faced you when you didn’t answer. “I want to help.”

You were offended. “I don’t need your help.”

“I don’t care if you need it or want it, birdie, that’s the thing,” He said, frustrated. “I don’t want to spend another year wondering what the hell happened to you. So you can go anywhere in the world, alright? Just let me make sure you get there.”

“You say that like it’s so easy.”

“I don’t care if it’s easy, I care if you get there in one piece.”

He had neared you again, taking slow steps until he stood directly in front of you.

“Do you want me to take you to Dawn?”

“No.”

“Wilmington?”

“No.”

“Where? Somewhere around here? D’you want the house? I’ll get it for you.”

“No, Elvis.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. None of this feels real.”

You didn’t move away when he reached out and took your face in his hands. He made you meet his eyes, searching yours for a moment before his lips were inching towards yours.

You spoke before your lips met. “Not here. Please.”

He sighed and pressed his forehead against yours. His thumbs stroked the apples of your cheeks. “Tell me what to do.”

You closed your eyes, your hands moving to clutch the front of his shirt. You knew better than to give in to him so easily, but you were vulnerable. You wanted him to make you disappear. “I want it to be like it never happened…like none of it ever happened.”

“Okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

You were crying now but Elvis wouldn’t let you pull away. He dried your tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“Why can’t it be okay?”

“We can’t~”

“We can do whatever we want.”

You pulled away enough to really meet his eyes. He was being serious.

“Why did you come here, E?” You asked, suddenly grounded enough to question his motives. He was always that way—calculated and two steps ahead.

“I was worried about you.”

“And?”

“And I was hoping I could convince you to come back to Memphis with me…as my girl.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m choosing you, birdie. If you’ll let me.”

You weren’t sure how to react. There was a part of you that was elated enough to cry, but it was overshadowed by the crushing feeling you had that he’d let you down. He’d get you back to Graceland and you’d be back in a predicament that you had escaped—for hardly enough time to matter. You still loved him just as much as you did a year ago—if not more after rekindling.

You had pulled his hooks out but you hadn’t gotten out of arm's reach. One wrong move and he’d sink them right back in. The scariest part of it all was that you almost longed for him to do so. You wanted the satisfaction of watching it all happen before your eyes, slowly and painfully. You wanted him to tear you apart, bit by bit, and leave you broken—you wanted to do it for the thrill of watching something crumble so perfectly.

“You don’t want me.” You meant it as a warning—no one deserved to put up with you.

“You’re all I want, little bit.” He tapped your chin. “I’ll prove it to you if you come with me.”

He laughed in a nervous way when he said it—his expression genuinely hopeful.

“You don’t have to,” He said in the wake of your silence. “Like I said, anything you want. Anywhere you want to go.”

You didn’t say anything. For a while you stood there silently deciding what your next move should be. You didn’t have anything to lose, your pride and dignity had been exerted and you were feeling hopeless.

“…Can we leave now?”

“We can leave right now.”

You packed your clothes in your luggage and Elvis helped the driver put them in the trunk. You left your key and engagement ring on the counter for Joel, you wanted to leave a note but there was nothing to say.

“We’ll send somebody for it,” Elvis said in response when you asked about the rest of your things. “It’ll be out in time.”

“Okay,” You said as he led you out of the front door. You paused, looking around the house. It wasn’t lived in anymore, but there were traces of your life with Joel all throughout the place. From the barely there wine stain on the middle cushion of the couch to the knick in the wooden frame of the door from when you moved it in. You were saying goodbye to a life that had barely gotten started. Elvis stopped when he noticed your hesitation.

“Hey,” He said, making you face him. “I got you, okay?”

“Okay,” You repeated.

He kissed your forehead and led you out of the house once and for all. You climbed into the back seat of his impala, trying not to think about anything too much. If you did, you’d have a breakdown.

“It’s only an hour flight.”

“Flight?”

“Yeah, it’s quicker.”

You must’ve looked uneasy—he asked you if flying still made you nervous.

“I don’t do it enough to get past the nerves, I guess,” You said. “It’s fine, I’ll manage.”

“I’ll just give you something,” He said, reaching into the pocket of his slacks and retrieving an amber, 10 dram pill bottle. “It should help.”

“I’ll never see this house again,” You said, looking out the window longingly. “Nothing’s ever going to be the same. It’s over.”

“Take this.” He turned your head and dropped the pill into your mouth. “Hold it under your tongue.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll take care of you.”

He put his arm over your shoulders and kissed your temple. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, swallowing your bitter saliva as the pill dissolved under your tongue.

“Am I a horrible person?” You asked sometime into the drive.

“No,” Elvis responded. “You can’t help who you love, can you?”

“No.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t beat yourself up about the situation. It had to happen.”

“But Joel~”

“He’s a kid, birdie. He’ll get over it.”

It didn’t matter what Elvis said, or that he had seemingly convinced Jerry of the same thing. You knew Joel, and you knew that he’d take time to work through his feelings. You knew that a part of him would never fully heal.

You wanted to feel bad, you did feel bad deep down past the artificial calm spreading over you. You got to the airport and the two of you were escorted directly onto a private plane. Things happened fast, which you were thankful for.

“You okay?” Elvis checked as you took your seats, keeping your hand in his all the while.

“I’m okay,” You said. “Are you?”

“I’m perfect now that I’m with you,” He said, bringing you with him when he sat down instead of having you take your own seat.

You looked over your shoulder to be sure the cabin was empty and the plane suddenly jolted into motion. Elvis laughed at your expression and put a protective arm around you.

“Aw, birdie,” He said. “It’ll level out eventually.”

“Not helping.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Distract me.”

The hand of his free arm traveled up your thigh and he kissed your cheek. You knew what the sudden influx of ‘harmless’ kisses meant. Once upon a time, you favored this particular tell of his the most.

“I think I know what kind of distraction you need,” He said, kissing the shell of your ear.

“On the plane?” You squirmed away from his touch, laughing prudishly at the thought.

“Haven’t you heard of the mile high club?” He asked, unbuckling the front of your coat and pushing it off your shoulders. He maneuvered you so that you straddled him, letting the coat fall to the ground.

You protested but you leaned into his touch when he kissed your exposed collar bone. You would’ve stopped him had the medication in your system not loosened your ambiguity—leaving you feeling light and euphoric. His touch erupted into a thousand tingles against your skin and you were practically vibrating with desire.

“People do it,” He said, kissing your neck. “Something about the altitude.”

You looked over your shoulder again, trying to stop him. “Elvis…someone might see.”

He stopped, looking up at you with a lustful expression. “There’s no one but us until we land, baby.”

You laughed but the sound was immediately cut short by a moan when he slipped his hand under the skirt of your dress.

“…This is wrong,” You weren’t focused on the words as you said them, all you could focus on was the way his fingers grazed you through the thin material of your underwear. “I want to do the right thing.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s right.”

He sat back in his seat, his hands rubbing your thighs before traveling up your sides and back. You released a low groan as he fingers pressed into your taught muscles. He massaged the tension out of your shoulders and kissed you slowly. Your eyes fell shut and you leaned into him.

“It’s okay,” He reassured you, one arm securely around your back while the other worked out the knot in your neck. You hadn’t realized how tense you were.

You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp the way he always liked. You weren’t satisfied with the low groan he released and shifted to apply more pressure to his growing erection. The sound he released when you moved your hips was satisfactory. He took your face in his hands and looked at you.

“I love you,” He whispered, his voice almost lost in the mechanical hum of the plane’s engines. “I won’t ever let you go again. I promise.”

“You love me?”

“Yes. Don’t ask me why.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t tell you all the reasons.”

You kissed him again. “Is this real?”

He wrapped both arms around your torso and hugged your body against his. “It’s real.”

“Feels like I’m dreaming.”

“You aren’t. You’re here, with me. Be here with me.”

You opened your eyes. He looked at you with an intensity behind his expression that made you shiver—the world fell away like it always used to. It was familiar and all thoughts that weren’t concerning him vanished. You felt like you were falling in love for the first time all over again.

You didn’t notice that he’d unbuckled his trousers and freed himself until you felt him prodding at your entrance. You tensed initially but relaxed as he pushed your panties aside and entered you. You whimpered at the stretch—groaning when he was fully seated inside.

You stayed that way for a while, connected and unmoving until his hands eventually continued roaming your body. His breath mingled with yours as he thrusted to meet your movements, making your toes curl in your shoes. You were instantly on the verge of peaking—in every regard.

“Can I, please?” You trembled against him, your abdomen constricting as you anticipated your high.

“Why would I say no?” The pleasure was too intense, you didn’t know whether to chase it or run away. Elvis groaned as you finished, following with a suppressed grunt—your name growling deep in his chest.

He swore under his breath, grabbing your chin with his clean hand and kissing your lips. “You’re adorable.”

He patted your thigh and you stood, unsteadily.

“Stay,” He instructed before going into the bathroom. He returned with a damp towel, wiping his hands clean before helping you. “Take ‘em off.”

You laughed as he slipped your panties down your legs, holding his shoulders as you stepped out of them.

“Uh, uh,” He said when you reached for them, pulling them away. “They’re mine.”

“What are you gonna do with them?”

“Commemorate the moment.”

You finished cleaning up before retaking your seat. The last of the flight blew by—the two of you clinging to each other the entire time. Before you knew it you were arriving in Memphis. You saw all the cameras but it still took you a moment to realize what was happening.

“Elvis,” You said as you took in the scene outside the window of the plane. It was dark but the lights illuminating the runway made everything clear. “What’s happening?”

“We’re going home,” He said smugly. He stood with you but you sat back down. “Come on, baby.”

You shook your head. “You go first.”

He laughed, taking your hand and helping you out of the seat. “Let’s go together.”

“E.P.?” Sonny showed up—his eyes found yours briefly, but he looked away immediately. “Car’s ready.”

“I’m not gonna stop this time, straight there,” Elvis said to him before glancing you over, tapping your chin fondly. “Let’s go, little bit.”

Your stomach turned with anxiety. “W-What if they don’t like me?”

He shrugged. “I guess we’ll all just lay down and die.”

You couldn’t help but smile as he kissed your cheek and led you off of the plane. At first all you could hear were voices, but soon all sounds were replaced by your heart hammering in your ears. You would’ve froze, if it weren’t for Elvis’ arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders. You had feared the look on people’s faces when they saw the two of you together—now, however, you couldn’t make out anything aside from the wild flashes.

There were numerous barricades up to keep the crowd at bay, but there was still security to stop the few desperate freelancers that slipped through. Everything happened so fast—one minute you were there being photographed by dozens of people and the next you were in the back of the car. Elvis signaled the driver and the car lurched into motion.

“You okay?” He asked, helping you out of your coat and hat.

“So intense,” You said, heaving a sigh when you were free.

He reached over to place your jacket on the seat behind you. “You’re not too shook up, are you?”

You smiled and leaned into him. “A little.”

“Well, it’s over now,” He said, putting his arm around you. “You’re safe and sound.”

“Yeah, but…” You hesitated but quickly overcame your unsureness. “I still need something to calm my nerves.”

“Is that so?” The smirk on his face deepened.

“Mhm.” You don’t know if it was the rush of the paparazzi or if you were still riding some high from your activities on the plane. Regardless of the reason, you wanted him again—right then and there.

He laughed when you placed your hand on his inner thigh. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the small pill bottle. “Best I can do for now.”

You pouted as he opened the bottle and shook a pill out. He bit it in half, prompting you to open your mouth before placing one half on your tongue. You were already buzzing from the half before the flight. “Is that the best you can do?”

He glanced at the driver through the partition as he grabbed a bottled water from the cup holders. “I don’t want to disturb our friend.”

You followed his gaze, taking a swig from the bottle after him. “I think he’d have a good time.”

He didn’t pull away when you kissed him—blindly taking the water and capping it off before dropping it on the ground. His hand hooked onto the bend of your knee and pulled you closer. You were practically straddling him as the two of you attempted to consume one another.

“E.P.?”

He barely pulled away. “What?”

“10-12.”

“Okay?”

“Colonel doesn’t want any photos.”

Elvis sighed glancing up in aggravation. “Tell the Colonel that there’s nothing he can do about that.”

“But~”

“Straight through, boss.”

The driver nodded and put the partition back up. Elvis groaned, pulling away with a final kiss on your cheek.

“Pull yourself together, dirty bird,” He said, helping you back into your coat. “We don’t want to let these people see you on your knees for me just yet.”

“What does the Colonel think of all this, E?”

You hadn’t thought to ask. With everything happening so quickly you barely had a chance to process what was going on, let alone form any questions.

“Don’t worry about the Colonel.”

You didn’t like that response. You knew people would be opposed to the idea, but you weren’t prepared to face the Colonel. You didn’t want to face him.

“He doesn’t know,” You said. “Does he?”

“He will soon enough,” Elvis said. “Along with everybody else. You said no secrets.”

“I didn’t expect this…he’ll never allow this.”

“I don’t need anyone’s permission to be with you.” He blindly straightened his hair and slipped a pair of shades on despite the late hour. “I didn’t bring you all this way to hope for his approval.”

You stopped him when he leaned in for a kiss and he opted for kissing your neck instead.

When you finally arrived at Graceland the streets outside of the gate were flooded. There had to be at least a hundred people gathered—some were holding signs, some were holding cameras, and some were holding back tears. They stood shouting at the car as it inched through the ruckus. You tried to get a better look at what the signs were saying but Elvis stopped you.

“Don’t pay them any mind, doll,” He said, putting his arm over your shoulder. He pulled you into his side and kissed your temple. Something hit the window, startling you and making Elvis lean forward to snap at the driver. “Can’t they get somebody to clear the goddamn gate?”

“I think they’re trying.”

“Tell ‘em try harder.”

While Elvis went back and forth with him, you peaked outside again. You immediately wished you hadn’t when you caught a glimpse of what was written on the signs.

“O-Oh my god,” You stammered under your breath.

“Birdie.” He took your face in his hands, forcing you to look away. “I told you not to look.”

“Oh my god~”

“Don’t worry about them, honey, they’re just stuck in their ways~”

“‘Stuck in their ways?’”

He shushed you, trying to meet your eyes. “Don’t let them see you cryin. They’re gonna have to come around, like everyone else.”

You shook your head, willing your tears away. “I knew this would happen. They hate me.”

“They can’t hate you,” He said. “They don’t even know you. It’s just how it’s gonna be at first.”

Another object slammed against the window—you clung to him. “I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to worry, darlin, we’re gonna pull right up to the door…” His voice started fading into the background and the sound of the chaos outside took over. “You hear me?”

Your body nodded reflexively but you couldn’t focus on anything but the crying, screaming faces of the people outside.

“Keep your head down and I’ll lead right inside and upstairs. How’s that sound?”

Another disconnected nod.

“Talk to me, baby.”

“…That sounds fine.”

He reassured you again that everything was okay as the car eventually got through the crowd and was able to stop.

When you got out of the vehicle you could hear the cameras flickering in a frenzy but you kept your head down as he led you up the steps. You expected the chaos to die down once inside, however you were met by an angry Colonel.

“Elvis Presley~”

“I’ll deal with you in the morning,” Elvis said, attempting to lead you upstairs.

“You get her out of this house, immediately!”

“What?”

“You heard me!”

“This is my goddamn house!”

You closed your eyes as they shouted back and forth.

“This, what you’re doing, it’s…it’s suicide,” Parker said, he was practically fuming. If you had looked up you would’ve been met by his harsh glare. “If you insist on keeping the girl, I will be forced to leave you.”

“Then I’ll be forced to let you go.”

“After everything I’ve done for you?”

“Everything you’ve done…go upstairs, birdie.” He looked at Jerry. “Take her.”

You let Jerry lead you upstairs, his hand barely gracing the small of your back as he did so. When you got to Elvis’ room he let you in before following behind. You walked over to the bed and sat down. You couldn’t get the images out of your head.

Jerry walked over to the minibar in the corner and poured you a drink. Something dark and straight.

“I shouldn’t.”

“It’ll take the edge off at least.”

You took the glass. You stood as you took a sip, setting it on the bedside table so you could remove your coat.

“He should be up any minute.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled briefly and was gone. You took some time to walk around the room. You entered the closet to find numerous items of women’s clothing. The tags still hung from them as if they were either brand new or never worn. It made you think that he had prepared in advance for your arrival. He must’ve not had a doubt in his mind that you’d come back with him.

The bedroom door opened and you were met with Elvis’ fired up expression when you left the closet.

“Elvis,” You started. “Calm down~”

“Do not try to reel me in right now, birdie~”

“It’s okay.”

“How can you fucking say that?”

You walked over to him. “I’m sorry. I-I just~ I don’t want you to be upset.”

He sighed as you hugged him, noticing the empty glass on the table. “Jerry fixed you a drink?”

You looked up at him. “What if he’s right? It’s not worth it.”

He shushed you, sitting you down on the bed. You waited for his response but he fell silent. He removed your shoes and guided you to lay down. You stopped him before he moved away.

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He laid down and took you in his arms.

“What’s going to happen, E?”

“I have no idea.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

all the prompts are so good buuut i’d like to request “36. you were put on this earth to give me a headache” please and honestly any rating is good (i can’t make decisions so u get to do that sorry)

i hope you’re having a good day and that all the writing goes well <3

Thank you so much, love 💖 So far, the writing has been going a lot better than most of the last few weeks!!!

Rated M (suggestive language, allusions to sex) | make me write!

"I thought practice was canceled."

Steve looked at Eddie and Gareth, who were, for some reason, playing the loudest possible music in his garage.

Which was fine, and totally normal. But not tonight.

Eddie called him at work to let him know the guys had to cancel, something about their parents making them do some graduation dinner that Gareth's parents must not have heard about or cared about.

Because Gareth was here. In Steve's garage. With Eddie. Playing his drums while Eddie played his guitar.

"Stevie! I thought you were asleep!" Eddie exclaimed, beaming at him as if he couldn't read Steve's extremely annoyed face.

"I was. Until you decided to open for Metallica in my garage."

To give Steve some credit, he'd been nursing a minor headache for most of the day, and the sudden loud noise had only made it worse. He probably wouldn't have been so annoyed if he'd been given a heads up.

"Gareth wanted to work on some stuff. That's okay, right?" Eddie seemed to be catching on to the attitude, and maybe even to the fact that the last thing he told Steve about practice was that it wasn't happening.

"You were put on this earth to give me a headache. I'm going back to bed," Steve sighed.

He was tired, and his head was pounding behind his eyes in a way that made him nervous for what he would end up with if he didn't go back to sleep now.

Just when he made it back through the door into the hallway leading into the house, Eddie's arm wrapped around his middle.

"I was put on this earth to make them better, too," he said against his shoulder.

Steve couldn't help relaxing against him, his annoyance mostly gone and replaced with sheer exhaustion.

His head rested against Eddie's shoulder, eyes closing as he let out a long breath.

"Sorry, Eds. Just been a long day."

"Don't be sorry. I shoulda told you we were still gonna practice for a bit," Eddie kissed his shoulder, then his neck. "I'll send him home and come give you a massage?"

Steve snorted.

"A massage? My head up here hurts, not the one down there."

Eddie bit his shoulder, not hard, just the way he did whenever his mouth was close to Steve's skin, playfully.

"If one feels good, the other will too," he insisted.

"Finish practice and if I'm still awake, then...maybe."

Eddie smacked a kiss on his cheek before running back towards the garage.

"Gimme five minutes!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Steve laughed, shaking his head before walking back up to their his bedroom.

He slipped his pants off before getting under the covers, already knowing that Eddie would be doing whatever it took to make his headache feel better.

Eddie liked "natural remedies" for headaches, usually involving his mouth, usually nowhere near where the pain actually was.

Steve was loathe to admit it, but it did usually help, even if the reason was because it made him fall asleep faster.

[beomsluverr]

lazy morning

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

Genre | smut

Pairings | Mark lee x reader

warnings | minors dni! dry humping, thigh riding, neck kisses, man handling, thigh fucking, titties fucking, body worship obvi

You fucking hated the sun. It was too bright, too early. You grabbed your pillow and shoved it over your eyes and rolled over, trying to escape its bright shine. After twenty minutes of you trying to fall back asleep you decided it was time to get up. You hade fallen asleep in a thin tank top and some shorts. Without a bra on underneath but you didn't care.

It was just you and mark in your apartment. You walked out into the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water. Just as you set you glass down in your sink, you heard the door to Marks studio swing open. You turn around to be met with mark. His blue hair messy and pieces going everywhere, you thought it was cute. A tired smile spread onto his face.

" Good Morning, beautiful," He said to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and shoving his head where your neck and shoulder met. You ran your hand up and down his back, without a shirt on you felt his muscle tense up and you ran your finger over them.

" Hi mark, how'd you sleep," You say, you finger meeting his hair and playing with it.

" Good, got a great idea for a song so I've been working on it all morning.

" Ah, ok. Can I hear it," You asked, now looking up at him.

" Yeah sure," He drags you into the studio. Sitting you down on his lap and running his hands up and down your thighs.

He places his headphones over your ears and the sound flood your head. It smooth, and then you hear marks voice start to sing and a small smile appears on your face. The song comes to and end and you turn around in marks lap and rest your head on his shoulder.

" I fall more and more in love with you everyday," You say, as you say this you adjust yourself on his lap. Mark hisses and grabs your hips stopping your movement.

" what's wrong," You ask, your voice full of worry. Tears come to your eyes as you see marks face in pain.

" Nothing baby, just a little pent up," He says looking down in embarrassment.

" Awe, mark you shoulda told me, I can help you with that kinda stuff," your voice drops, full of lust.

" Oh yeah? And show me how you can help this," He point down to his now hardened cock. You start to slowly rock back and forth. Leaving a wet patch on his sweatpants. You start to kiss him, slowly at first until it becomes sloppy and full of need. Your grinding soon become faster and messier.

" I need you, " He says and he picks you up and leaves the room, soon you are back in the bedroom, and you are dropped on the bed.

" I need you so bad baby it hurts," Mark says climbed between your thighs and thrusting.

" Ugh fuck baby you feel so good," His sweatpants disappear and he is unapologetically fucking your soft thighs. Your back arches as he brushes against your pussy.

As he fucks your thighs, he pulls off your shirt and starts sucking on your sweet nipples. An idea pops into marks head.

" Get on your knees," He says, usually mark pleasures you first but he need to do thing with you.

With you on your knees looking up at him all pretty and bothered, he places his cock between your tits and starts thrusting. Your cute mouth sucks on his tip as he thrust faster. Mark moans loudly as he cum's on your face and tits. You lick most of it off, until he picks you up and throws you on the bed.

He starts with slow circles on your hot clit, your wetness seeping into a pool underneath you. He runs his finger up and down your slit, feeling your hot cunt tighten as he plays with your hole.

" god, baby your so tight," He says as he slips two fingers in.

" Mark, please I need- need it," You mumble out, pointing to his cock.

" You need what baby, use your words love," He says smirking down at you.

" I need your cock mark please fucking give it to me," You say, looking up at him. Your cheeks turning pink with embarrassment, mark didn't care he thought it was cute.

He lines him self up with your cunt and sinks in. Your warm velvety walls suck him in. He looks at you and when you nod he stats to thrust. Slowly at first, by then he speeds up. You moan loudly, stuffing your own finger into your mouth to not wake up your neighbors. Your thighs start to shake as you get close to releasing. You hand fly's to marks hair as you cum.

Your nails goes down his back leaving marks. mark did care he was getting sloppy meaning he was gonna cum too. As he cum's inside you, he rest his face in your neck and breaths you in. He rolls off you and run to the bathroom to clean ya'll up. As he's wiping you down and your still catching your breath. He's kissing along your thighs and stomach whispering how much he loves you and how good you are too him.

[lemonlyman-dotcom]

getting past the wounds of love “What are you smiling about?” Paul asks with a raised eyebrow in the rear view mirror. “Got a text from Officer Hotstuff?”

“Shut up,” TK says with a roll of his eyes as Paul and Marjan snicker in the front seat.

“Come on, Paul, it’s not even like that.”

“Oh yeah?” Paul teases as he puts the car in gear. “It looked pretty ‘like that’ the other night. You shoulda seen them, Marj. TK was grinding on that sweet, straitlaced boy so hard I thought we’d have to use the jaws of life to separate them. Officer Dreamboat was looking at TK with those giant heart eyes. He’s already in love.”

“Oh my god,” TK whines. “He is not. We’re not even dating. We’re just …hanging out”

“Sure, whatever you say dude. I mean, I’ve never dry humped someone I’m ‘hanging out’ with in the middle of a club, but good for you I guess.”

love in a series of bursts & inches Carlos has always seen him, flaws and all, as a whole person. He remembers his life back in New York, when he was fresh out of rehab and trying to figure out the kind of person he wanted to be now that he was sober. He was clean but he felt haggard and beaten down, his mind was warped, full of voices telling him he’d burned all his bridges, that he’d ruined any chance of a fulfilling life, of ever finding people who wanted to share in his life. He was unlovable, unreliable and most certainly undatable.

He thought he’d left any chance he had at a future back in that drug den, on a dirty slab of cardboard littered with discarded rubber ties and dirty needles. […]

But when he met Carlos on the side of a highway under glistening streetlights with a steady stream of sideways rain pelting their faces, he didn’t see TK as broken. Carlos didn’t look at him, clad in his hoodies, walls built up a mile high, bristling at the mere thought of someone getting close enough to hurt him, and see him as damaged goods. He saw him for the whole person he was, and everything he could be.

Why Do You Think I Ran Carlos has cataloged all of TK’s laughs; his delighted giggle, the small under-his-breath snort when he’s laughing at his own joke, the soft little gasping chuckle that only comes out during sex. The laugh TK lets out right now is Carlos’s favorite, the one where he scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth. The one he reserves just for Carlos.

Call Me If You Get Lost “TK? Carlos?” she says behind gritted teeth, “What the hell?”

“Hey Nance,” Carlos says as TK pushes past her into the room. A frantic movement to his left captures his attention, and he turns to see Mateo flailing around on the floor, pulling his boxers out from under the nightstand.

“What is this?” TK cries at the same time Nancy swings around and shrieks.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

“Whoa…” Carlos reacts as he enters the room.

“What is he doing here?” TK asks with a finger pointing in Mateo’s direction, he feels like he’s going into shock himself.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Nancy’s still shouting. She rounds the bed and grabs a sweater from a chair, hastily pulling it over her head.

“It looks an awful lot like you’re having a clandestine affair with Mateo,” Carlos helpfully chimes in. He points to the unmade bed, “Exhibit A!”

Carlos turns to TK with a small smug smile and whispers, “See, I told you I was good at this.”

“Damn, babe,” TK preens, “Hot and smart. You really should take the detective’s exam. You would totally crush it.”

Como Te Quiero Yo (how I love you) On the morning of the third day of their honeymoon, TK is now regretting the fact that their parents put them up in the honeymoon suite. While it is nice […] all the walls are clear glass. Sexy last night when TK tempted Carlos into the shower. Not so much right now, when Carlos has a clear straight view of him where he’s sitting, hunched over in pain on the toilet.

“TK?” He calls from the bedroom, face scrunched in concern. His voice comes muffled through the glass walls, “Babe, are you okay?”

“Don’t look at me!”

“Okay, I mean… It’s kind of hard not to.”

“Carlos, I swear to god.” TK shouts, his own voice echoing off the tiles. He tells himself it’s to be heard, but his volume is just as much fueled by embarrassed desperation.

“Okay,” Carlos says. And if TK didn’t know any better, he might detect a hint of amusement in his voice. But he knows his husband isn’t a stupid man. He doesn’t have a death wish. So there is no laughter in this hotel room.

“Umm, what do you want me to do?” Carlos asks again, eyes steadily trained on the wall on the other side of the room.

—and—

“I’m sorry you’re sick, babe,” Carlos says, gently guiding him towards the bed. When TK whines in response he says, “and I’m sorry I laughed at you this morning.”

“Mean.”

“I’m always gonna laugh when you get the gurgle guts.”

“Wow, Carlos,” he whines, laying back on the bed and covering his face with a hand. “You should have included that in your vows. ‘I vow to be the caretaker of your wild heart... And to laugh at you when you’re dying from dysentery.’”

“What is this, the Oregon Trail?”

“Ahh! Carlos!”

All Your Colors Make Me Feel Alive “Carlos it’s,” TK stutters, “it’s okay now. I don’t feel that way now. But it’s always gonna be there. I might feel that way again.” He stops and bites his lip, runs a hand across his eyes. “I have a better support system now. I have Marj and Nance, I have you. I have resources. But that doesn’t mean it won’t ever get that bad again.”

Carlos nods, rubbing the back of TK’s head but not attempting to interrupt.

“I don’t expect you to wanna stick around, to want to deal with that.”

“Baby,” Carlos says quietly, fighting to keep his voice even, “what do you mean?”

“I know—” TK sniffs, running a sleeve-covered hand over his face, “I know I’m not easy.”

“I don’t need you to be easy, TK,” he puts a hand under TK’s chin to tilt his head up. Needs to be sure he hears this. “Hey, look at me.” When TK lifts his eyes slightly to make eye contact he continues. “I just need you to be alive. Okay, baby? Whatever you need.”

Thank you for the tags @filet-o-feelings @bonheur-cafe @sznofthesticks @freneticfloetry @vineofroses @ladytessa74 and pretending like @liminalmemories21 tagged me 🥰

Tagging @nancygillianmvp @chicgeekgirl89 @welcometololaland @carlos-in-glasses @thisbuildinghasfeelings @paperstorm @thebumblecee @reyesstrand @lightningboltreader @never-blooms @decafdino @your-catfish-friend @literateowl @tinyluminaryzombie @herefortarlos @doublel27 @strandnreyes @chaotictarlos and OPEN TAG 🏷️

[suzy-queued]

A Gallavich tale, told 100 words at a time.

**This story is now complete!**

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

A man jumped into the back seat of Ian’s car.

“You a driver?” Dark hair, one small piece of luggage.

“Yeah, only if you’re registered on the app.”

“Screw the app. Take me to Nashville.”

Ian choked on his Gatorade. “That’s eight hours from here.”

“So?”

“You gotta plan these things out. Get matched with the right driver.”

“It’s not like I knew that my fucking boyfriend was gonna run off to fucking Yee-Haw Land to elope with my sworn enemy.”

Ian checked the rearview and saw pain behind those angry blue eyes. He switched his app status to OCCUPIED.

---

Ian took the entrance ramp onto I-90. They should arrive in Nashville around … oh, 3:37 AM.

“I have an emergency kit.” Ian nodded with his chin. “Under the seat. A few comforts in case you need ’em.”

The passenger shuffled through the insulated bag. “Boxed juice. Granola bars. Fucking gummy bears, man? This is childhood stuff. You got any Jack Daniels?”

Ian felt a spark of disobedience. “I’ve got a few joints in the glove box.” This was definitely off-book behavior, but it felt right. “They come with a price.”

“What’s that, Jeeves?”

“You’ve gotta tell me your whole story.”

---

The dark-haired passenger scoffed. “You don’t look like you’ve got the stomach to get caught up on my bullshit.”

“Try me.”

“Whatever. Fuckin’ sadist.” He settled into his seat. “You ain’t wearing a wire, right?”

“Not today.”

“All right, so, you ever heard of Berry Buds?”

“Those stuffed animals in the shape of fruit? Don’t people use those to smuggle coke?”

The guy raised an eyebrow. “You too delicate to hear about crime, pumpkin? There’s murder, too. Betrayal. And a pair of pink flamingos.”

“Wait, back up. You forgot the most important part. What’s your name?”

The passenger only smiled.

---

Man, this passenger could talk. Ian heard an hour’s worth of Milkovich family crimes.

Milkovich.

Ian didn’t know the guy’s first name. Only how passionate he was, the excitement in his voice.

“So Iggy launched the box of M-80s into the river, right, and this long-legged yahoo waltzes up.” Milkovich paused. “Wait, did you just yawn? If it’s such a chore to listen, I can fuckin’ stop.”

Ian made eye contact in the rearview mirror. “I was promised murder. A boyfriend.”

Milkovich slunk in his seat. “Keith.” All his passion faded to pain. “Yeah … guess I can talk about him.”

---

“Keith is …” Milkovich seeped with defeat and anger. “He’s the first person who saw me as more than a thug. We met at the liquor store. Been together seventeen months. I thought we were long-term, you know? Then he starts spending time at clubs. Digging into the scene. I don’t give a fuck if he does coke to let off steam. But he keeps getting it from the same guy. Real tall motherfucker. White-blond hair. Wears sweater vests.”

“Northside prick.”

“Oh, you know this guy?”

Ian had seen plenty of club action. He hardened in solidarity. “I know the type.”

---

“Anyways, that’s how I realized my piece-of-shit boyfriend is marrying fancy-pants Logan Covington, the motherfucker who snipes our business and has led the biggest anti-Milkovich smear campaign this side of Michigan.” The passenger let out a sigh. He slowed for the first time in an hour. “Shoulda known by that haircut. He came home looking like a walking Ken doll.”

“So, wait.” Ian sorted through the complicated story threads. “Are you going to kill your boyfriend?”

“No, man, keep up. I want to get him back.” He leaned forward, laying his hand on Ian’s shoulder. “And you’re gonna help me.”

---

Ian scoffed. “Don’t rope me into your drama.”

“Come on, man. We show up at the chapel, tell Keith I’m dating you now, let the jealousy unfold.”

Unbelievable. Ian shouldn’t even consider the offer. He had a ton to do this weekend. But Milkovich was obviously hurting.

Ian scratched his chin. “And I’d be on the clock the whole time?”

“What, you scared to do it? You a homophobe or something?”

“I’m gay.”

Milkovich stared, hard. He looked Ian up and down. “You never mentioned that.” He gave a coy smirk.

Ian felt a shot of electricity. “You never asked.”

---

The Silver Diner in Lafayette, Indiana bustled with activity.

Milkovich talked over the sizzling grill. “Still don’t know why we stopped here.”

“Can’t think on an empty stomach.” Ian flagged the waitress.

Jolene smiled, leaned into the booth. “Order’s coming right up, sugarpot.” She touched Ian’s arm as she left.

Milkovich frowned. “That shit happen to you a lot?”

“What?”

“Chicks waving their boobs in your face.”

“I don’t really notice.” But Milkovich noticed. Interesting.

“It’s good, actually. We can use it in our plan. People find you attractive.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t say me.”

---

Milkovich rolled a coin across the diner table. “You see that? Table's tilted by a degree-and-a-half. Cheap off-balance pedestal leg. I’d have used a trestle instead.”

Huh. This guy’s shoulders relaxed when he talked about normal stuff.

“The key with builds like this…” The guy was smart. Layered. Funny. And his eyes twinkled when he geeked out about construction, apparently.

Ian was finding new ways to be awed each minute.

“…at least shim the motherfucker because…”

Ian interrupted. “I’m in.”

“Huh?”

“Your plan? I guess can pretend to like you.”

Ian’s stomach swooped. Pretend might not be the right word.

---

“Seriously, you’ll do it?” Milkovich raised an eyebrow. “Okay, lay it on me. Tell me everything about you.”

Ian enjoyed sharing his details. “I’m one of six kids. Two sisters, three brothers. Wait, you’re not writing this down? You’re gonna memorize all this shit?”

The guy leaned forward, intense, piercing. He traced his finger around Ian’s wrist. “We’re chained now. I’ll remember everything about you.”

This was absurd, but the guy seemed dead serious.

Ian felt goosebumps. He took charge and matched the guy’s intensity. “Then tell me your first name.”

A quick tongue flick. The guy nodded. “It’s Mickey.”

---

Turns out, scheming and joking with Mickey was easier than breathing. Ian drummed on the table. “Okay, how’d we meet? I gave you a ride somewhere?”

“And then I rode you.” Mickey laughed. “Simple enough. How about second date?”

Ian’s inner romantic spun into action. “A rooftop picnic. You brought snacks and whiskey.”

“Hm. Doesn’t sound like me.”

“I brought a tire iron and gun because I didn’t trust you.”

Mickey smirked, like these lies were becoming reality in his head. “Wise man.”

Ian swelled. His weekend suddenly had purpose. He’d be the best fake boyfriend in the goddamn world.

---

They hit the john before they got back on the road. Pissed in outdated urinals, washed their hands.

Ian watched Mickey closely. Every turn, every strut, every smirk. That’s how he noticed that Mickey flinched when the hand dryer shot to life.

“Mickey Milkovich.” Ian laughed. “You can dump a mob boss in the Chicago River but you’re afraid of a little hot air?”

“It’s fucking startling.”

Mickey paused in the doorway. Tilted his head. Looked up at Ian. “Keith … he never noticed that about me.”

Ian elbowed him, defusing his sadness. “I’m going to learn all your secrets, boyfriend.”

---

Around midnight, the rhythm of repeating street lights on Interstate 65 lulled Ian toward sleep.

“Can I ask you a question?” Mickey looked damn relaxed, too. Seat leaned back. Legs stretched out. Talking in a low voice. “Let’s say I blew this.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Say I end up alone. Do I deserve that?”

Ian could certainly judge. He’d heard about Mickey’s crimes, his family, his dating history.

He wanted to hold Mickey’s hand. He wanted to find the right words to remedy this hurt.

“Mickey, you are the most –”

A bang. A crash. Ian’s face smashed into the airbag.

---

Ian took inventory. He was conscious. Neck pain. Bleeding nose.

He scrambled to unfasten his seatbelt. To wave away the airbag dust.

He pawed at Mickey’s leg, arm, chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m scraped up.” Mickey coughed. “What happened?”

“Someone clipped our bumper. We spun out. Hit the guardrail. I was out of control.”

“Why are you pulling on my eye?”

Ian lowered his hand. “Checking for a concussion.” He tried to steady his breath, calm his panic. “I’m sorry. I let you down.”

Mickey set his injured hand on Ian’s, offering shaky reassurance. “Better than being worm food, man.”

---

The cops had come and gone. Reality settled in. Ian’s car was undriveable. They were stranded.

Mickey’s anxiety spiked. “How the hell am I getting to the wedding now?” He paced along the shoulder, pointing at Ian. “Who drives for a fucking living and doesn’t have roadside assistance?”

Ian spoke via speakerphone to a random tow company they’d Googled. “It’s a silver Camry. Near exit 130.”

Mickey yelled into the phone. “Just look for the goddamn ring of fire lighting up I-65.”

Ian prayed for strength. “Ignore him. There’s no fire.” Unless you counted the flames rising from Mickey’s nostrils.

---

Ian talked to Mickey in the crammed cab of the tow truck. “I told you I’d get you there. I’ll think of something.”

The mechanic pulled into a repair shop. “Car can stay here. Hank opens at 7:00 tomorrow.”

Mickey exploded. “It’s not open 24 hours?”

“This is Indianapolis, not L.A.”

“How are we supposed—"

Ian held up a hand to stop him. He could feel Mickey’s desperation, his impatience and heartbreak. “Is there a hotel nearby?”

The mechanic pointed across the street. To a run-down motel called King Richard’s Royal Inn.

Mickey glared. “Well, long live the fuckin’ king.”

---

Josie at the front desk didn’t even look at her computer. “I’m sorry. It’s race week. We don’t have room for more guests.”

Mickey glared at Ian. “Come on, Gingerbread. You’re taking me to the Motel 6.”

Josie snorted. “You’ll be lucky to find a campground in this town with a vacancy.”

“Guess I’m sleeping in your fucking lobby, then.”

As if Ian didn’t feel bad enough about this situation.

A chime sounded on the computer.

“Hey, now.” Josie smiled. “We’ve just had a cancellation.” She looked between them. “It’s a single. One full-sized bed.”

Mickey didn’t hesitate. “We’ll take it.”

---

“Door’s flimsy enough to kick open.” Ian unlocked the motel room.

Mickey groaned. “No TV. No closet. They better have hot water.”

“Jesus, the bed’s small.” Ian’s neck ached. This was officially hell.

“You gonna be all right, Red? We’ve got to get used to touching each other.”

Ian grabbed him and pulled him close, roughly. “Think we’ll be able to fool Keith?”

And, damn, Mickey’s face was right fucking there, looking tired. Cranky. Kissable. “We should do it bareback in the middle of the chapel just to piss him off.”

Oof.

Ian was not going to survive this night.

---

Mickey cracked the bathroom door as he showered, fogging up the motel room.

Ian sat on the bed, still for the first time tonight. He felt warmth. Pain. Adrenaline let-down.

Mickey’s silhouette moved behind the curtain. A hint. A tease. An invitation.

What if … Ian pulled the curtain back?

He could feel those sturdy shoulders, that smooth skin. Trace his tongue along the water droplets. Grab that thick … hair.

What if Mickey dropped his guy and took Ian on? Then what?

Would Mickey get tired of him?

Desire. Curiosity. Potential. Ian’s thoughts swirled like water.

… then the shower clicked off.

---

“Jesus!” Mickey pulled the curtain back. “Damn water turned to ice.” He jumped from the shower, lunging for a towel.

And of course Ian had been staring and saw everything. Mickey’s dripping body. The toned muscles in his legs. His stomach. A quick flash of his anatomy.

Ian turned away.

“Fucking freezing, man.” Mickey’s wet feet slapped on the floor. “This is on you, Gallagher.”

Ian peeked. The towel did nothing to hide the curve of Mickey’s ass.

God, Ian had to tamp down his infatuation. Maybe cockiness would work instead. “I hear skin-to-skin contact gets you warm the fastest.”

---

Mickey huffed at Ian’s joke. “You tryin’ to see me naked?”

“It’s for science. Research.”

Mickey shrugged and reached for the knot of his towel. The world moved in slow motion now, a tattooed hand tugging white cotton.

The fabric fell away, sliding down his leg. Dark hairs matted against skin. Body with the right balance of definition and softness.

Ian’s heart beat fast. He felt it getting stronger and stronger and stronger.

He glanced up and fell into Mickey’s eyes.

One touch could overcome the silence. One touch could reveal Ian’s crush.

Mickey smiled, all confidence. “Your turn, Loverboy.”

---

In this game of chicken, Mickey was winning.

Ian gulped. It was only fair, right? Mickey needed to see his body for their boyfriend charade to work.

Ian peeled off his jeans. His t-shirt, going slow and begging all his parts to stay chill.

Mickey never broke eye contact.

Ian slid his boxers down, breathless.

“Patriot tattoo. Boobs tattoo.” Mickey nodded. “Carpet matches the drapes. Uh-huh.”

How could Mickey stay so calm when he was tearing Ian’s nerves to pieces?

Mickey stepped within touching distance. “Only one more question, hot shot.”

“What’s that?”

“How good of an actor are you?”

---

Ian held his ground. “I’m a great actor.”

“Could you kiss me right now?” Mickey’s gaze raked down Ian’s body. “Kiss me and not get hard?” Mickey spoke oh-so-slowly. “We’re together, right? So we supposedly kiss all the time. Can you control yourself?”

A song burst through the tension. A silly cartoon voice repeating, You are my cute-cumber. You are my cute-cumber.

Mickey’s eyes widened. “Fuck, my phone.”

He scrambled, but the sound went silent before he got there.

Ian laughed. “Seriously? That’s the cheesiest alert.”

“You don’t understand.” Mickey looked up with pain in his eyes. “That’s Keith’s ringtone.”

---

Keith’s call shifted Mickey's vibe from flirty to flustered.

Ian slid on his boxers and jeans. Being naked suddenly seemed wrong.

“Why the fuck was he calling?” Mickey threw the towel over his lap. “He didn’t leave a voicemail. Is he having second thoughts about the wedding? Should I call back?”

Ian had no clue how to help. “Just take a minute. Breathe.”

“My brain’s turning to mush here, Gallagher. I’m exhausted. I’m confused. We haven’t eaten in hours. And now this? Tell me what the fuck to do.”

Ian didn’t think. He yanked Mickey’s head back and kissed him.

---

The kiss was overwhelming. Tinged with panic. Wonderful. Scary. Exciting. Over too soon.

Mickey touched his own lips. “That’s good. I … needed that.”

“This trip’ll be stressful enough without you freaking out. When the anxiety ratchets up in that head of yours, I’ll take care of you, all right?”

Mickey nodded. Took a second. Smirked. “Knew you couldn’t do it.”

“What?”

“Knew you couldn’t kiss me without getting hard.”

“You’re an asshole.”

But the intensity on Mickey’s face told Ian not to push. The bright blue eyes. The absolute relief at being taken care of.

Ian let the moment simmer.

---

Ian needed to be supportive. A bodyguard. A wingman, offering safety pins and pep talks.

He pulled two joints from his pocket. “You weren’t meant to face this weekend sober.”

“Fuck, man, you always know what I need.”

“Snagged ’em from my glove box after the crash.” Ian lit up and offered one to Mickey. “I know everything seems fuckin’ hopeless, like your life is wrecked. You ain’t wrong.”

“This supposed to make me feel better?”

“The point is, it’s okay to be who you are.”

“What’s that, big guy?”

Ian threaded their fingers together. “A loser, just like me.”

---

The wee hours passed in a purple haze of weed and exhaustion.

They didn’t sleep. They lay beside each other in that tiny bed, clothes on, joking and mumbling.

They bumped elbows, knocked knees, held hands.

Ian ached for more touch. For a kiss that meant more than comfort.

Mickey’s icy blue eyes held him at bay. I can’t face that yet. Please let me hover outside of reality a little longer.

In the orange glow of sunrise, Ian gathered his nerve. He asked the question he’d been pondering all night. “You still want to go to this wedding, Milkovich?”

---

Mickey sat too far away on the motel bed. “Why wouldn’t I go? Keith is my boyfriend. We live together.”

“How’s that gonna work out once the newlyweds get home?”

“I still want to go.”

This wasn’t right, goddammit. In the movies, a kiss leads to a romantic finale, not this stubborn insistence to stay on course.

Ian grasped at one last hope. “To win Keith back?”

Mickey inched closer. He held Ian’s chin. Broke into a smile. “To show him what a big mistake he made.”

This time, the kiss was only about the two of them. Fuckin’ finally.

--- * --- * --- * --- * ---

Hey. Is this thing on?

Gallagher’s been doing an okay job telling this story, but now it’s my turn. And none of that past-tense, passive bullshit. I’ll tell you everything the moment it happens, okay?

You’re gonna witness every mile, every pit stop, every tacky decision my ex makes for this wedding. His abysmal choice in groom. Some godawful silver balloon arch. Those lime-flavored vodka Jell-o squares he loves so much.

Damn, I can’t wait to see the scowl on Keith’s face when Ian and I start playing tonsil hockey on the dance floor.

We’re gonna fuck some shit up.

---

It’s seven AM. I’m camped outside Hank’s Body Shop drinking coffee-colored swill.

Ian’s beside me, giving me bedroom eyes, running his fingers up my arm. He’s tempting as fuck.

Hank unlocks the door and lets us in. “Knew you’d be waitin’.”

I spot Ian’s car, nod toward it. “What’s the damage?”

“Her bones are good, but you’re looking at three grand in parts and labor. I have an opening on October first.”

“October? That’s six weeks from now.”

Hank shrugs. “You can tow her somewhere else. No skin off my teeth.”

Ian eyes darken, and not in a sexy way.  

---

Look, I’ve learned a lot about Gallagher in the past day. If he says he’s gonna do something, he will.

We’re definitely getting to Nashville.

He’s got about eighty tabs up on his phone. “Ubering is ridiculously expensive. A rental car’ll surcharge me because I’m not twenty-five.”

“You’re not?”

“Not until next May.” Ian doesn’t even look up. “Greyhound leaves at 11:30. What time’s the wedding?”

“Six.”

“Guess we’re taking the bus.”

I fucking hate this idea. Ian can tell. He grabs me by the waist. “We can cuddle the whole way there.”

Okay, maybe I fucking love this idea.

---

We leave the car behind. Leave the body shop behind. Check out of the motel, leave it behind.

All I’ve been doing lately is letting things go. Releasing the goddamn trapeze wire and falling without a net.

My ex is the hardest fucking thing to let go.

Ian and I sit in the back seat of a cab, on our way to the bus station. He holds my hand, simply. “This is the first time I’ve seen your shoulders relax.”

He's a six-foot-high, freckly-armed godsend. It's easier to let go when a motherfucker like that is waiting to catch you.

---

The bus trip passes in a blur. I’m lost in a tangle of Gallagher limbs. He touches my forehead, cups my cheek, kisses me every minute on the minute.

After all the shit we’ve gone through, the ride feels too easy. Roadblocks are easy to rally against. But when the path is clear, doubt creeps in.

We pull into Nashville Station at four o’clock. It’s sunny. The air smells like Keith.

He’s probably putting on his tux and double-checking the flowers right now.

I’ve been obsessed. I haven’t taken a moment to breathe.

Fuck.

Am I doing the right thing?

---

I shove down my hesitation, because fuck Keith. If I want to crash his party, I’ll do it with a wrecking ball.

Ian and I step out of an Uber, bleary-eyed. The white chapel sits in a commercial strip, bathed in neon.

There’s two pink birds dressed in tuxedos mounted out front. I rip one from the grass. “Goddamn flamingos, man. That was supposed to be our thing.”

A man greets guests at the chapel steps. “Thank you for coming, thank you ah-very much.” Rhinestones. Bell bottoms. Sunglasses.

I can’t handle this shit. “He’s having fucking Elvis officiate his wedding?!”

---

I’m ready to find out what kinda froufrou shindig my ex is throwing. I’m gonna bust in his skull the second he vows himself to that prick Logan Covington.  

Only … I haven’t moved yet.

Ian sets his hand on my neck. He touches a muscle that calms my whole goddamn body. “Hey, there’s a pizza place around the block. You up for it?”

I blink. “Bustin’ this up isn’t going to help anything, is it?”

He shakes his head.

Fuck. That voice of reason finally takes hold. “Pizza it is, then.”

The moment we turn, I hear a voice. “Mickey?”

---

Keith’s tux is perfect. His hair is perfect. “What’re you doing here? H-how are you?”

“Me? I don’t have a care in the goddamn world.”

He’s got candles in one hand and hideous flowers in the other. He pauses, like there’s no fucking sense hiding what’s going on. “I’m dying to know what you’re thinking.”

Well, fuck, I am, too. Because I didn’t plan this far. This whole trip’s been fueled by spitfire and rage. Now here we stand, face-to-face, and I’m torn between revenge and the strong freckled hands of my Uber driver.

I open my mouth to speak.

---

I can’t find the right words. My mouth works on autopilot. I turn my head and lay the biggest goddamn kiss on Ian. His body tenses, then he melts into it like we’ve been doing this shit for years.

I forget that Keith’s there. Elvis fades away. The chords of the practicing organist fade away.

I pull back slowly, staring at Ian.

“Um, hello?” Keith waves.

“Ian and I are gonna grab some grub. Maybe check out that haunted Nashville tour. Have fun with whatever bullshit you’re doing today.”

I don’t care how petty I sound.

I’m finally fuckin’ free.

---

I hear Keith stammering behind me. I don’t care what he has to say or what a clusterfuck this’ll be after the dust settles and we return home.

Ian and I shuffle down the sidewalk arm-in-arm.

The pizza ain’t Chicago style, but it tastes amazing. The hotel Ian picks for us ain’t fancy, but the sheets are clean.

We kiss against the wall. He peels off my clothes.

25 hours. 475 miles. One motherfucking Elvis. One round of drowsy sex.

I’m comfortable tangled in Ian’s gangly arms.

We do the thing I’ve been dying to do for an eternity … sleep.

---

Ian hands our key to the hotel clerk. “My friend and I enjoyed our stay.”

I nudge Ian as we walk outside. “Why’d you call me that?”

“Because you’re my friend.”

I pinch my eyes. I need more.

Ian slinks against me. “You’re my… lover.” Now he’s getting it. “Wanna bite you. Wanna nibble on you the whole way home.”

Better, but I still need more. “When we get back, will you be my—”

“Yes.” For Ian, it’s as simple as that.

We got no car. No plan. We only have each other.

And that’s all I fuckin’ need.

---*---*---*---*---

ONE YEAR LATER

Ian threw a receipt onto the kitchen table. “Finally paid the last toll. Got all the Camry repairs done.”

Mickey smirked. “We never got to show off our fake dating skills on that trip.”

“There’s one last souvenir I gotta deal with.” Ian got down on one knee, holding a small black box. “You’re in this house – this home – all the time. Might as well make it official.”

“You sayin’ you wanna get hitched?”

“You up for it? No flamingoes, I promise.”

Mickey pulled him into a kiss. “Pretty wise choice, hopping in your car that day.”

[lucithekingofhell]

Heya! First off I had no idea I would be a person who lives for ✨drama✨ but now…….. Now I do…. And it is because of you! This is so entertaining to me please keep up the amazing work!

Anyway, let's get on to the other stuff for today!

First off! Lucifer I am so sorry! I actually thought you were aware of this cuz it wasn't wrong when Snow White and the Seven Dwarves was released in 1937 of course it is now and of course, I'm sure that a lot of those people are in hell. I guess I shoulda known lol. Again sorry! I didn't mean for you to completely flip out. The age gap isn't talked about often due to it being so large and most don't actually know the ages of Disney characters they just assume they're in their late teens to early twenties.

Maybe one day I will tell you the TRUE story of Snow White from the Brothers Grimm but not today! Let's keep it somewhat upbeat!

Right now joke of the day!

How bout we go for some dark humor, shall we?

My doctor gave me a month to live. I told him I wanted a second opinion, so he pulled out a scalpel and stabbed me.

“I was wrong. You've got about 48 hours.”

Bye for now!!!!!

//Zoe: oh don't worry there is much to come hehe

"don't worry, it is fine. BUT WHO THE HELL TOLD HUMANS THEY COULD MARRY CHILDREN!? If I ever find them down here they are going to have a second painful death. I hope this /Disney/ isn't teaching bad things to the young souls that were send up there. And I very much hope the TRUE story of "Snow-white" doesn't contain a child marrying an adult when you do say it to me.... That's...THE FUNNIEST THING I EVER HEARD OH MY FATHER HAHAAHAHA! A MONTH LEFT TO LIVE, HE WANTED A SECOND OPINION, AND NOW HE HAS 48 HOURS, HAHAHA. How amusing, these dark humor jokes are just wonderful! Good bye my dear!"

[strawberrymilk-sunshine]

I read about these but most of them they were written very badly so I would appreciate if you wrote about this in your style 😭 Tweels jealous because you yawned in front of someone (eels open their mouth wide to express love), octotrio and savanaclaw in heat or talasaphobic yn with the octotrio. it's ok if you don't want to 💗

Poor Y/N's just fuckin sleepy and those eels go w i l d

I don't think this is exactly what you wanted, but regardless I hope it's not disappointing lol. I decided to go with the direction of them being mad at the reader for 'flirting' with someone other than them, so uh... sorry if you wanted them to be 'loving' yanderes haha

Also, thalassophobic Y/N with the octatrio is something I 100% want to do in the future :)

Warning(s): blood, yandere shenanigans, some serious injury is done to the reader, memory gaps, denial, lots of violence

You had gotten almost no sleep last night. Maaaaaaybe watching horror movies with Ace and Grim wasn't a great idea knowing you had school the next day.

The day went by painfully slowly.

When it eventually became lunchtime, you were so thankful... maybe getting some food in you would help kick this exhaustion...

"(Y/N), you ok?" Deuce asked. "You look tired..."

"Yeah... Ace, Grim, and I were watching horror movies last night." You explained.

"Yeah! (Y/N) was up all night, shakin' and cryin'!" Grim said.

"That's projection and you know it, Grim." You glared at the cat monster. "I'm only so tired because the three of us were up until three in the morning. Grim was the one who was, as he said, shaking and crying."

You yawned. You didn't think too much of it, yawning is a pretty natural thing to do when tired...

Oh, poor you. You had no idea what that would lead to.

"So yeah, we watched that B-movie Idia talked about during Halloween, Creepy Hallow or whatever. It was pretty good, actually. Not that scary, though. So we watched some more scary movies and scared ourselves half to death, and went to sleep... jeez, I'm so tired..."

"You should, um, go to bed early tonight! I think that'd do you some good!" Deuce said.

Then, two people appeared behind Deuce. They were so quiet it was almost like they'd materialized out of nothing.

"Heeeeeeey, Mackerel, Shrimpy! How's it going~?"

"Greetings, (Y/N). Hello, Deuce. How are you two doing this afternoon? Enjoying your food?"

Oh great, it's those two.

"We saw you two were chattin', thought we'd drop in to see what you were talking about!" Floyd gave a disingenuous smile.

"Yes, yes, and then we saw you..." Jade paused for a moment. "Well, I'm sure you know what we saw you do."

"We saw you showing off your mouth to Macky here..." Floyd looked slightly angry. "Care to explain what you two were doin'?"

"...talking...?" You said, confused as to what the pair were insinuating.

"If you were just talking, then may I ask why you showed off your mouth to him?" Jade asked you.

"I was just yawning, I got barely any sleep last night." You responded, still confused.

Jade and Floyd looked at each other, as if doubting what you said.

Then, Floyd placed his hands on Deuce's shoulders, again with a disingenuous smile on his face.

"Say, Macky, why don't you and I take a nice walk together?" He asked. "You're welcome to come along too, if you want, Shrimpy."

"I think it'd be beneficial for you to come along, (Y/N)." Jade told you.

"A walk, you say?" Deuce asked. "I get what you're sayin'... I'll take a 'walk' with you, I bet it'll be lovely." He smirked. Like, he did that smirk. The one he does when he wants to/is about to fight someone.

"A-and I'll come to, I guess..." You said.

When the four of you entered the hallway, you felt like you already knew what was about to happen.

Deuce looked like he was ready to fight, but one painful-looking kick to the chest from Floyd and he was down. You cringed. It made you feel that weird, sympathetic feeling in your gut and tailbone...

"Shoulda been ready to fight, BASTARD." Floyd angrily said.

"Oh, but do go easy on him, Floyd... after all, (Y/N) was the one who attempted to initiate a courtship ritual, weren't they?" Jade seemed to be very upset with you.

"...ehehe... you're right, Jade! Shrimpy was the one trying to get it on with Macky! Not the other way around! They opened their mouth all wide tellin Macky they wanted to mate with him..."

"I'll hold them steady for you." Jade said, placing his hands on either side of your face.

Floyd punched you as hard as he could in the face.

You had no idea what was going on. You didn't know why Floyd punched you, or why he kicked Deuce in the chest, or what Jade meant by 'courtship ritual', or why Floyd thought you wanted to 'mate' with Deuce, or why they were so mad at you...

What did you do wrong...?

They were punishing you for something you didn't know you did wrong.

When Jade kissed you, you thought things were going to turn around for you, but oh how wrong you were. He bit your tongue hard as he could without straight-up biting it off...

After you were thoroughly beaten, the throbbing pain in the back of your head was almost too much to bare... your vision was fading in and out, your nose stung so badly, it felt like you were stuffed up, but not with snot, with blood. And aside from the throbbing pain in the back of your head, you also felt it behind your eyes. Your arm might be broken... right about now it's hard to tell what's what. All you knew was that you were in pain.

The short instances in which your vision was clear, you saw the twins doing... things. You couldn't exactly tell what they were doing. You saw them with their mouths agape in front of you. You could hear in short instances, too. The worst thing you heard was "Not while Shrimpy's unconscious, Jade."

You woke up in the nurse's office with Deuce sitting in a chair beside you. The worst he had was a bloody nose.

When he noticed you were awake, all he said to you was

"Sorry I didn't help you."

And then he left.

You wanted to call out to him. You wanted to yell out for help. But... you just couldn't force yourself to say anything.

A voice plays in your head. Something you remember hearing sometime earlier, you're not sure when it happened- though it was probably when you were being brutalized.

"Hush now, don't scream. We don't want anyone to know, do we?"

What happened to you...?

...

Oh, that's right.

You... fell asleep during lunch.

You fell asleep in the cafeteria.

You know, because of how tired you were.

That... that has to be what happened.

Because they would never do that to you.

And even if they did, Deuce wouldn't have just let you suffer. If what happened happened, Deuce would've at least tried to help you.

But if nothing happened, then why are you so injured...?

There has to be a reasonable explaination as to why you're so hurt.

Because there's no way that happened.

There's no way that happened. There's no way any of that happened.

You were just tired.

You just fell asleep.

You just had a crazy dream.

Jade and Floyd didn't hurt you.

They didn't hurt you...

[lullabyes22-blog]

This may be a question more pertaining to the show but, I would like your thoughts or headcannon on this. Do you think Silco and his crew ever found out that Powder/Jinx caused the explosion at Silco's headquarters? She is the cause of Sevika losing her original arm. Do you think Singed ever found out she is the cause of his disfiguration? He helps her with her injuries but he alters her as well with the shimmer so ironically it's a little bit like payback even if it turns out he never found out the root of the explosion.

I just love how you interpret and think about Arcane and the characters relationships between each other. Thanks!

"I keep seeing them. That day."

"I think we get off on the wrong arm. Why don't we try the other one?"

"No! It was a mistake!"

"Really thought I buried this place. Shoulda known better. Nothing ever stays dead."

Absolutely Silco and his crew would know.

Jinx carries colossal trauma re: that day, and has no trouble confiding about it to Silco in her most vulnerable and frightened moments. It literally haunts her to the point that she has made effigies of her dead brothers and has them in plain view in her hideout, where anyone can see.

All of this implies she either told Silco, or he gleaned the causes of Vi abandoning her on his own, and that his crew + Singed and Sevika also figured it out. Sevika obviously holds a measure of resentment towards Jinx for this - and my own headcanon is that a petty part of Singed does too, hence his horrific treatment of her on his table, even as he saved her life. Like - there is a scene where his old burns - injuries she inadvertently caused - are flaking and it's plain he's weary of it, albeit in a stoically resigned way. Right after, Silco bursts in with his problem child, and Singed goes:

"Now you get to suffer a little too. As a treat."

Meanwhile Jinx demonstrates an understandable splitting of identity regarding that night - where at her most brazen and theatrical, she denies the pain by nearly flaunting the crime - and even pokes fun at it.

"Help! I'm a helpless little girl and I set the building on fire."

All while inside it plainly eats her alive.

😢💔

[the-cauldron-witch]

RAPH 9 🙏🫄

Gornack I got you boo ❤️👌I hope this is good!!

Ask if from here

9. "I know, I know, it hurts."

CW: injury obvi, but warning just in case

White hot scorching pain burned from the open wound on your shoulder blade, a gash about three inches long but thankfully not deep enough to require stitching. Sitting on the bench with your back exposed, your shirt bunched around your arms in such a way it shielded the front of your chest. Hissing as your hand pinned a now bloodied towel to the wound you waited on the bench impatiently. An unfortunate part of sparring and training mean injuries and not just broken bones or bruises.

You and Raphael had been practicing with weapons a few moments ago, something Raph was just introducing you to. Even with caution and Raph’s skill giving him clear advantage, no one was perfect and miscalculations were made, which ended with Raph’s sai slicing your shoulder blade when you dodge just a split second too late. Guilt immediately washed over his face as you yelled out in pain, clutching your shoulder where blood seeped. Guiding you onto the bench Raph told you to wait just a second while he got the first aid kit from Donnie’s lab.

“Alright, alright, I’m here” Raph called as he hurriedly slid to a stop approaching the bench. Tears stung your eyes and ran down your cheeks as the pain pulsated from the wound, you tried to bite back the whimper in the back of your throat when Raph gently peeled away your hand. Pulling the towel from your wound as painlessly as he possibly could, the fabric clinging to the exposed flesh, Raph comforted you with small words.

“I know, I know, it hurts. I’m so sorry, baby,” The guilt in his voice pulled you out of the delirious fog the pain shrouded you in. It wasn’t his fault, you knew that, he had no reason to blame himself. With the back of your hand you wiped the corner of your eyes, blinking away the bleariness to clear your vision.

“Don’t blame yourself, Raph, it was an accident” Reaching out with your clean hand you placed it on his muscular thigh, giving it a firm squeeze and massage with your thumb. Something disruptively cold toughed the scorching flesh of the wound, pulling another jaw clenching hiss out. Raph allowed you to dig your nails into the soft skin of his inner thigh as he dabbed at the wound with a cold washcloth, thankful that you had gotten the bleeding to stop for the most part rather quickly.

“I know, but still, you got hurt and don’t heal as quickly as us...I shoulda known better than ta use my sai,” He sighed at himself with disappointment, dabbing gently at the blood threatening to dry and crust on your skin. Wincing at the feeling you took a deep steady breath, trying to focus and comfort Raph at the same time.

“It was bound to happen at some point, sweetheart. It’s part of training, right?” You tried your best to hide the tears in your voice, but the sniffling was a dead give-away despite how quiet you tried to be. Frowning at the sound Raph took a dry piece of gauze and blotted the skin around the wound dry quickly but delicately, watching you wince further.

“I should’ve grabbed my tonfas,” He muttered to himself, continuing his self scolding. “This might sting a little, okay? It’ll only be fer’a second, it has numbing stuff in it” Bracing yourself by capturing your bottom lip between your teeth you waited for the sting, which shot through you like a jolt of electricity not long after the warning. Just as quick as it came it went, leaving behind a soothing numbing sensation as Raph began dressing your wound properly. His arms hovered around you as he wrapped the wound nicely, just snug enough to hold itself in place but giving you plenty of mobility.

“Thank you, it feels better already,” Wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes you finally started to pull yourself together, though your shirt was a lost cause. Predicting this problem ahead of time Raph reached for a t-shirt he had already grabbed from under the medkit he took from Donnie’s lab. Sliding off the ruined garment you took the band shirt, recognizing it as one Raph wore on rare occasions around the lair when it was chilly. Tugging the shirt over yourself you looked to your boyfriends regretful gaze, clearly still blaming himself.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up Raph, really. I’m not mad at you,” You pulled yourself onto your toes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “Besides, now I get a cool scar”

[tragic-shadows]

Can I get a fic using 7. " She had a way of making you see things differently" and 39. "You tell me how it’s your fault and I’ll tell you how you’re wrong"

Title: Mourning Period

Word Count: 1471

Warnings: Thoughts of suicide/drinking (!!! also major spoilers for anyone who hasn't watched judgement day part 1/2 !!!)

Pairings: GibbsxReader, (past GibbsxJenny)

A/N: for purposes of causing the most pain possible, let's just pretend diane and macy were dead before all of this.

He didn't know what to do, his brain was spinning in circles as he stepped around the room. He didn't dare touch anything, didn't dare breathe too hard for fear of his own scent overpowering hers. Her jacket was still draped over the bak of her chair, the fabric was soft between his fingers as he ran his hands over them. It had been a week. 7 days. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. 604,800 seconds. Vance was moving in his stuff tomorrow. He hadn't let him sit in the chair, or at the desk, just at the conference table. 

He also couldn't sit. At least not on the furniture. He found a corner beside the liquor cabinet that seemed suitable enough. Liquor and guns never mixed, and yet at the moment he had both. One in one hand and one in the other. Both of them were targeted for his head. He chose the drink first, keeping the gun close, just in case the alcohol didn't work. He drowned himself in the memories and the feelings and the touches. All the stolen glances and conversations that went on longer than they should have. All the knowing smiles and unknowing ones too. He never really loved any of his wives after Shannon. But he loved Jenny Shepard. He had always loved her, and he always would.

-

-

-

"Gibbs, breathe." You handed him a glass of water. You had come back to the office late to drop off a small box of Jenny's things that she had left at your apartment. Her house had had to be fumigated about a year ago and she had never gotten around to picking them up. The funeral was today and you figured it was time. While you were in the office, you spotted your boss sitting in the corner on the floor, a bottle and a half of scotch completely gone. "It's ok, it's gonna be ok." Now you were sitting next to him, the alcohol far out of reach, instead a glass of water and two aspirin took its place. You had also noticed his service weapon tucked in his lap, unloaded, the magazine sitting on the table in front of you. You didn't want to think about why he had it, so instead you focused your attention on him.

"I miss 'er," he slurred, head against the wall. "Loved 'er." 

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

"Mhm. She was erey' thing. Franks told me she still had feelin's. Shoulda been there. Shoulda saved 'er. Not Tony or Ziver's fault. My fault." 

You sighed, reaching over to take his hand to stop him shaking. "You tell me how it's your fault and I'll tell you how you're wrong." 

"My fault cause I shoulda told 'er I felt the same. Never stopped lovin' Jenny."

"I know. She was my best friend, I know." 

"She ever talk 'bout me? Did ya' know?"

You gulped. She had, quite a lot actually, but you weren't sure if that was going to help the situation or make it worse. You tapped your glass a few times, thinking, before you answered. "She did. Sometimes she complained about how you never listened, but then she would tell some story and you were always the part she smiled at."

"Shoulda' told her."

"She knew."

"Then why the hell didn't she do somethin' 'bout it?"

"Probably the same reason you didn't." 

You watched the way he stared at her desk. You had seen that look often, when he stared at Ziva's desk. Even though she was a great addition to the team, he missed Kate. It was also the same look he got on a single day of the year, the day Shannon and Kelly had been killed. He had loved and lost so many times you weren't sure if there was any love left for him to give. 

"What was she like?" You asked. "Before I met her, before I met you. Paris." 

"She had a way of making ya' see things different. We could be lookin' at a case file, I got one idea and she always had the right one. Not even that, jus' any situation she could turn 'round. I's half empty, she'd always be half full." 

"What happened between you two?" 

"She left." He stated plainly. The drinks had certainly gone to his head and part of you felt like asking him questions that he wouldn't like sober was wrong, but you needed him to talk. He needed to talk. He wanted to talk. "Didn't fit into her picture perfect plan. Too many loose ends, a liability." He finally knocked back the pain medicine you had set down for him. 

"Is that what you think you are? A liability?" 

"Why ya' ask that?" 

You shrug. "I figure a self respecting, half-decent, Marine doesn't drink himself silly with a gun sitting three feet away unless he plans do to something to himself."

"Not gonna do anythin'." 

"You know, for someone who's a great interrogator, you're not very good at lying." You gently laid your head on his shoulder. "Why do you think you're not good enough? I see it in your eyes all the time. When you're bossing us around, you seem like the biggest guy out there; when you sit at your desk and just look at us all, being silent Gibbs, you look like you're thinking. Like you're afraid to say the wrong thing. You don't believe in yourself."

"Everyone I love dies, Y/N. Everyone that loves me is dead." 

"And why do you think that?"

"Shannon, Kelly, Kate, Diane, Macy, now Jenny?" 

"You think those are the only people that love you? What about our team? Abby, Ziva? Me?" 

"Don't love me like they did. Not like Jen. Miss 'er." 

"I miss her too." 

"Why didn't ya' save her?" 

You had momentarily forgotten the fact that he was drunk and probably suicidal but the question made you realize just how much he was hurting right now. It was true, it was your fault. Well- not really your fault, you had agreed with Ziva but Tony had insisted that everything was fine and the Director could take care of herself. You shook yourself out of your head and went back to Gibbs. "You need to get home, or at least off the floor." You put his arm over your shoulder, doing your best to lift him off the ground. You made it a few steps over to the couch and helped him down. "I'll stay if you want me to. If you'd rather be alone.." You bit your lip, not really liking the idea of leaving him alone in this state. Before you could stay, a single word slipped from his lips. 

"Stay." 

"Ok.." You grabbed a blanket from the bottom drawer in Jenny's desk, draping it over the both of you. You wanted tea but that would mean leaving the room, and Gibbs. You counted the seconds as the clocked ticked and ticked and ticked. 

The next time you looked over, his eyes were closed and his breathing had steadied. You were sore for sitting for so long and you decided getting yourself a cup of coffee would be helpful. You stood up and took a few steps but before you could get past him, he snagged the hem of your shirt. 

"Huh?" You turned around.

"Wanna talk." 

You nodded, understanding. "I'm going to use the restroom and get some water. You want water or a coffee?"

"Coffee. Black."

"Ok. I'll be back." You patted your hip to make sure his gun was still there next to your own.

The office was dark. Even the janitors had gone home and there was no flashlight of any of the night officers to be seen. The only light was that from the vending machines. You filled up his cup with coffee and yours with water and grabbed you each a chocolate bar. You took your time walking back upstairs, just trying to give your boss some space. You missed Jenny like hell but you had a different way of dealing with it. Instead of crying about it, you blocked it out. You clicked open the door, expecting to see Gibbs in the chair. Instead, he was curled up on the couch reading a magazine. 

"You look better," you say.

"Just because I look better doesn't mean I am."

"Here." You hand him the coffee and situated yourself on the couch next to him. "I'm gonna get some sleep if you don't mind. Jenny always let me sleep on her couch when I didn't want to go home. You can stay if you want." 

"Yeah."

You stayed like that for a minute or two in awkward silence when you felt tears welling at your eyes. You hadn't cried when Jenny was shot, you hadn't cried at the funeral earlier today, you couldn't remember the last time you cried, and yet here you were. About to cry. Crying. "Gibbs." you whisper. Nothing else needed to be said.

He pulled you down on the couch next to him and let you lay down, your head on his chest and his arm around you. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. If you didn't have each other, you weren't really sure what either of you would do. "Thank you, Y/N. Need you right now."

"I think…" you trail off, "I think I need you too."

TAGS:

@aleck-cross @ah-blossom @ilovemark1951 @marennnx @originalsoulcollector @hotchmeeeeeuppppp @kittenlittle24 @twilightlover2007 @whoreforhondo @pinkcrystal44 @marvelslut16multistangirl07 @alexxavicryry @leroyjethrogibbsgirlrl @hobbsy27-blog

[its-chelisey-stuff]

And suddenly, on ep 14, I find myself invested in this drama again lol

the way he started to cry on her shoulder ooofff *cries*

mother of God, these are the lines that break you!!! why did you wait 14 eps to give me this, drama??!!

and when I say I'm invested, I mean it, because so far, I just let the episodes run in the background while I did other stuff but for real, I was watching this time. This part of the drama felt so compelling (and with actual stakes despite knowing they reunite in the future) compared to the present timeline.

I love how tragic their love was in this past life. And the fact that they've loved each other all their lives, because they met when they were children and had been inseparable since. It's cute and makes how things turned out even more heartbreaking. The only thing they ever wanted was to be together.

I think the drama made a lot of wrong decisions, but most of them could've been easily solved if they just changed the order of some things. Tell this story, by all means, but tell it the right way! For example, as much as I liked the first episode I think they should have started the drama with the past life. Make it two eps and end it on that snowy hill, right on the tragedy, while leaving some mysteries out (like the curse bit or where is the black magic spell book) and then let's jump into the present life, but now the audience is fresh on the feel of the tragedy of the joseon time. With this, HongJoo and ShinYu meeting for the first time would've hit a lot more than how it did, because I think the drama meant for us to feel the pull of their destiny right on ep one and that, at least for me, didn't happen.

Also, so many things that were assumed along the way ended up being confirmed by these flashbacks, but it almost seems like they missed their timing. I don't know, I just think the story told that way would've made more sense.

Anyway, just wanted to add that it's so delicious (in the angsty and tragic way lol) that he accepted the curse because of love ( I mean, hell!!! he gave her a quick death sort of because he couldn't watch her go through a painful and slow one) and that she didn't even mean to curse him in the first place, cause in fact, he was the last person she would've thought to place it upon.

I mean asdfghjk!!! all the elements were there and the story on paper sounds really cool but damn it!

Ah, the coulda, shoulda, woulda...

[adultswim2021]

Moral Orel #31: “Numb” | October 10, 2008 - 12:15AM | S03E02

Moral Orel is back with it’s billed-on-screen final season. The killer what took it was network head Mike Lazzo not liking the darker direction the show was taking. Adult Swim shortened the season’s episode order from I think 20 to 13. Lazzo’s main gripe seemed to be that season three set out to further strip Orel of his innocence, a trait that made Lazzo love Orel. It also drove most of the comedy for the show. At least Dino got to use the season to end the show, I guess. 

This episode is a fucking masterpiece. It’s basically an Ingmar Bergman film about a woman (Bloberta) fucking various powertools to feel anything while trapped by her loveless marriage. The episode starts off with cinematic opening credits set to “No Children” by the Mountain Goats. I would be lying if I told you I knew of the Mountain Goats before this episode. But man, do they have some incredible songs. This is one of them. Clay and Bloberta are lying in their separate beds (divided by a pious barrier wall), not interacting with each other whatsoever. Clay gets up and takes Orel on the hunting trip they go on during season two’s two-part finale “Nature”. This episode is about what Bloberta does while they are out of the house. 

There are moments of meaningful continuity, like the fact that it takes place during Orel and Clay’s hunting trip as depicted in “Nature” parts one and two. There is also a scene where Bloberta is lovingly gazing at a secret photo album she owns that posteritizes her and Coach Stopframe’s extramarital affair. A series of photos spells out the plain fact that Shapey is Stopframe’s son. It also makes Bloberta realize that she somehow got her kid switched with the family from “The Lord’s Prayer”, a fact that went unnoticed by all but Orel since season two. In this episode, Bloberta gets her kid back, but winds up also keeping Block. 

Bloberta’s current pussy-pounding tools aren’t cutting it, so she winds up buying a handjack, which is basically just a slightly more wieldy jackhammer (The animation with Bloberta being led around by it after powering it on for the first time is so good. Episode shoulda won a freaking BEST PICTURE Oscar). She winds up having a fucked up relationship with her doctor, who gets off on asessing the aftermath of her destructive onanism. Doctor Potterswheel simply prescribes her pain pills, and sends her on her way. This resolves tragically when she finds a way to heal herself and he rejects her because of it. Doubly-tragic: he receives a phone call that her son has been shot by her husband while on their hunting trip. There’s a fairly clever moment where she’s staring at a poster in the doctor’s office, advocating for feeding your family fatty foods. This offers insight to the end of season two, where we see Bloberta feeding Orel a plate of bacon and eggs.

We also see Block at the end of Nature (part two), who runs out of the room. In this episode we see where he went: to sit on the staircase, dangerously playing with Bloberta’s hymen hammer, as seen by Clay while stumbling drunkenly upstairs to overhear the conversation Bloberta and Orel have about him in Orel’s Bedroom. Bloberta begins sobbing after leaving Orel’s room, but composes herself when she realizes Clay is there. She coldly turns from him and goes to their bedroom. He follows, and we return to a reprise of the overhead shot in the opening, with Clay and Bloberta just laying in their separate beds, almost as if they’re laying in separate coffins, waiting to die. A reprise of “No Children” kicks back in, and it’s just fucking brutal, man. I still remember the impact this episode had in 2008 when I saw it for the first time. This might actually be my favorite episode of the entire series. I am pretty sure it is?

Dino did one of AdultSwim.com’s Interactive Video Commentaries for this episode. That, unlike most of those things, actually exists thanks to the Australian DVD for Moral Orel, which got it’s entire series released over there. We only got 15 of the 43 episodes released in North America. It existed before that, because I actually downloaded the interview snippets from the website and cut it together. Dino did this with two other episodes this season, and I believe they were all preserved by the Australian release using a similar method from my own shoddy approximation. I even found a link to watch the thing, if you want. 

EPHEMERA CORNER:

44 Nights of Orel 

This season had a pretty interesting release schedule, thanks to the 44 night event aptly titled “44 Nights of Orel”. This is actually where I saw a lot of the episodes of Moral Orel for the first time, because my season two viewing was spotty at best. This was an interesting idea where Dino aired the entire series in a scrambled order so that the new episodes being shown would be preceded by ones that had the most bearing on their plots or somehow informed the new episode. Each episode was introduced by Dino and sometimes a special guest (like Scott, for example).  

“Numb” was preceded by “The Lord’s Prayer” for the origin of the “Block” and “Shapey” mix-up, and “Nature” (part one) and (part two).

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

I am not Your Mr. Miyagi: Rough Draft

I am bored and wanting to post stuff: So here is the rough draft of I am not Your Mr. Miyagi.

-0-

 The first time Tsuna ever met Hoshi, she worked at repainting a park fence, not paying attention to anyone. She wore the traditional outfit most town handypersons wore- a white jumpsuit with the kanji for Nammori on the back in black. She kept her hair under a ball cap for the heat and had worn her contacts that day.

 Tsuna met her while avoiding some bullies- the nastier ones. It wasn’t often a bully would get physical with him. Most were afraid of Hibari or the teachers. Even the other students didn’t normally stand for actual physical bullying.

 It was just sometimes they felt like kicking him when he was down.

 They hadn’t noticed the handyman working until she whistled when they’d cornered him.

 “If you three have extra energy, I’m sure your parents would agree to you volunteering to paint a fence… or two… or twenty.” She held up her paint can, a single eyebrow raised. The bullies ran off, leaving Tsuna by himself. She snorted, watching them run. “That happen often?” she asked Tsuna, who jerked and blushed.

 “Uh… no! No! Just… I’m Dame-Tsuna. I’m kinda used to it.” The woman blinked.

 “…You call yourself useless?”

 “I am,” Tsuna said blankly, feeling no reason to refute the truth.

 “…If you’re that useless, come over here and make yourself useful.” The woman said. “I’ve got an extra brush.” Tsuna hesitated before he walked over and kneeled, taking a brush and copying her painting.

 He got way more paint on himself, and the woman- who said her name was Johnson Hoshi but told him to call her Hoshi-san- had to repaint some of his parts, but she’d told him good job and sent him off with a few yen.

 He felt… he felt good.

-0-

“What if I told you I could give you twenty-five years?” the man asked her, standing in the room she was receiving chemotherapy.

 “I’d say you’re a scam artist but probably go along out of hope.” She told him, studying the man. He wore a hat made of iron, checkered gloves and a tie. The same pattern rested on his face.

 A scam artist or an eccentric billionaire? 

 “Even if it means abandoning this dimension? Never seeing your family again?”

 “Even then.”

-0-

 The next time the two crossed paths, Hoshi was trimming some trees in the schoolyard along with a coworker, the job given to them as the students normally responsible for it recovered from being scolded by the Disciplinary Committee for some unknown reason.

 Hoshi didn’t want to know.

 “You lost us the game Dame-Tsuna!” Whined some boys as they glared at the young boy who looked pained.

 “Shoulda never let him join us.”

 “Yeah!”

 “You know,” Hoshi said loudly to draw their attention. “I hate it when someone decides to pin the blame on one student for a game. Is it not a team sport? Even if one student was awful, what about the others? Did they not try at all? Why blame one person? All of them sucked; that’s why they lost. One person doing bad doesn’t mean they lose.” She told her coworker straight face as the man rolled his eyes. “I guess the entire team was useless then.”

 Hoshi later would say that she didn’t know why she did it. She blamed her foster siblings, honestly. She never quite liked name-calling ever since.

 The kids shut up then, pale and looking a bit ashamed, as Tsuna stared at her with big brown eyes.

 …Dear lord, are those flowers around him?

 Hoshi firmly kept her gaze away.

 Nope. Not falling for it. Nope.

-0-

“Why me?” Hoshi asked Checkerface, sitting in her room, holding her violin. “Why me?”

 “If you don’t, then a child may have to take your place. And that… that’s too much for even me.” He said honestly. Hoshi closed her eyes and let out a low noise.

 He had to go there.

-0-

 The third time was when Tsuna stumbled upon her dancing around a group of delinquents who didn’t like that she’d trimmed back the bushes to their little hideout. Hibari caught them doing drugs without the bushes and delivered a beatdown. They then attacked her.

 They never hit her. She twirled out of their grasp, bent back away from their fists, and jumped over their heads, causing them to beat themselves up, much to her glee.

 “…Kid?” Hoshi said upon spotting him.

 “Can you teach me?!” Tsuna blurted out, eyes wide as he stared at the bodies behind her. “I’d love to be able to beat-“

 “This isn’t Karate Kid!” the woman said, holding her hands up. “I’m not your Mr. Miyagi!”

 “…What?”

 “…It’s an American movie. Anyway, kid, I don’t fight-“

 “You just beat them!” Tsuna protested, pointing at the bodies.

 “By dancing!” Hoshi said, lifting her arms above her head.

 “…What?”

 “I’m a dancer, kid- I just danced and was quicker than they were; nothing else about it!” she told him.

 “…Can you teach me?” Tsuna asked. “I’m Dame-Tsuna, but you-“

 “I just don’t like bullies, kid,” Hoshi told him. “There wasn’t any other reason I tried to help you.” Tsuna, though, just looked at her, desperate.

 He was young enough- nine- he wasn’t yet beaten down by the insults and cruelty. None of his life lay around him, destroyed by society to have a scapegoat.

 Hoshi looked at him and then cursed, seeing his eyes.

 “Damn it. I’m not your Mr. Miyagi!” she said, throwing her hands up. “I’ll teach you ballet, that’s it, got it?” she pointed at him. “You get to figure out the rest.”

 “Thank you!”

 “…I already regret this,” Hoshi muttered to herself.

-0-

 “No regrets?”

 “No,” Hoshi told the man. “None.”

 “Good.”

-0-

 Hoshi wanted to groan loudly.

 Not even two months into this new world, and she makes contact with the main character.

 No, wait, she agreed to teach the main character.

She needed a drink.

 Meeting Hibari hadn’t been a shock- she did work in his town, but there was a difference between staring blankly at him when he gave orders or ignoring him while she did landscaping at the school and interacting with Tsunayoshi! It had been challenging to remember the show, but she did remember the main character. Her interest in it had waned thanks to the lousy animation, and then her cancer was found, so she lost more interest.

 Sighing, she fiddled with the doorknob on her apartment, making a face at how long it took to open. Making a mental note to go and see if the landlord would mind her messing with it, Hoshi entered her apartment. Checkerface had given her money to use in her new world, and she used it to buy her new home. She’d call it a studio in Canada- or a bachelor depending on who you’d ask. She forgot what her landlord called it.

 Her kitchen was in a small corner, her bed on the opposite side. It was just a pile of pillows and blankets on top of a mattress. A dresser with an excellent sound system sat against a wall, with her TV and comfortable couch near it. It wasn’t much, but for Hoshi, it was enough as she worked and saved. 

 Feeling lazy, she flopped on her couch and turned on the TV to a hockey game, fiddling with the chain around her neck, her fingers ghosting the pacifier at the end.

 She was going to need to think up some lessons.

[toointojoelmiller]

please don't go: a last of us fic

chapter 9

after David / Silver Lake / post-episode 8

angst, Joel & Ellie bonding, 99% canon compliant

rating: mature - content warnings re: s/a, violence, more

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | ch 6 | ch 7 | ch 8 | ch 9 | ch 10

link to whole story (work in progress) on AO3

----

He shoves open the door to find there’s no one else inside - just Ellie, still on the ground, tiny inside the sleeping bag. She’s hunched forward a bit, shoulders rounded, holding her arms tight against her stomach. Most of her hair is loose from her ponytail now - hanging in her face.

“Joel,” She’s sobbing.

The door slams closed behind him and he nearly throws the rifle into the corner as he rushes forward, falling down hard on his knees next to her.

“I’m right here,” he breathes. What the hell was he thinking. “You’re okay.” He takes her little face in his hands. Wishes he could hold it forever.

She clutches onto his arms. “I was - you were gone.”

Goddammit. “I’m sorry -” He needs to hold her - keep her in one piece. He moves closer to wrap her loosely in to his chest - can’t pull her in tight like he wants to - doesn’t want her to hurt more. Doesn’t want to scare her.

He briefly wishes the pain in his side was harsher - deserves to be squirming, writhing under it.

She’s shaking hard, keeps trying to get words out against her crying - “Please -” she wails, “don’t leave me -”

“I’m not leavin’ you, Ellie” - he’d do anything for her to believe it - “I swear. I’m - that’s not gonna happen again, you hear me? I’m sorry - I was just outside - shoulda woke you, I’m -” 

She’s scrambling to get her legs untangled from the sleeping bag as she pulls away from him, ending up on her hands and knees as she gags. He holds back some of the hair hanging in her face and rubs a hand on her back cautiously - she’s letting out groans - pain - body lurching, splashing watery bile on the floor.

And even then, she’s afraid of it - “Sorry,” she whines in between heaves, “Please - don’t go -”

Joel thinks about the look he’d put in her eyes back in Jackson, when he told her she wasn’t his, that he wasn’t hers - can feel, like it’s happening now, her little hands shoving at his chest as she laid everything bare, in that brave way she has - “-died, or left me - everybody fucking except for you -” She’d told him she was scared, then - and he’d walked away, left her alone.

And how easily she forgave him for it - took him back like he was good for anything.

“I’m -” she sobs, “I keep - h- he-”

She seems to lose her words. Hyperventilating now. Spinning into a full blown panic attack and he has no clue how to help. Would do anything to fix this. 

“Shh, I’m here.” He tells her, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“They-” she says after she heaves again - nothing coming up anymore. She’s spitting her words out in pieces - “They were b-butchering - them - they were gonna - eat me -”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Breathe, Ellie,” he begs. Her air is coming in gulps. His own breaths are shallow. He can feel his eyes stinging.

“Just keep breathin’ - I got you. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, baby, alright?” He’ll say it as many times as he needs to for her to hear it. Just wishes it was a promise he could keep.

He thinks about not being able to protect the people he needs to keep safe. How the feeling of it has never really left him since it crawled into his skin in that field in Texas, the light leaking out of him as Sarah’s body cooled - it burrowed down inside of him, coming awake from time to time to gnaw. Hollowing him out a bit at a time.

Her arms are shaking under her, and he’s worried they’ll give out. She seems to be done throwing up for now - he risks trying to coax her back to sitting, putting his hands lightly on her arms and tugging back - she moves easily, falling in against him again when she gets upright, and he puts his arms around her.

He looks down to her face, raises his hand and tries to brush some of her hair away from where it’s sticking to her tears.

“Joel,” she sobs in a high, sad voice. “We have to go, we - they’re gonna f-find us, we c-can’t stay here - I can’t breathe -”

“I’ve got you,” he keeps repeating.

“We have to leave,” she says as she presses her face against his shirt. “Please, we have to -"

“We’re ok- I’m taking care of things, Ellie, we’re safe - shh, baby girl, you’re ok -” 

There’s nothing else he can offer her. She cries against him long enough for his legs to go numb - he shifts awkwardly until he can reposition to sit down fully - keeps his hand cradled against her head.

Sarah would get scared and wake up crying in the night sometimes when she was young (she was only ever young). He’d curl up with her - make a spot in the stuffed animal pile she kept at the corner of her bed then - sometimes just lay on top of them as he hugged her - little ringlets brushing his neck and face as she clung to him. She’d always needed a nightlight and he was grateful for it then - the warm pinky-purple glow letting him soak her in while she slept. Sometimes he just couldn’t bring himself to leave - would stay there the rest of the night, sleeping next to her.

Sarah afraid of something she saw on TV - Ellie scared for her life, of being hunted - which she had been - it's far from the same, but it's an echo of it - her going from tense and trembling to soft in his arms.

Ellie simply runs out of energy, he thinks - that’s all that brings her sobbing to a stop. Just too worn out and hurt to continue - loud, panicked pleading turning into crying - then sniffles and shaky breaths.

“My head h-hurts,” she whispers into his chest. “Everything hurts.”

“I know,” he says, “Don’t have to do anything today - we’re just going to take it easy.”

He holds her in the quiet for a few more minutes before she speaks again.

“Where did you go?”

“I went -” he clears his throat so he can talk, mouth going dry, “- was putting traps out." He’s so furious with himself it’s hard to keep his voice steady. “For game. Need to get us some food, but I - I didn’t want to wake you - with how much you're hurtin’. Didn’t know how far I’d have to go, and - doesn’t matter - I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“It’s ok,” she mumbles. “I’m sorry, I - I’m - I think I’m - going crazy.”

He has to pull back a bit, now, to look at her - needs to make sure she is hearing him. Her eyes are red, puffy - the swelling around her nose - the blooming black eye - a new bruise coming in on her forehead - face wet with tears. It’s agonizing.

“Ellie, listen to me - you are not goin’ crazy. It’s ok - when,” - he’s no good at this - “- when something - when you’re hurt - it’s - it’s hard for anyone to handle - and it - it takes -”

He’s fucking it up - pulls her close again - gently - tries another approach.

“When Tommy … d’you remember I told you, about him bein’ in the army, back then - and leavin’?”

She nods a little.

“It - it was hard on him. Some things that happened - that he saw. And it - took time, I think, to feel… ok. Used to have a hard time with - got real scared - sometimes a noise, or something he’d see. Had - he had bad dreams sometimes. But it - it got better - just took time - it's normal. Happens to everyone, who - when hard stuff happens.” 

He’s leaving out a lot - a few 911 calls - all those years of binge drinking, bar fights. But it’s not as if he can share his own example on living with pain - booze, drugs, get so full of rage you go blind with it - kill with your bare hands - and hope something takes you out before you wake up.

“You hearin’ me, Ellie?” He asks, and she pulls back from him. He lets her go, arms feeling empty.

“I keep - thinking for - for a second, that I’m - s-still there,” she says shakily.

He wonders if it had happened differently - if he’d been stabbed in the chest instead of his gut, and died fast instead of hanging on - wouldn’t she have escaped all of this, then? Nothing to hold her back - she’d have gone straight back to Jackson - safe behind a wall. None of this would have happened to her. She's a fucking kid.

If it wasn’t for Ellie needing him now, he thinks he’d probably just go lay down in the snow and be done with it.

Everything he can think to say to her is so inadequate. He falls back to the same too-late thing he’s told her a hundred times since he found her - “I’m sorry.”

“What are we gonna do?” She mumbles, looking down at her hands.

He thinks she means more than just today.

“Well - you ain’t doing much,” he starts, and she looks up like she wants to say something but doesn’t. “We -” he’s caught between wanting her to know he understands her fear and not wanting to scare her further. “We can’t stay here forever - you’re right - but we can’t go yet. Not like this. Not today. So - you’re gonna stay warm. Drink water. And rest - alright?”

She nods.

“You said your head is hurtin’ - how bad?”

“Bad,” she mumbles. “Kills when I move it.”

Crying and puking are never pleasant - torture with a head injury.

The spike of concentration he had been running off of since he heard her scream is starting to wane - he's getting foggy at the edges.  His muscles - lungs - are burning. Shouldn’t be so tired from that small amount of sprinting - he’s so deconditioned it makes him think he was out for multiple days. Longer. It’s so sickening it sends a crush of anxiety into his chest.

But there are things to do - she’s up, and talking - good chance to give her a quick check over, get some more water in her, especially now that she’s puked up what little was in her stomach.

It’s still a little too dark.

“You ok if I flip the light on? I just wanna take a look.”

Predictably, she hates the flashlight in her eyes again - pupils normal - eyes bloodshot. He doesn’t see anything new with her head and neck, other than the puffier nose and bruises he’d noticed earlier.

“Your shoulder?” he asks.

She goes to raise it, winces. “Sore but, ok I think. Not - a ton worse. Stiff.”

Hmm.

“And - everythin’ else? Ribs?” She had been holding her stomach - yesterday, and now.

She just shakes her head. He’s not sure what to make of that.

“Ok”, he flicks off the flashlight, “have some water, if you can, baby - then you should keep restin’. If you can.”

She obediently takes the thermos when he hands it to her and - wipes her mouth with her hand first - sips from it a few times.

“What are you gonna do? If I'm - asleep?” She asks. He hates the anxiety in her voice - but he’s relieved to see she’s starting to shift back and lean against his pack again.

“Not much - save up some energy too. Take a look at the maps maybe - see if there’s a way out of here that makes sense. I want to get some snow - cold - on where you’re hurtin’ in a bit too - take the swelling down a bit. Might help the pain. Don’t worry - I’ll - I won’t go out without letting you know, okay?”

She nods.

“And - I’m hoping we’ll get something in the snares tonight or in the morning,” he says, “tracks looked good. Lots new - so - food, soon, if we’re lucky.”

She nods again, and turns a bit, so she’s facing slightly away from him.

He thinks she’s going to close her eyes, try to sleep again.

It feels like his heart is breaking - the way she just stares - at the wall, through it.

[badnikbreaker]

@spiinsparks : “Hey, why are you walking like that?”  (@ tangle! o3o)    /     accepting!

So!  Tangle is not usually the sort to hide these things; it’s not helpful to her or anyone, and she knows that.  It’s always better to be honest about physical and emotional limits, and hiding pain just breeds worry and distrust.  And as she learns just how much all her new friends are hurting, it’s become even more important to her that she model successful, healthy coping mechanisms; everyone else she knows is operating under eighteen layers of repression at this point — and that’s not even getting into the other stuff.

But this is — agh, it’s all just complicated.  Even Tangle’s most healthy coping mechanisms are thrown out of whack right now.  She’s familiar with the unhealthy urge to indulge her worst habits after new aches, and has been, mostly, doing a good job not indulging said urges.  But this one is...

All her friends are still hurting, even with some time.  Whisper blames herself, can’t stand the thought of losing anyone else.  Sonic blames himself / she remembers the last hour before her transformation hazily, but she knows she’d had to talk the hedgehog out of self - flagellation.  Amy’s breakdown can be felt like aftershocks, even if Tangle had only been around to see parts of it.  It’s felt selfish, to talk about any of it.

But, ah — well, Sonic asks, “Hey, why are you walking like that?” and she’s been caught, and she’s not Whisper / Sonic / Amy.  She doesn’t try to dig deeper or lie; she just laughs, a little sheepish, and allows herself to sit for a moment, rubbing at the knee that aches these days.

“Sorry, gimme a sec.”  Sonic’s back at her side in an instant, gazing down at her, worried.  “It’s my knee — I think I musta hurt it or something while I was a zombot.”  She remembers fighting them, watching their bodies break and deform and wondering if that would have lasting consequences.  “Ever since you fixed everything — if I’m going for too long and forget my painkillers, it gives me some trouble.  But it’s getting better!”

And it is; the doc back in Spiral Hill says the bone is showing signs of minor fracturing, but that it’s healing.  Each day is easier.  It’s her own fault for going too hard; it’s just so much fun to hang out with Sonic, bust heads with Sonic, chat a mile - a - minute with Sonic!  She’d forgotten to be careful and — well, tried to hide the pain once it came.  Unhealthy of her, and Tangle laughs again.  BAD COPING MECHANISM, even if it had been to protect him from guilt and not to protect herself.

She looks up at him and can’t read his expression.  A hand raises, thinking to take his hand — but then a better idea occurs to the lemur; she punches the back of his knee.  He falls to sit with a surprised sound, looking at her like she’s INSANE.  Good.  No more guilt.

“Hey!  Don’t you get down on yourself, okay?  I’m fine, and I’m tough, and I’m gonna be okay.”  Her eyes narrow.  “I shoulda told you when it started to hurt so I could take a break, but I’m okay.  We’re both okay.  We made it through, a little different but still whole.  We’re okay.”

And she means that.  Sonic is okay.  Tangle is okay.  And so is their friendship.  She just hopes he knows that.  She smiles.  After a beat, he does, too.