#the way even chuck's like oh damn she said that

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.4

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

Danny was sitting in the back, his backpack obnoxiously taking up the seat next to him, when the door to the lecture hall creaked open near silently.

“What are you in here for?” Danny asked the guy who crept into class. He sympathetically took his backpack off the Seat of Shame and allowed the guy to sit down. Funnily enough, they had the same hair and eye color.

“Gen Ed. Undecided. You?” The guy grunted quietly back.

“Environmental studies. I’m Danny.”

“Tim.”

With the implicit understanding of two people in a required class they could not give less than two fucks about, Tim and Danny tuned back into the lecture. When the class was assigned group work, Danny looked over to see Tim softly snoring, head slammed down on the table.

“Tim. Wake up, dude.” Danny poked his shoulder.

“Huh? Class over?”

“Nah, we got group work. Discussion board.”

“Oh shit, thanks for waking me up. Wanna team up?”

Danny shrugged. “Sure. We should aim to post it in the middle so the professor doesn’t read our answers to the class.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Any idea what we’re talking about?”

“Kind of?”

“Good enough for me.”

——

Tim Drake kept seeing Danny Fenton around on campus.

“Danny! Dude, what are you doing?”

Danny turned, gloved hands full of crumpled trash. “Picking up after the student population, apparently.”

“Didn’t think environmental studies was that serious.”

“Global warming is very serious, you jerk,” Danny smirked at him, crossing the grass to put the trash into the trash can. “Reduce, reuse, oil shouldn’t be spilled in water and all that.”

“Basic stuff,” Tim grinned. Nice, he basically had a friend past Bernard now!

They were friends, right?

“And yet humanity fails to comprehend it. Incredible. Incredibly stupid that is.”

“They get it. Major corporations just don’t care.”

Danny sighed. “True that. You on your way to your next class?” He took off his biodegradable gloves off (nitrile and nylon, baby!) and chucked them into the trash.

“I’ve got free time, actually. Prof cancelled for his daughter’s surgery.”

“Oh, shit, that’s rough! You wanna go downtown and join the strike?”

“A strike? What for?” Even as he asked, Tim hiked his bag higher onto his shoulder, ready to go. They fell into step as the two left campus.

“Apparently, Quillan Pharma was doing some shady shit at their manufacturing plants. I think it’s like killing kids, and pouring toxins into the ground.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. Oh! Poison Ivy’s gonna be there!”

Tim blinked. He casted a sideways look at Danny. Sure he’s been here long enough to know… but it couldn’t hurt to check. “You know she’s an eco-terrorist, right?”

“Okay, but like… people suck sometimes. And all she’s asking for is like don’t kill the planet. And she doesn’t do that whole mind control thing too much anymore! The Sirens are so cool. Plus, one of my best friends at home might actually kill me if I don’t try to get her autograph. Poison Ivy is like, Sam’s personal hero.”

Tim snickered. “Yeah, okay. Mind if one of my friends join? His name’s Bernard.”

“The more the merrier,” Danny nodded. “Ooo! Hot chocolate. Want some?”

Danny bought three drinks as Tim trailed behind, texting Bernard.

“He said yes.”

“Cool! We should meet up somewhere before the drinks get cold.”

Well, Danny got the autograph. Tim got a new friend, and Bernard got a drink from his crush.

——

“Oh, you’re the glowing dude that Batman always talks about!”

Danny blinked, eyes scanning the wing-like cape and the yellow emblem on the hero’s suit. Danny was indeed glowing, stars and nebulas freckling across neon green skin, and glowing hair the color of a white dwarf star, tinged with the blue from his ice core.

“I… have absolutely no idea who you are,” Danny lied, like a liar. He’s found a surprising niche of entertainment in messing with the local vigilantes and he’ll be damned if he missed this opportunity.

He heard a snicker from the comm lines as Red Robin visibly brushes it off.

“I’m Red Robin. Why are you picking up trash?”

“Picking up after you humans, apparently.”

The both of them blink, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu. A moment of awkward silence passed before they both shook it off.

“Are you here to help? No offense, but the track record for you people is terrible.” Danny strode over and grabbed a bag. He opened it, and shook it at Red Robin’s face. “See? Batarangs, these odd bird looking ones, the R’s. Seriously, pick up after yourselves!”

“Oh, woah, can we have these back?”

Danny yanked the bag back before Red Robin could get close. “Pay me. These were incredibly tedious to pick up. Especially the batarangs. I mean, I even found a whole bunch of old rusted ones in the middle of the bay. What did you do, dump an entire bag in there from the air?”

Red Robin sighed and took out a wad of cash, with tracking fluid all over it. Danny grimaced, smelling the odd scent on the money. “That’s not real cash. It smells off. Are you trying to give me counterfeits because you’re broke?”

Red Robin gaped, oddly offended. “No! They’re real!”

“Doesn’t smell like it. It’s stinkier than the trash. Go get the one with the money, the litterer. Tell him I’ll be back the next full moon. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” Danny grumbled, disappearing on the spot to watch Red Robin flounder with the stack of cash and the piles of dead bodies on the shore.

“What the fuck even is my life these days?” Red Robin wondered out loud, stuffing the cash back into his pocket. He looked over the plastic wrapped bodies and slumped, sighing.

Oddly enough, Danny felt a sense of sympathy. Well, he’s not getting paid for sympathy. He’s not getting paid at all tonight, actually. Danny flew off, plunging once more into the depths of the significantly cleaner waters, and used his ice to scoop out oil stains.

Danny glanced around and sighed. He had a lot of work to do.

——

“So you’re saying he’s like a werewolf mermaid fae child immortal god thing, right?”

Bruce grunted.

“B, what the hell are you smoking these days? You know drugs are bad, right? Do we need Superman to give you that PSA?” Jason snickered.

Tim, massaging his arms from having to haul an ungodly amount of dead bodies, grunted. He’s so similar to Bruce that it gave the people currently in the cave hives.

“He said full moon. I don’t think we can track him with regular stuff. The bugs kept shorting out.”

“Oh boy,” Dick sighed. “Don’t fall off the spiral cliff, Tim. You’ve got midterms to think about so no stalking the guy.”

“Yet,” Tim shot back, changing out of his suit.

Bruce grunted, setting aside a huge stack of cash.

[devilenchantress]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

🪵Pairing —> Logan Howlett x Reader

🪵Genre —> Fluff & comfort

🪵Warning —> None (but spoiler alert : this story takes place after the events of Deadpool & Wolverine)

🪵Inspired by —> @allophonicmess

🪵Summary —> You want to get to know the knew Logan, but he thinks that he isn't good enough for you. So he ends up being cold and distant towards you, towards the girl known as « Wolverine’s epic love ».

🪵Dividers credit —> @moosgraphics

It’s been a few days since Wade, Logan and Y/n came back from the crazy journey they went through. Everyone was still under’s Wade roof, celebrating. Y/n was sat on the couch alone, trapped in her thoughts. It didn’t take long for Colossus to notice it, so he approached Y/n and sat next to her :

« How are you feeling Y/n? You seem lost. »

« I’m doing fine Colossus, thank you for asking. I’m just a bit confused about… some things. »

« Do you wish to talk about it? »

« Well, I cannot stop wondering why would this Logan act this way towards me. I know that he doesn’t know me and doesn’t owe me anything. But seeing the face of your dead lover looking at you like you meant nothing is pretty heartbreaking. I wish I could know why he is so cold towards me, why he doesn’t even notice me. I just don’t understand. »

« Maybe you should talk to him? Honesty and communication are always important. It could bring you closure and peace. »

« I guess you’re right, thank you for listening to me and checking up on me. I think I’m going to take a little nap, I’m still a bit tired of all the things that happened. » said Y/n while chucking at the same time, after that she went upstairs to rest a little.

But on the other side of the apartment, Wade and Logan were discussing or more arguing about the same topic :

« You know I really don’t mean to meddle between lover’s querel and all that stuff. But you’ve been kind of an ass with Y/n especially considering that you know she’s kind of « Wolverine’s epic love » in most of the universes. »

Logan looked at him and just answered :

« Then don’t fucking meddle into it. »

Wade pretended no to hear what Logan just said and continued :

« Well I guess you’re just scared I mean I can understand really. You do look like a grumpy old dad who’s only purpose is to drink his whiskey in front of the TV. While y/n, well, she does look really hot I mean honestly I don’t understand why she’s still single because I swear even I could-

« CAN’T YOU SHUT YOUR GODDAM FUCKING MOUTH FOR ONCE YOU DAMN MOTHERFUCKER. » screamed Logan with rage in his eyes before leaving the room to go outside and get some air.

Hours passed and Logan was still outside, sitting on the front door steps with his bottle of whiskey.

Everyone else was in the kitchen talking and laughing. Y/n just finished her nap and went downstairs to join the others, and while she was about to enter the kitchen Colossus and Wade looked mischievously at each other and said :

« Oh y/n sweat treat, good thing you’re here because well… » said Wade before giving a side eye to Colossus who said :

« We’re missing shrimp chips and we were wondering if you could get some, please? » Y/n laughed and answered « of course I can, it’ll give me some air. »

Y/n took her purse and went outside, right after this Colossus told Peter to rush to the door and lock Y/n outside.

As she went outside Y/n saw Logan down the stairs all alone. She tried to be silent and then turned around to open the door and give the others an excuse to not go out. But as she tried to open the door, she realised it was locked :

« Are they really serious. » she wispered before knocking and screaming

« Are you serious guys? Please open? I forgot something and I really really need to get back out there. » but no one answered.

She turned around and realised that Logan was looking at her

« Hey you, what are you doing here? » she shyly said. Logan turned around to face the street and did not answer. Y/n closed her eyes and let out a sight before telling him :

« Do you hate your Y/n too in your universe? »

Logan looked at her and said

« What? »

she walked toward him to sat on the stairs and continued

« I said do you hate your Y/n too in your universe? Because my Logan, well, he used to hate me so much when we first met, and, well I kind of hated him too. » she said chuckling, and then proceeded :

« We were always arguing, bickering, fighting… but then one day I got hurt really really bad and surprisingly he was there for me. After this moment we started to grow closer until one day we fell in love. So I was wondering if you hated you y/n like my Logan used to? Because that’s the only thing that could explain why you seem so repulsed by me. »

Logan’s expression became soft and he only answered :

« I don’t hate you, god I could never fucking hate you. I cared about my Y/n like your Logan cared about you. »

« Then why are you like this with me? Why do you talk to everyone but ignore my existence like I don’t matter? »

Logan looked down at the floor and answered :

« I know your Logan was some king of hero, but in my universe the things I did, they make me a monster, an animal and I love you way too much to let you be with that kind of man. »

Y/n watched him with her watered eyes and softly said, while putting her arm on his shoulder :

« What is it that you did? No matter what it is you can tell me because all I want is to understand you. »

Logan was hesitant, but if there was one person he could tell anything, if there was one person that could bring him comfort, it was her. So he said :

« Things happened and one day you died, after this I could never be the same. I loved you so much. So I went to the bar everyday, I drank everyday and I let everyone down. Until one day all of the x-men died because of me. I had nothing else to loose anymore. So I killed, everyone, bad people, good people and no matter how much I wanted to stop, I couldn’t. I was filled with so much rage, I let it guide me. »

Y/n was breathless but she knew Logan, and she was sure that no matter what, no matter the universe he was a good man. So she put her hand on his cheek to make him look at her and she said :

« Whatever you did is in the past. Right now you have a chance to be better and to make the world a better place. I know you will. »

she stopped to caress his cheek and then she said

« I could never think of you as a monster Logan nor could I ever be ashamed of you. »

Logan took her hand in his and told her :

« There’s no love in my life if you’re not in my universe Y/n. »

After hearing this, Y/n put her head on Logan’s shoulder and while he wrapped his arm around herself she whispered in his hear

« You’ll always be my one and only true love, no matter what. »

And so they spent hours outside finding comfort in each others arms.

[f1girliefics]

Dangers on the Track

Daniel Riccardo x Reader

Summary: All he saw was flames and smoke, he assumed the worst.

Daniel was a naturally happy person. 

He was always smiling, laughing and joking around.

But not now, not when he was so powerless and worried. 

Not when he had to sit and watch his girlfriend trapped in a burning car.

It was only practice.

Practice on a very slippery and wet track.

It was a simple turn, nothing more. You had done it many many times before. And yet, the next thing everyone knew was the Mercedes in the wall, on fire.

Daniel’s leg bounced up and down as he kept getting more and more impatient. 

You were still in there.

Everyone else came back to the pits, they were all watching, hoping and praying. 

Daniel wanted to yell, scream and yet he couldn’t.

All he could do is watch.

Watch as they finally got you out of that damned car.

Unconscious, but you were finally out.

They rushed you to the safety car.

Daniel got up and rushed to the infirmary, where they got you in just as he arrived.

“Mr Ricciardo, please wait here.” The doctor said as Daniel nodded.

He knew better than to argue. He knew better than to stand in the way of the professionals.

He watched all this unfold, he can wait for another ten minutes.

“Sir, we had a look at her, she has a minor concussion, thankfully they got her out in time, however, she has small burns on her hands, probably the worst, second degree on her neck. But she will live.” Explained the doctor and Daniel nodded, thanking the doctor before he headed into the room. 

You were awake, but he could tell you were in a lot of pain.

“Danny.”

“Hello Darling. How are you feeling?”

“Like I just walked to hell and back.”

“They told you?”

“That I have a mark on my neck from now on? That I got burnt? They kinda didn’t have to. It hurts pretty bad.” You smiled. “But it probably hurts more seeing you not smile.”

Daniel chucked at that.

“It’s hard, after just watching you in fire.”

“Now you know how I felt when you broke your hand.” You said as you let out a long sigh. “Do you think it would be too morbid to get some grilled chicken for dinner?” Now that made Daniel laugh out, even if tears fell from his eyes. 

“Chicken will be perfect.” He ended up saying. “But I doubt they will let you out just yet.”

“Oh, that’s fine, you should go back to the others.”

“I’m not leaving you.” He held your hand in his, his finger running over your ring, a ring matching his.

“Do you think I will look badass with my scar?”

“Oh, for sure! Just don’t go full Joker on me.” This made you laugh.

“I was thinking getting a coin and becoming Scar-Face.”

“Oh, that is also good.” he pointed it out. “But I am glad you are alive.”

“I told you Danny, I don’t want a Mercedes to be my coffin, we will get old together, I promised.”

“I know we did. I keep my half, you keep yours.”

“Kiss me.” You said and he didn’t need to be told twice, he leaned closer and put a kiss on your lips.

You definitely plan on keeping your end of the promise. And he will keep his.

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[thecapricunt1616]

Carmy X Nervous about a home birth

Let’s be so real here. If you told Carmy you wanted a home-birth - his first reaction would be 😦😰 - because with his mommy issues, the only way he feels as if he’s being a ‘good husband’ is if he is giving in to your every single need, and desire as a partner - and even more as the mother of his baby. But Mike, Nat, and Carm were born in a hospital - so the idea of not being around 40 doctors freaks him THE HELL out, but his Queen gets what she asks without a single question -- So of course his answer is ;

“However you think little bear wants to be brought into the world, Angel. I’ll get the best damn doula and midwife Chicago has to offer, hmm?” 

As he’s rubbing lotion into your swollen 5 month belly and giving it sweet gentle kisses. Whispering to your adorable bump and resting his ear to it, whispering “shhh- wait I think I heard them move!!” All excited, even if it was just the grumbles of your hungry pregnant tummy, he probably knew that, but had such high hopes for his little. 

(More BTC ❤️)

I genuinely think that Carmy would hold pregnancy and birth so close to his heart, because he would see it as the one single thing he literally could never provide - so the fact that you so willingly and openly offered your body, no matter the dangers it came with - to bare his child? He can hardly believe it and it makes him teary eyed every time he talks about your pregnancy because of the sacrifice he sees you making each and every second of every single day you’re carrying your little love to delivery. He can’t say

‘thank you’

and ‘I love you’ 

and ‘you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting’ enough throughout those 43 long and a lot of time grueling weeks of pregnancy as a first time mommy, making sure you knew and undertood jut how grateful and amazed he was with your body and mental perserverance. 

When the time came - holy shit. When you woke him up? At around 2:40AM poking his ribs being like “Bear?!!” While wincing at your very much more painful then Braxton hicks contractions. He just gave you a lazy-ass ‘mmmph’ 

But as soon as you said “He’s coming, like- today- like now, Bear, he's really actually coming” he leaps into action.

He grabs his phone off the charger with quickness, rushes into the living room of your 3 bed house- holding his phone to his ear with his shoulder as he sprints through your yard in nothing but boxer briefs, hauling the long ass garden hose he bought exactly for this through the window as the phone continues to ring.

When it goes to voicemail? He’s PANICKING !! He’s whisper shouting into the mic 

“SHES IN LABOR. THIS IS CARMY FUCKIN BEAR. DO YOU HEAR ME??? THIS KID IS ON HIS FUCKIN WAY OUT. GET YOUR ASS HERE DO I PAY YOU TO NOT ANSWER ME? FUCKIN'HELL!!!!”

Hes rapidly hanging up and calling again over and over as he chucks wet washcloths in the freezer and drops to his knees in front of the couch trying to fill the birthing yoga ball with the pump as fast as he can. The midwife answers and is like 

“SHE BETTER BE FUCKING CROWNING ARE YOU STUPID MY RINGTONE WAS SCREAMING THE ENTIRE TIME THIS BABY WAS BEING DEL-“

and Carmy is like

“NOW. NOW. NOW. SHE SAYS SHES 8 MINUTES APART. GET YOUR ASS HERE. NOW. WHAT THE FUCK DO I PAY YOU FOR, LINDA??”  as he’s throwing the electric pump to the side out of frustration and using a fucking bike pump to fill your yoga ball so you could bounce on it like all the labor books said.

Meanwhile you’re in the bedroom, groaning and moaning, just absolutely miserable. Hearing your husband shouting at your doula before calling the midwife and saying 

“What the fuck do I do, Sara?! Sara she’s- she’s nearly fucking crying!! What do I- oh. Ok. Ok. Yup. Heard. Heard. Ok. Mmhmm- ok. Promise? Ok. See you then” and he’s right back in your room, rubbing your back as you contract and groan just whispering as he massages your pressure points to help get the baby down that he learned in birthing class, cooing 

“That’s it- mmhmm- good girl, let it all out beautiful, I know it hurts- but You’re doing such a good job with y’breathing princess. I’m gonna put this cold cloth on your forehead, yeah? It’ll help you feel nice and cool, and relaxed, pretty girl” like he explains every single thing he’s doing, before he does it. 

Whenever you have an extra big contraction, he's grunting with you and easing you through it like they taught him in the classes, adding the pressure to your back to counteract the incredible pain you felt every single time it washed over you whining and sobbing to Carmys chest "I- I can't- oh god- Bear, somethings wrong!!! Hurts so bad, so fucking bad- please!! Please let me I need to go to the hospital!! Somethings wrong B-Bear! This pain c-can't be normal"

He shook his head and rubbed your back soothingly, telling you the whole time to listen to him talk, and how it hurts so bad, and joking 'f'course my son would give his mommy a hard time huh? Sug said the same thing, Berzatto kids are brutal. Shoulda told you before I got you knocked up, huh?" his forehead rested on yours and rubbing your spasming back muscles soothingly.

“That was a big one huh? That means he should be coming soon huh? My strong beautiful angel - you’re almost there princess- a few more pushes and he’s gonna be in our arms. You’re so fucking amazing-“ he encourages, gently rubbing your belly that had dropped lower then you'd ever seen. You were on your knees in the bath, forehead to forehead with Carm. He carefully sat in front of you on his own knees.

"Alright one more- alright? Just one big push, yeah?" he echos your midwife, ever so carefully letting your belly go and resting his hands below to catch his little guy. You look at him nervously, sniffling and whimpering nervously.

"Wh-what if I can't, Carm? What if hes t-too big or- or-" he cuts you off by kissing your lips lovingly.

"You, You? Baby? Shhhh, shush, princess- Listen t'me- you're made f'this, mm? You're the strongest woman i've ever met. So focus, focus, princess. Listen t'my voice. I'll count you out, baby. Only 10 seconds ok? Push as hard as you can, ready?"

He sticks his hands in the water, cradling you close and kissing your cheek and temple and contains for you through the energy sucking push. When you rest back, second 5, sobbing

“I- I can’t do it- he feels stuck- I can’t do it Carm, i'm so sorry. I failed us. I’m sorry I failed our baby” 

And he’s just shushing you into your skin, 

“Shhhhh, shhhhhh- let’s breathe, mm? Together. It’s just you, an’me. Ok? Don’t even think about him, princess. They told us, as long as you breathe he's gonna come out, easy as pie, hmm? So let’s breathe, yeah? Princess? Breathe him out, just in, and out, force all that air out as hard as you can like they taught us, remember baby? see-” he holds your hands, kissing them and demonstrating big grunting strong breaths for you to copy and of course you did. 

When it got to the point your contractions were a minute apart, Thanks to him, in 2 more big grunting pushes your little boy was born. When you were in transition Carmy sat outside the pool, knelt and pressed forehead to forehead, whispering to you through every contraction how your little boy was almost here, and how he could never repay you ever for the gift that was his birth.

By the time you were begging on your knees in the bath to stop pushing because it was "too hard" , Carmy knew from what they explained in birthing class that meant -- it was time.

So he coaxed you through three more huge pushes. Even though you told him each time ‘I can’t do it, please, Bear. He’s not ready- I can’t.” But he rubbed your back and told you how amazing you were and to just try, and assured that if your little man wasn’t ready they’d send you home, and that he was right there ready to catch your son and lift him on to your chest.

And after your third other worldly push, you couldn’t even put in to words, the amount of energy it took out of you. It was harder then you’d ever pushed in your life for anything. - but of course the little guy was scream wailing just like any other Berzatto would. 

You couldn’t stop choke sobbing as the baby wailed and Carmy kept muttering ‘you did it! You fuckin’ did it, princess. He’s so beautiful. Look at him! He’s perfect. 10 fingers 10 toes- hear those lungs, angel? He’s perfect” as he rested the pretty little cub on your chest.

You would just look at him amazed, by instinct guiding him to your breast to pacify him and watching as the nurses usher Carmy out of the way and you would reach out, hooking your hands together so he couldn't get too far away.

“Alright Momma! Congrats, now let’s deliver this placenta in 3 pushes that’s the magic number. So when I say 3 you’ll- oop!” The nurses gasp as they look down “lucky! You’re lucky! Alright mommy never mind. No tears, and your body went ahead and did that work for ya! Alright momma, here we go here’s your placenta” the nurse pulls it out of the water and you nearly gag at the look of it 

“Get that thing away from my baby! Keep it in the bowl!” You demand, holding him to your skin and cradling his head, you had told yourself you would do a delayed cord cutting, but you in no way wanted your baby to be next to that... thing - it just freaked you out.

“that is nasty! Disgusting” you sniffle, looking back at your little angel who was peacefully suckling off your breast. 

“Oh- sweetheart” one of the nurses giggles, putting it in a biohazard bag. “Are you sure- didn’t you say your baby’s father is a chef? Sweetheart, this will boost your milk production - it’s giving you all the vitamins you lost while pregnant. Are you sure?” 

*cut to Carmy actually gagging at the nurses American horror story ass tactics while you're like 'what am i, a CAT?!??!"

And the nurse is like “BABY!! Every other animal does it!! You said holistic is best!!! Alright I guess I'll toss it if it bugs you that much..” 

[booksooks]

Oh oh!! Shiggy w/ a gamer gf but shes also super social?

(���𝑶𝑻) 𝑺𝑶𝑪𝑰𝑨𝑳

Author's note: this was a request from an anon (🩸anon hi sorry this took so long) im not sure if this is where you wanted this to go but! here we are :)

Content: Shigaraki being jealous and a little manipulative, oops.

Word Count: 1342

Summary: Shigaraki doesn't like it when you talk to other people.

Shigaraki watched you chatter to someone over your headset in annoyance from across the room. Whoever you were talking to must have been the most interesting person in the world, he thought, because otherwise why were you straight up ignoring him? You were supposed to be paying attention to him. Were you mad at him? Were you trying to send him some weird, wordless subliminal message by keeping your back turned to him, talking to anyone but him? (To be fair to you, you had never done anything like that before, you were fairly good at communication.) 

Shigaraki shuffled his feet awkwardly behind you, trying to get your attention via vibrations in the floor that you… most definitely didn’t feel. Your feet were tucked underneath you on the legs of the chair, and even if you were solidly against the ground, it was not. Enough. 

Was he not enough?

The thought squeezed at his heart, hard, and he didn’t like it. It made his neck itch, made his hands feel like they were being torn apart from the nails and - oh wait, that was just him, picking at hangnails. Your giggle, quiet but still bright and bubbly, broke him out of his thoughts. He looked down at his fingers, red and raw and irritated, and he shook, trying so hard to not bring his hands up and itch and itch and itch and itch- 

Fuck it, he decided, nails digging into the soft, scarred flesh of his throat. This couldn’t be worse than you ignoring him. He didn’t like feeling this way, this anxious, this… left out. How the hell did you stand talking to people like that anyway? It wasn’t fair; if he couldn’t get the damn words out in real life, how could you? Over the internet? It wasn’t fucking fair. 

Shigaraki paced around in the minimally empty space behind his gaming chair, because at least you had the decency to come to his room, to play those stupid, attention-stealing games, (under any other circumstances he would tell anyone, who would have the lack of common sense to ask, that those were some of his favorite games and why in great detail). But you were still ignoring him, it wasn’t fucking fair, and he wanted to throw something. 

Actually. 

Not a bad idea. 

Shigaraki looked around his room for something to toss at you, something that wouldn’t hurt, necessarily, but something that would grab your attention. A pen sat on his rumpled bed sheets for whatever reason. Perfect. He snatched it up carelessly and chucked it at the back of your head. Only it didn’t hit the back of your head, it hit the back of his chair, making the fabric bounce ever-so-slightly before it smoothed out. You briefly turned around to look at him, curious, and still yapping. 

“Hold on,” you mumbled to whoever was on the other end. Shigaraki saw you hit the mute button. “What’s up? Need something?” 

Yeah, you. Need your attention, your touch, your scent, your-

“What? No.” 

You stared at him for a bit longer, suspicious but not enough to deter you from turning back around and unmuting yourself. “Sorry about that.” 

Shigaraki saw red as he faintly heard a guy’s voice on the other end, laughing. At him. Indirectly, of course, there was no way he knew what he was laughing at, but still. Shigaraki wanted to press all five fingers against the monitor, against your headphones, the tower, fucking everything just to get, and keep, your attention on him. Why hadn’t he said he wanted your attention when you asked? Because it was fucking pathetic, that’s why. No grown man should have to beg for attention from his partner. That would be ridiculous, childish, and Shigaraki was damned if he’d turn into some pathetic, sniveling, begging wimp just because he couldn’t handle you talking to someone else. 

He was scratching again. The sound of his nails, clipped but still sharp, against his skin was overwhelming, the dull, hrrrgtz hrrrgtz hrrrgtz making his stomach churn. No, it didn’t, he was lying. What made his stomach churn was the fact that you were so easily chattering away to someone online when you had a perfectly good boyfriend, right there! For all your wants and needs. 

Fuck you. 

Shigaraki stormed as quietly as he could over to you, and without thinking,  yanked his chair away from the desk. You yelped, outraged, as your headset was ripped from your ears, and your ass slipped forward and off the chair, landing on the hardwood floor. 

“Woah, what was that? You good?” Came the voice over- fucking Christ, was that Discord? You weren’t even playing a 1v1 a fucking one-round-only piece of shit game with some shmuck, and he hadn’t even noticed. That had to change. Shigaraki slammed his hand flat against the screen and watched in delight as it started to crumble from the inside out, the other person’s voice dying out from the inside of your headphones. He only felt minimally better. 

“Tomura, what the hell?” You asked, sore of ass and indignant of attitude. “What the hell was that? I was talking to someone.” 

“Yeah, some fucking idiot,” he snarled, picking you up from the floor under the arms, carefully, he didn’t want to decay you afterall, and just about threw you on the bed. You were too surprised to even fight back, only letting out a small, “woa-mfh?” when you landed. You glared up at him, confused and disoriented and-  fuck you were cute. 

Shigaraki smiled, he knew it was nowhere near comforting, and crawled into bed with you, pushing you back onto the pillows before collapsing on top of you with a satisfied hum. He felt you, stiff and full of apprehension beneath him, and that just wouldn’t do. 

“Fucking relax, would you?” He huffed, trying to bury his face deeper into the crook of your neck. It was safe, there, dark and warm and it smelled like you. So yeah, safe. “You’re stiff as a board.” 

“Are you going to explain what the fuck just happened?” You asked, disbelievingly. “I was talking to someone-”

“Yeah, like I said, a fucking idiot. He doesn’t deserve your time.” Shigaraki was pouting, he knew he was, but he didn’t care. He deserved your attention more than anyone else. 

“And you think you do? After the stunt you just pulled?” You were angry. Or at the very least annoyed as hell. 

Shigaraki stayed quiet for a moment. “Yeah.” 

“Fucking hell.” 

Things were silent for a few minutes, the only sounds being your breathing and his, mingled together. Shigaraki had even started to relax, letting his eyes fall closed when you spoke up again. 

“You can’t- Tomura, you can’t just demand my time and energy when I’m busy, and expect me to drop everything for you.”

Shigaraki felt his lip curl. “Why not? I’m your boyfriend, I should be your top priority.” 

“Okay, but I have a life, and friends. You get to talk to your friends, why can’t I?” 

Oh. Shigaraki hadn’t thought of that. Especially not in the way you had framed it. Was he in the wrong here? Should he apologize? Shigaraki scrunched up his face and thought back to all the visual novels he had ever played, all the manga he had read. Usually, when someone fucked up, for lack of better words, they apologized. That’s right. So…

“I’m sorry,” he grunted out against your neck. “For… being so aggressive.” 

He felt you shift beneath him, tilting your head one way and then the other in thought. “Just… don’t do it again, okay?” 

Shigaraki nodded subtly, wanting nothing more for the whole apologizing part to be over and done with.“Fine.” 

It was another few seconds before he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, and he sighed softly, feeling you loosen up and melt into his mattress. Finally. He felt, more than heard you utter a quiet, “love you,” before you settled back into silence. 

He had your attention. “Love you too.”

End Notes: thanks for reading!

AO3 Link

ABSOLUTELY NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK TO ANY SITE.

[freedomfireflies]

It’s been a while since we checked in on Mr & Mrs Hey soul sister and their baby girl.

🥹🥹🥹 you're so right!!! THIS IS SUPER QUICK BUT THIS IS HOW THEY ARE!!! 😭💞

“Oh? Where’d she go? Where’d Layla go? Aaa! There she is!”

Layla laughs – a rather wet laugh – as her daddy disappears behind his hands only to pop back out with glee.

You smile from your spot on the sofa, watching your two favorite people in the entire world make each other giggle.

“I can’t believe she’s getting so big,” he muses, grinning wildly when she takes hold of his finger and refuses to let go.

“I know,” you agree, a melancholy ripple in your chest. “She’s already turning into a Mr. Hey Soul Sister 2.0.”

He smirks, glancing over her face. “Damn right she is. I knew she’d be a Daddy’s girl.”

“Well, she’s not the first,” you retort teasingly, to which he chuckles.

“Is that right?”

“Mhm.”

“Aw, now you’re gonna make me feel bad. Have I been neglecting my best girl?”

Your eyes roll but you can't help feeling slightly enamored. “Ha, ha. Very funny. All right, can you please take your daughter to bed now? I let her stay up an extra five minutes, but she’s gotta go down.”

Harry begins to pout, instantly pulling her from her mat to clutch her against his chest protectively. “Five more minutes.”

Laughing, you say, “Harry, come on—”

“Please,” he nearly whines, pressing his cheek to her forehead. “We’ll both be so good. Won’t make a peep and then we’ll go down.”

Your glare is playful. “You said that five minutes ago.”

“…yeah, well, now I mean it.”

“Harry!”

“What?”

Your head shakes. “Come on, we both know how grumpy she gets if she doesn’t get enough sleep.”

Feigning a wounded gasp, he holds her closer. “You take that back. She is a perfect angel, and she would never throw a hissy fit or chuck things at my head.”

“Be that as it may," you retort, although you can't help giggling at the memory, "she’s sleepy, and she needs to go down, all right? I know it hurts, but you can play with her tomorrow.”

Harry glances over to see Layla mid-yawn, and he smiles gleefully at the way her one bottom tooth shimmers from behind her lip. “All right, fine. What Mommy wants, Mommy gets.”

You smirk again at the nickname before he’s taking the small child toward her bedroom, disappearing into the darkness to tuck her into her crib.

And it's then that it hits you. This moment, this relationship. How happy you are to be in your home, with your husband, and your precious child. How a night of drunken mistakes has led you into the best chapter of your entire life.

How grateful you are to him for everything he's given you.

When Harry returns to the living room, this is how he finds you. With tears in your eyes that are mercilessly beginning to slip down your cheeks.

Instantly his expression drops, and he rushes forward, hand pressing to your jaw lovingly. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong? What happened?”

Sniffling, you press yourself into his palm. “I just…I love you. So much. And I love her. She’s so beautiful. And so are you. And I just...I feel so lucky. I'm so happy, H—”

He takes a seat beside you and quickly pulls you into his embrace, burying your face in his chest as he whispers, “I know. I know, baby. Me, too. M’so goddamn lucky to have you two in my life.”

You fist his shirt in the same way Layla does. “I love you, Har. So much.”

He presses his lips to the crown of your head. “I love you, darling. More than anything in the world.”

You smile softly, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as you indulge in his touch. And it's perfect, this moment.

“...even though you gave our daughter shit taste in music,” he adds, and you laugh as you lightly swat at him, now feeling much better.

“She has excellent taste," you argue. "She knows the difference between a good song and whatever the hell the music you listen to is.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“It is.”

“Sure, okay,” he snorts before taking a beat. “At least we know she likes Fleetwood Mac. Otherwise, that could have been a disaster.”

“Oh, we would have had to disown her.”

"Absolutely."

You both smile at the thought before he gently tilts your head back to meet your eye.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispers.

“Always.”

“…I’m starting to think Gimme, Gimme, Gimme is better than Dancing Queen.”

Gasping, you sit up. “Oh, yes. I knew it, I fucking knew it. See? Do you see?”

Harry laughs. "I already regret this—”

“You regret having good taste? Well, I guess that checks out.” You place yourself on his lap, knees on either side of his hips while he holds you steady. “You have made some questionable choices in your career.”

“Oh, have I?” His smile is smug as he looks up at you. 

“You have. And then you met me. You’re welcome.”

He laughs, and it’s so beautifully full of life. “I guess I never thanked you properly.”

“No. No you did not.”

He leans forward, lips just barely ghosting across yours until your breath hitches. “Then by all means...allow me to fix that.”

You can’t help the excitable tremor in your chest as you kiss your husband. The love of your life and the father of your beautiful baby girl. “Yeah?”

He smirks, arm looping around your back.

“Yeah.”

~ Mr. & Mrs. Hey Soul Sister pt. 1

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Let’s Fall Out of Love

Divorce Part 1

Fully co-authored with @elvisabutler 💋

Thanks: are due to so many friends on here who helped craft this timeline and concept and helped me hone the motivations into something I trust our readers will find evocative and sympathetic. Y’all know who you are, thanks for being my buddies

Warnings: 18+ for thematic and sexual material. Strong language and bitter accusations between spouses, mentions of drugs, divorce proceedings, lying to spouses (for their eventual good???) mentions of past infidelity, Colonel Parker being the worst, poor Elvis being in a bad place with his health and mentally -and dub con smut. It is in no way non con but the context, the lack of voiced or implied consent and the aggression make it dubious. It is fairly clear both parties are engaging in hysterical bonding, still the scene is dubious as is the language used by the man regarding a wife having no say in it. So please heed that.

Note: it was the attempt of the writers to craft a rather cinematic experience with this fic, one aim was to skip times and have plenty of fade to black moments. Please note the time stamps above each scene to keep track of progression. Anything that is not clarified in this chapter will either be clarified in the next part or else in others. You’re of course welcome to ask questions.

|| 10th, APRIL 1977 ||

Divorce. Lil Tink is divorcin' him. Lil Laney is gonna be his ex-wife.

The thought rattles around in his aching brain as he chases her up Graceland’s stairway, past the portraits of their children and the plaques celebrating their successes and haunting likenesses of younger selves. Both of them home for a brief stint after Vegas Showrooms and California Courtrooms.

Home -it won’t be his home much longer, she’s gonna see to that.

Divorce.

It had taken up half his year already but he was so sure, so damn sure all she needed was to make a fuss and threaten like she does and then it would cool down, smooth over. He was ready to humor all sorts of shit and then she went and pushed for more. More money, more assets, took out a damn lien. His Tink who happily chucked half of custody at him without a fight has now drug this little show on for months, all for a couple more bucks.

She’s takin' everythin' he's worked so hard for, takin’ it all, going back for more even, just to make sure she can still be taken care of in the conditions and standards he had raised her to.

Spoiled lil middle class girl grown into a spoiled, hardened rich woman.

“Till death do you part”, he hurled the promises at her over the phone, as soon as that court order had landed in his hands -but if ya ask Elaine, he's been dead more times than she can count. Maybe he's dead to her in everythin' but body. Ain't that the other joke, he feels half dead even in body.

"Elaine Presley! Turn 'round when I'm talkin' t'ya! Ya know I hate it when people do that” As if she’s required to listen to him or required to pay attention after two decades of focusing so much of her attention and time and energy on a man who has forgotten all of that. On a man who’s forgotten that he’s married to her. That’s forgotten he has children with her, a life he promised her, and not to his manager who's twisted so much of what was between them into this. Whatever this is.

"Why?" She spits still climbing stairs she's climbed a thousand times before. Faintly she hears Marie playing in her room and a surprising amount of silence from Jack's and her heart twists. They don't need to hear this. None of her children do but her youngest- oh her youngest deserve to think their father is still something resembling a good man.

"Why?" As if Elvis is some sort of parrot, he repeats the question back at her. His confusion colors his face, warring for control with his anger and frustration as he follows her through the padded master doors. "Why? The hell kinda question is that?”

“I told you come by and grab those things you said you needed so badly.” she hauls open one of his drawers and the thing squeals on its track from her violent tug. “So do that. If you wanted to chat then we coulda chatted somewhere else. Or, you know -a year ago? Ten?”

“I’m just askin’ why.“ He embraces her own wording and tries to get nearer her, hem her in against the dresser like he’s done countless times before in this very room with dazzling success.

Elaine slips away between them like water and he’s left bracing himself on the smooth wooden top.

“I’m not actively trying to be a shrew.” she murmurs as she turns away and goes to the other side of the room, opening the wardrobe, “No matter what you believe. I told you that you’ll be welcome in this house no matter what, so that’s why.’I’m not allowing you to come around -you just can, it’s your mama’s house still, for all I’m concerned.”

“No, no I mean- why’re you throwin’ this away?” He emphasizes it with his hands, a pleading gesture that sweeps the whole room and its host of sacred memories. He’s used this before but that was back when he figured it was all one big tantrum. Signing custody papers has rather shaken that hope, delusion, comfort.

Tink purses her lips and he notices her face has gone so white this summer, rarely in the sun and addicted to wearing black like some melodramatic Prima Donna. She does look stunning in the papers all decked out in veils and heels, he’ll give her that. He doesn’t know when she turned from being the heart of the operation to the glamor of it all -and he the opposite.

“What’s my favorite color these days?” she asks him instead.

He stares at the sable color he’s seen her wearing for months now and sighs in exasperation, “Shit I dunno -black?” he swings, knowing it’s a miss the second he says it.

“I can’t do this anymore.” she informs him, like color has broken up a twenty year long marriage and he grinds his teeth so hard he thinks he cracks a filling. The pain adds to his headache that matches the pounding in his chest and the roaring in his ears builds to such a degree he’s honestly terrified for them both.

“Stop this.” he warns her, quite sure she knows the red hot fit she’s stoking with her callousness and hurt that she won’t help him out of it like she used to, that she’ll let him go into a blind rage and then blame him for it, no doubt. “I know when you’re lyin’, woman, and I ain’t ever seen a more lilly livered liar than you right now.” he snarls and tries a last appeal that comes out as a barb anyways, “You wouldn’t be goin’ on so rash if your daddy were still alive,” he jabs a finger at her, “guess I can be grateful he ain’t, so he’s not breakin’ down my door for explanations ‘bout a offense you won’t admit to me!“

Elaine absorbs this blow with a wavering face before the nonchalance cloaks her features once more and Elvis would resort to smacking it off her if he were a different sorta man. “Black is practical, that’s why I wear it. It’s not my favorite though.” she simpers, clutching at the shoe she’s picked up from the floor, something for her hands to worry, to hide her own anguish at having to keep him in the dark. To lie repeatedly to him as he breaks apart, she didn’t know it would cut him up so much.

It’s a mess, this web of connections that used to prop them up, used to be a community. Now it’s a den of tattle tales and if one of them suspects she’s anything but angry at Elvis, that this this divorce and seizing of assets isn’t a scorned wife gone nuts, but rather a calculated endeavor to get at his manager once and for all -well Charlie will spill to Vernon and Vernon will spill to Elvis and Elvis will have all the fuel he needs to plead her right back into complacent heartbreak in his arms -before he goes on tour again and murders himself from the workload.

“I’m on orange kick, actually.” her voice is hoarse.

“Then I’ll buy ya some fuckin’ orange curtains and you’ll stop divorcin’ me.” he jabs a tinged finger at her and he looks like he might fall over, his face is so flushed and sweaty, from pills and passion. Elaine readies to catch him, break his fall if he tips. At least here there’s carpet, unlike the hotel hallway that busted his head last year.

“I’m rather in the mood to buy my own from now on.” she lies and sweeps past him to get to the closet.

She never gets past him. His hand darts out and engulfs her dainty wrist, tugging her back and in a spin like he practiced in his movies so many times, a romantic, gallant, possessive gesture that lands her smack against his broad chest, locked in with an arm around her shoulders.

"Buy your own, hm? Gonna sell my mama's house to do that? Gonna sell ya children's home to do that?"

“Elvis, you get your damn hands off me.” she bites back, throwing her weight on his forearm that might as well be made of steel, so little room does she gain from her effort.

"Never minded my hands on ya before. Even 'fore I married ya, it was fine for me to touch ya. To inspect that lil house of yours to make sure it could have all those lil babies ya wanted. Gave 'em to ya didn't I? Gave ya every last one and two've ‘em are even still with ya till they leave." Never mind that Jack's been bouncing between here and California in an effort to do what he's wanted to do since Elvis would play sharks in the bed with him. "But now you're wantin' my hands off. Goin' on 'bout gettin' new curtains yourself."

His words are punctuated with spit and a hissing anger Elvis doesn't normally indulge in. The bitter anger she used on the road with champagne making her head float in a sea of lies and wants and needs and a twisted sort of love till she had to call it. She can feel her jaw tensing up at his calloused fingers finding their way under her chin, tapping at first to try and have her look up at him before clenching around it and tilting it upward instead.

"Who is it, Laney? Who's the person who's gonna take care of ya? Gonna help ya buy those curtains? Get Marie those cameras? Help Jack and Rosie pay for those commie schools of theirs?" With each passing word Elvis’s voice drops lower and lower in octave until he's reaching levels Elaine's never heard. Against her will, her body shivers in his arms. A sneer crosses his lips- a twisted version of his raised lip that everyone knows and loves. That raised lip she's kissed before with laughter and jokes on how "if you keep doing that your face'll stay that way, Naughty." It shouldn't be there like this and yet it is. "That why ya dragged me to our lil Ella Bella's weddin'? Figured the Martins could spoil our daughter rotten away from you and your new caretaker? Your new piggybank? Don't get shy on me now, Laney! Who's the lucky sonuvabitch who gets to have my wife?"

Elaine's learned how to be composed in every situation with Elvis. She'll shoot at the Colonel over love handles and movies that killed her Elvis's spirit. She'll titter at army wives mocking her house and implying she couldn't keep up with being Mrs. Presley and growing a second set of twins in two years. She'll handle losing little Joesphine with a body that betrayed them all and with a smile on her face because Mrs Kennedy had just lost hers and then John died and the US can't handle their Irish Catholic and their Southern Baptist Camelots falling to pieces all at once. But this, this is too much. This is her soon to be ex husband mocking her. Like she'd have had time to find someone else who would take care of her, like taking care of Elvis and their children allowed her to seek any other comfort than in the aging movie star her husband sought to emulate once upon a time before realizing he's just a man too. The aging movie star she considers one of her nearest and dearest friends and who'd- who would be her caretaker if she let him.

Knowing her luck it'd end up worse than this.

No, this is Elvis throwing out an insult to her character, the one he'd have defended till his dying breath except for when she turns on him like Red and Sonny did. Their book's gonna be coming out sooner rather than later and- she's made it obvious he can't trust a soul any more.

It won't do either one of them any good to react. It's not going to help her escape from his grip that's a vice around her. It won't help him see what she's doing and how she’s doing it for him. But she is only human just as he's only human and her lipstick covered mouth opens in defense of her own honor.

"What makes you think you deserve to know?" He can't see through everything to see why shes doing this, so why should he get an answer. "You won't have to worry, we'll all be taken care of. And you can be rebranded! A seasoned entertainer who's free as a bird to do whoever and whatever he wants. Or oooh -maybe the colonel will pick you out a new wife. Pretty little fool to take my place, without trappings like children -or brains."

“I chose my wife.” it sounds like a beg, anger and hurt battling for the upper hand in Elvis’ heart, his hand squeezes her chin stronger, watching her lips pucker just that little bit. Such a soft mouth has no right being so stern and derisive as it’s been these past months, once upon a time he knew how to make it gasp and smile with a word, a kiss, a mere glance. “I chose you, and you promised. It ain’t me breakin’ that promise, ain’t me sayin’ I can’t do this no more -I-I-I’ve spent my goddamn career givin’ you all this, I gave up w-women for you, I gave up movies for you, when you come to me with what’s wrong I do my damndest to fix it. Now you won’t tell me nothin’ but orange curtains, and if I thought those’d fix us I’d be out the damn door right now, headed to find you the best in the country. I would, Laney, you know I would. I’ve given-“ he stops to gasp in a ragged breath, unsure of what part of himself he hasn’t poured into his Tink, entrusted to her once caring little hands, vulnerability poured like so much oil into her heart for safe keeping, his flaws and secrets tucked safely in the little nooks and crannies of her generous mind. “I’ve given-“

-So Damn Much.

“I’ve given you my life.” His Laney stares back at him entirely unmoved, her eyes hard and sharp with their ebony liner, the squish of her lips beneath his fingers barely dismantling her disdain for him, “And seven children from my body. I never said you weren’t a good man,Elvis, or that you're not generous, but we both know we don’t want to go toe to toe in measuring costs for twenty years in heaven. And I’m saying, -I can’t do it anymore.”

“Anymore?” it’s bothered him all these months, that word and he wonders what she thinks she’ll have after this, like they’re not so intertwined and connected that, like twins, they will forever feel what the other feels, want what the other wants, a string tied between them from countless, immeasurable amounts of time spent merged as one, “I ain’t ever not gonna be in you, woman, once mine -always mine. What’s there for ya after this, huh? Seven children -twenty years! -Goddamn I’m in you!” he shakes her at that and sees a spark of something he knows light up her eyes.

Elvis slides a hand from her shoulders, down over her sternum and feels her heaving intake of breath at the missed feeling of his hands on her, down past the tie at her waist, down to the planes of her firm belly, just a little swell and some soft skin that speaks of the souls they once made with their love. He presses his hand, large and warm and cupped to that precious sanctuary, kneading it, lifting it, weighing it just that little bit in his palm.

The little house is empty.

Elvis outright laughs at his mistake then, a booming, jarring laugh at having forgotten just who he’s got in his arms. He can feel Elaine’s violent shuddering along the entire length of him at the strange sound in their gloomy bedroom. Or maybe it’s from the dig of his fingertips at her womb, like he’ll claw inside it from the outside if he’s barred from plundering her the natural way.

Sweet Miss Phipps, Elvis thinks, with her hungry mind and starved body, so damn eager to be possessed, to be made good use of, to be pumped full and burdened with child again and again. He shoulda kept her swollen this past decade, prioritized her hunger over the tours and then, maybe then, she’d not have gotten notions like this.

“God gave me a remarkable woman.” he murmurs to himself in realization, his hands loosening their grip on her jaw to run the backs of his fingers against against the soft swells of her cheeks and Elaine’s heart speeds up in recognition of the shift in his demeanor, that thrumming resolution taking over his body behind her and helplessly her own responds to it.

As if she's another person, someone she would counsel to resist, to stay strong, Elaine feels her face turn towards the caress of his ringed fingers, towards the admiring touch that’s been her joy to wake to a million times, a touch that’s brought her purpose and comfort for twenty years. Her mouth falls open with a surrendering quiver and she makes no move to avert her mouth when his fingers sweep over her face and across her lips in a revenant mapping of his wife’s well known features. Her tongue darts out to taste even a sliver of his salt, she tastes metal instead as his ring glides by. It’s a heady feeling for anyone to realize Elvis Presley intends to fuck them, it’s entirely heightened by a familiar knowledge of his capabilities and a divinely witnessed right to his person.

It’s no villain staring down at Elaine, pressing himself to her -the distance has been necessary all these months to keep her anger and fear prominent, to remind her of the need for such dire action as divorce, the slightest, kindest of touches from him would dismantle that resolve, that garish image in her imagination. Now she’s close to the finish line, so close he’s fully panicking and she can feel the lightness of soon being free of her deceit. He’s no villain, he’s just a good man who has hurt her, who hurts himself more often and worse than how she’s hurting him. And soon they’ll be able to save each other. Just not today.

His hand slips to her throat and he kneads it, contemplating the give and delicacy of her pale flesh, and her responses, the languid subjugation of her body to his touches, just like he’d taught her in this very bed across from them.

She sees when his eyes flick up from her throat to their marriage bed and it’s like a million hummingbirds erupt in her belly in disbelief, in panic, in a frantic sort of hopeful missing.

“Elvis-“ she doesn’t know if she’s trying to warn him, trying to remind him of the wrongness of what he’s thinking, or if it’s a beg for him to ignore her sensibilities, to take her and make her that new little wifey with the carefree face and the mindless little head.

His face is dark and flushed like he gets when he’s aroused, his features seeming to get richer with the heightened intensity of his feelings and she can feel the sweat break out behind her through his silk shirt, slicking up her own back through the gauze of her dress. Elvis’ eyes drop back to her face, remaining there with a million intentions painted therein but not a single flicker of wavering shows.

Elaine had no reason to be as startled as she was when she felt his hands drop to her waist and spin her around, picking her up beneath the ribs with his astounding strength and tossing her like he would rag doll on his karate mats. She landed with a silly bounce amongst the bedding. It could have been romantic if he had any blue left to his irises as he looked down at her, sauntering to the foot of the bed himself and surveying her where she lay.

“Wife.” he greeted before taking hold of a footsie in each hand and spreading them apart for him to step between her legs.

"Elvis." A whisper as if saying his name any louder would unleash something they might both come to regret. As if it'd cause the dam she's locked her emotions in this entire ordeal will finally break. If she calls him husband it's over. He knows her inside and out, every crevice and dip in her body and soul has been mapped by him. The lie will come apart with a simple utterance of his title that he still has in this moment. The title he still has for three more weeks.

"Elaine." Her name comes out in a shaky breath that she can tell he's attempting to control, to rein in. Those blue eyes she's fallen in love with more and more as years had gone by are an inky void, pupils covering every inch they can and not just because of some pill he had to take or because she had watched him die right in front of her. Both their tongues dart out to wet lips and catch errant drops of sweat before she hears the *clink* of his belt.

That noise isn't new to her, the jangle and clanging of the metal a familiar sound. In the quiet of the room, in the quiet of the house? Of their home? It steals a breath from her lungs as sure as his body pressing down on her would have. The belt sounds like one of the heaviest ones he owns and a shiver unbidden rolls through her body as the cacophony of that gaudy belt gets louder and louder in her ears. Each breath takes effort, forcing air between the two of them that threatens to stifle any calming thought or action. A final puff of air- of his breath- warm and humid runs across her hair, forcing a loose strand of it to move.

Elaine doesn't. Elaine doesn't move an inch even as his belt finally comes off in a subdued flourish and a minor curse. Her eyes focus on the gaudy little harem lamp above them even as Elvis drops the belt ever so gently next to her body. It still clangs against the rings of his hand and its own golden links.

Sweaty and warm, his bejeweled hand moves to cup her cheek. "Mrs. Presley." he breathes her title into her lax mouth like it’s Holy Spirit anointed before slotting his mouth against hers with firm conviction in the rightness of his claim to her.

"Elvis."

It's not fair that all this force, all this passion, all this wanting that has -if she’s being honest- waned for her at times over the years is coming out of him only now, now when he thinks he’s lost her. Now that he’s more fool than he’s ever been. They’ve been alone too often in their marriage, if not separated by miles and oceans, separated by intent and interpretations of it.

“Still mine, for a few more months you’re still mine. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. You jus’ take it, jus’ take me, Laney”

And if she weren’t blinded herself by a heartache the proportions of which were only matched by losing a child, she might think every grip and clash of their bodies tells her he wants her every bit as bad as she wants him.

Still.

Mindless and hazy she waits for him to notice how every give and shudder of her own frame declares her want for him. He thinks he’s forcing the matter -but all he’s doing is giving her some false hope to curl around and cry over when the fissure finally splits apart.

I wanted you. But I thought I was alone in it, she thinks she hears them both saying it with every lewd squelch and pant.

It’s cruel confirmation of how entwined they’ve become, how much knowledge of the other they’ve collected over the years that he can make her writhe even under these circumstances, have her shattering beneath him effortlessly like older, kinder, gentler times. It’s made worse when she can feel him slow, stopping partway in that familiar way when he’s edging himself, intending to make her go round the loop once more, the familiarity of it makes her want sob, not from any hurt of the present, but at the notion this may be the last time she feels it -they both want this to last. And that unity is a mocking thing, all context considered.

He’s sweaty and she’s trembling, there’s so much warmth coming off his angry frame that she feels like curling inside the furnace and letting him make her forget anything beyond this physical connection that was never in doubt, the sheets are cold and dry and foreign against her back by comparison and she thinks of sleeping alone amongst them for the rest of her life. Elvis seems to sense this weakness of hers, one he wished he supported sooner, taken advantage of back when she looked so indestructible but was privately fraying at the seams, trying to hold the whole fairytale together. He shoulda done this sooner.

Old dog, new tricks, maybe, but Elvis has always been clever, opportunistic even, and he keeps his thrusts shallow and tantalizing as his wife gasps back to life beneath him and he keeps her close, his hands wound into her hair, hairy forearms beneath her shoulders, her ankle caught somewhere near his ear and his sweaty nose dripping onto her cheek.

“C’mon now Tink, you’ve thrown your fit,” he reasons to her in a coo that is underscored by the cajoling gait of his hips rocking into her, it has her clenching around those first few inches of him again, “ya made your point. Don’t -don’t do this to us baby. You c’mon back now. Ain’t anythin’ out there that’d satisfy you like us. Ain’t nobody else needs ya more dan hims does, satnin, don’t leave hims, baby.”

A good fuck, that’s all she needed, he’s sure of it. Or a couple of ‘em. He shoulda started dishing them out in Palm Springs but he’d been so angry when she filed and she’d been so cold. A couple of good fucks, that’ll solve it.

And to be heard. Which -she’s gotten that, all of America’s been hearing how he can’t keep his own wife.

Whatever bit of sentimentality he’s feeling right now, the sort that makes him wanna spill over how pretty she looks, vanishes in the angry tumult of his recalled humiliation. It fires him up instead and he snorts in his breath above her like an angry bull, perfectly capable of making her pay, making her see some sense, too. The longer she doesn’t reply the more this feeling surmounts the gentler ones and if Elvis were being honest, he knows denial had given way to rage and now bargaining and he’s full on panicking, trying to keep a woman who he shouldn’t have to chase.

She’s his wife.

“Elaine?” even to his own ears he sounds frantic and rough.

She is crying beneath him now, he thinks, that’s not all sweat making her face shine and her lips are taut like when she’s trying to hold it in and he wonders why the hell she’s the one crying. He feels like crying, he’s being left without an explanation or a pot to piss in. And all that while he’s still perfectly capable of proving he’s the best she’ll ever get. It’s like she’s agreeing with him when her hips start to move on their own accord, disagreeing with his teasing thrusts and instead she impales herself up on him, rough and sloppy to the rhythm of her fits of crying.

“I loved you.” Elaine sobs into his neck and he could wring hers for the confusion of it, for the way he just doesn’t get her after a lifetime of trying and how only this, this communion, this passion, this fucking is the only thing they make great sense at. Back when it had a purpose, back when it was to bring joy, to make a baby or five, and even now -to tie her to him somehow.

He folds her body viciously and plants his foot on the bed, thrusting so hard into her with all that wild abandon he knows she’d been jealous of him expending on his audience and not his family. “You greedy lil bitch, you love me,” he growls, “-what a revelation.”

‘Just an ounce of all that passion would go a long way, Elvis’ -he can hear the echo of her stupid little voice even now.

Passion? You want passion, Tink? He doesn’t think he’s ever been so passionately furious when he’s climaxed before ever in his life. For once it’s quite obvious he’s not ‘made love’, war maybe, but not love -and ain’t that another joke, he’d meant to make her love him again.

Elaine tears at his back with her fingernails and hears him snarling at her that he won’t stop, can’t stop, why can’t she stop this nonsense? She grips him harder, she seizes herself as he starts to slow, claws at his back with each vicious pump -seems they’ll both be shifting in their seats next time in the courtroom.

“Elaine?” he sounds so broken, like he does those times when they bring him back from heaven’s gates, it’s mumbled into her neck again like always but this time there’s no drugs to blame, not directly, not if she’s honest. She’s the one killing him. This little plan of hers to save him, just might finish him.

She prays God will be kind, prays he’ll keep her man alive long enough for her to finish this ugly business and restore his freedom, prays that maybe the hot slosh of spend coating her womb won’t be a waste. That she’ll have something of him left, just once more, please just one more. Something left of the man she married. Something to remind her of why they married and of what it was like to be happily married. Maybe just once more she wants to carry his entire world inside her.

“No, Elvis. I-I’m sorry, no.”

When he pulls away, it's not just sweat coating his lashes and his face. This plan of hers might just finish them both.

_______________________________

Every day in that courtroom is another layer of pride and image stripped away from Elvis and her and their perfect Southern Camelot. Every day is another headline for the papers with pictures of Elvis making a fool of himself in a way that can’t be smoothed over by anyone. Every day has cameras being shoved in Elaine’s face as she leaves with another hickey on her neck, bruising and blossoming in a way that looks grotesque when she sees it on the news later that night. The black outfits don’t help the contrast.

Every other day is being thrust against a bathroom stall’s wall with heels digging into Elvis’s back.

“E-Elaine-" He’ll stutter out, the feel of her clenching around his cock making it hard to focus or maybe it was the bite of her nails through his dress shirt. "You stop this. Been grovelin' 'n I deserve to have my wife listen."

"Ex. Wife." Elaine will huff out, words slurring into a quiet mewl as his cock brushes that one spot.

"Wife." An argument and a fact that he'll hammer home until the very last second he can. She never corrects him after the first time, too worried the knowledge would crush him to the point of everything finally giving out.

Jesse has taken to looking askance at her, worried and haunted little looks with fluttery hands at shoulder level that remind her of Elvis before he married her. If she had Elvis’ grit she’d ask her son if he had something to say and tell him to say it.

As it is she just pats his elegant hands, a man’s hands, she realizes, and thanks him profusely for his support, for being there at court with her day after day, missing practice and missing dates, letting a youthful spring and summer slip on by. They’ve been at this for close to a year.

“It’s nothin mama.” Jesse insists, almost offended at the idea he’d be anywhere but by her side.

________________________________

|| 5th, JUNE 1977 ||

When Ann makes her call, Elaine’s heart fills with all the old butterflies and girlish excitement of a past decade. They’ve kept in touch, of course they have, but between the touring, the marriages, and the unspoken acknowledgment of life falling apart from one and coming together for another, there’s less common ground to chat about compared to the days when Elaine used to share her husband and two little vixens named Thumper and Tink got to pick him apart in gleeful adoration like girls with their crush.

“Can I come by?” Thumper asks her, soft and kind but without the playful undercurrent that precipitated all her other visits.

“Well of course you can, you know you can.“ Elaine puzzles, finger worrying the wire in a nervous tick that has nothing to do with anticipation, dread pools in her belly instead.

There’s no children to greet Ann when she comes to the door, Marie at school and Jack away at his apprenticeship in California, Jesse has taken to spending his days in the studio when he’s not needed elsewhere, Daisy on the road and Rosalee in College, Ella married and attempting to assimilate with her in-laws. It feels like a ghost house compared to what Ann recalls. Maybe it’s just the passage of time but something terribly wrong and lonely strikes her at the lifelessness of the grand house, like it’s become haunted without a single death.

Unless it’s the death of the Presley’s as a whole. That would do it.

Elaine stands at the top of the stairs like old times, but there’s no gambit of children to wait for and so she speeds down the stairs at a breezy gait, smiling soft and subdued even as she refuses to be coy with her hug. She wraps Thumper up in a deep embrace and Ann squeezes her back, saying a million things at once by their clutching hold, murmuring little half sentences of condolences and “missed you’s”.

“What’d you come for?” Elaine asks her at the dining table after having supplied ice water and coasters for her guest. Ann turned down the saltines Elaine devoured with peculiar relish.

Always a straight shooter, Elaine. It makes Ann sigh and smooth out her skirt, clearing her voice to repay her candor with like. “I came to see what on earth was going on. To see if you were ok. And, I guess I came to see if it’s really happening. Nobody really thinks it’s happening. Or -I don’t know.”

“It’s happening.” Elaine replies with grim resignation.

“I don’t understand because Elvis says you’re the one divorcing and I always thought if one-“ Ann stops herself to scoff, “-I actually never thought either of you would ever divorce. You’re sincere?”

“It’s happening.” Elaine repeats, shielding her saltine chewing with a manicured hand. The action also flashes her still worn wedding band.

“So it’s not a threat?” Ann marvels, “When Roger insisted it was true, I thought it must be some drastic measure, something to get Elvis’ attention. His cooperation, you know, something to just-“

“-I’ve tried many drastic measures to gain that.” Elaine responds, “ all of them failed. I’d never ‘threaten’ something as horrible as this.“

“But…you’d do something…this horrible.” Ann murmurs, scared to play devil's advocate but utterly confused.

“You don’t know what I’ve been dealing with and, what you saw in the early days of residency, even the stuff on the film sets, it’s like aspirins compared to what he’s on now.”

“So it’s the drugs?” she whispers, heartsick, “You can’t handle being…around them? Around him?” she asks, then adds after careful consideration, “I have noticed you seem, seem still very tactile with him. I see the-“ she waves her finger at Elaine’s collarbones, “-I see the marks. Are you scared of him?”

It is unthinkable of Elvis. It really is, and Ann knows her face must show disbelief even when presented with her friend's mottled skin, and she hates herself for doubting a woman’s account, but if Elaine were to say she’s scared, Ann isn’t sure she’d be able to buy that. Not of Elvis. Even under the influence.

“Gosh no.” Elaine scoffs, a beat too late. “I just can’t do it anymore. All of it. Just the typical little things that build up in a marriage, I suppose.”

She tries to grin and Thumper thinks it’s the weakest acting she’s ever seen. Elaine more convincingly played a virgin in their home movies when deepthroating cucumbers for Elvis’ enjoyment.

“How’s Roger? Elaine asks, through with defending herself and Ann feels lost, adrift and unable to get near like she once did.

“Roger is fine.” Ann replies, “He sends his best. How is Ella?”

“Tell him I’m sorry they brought your name up, last week.” Elaine sighs, no apology offered to Thumper. They both know she’d be offended at an apology for being associated with them. “Ella is decidedly pregnant, that’s what she is.”

“Is she?” Thumper coos, followed by an alarmed quavering of hope and concern on her face. “Elaine, that’s-“ it is wonderful despite the circumstances but Elaine’s brittle posture suggests a to-do about it might sink her. “Congratulations, Grandma Tink.” Thumper settles for, daring to reach across the table top, seizing Elaine’s hand and squeezing its saltine dusted elegance.

“Thank you.” she whispers hoarsely, “She calls me everyday. Reminds me of you and me back when … her man he -he sounds sweet. Of course he’ll be gone awhile and so I’m all she has got to talk to about throwing up each morning and watching things swell.” None of this is how they expected or intended, Elvis and Elaine should both be hovering about and annoying their first grandchild before they’re even out in the world. Instead Ella’s perched down in Texas, no doubt terribly homesick, and Elaine’s talking about grandbabies like it’s another addition to the carport. “Tell Roger we’re sorry they brought your name up. Please tell him.”

“We don’t care.” Thumper insists and Elaine hopes that’s an accurate representation of Roger’s feelings. “He only asked-“ Ann stares out the front windows and down the drive towards the gates, summer colors brilliantly lush outside the house, she’s seen this view so many times it hurts, “-he asked that I make sure that…any…videos, and such, were disposed of.” she winces as she gets it out, once her manager, always her manager that man. “I wasn’t sure which of you to ask about them.”

Elaine stares at her intensely as if trying to read her soul. “I’ve most of them upstairs. Ruined by pregame juice mainly but the labels are sentimental so I’ve kept them.” Ann wonders if they’re ruined at all, and if they are she wonders if it’s by orange juice or by something far more lewd. Elvis never had great aim, “I’m sure Elvis has the ones we sent him under lock and key. Either way, you know neither of us would endanger you. You know that, Thumper.”

“Yes, yes I do.” Ann breathes, resting her chin in her hand, mournful at having insinuated otherwise.

“So you can tell Roger they’re not a worry.” Elaine prods with the shadow of an old smirk, “And you never know, in future it might not be so hard to track Naughty and I down at once.”

“Oh?” Ann squints at her in confusion.

“Mhmm.” Elaine just hums and shrugs her shoulders, the purple little mark on her clavicle shadowing with the movement. “Are you saying the night, Thumper?”

Ann leaves that evening more bewildered than when she arrived. “You were right, Roger,” she tells her husband as she settles beside him late that night, “she didn’t tell me a thing. Not really.”

___________________________

|| 9th, JUNE 1977 ||

“They’re gonna stop pressin’ ‘bout Thumper,” the murmur of his voice registering before the hand on her arm does as they both find themselves heading to the bathroom. It’s a flimsy sort of an excuse and one she’s beginning to think the papers and the news cameras see through.

“That’s good.” Her voice is a little too airy but today’s been a back and forth of yelling and excuses and all Elaine’s thinking about is how one of Daisy’s bandmates called her up from a payphone telling her that they almost couldn’t wake her for the show. The show she shouldn’t be doing but the show that Elaine let her do because she’s been playing being an adult for so long that who was she to argue against it?

“Told her we’d make sure it was- nothing came out. Roger was worried about it. For her image and for his, maybe.”

After all, it’s one thing to just be married to Ann-Margret, another thing entirely to be married to Thumper who’d rolled in the hay literally and figuratively with the Presleys at their lowest point. He’s never minded her continued friendship with them but that was before whispers of infidelity turned into whispers of sexual romps that were taped and stored or pictures that were taken and used as masturbatory material. He's never minded until Joe E, bless his soul, implied he might've seen copper locks in a video from Circle K that Elvis had shown a few of the members of the Mafia. Not that the court or anyone could find such a video.

The lock to the bathroom clicks behind Elvis and he turns around, raising an eyebrow. “Now hold on a minute, she- Thumper thought we’d- I’d never-”

“She didn’t. Roger was concerned. She knows us well enough, Elvis.” Still reassuring him as if they’re not going through what is turning out to be the messiest divorce the world has ever seen and likely will ever see. “I told her as much and she felt bad about asking.”

About the tapes and the photos, not so much about their divorce, Elaine reasons. As much as she wants to fault one of her oldest friends -it’s understandable. That was the purpose of the divorce. To come out of left field and appear to all concerned as if the faithful wife has finally grown unable to force herself to put up with Elvis Presley any more. The Colonel wouldn’t question that and had wanted it for years, if anyone were to ask him. Ann- their lil Thumper wouldn’t have been able to keep her plan a secret, her loyalty to Elvis and Elaine would have put her in a spot that Elaine didn’t dare want to shove her into. No, it was better for her to question the same as everyone else. Maybe if this went well they could all have a laugh about it in Hawaii. Or at the very least, Ann could forgive her.

“Don’t know why she didn’t jus’ ask me, ‘m the one who-'' Elvis's voice trails off when it hits him. Why would she ask the person who likely doesn’t hold most of them. Who’s fixin’ to lose everything in a divorce he desperately doesn’t want. “Least she knows now."

Elaine should agree with him, she should agree with him that at least Ann knows now, but she only knows part of the story. She only knows that the man she fell in love with on a movie set and his wife she maybe sometimes loves as more than a friend won’t damage her the way they’re damaging each other. How even Elaine had to joke that maybe it would be easy to run into them together in the future. Even during these hellish days in court they can’t escape each other’s orbits.

Pretending to not love and care for Elvis is an impossible task when what she’s doing is because her love and her care for a man who is sometimes brutish and stupid and selfish is so overwhelming it threatens to choke her.

At her silence, Elvis allows himself to crowd into her space, hands grasping at her hips ever so gently. "How's Rosalee?"

They're both too tired to fight in this bathroom, their energy having been spent outside of it for everything else. Asking about his favorite daughter, the one who's lived and breathed for her daddy for years feels safe.

"Not- she's not very good, Elvis. It's been- she hasn't really been the same." Since what happened. If things were different maybe she'd be taking the time to relax at home and maybe Daisy wouldn't have run off from guilt and - no. Elaine can't dwell on that even as her eyes start to water.

"It's hard on them." His tone isn't accusing, instead managing to just state a fact. This whole divorce has been hard on all of them. Even if Elaine's the one instigating everything he sees how unhealthy she looks. Feels how her body seems to be breaking down in ways that aren't as flashy as his body but the signs are there.

God knows he's not always been the most pious of men in action, that somehow all his good intentions and gospel songs haven’t managed to pull him back as he skidded down the road to hell, yet he’s got such a hankering to hide in the cleft of the rock once again. Acknowledge he’s a man, a failing man, a wayward husband, a prodigal son.

He finds himself reaching for Laney’s hand, palm up in a way she recognizes without a word. She clasps it without hesitation, in a time worn manner they’ve used before marriages, births, trips, shows, bedsides of sick and dying friends and here in this tiled little haven of the courthouse where they’re allowed to be as vulnerable and broken as their Heavenly Father knows them to be.

They bow their heads and Elvis finds himself begging his Almighty not for a return of fortunes but merely a cessation of tragedies. Elvis’ hand twitches, a pinky disentangling from Tink’s clasp and tickling her belly, like a presentment, like a benediction of nothing more than a heartbroken hunch on his part.

_____________________________

|| 29th, JULY 1977 ||

Elvis regrets answering the door to his penthouse the moment it swings open to reveal Johnny Cash with that sort of frantic and half crazed look in his eyes that Elvis thought he'd given up at the beginning of the decade. Wasn't that a hoot, the two of them swore up and down they had gotten clean for their women, the loves of their lives- the ones that God blessed them with to live out their present and future everlasting lives with- only to fall back into those old habits. What a cosmic joke.

"You're a fool, Presley." Short and to the point in a way that only Johnny can manage. Elvis exhales, wondering what exactly he's done to God to earn one of his oldest friends calling him a goddamn fool at the closest thing he's got to a home nowadays. His lil Schnucki comes to visit him, and Jesse's called once or twice but ever since that- ever since he realized how serious his Laney was about leaving him- Graceland ain't his home anymore.

"Ain't gonna say anythin'? No fight left in you?" The door to the penthouse is kicked in and if Elvis was any other person, or Johnny was any other person Elvis might've jumped. As it is, all he manages is a shrug as he pinches his nose. His head's achin' and his eyes hurt and all he wants to do is sleep. Take something to make every whisper floating in his head die down. An older brother telling him how he's ruined his life isn't remotely something he's got the patience for. Not after today's courtroom.

"Whatcha want me to say, John? Ya know everythin', so whatcha want me t'say, hm? Laney's leavin' me, takin' what she wants and leavin' me poorer than I met her."

Not monetarily, no, Elvis figures he could handle that better than the reality of his Laney, his Tink, the bjggest part of his soul other than his mama leaving him. Elaine's leaving him a man with barely any soul left in him to fight and go on. And he swears- lord he swears he felt something different about her recently. Something swelling that shouldn't.

"What I want'ya to say is that I'm gonna go back to my hotel and me and June are gonna tell each'otha that this whole thing's jus' you all been stubborn as a pair o'mules. Cause if it ain't, I gotta be real concerned June's gonna up and do the same thing on me." Johnny's always been someone who doesn't let Elvis get away with half the things everyone else does. Maybe it's because of how they started things together or how Johnny knows that half the reason he's got June is because of Elvis. Or maybe it was some misplaced need to be a brother to Elvis- to fill in a spot he figures his twin would've.

"June ain't gonna-" Elvis starts before Johnny uses the two inches he's got on Elvis to his advantage, staring the other man down as he cuts him off.

"Lane wouldn't've. Shouldn't've. Yet she is. This ain't- this ain't 'bout whatever damn excuse she's got. Can't be. There's somethin' you ain't tellin' everyone."

More and more Elvis has to laugh at his life and how everyone seems to think he's got some power over his Laney. That this whole divorce and the way he's embarrassing the both of them day after day is just another show. A snow job as the colonel would put it. This would be so much easier if that was the case. It isn't the case though, it isn't the case and Elvis feels his laughter escape him like the boom of a cannon.

"If there's anythin'- The whole damn country thinks I'm an idiot who can't keep his wife and here- I don't need you to be thinkin' 'm an idiot who don't know some grand plan his wife's cooked up. Ain't no plan. Ain't nothin' I ain't already groveled about and cried about in those hallowed halls. Laney jus' don't want me any more."

A silence settles between the two men at that revelation with Elvis breathing sounding so labored that even through the haze of his own drugs Johnny levels a look at his friend. It’s only after he’s sure that the other man won’t pass out and die on him that he actually speaks.

"You- You ain't me. She ain't Vivian. She- Elvis there ain't no way she's- that ain't it. You're both- you two can't keep your hands off each other even divorcin'. She- she still wants ya.”

“She wants my cock, John. Wants my money. Wants my house. My mama’s house. Know I said it was hers the moment we got hitched but- it wasn’t ever supposed to be hers. It’s- It’s ours.” Elvis isn’t one to break down, not in front of certain people and Johnny might be one of his friends that are near and dear to him but he doesn’t want to lose it in front of him. Doesn’t want to cry and blubber like he has been in the courtroom, pleading and begging for Elaine to just see sense. “We don’t- She don’t love me any more. T-That’s all there is to it. No grand con-spear-ah-see. Jus’ my wife wantin’ to be my ex-wife. Don’t know if I blame her. I ain’t-”

“You been a better husband than I was. Better husband than a lotta men. If- if 'Lane wanted to leave ya? She'd have done it back in the 60s. When you were carryin' on wit' what's her name- Swedish girl- fire hair. But she went 'n made friends wit' her. That woman's supposed to be yours till Kingdom Come 'n beyond. This doesn't make a single lick of sense and ya know it!"

One would think that nothing could echo in this penthouse and yet somehow Johnny's booming yell, filled with bass that Elvis is sure have made men greater than him bend and cower, echoes and reverberates in his ears. A stark reminder that Elaine and him seem to affect everyone around them for better or worse. Elvis's heart pumps a little harder as he tries to wrap his aching head around everything for what feels like the millionth time.

"I-I know it don't. This- you know these things don't take this long, John. I've-I been draggin' this out. Stickin' my damn heels in the mud. Anythin' to get her to come back, to see what- anythin' to not lose her. And she's jus'- ain't none of it workin'. Daisy up'n'ran off, Rosalee jus' wants me to be near her mama or her mama near me. Jesse's lookin'-"

"That what it is? Her doing it for the kids?” Johnny’s question has him tilting his head, not entirely unlike the millions of dogs Elvis’s children have had over the years. He ought to be offended Johnny cut him off so easily and without a care in the world and yet Johnny’s one of the few people he’d let do that. “She’s doin’ this for your kids.”

For once, Elvis has to look at Johnny and guess at what he means whether it’s because the man is too stunned to put it into words or because he doesn’t want to even entertain the idea, Elvis doesn’t know. He can hear his heartbeat going a bit too and a bit too hard in his ears as he answers.

“Ya mean- have i been failin’ them too? Have a been as bad of a father to ‘em as ‘ve been a bad husband?” The laugh that leaves Elvis sounds more like a sob than anything else. Johnny purses his lips even as he listens. "Ya mean how I found out I'm havin' a grandbaby through Laney? Or how Daisy's worse than you’n’I together on whatever she's takin'? Or how my boys acted like superheroes for their sister? How my lil Schnucki had- how I had to find that out from the Harrisons and my boys? ‘N I wasn’t there to blow those fools’ heads clean off their necks?”

Johnny realizes right then he’s made a mistake coming here. Or maybe just made a mistake pressing this point like it’s honestly any of his damn business. “You haven’t-”

Elvis cuts him off with a wave of his hand as he steps away, trying to feel less like a caged animal. “That’s right, I haven’t. I haven’t, John. Haven’t been there, haven’t given ‘em what they need. I had one job. Take care of all of ‘em and love ‘em. Failed so- I don’t blame her, John. I- I love her. Ya know I do. You know this sorta love but I can’t, I can’t make her love me again. S-she ain’t gonna love me again. Not the way she has.” His breath comes in short pants as his hand shakes and his leg jitters like he’s a man twenty years and nearly ten children younger. “I tried fixin’ this. The kids- the kids tried fixin’ this. But they can’t- can’t get through to her, these days! They’re all beggin’ and cryin’ and torn up and the Tink I know wouldn’t’ve lasted a week after causin’ such hurt to our babies. Well this new edition of her’s done made it close to a year.”

Johnny opens his mouth to speak only for Elvis to hold up a finger and force himself to take a deep breath, like Laney told him to those times after she thumped his heart back to life for him. Laney’d get what she wants if he died but he’s got a grandbaby he’s gotta see. Wants to try and see. “A year. Been nearly a year and it ain’t workin’. Nothin’- been tryin’ to remind her’ve what we had. What I give t’her. It-” Elvis starts to trail off, the fight that Johnny had put inside him slowly deflating till all he’s left with is the shell of a man who’s bone tired. Bone tired and losing everything no matter what fight he puts up. His shoulders slump.

Watching someone who’s as larger than life as Elvis Presley seemingly fold in on himself feels wrong in Johnny’s mind, but it gives him the answer he needs. It gives him the answer he’s looking for when it comes to just what’s going on with this whole divorce and what’s going on with Elaine and Elvis. His legs cross over to where Elvis is in only a few steps and without missing a beat, his arm wraps around Elvis’s shoulder. Elvis might not be his brother in blood but they’ve gone through enough that- that he wouldn’t leave him out in the cold without a hint of comfort.

“You gotta make peace wit’ it, then. Gotta- The Lord ain’t gonna want to see the two of ya fightin’ till ya keel over and die. Gotta give- If what she wants is to not be your wife any more, ya gotta give it to her. Just to make peace.” His voice isn’t much louder than a low rumble and yet Elvis can hear him clear as day.

“She won’t be my Laney any more. Won’t be my Tink.” A response as if he's a child being denied his favorite toy. Johnny doesn't stop himself from huffing out a laugh.

"But she'll still be Elaine, your children's mama. It ain't like you won't ever see her, EP." But that’s not the problem, that’s never been the problem and from the way Johnny’s looking at him, he knows that. “But ya gotta- it’s not doin’ either of ya a bit o’good to be draggin’ it on and on. Not after everythin’. Been livin’ ‘part for so long-” Johnny trails off, hand moving to rub at his eyes as he shakes his head. “Nothin’ you’ve done’s fixed it. Might not be meant to be fixed in those ways.”

“I-I- I don’t have anythin’ to fall on, John. I leave her it’s jus’ me and-” The medicine I got coursin’ through me, is what he should say. “I don’t know how to not be her husband.”

A silence settles over the two of them, punctuated only by Elvis’s heavy breaths and Johnny’s sharp and quick ones until Johnny settles himself against the wall, crossing his arms and raising his leg to press against it.

“Never said ya had to stop actin’ like you were.”

__________________________________

|| 6th, AUGUST 1977 ||

It’s a supreme irony that after a year of wishing for a cessation of that old stubbornness, that bitter pride of his, when such submission comes in the form of a mute and sullen husband opposite in the courtroom, Elaine feels her heart hammer in her chest, bewildered and terrified as he concedes one settlement after another in quick session.

Jesse gasps beside her at the change, even looks ready to beg her to reconsider her greediness as 90% gets handed over without a hint of the raging qualms her opposition has been voicing for five months.

Only Colonel Parker appears scared as shit, angrily grabbing at Elvis’ limp arm and trying to interrupt his directions with the lawyers. Each new verdict gets waved through by a lazy flick of a bejeweled hand and Elaine thinks the repetition of the gavel granting her all she wants could make for a decent backbeat in the studio.

After an agreement to give up 90% of his catalog, Elaine and Jesse both share a look, heartbroken and relieved that he’s really, truly, finally given up.

It’s obvious to all that it’s a bodily wearing out, Elvis looks awful and no amount of jewelry or eyeliner or Snow Job paraphernalia can hide the fact Elaine’s husband is a sick man. Even the papers who’ve found him easy pickings for ridicule and blame suddenly find some heart for his obvious suffering, even if the compassion is wedged between headlines about his expanding waistline and her latest money grab.

“What’s with you?” she demands and this time it’s her hand around his wrist, the unsteady clop of his boots following her heels after the click of the bathroom latch. When she drops his wrist his gold studded hand lands heavily by his thigh, he makes no move to crowd her, to grip her hair and kiss her like old times. “What was all that about?” she finds herself angry instead of relieved, mimics his lazy hand waves and scoffs in his face. She knew and planned on this day coming, but it doesn’t make it less unsettling as she takes in the victory of her spirit over his. He’s her man after all, her daddy and her provider, tough and proud and one of a kind and she’s beat him at the game of wills. She can feel her eyes pooling and angrily runs a hand under her nose as he stares at her with a blank, droopy expression.

“M’tryin’ to make peace.” Elvis shrugs, it was Johnny’s advice. Whatever it took, even if it meant giving in, he’s the man of their house and he’s here to make peace. Maybe if they end on a kind note he’ll be thought of, invited into the inner circle even even, by the time Ella pops out their grandbaby. “Never cared about the fuckin’ catalogue Tink, was only ever about buyin’ time to convince you to stay.”

The colonel’s panic at this latest settlement, one that finished the final prying open of his carefully constructed facade, one that’s exposed him to years of investigations, jail time maybe -though few outside of Elaine, Mr. Corleone and the FBI know that yet- is like sipping a mojito after a long day baking in the sun for Elaine.

Two decades of her saying he wasn’t right and Vernon telling her to go mind the carpet bill, change a diaper, redo a curl.

It should be refreshing, it should be a tonic to the way she feels shaky most mornings and ravenous in the evenings. Instead she finds herself trembling and laying an icy hand to Elvis’ burning forehead, registering the unnatural heat even in this chilled bathroom. It’s not just the stupid velvet coat, one blue eye is far more dilated than the other now she’s pulled his glasses down. He flinches from it, whether from the brightness of the bare bulbs or her touch, she isn’t sure.

“What’ve they got you on?” she sounds like a frog, throat all constricted and voice thin. She cares, she still cares so much and it could’ve been just yesterday she folded her handsome young groom into that bathtub in Germany and held him through the shakes. She wishes she could ask him ‘why do you always waste my love?’ But somehow, even after all her cruelty, that feels a little mean. “Baby, talk to me, what’s -“

Elvis grabs her hand, gently this time and he folds it with her other in both of his, a tan, sparkly little cage, she wonders how long it’ll take him before he pulls his wedding band off. Will he discard it before they make it out of the courthouse today? “Don’t you fret yourself, lil mama, those days are over.” he rumbles as he squeezes her hands and she wonders if he means days of fretting or drugs, they coincide often enough, “You jus’ take care of y’self, ok?” he sucks in a trembling breath and his glasses pinch between her fingers in his squeeze, “Without me there to nag ya bout it I-I -you take care of y’self.”

“Oh Elvis-'' she whimpers, moving closer, wanting to beg for some forgiveness, all clever plans and well timed revelations beginning to fray as she watches him rally his old magnanimity despite his grief.

_____________________________

|| 28th, SEPTEMBER 1977 || >>

He’s not alone in this concern, Elaine doesn’t know if she has Jesse or Daisy to blame for the way Marlon shows up in Memphis like that Yankee son of a bitch belongs that land bound. There’s never been a reason to see Brando except on one coast or another and it’s jarring for Elaine, seeing him take up space that’s so uniquely Elvis’ property, even if it’s under her name.

To see him in her home. Her true home.

She’s no good at hiding her nerves or the exhausted paranoia of wondering how Elvis will react when he hears of this visit. Marlon reads her like a book and leans against her kitchen counter, acting like Mary isn’t throwing them a million side eyes over the biscuit batter, and asks after her well being.

“Pretty terrible, thanks. And you?” she shrugs, wringing out a dish towel over and over. She doesn’t know when she became so fidgety, nowadays it seems she’s always betraying her nerves with restless hands and she never had that trouble before. Always a baby to hold if she needed the excuse, she guesses.

Her last baby is nine years old. And so she wrings out her dish towels and stares back at an old lover with the weary openness of a woman who doesn’t really care anymore. Elvis has been her one goal, and saving him is killing her as effectively as it is him. Those last days she wasn’t sure he was going to keep making it into the courtroom, shifting in his chair not from her nails furrows but from the repeated shots in his rump. The ones that have killed him a few times over.

Jesse made a visit to him in Vegas. Elaine doesn’t know what he said but her boy has barely spoken since. She asked her son how his father was, quite aware she doesn’t know the particulars from his fevered attentions in the handicapped bathroom of the Santa Monica courthouse. Her man would crawl out of his grave for the chance to make love one last time, it’s not a good gauge. Jesse said he keeps the curtains closed constantly. That he’s not letting anyone up. Charlie barely let Jesse up. His eyes are bad, so bad the curtains stay closed, otherwise Jesse couldn’t tell, couldn’t get a good look at him. He didn’t stay for the concert. Cissy says his voice has held up this time, at least.

“Pretty terrible.” She tells Marlon, because he’s always been more friend than lover, and that’s why he’s in Memphis when it’s a fool's errand anyway.

For all Marlon will speak his mind about this that and the other on things he cares about- yet God does he *care* about Elaine and so he bites his tongue at the first thought that pops into his head. *You've been pretty terrible for years and now you decided to care and do something about it*.

Instead: "You look terrible."

Which is a gross oversimplification of his feelings, but Elaine doesn't watch as his eyes slide over her pale and wan cheeks that look thinner than he's ever seen them. She doesn't watch how his eyes drift downward to breasts that are pressing against the dress she's wearing.

They remind him of when she was pregnant with Marie. They remind him of her breasts when she cried out beneath him against her tiki bar. If he closes his eyes he can picture them bouncing in front of his face, begging for him to bury his face in them. The boy- her oldest boy was right. Marlon doesn't even need to look at her stomach and yet some sick twisted masochistic tendency compels him to as if that'll change things.

It's small. Smaller than he figures any of her bumps have been and yet it's there. Mocking and growing at its own pace.

Proof that Elaine Phipps wants to remain Elaine Presley till one of them dies and maybe even beyond. Marlon can't help the way he exhales through his nose, unable to look away even as Elaine talks,

"Marlon, are you even listening?"

No. But he needs to.

"Mind wandered off, you know how I get, Elaine." He straightens up and tries to stay alert, “So, all this really fixed things for ya, eh?” he quips sardonically and she smiles, rolls her eyes, fully aware he’s not mocking her, he’s mocking the hopelessness of it ever working.

“Yeah. It’s all coming up roses.” she snarks.

“I uh-“ he stipples his fingers on the counter and weighs his next move, “-I heard that Colonel Parker’s recently landed in some seriously hot water. Something about the audits during the divorce and how certain things don’t match up. Got it from the papers, you know how long they stretch a few vague facts. I had to read two whole pages to get ‘fraud’ and ‘debts’ out of them. Anyways, I thought you’d find that nice -hot water, all that.”

“So hot it’ll boil his coat of lies right off with any luck.” Elaine seethes and her sudden passion takes Marlon by surprise. Stirs an old appreciation for just how much verve is always bubbling beneath her doll-like exterior. His fingers itch to let out the excess in a gush around his fingers. “Illegal alien.” She expounds, warming to her argument in the way of someone long overdue a listen, “Would you believe it? All those endless homebound tours -runing Elvis into the ground on the same circuit simply because that greedy fool couldn’t tag along. Couldn’t step outside the country. Always wondered why he never crashed our time in Germany, knew he would if could. Fake, heartless, toad.”

“Fuck him.” Marlon agrees vehemently and Elaine looks up with the same appreciative eyes of a decade past when she got no arguments from him, unlike all the menfolk surrounding her most days. Marlon abides by a simple rule: if it pisses Elaine Presley off, he needs no further research to say it ain’t shit.

“Yes, well, I’ll leave that to the Justice Department, I’ve done my bit.” Elaine sighs, her little victory crow short lived and even with his bias for the unattached Miss Phipps, Marlon can see how hollow her achievements are without Elvis to pat her pretty head for them. “It’s been weeks and I- I’m afraid he’s angry Marlon.” they’re not talking of the Colonel now, Marlon can tell by her love-sick face, “I knew he would be, with the divorce and probably with framing Parker but -he was so kind that day. So kind I thought he might’ve forgiven or just, I don’t know but now, now he won’t even answer my calls. Marie hasn’t gotten through either and -it’s not like him, Marlon, it’s not.”

“You got something pressing to tell him?” Brando asks and doesn’t even bother to hide the way his eyes flick back over her ripening form, pondering if her boy hadn’t been silly after all, going on about her not noticing. If he were a woman, a pretty woman like Elaine still is, Marlon would be weighing those growing tits each day with pride and mesmerization -but then again, Elaine’s had more on her mind than appreciating her own assets like a horny old star who never learned to aim for his own league.

“No I only wanted to-” she bites her lip as if unsure or else what she wants is unspeakably optimistic for a woman who just threw it all away. “I missed his voice.”

_______________________________

<<< || 16th, AUGUST 1977 ||

The knock at the door startled them both. Elvis pulled his back from it and faced it like he was gonna defend his wife from the mob he suspected was outside. Old habits die hard.

“Y’all?” Jesse yelled through the thick wood, “There’s half the city crowdin’ outside, there’s not gonna be a path to squeeze through soon.”

“Yeah alright son, thank you.” Elvis cleared his throat as he dropped her hands, straightening his posture fully. “You ready?” he asked dully, eager to get the worst moment of his life over.

“I gue- I- yes.” she stumbled over her meaning and smoothed out her black jacket.

"Daddy?" Jesse's voice was heard over the wood once more and both Elaine and Elvis took matching deep breaths, sweat droplets falling on Elvis’s eyes with a wince.

It's not pity that had Elaine putting the glasses back on Elvis’s eyes, her fingertips brushing against his temples in a simple gesture she's done a million times before. No, it's her last hurrah as his wife, her last action as his wife. They may have signed the papers within the past hour and legally she may be Elaine Phipps once more but until they walk out of this bathroom and this courthouse she was Elaine Presley, wife of Elvis Presley. A low hum reverbated against her chest before she pulled away, a soft smile across her lips.

"There there, Mopey, all better," she whispered in the sort of tone she only uses for the children when bandaging a hurt. "Let's- let's go face the music."

“Got me more nervous than any curtain I’ve been behind,” he joked even as it falls flat and his breath comes quicker and quicker. This was the beginning of their new life as separate entities. As an ex-husband and an ex-wife.

The door wasn’t that heavy when he shut it earlier and yet it felt as if someone had remade it out of concrete as Elvis tried to push it open once the lock clicked open. He could already see the flashing bulbs from the cameras and the press of the mass of people outside waiting for them. They were no stranger to crowds but this one was one none of them wanted to face. A look was exchanged between the three of them as their shoes clicked against the floor of the courthouse, a silent acknowledgement to try and get to their waiting cars as soon as possible.

"Jess! Mama!" Elvis and Elaine looked up through the mob of people as they pushed and pulled at each other trying to catch a glimpse of the former couple with their oldest son. They found themselves half blinded by flashes of cameras and the sun's own light, trying to find the source of the bellowed words. "We're over heyer!"

Jack then. Jack who was growing more and more into Elvis’s twin if not in bulk but in charm and whose shout sounds something like Sargent Presley’s in the army. Elaine looked at Elvis, biting her lip as she did.

"Soundin’ more like me everyday." Elvis commented as if he was commenting on the weather. It had never been hard to talk to Elaine. Yet in this moment, Elvis found himself at a loss for words. And from the way Elaine was looking at him, the feeling was mutual. Matching pink tongues darted out to wet dry lips and Elvis opened his mouth, his arm outstretched as if he was going to grab at Elaine's only for his oldest son to pop up between them, taking Elaine's arm without a second thought.

"I've got you mama. I gotcha, let's go."

The look he leveled at Elvis made every single moment in this courtroom for the past five months seem like child's play. To have his oldest son look at him like he did with any suitor that tried to come Elaine’s way, hurt. But that was his life now wasn't it? That's Elvis Presley’s life without Elaine Phipps. That's Elaine Phipps's life without Elvis Presley, protected only by her sons and her daughters from a man she once called husband. The man she once loved with every fiber of her being or so Elvis thought. Make peace with it, Johnny said. Make peace with her, Johnny said. Elvis didn't think that it would feel like this.

“I know you do, Jesse. Let me say goodbye to your father.” Elaine said as softly as she could in order to avoid the prying ears of every journalist between here and her car. “Jack and your siblings aren’t going anywhere. Not in this crowd. Even if Jack’d run them over to protect me.”

A smile unbidden crossed Elvis’s lips at the joke between their eldest and Elaine. She wasn’t wrong, but that was his boys and their love for their mother in a nutshell, wasn’t it? Capable of murder to protect her the same as him. She- she would be alright even if- even if what he suspected to be true was.

“Jack drove us here, all of us.” She explained as her eyes flitted across his form one last time to check for imperfections and for signs he might be needing anything. “I’ll make sure Ella calls you about-”

“It’s fine, Elaine. Made my bed, gotta lie in it now.” His eyes scanned across the crowd, even as he winced from the light of the sun and the flashes even through his sunglasses, finally settling on his car with Colonel Parker in the passenger seat, waiting for Elvis with a look of pure displeasure and mild panic on his face. “Gotta get him and I outta here ‘fore I give him a heart attack.”

Elaine’s face hardened at the words, and Elvis, in a fit of nostalgic responsibility for her happiness, moved to place a soft kiss against her cheek, squeezing at her hands as he did.

“S’been the joy of my life knowin’ you, Miss Phipps.”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

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[daisies-daydreams]

Office Hours - Chapter 3 (Professor!Miguel O'Hara x F!College Student!Reader)

Pairing: Professor!Miguel O’Hara x F!College Student!Reader Category: Smut (18+) with a pinch of angst Warnings: Phone/Video Sex, Dirty Talk, Mutual Masturbation, Panty Sniffing Word Count: 2.3k+

Summary: Miguel rewards you for working so hard.

A/N: Finally finished with chapter 3! Wrote this one by the seat of my pants ngl. I hope you enjoy! (Next chapter will be even spicier, hehe).

Ch. 2 <- -> Ch. 4

Your face was glowing as you walked down the hall. Halloween decorations lined the halls despite it being nearly Thanksgiving (not that you were complaining). You hummed as you slotted your key into the door before stepping inside. Your bright expression fell when you saw a familiar Brit sitting in your kitchen alongside your roommate.

“Hey,” he said with a small wave, a deck of cards in his other hand.

"Hi," you replied as you closed the door behind you. You hung your coat up before kicking your shoes off.

“How’d your meeting with O’Hara go? He was a real hardass when I saw him during his office hours,” Gwen piqued. Your entire body stiffened as your face went blank. Hobie shifted in his chair, a small smirk stretching across his face. You swallowed. 

“O-Oh, you know…that man is never pleased,” you stammered as you waved your hands. Hobie pursed his lips as Gwen sighed. 

“Sorry, sis. Just don’t take it personal-I heard he’s been like that for the past year or so,” she replied as you made your way towards the fridge. You snagged a protein shake before shutting the door with your hip. 

“Where’d you hear that?” you asked. Gwen hummed as she shifted her cards around.

“One of my friends who had him last semester had to retake the course this year,” she explained. She suddenly narrowed her eyes at Hobie. He returned her expression with raised brows. “I call bluff,” she said. His rolled his eyes.

“Damn, you’re good,” Hobie muttered as he laid his cards down with quiet defeat. You couldn’t help but grin as your roommate took a pile of chips from him.

“Anyway, she said that O’Hara actually used to be nice,” Gwen said. 

“He is!” you blurted out. Both of them stared at you as your ears burned. “I mean…I’m sure he is, sometimes,” you muttered. Hobie raised a brow while Gwen shrugged. You glanced down at your phone. “Alright. Guess I’ll go finish my homework,” you said as you walked towards your room. 

“Have fun," Gwen snorted. "Oh! Hobie and I have a gig tonight so no wild parties!” she jested. 

“Okay mom!” you teased and poked your tongue out before closing the door behind you. You smiled as soon as you saw the sweet sanctuary of your bed. You instantly collapsed on top of your cozy comforter as your bag fell next to you.

You smiled into the soft fabric before pulling your phone out. You blinked when you brushed your hand against a bright post-it note. You plucked it from your bag before your heart stopped.

A phone number with Miguel's name was hastily written on the piece of paper. You bit your lip as you peeked at your phone. You snatched it before quickly typing his number in, your heart trembling as your finger shook over the message button.

“Hey-“

No. 

“Hi-“ 

No. 

You huffed as you tried to think of the perfect thing to say. Your mind was still fuzzy from the earth-shattering orgasm he gave you, your thoughts muffled behind your glossy eyes. You sighed as you rolled over, the skirt of your dress starting to bunch up as you typed into your phone. 

“Hi. This is (Y/N) :)” you typed. You bit your lip so hard it stung as you glanced at the send button. You swallowed the heavy lump in your throat before you squeezed your eyes shut and hit it. You opened your eyes and squeaked as you chucked it away. You scooted down your bed, your heart pounding in your ears as you stared down your phone.

Nothing.

You sighed and let your head fall onto your pillow. Your eyelids felt so heavy, body still shimmering with afterglow. Maybe a small nap wouldn't hurt. After all, it's been a long day and-

DING.

You shot up as you scrambled over to your phone, hands trembling as you opened the message. 

“Good to hear from you again, conejita,” Miguel replied [bunny]. You sat on the edge of your bed as you watched three dots bounce up and down. “Finish your homework already?” he asked. Your face hardened a little as you crossed one leg over the other. 

“Not yet,” you replied with a frown. You waited a few minutes before your phone dinged again. 

“Be a good girl and finish your homework first, then you'll get your surprise,” he texted back. Your heart skipped a beat as you bit your lip. 

“Okay. I’ll try not to be too long, then ;)” you replied. You snatched your laptop from your bag before getting to work. You sat on your bed cross-legged for what felt like hours as you typed away on your computer, sipping on your protein shake every once and a while. You heard your phone ding again. 

“A little sneak peak…for motivation,” Miguel texted. Your jaw nearly dropped when you saw a picture of him raising his shirt up to reveal a pack of his chiseled abs.

You wanted so badly to rake your fingers through each divot and crevice of his muscular body. You swallowed when you saw a trimmed patch of black hair running down from his belly button to beneath his pants. You couldn’t help but notice your thong hanging from one of his pockets. 

You hummed to yourself as you considered sending him a photo in return before there was a knock at your door. You nearly dropped your phone, scrambling to hide it behind your pillow as Gwen cracked the door open.

“We’re heading out. Want anything from Monty’s?” she asked. You shook your head as you clutched your comforter. 

“I’m good,” you said, hoping she didn’t notice how your voice cracked. Gwen nodded, her short, blonde hair bobbing with her head. 

“Okay. See you later!” she said. You sighed as she started to close the door, only to nearly kick your laptop across your room when she opened it again. “Don’t study too hard! Make sure to take a break,” she winked. You nodded, your eyes widening as you felt your phone buzz again. Your roommate gave you a bright smile before she shut the door behind her. You released a long sigh as you threw your head against the wall. 

Your mind felt numb as you dug around for your phone. You bit your lip as you opened a message from him, your heart stopping when you saw the image of his tongue swiping over the crotch of your panties. 

“I can’t wait to see what the rest of you tastes like,” he wrote. Your mouth went dry as you sucked in a sharp breath. Your core felt like it was buzzing as you began to type a message before pausing. You still haven’t finished your homework.

You gripped your phone when a thought crossed your mind. You bit your lip as you spread your legs, the cool air hitting your slick pussy lips as you angled your phone. Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest as you quickly snapped a picture. You held your breath as you typed in a message. 

“Here’s a little sneak peak…for motivation,” you typed. You bounced your leg as you sent it, quickly hiding your face in your pillow. Silence loomed in the air before you finally sat up and sighed. You finished a few more equations before your phone buzzed again. You glanced over, your body tending as you eyed your phone. You glanced at the message: 

“Traviesa” [Naughty]

You giggled as you heard his husky voice sneer in your mind. You wiggled on your bed, a wave of lust suddenly washing over you as you imagined him pleasuring himself to your lewd image. You gently rocked your hips back and forth before stopping yourself. 

Focus. 

You shook your head as you blinked a few times, retraining your eyes to your laptop. You furiously typed on the keyboard as thoughts of Miguel bombarded your mind. Him bending you over your kitchen counter, folding you in half on your bed. It felt like hours before you finally finished. 

“Fucking finally,” you breathed as you closed your laptop. You sighed as you rubbed your eyes, your mind completely spent. You jumped when you heard your phone ding after a few minutes. 

“Did you finish your homework, cariño?” Miguel asked. Your eyes lit up as you replied. 

“Yes”. Your heart thumped as you waited, your face leaning towards the screen. You squeaked when your video chat ringtone started to play. You scrambled to grab your phone before hastily swiping it away. Your limbs turned to jelly as you saw him staring into your screen, his head propped up by his palm. His perfect, chiseled chest was on display, his muscles shifting as he slid his glasses off. 

“Hi,” he smiled with a half-lidded gaze. You flushed as you returned his grin. 

“Hi,” you said as you wiggled your shoulders a little. Your professor’s face softened as he suddenly stepped back. Your jaw nearly dropped when you saw a dark happy trail lead down to his flushed cock.

“I think you’re ready for your reward now, hermosa,” Miguel lilted [beautiful]. You nodded quickly, making him chuckle. “Ser paciente-I want you to do something for me real quick,” he added [Be patient]. You bit your lip and waited with  anticipation. Miguel leaned closer to his camera. 

“I want you to prop your phone up and spread your pretty legs for me,” he murmured. Your eyes widened as you saw his cock throbbing between his muscular legs, his flush tip oozing with precum as he squeezed his shaft.

You let out a quiet moan before crawling on your bed, grabbing a few throw pillows and placing your phone against them. Every touch against your blanket felt like fire as you hiked up your skirt, revealing your glistening pussy to him. 

“Mmm there’s my pretty girl,” he groaned as he swiped his thumb over his dripping slit. You released a shaky breath as you slowly pulled your labia apart, your fingers slathered in your slick as you gently rubbed your clit. Miguel grunted as he wrapped his fist around his thick cock. “That’s it, cariño: keep playing with that cute little pussy of yours,” he inhaled sharply. 

“Miguel,” you whined as he bucked into his palm, his heavy balls slapping against the side of his hand as he moaned. You threw your head back against the wall as you drew tight circles around your bundle of nerves, making sure he had a good angle of seeing how engorged it was. Miguel’s eyes glistened as he grunted, his jaw clenching as he watched you slide a finger up and down your drenched slit. 

“Ay, coño,” he breathed as he pumped his girthy shaft [Oh, fuck]. You whimpered as you heard the soft squelch of your pussy, your fingers sliding along your folds as you rubbed your clit a little faster. 

“Shit, daddy,” you moaned. Your jaw dropped at your own words as you gasped. 

“Daddy, hm?” Miguel clicked his tongue as gazed straight into the camera. You stammered, your cheeks filling with heat as your chest tightened. He licked his lips as he stepped closer to the camera. “I prefer Papi if that’s alright with you, princessa,” he murmured lowly [Daddy; princess]. You gulped and nodded before pinching your clit, a small whine leaving your lips. His eyes lit up with hunger.

“Why don’t you stretch yourself open with those pretty fingers of yours, hm?” he purred. You couldn’t stop the moan that tumbled past your lips as you nodded. His breathing grew heavier as you slipped the pads of your digits over your tight entrance. You stared into the camera as you parted your lips, slowly pushing two digits inside your gushing hole. 

“Fuck, look at how tight you are,” Miguel sucked in a sharp breath . You pumped your digits in and out of your walls, each stroke leaving you dizzier with each passing second as you imagined his thick fingers stuffing your warm cunt. 

“Yes, Papi!” you mewled as you curled your fingers against your g-spot. Miguel groaned as he rubbed his shaft. 

“S-Sí, muñeca. Keep making those-mierda!” the man released a guttural growl as his cock twitched [Yes doll; shit]. You gasped as you watched ropes of thick, hot cum spill from his cock and down his large hand.

Your walls suddenly clamped down on your digits as you cried out, his name falling from your lips like a mantra as you reached inside your snug pussy. Your head rolled the side as pleasure washed over your entire being, enrapturing you in a state of pure bliss. 

“Miguel, Miguel,” you chanted as you felt your muscles contract and squeeze around your slick fingers. You swallowed thickly as the last of your release faded, blinking slowly as you focused your attention back to the screen. You frowned when you saw tears streaming down Miguel’s sharp cheeks, his bottom lip sticking out a bit. 

“Miguel?” you asked as you went to reach for your phone. He flinched like a wounded animal being cornered, his pupils constricted and face tight. Miguel released a low, stuttering breath before glancing into the camera. 

“I-I’m sorry, (Y/N). I have to go,” he muttered as he looked away. Before you could reply, the call was suddenly disconnected. You sat there, the warmth of your afterglow slowly fading as you stared at your blank phone screen.

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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[linkman447]

Jaune’s parents II

Nora: sooooooooo, what was your dad like

Jaune: hmmm now that’s hard to explain

Flashback

Papa Arc: now son remember, huntresses will kill you in the best way you’ll ever experience

Jaune (age 7): how?

Papa Arc adjusts an ice pack on his crotch: I’ll tell you when your older

Flashback ends

Nora: ok now I call bull shit

Jaune: what it’s true

Nora: ok ok well what was he like when you were leaving for beacon

Jaune: oh that easy

Flashback

Papa: Arc: you crazy boy did my warnings mean nothing

Jaune: dad it’s my dream

Papa Arc: you’ll die leaving your wife a single mother

Jaune: an Arc would never

Papa Arc: say that to your cousin blu

Jaune: what didn’t her dad die before she died was born?

Papa Arc: my point exactly

Jaune: but uncle chuck wasn’t even a huntsman

Papa Arc: I knew I was forgetting something-

Soon a whistle sounded

Jaune: well that’s my call bye dad

He runs off

Papa Arc: wait jaune I have to tell you, well damn hopefully someone will unlock his aura, then maybe just maybe he’ll survive

Flashback ends

Nora: well?

Jaune: what?

Nora: what did your dad want to tell you?

Jaune: I don’t know

Nora: well it’s probably not important. Well anyway you get your rest doctor said you’d be here for 2 weeks

The girls were outside holding a “we’re sorry” sign

Jaune: bye Nora

[jazzmynerule]

“hmm?”

prompt: y/n is over at her boyfriends stiles’ house keeping him company as he watches some funny youtube videos without realising she starts to drift off to sleep as stiles starts explaining random things to her

warnings: nothing but pure fluff

…………………………………….

“stiles your girlfriend is here” noah, stiles’ dad, yelled from the front door giving me a welcoming hug “hold on give me one minute!” stiles yelled from his room as i heard a big thump “he fell didn’t he?” noah sighed as i just laughed making my way up to my boyfriends room “stiles are you okay?” I asked opening the door to find him on the floor with his shirt tangled in his arms “oh my god you’re an actual child” i cackled watching him wiggle out of his shirt and detangle it “no I’m not” he huffed putting his shirt on correctly and grabbed onto me “I missed you’re sweet perfume so much” his head was dug into the crook of my neck sniffing my perfume “I saw you not even 4 hours ago stiles” I rolled my eyes at the clingy boy “yeah and those 4 hours away from you felt like an eternity” i smiled at his beautiful face and wriggled out of his grasp “I’m gonna watch some videos you’re more than welcome to join me or chill on my bed” he said as he turned his computer on “I’ll chill on your bed I’m kinda tired anyways” I yawned mid sentence “I’ll be in bed soon so wait for me” he chucked on some video and started rambling on about how he never gets to do this anymore cause Scott and his werewolf ass “like come on why am I always robin? I wanna be Batman!” He scoffed swinging on his chair “mm Batman” I was already half asleep not even comprehending what my boyfriend is saying “hey hey no sleeping yet” he snapped his fingers in front of my face “sleeping? i’m not sleeping” i scoffed with half shut eyelids knowing damn well in another minute or two i’ll be asleep “whatever you little liar” he chuckled turning back around to watch the rest of the video he had on

stiles was on another rant about some bullshit to even realise y/n fell asleep “and that’s why i should get a dog so it can actually eat my homework and i won’t get into trouble for not doing it, y/n you’re dating a mastermind” stiles cackled turning around to see half of y/n’s body hanging off his bed soft snores escaping her lips “i told you to wait little sneaky” he smiled getting out of his computer chair and lifted y/n’s body onto the bed “what are you doing stiles?” she mumbled in annoyance“you were falling off my bed baby i was helping you so you didn’t get a concussion” he said as he kissed her forehead and she mumbled some incoherent words stiles couldn’t understand “goodnight beautiful”

[heartfullofleeches]

I am politely asking for you to write about Erin cross dressing please

(Going off an old request I vaguely remember with Erin overhearing you like feminine guys)

"They're so cute- Hey, Y/n what do you like in a partner?"

Erin leans back in his seat away from the commotion at his table to eavesdrop on yours. You were surrounded by friends flapping their gums over someone one of them was interested in - put on the spot for not giving your two cents.

"Uh, I don't know- someone pretty I guess."

"You mean like those people you follow who wear nice makeup and skirts?"

Your coughing fit is enough of an answer for everyone listening in on the conversation. Erin returns to his group, subconsciously groping his features. He had some softer details thanks to his mother, but was he what others would call pretty? The tingle in his chest combated the nausea from eating school food at the thought of you praising his looks. He picks up a tater tot and chucks it at a girl across the table; it being the only way to get her attention otherwise.

She picks it out of her fruit cup. "What the hell, Erin?!"

"Shut up and give me your lip gloss, Bea."

"Why in the fuck would I do that?"

"I'll tell coach you're the one who stole her flask and replaced it with bleach for giving the lead spot in the parade to someone else."

Beatrix angrily shifts through her bag. "Here."

"Thank you." He tosses her his unopened cup as he gets up from the table and heads to the bathroom. He stops by the janitor's closet and jimmies the broken lock until it pops open, grabbing the out of order sign. He wants for everyone to come out of the restroom and sets the sign up as he enters.

Erin reevaluates himself in the mirror. His long hair did confuse the older crowd when they saw him from a distance. He tucks it all into a high ponytail using a spare bracket as a band. Next, he pulls out the cheerleader's makeup. This isn't his first time with the stuff. Both his mom and older sibling dressed him up in the past whenever he asked about their clothes and was interested in trying them. He let his mother put eye shadow on him whenever they went out as a family.

Erin dispenses some of the gloss on his finger, puckering his lips as he cakes them in the foundation. He smacks them together to even the coat out and looks at the results in the mirror.

It's a start. The gloss is barely noticeable outside bright light, but it adds a little more volume to his lips. He goes back in to work on other parts of himself, but the bell cuts his session short.

"Shit!"

Erin hurries out of the bathroom and down to the cafeteria; forgetting about the sign in his haste. The dining area is nearly empty by the time he gets back, and you didn't have the next period together. He looks back to see if you've already gone, the next person to walk by bumping straight into him.

"Sorry- Oh, hey Erin."

"Sup."

You look him up and down. Erin's teeth pick at his lips in anticipation.

"Not much. You look good. See you next period."

The light force of you walking by almost knocks Erin off his feet. You said something nice about him. He didn't think he'd get this far. Maybe a passing glance, but you completely acknowledge him. You thought he looked good. It was a high he never wanted to fall from. One he craved more of with only one possible solution.

-

Erin hisses in pain as the teeth of his skirt's zipper lodge into his skin. "Fucking damn it-"

He pulls the fabric away from his hip and zips it up; kicking an empty shipping box under his bed. It sticks out of the corner due to the other packages overcrowding the space, but he was too excited to take care of them now or throughout the week they all had arrived. The skirt was the final piece of his outfit which also took the most time to arrive. Erin hooks mini pearl earrings in his ears and pulls his shirt from inside the shirt before looking at himself in the full body mirror by his closet.

The outfit consisted of an off the shoulder light pink top and a black skirt that went down to his thighs. The rest of his legs were covered by white stockings and his ginger hair was yet again pulled back. He wore a more noticeable shade of gloss on his lips and his long eyelashes were extended with the use of a wand. His regular choker was switched with a red one with a heart shaped dog tag. He had muscle, but the skirt hugged his body in a way that showed off his curves. Staring at himself, Erin felt pretty. Time for the next phase.

Erin snaps a photo of him at the mirror. He then gets in his bed with his back against the headboard. He grabs a pillow and hugs it to his chest, tugging his shirt down a bit more as he gets into position. He makes sure that his stocking clad thighs are in frame as he takes another pic and pulls up his contact. He knew your number by heart from the various acquaintances he hustled it off of and when you gave it to himself yourself for a project, but what good boyfriend doesn't have their partner in their phone without a cute title?

Erin sends you the pictures without saying a word. He waits about five minutes to pick up his phone again, both happy and disappointed you haven't opened his text.

"Sorry for the pics. Lost a bet and sent them to the wrong number."

His heart leaps out of his chest as his phone chimes.

"No worries. Hope this is okay for me to say, but you look pretty."

It's more than okay. Erin stares at his phone for ages; eyes rolling over the message countless times yet his brain fails to retain it to memory. He'd probably explode if it did. He experiences a moment of clarity in wondering what your expression was when you saw him. Did you see him as desirable. Did you crave him as badly?

Luck worked in Erin's favor that night - for he may soon have an answer.

"Hey- actually, do you want to come over? I'm bored and thought we could hang out or something."

[londonfog-chan]

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Rite Here, Rite Now Part 1

This two shot fic is dedicated to that poor soul on TikTok getting shitty comments about a headcanon of Eddie liking Ghost. Fandom has become so damn toxic bro. Who cares about what an imaginary character likes or dislikes?? We are cringe, we are legion. We make out of pocket headcanons sometimes. Like come on, Eddie might “theoretically” dislike Mary On A Cross specifically for various reasons, but I could see him having some favorites. You can’t say he would entirely hate Ghost when fucking Year Zero and Mummy Dust exist. Or the whole of Prequelle as an album. I had to laugh at one person saying he liked Avenged Sevenfold (it didn’t exist in the 80’s and neither did Ghost like we are literally arguing about shit he wouldn’t have known about be so serious rn). But I digress. I’ve even gotten a couple hateful comments on a fun little TikTok I made and I honestly have just been deleting them and blocking. Don’t even want to deal with people’s bullshit anymore. Please enjoy this spite fic and continue writing and having fun babes. Go against the flow and make Eddie proud.

Part 1 (You are Here), Part 2

***

Every member of Corroded Coffin could tell when you arrived to a function. Eddie knew the sound of your car like a cat that knows when its owner is home, and he’d be waiting outside the school to greet you first. That and the car make and model. Someone always called it if not Eddie. He’d been off his game today though, definitely the excited nerves. Jeff called out your 1979 Volkswagen Beetle heading up the driveway by slugging Eddie hard on the bicep, Gareth and Dougie immediately following up with calling “no tag backs” as they rushed to hit each other and Eddie like a bunch of middle schoolers. Eddie almost got nailed by Dougie’s beefy fist until he nimbly dodged out of the way, cradling his prized Warlock like it was a newborn.

“God dammit, easy asshole!” Eddie laughed. “Don’t be hitting my baby! I need her intact if I’m going to impress our songstress.”

“Trust me Ed, she doesn’t need more impressing. You had her in a tizzy when you asked her to write a song for you. I wonder what she came up with.” Gareth said, leaning forward so his hands were settled on both his high and medium toms, he was watching your approach intently with a gleam in his eye. “She didn’t even make it to campaign on Friday. Must have really been in the zone.”

You parked the car against the side of the driveway, emerging looking as though you’d just swallowed a whole mouthful of cry baby sour gum. Your lips were pressed tightly together, clutching your fat Trapper Keeper to your chest as you approached the group.

“Hey sweetheart!” Eddie called, waving you over enthusiastically. “You okay?”

“Eddie… God it’s so bad… It’s worse than I thought.” You said, grimacing.

God you looked delicious. He couldn’t help himself but to stare and smile like a dope. With each step your flowing gray skirt swished enticingly side to side, and with a bit of pride Eddie noticed you were wearing the Twisted Sister shirt he’d distressed for you, looking like an adorable snack of a metalhead with your black clothes, black opaque tights and dirty Chucks.

Eddie’s smile faltered only slightly when he heard your self depreciation.

“Oh come on, can’t be that bad. Not with those grades you’ve got in English. Let me see…”

“Fuck no! No seriously… it’s worse than you think.” You insisted, shaking your head and pulling away from his outstretched hand, “It’s so… God dammit! What the hell was I thinking…?”

Gareth, Jeff and Dougie left their instruments to approach you, Eddie putting both hands on your shoulders to comfort you.

“Hey, hey… come on, don’t be like that.” He said, smile gone and a more serious look on his face. “I get it, I really do. It comes with the territory of writing your own songs. Trust me, I’ve done it for years. You won’t pick it up overnight, and whatever you think is weak we can work on it together. I’m a DM honey, I can have my pen out faster than you can blink and help redraft as many times as it takes.”

“Oh… god dammit… okay, fine…”

You reluctantly handed Eddie the trapper keeper, the velcro making a harsh rip as he pulled it open to the first page where your lyrics neatly sat waiting for him to peruse. Eddie’s eyebrow raised when he saw the title, “Square Hammer”, outlined in red ink.

“ ‘Square Hammer’? … Huh… I like it, that’s good.” Eddie nodded, and continued to read on.

The lyrics were certainly unique to say the least. It was obvious you’d tried to go with a theme based on the prompt he’d given you: something that oozes the brooding dark metal he envisioned Corroded Coffin would croon to thousands of fans. You certainly had an affinity for the macabre, and he knew he could trust you with everything he wanted in his vision. Then again you could have written the cheesiest, poppy trash in the world and he would have loved it. He was extremely biased, far too sweet on you for his own good. But these weren’t bad at all. The lyrics reminded him of old Hollywood vampire movies, echoing the work of Doctor Faustus with the thematic element in the song. The voice of the lyrics seemed to be coming from an otherworldly entity, one summoned to offer power and prestige to the listener.

And Eddie was obsessed with every word the further he read on.

“Woah, woah…”

His eyes widened with every sentence he read.

“Holy shit…”

Powers clandestine, solving a crooked rhyme… Every line, no matter how simple, packed a lot when combined in the collective.

Eddie finally looked up at you, completely bewildered.

“You wrote this by yourself?!” He croaked.

You were embarrassed to hell, curling in on yourself and looking like you wanted to die.

“Ye… yeah… I… When you asked me to write for you, I got really stuck on what I wanted to do. But I remember you mentioned Black Sabbath was one of your first covers, and then I couldn’t get the image of the coffin out of my head because, you know, “Corroded Coffin”… and then we were reading Faustus in Mrs. O’Donnell’s class and I thought since you asked me to do you this favor and Faustus is all about favors…-“

You were rambling. Not even paying attention to Eddie’s continually growing grin. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet the longer you ranted on, until his untamable outburst silenced you.

“THIS IS AMAZING!” Eddie was screaming, scaring the shit out of everyone. “Holy fuck sweetheart! Are you bullshitting me?! This is… fuck! We’ve been stressing for new material for next month’s gig at The Hideout and you just gave it to us on a silver platter?! Jesus H.!”

“Bwha-?!”

“Check this out…!” Eddie turned away to show his friends while you quietly protested, unable to speak as he passed the paper around. The guys crowded around, each one shouting out when they saw a favorite part, “hammering the nails into the sacred coffin” quickly became a favorite, because they immediately began trying to work out how they could fit the lyrics to sound.

“All we gotta do is work out a melody and we’re in business baby!” Eddie said. “This is bitchin’!”

“But it doesn’t even make any sense!” You argued. “Like seriously? The entrance to the shrine part does not fucking fit, I only wrote it because I couldn’t come up with a better rhyme with clandestine!”

“Who cares?” Eddie cried. “It’s badass as hell! The imagery is absolutely savage… ‘Hiding from the night, sacrificing nothing’, and don’t let me forget about the little tongue in cheek line you added about hammering nails into a sacred coffin!”

“It’s fucking great!” Echoed Jeff.

“You should be proud. You managed to take our style and give it a unique spin, that’s not something anyone can do.” Eddie praised. “God dammit… I’d have been a millionaire by now if I could write like this.”

“You… you really liked those parts?” You asked cautiously.

“Of course I did sweetheart! This is real metal shit right here. And the part with the ‘crooked rhyme’? That really captured the creep factor I was looking for. Shit… what’s more metal than summoning a demon for a deal? That’s exactly what Corroded Coffin needs in its material. I love this little brain of yours!”

“Don’t forget Ed!” Dougie cut in. “ ‘Are you ready to swear right here right now before the devil’?!”

“Bitchin’! Keep this up, and I’m gonna wanna make you write all of Corroded Coffin’s songs from now on!” Eddie beamed happily.

“We gotta get the melody worked out!” Jeff said, “Any ideas? I could come up with a few…”

The boys began gabbing together, Eddie unable to help himself as he began to strum his precious 1984 BC Warlock, his black beauty. Without a doubt he could already envision how he could make his baby purr for you, impress you, take you out finally.

And then you changed his world forever.

“… I had an idea for a melody already…” you said quietly.

All eyes turned to you. The guys were thunderstruck.

“Seriously?! Lyrics and a melody?! You’re spoiling the shit out of me sweetheart! Jeff, let her borrow your…-“

“No… no I… I don’t know how to play guitar…” you said, cutting off Eddie sheepishly, “But I… I brought my Casio with me…”

“Where is it?!”

“In the trunk of my bug…”

“Well go get it! Show me whatcha got sweetheart!”

Eddie followed you to the front of the Volkswagen. Everyone always thought the front trunk was the coolest shit ever and he was no exception. The cool car only added to the many things he liked about you. You took out the obnoxiously large keyboard and the stand, fumbling to close the trunk until Eddie stepped in with an “easy… I got it”, slamming the trunk shut and helping you lift the Casio like a gentleman. You were shaking, vibrating with embarrassment so hard that Eddie had to help you plug everything in and adjust the sound, hovering and reaching over you on purpose hoping you’d notice and feel his burn for you.

“Alright sweetheart? Show us what you’ve got.”

You turned on the Casio and fingered the keys gently, warming up with a few chords as you tried to soothe the shaking in your fingers. Fiddling with the settings, you stalled as long as you could while the boys waited patiently. Once you found the setting you wanted, you went for it.

It was like a demon had possessed your body. The melody was quick, but it packed a hell of a punch. It was in the key of D minor, and you had ironically chosen what sounded like a combination of 1960’s psychedelic sticky rhodes and Transylvanian organ to achieve the effect you wanted. The sound overall was eerie, yet enchantingly fun all at the same time. And your singing! You were singing softly under your breath, rocking yourself to the melody on the tips of your worn out sneakers, and you had quite the set of pipes! Despite your shot nerves, you’d clearly come up with something truly special that no one else in the entire world could have conceived of.

It wasn’t the traditional metal Eddie had in mind, more avant-garde, theatrical even. Whereas he had expected a sound more like Black Sabbath, you played something not out of place at a theater performance of Dracula. But this sound… there was something that nagged him about it. It was a sound that Eddie could imagine playing to arenas of screaming, adoring fans.

“Gentlemen… that’s our fucking song!” Eddie cried, “That’s our song, it’s a goddamned masterpiece!”

The Casio halted, and your mouth was hanging open mid play.

“What?! How-…” you began.

“I can already hear the riff, Ed what do you think of following with standard tuning instead of going to D minor?” Jeff picked up his Gibson and began to play, mimicking what he heard on your Casio by ear. “If you move it, the sound is way off from what I’m envisioning. But if you keep it at standard you leave it easier on the fingers with the couple of open notes when you start stretching.”

“Yeah, yeah! If you tune it down it’s going to sound off with her playing when you hit the chords.” Eddie agreed, immediately looking back at you. “Play it one more time sweetheart?”

You cautiously complied, going through the melody one more time as Jeff began to follow with you. Eddie was completely absorbed in your music, listening to both you and Jeff play and following along quietly. The warlock in his hands eventually couldn’t be helped, humming to life when he started playing a chord at a time by ear. As he played, he kept you repeating the melody over and over, both Eddie and Jeff deep in concentration on the sound. It was getting almost exhausting trying to continually repeat the sound until they got it right.

“D minor.” Eddie said, playing a note.

“Then she does B flat there.” Jeff played.

“A minor.” They said in unison.

“C. And that’s what I’m thinking your rhythm guitar can do, meanwhile, I’ll keep the root of the chords for the riff so I can follow her keys.” Eddie said, and he began to perfectly copy your melody. “Okay sweetheart, just one more time… and then let’s bring everything together.”

[starlitangels]

That’s Mine

Another Guy/Honey ficlet for the girl who can’t seem to write a full fic for these two to save her life

—

I glanced up from my laptop upon hearing the apartment door open. “I’m home!” Guy called at the same time I heard the thumping of him literally kicking his shoes off at the door.

“Welcome back,” I said flatly, going back to my report.

I could hear him groan with the several popping noises that came with him cracking his back. “I’m gonna shower,” he announced as the front door shut.

“Careful. Kayla left a makeup bomb in the bathroom,” I warned.

“How does she even do that? Like we should not be finding powdered foundation in the bathtub of all places. A little falling off the palette or brush into the sink is one thing but like the bathtub?” He appeared in the doorway of my room and leaned against the frame on one shoulder. “I don’t get it. I’ve worn some makeup in my day but I’ve never been that messy with it.”

I grunted and shrugged.

Guy sighed dramatically. “Not in the mood to talk, honey?”

I shot him a withering glare. “Go get in the shower before I punt your ass into the bathroom and bar the door. I’m trying to work.”

He smirked lasciviously. “If you bar a door that locks from the inside and swings inward, you’d have to be in the bathroom with me.”

I raised a brow. “I’d figure it out. Go away.”

He winked with a click of his cheek and pushed off the doorframe, vanishing down the hall.

I went back to my paper.

Apparently I got really sucked into it because I didn’t even process that I heard the shower start and stop a few minutes later. Hell, I barely even processed Guy singing showtunes while he was in it.

I vaguely heard the bathroom door creak open on that ungodly loud hinge I still needed to oil (the landlords had promised to do it months ago and never had and I was getting sick of it), while Guy continued his one-man-show of Phantom of the Opera. But I ignored all of it. Guy’s singing was a constant in the apartment and I’d just learned to tune it out.

When the essay was done, I submitted it and finally stood up, wincing as my knees popped.

With a heavy sigh, I left my room.

Guy spun around in the kitchen almost instantly. In his favorite hot pink “Kiss the Cook” apron that had been a gag gift from his siblings that he’d actually loved. “There’s my favorite person!”

I grunted. Then froze. “Hang on a second here,” I said, folding my arms. “Hm. Black T-shirt way too long and wide in the arms, logo for a band you don’t listen to poking out from under the top of the apron. Coincidentally matching the one that went missing from my things after a load of laundry a few weeks ago…” As I spoke, I undid the neck loop of the apron and let the top fall away from his torso.

He chuckled nervously, ears and neck turning blotchy and red. “Heh-heh… uh…”

“Guy Erikson, that’s my shirt,” I snapped.

“Whaaat? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Obviously this is mine. See how it just fits me perfectly—ow, ow! Okay okay you don’t have to pinch I get it I get it—damn!” He pouted as I let go of his shoulder. “Can’t I just borrow it for the rest of tonight though? It’s so soft. It’s not my fault that you have the comfiest shirts on the planet!”

“Give it back. Now.”

He sighed dramatically and stripped it off, hurling it at me with all the grace and power of a newly-hatched bird. “Fiiine. You loveless, joyless buzzkill.”

“Thieving parasite,” I retorted, taking the shirt back to my room and chucking it into my hamper.

“Just for that, I’m not including you in my dinner plans.” He whipped the apron back up over his torso and started fixing the neck loop.

“I never asked you to. And I’m going out tonight anyway.”

His head snapped up to look at me. “What?! With who?”

I raised a brow. “Does it matter?”

Guy spluttered. “Oh. Well. I, uh—no, obviously. It’s just—you know what? Never mind.” He turned back to the stove and went back to preparing his pasta.

I snorted. “It’s my stupid reading group for my upper level class. There’s gonna be like five people there. It’s not a date. Don’t wait up for me, honey,” I said sarcastically before ducking back into my bedroom and slamming the door.

I picked the band shirt out of the hamper and held it up to my nose. Curious.

It definitely smelled like Guy.

A small grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. I folded the shirt and set it on my desk. “You know what? I’ll wash it later,” I muttered to myself.

—

Tag list: @pinksparkl @darlin-collins

[smolthealmighty]

Spinaraki Week 4 Day 2: Enough & Load

Can I Be Enough?

Determination can go a long way, but even then a body needs to rest. So when Shigaraki's body finally forces a shutdown in the middle of fighting the monster that is Gigantomachia, can Spinner pick up the slack?

“Does you have are being stupid?”

Even with Gigantomachia beginning to recover from the boulder dropped on his head, Spinner couldn’t help but pause at Shigaraki’s question. “…What?” he asked as he regained his bearings and disembarked said boulder before Machia could try swatting him.

Shigaraki attempted to repeat his earlier question, “Is you are stupid be?” By now Spinner had reach Shigaraki’s side and judging by how far back his eyes were rolled into his head Shigaraki was not doing great.

“Are you seriously trying to call me stupid when you can’t string a coherent sentence together?”, Spinner exclaimed. “The plan worked didn’t it,” Toga yelled as she joined the two, panting somewhat from the aerobics she had to do to keep Machia distracted, “Now we know that the big guy gets briefly stunned by surprise boulders to the head!”

“Almost pancake danger!” Shigaraki hollered.

“It’s Machia, everything’s dangerous!” Spinner shot back. “Look, save the lecture for after your next three-hour nap, you sleep deprived dingus!”

Shigaraki took far too long to process what Spinner said, but responded with a simple flash of the peace out sign… then immediately face-planted the forest floor.

Rushing over, Spinner flipped his leader over to listen for a pulse as Toga checked his breathing.

“Oh thank fuck he’s not dead!” Spinner sighed in temporary relief.

“I’m surprised he was able to stay awake this long,” Toga fretfully commented, “but at least Dabi owes me money now.”

“Screw money! He can’t fight like this, we need backup! Where’re the others?”

“They should be finishing up their break!”

“Call them! Call them now!”

“There’s no service here!”

“Are you kidding me?! Find a hotspot!”

“I think service is better closer to the towns!”

“Then go!”

“Hold on I can buy you some time!”

Toga grabbed Shigaraki’s face and quickly licked off as much blood as she could, transforming into him as she gave Spinner one last bit of advice, “You’ve got five minutes before I change back, scatter!” With that, she started booking it down the mountain with Machia in pursuit, only slightly thrown off by Himiko’s evasive vanishing technique.

Refusing to waste any more time, Spinner quickly picked up his unconscious leader and maneuvered him onto his back, then yanked his scarf from around his neck to tie it around their waists, securing Shigaraki in a makeshift piggyback ride. As he began to run, Spinner ripped two pieces of fabric from his mask and tied them to Shigaraki’s pinkies to prevent any accidental decaying, knowing that he couldn’t keep his leader from getting killed by Machia if he himself died in the process.

‘He’s lighter than I thought he’d be,’ Spinner observed as he leaped over fallen logs.

‘I could’ve sworn he built some muscle while fighting Rockjaw McGee the past two months,’ he ruminated as he felt the ground rumbling as Machia pivoted to close in the gap he worked so hard to build.

‘Am I doing enough to help him?’ he questioned as he dodged the stones being chucked at him from afar.

‘Am I not carrying my fair share of the load?’ he pondered as he scaled a cliff face and cleared the edge just before Machia ran straight into it.

‘If I could just get a stab in, or maybe yeet another rock at his eye, would that be enough?’ he deliberated as he launched himself from tree branch to tree branch, with Machia swatting at the parts of the forest canopy where Shigaraki’s scent was but never landing a hit.

‘Fuck if I could just make this fight a little bit easier for Shigaraki once he wakes up, I wouldn’t feel so damn useless!’ he berated himself, Machia’s roaring engulfing all the sounds of the wilderness yet still unable to drown out Spinner’s own self-loathing.

It felt like days had passed, but was likely only a few hours after Shigaraki collapsed that Gigantomachia reached his 48-hour limit and ended his pursuit to bury himself into the ground for his nap. Every muscle in Spinner’s body was sore, but he had just enough strength to climb back down the cedar tree he had perched in, careful to make sure Shigaraki didn’t slip out now that the chase was over. He startled and moved to shield his leader when he heard the nearby rustling of foliage getting trampled, then relaxed as Toga burst through the bushes.

“We’re here,” cried Toga, with Mr. Compress and Twice hot on her tail, “Are you okay? Did you get squished?”

“We survived,” Spinner panted, shuffling over to the rest of his group, “barely, but we did.”

“Thank goodness you’re both okay.” Twice cried with joy, “We ran all the way up for nothing?!”

“Well look on the bright side,” Mr. Compress stated as he took in the mound where Machia had settled in for his nap. “Now that we’re here early we have more time to plan our next 48-hour match.”

“Shouldn’t we wait until Shigaraki wakes back up?” Spinner questioned. “Too late… ‘m up,” slurred a voice from behind him, and Spinner lowered down to let his newly awoken leader off his back. “What’d I miss?”

“You ate shit on the forest floor so Spinner outmaneuvered Machia while carrying your dead weight like a sack of potatoes!” Toga gleefully explained.

“Shit,” Shigaraki panicked, “did you die?!”

“Does he look dead to you?” Toga deadpanned.

“I mean did my quirk injure you?” Shigaraki clarified, checking Spinner over for cracks anyway.

“No I’m fine,” Spinner reassured him, “Just exhausted and frustrated that I couldn’t do any more than run away and try not to get us killed. I didn’t even get a single hit on Machia except that boulder.”

“Who cares if you didn’t land a meaningful blow? I don’t!” Shigaraki exclaimed, taking a second to face Spinner completely before continuing. “In the face of a man the size of a literal mountain, you held him off and kept me alive with only your physical abilities and intuition. In my book that’s more than enough. You’re enough, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise because I will fight them.”

Spinner really hoped Toga stayed silent because he knew he was flushed pink and if she chose now to start getting mushy, he would surely combust and undo all the progress he made in prolonging his friend’s lifespan.

[magixfairyix]

Trix & OC Core Incorrect Quotes 01

After S.S.S. (as in far after) Iorda is consensually kidnapped into the coven as they'd (and the Winx) been friends for four years at this point, and Iorda had gone fully from fairy to a witch a year prior.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Darcy: It was in the third year when you and Icy were fighting, cue crow's dust, and she said 'Now, what am I going to do with you.' Right? >:)

Icy: hOw CaN YoU qUotE tHat?

Darcy: I have a book of your homosexual quotes with Bloom. I had a guess you'd bang/makeout with each other at some point and I decided to keep a book so when you two did relieve the sexual tension I could chuck it at you

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda: Hey um... I might've fucked up

Icy: What did you do? Is everyone alive?

Stormy: Technically we both fucked up so...

Darcy: 'Fucked up' by whose standards?

Iorda: 'Fucked up' as in you three will likely approve

Darcy: Alright spill the tea

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Icy: It was his fault. He should've been grateful it was Iorda because we all know if Darcy and I was there he wouldn't have been able to walk out of there with his limbs intact

Iorda: Yeah that's what we call illegal Icy

Darcy: BSH fucking with someone's pain reflex is illegal

Iorda: OH FUCK OH SHIT PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE JOKING

Icy: They are don't worry. Darcy stop scaring the child

Iorda: Darcy, fuck you. I thought I just did something illegal

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda: Since Darcy and I are immune to poison does that mean we can't get intoxicated to death, stung to death by poisonous animals, or get poisoned from drinking human blood?

Icy: Iorda, the hell

Darcy: Eh I don't think human blood is poisonous it just fucks with your body. Also the first it's not necessarily poison. The second though...

Stormy: One, why did you assume we would know?

Iorda: Eh ya'll tried to kill me via poison I thought you'd know

Stormy: Nuff said. Secondly, what the fuck is wrong with you?

Iorda: A lot of shit

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda: Yeah turns out it wasn't a daemon, it was Death

Stormy: ... excuse

Iorda: Don't worry I'm alive. Wait... does this add a ninth time considering I 'interacted with death?'

Stormy: ... yeah no shit you're alive. You're talking to us

Iorda: For all you know I could be possessed sthu

Icy: Darcy! You're girlfriend is going fucking insane and please tell me you didn't know that DEATH is real!

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Icy: ... You scare me

Stormy: Oh yay mom is back

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Darcy: ICY WE JUST FOUND SOMETHING OUT!

Iorda: Acually get your ass on here this is revolutionary!

Darcy: ICYYYYYYY

Icy: What is revolutionary and what did you two do?

Iorda: Your ice doesn't melt in blood! ^^

Icy: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU TWO DO?!

Darcy: Remember when Iorda got stabbed and got a free chiropractic appointment?

Iorda: ... shit my back issues actually disappeared for two years after that so not far off from the truth

Darcy: ... not even gonna question that, but anyway

Stormy: Wait wait wait, what happened after the stabbing?

Icy: Darcy what did you do? (five years too late)

Iorda: You didn't tell them? DARCY THE HELL

Darcy: Damn. Well after that happened a bad migraine hit from the emotion feeling thing so I forgot, so, yeah I didn't tell them. Oops

Iorda: You didn't tell them you broke every bone in my body? Priorities

Stormy: WAIT WHAT DID YOU DO

Icy: YOU DID THAT AND YET SHE DIDN'T DIE!? (Respectfully)

Darcy: I thought she would

Iorda: Cackling rn holy shit

Stormy: And you did that when you could feel her emotions?! Darcy?!

Darcy That's why I got a hell of a migraine and nausea after. Felt like shit

Iorda: yOu felt like shit?? I was dYinG 

Darcy: Fair, you win

Icy: ... I told you to like, kill her mind or something not bReAk hEr bOnEs

Darcy: Yeah I know I'm a perfectionist ;)

Stormy: Musa is laughing her ass off at this conversation

Iorda: Tell them that they are a traitor

Stormy: Done, they flipped you off. And by the way, I just remembered that were used to compare you to a cockroach because of your inability to die

Icy: Perfectionist my ass. You didn't even finish the job. This is why I'm the coven leader because you all are insane

Iorda: It's not their fault I'm a badass cockroach

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Icy: That's also not likely. That'd only happen if Iorda didn't get her blood and magic energy cleansed 

Iorda: .. do what?

Icy: Get your blood and energy cleansed. You know, to get all the curses and whatnot out of your body so you can use your magic properly. Otherwise, you could have difficulty using certain parts of your magic, sleeping, also a sense of paranoia and unease

Darcy: Iorda please tell me you're just you and that you did get your blood and energy cleansed for the love of-

Iorda: And where do you find this information? Just asking~ 

Stormy: They teach us this second year of Cloud Tower, common knowledge. Though it's not taught to faries because it's not relevant and... You didn't go to CT second year, did you?

Icy: Iorda answer

Iorda: ... so tHaTs why I'm shit at psychic magic

Darcy: GET YOUR ASS TO ZENOTHE RIGHT THIS SECOND

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Stormy: So we can't speak because otherwise the Ariste will hear us. Only communication is through this chat while we search for potion ingredients

Iorda: The what now?

Stormy: Creatures that'll eat our skin if we make noise

Iorda: TF DID YOU BRING ME FOR

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda: FUCK YOU STORMY AND YOUR DAMN HEELS IF I DIE IT'S NINE FOR NINE AND I DON'T HAVE ANYMORE FUCKING LIVES LEFT!

Stormy: JUST RUN!

Iorda: I'M GONNA GET MY SKIN EATEN FUUUUKKKKKK. FUCK YOU I CAN SEE WHY ICY IS THE IMPULSE CONTROL OF YOU THREE!

Stormy: RUN BITCH WE'RE ALMOST AT ALFEA

Iorda: WHY WOULD YOU CHOSE TO WEAR HEELS IN A SWAMP YOU'RE WORSE THAN STELLA!

Stormy: SO I COULD BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF ANYTHING THAT TRIES TO KILL US!

Iorda: THEN BY ALL MEANS BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF THE ARISTE

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

[rynnthefangirl]

My Top 10 Favorite Breaking Bad Universe Characters

1. Howard Hamlin - this one is kinda silly bc he is much less developed than other characters, but I can’t help it. His tragedy hits so hard, it took a character whom I didn’t really care about and made him my absolute #1 fave. Rest in peace Howard you deserved better🥺💔

2. Jimmy McGill/Saul Goodman - Gilligould really took a look at their whacky comic relief lawyer in Breaking Bad, and said “hmm, what if we made him the absolute most complex and fascinating character in our entire fictional universe”. And then they did.🙌

3. Jesse Pinkman - God his story hurts. He had one of the best hearts in the whole show, yet he suffered more than ANY other character. His character goes from loveably silly to absolutely heart shattering. I hope he found some peace in Alaska.❤️

4. Walter White - I just can’t help but love this horrible horrible man. He’s goofy and ridiculous, but also insane and egotistical in the most entertaining way. What a great protagonist, he’s compelling when I am rooting for him and compelling when I am praying for his downfall.

5. Chuck McGill - IMO, the best antagonist in the whole BrBa universe. The Jimmy vs Chuck storyline was TOP TIER, Chicanery was a masterpiece of an episode, Lantern and Winner are just dripping with tragedy and sorrow and what-if's. And it's all because of Chuck. Rip Chuck, you may have been a prick but damn if you didn’t make this show the brilliant piece of television that it was.

6. Kim Wexler - no character gives me more mixed feelings than Kim. I always liked her in the early seasons, then I despised her in s6a, then my heart broke for her in s6b, and now I retroactively have so much more love and sorrow for her earlier self because there was so much good there and she could have been so much better and GOD Kim is such a tragic, amazing, well written character.

7. Skyler White - oh my god, my poor wife. You deserved so much better than what the audience gave you all those years. You were a queen, and so right about everything, and I am so sorry I didn’t see it before but now I will defend you until my dying day❤️❤️❤️

8. Lalo Salamanca - he’s just so insane and silly and entertaining. He steals every scene he’s in, and in my opinion added some desperately needed charm and charisma to the cartel side of the show. Legit was rooting for him against Gus, even though he killed my boy Howie and I knew he was doomed to fail.

8. Nacho Varga - Like Jesse, he went through so much despite having one of the most decent hearts on the show, and it all culminated in such a tragic yet powerful death scene. And I love love love the idea of the curse of Nacho Varga dooming Gus, the Salamancas, and the Cartel for their sins. His ghost looms over Breaking Bad, and makes both shows much richer as a result.

9. Cheryl Hamlin - she fascinates me, we see very little of her and yet I loved her scenes and want to know more. I'll also not tolerate Cheryl slander, we don't know what was going on in her and Howard’s marriage, and in the end she stood up for him when nobody else did.

10. Mike Ehrmantraut - to be honest, I'm not the biggest Mike fan. Not because there is anything wrong with his character per se, but I find it a bit annoying how the fandom idolizes him as a loveable grandpa/moral criminal when he actually is kind of horrible and not all that different from Walter. That being said, I do love what they were going for in BCS, showing his slow corruption as he keeps going back into the world of crime to avoid dealing with his grief for his son's death, culminating in that amazing scene where the show calls him on his hypocrisy and Manual Varga tells him 'you gangsters and your justice, you are all the same'. I just wish it was explored more explicitly in the narrative and fandom the way that Walt and Jimmy's moral corruptions are.