#y'all should check out my work on ao3

[mallgothreject]

Chapter 16 of Mid-Youth Crisis is now published on Wattpad and AO3!

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟱: 𝗹𝗲𝘄𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝘅 & 𝗰𝗼𝗰𝗸𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your husband comes home to his monaco apartment after achieving p2 in spain. from the texts you sent him before he boarded his flight, he expected you to be awake when he arrived. however, you’ve fallen asleep–but that’s not a problem. he’ll sneak into bed right next to you and catch a few extra hours of sleep. you’ll commemorate the podium come morning. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. vaginal sex. lingerie. marriage. unsafe sex. no pull-out. tender sex. slow and sensual. cockwarming. intimacy. no beta we get disqualified like lewis and charles. not dirty? husband/wife kink (if that’s a thing). more soft. sickeningly sweet (ig). 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lewis hamilton x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: icu • coco jones

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: needed something to soothe the soul after the austin gp disqualifications. this is at the same time the least kinky thing i’ve written so far and the most kinky thing ever. because love feels filthier to write, idk if that makes sense. it’s on the shorter side because i ditched the preamble in order to finish this in time lol, but i dedicate this to my twin @saintwrld :) (it reminds me of her renaissance series :p y'all should check it out @saintslewis) and i hope everyone enjoys it !!!!

do you want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

lewis sighs tiredly as he lies down in bed next to you. the mercedes driver turns on his side facing you, and laughs quietly. your bonnet, of course, has grown a pair of legs and climbed its way off your head and is sleeping on the pillow next to you—your braids fanned out on the pillow underneath you unprotected. lewis carefully wrangles the bonnet back on you and smiles adoringly when he notices that you're wearing the matching bonnet he got you almost nine years ago. and to feel how the matching bonnets makes his heart stutter after spending a decade of his life with you, two of those years being married; he knows being married to you is one of the best decisions he’s ever made. 

he tugs you, his wife, closer; cooing out loud when he notices that you’re clad in one of his tommy hilfiger hoodies, tucking your head under his chin, arms wrapping around you tightly, and legs intertwining comfortably. you hum against his chest, nuzzling deeper into his bare skin, and a faint smile lingers on your lips, and unconscious reaction to having your husband home again. lewis throws his head back groaning, he can’t wake you up now. you had spammed his phone with texts before his flight, promising that he’d get a “surprise” when he got home, for doing so well this weekend—and he doesn’t have the heart to wake you up just so he can fuck you. well, he thinks, he can just get a couple hours of sleep in and then he’ll wake you up and enjoy whatever gift you’ve decided to bless him with and he drifts into sleep.

when lewis wakes up again, the first thing he notices is that he’s slept for way more than a couple hours. the noon sun has brightened the room immensely, and he’s shocked that he managed to stay asleep for so long with how the sun is shining directly on his face. he shifts onto his back, groaning at the soreness left from racing, and glances down at you to see if your still sleeping, and chokes on his breath. his hoodie is rucked up your waist from sleep, exposing your black lace panties, and when he shifts to get a better view of your ass, his body jostles yours and reveals the silver shift of glitter in the fabric. 

“fuck,” lewis murmurs, he’s always been weak for you dressing in his team colors. one of his tattooed hands takes a generous squeeze of your ass, and he wonders if you're wearing the matching top. his grip on your ass may have become a smidge too tight at that thought, because you softly gasp awake. lewis watches as you squirm against him softly, face twisted in confusion, before you make eye contact with him, and you relax. 

you smile sweetly, your left hand rising to rest on his cheek, “welcome home, champ.” lewis laughs at your half-asleep tone, nuzzling his face into your hand, before turning to press a kiss at the ring he put on your finger. “it was only a second-place finisher, love. no need to call me ‘champ.’”

frowning at him, you scoff, “you are still a seven-time world champion, are you not?” lewis concedes to your point; he’s not interested in being scolded by you today—he’s more concerned with unwrapping the present you got him. he hums and noses at your chin before he captures your lips in a dizzying kiss. your lips are languid against each other, there’s no rush in rediscovering the crevices within your mouths. lewis ignores how your teeth tug at his bottom lip, urging him to speed up—he only deepens the kiss, not quickening his pace, coercing you to melt under his passion. 

he pulls away, enjoying how your gaze has transformed from sleep-hazy to lust-hazy. “mmm, is my ‘surprise’ the panties and matching bra you have under my hoodie?” lewis asks you. you nod your head gently, scooting back and pulling the hoodie up to reveal the matching silver-glitter covered black bralette. he moans at the sight of you; perky breasts and nipples hard underneath the lace, your eyes half-lidded in arousal. his hands reach out to grasp at your chest, thumbs dragging over your nipples, causing a shaky moan to fall from your lips at the friction. you reach to pull the hoodie off but lewis grunts in dissent, “nah, keep it on for me. just make sure it stays up, love.”

“ohmygod,” you giggle quietly, “you can just say you’re obsessed with fucking me in your clothes.”

lewis rolls his eyes at you, “okay: i’m obsessed with fucking you in my clothes. i love the way you smell like me after, i love the way your smell lingers when i wear them after you, i love the way you look in my clothes; if i could choose, i wish you’d only ever wear my clothes and have pretty lingerie underneath them all the time.”

you stare at him wide-eyed, not expecting him to flip your teasing words in that manner, maybe that’s why your panties suddenly feel a little wet. you bite your lip, trying to think of a way to regain the upper hand, and lewis clocks your eyes brightening.

“i fingered myself open for you last night. i’m sure you could still slip in, if you’re up for it.”

lewis chuckles, half-crazed, and murmurs, “if i’m up for it? promise me, if i ever say no to having sex with you that you’ll take me to see a doctor?”

you hum, hand shifting to rub at the nape of his neck, “i promise, baby. can you fuck me now—i fell asleep waiting for you last night.”

lewis quickly gets to work positioning your body. he spins you around to your side, your back pressed against his chest, and spreads your thighs open with his knee. you moan at his easy manhandling, and press your ass back to grind against the tent in his boxers. he encourages the movement of your hips, even directing the grind for a few beats before he halts your motions. his hand slips in between the two of you, and tugs his dick out. he pulls your panties to the side and slowly slips into you. your mouth drops open in a silent moan, overwhelmed by the stretch from his dick spreading you open. lewis sighs deeply as he bottoms out within you, and kisses you on the shoulder. he stays still, allowing you the time you need to adjust. you shift your hips gently, testing the feel, and hum in assent.

lewis moves his hand to find yours, and locks them over your navel, using them to pull you as close to his body as he can. he whispers softly, “can we take it nice and slow today? i want to make love to you today.”you hum, and it shifts to a whine as his hips gently rock into yours, and whimper out, “it’s your present—can use it however you want.” 

lewis keeps the motion of hips slow and controlled, pulling out halfway before sinking in as deep as he can reach. it’s stunning how you can feel every bit of love lewis puts into his thrusts, seeping into you. he continues to pepper kisses on your neck and shoulder, and slips his other arm underneath you, and moving your body slowly so you twist back further, exposing your chest to him again. the hoodie remains bunched under your armpits, and lewis tugs the bralette down underneath your chest, causing your breasts to spill out lewdly over the top. his hand rests over your chest, not groping in any manner, just holding you close, feeling how your heartbeat speeds up from his movements.

in the decade you’ve been in a relationship with lewis, you’ve had some life-changing sex. but, for some reason, the slow and sensual sex has to be your favorite. it feels restorative, like he’s breathing life back into your body, with every deep thrust he’s showing you how much he loves you. and he’s not afraid to say it either.

“i love you, so much—you’re so good to me—my wonderful wife—all for me—all mine—i’ll make you feel so good, love—forever, yeah—you and me, like this—i win everything for you—“

you rock back against him, always weak when he can help but run his mouth, and start rambling back to him, mouth loose from the pleasure he continues to give to you, “my oh! my husband—only you for me, yeah?” he moans into your neck, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to you calling him your husband. 

there’s no telling how long the two of you are wrapped together, neither you are in any rush to reach a climax—you both crave the intimacy sex like this provides, especially after he’s been away. your orgasms crest over your bodies slowly but they’re more satisfying than any other release you could get from rough sex. lewis continues to grind his dick in you as deep as he can, not making any motion to pull out, and ignores the building sensitivity he’s feeling. 

lewis smiles at the blissed out look on your face, and watches how you struggle to open your eyes; he’s been fucking you back to sleep this whole time—that would explain why your rambles disappeared as you got closer to your peak. he tugs the hoodie back down over your chest, and one-handedly drags the duvet to cover your bodies, not wanting you to get cold. “hey, love,” he calls softly, “do you want me to pull out and clean you up?” you shake your head, and turn back onto your side fully, pressing you back to his chest again, and you start to doze off. lewis rubs at your waist gently, soothing you further into sleep—he’s never going to say no to having you keep his dick warm. 

lewis carefully reaches towards the nightstand and grabs his phone, and quickly sets an hour alarm. he won’t let himself be fooled by the call of sleep and let the whole day fly by, like he did last night—he’d rather not be awoken by his angry wife screaming about uti’s and whatnot. he’ll just bathe in the afterglow while you sleep soundly; he just wants to look after you a little longer.

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr@nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhaj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez @reblog-princess-blog @lovingaphroditesworld @katekipshidze @darleneslane

© httpsserene 2023

[alchemistc]

Catie's Big Ass bucktommy fic rec (Part One)

So I'm not gonna lie, I have most of these fics priv. bookmarked because I HAVEN'T COMMENTED ON THEM YET AND I FEEL REALLY GUILTY ABOUT THAT. But more than one anon has asked for this and it tickles me pink that y'all like my writing enough to trust in my recs. So. Please, please, be better than I am and make sure to kudos and comment if you enjoy any of these works.

(Guys, there are SO MANY amazing writers in this fandom. So many truly breathtaking fics already. I got two hours into this and realized I was going to need to split this into parts because I have too many things to say about each of these and I want to do them all justice.)

Writers you can trust in:

@rcmclachlan /ao3 : I will sing RC's praises to the moon and back. There is something about the way RC injects humor into the tiniest of lines that makes me want to scream into a pillow until I pass out. You will see more than one of RC's fics in this list.

@kirkaut /ao3: kirkaut is the reason I jumped on this bandwagon. The unhinged spiral into LFJr obsession and the prevalence of well thought out meta and incredibly hot fic drew me in. If you are not following kirkaut, change that now.

@26-cats-in-a-trenchcoat / catfud_ohplease on ao3: Devastating prose. The ability to turn a theme on a dime and STAB YOU IN THE HEART with it. Mac owns my whole soul when it comes to really scratching that itch behind my eyelids for thematic imagery and really creative ideas for fic that aren't just run-of-the-mill smut/angst/fluff.

@devirnis / ao3: Ali only has one bucktommy fic up on ao3 but it is devine and I love it. Ali is also the only writer who has tempted me into reading buddie. This is not an indictment on buddie fandom or buddie fic writers in general, I just tend to be a one ship kinda gal and I don't really dive into fic for a ship I don't vibe with. Ali's writing has made me reconsider this position.

@beefcakekinard / thingbe on ao3: The domesticity. Literally just reread one of Rose's fics this morning and HAD to comment on it again because it made me want to fling myself to Jupiter.

(This is not a comprehensive list, but I just realized how many fics I have already bookmarked for bucktommy and I'm already under a readmore.)

Fics that make my brain go brrrr:

only fools rush in - somnum365 ( @firehose118)

Tommy lets Buck set the pace. Buck is ready for something.

Super hot and all about checking in. I've got a thing for discovering sex with a partner starting out with frottage and this delivers. The characterizations are so great.

Colin Firth Thinks You're Hot - IDontGoHereEither (@herrmannhalsteadproduction)

Buck is late for a special date night with Tommy, but he still stops to help a stranger stuck on the side of the road. Luckily, that stranger is about to help HIM.

Cute as fuck with a super fun guest star. Who doesn't want Mr. Darcy to think your boyfriend is hot?

sad girl poetic thursday night - screamlet

Date night menu: pasta primavera and emotional unpacking.

There's something about the pacing of this that sent me into a tailspin. The stream of consciousness that actually bleeds from the dialogue into the action and vice versa. Hng.

I Was Only Falling In Love - Princessfbi (@princessfbi)

Tommy in crisis mode.

There's a moment in this fic where Eddie has to pull Tommy back from the precipice of something and it lives entirely rent free in my head, forever and ever amen. The firefam taking care of Buck by taking care of Tommy.

let me count the ways - ashesandhalefire

Buck and Tommy in the aftermath of a good evening are chattier than they probably reasonably should be

There is something about this fic that feels like the witching hour is upon you, like you could live in this little pocket world Buck and Tommy have created for themselves forever. The dialogue is fantastic, and the way they communicate with each other is just *chefs kiss*

let's make it cinematic - kirkaut

Tommy helps Buck deal with some of his impotent rage in the face of the Gerrard of it all.

Listen, I do not have a praise kink. This kinda makes me wish I did.

"[...]Everything is.” He circles a finger around in the air. “It’s very spinny.” - this line of dialogue came for my fucking throat.

Sick with it - Mellow_Yellow

what if in an alternate universe babyslut Buck joined the 118 when Tommy was still in his closeted asshole era and they had a torrid affair??

The way this is a little fucked up. The way the characterizations aren't exactly familiar because they haven't aged into what we know them as in current canon. The way you can see in every broken line and every stutter step that Tommy is falling for Evan and has No Fucking Idea what to do with that. Ugh. Best Met Earlier AU I've ever read.

He blinked as Tommy walked by, eyes sliding closed again before he left. He felt a light touch on the top of his head but figured he was imagining it. He couldn’t think of anyone at the 118 who would touch him that carefully. - just absolutely fucking end me they're so good/bad for each other

A Full Body Workout - Persiflager

Tommy and Buck spend a day trying to distract Eddie from the *gestures vaguely* all of it.

The way this is so quiet in the way it shows you how Tommy and Buck care for each other. The way they are down bad but still so hyperaware of the pace they've set, the things they've talked about. The way they take care of their friend here. I'm obsessed with the tone of this one. Also, as a general theme, nothing draws me in more than well thought out dialogue, and this one has some fucking GREAT dialogue.

Your love is better than ice cream - Cecily_v, liminalmemories

An alternative meet-cute, where-in Tommy doesn’t know the 118 and decides Buck is worth it anyway. Buck is confused but figures some things out.

There is so much I love about this AU. How they meet. How their relationship progresses. How it feels glacially slow in comparison to the canon storyline but also how in character they both are. The foundation of their love in this fic is downright eatable.

just couldn't fall til we met - thingbe (@beefcakekinard)

Buck and Tommy spend a quiet morning in together.

This is the one that crossed my dash earlier today and made me eat fucking glass on reread. The closeness. The way they're both so tactile. The blink and you'll miss it hints at a life being built together. Eating this UP every time I read it.

The Premium Twunk Appreciation Society, President: Tommy Kinard - everythingremainsconnected

5 times Tommy almost faints like a Victorian maiden at the sight of Buck’s flesh, and 1 time he can do something about it.

“Hey,” Evan said, shoving Eddie out of the way and filling the screen with his playful glare, “organise bro time on your own time, I’m on the phone with– with Tommy.”

“With who?” Eddie repeated. Tommy didn’t need to see his face to hear the fondness in the mocking. “Who’s on the phone? I didn’t quite catch that.”

- They are so stupid about each other in this fic, please read it and watch steam blow out your ears at how sweet and hot and down bad for each other they are.

desire (i want to turn into you) - chthonicheart

The first time Buck’s really able to bury his face between a man’s tits, he nearly cries.

pwp but with a whole heaping of character study. HOT.

rule four (you were only waiting for this moment to arise) - middyblue (daisyblaine) [@middyblue]

Tommy has doubts.

There is a general mood to this piece that feels heavy in a way I can't quite explain. There was a weight on my chest all the way through this in the BEST way possible. The way Tommy navigates his mind and struggles to trust the little slice of peace he and Buck have carved out is just mindbogglingly beautiful.

Come Fly The Friendly Skies - RC_McLachlan (@rcmclachlan)

Buck meets their rescue mission's would-be pilot and is extremely normal about it.

"Throttling is what I'm gonna do to you if you don't shut up and let the nice man steal a helicopter for us,"

WHEN I TELL YOU I AM INCANDESCENT WITH RAGE over how funny and insightful this fic is.

Every characterization is picture perfect.

Maddie gives great hugs, but she's so small; if she had this guy's build and could basically fold Buck into her like an old blanket, they'd have to pry him out of her arms with the jaws of life.

In the back of Buck's mind, in a place he hasn't discovered, he's already picked out a venue and chosen his centerpieces. He's mentally putting together seating arrangements. This line of Buck's thoughts on Tommy Kinard told me so.

Please read this and join me in trying to destroy RC with my mind (lovingly).

little by little - MediaWhore

Buck & Tommy, during and after the wedding.

There is something so soft and gentle about this fic. The way Tommy just gives in to the exhaustion and props himself up against Buck because he knows he'll be able to take the weight (he wants to take the weight and Tommy knows it). The quiet flirting, the way they take care of one another. The jumpscare of Marge and Phil and how this fic is right at the edges of exploring that but Buck has me important priorities.

“It was badly done,” - the way this is so in character for Ma Buckley and the way it made me want to SHAKE HER TIL HER TENDONS SHATTERED AND SHE CRUMBLED LIKE A SATISFYING CASINO IMPLOSION

Soft and heartbreaking and mending all at once.

while you arranged flowers - newtkelly

Buck’s got a wedding date, but as far as today goes, he’s also got a regular one.

The way I want to wrap this Buck up tenderly and hide him from the people in his life who DON'T DESERVE HIS AFFECTION, HIS LOVE, HIS JOY.

The non-urgency of this, the absolute too-much-too-soon he's dealing with in his own mind while he grapples with the reality of seizing a second chance with both hands and getting to explore himself within the confines of a very lovely, very sweet and kind, VERY HOT man he wants to get on his knees for.

Beautiful prose, excellent dialogue, an insightful character study.

[faerievampling]

Miracle - Part 2

Summary: Astarion asks a pregnant Tav to marry him and settle down for a bit. Can be read as a stand alone story!

Word count: 2.1k

Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x F!Tav / Reader

Link to Part 1

Link to Ao3

My Masterlist

Warnings: 18+! Explicit! Astarion being a perv for pregnant Tav! Pregnancy kink. Breeding kink. PiV. Vaginal fingering. Cunnilingus. Body worship. Panty sniffing. Mention of body changes, symptoms of pregnancy.

A/N: Do y'all want more of these two? because I have more. I hope you enjoy!

You and your beloved continue to travel and work. Despite being expert adventures, you both had decided on taking low risk journeys and dealings. You were lucky to have found an enchanted ring long ago, one that allowed your vampire to walk in the sun, so there was no disruption to your living schedule.

Astarion insisted that you take it easy, and had even wanted you to stop traveling altogether, but he could only get you to acquiesce to directly participating in battles.

But you were starting to get rather big, and you weren’t so quick or nimble as you once were. The extra weight was daunting on you.

You are nearing the end of your pregnancy, now.

“Darling, you know I’m not one for…tradition, or convention, or any of that,” Astarion said one day as he massages your swollen hands. You were propped up in bed, your legs draped over Astarion's lap as he sat upright, working the fluids out with his strong digits. It was hard work, growing a baby, and strange things happened, like swollen hands. “But, I was reading something the other day…”

“Oh?”

“In one of my romance novels…you know the ones,” Astarion admits coyly, and you smile, nodding because he had shared this guilty pleasure with you before. “In one of them, the love interest wanted the mother of his child to share the same surname as their offspring. And he, the love interest, wanted to also share…this last name with them.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“What do you think of that?” Astarion inquires coquettishly, turning on an almost boyish, shy charm that makes your heart swoon.

“I think it’s romantic. The love interest wants his family united, and I think that’s lovely,” You say. “What do you think about it, Astarion?”

“I think I want that. With you.” Astarion turns your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I don’t care to do it traditionally, I just want you to be mine. I’ve already talked to Wyll.”

Astarion moves your legs off his lap onto the bed, moving for his things across your suite. The two of you were quite wealthy at this point, and had found a lovely little inn to stay in outside of Athkatla, the capital of Amn.

Astarion produces an envelope, pulling out the papers inside before handing them over to you. Astarion, not having the patience for you to actually look them over, tells you that it is the paperwork for an annulment of his death certificate, an official acknowledgement of the destruction of a previous marriage, and a marriage license –

“Wait a minute,” You stop him.

Astarion has an ‘I’ve been caught’ look on his face. “Ugh, I had hoped you’d just ignore that part I sandwiched in there.”

You knit your eyebrows together, shaking your head at him. “I’m no stranger to your ‘sandwich’ tactics, Astarion,” You quip back. “A previous marriage?”

“One that I have no memory of and was contractually destroyed upon my first death. Now that I’m legally alive again, and they are still alive, it’s just to acknowledge that marriage is no longer legitimate, so that our marriage is.”

“Oh,” You say, digesting these two things at once; Astarion had an ex-husband or wife, and he was asking you to marry him right now.

“I figured we could go back to Baldur’s Gate for a while, get Wyll’s stamp of approval, and there was that midwife Shadowheart suggested to us…” Astarion trailed off, his mind wandering at all the things there was to do. “You should probably get a check up. It's been a while, darling, and my 'inspections' of you are hardly medical in nature.”

You give him a gentle smack on the shoulder, prompting a handsome smirk from him before you narrow your eyes at him. You knew he was going to tell you that now was the time to settle down. You knew it was coming.

“Don’t look at me like that. Not after what I’ve just asked of you.” His rounded eyes look away from you, like he’s embarrassed.

You change your tune, realizing you’re being a jackass. You ease yourself out of bed, Astarion rushing to help you. You take his arm, and once on your feet, you place your hands on his chest, looking up at him as he looks away from your cleavage, meeting your gaze.

“Astarion, of course I’ll marry you,” You say with a smile, bringing him into a tender kiss. Astarion cups your cheek with one hand and a breast with another: he has become rather obsessed with them lately.

“I guess I’m just not ready for our grand adventure to end.” You explain, tears in your eyes as you think about all the change that’s to come.

Astarion cradles you closer. “My love, this is just the start of a new adventure. And let’s be reasonable, we both know you’re terribly uncomfortable with all the traveling. Don’t you want to just rest your tired, but very sexy body for the last part of your pregnancy, my darling?”

You couldn’t help but agree.

He’s being cheeky, trying to hide the tears that have welled up in his eyes. Astarion has never known family. He couldn’t fathom having a wife, nonetheless a pregnant one. But here he was, with the object of his desire in his arms.

“I love you so much, Tav. I just want you and our child to be safe.” Astarion says. “Baldur’s Gate is the safest place for us. All of our friends are there, we have ample protection and resources – don’t make me beg.”

You’re back in Baldur’s Gate before you know it.

———

The night you arrive, you and Astarion stay at Jaheira’s house; the two of you are utterly exhausted from your travels, and you collapse in bed.

Astarion watches as you lie on your side, trying to find a pillow to place beneath your large, aching belly. Realizing how little options you had, Astarion lies beside you, snaking his hand beneath your belly.

“Ah,” You say in relief, earning a smile from Astarion, who just wanted you to be comfortable. He had seen how hard your pregnancy had been.

“I guess it’s alright if you use my pillow, darling. I wouldn’t be opposed to staying just like this, though.” Astarion’s voice is light and gentle, the smoothness filing your ears in a pleasurable way. “We have a long day tomorrow. We’ll likely be at the courthouse all day…”

Astarion shivers at the thought, giving a dramatic sigh, making you laugh.

“Could you imagine going back to that? Being a magistrate? Spending all day in the courtroom settling legal disputes and passing ‘Astarion approved’ laws?” You smile over your shoulder at him; a perfect opportunity to steal a sweet kiss, Astarion plants one on your cheek as he chuckles.

“No, certainly not. I love being an adventurer with you.” Astarion places another kiss on you, this time to your neck. “But I may have to find something to do in the meantime while our little one is…well, little.”

“What do you have in mind?” You ask as you intertwine your fingers with his, the warmth in your chest nearly bringing tears to your eyes.

“I’ve got a few options. You know that Jaheira wants me to help her recruit more Harpers in the city, but that sounds like far more trouble than it’s worth. Maybe I’ll work in the city with Wyll, continuing to help with the various outreach programs he's implemented as Duke," Astarion explains as he listens to the beating of the hearts of both his child and his beloved.

He can tell once you've fallen asleep, but he keeps talking, because he can feel the fluttering in your stomach as his child responds to his voice.

It takes everything in him not to choke up.

---

The next day, you try look as beautiful and bridal as you can being so heavily pregnant. But today was the day you’d become an Ancunín, and you wanted to look nice.

“A pregnant bride is so very scandalous,” Astarion teased as he watched you dress. Your husband-to-be was a bit of a peeping tom.

Astarion picks up last nights panties you discarded on the floor.

“Tsk tsk. You can’t be so messy, my wife.” Astarion was testing the word on his tongue, bringing the fabric that absorbed your carnal scent to his nose, inhaling as he gazed at you devilishly.

You blush, rolling your eyes at him as you slip on a new pair, but Astarion stops you, beckoning you to him.

Astarion sits on the edge of your bed, bringing your body between his thighs as his pretty lips circle the tip of your breast, gently suckling your nipple as he flicks his tongue against you.

“So sensitive…” You moan, but you make no motion to move away, so Astarion doesn’t stop.

“Mmm,” He moans back, his hand moving from the curve of your belly to your slick mound, which was also increasingly sensitive as you got further in your pregnancy.

Astarion tenderly massages the folds of your cunt, easing a finger between your walls as he brings his thumb to caress your swollen clitoris, the very one that he was dreaming of devouring with his tongue after he gave your gorgeous breasts the proper attention they deserved, of course.

Astarion loved you like this. Swollen with his child, evidence of being filled to the brim with his come. His sensitive nose could smell your ‘baby’ hormones that made your skin glow, made your hair thick and shiny.

It made him ravenous. You were absolutely gorgeous to Astarion.

He couldn’t even believe it, really. It had been nearly seven months since the two of you found out, seven months of adventuring, of watching your body change, and it awakened something within him.

Although you often complained how swollen you felt, Astarion loved the way you looked: your nipples and labia puffy, clit engorged, your ringed muscle puckered, your stomach rounded and full.

Not to mention how desperate you were for him; you quivered under his every touch. You were just so responsive, so sensitive, like your every nerve was on fire for him; he couldn’t help but indulge you whenever possible. He just wanted to touch you, to watch you squirm, to look at your body and know that you, your womb, is his.

Astarion stands up and gently pushes your back against a wall as he moves to get on his knees, lifting a thigh up and to the side as he kisses down your inflated stomach.

Reaching up to take a breast in his hand, Astarion brings his mouth to your center, engaging your core with his lips. He brings your folds into his mouth, sucking and caressing your sex with his tongue.

He just wants to worship your body. He needs just a taste of you, of your depths, and he plunges his tongue between your folds, gathering your juices on his lips before focusing on that sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of your mound.

You’re delicious, beautiful and maternal, pliant in his hands as he reaches two fingers into your depths, reaching behind your clitoris to rub your spongey walls. His motions have you seeing white, causing your breasts to heave and bounce as your body clenches around his dexterous fingers.

He loves the way you drag your fingers through his hair; feeling your nails on his scalp sends shivers throughout his body.

Astarion pulls away as you come undone, watching as you writhe above him. Astarion is fully holding you up with his strong hands, making him feel like quite the family man at this moment, physically carrying both his bride and his child in his hands.

He still can’t believe this.

Astarion brings the both of you to the bed, stripping his clothes off as you get comfortable, maneuvering yourself for his entry.

Being so large, you couldn’t lie on your back anymore, and riding him was far too difficult, so you opted to bend yourself over, putting pillows beneath you in all the right places to ensure your comfort.

Astarion moans at the sight of you exposing yourself to him.

“Fucking yes, my love. You’re so beautiful, Tav.” Astarion grasps his wet cock. He’s dripping with so much pre-cum that he’s almost surprised, and he uses it to wet his member, which so desperately needs to be inside of you. "If I could just keep you like this forever..."

Astarion pulls back his foreskin with his thrusting motions, moving the skin up and down his shaft, groaning as he admires you.

Parting your folds with his finger and thumb, Astarion lines himself up with your entrance before enveloping himself into your warmth, earning a gasp from him at the sensation.

“Gods, you feel even tighter, Tav, with my child in you…” Astarion drifts off, the squelching and slapping of skin on skin making him entirely forget himself.

Astarion felt your waves of pleasure wash over you as you coiled around the base of his cock. With two fingers, Astarion massages that sweet button of yours, causing you to gush even harder around him, your orgasm evident in your entire being: you cried his name as you convulsed around him, giving him your milky come.

Astarion followed soon after, releasing his seed deep inside you as he spoke a love confession in your ear. Careful not to collapse on top of you, Astarion rolled over, giving you space to catch your breath.

Your muscles were already exhausted, fatigued from pregnancy and your spasming muscles. Astarion starts to mindlessly rub your back as you lay on your side, giggling as he draws you into his chest.

“Well, now I’ve got to fix myself,” You say, moving to stand before Astarion pulls you back into him.

“Maybe you should go just like this. Full belly, looking freshly fucked and used by your husband-to-be.” Astarion kisses your cheek, nuzzling his nose into your face as he does.

“Ha. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You giggle as your beloved finally releases you. Once you’ve fixed your makeup and properly dressed yourselves, the two of you walk out into the streets of Baldur’s Gate, hand in hand.

A few hours later, you would be known as Tav Ancunín, and your stomach leapt with joy at the thought. It wouldn’t be long, now.

Masterlist

[joliettes]

Cold • A.A.

Wife!Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader (AU)

PALESTINE DO NOT BUY TLOU

AO3 MASTERLIST

Summary: it hits you after a couple of years being happily married to Abigail Anderson, the daughter of the most infamous man on the countryside. that maybe it wasn’t happiness, and that maybe she’s hiding something from you.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, MINORS DNI ,ANGST, INFIDELITY, GUNS, reader getting called a whore, lowk traumatic, Abby being unfaithful and downright rude.

Rating: EXPLICIT!!

Word Count: 3.05k

A/N: hey y'all, idk how to feel about this one….this is my first fic ever, i've basically taught myself English, anywhoo have fun reading y'all, luv yaa, likes and reblogs are very appreciated.

(this fic was written while listening to Cold by Chris Stapleton)

waking up to feeling up the right side of the bed trying to get closer to your wife. nothing greets you but utter coldness. no head kisses or the pleadings of five more minutes, not even a kiss goodbye.

dread fills you stomach while you look at the bedrooms door, getting up and asking yourself if you made a mistake that’ll make your wife go to work without waking you up with her kisses. leaving you needy and promising you that she’ll reward you with the best of time the minute she’s back.

you put on your clothes and your boots, going to check on the livestock. pathetic that you need them to cheer you up.

tending to the chickens for a bit, before checking on your horse Bear. gifted to you by Abby's father on your last birthday.

he always had a soft spot for you as a feared man, he’s the most gentle with you and showed his support to your marriage.

you scratch at his head, while he tries to stick his chin to into your palm, making you giggle a bit before you head inside to get dressed properly to go pick up some necessities from the farm market.

walking into the market you greet the farmer

“howdy lady Anderson”

“well hello mister Banks, I'm just here to pick up the usual, I'm a little bit short of tomatoes and beans, making Abigail's favorite dish today” you smile at the thought of her.

“she is most certainly lucky to have you for a wife lady Anderson.”

you smile it him waiting patiently, he comes back with more then you asked for, handing them to u and shooing you away

“don’t even worry about it, i’ve put more in there of your favourite fruits, go enjoy them”

you saunter your way back to the farm, knowing that Abigail won't be home for another two hours or so, the feeling of dread still haunting you while you try to brush it off.

she's been your wife for a good while now, you can sense something’s new happening that she’s not telling you about, she’s been constantly on edge lately.

you do not want to give into the feeling and ruin the happy facade that should be greeting your wife when she get's home.

you get the food ready, laying it on the table wiping you hands on the apron you've got on, you head to the bathroom to freshen up, taking off the apron folding it neatly lest Abby jokingly mocks you for always leaving your stuff all over the place.

you come out wearing a comfortable attire and right on time you hear Abby's footsteps that you know very well, your heart jumps with excitement of seeing her, you give her a moment to unwind tending to your hair before you walk out of the bedroom's bathroom and into the Livingroom's area.

seeing her standing there with undereye bags, obviously very wound up from today's work whatever it is, she looks very disheveled you walk up to her towering form.

"hey baby how was work today" hugging her hunched form while she takes off her boots before she stand up, wrapping her arms around your waist, smelling her soap of pine on your neck. you lean back locking eyes with her patiently, you tilt you head at her pouty face.

"well you know my dad but it was alright, nothing more then work"

you hum at her, nodding at the table "i made your favorite, just the way you like it" before you tilt your head for a smooch she looks at you reluctantly before giving you one.

your eyes widen before concealing the feeling of shock over how this is the first time she doesn't kiss you willingly, or asks for another one in return, you keep your hands on her chest fixing her collar and unbuttoning the top three buttons for her.

before your eyes catch on a spot of red maroon lipstick. the look of fear written all over you face, spit piling up in your mouth you feel that you might puke, you start pawing at her shirts collar pinching it between your fingers. trying to wipe it off to no avail.

she notices the frantic look in your eyes "wha-" before glancing at your fingers that are now painted with the remnants of the lip print left on her,  clearing her throat before gently sliding your hands off of her, and walking to sit down at the table, taking off her hat, laying it down on the table.

while your form is still there where you greeted her by the door, in absolute disbelief, you've never worn a red maroon lipstick.

and it might've been one imprint but it felt like it was all over her, and now it was all over your fingers. laughing at you for doing everything you could to keep your wife happy, just for you to be greeted like this.

she clears her throat looking at you before extending her arm to you with a pleading look "come sit down honey." you try to muster the ability to move, walking to her slowly accepting the defeat she made you feel, holding her hand where the sun hits her face painting her as a martyr, a goddess you had no problem worshiping. day and night, and that's how she reward's you.

you try to sit on the chair opposite her but she pulls you into her lap wrapping her left arm on your midsection, feeling her breath on your neck before she kisses your cheek and your neck in small quick kisses, you think that maybe this is her way of apologizing.

 getting off of her lap you walk to the counter pouring yourself a glass of wine

"really you're gonna drink this? instead of keeping me company and sitting down with me?" 

"i am with you Abby, i am always with but it seems that you're the one drifting away from me" holding the cup close to you. trying to feel an ounce of comfort, you feel none.

she shrugs you off and starts eating like a hungry wolf which tells you of how hungry she is, you pour her a cup of water before she chokes on the food you cooked for her eagerly, wanting nothing but to please her.

just to now hand her the cup with disdain written all over your face.

"what's her name?" 

she hums not getting who you're asking about "who's name honey" her mouth full of food.

"the whore that dared to fucking kiss you with her red lipstick just for me to see" your voice trembling and you can't but find yourself choking up and tears start filling your sad eyes.

she wipes her mouth with the cloth before gulping the last of cold water you've given her, giving you the coldest stare she could ever give you

"you better watch your mouth honey, don't forget who gave you this" twirling her finger all over the place as a means to remind you to just be thankful, telling you that you are her property now.

when she's done been claimed by someone other then you, her whole presence feels different to you.

you shake your head hurriedly. "jerry won't like that you're being unfaithful to me"

tears streaming down your face, trying to calm your frantic breathing thinking about whoever that gave her a reason to be exactly that to you.

unfaithful.

she snorts at you making you look at her " so you think my dad will like you accusing his only child and successor? of fucking infidelity?" her voice rises with each word she utters. eye bloodshed with no feeling of remorse or a hint of sadness.

she stands up putting the cup down off of your hand, holding your hand in her's, prompting you to look at her while touching your knuckles tenderly.

"i need you here, she means nothing to me, you’re the one i yearn for day and night honey"

bringing your hand to her mouth, kissing each of your knuckles slowly.

looking at you from under her eyebrows, with darkened eyes. she kisses your ring cladded finger as means of reminding you.

you look at her teary eyed, heart broken like no other motherfucker in this damned land, never knew she could ever be so cruel to you, feeling her coldness evaporating into your pores.

you smile at her weakly before she starts wiping you tears messily chuckling at you, obviously not taking your feeling in consideration 

the sun starts to set as the weather gets colder by the minute, making you shiver in her hold.

she tightens her arms around your waist. leading you into the bedroom you glance at the wall where she keeps her shotgun hanging off of it like a trophy.

you shake your head of the ill thought that just came up into your mind, jerry will have your head if he finds out that you're even considering doing it.

she starts undressing and you watch her go into the bathroom turning the water to take her usual cold shower, leaving you to tend to you wounded self.

getting ready for bed. you sit on the rocking chair facing the slightly left open bathroom door.

watching her tall figure under the water stream, in any other day she'll beg to take it with her and you'll do so willingly.

getting lathered up in her favorite pine soap, letting her pin you to the wall just the way she desires you to be. breathing hard from her loving on your body the way she likes. having your heated bodies under the cold stream of water. 

you start chewing on your nail, tears welling up in your tired eyes. with the thought of how you and Abby met.. whispers of how she can treat better then anyone on this forsaken land, hushed words of pure love between the two of you.

she introduced you to her father even after you've voiced your concern of him not taking a liking to you, he ends up gifting you a horse for your birthday. after you've pointed at how much you like horses.

she was very eager to settle down with you, seeing you as the perfect choice for her, was it a friend of hers that oh so innocently gave her a kiss on her shirt’s collar, or is it a new woman whom catched Abby's attention?

a woman who's just passing by that she felt she wont linger too long, so she can have as much fun as she could with her?

you notice Abby coming out of the bathroom with a towel around her hips, wiping your eyes as to not let her see you still thinking about what happened, you get up to light the candles.

you see her sitting down on the bed. putting on her pants and giving you a come hither motion, candles lit you walk to her and sit in her lap facing her with you hands on her shoulder's, she holds you waist in both of her palms. running them up and down your waist looking in your eyes intently, as a means of reading what you're thinking of.

"you're mad at me honey"

"n-no i could never Abby, i swear"

she moves her hand to hold at the back of your neck harshly

"you swear for me huh? think you could make a fool out of me?"

"no no Abby i swear i love you i-i swear"  you reach back holding her hand trying to get her to ease her hold on you, her piercing eyes looking into yours.

"awh baby you love me, but you had to ruin the day for us didn't you?"

she kisses you, your body going slack on top of her naked chest, kissing her always made you feel at ease even in tense situations. humming into your mouth she starts kissing down you neck while you hold into her wet hair, you start moving your hips on top of hers for a lick of friction but getting none.

"h-hah Abby please" 

you know you shouldn't even be here, on top of her. begging her for more, you should get on bear and ride as far as you could.

but you know it'll only be a failed attempt before the Anderson's find you and drag you back to Abby, you'll only disappoint jerry by running away. no one to turn to making them practically your only family. with nothing under your name, u are helpless.

you decide to give Abby what she wants, whatever she'll do you'll take willingly, she flips you on your back undressing you on top of your marital bed, leaving her paw prints all over your naked body making you clutch on the pillow hard from her intense way of loving you, not letting up until you writhe under her.

trying to not ruin the moment by remembering the woman with the red lips.

she kisses your head goodnight and snuggles into you holding your midsection for life, catching a glimpse outside the window, you see nothing but utter darkness and the shades of the trees, no sound other then her slow breathing and the sizzling of the candles burning, you get up with trembling legs sliding her arm off of you. 

as quietly as you could you stand in front of the shotgun, contemplating and questioning your choices, if you are really willing to do this.

"fuck it" you mutter to yourself before picking up the shotgun, checking the bullets, you think of how Abby should've never taught you how to shoot, you bet she'll never see it coming.

how foolish of you to think that.

the moment you go back to the room, you see her sat leaning on the wall with her silenced gun in her paw. you try to conceal the shiver that runs through you at her burning gaze.

you try to square up your shoulder, failing as her mouth starts to tilt upwards as a mocking gesture, still pointing the gun at her.

entering the room, she shakes the handgun at u "u thought u were smart didn't cha honey?" she looks at where u were lying down and then back at you. 

shaking her head disappointingly "your father won't be proud, hell my father won't be proud if we die, at each other's mercy." she clicks the gun making you flinch.

she stays silent for a moment before clicking her tongue and continuing.

"she has the most beautiful green eyes you've ever seen honey, it was very hard for me to reject her advances"  

" then let me go Abigail...please?" you look into her eyes pleadingly you know the outcome but you can't help but beg her for mercy on your soul, she points the gun at your head.

"we're both stuck my love, you by duty and me by love" 

you lower the shotgun, laughing out loud at her dumb poetic remark. leaning with your hands on your knees laughing frantically while she looks at you quizzically with a smile on her lips.

"by love? wha- what fucking love are you talking about, in this state Abigail? i stay at this forsaken farm, tending to you, your fucking spoiled chickens, sucking up to you and your lineage just to get by" firing a bullet at the wall in a moment of pure rage you drop the shotgun running out of the room, hearing the bed creak.

unlocking the door and running out onto the cold grass tickling your feet uncomfortably, it is raining heavily.

you glance behind you while running to the staples to get to bear, she's behind you with only her pants on, aiming the shotgun at your running form, your heart thudding with fear as you trip on your own feet trying to get up just to trip again, Abby is right there in front of your cowering form

"a-abby i'm s-sorry" you plead at her

"no you fucking aren't, you wanna act like a whore? because trust me honey, i'll treat you like one"

she brings the shotgun to your shoulder, nudging at your shivering form as if you were infected with something greater then fear.

“get up and walk, you do not want to get on that horse of yours” she spits her words at you.

looking at her questioning your choice of marrying her you try to stand up, she yanks you straight holding your arm tightly, cutting the blood circulation from your arm.

“a-aw” you wince

“you wanna get on that horse? well i’ll just have to shoot the both of you”

walking you inside double locking the door and hanging the shotgun as if nothing happened.

“go shower before you get into bed” she goes to wash her hands and feet, comes out of the bathroom nodding towards the wide open bathroom door.

you get in and wash your hair and body hyperventilating under the stream of the shower, cursing yourself time and time again trying to cry as silently as u could. 

you get out of the bathroom with a towel around your body, looking everywhere but at her.

you wear the first thing you find in your shared drawers, getting under the covers hugging your shivering body tightly, before she cuddles into you.

oh how defeated you just felt, you could only imagine the life you could’ve built….far away from the Andersons.

[thirsty4villains]

Cool Heat

Summary: You're an assistant for the Avengers. Loki has been hiding up in his room for the past week. You go to check on him and he's reverted back to his Jotun form, but he's not quite himself. The two of you discover that Jotuns go into cycles of heat, and Loki hasn't been in his Jotun form for over a millennia...

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Mentions of dubcon

Tags: Loki lives in Stark Tower with the Avengers, PIV, smut, humor, romance, Jotun!Loki, dom!Loki, spanking, more tags to be added

Find me on AO3, Wattpad. Previous chapters/other Loki fics on Tumblr by me here.

Notes: THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING SO PATIENT, I'm sorry this chapter took so long to roll out. Real life stuff, I hope y'all understand. Please enjoy!

Tagged users: @nyxxharmonia @mischief2sarawr @drunkbirdbug @lorelibrarianlizbit @strawberry--fawn @thenotoriouserg @hereforsmutbcicantgetenough @salvinaa @bellajg21 lorielulu7 

CHAPTER 4

You woke up feeling more rested than you did most mornings. If you knew Loki was this good at sex you may have hit him up earlier. Asshole or no, he knew what he was doing. Last night’s events replayed in your head repeatedly: your dream that wasn’t a dream, your conversation, and ultimately the conclusion. They spun around in your head as you tried to assess because it was hard to believe that you had sex with Loki. You also wondered, was it wrong that you weren’t angry at him for having sex while you were unconscious? It definitely wasn’t right of him, but you’d been feeling so lonely and horny – horny for him – that you didn’t care. You quite enjoyed it, actually.

After mulling these thoughts, you took a shower, got dressed, and threw the sheets in the washer. It was nearing 11:00 am on a Tuesday. Shit, you were supposed to submit some reports to Coulson by nine!

You ran to the elevator and went back up to the penthouse. Gathering your paperwork and opening your laptop, you opened up the S.H.I.E.L.D. database and began uploading the work you should have submitted two hours ago. Thankfully, there were no text messages, emails in your inbox, or missed calls on your phone, so Coulson must be preoccupied this morning. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the time stamp that read 11:28am.

In this moment you were eternally grateful the majority of your work was remote because if you came into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters three hours late because you slept in, Fury would have your head.

With that problem finished, you went to check on Loki. Back down in the bedroom areas, you stood in the hallway and knocked on his bedroom door. A sense of deja vu swept over you.

“Come in,” the god’s voice said behind the door.

The knob turned and you entered Loki’s room. He sat on his bed, staring at the wall opposite him. He seemed not all there.

“Loki?” you asked. “How are you feeling?”

“Not worse, but not better, either.”

“So you’re still..?”

“Still enormously frustrated sexually? Yes.”

A wave of insecurity washed over you. “It wasn’t… bad, was it?”

He shook his head. “Quite the contrary, it was exactly what I needed. I felt better, instantly. But it came back as soon as I awoke this morning. The fundamental issue I am facing, however, is this dreaded blue color – and these horns. I cannot will this form away with magic no matter how hard I try.”

You apologized for his state.

“Are you not disgusted by me?” the god asked. “After last night?”

“I already told you that it’s okay, you weren’t yourself,” you said.

“I also meant… after.”

“Like, the actual sex?”

He nodded.

“Are you not disgusted by this brutish, carnal form? How rough I was with you. These horns… these claws…” He sneered after looking at his own nails.

“No.” You blushed. “It was really hot, actually.”

For the first time in days, he laughed an actual, genuine laugh. “Sincerely? You human women are so strange. No Asgardian woman in their right mind would bed a Jotun.”

“Their loss,” you said.

He furrowed his eyebrow at you but also, perhaps there was a hint of a smile?

“No matter, my predicament is… URGH!”

Out of nowhere, Loki curled his right hand into a fist and punched the wall. Little pieces of drywall flew outward. Loki retracted his hand and a fist-sized hole was left behind in its wake. He dusted off a thin layer of powder from his knuckles.

You jumped back. “What was that?!”

Loki’s shoulders heaved. “I don’t know! That’s the problem! I don’t know. I have no clue why this is happening now, and why it’s so drastic. I get these changes in mood, like I’m nothing but an adolescent again who cannot even master his own emotions. I feel virile yet emasculated. We had intercourse, so why was it not enough?”

He punched the wall a second time. With gritted teeth and labored breaths he stared at it and you were unsure if the god was lost in thought or would lose his temper entirely. You watched his pecs and the dark blue ridges upon his body move up and down with his breaths. His lean arms, the biceps on them; those horns, those eyes…

Okay, snap back to reality. Loki’s having a crisis. Sex is the only thing that made him feel himself again, even if it was just for a few hours. Like he said, he was in heat; maybe just one go isn’t enough to get the job done.

“Well, we know what we have to do, then.” You outstretched your arms, offering yourself.

He turned from the wall. “What are you –”

“What position do you want me in, Loki?” You interrupted, asserting yourself. You fought the blush creeping up your cheeks. “On my back? On my side? Do you want me to blow you first? Pick one. You want to fix this, right?”

Loki stood there in shock; examining your face, your body language. Or was he checking you out? He dropped his fist that was prepping to punch the wall and his lips stretched into a devious grin.

“On the bed, all fours.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” you replied.

Stripping yourself of your clothes, you approached his bed, staying in the crawling position upon his mattress.

To your side he stripped as well, and he was already rock hard. That blueish purple cock sprang from his pants, rearing to go. He climbed onto the bed behind you, examining your backside. You jolted forward as his cold hands touched your thighs. You’d forgotten how cold he felt. His icy fingers traced the smooth skin of your legs.

Then out of nowhere, he spanked you. A cold, red handprint decorated your bottom.

You gave a small screech, jolting forward again – both from the low temperature and the sudden smack.

“You like that?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm,” you muttered, nodding.

Another smack, and this next screech was mixed with a moan.

“Your assertiveness was quite endearing, but remember your tone when speaking to your king.”

He spanked your ass again.

“My – my king?” you asked.

“Yes, your king. Did I not mention to you the other day that I was kept as a bargain by Odin? I wasn’t any Jotun child, I was Laufey’s son, the king of the Jotuns.”

Another spanking. You felt yourself grow wet amidst the pain.

“N – no, you didn’t mention that part.”

“Though I failed to conquer Earth, and Thor is the first heir to Asgard, since Laufey is dead I am still a king in my own right – of Jotunheim.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, my king.”

He gave you one last spanking, a lighter smack, a playful one. “I forgive you,” he said, lowering himself over your back, so his lips could graze your ear. He placed his hands on your butt, to soothe the irritated skin. The iciness felt good but you also squirmed due to your skin being so sensitive there.

With his new position, his cock rested against your cunt. You prevented yourself from lurching forward. He rubbed the cold member against your lips.

“Now your king shall claim what is his.”

Without further warning, Loki penetrated your opening, sinking completely within you. His chilly member made you clench around him. You gasped as you acclimated to him. Oh god, he was big. You didn’t know how you could forget since the last time you fucked him was literally hours ago, yet you were still in awe. His cool, dextrous fingers brushed your hips, finding the perfect place to grip in order to rail you. Then, he moved within you, and you already felt your juices coating him and your own thighs. Completely at his mercy, you allowed him to take all of you, as you kneeled on the bed, all fours, like an animal. He slipped in and out of your cunt at a deliciously fast pace, hitting the right spot every time. Your arms barely kept upright as you tried to keep up the weight of yourself and your balance as the god of mischief rocked your body.

While fucking you, Loki removed one hand from your hip to grasp your hair and tugged. Your head tilted backward so that you were forced to look straight forward instead of below. On one hand you could count how many times you were in Loki’s room, and you didn’t realize until now that he had a mirror mounted above the bed frame, so when he pulled your hair you were forced to look at the scene. You, your tits hanging, on hands and knees, and the blue god of mischief with one hand fisted in your hair and his cock taking you for all you’re worth. His mouth flashed a devious smile as your eyes connected through the mirror, and his red eyes gleamed of hunger and dominance. He tightened his fist in your hair and spoke.

“Enjoying the view?”

In your pleasure you found it difficult to form words.

He spanked your ass. The combination of that, your hair, the view ahead, and your cunt sent sparks through your body. A high-pitched moan escaped your lips.

“I asked you a question.”

Your legs quaked like jello, but you managed to say: “Yes!”

The light in the god’s eyes danced. Another smile graced his face, “Good.” 

He released your hair. Your head fell forward again, your arms collapsed underneath you, and now your face was buried in the mattress. With nothing but your ass in the air, Loki continued to drive into your pussy, chuckling at the state of you; tired, splayed out, and completely surrendered to him. He gave another playful spanking on your behind.

You gathered the blankets underneath, balling them in your fists as Loki delivered your pleasure unto you. All you could do was hold on, listen to the sounds of his hips slapping your skin and the wet noises of furious lovemaking, and praise his body into the bed. Your legs, before jello, were now an autumn leaf shaking in the wind and you knew you were so close. Loki dug his claws into your hips, claiming you once again and you were gone. Shouting into the blankets, your cunt tensed before finally releasing, and you climaxed on the god’s cold, pulsing cock; riding the waves and yet somehow keeping your ass in the air.

Your climax, however, was the catalyst for his own and Loki burst within you, sending a final few thrusts into your hole. He filled you again, uttering his own release to the heavens. Then you both collapsed onto the bed.

When he found the strength to roll off you, you excused yourself to his bathroom to clean up. After that, as well as re-brushing your hair and getting dressed, you entered his bedroom again to find him on the bed reading a book. Loki was still naked as the day he was born. One long, lean blue leg was crossed over the other as he lay back. Your eyes traced the ridges of his Jotun form up along his toned body, then up his face and ending at the curve of his horns. His eyelashes fluttered against his ruby-red eyes. How in the world did he see himself ugly in this form?

You spoke up: “It’s getting close to afternoon. I’m gonna make breakfast. Want anything?”

Loki looked up from his book and nodded. “Yes, I’ll be up in a minute. I’ll have whatever you are having.”

“Cool,” you said, returning upstairs to the penthouse.

In the kitchen you pulled out the cookware and ingredients to make scrambled eggs and hash browns. The items sizzled on the pans, filling the kitchen with the aroma of eggs, potatoes, and spices. Your stomach growled in approval and restlessness. Loki joined shortly behind you, now clothed in his usual garb of black and green. His horns stood high and mighty, even regal, atop his head, cutting through the air.

“This is the first time I have been out in this state at midday in nearly a fortnight,” Loki remarked. He looked around the room, almost as if he’d forgotten what it looked like bathed in noon’s light. 

“That’s rough. I’m sorry,” you said. “How do you feel now?”

“Better – much. I had thought I would need intercourse once and this would go away. Now, I am not so sure. I am hoping… soon.”

You nodded. “Yeah, especially since we don’t know when the others will come back from that mission, and if you’re still ‘sick’,” you airquoted. “...by the time they get back, I’m pretty sure they’re going to start getting nosy, maybe even suspicious.”

Loki growled, not enthused by that thought. A slight tingle tickled your southern area. Instantly, you wondered: were you an asshole for being attracted to his irritability? It’s not like you meant to, but the growling was, well…

“Do you need help with the cooking?” Loki said, interrupting your thoughts.

“Yes, thank you.” Good distraction from that moral dilemma. Thank you, Loki. “Actually, could you help clean up? Put some of the things away for me while I watch the stove?”

The god nodded and proceeded to help with his tasks. Cabinets were opened and closed as he put the spices away, he went and washed the silverware you weren’t using anymore, and threw the eggshells and other trash in the garbage. The food would be ready in just a few minutes.

The kitchen grew quiet again when he finished. So quiet, you thought he may have slinked off somewhere – to the bathroom or something. Until you felt a pair of hands on your hips.

“And you are well after our encounters?” he asked, his voice low and husky. His cool breath tickled your ear. 

One of his hands moved lower, cupping your ass slightly. A jolt of electricity flowed through you. He had you pinned between his front and the kitchen counter.

“The eggs,” you said in protest. 

“What about the eggs?” he quipped, squeezing you lightly.

“They’ll burn. Don’t distract me.”

“Then don’t get distracted.”

Loki proceeded to move his other hand to your other ass cheek, kneading both hands on your behind through your shorts. His mouth lowered closer to you, gliding his cold tongue against your neck. The hairs on your arms stood on their ends, goosebumps budding. The god licked slowly, deliberately. You shivered and Loki chuckled lightly against your skin. He bared his teeth -- his fangs -- and grazed the points over your carotid.

You tried to pay attention to the cooking food; flipping over the eggs, watching the potatoes, adjusting the heat as necessary. However, you were facing much difficulty ignoring the rising heat within your body.

Loki switched between teeth and tongue, lapping and nipping at your neck. You gasped when he bit your earlobe, smoothing over the pain with another lick. One of his hands moved to your front, sneaking underneath your shorts and underwear to play with you. His fingers toyed with your slit, wetting them in your slick and using his lubricated digits to circle your clit. You did your best to not lurch into the hot stove with his cold hands pleasuring you. Your hands gripped the handle on the oven as you moaned aloud.

“I told you not to get distracted,” the god teased. You opened your eyes – which you didn’t realize you’d even closed and quickly removed the eggs from the heat. The ends browned a bit, but they were nowhere close to burned; just a bit more cooked than you’d like them to be.

Your hands returned to the oven’s door handle, bracing yourself so your legs wouldn’t give in. Loki teased you mercilessly: one hand on your ass, the other playing with your clit, and his mouth, tongue, and lips attacking your neck and ear. You could already feel the hickey forming.

“Turn your head toward me,” the god urged.

You did, and met his gaze. He stole a kiss, deep and wanton, and cold; deliciously and illicitly cold. As you kissed, you realized this was your first one with him. A bit backwards, given you’d had sex twice before even kissing, but not unwanted. No, not unwanted at all. His kiss made you lightheaded and shivery, especially as he dove his tongue into your mouth. All this while he massaged your clit, soft and engorged and wet.

When the kiss broke, you took the hash browns off the heat too. “It’s hard to not get distracted when I can’t even see what’s in front of me.”

“Well, there’s no more distracting then, given the food’s done.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Loki yanked your shorts and underwear down your legs. They pooled at your ankles. He barely gave you any time to shake them off before parting your legs for him, exposing your opening for him, and he entered you swiftly. You gave a choked sound as you adjusted to him, his thick, chilly, irresistible cock planted within you. His hands moved; one on hip and the other under your shirt to pinch your nipples.

“I thought you were good,” you croaked.

“Oh, I’m more than good now,” Loki uttered as he began to move within you.

“I mean… We just fucked… not even twenty minutes ago, and already… Mmmf.” You bit your lip as he hit that sweet spot within you.

“What can I say? I finished cleaning up, then I began watching you. Your shorts barely covering your ass, accentuating your thighs, how your hair cascades down your shoulders. Something like a switch flipped inside me. I had to have you. You won’t deny me now, surely?”

“N – no.” Your thighs pressed together and your eyes shut closed. With anyone else this would be too much, but with him you didn’t find yourself growing tired, nor sore, nor overstimulated. Something about Loki, his touch, his voice made you want his sex just as much as he required it for his sanity.

So he fucked you there, on the kitchen counter, in front of the stove. The god of mischief thrusted into you, his chest pressed against your back. The chill of his skin radiated from his chest through your shirt, and of course his cold hands on your breasts and cock buried inside you aroused your senses and your attention. He drove his cock upward, and the best you could do was hold on for dear life as he fucked his divine jotun lechery into you. As they did when you were taken from behind, your thighs shook, your pussy clenched, and with a snap Loki spilled his frigid seed into you. His fingernails dug into your hips and teeth sunk into your neck as he completed his final thrusts, filling you with his load.

The two of you took a moment to catch your breaths. His chest rose and fell against your back, his wintry breath panting upon your skin. When he removed himself, a wet plop noise sounded as his cock exited you. His seed within you trickled down your legs, droplets of him dripping onto the tile floor. You moaned impatiently upon his removal, as you were still flushed with arousal. 

“Patience, woman,” the god spoke. “I am not yet done.”

Without warning, he grabbed you and moved you to an empty space on the counter. Placing you with your back against the granite, he lined his still erect cock with your entrance. His hands grabbed your ankles, resting them on the dip of his shoulders and again, he drove into you.

You screamed.

The frost giant god railed you with his cock, with complete and total access to your cunt, filling you to the brim. Within seconds, he hit the sweet spot within you at the perfect, fast, desperate pace, and you came on him. Your walls pulsed and contracted as you rode his cold member through your orgasm, screaming at the ceiling of Stark Tower. All the muscles in your body relaxed and you finally opened your eyes to see the face of a demon grinning lasciviously at you. His raven black hair rested upon his shoulders, a pretty contrast to his sapphire skin, and you watched him as he fucked you to a second completion.

A third time today – or was it fourth, since technically you fucked after midnight last night, and then this morning, and now… Your brain was too addled but yes, four was probably right. For a fourth time today, Loki came inside you, his member pulsating within you, ejaculating and filling you once again.

He bent down and bit your neck before separating. His scarlet eyes roamed over your body, entirely used and spent. He chuckled to himself. You must have been quite a sight at the moment, with your hair every which way and utterly drenched of him.

With a flick of his wrist, a golden hue emanated from his hands and then disappeared – the mess with it. All of his cum – on the counter, inside you, on the floor, vanished as if it had never existed. With a light head you carefully sat up and jumped down from the counter.

“You look like you’re about to faint,” Loki said.

“I’ll be fine, I just need food. It’s not customary for me to fuck multiple times before breakfast. I’m on an empty stomach right now and I just came three times in half an hour.”

You redressed yourself and plated the food. “Great, well, it’s almost cold now. You interested in cold eggs? ‘Cause that’s what we’re getting.”

“Are you saying you regret our tryst?” he teased.

“No. Yes… I don’t know. No, no I don’t regret it, but I don’t want cold breakfast either!”

You plopped your plate on the dining table harder than was necessary and sat in the chair, ready to eat your sad breakfast.

The god flicked his wrist again, and instantly steam emanated from your food. The smell of warm food filled your nostrils again and you devoured your breakfast.

“Would a ‘thank you’ hurt?”

“Fank you,” you said, mouth half-full.

Loki quirked an eyebrow at the utter impropriety. He redressed himself and joined you at the table.

“We are probably going to need to fuck once breakfast is finished. I’m already feeling the urge again.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” you muttered. This was the worst best problem you’ve ever encountered.

And he was true to his word. When the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher, Loki had you on the counter again.

[daddy-dins-girl]

First Date: Frankie Morales

HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY Y'ALL!

Masterlist

AO3 link

Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Summary: Based on this tumblr Ask. A full one-shot based on a quick little headcanon drabble I wrote about what a first date with Frankie Morales might look like. There's a little of backstory for Reader because it's me and you know I just can't help myself.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Fluff and smut (because we like to strike a delicate balance here). Porn with a sprinkle of plot (again, delicate balance). Cuteness overload during your date with Frankie (sign me up for this date please). Heavy makeout session. Mutual masturbation. Fooling around in the back of Frankie's truck because of uh... reasons. Read to find out! I think that's it for warnings. As far as my stuff goes I'd say this is pretty tame? lol. But if I missed anything lmk!

Notes: I hope there aren't any glaring mistakes here. If I find any I'll come back and edit. Tbh I wrote 99% of it on my phone because our wifi was down for THREE DAYS here (RIP me!). It finally came back this morning just in time for me to post this for Frankie Friday ❤️

You tap your phone’s screen to illuminate it and check the time for probably the fifteenth time in as many minutes to make sure you’re not running late yet as you stand over the bathroom counter putting the final touches on your appearance, wanting to look perfect for tonight. Nerves flutter in your tummy like butterflies and you have to constantly remind yourself to calm down, take it easy.

“It’s just Fish, nothing to get yourself all worked up about” Benny had offered earlier, unhelpfully.

Sure, to your cousins Benny and Will it was just their longtime friend and military buddy, but to you it was the very cute, though very shy, sweet guy that you had met for the first time only recently since you came to “temporarily” crash at your cousins place.

Temporarily had turned into three months far faster than you anticipated. You needed a fresh start, to get out of a not great situation and it was actually your Aunt who had suggested the move to you during your phone call to her on her birthday. Your mother had already been filling her ear with your personal drama it seemed and though she didn’t want to pry, she did want to help and she suggested getting away for even a couple of weeks, that her sons had lots of room at their place and would be happy to have you for a while. After a few phone calls with both Will and Benny they had settled any doubts you might’ve had and welcomed you with open arms when you showed up at their doorstep with little more than a single roller suitcase and a small potted plant under your arm. It was about all the possessions you had left after the less than amicable split with your ex that left you couch surfing at your friends for months before the transition to Will and Benny’s.

So now here you stand, in the bathroom of the guest bedroom you have been calling your own for three months, getting ready for a date with the painstakingly handsome pilot himself, Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales.

You know how badly your cousins have been teasing you about the date, you can’t even begin to imagine the ribbing Frankie must have been taking from them since he’d asked you out last Sunday at a barbecue Will and Benny had been hosting and they’d somehow gotten wind of it. You’re surprised Frankie even kept the date, to be honest. Your cousins, you love them with all your heart, but they can be… a lot. You’re very glad Frankie didn’t back down to the pressure though. You’d seen him a fair bit in your few months here and have been dying for him to finally ask you out. You’d flirted enough and though he’d been quiet and shy in the beginning, the more you got to know each other, the more he seemed to come out of his shell around you.

So now here you were, moments before Frankie was due to show up at your door and you silently cursed yourself for not being as ready as you should be. You wanted to be ready and standing outside by now so that Will and Benny couldn’t get any more jabs in to poor sweet Frankie if he had to stand at the door waiting for you, but as you pull on the short, light denim jacket over your sundress you hear a bark of laughter from Benny and already you know you’re too late.

You quickly press some lip gloss on, run your hands through your hair to make sure it’s falling exactly how you want it to and then take a deep breath in the mirror and quickly scurry out of the bedroom to hopefully save the man that is standing outside on the porch.

“No keeping her out past curfew, no drinkin’ and drivin’, no crazy parties or gettin’ too handsy on the first date”

Benny is listing things off on his fingers to poor Frankie like he’s your father scalding your prom date and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Will, you said you’d both be nice” you complain out loud to the older of the two brothers. Will wasn’t much better, but sometimes talking to Benny was like talking to a toddler amped up on a pack of Skittles, there was no getting through when he got over excited about something.

The most ridiculous part about it was that you and Benny were about the same age so it was a little comical, though sweet in his own way, how he tried to ‘big brother’ you.

“Ah c’mon Ace, we were just joshin’ him a bit” Will replies, bright white smile gleaming at you with a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Ace of course being the nickname they had stuck you with since you were old enough to remember. Any family event you’d ever attended whenever there was any sort of game or sport going on the two boys always ensured you were on their team, likely because you were the only one close in age to them but you liked to tell yourself that it was also because the three of you always had fun together. They have always been so competitive and any time they won (largely due to their own efforts) they were sure to tell everyone that it was all because of you, that you were ‘the ace up their sleeve’ even when you barely did anything. Hell most softball games you preferred to sit in the grass picking flowers while they ran circles around you like pro athletes, but it was sweet how they always made sure to include you and make you feel good about yourself.

“Well we agreed you two goons wouldn’t scare him away” you remind them with a playful roll of your eyes and a swat to Benny’s shoulder when you finally reach the doorway.

You can see Frankie’s appreciative gaze roam over you from head to toe and as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and nervously adjusts his ball cap you know he’s itching to say something to you but probably weighing the pros and cons in his head about the two extra sets of ears hearing what’s meant only for you and so you decide for him. You shove past your two cousins, quickly tell them you love them and not to wait up and push them far enough back in the house so you can slam the door shut, finally leaving you on the porch with just Frankie.

“Hi” you breathe out, a smile spreading across your lips. He looks casual but deliciously handsome in a pair of dark tan khaki pants and an untucked light blue button down with the sleeves rolled up, putting his tanned and muscular forearms on display. He still has his infamous Standard Oil hat on, hints of chocolate brown curls peeking out from underneath it. You don’t think you’ve actually ever seen him without it, come to think of it. You try to picture him without it and an image just doesn’t come.

“You look beautiful” he tells you, a hint of shyness in his tone and a blush rises in your cheeks that didn’t come from a makeup stick.

“Thank you. I’m sorry about tweedle-dee and tweedle-A-D-D in there” you joke, gesturing a thumb over your shoulder at your two cousins who are currently fighting each other over who gets to look through the small pane of glass next to the door to watch your interactions with Frankie on the front step.

“Unfortunately I’m very used to it” he quips, giving you a warm smile. “Shall we?” He asks, sweeping an arm out towards his truck idling at the curb and you nod your head and lead the way.

Before you reach the truck however Frankie jogs up behind you to brush past and ensures he reaches the passenger door handle before you do and opens it wide, offering you a hand to help you up and inside. You both decide to ignore the whooping yells and hands slamming on the glass next to the door at the top of the walkway behind you.

“Let’s get the hell out of here, shall we?” You offer once Frankie’s climbed into the driver's seat next to you and he chuckles but nods his head.

“With pleasure” he agrees and pulls the truck away from the curb.

You’re driving for nearly an hour. Frankie had apologized already on several occasions, admonishing himself for not preparing you beforehand to make sure you wouldn’t be too hungry when he picked you up. You tell him it's fine countless times but he still admits he should’ve discussed his plan with you ahead of time.

“Hey, if what you say is true and these really are the best tacos I’ve ever had, you’ll not only be forgiven but I’ll be glad I was ravenous by the time we get there” you tell him and finally he seems to accept it and offers you a small smile, hand going to the dial on the radio to turn the classic rock tunes up just a little bit for the last few minutes of your drive.

The drive is nice. The ocean follows along in your journey when you look out your window and the way the sun sits in the sky you know it’ll be threatening to set not long after you arrive at your destination. Truth be told you were a little nervous when you first started driving and Frankie mentioned how long the trip would be. You worried that you wouldn’t have much to chat about or that it might get awkward but it had been anything but. Besides Frankie’s little bouts of anxiety about whether or not he should’ve mentioned to you what time you’d actually be eating, everything was going better than you had expected. The conversation seemed to flow easily between the two of you. You had enough jumping off points, with both of you having more than your fair share of stories or anecdotes about Will and Benny. You shared stories of your youths while Frankie caught you up on some of the more recent goings-on with them that you hadn’t been privy to since, before recently, you obviously spent a lot less time with them in your adult years versus the childhood ones. Before long the conversations shifted more to yourselves and your own personal lives and before you knew it Frankie was pulling the truck into a crowded parking lot in front of the beach.

You make your way through the throngs of people on the boardwalk, Frankie’s warm hand on your lower back a steadying presence as he guides you through the crowds towards the brightly painted green and yellow food truck off in the not-too-far distance. Your mouth is watering already and you’re not sure whether it’s for the tacos or the man on your left with the broad shoulders and thick arms but a gentle, calming touch.

If you had to venture a guess, it would be for the latter.

Frankie, to his credit, was absolutely right about the tacos. You’re halfway through your third one when you finally tap out and call it quits, unable to possibly stomach another bite - despite how delicious they are.

“I can’t. I want to, but I can’t” you admit defeat to what’s left of your dinner, tossing your napkin on top of your paper plate and holding your hands up in surrender and the corner of Frankie’s mouth curls up into a smirk.

“They’re good right?” He grins at you from across the picnic table while he stuffs the last bite of his own into his mouth and you roll your eyes dramatically at how good in fact they were.

“They were amazing, seriously. Well worth the drive and the wait” you tell him sincerely and then before you can talk yourself out of it you reach across the table to place your hand on top of his and give a little squeeze with your fingers.

“Thank you for dinner. I’m um… really glad you asked me out tonight”

That confession earns you an ear to ear grin from Frankie who swallows down the last bit of his dinner and then turns his hand palm-up so he can hold your fingers in his grasp.

“Me too. But, the night’s not over” he offers with a playful quirk of his eyebrow.

“There’s more?” Your brow line lifts to your forehead. “I’m going to need a few minutes to digest first” you laugh, placing a hand over your stomach and Frankie chuckles but nods his head in agreement.

“Take all the time you need,” he tells you.

The sun is beginning its descent from the sky as you sit at the table a while longer, happily chatting about everything and nothing. You ask Frankie more about his young daughter and can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips the way his face lights up when he speaks about her or shows you his favourite pictures or videos of her on his phone.

With your food finally settled you’re back to wandering the boardwalk again with Frankie leading the way. He stops you at an ice cream truck and you groan at the idea of having to shove more food into your stomach but the childish grin and teasing nudge to your side with his elbow convinces you to take him up on his offer anyway and you ask for small scoop of the bright orange Tiger Stripe flavour in a dish while Frankie opts for a waffle cone of classic Mint Chocolate Chip.

With no small effort you manage to finish the sweet dessert and toss your garbage into a nearby receptacle and Frankie nudges your shoulder with his and gestures with an outstretched arm towards the beach.

“Wanna go walk it off?” He suggests and you give him an easy smile, more than excited about taking a romantic walk down the beach at sunset with him.

The warm sand squishes between your toes as you walk the length of the beach. Frankie had insisted on carrying your shoes for you when you opted to take them off; the strappy sandals hanging from the fingertips of his right hand while his left brushes experimentally against the back of your right and you turn your palm towards him and he wastes no time taking hold, your fingers interlacing. You smile and press a little closer into his shoulder.

“This is perfect” you sigh as soft waves lap at your feet and the sun bids it’s final adieu for the evening, disappearing just past the horizon on the other side of the ocean.

“So I did good?” Frankie smirks at you and you let out a little laugh, nodding your head.

“Ten out of ten would recommend” you answer without hesitation.

“Recommend to who? If you think I’m taking Benny on a date next you’re poorly mistaken” he jokes and it earns an outburst of laughter from you as you grab onto his forearm with your free hand and lean further in still.

“You guys could make a pretty cute couple” you tease and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head in laughter.

“Already got the prettiest Miller on my arm, thank you very much” he affirms and your giggles die down as the blush re-emerges and you turn your gaze down to the sand at your feet and squeeze his arm just a little tighter as a thank you to his easy compliment.

You walk a little while longer, your fingers still entwined and your free hand wrapped around his arm that’s holding your hand, snuggling as close as possible while you continue to chat and joke and tease each other.

Being with Frankie seems so easy. Normally you were so nervous during first dates and it’s been so long since you’ve actually been on one you could barely remember what it normally feels like but you’re certain it’s never felt like this. You felt comfortable. And maybe a lot of that had to do with the fact that you’ve already met with and hung out with him on numerous occasions now there was less to be nervous about. But you think it’s mostly him. He’s so easy going and calm to be around; he just puts you at ease with one upward curve of his lips or the way his soft brown gaze seemingly bores into your very soul with a single look.

Besides that, you knew he must be a pretty decent guy or Will and Benny would’ve had something (aside from friendly teasing) to say about it. They were the big brothers you never had growing up, always looking out for you until your lives took you all down very separate paths and if they trusted Frankie with you, you knew you were in good hands.

Hands that were currently, mind you, smoothing up and down your sides as Frankie pressed you into the passenger door of his pickup as you stood on the street outside your temporary home saying your goodnights.

“Kiss me” you breathe into the limited space between your two bodies that are thrumming with unspent energy.

Not bothering with a verbal response, Frankie closes the distance between you, his lips capturing yours finally for that first kiss you’ve been craving since he picked you up hours ago. He tastes like mint and chocolate, and although normally it would be one of the last options you go for at the ice cream shop, the way it tastes on Frankie’s tongue instantly makes it your new favourite.

The energy in the cab of his truck the whole ride back had been tangible, his right hand on your thigh, yours trying not to dig into the plush material of the seats as you tried to focus your mind on anything other than ordering him to pull the truck into park so you could crawl into his lap and thank him properly, the way you wanted to so badly.

“Hermosa,” Frankie groans, his mouth trailing now from your lips down your jaw and to the side of your throat as his hands grip your hips. The scruff of his beard brushes the delicate skin of your neck when he nuzzles further into you and heat instantly pools in the lower part of your belly, causing a little moan to slip out. You feel your breath quicken, heart rate speeding up to keep pace with Frankie’s that you can feel through your clothes with how closely he’s pressed against you. Your arms raise to wrap around his neck, hands playing with the soft curls at the back of his head, running your fingers through them (something you’d been dying to do since the first time you met him, if you’re being honest with yourself).

“Should’ve taken me back to yours” you whisper against his ear as he continues to nip, lick and kiss at your throat.

“Santi’s on my goddamn couch” he groans, annoyed.

You remembered, now that he’s said it. Santiago, another military buddy of your cousins that you’d met a few times and one of Frankie’s best friends, had been having problems with his girlfriend and a week ago she had actually kicked him out of their shared apartment and with you taking up residence in Will and Benny’s guest room, that left Frankie’s couch.

“Shit” you mutter. You don’t dare take him inside to your room. Though the house looks dark and the boys are probably asleep, that’s not something you’re going to chance. At least not on a first date. You don’t need their judgment, nor do you need Frankie holding anything back from you due to the unfortunate circumstances.

His mouth is back on yours, unable to stay away from it for long it seems. His tongue pushes inside and strokes alongside yours, causing a little shiver to run down your spine. He licks into your mouth, exploring every cavern and swallowing all your little whimpers and whines. Frankie was an amazing kisser. You can’t help but wonder how talented his tongue may be elsewhere; the thought alone sending a fresh wave of arousal through you and causing another moan to slip out which Frankie responds to with one of his own. His right hand leaves your hip and goes to your thigh next, gently raising your leg off the ground to wrap around him and a gasp escapes you when his hand slips under the hem of your dress and trails upwards towards your hip.

“Fuck, Frankie” you breathe, pulling back just enough so you can start peppering kisses to his strong jawline.

“Tell me to stop, fuck, you need to tell me stop” Frankie pleads. You can feel his obvious desire for you pressed into your stomach as his left hand moves down to grope your ass and pull you even closer against him.

“Mmm, don’t want to” you hum into his throat and he groans in desperation, rocking his hips into you and causing a delicious bit of friction where you need it most. Your whole body is tingling, feeling like you could combust at any moment. Your muscles are tense, hands fighting for purchase on any part of him they can grab onto, eager to keep him from convincing himself to pull away from you.

Just when you feel him begin to pull back you do the only thing that comes to mind and turn in his grasp and reach for the back passenger door of the crew cab, swinging it open and pulling him back towards you by the collar of his shirt.

“Fuck, Sweetheart” he stops dead in his tracks, feet outside on the ground still while your ass hits the back seat so you’re seated sideways on the seat, facing him.

“Look, I might not be up for Gentleman of the Year Award or anything, but I’m not… I can’t have our first time be in the back of my truck. You deserve so much better than that”

Your brain doesn’t miss how he says ‘first time’ like it implies that there will be more times, and god you hope there is. And while you don’t disagree with him that fucking in his car like teenagers isn’t maybe the most romantic way to do this, you still need something and you don’t want this night to be over yet.

“Just… come fool around with me a little bit” you shrug, coy little grin tugging at the corners of your lips and you see on his adorable face the moment his resolve crumbles. He’s hopping up into the truck in a flash, slamming the door shut behind him. He pushes you back onto the bench seat so you’re flat on your back and finally rips his hat off his head and tosses it carelessly somewhere to the floor and you’re in a fit of giggles at the playfulness of it all. The laughter dies on your lips however when he’s kneeled before your spread legs and drags your knees up to his hips and presses himself down on top of you, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss while his lower half grinds into yours.

“Is this OK?” He murmurs into the side of your face as his kisses trail towards your throat.

“Mmm hmm” you nod frantically. “More than OK” you promise.

He hums into your throat and brings his right hand to your breast, his large hand covering the mound and gently massaging the soft flesh, kneading and squeezing just right as your little moans and the way your back arches to push your chest further into his touch encourages him.

“Fuck,” he growls before shoving the front of your dress and cups of your bra down so he can get his mouth on bare skin.

He pulls away from your throat and shuffles down slightly, leaning down to swirl the tip of his tongue around the pert bud and then gently pull it into his mouth. He alternates between sucking it into his mouth and teasing with quick flicks of his tongue while nimble fingers pay the other equal attention and you writhe underneath him, grinding into his leg, desperate for any friction you can create.

“Perfect tits” he mumbles into your skin before his mouth switches sides. Your hands are in his hair, gently tugging and scratching over his scalp and the way he occasionally groans and grunts at your actions you know he likes it. You wish you weren’t shoved inside the back of his pickup right now. Oh the things you would let his mouth do to you if you weren’t…

After long minutes of attention spent on your breasts his mouth is finally back on yours. He moans into you when his tongue wraps around yours again and you decide to play a little dirty yourself and wrap your lips around his tongue and suck it into your mouth, just for a moment and then you release. You feel his hardened cock twitch against your hip when he grinds it into you.

“Tell me what you want, Baby” he asks between ragged breaths as his lips create a hot trail of open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone.

You decide to show him, rather than tell him, and reach for his right hand and bring it underneath your dress to the aching need between your thighs and he practically growls into your throat when he feels the damp spot that’s already formed on your panties.

“Oh my god” he groans, taking his first two fingers and rubbing your lower lips over the soft, soaked lace.

“Oh fuck, Frankie, you feel so good” you whine, not caring how wrecked you sound already.

His mouth covers yours again, his kiss hungry and needy as his fingers bravely dip under the waistline of your panties to finally touch your naked sex and push through the warm slick folds.

“Oh my god, make me come baby, please. Fuck.” You beg, your hands wrapping around his neck again and grabbing on for dear life. It’s been far too long and Frankie is quickly unraveling you into a mewling desperate mess.

“I’ve got you, Hermosa” Frankie promises, his breath hot against your ear now and you don’t doubt that he does. His skilled digits are already driving you crazy and he’s barely begun. Maybe it’s because it’s been a while, or maybe Frankie just really knows his way around a pussy.

He plunges two fingers inside of you and you cry out at the welcomed intrusion, whimpering into his shoulder at how he’s nearly got you undone already.

“God you feel fucking amazing” he groans into your heated flesh.

“Fuck Frankie, don’t stop, please” you whimper.

He doesn’t. His fingers continue their torturous assault, pumping in and out of you and occasionally coming out to rub tight little circles around your small bundle of nerves that causes your arm to shoot up in the air, palm of your hand pushing hard against the ceiling of the truck cab as your impending orgasm lingers threateningly.

“Let me touch you, please” you beg and Frankie growls in response before his free hand goes to his pants and nearly rips them open so he can push them down to his thighs and your hand immediately wraps around his throbbing length.

“Holy shit” you breathe. Your fingers failing to quite reach all the way around his impressive girth. He’s warm and heavy in your hand, precum steadily leaking from the head that you gather in your hand to use to coat down the rest of his length.

“Christ” Frankie grunts, unable to stop himself from thrusting his hips once to fuck into your hand. “Shit I’m sorry it’s um, been a while” he confesses shyly and you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“For me too” you tell him, easing his nerves. “God Frankie, I’m so close”

With that he pulls his hand away from you for only a moment, bringing it to his mouth to wet his fingers with his tongue and then they’re back on your clit, experimenting between rubbing and circling and pressing and even lightly pinching until he finds out exactly what makes you squirm under him and he doubles his efforts, working you faster and faster with the pads of his fingertips until you’re coming hard and fast with his name on your lips as you rock into his hand to chase the pressure of his touch.

“Oh fuck, that’s it” Frankie groans into the hollow of your throat, his fingers sticky and slick with your release. “God you’re so beautiful” he praises, pressing kisses to every inch of flesh he can reach.

His fingers continue to languidly stroke through your folds, easing you down from your high while his own breathing picks up at your continued actions below; practiced strokes of your hand wrapped around him while your thumb occasionally ghosts over his slit, gathering the evidence of his arousal and smearing it all over the thick and sensitive head.

“Fuck, I’m close” he warns, eyes screwed shut in concentration, his forehead now resting against yours. “Fuck!” He curses again and then quickly sits up on his knees, causing your hand to fall away from him and he takes himself in hand to finish himself off, not wanting to make a mess all over you or your pretty dress. Not having much option he yanks his shirt up instead and coats his own stomach with white hot ropes of his release until he’s left heaving and panting on his knees before you, free hand clutched tight on your knee beside him, fingers digging in deep enough you think they’ll leave bruises.

You’ll wear them like a badge of honor.

“Shit,” he breathes and then huffs out a little laugh. His eyes dart around for a moment and then he reaches into the little pocket on the back of the front passengers seat and pulls out a somewhat squished little pack of wet wipes (one of the conveniences of having a small child you presume, always lots of supplies around that adults might not otherwise think of keeping handy) and grabs a couple sheets and wipes up the mess he made of himself before shoving the wipes back into the pocket. You’re staring up at him, tip of your pointer finger between your teeth and a coy grin playing on your lips.

That was by far the absolute hottest make out session you’d ever had. Where has Frankie Morales been all your life, and what had you done to deserve him now?

“Are you still OK? That was… OK?” He asks and it’s sweet how he doesn’t even know how badly he just rocked your whole world.

“Ten out of ten would recommend” you retort teasingly, lifting your foot to push gently at his hip and he rolls his eyes playfully and lands a little swat to your thigh.

“Smartass. Maybe I oughta trade you in for Benny after all” he quips. “Get a lot less lip I bet”

“Hmm, but probably a lot less tongue too” you tease right back and he groans as you yank him down on top of you by his collar once more.

You’re not quite finished with Frankie Morales just yet.

Taglist: @yorksgirl @chronically-ghosted @rav3n-pascal22 @suzdin @boliv-jenta @senaar-ika @nerdieforpedro @theywhowriteandknowthings @within-the-depths @axshadows @iamasaddie @macabremads @prolix-yuy @vickywallace @survivingandenduring

If you'd like to be added, lmk!

[yippee-boi09]

Uwa!? You findz this bloog??? (O_o)

ANYWAYZ haiiii welcome to mai blooogggg!! <3

My name is [REDACTED] but for the time being y'all can call me LittleGuy!

About me

-I'm transmasc, aroace

-He/They/It/Xe pronouns

-I have ADHD, am currently working to get an autism diagnosis and may update this later so plz keep in mind

-Green/Rainbow scene, RAWR X3

-I'm a furry just to let you all know (probably not gonna talk about it much unless asked)

-I don't allow NSFW on this blog nor do I usually talk about serious stuff unless it concerns me or it needs attention brought to it. I ABSOLUTELY allow gore and stuff (drawn, I can stomach real gore just fine but I'm not keen on it being on my blog :d)

-Anyone except the DNI below is welcome!

-I'm also an age regressor (and a pet regressior, kitty cat :3), this isn't my main blog for it... it's right here! (I still allow agere/petre topics on here! <3)

-Also I like ICP (Ice cold penis lol), Creepypasta, Marble Hornets (Slenderverse as a whole), Twisted Wonderland, Omori, and the horror genre as a whole

-This blog is mainly to just be about me and stuff :P about my life depending on when and what I wanna share. I will every now and again make posts about controversy that should have eyes toward it or possibly exposing people for horrible actions. (O_o) (this could be out of defense for others I know, I usually do the last thing if it involves me or friends and/or I feel the need to... I'm not always gonna address controversy happening lol) I also do stimboard requests, that's really it tho :P

That's really all about me... oh! I also write on ao3 occasionally and I may or may not post stories I write here and there lmao just don't expect frequency (I also laze around on spacehey too), I'm friends with @bloodydove08 and @lazloshearse so Go check the out! Never give up and have fun!

[runawaydr3amerao3]

Fanbinding by @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis 📖🫶

Continuing my run as the luckiest little fangirl in the west... 🥺💖

@jinkieswouldyoulookatthis did something truly beautiful for me recently, and I've just received the results: my very own handmade, hand bound copy of my West series.

You can see her incredibly cool (possibly haunted) process here:

Below, you can see my very uncool emotional breakdown of/about it (and some more photos). 🥲

Now look at all of the beautiful details!

These end papers are so eye-grabbing and perfectly selected, since the series takes place through a revolving door of motels, just as in early-seasons canon.

The title verso has all of the information from AO3, the original LJ publishing dates, @idlingintheimpalapodcast's podfic version details, and the fanbinding specs. Then there's the contents page! JUST LIKE A REAL BOOK, YOU GUYS!

Also, did you happen to spot @tsukiyo-7's credit line on the verso page?! BECAUSE I DID! And I had no idea what that was about until I opened to the page with their custom artwork!

How freaking cool is that?! 😭 Thank you, you fantastically talented person! 💖 Everyone go check out their other beautiful art (plenty of stunning Wincest. 🫶) on their Tumblr!

In case you're wondering, the Kushtaka, which Jinkies also created a whole, super cool entry from John's hunting journal for, is the creature that necessitates Sam and Dean ending up in the shower together in part two of the series. 🤭

Then, not only that, but this curious little sticker tumbled out when I opened those pages:

Because Jinkies doesn't do anything by halves, it turns out that she even found this traditional formline artwork of the Kushtaka by Nick Alan Foote, an indigenous artist of Native American Tlingit heritage, where the legend comes from. That is such a special connection to have that I would never have expected. I'm way beyond touched. 🥹 Please check out the artist's other wonderful work here on Insta.

The final dagger in the coffin of my tendency to blubber at the drop of a hat, let alone in the face of heartfelt gestures, was this page:

@sam-is-my-safe-word and @talltalesandbedtimestories have been personal champions and cheerleaders of mine since the very beginning of my return to writing in this fandom, and they haven't stopped since. The fact that they still have effusively kind things to say about me and my work just makes me want to die (in a happy way).

The comments on my fics are, like, 90% of what keeps me writing. Sharing and engaging and knowing that my stories are making people happy is what it's all about for me, so having those comments from @fictionallemons, Faraway22 (not sure if they're on here under a different username?), Jinkies, and @chiquititasnewsong preserved as a reminder of that... Honestly, you should be glad you can't hear the noises I'm making right now.

The thing is, I knew Jinkies was doing this. She asked permission before she started, she offered to make me a copy as well, and I've been elated and flattered from the moment she did. But now, having it in my hands, I'm moved even further than I thought I would be (and believe me, I know myself–I knew I'd be a mess).

I live a very small life, y'all. The joys I experience tend to be on the same scale. So while this might not be grand or extravagant to many people, this gift, of something I put into the world through a medium I've only really known digitally, intangibly, now being something I can hold in my hands as proof that I've touched the lives of people so far and wide, is a kind of profound that these words don't do justice.

It makes my life feel pretty darn big after all.

Thank you, @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis. Thank you to those who contributed. Thank you to everyone who's read and commented and been a part of West in some way over the last 14 years. The story's still being told in this way. I'm so grateful to remain a part of it.

[finalfrontierpublishing]

A Case of You by @epitomereally

Happy (belated) Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day! For FFWAD, Renegade Bindery runs an event where we bind copies of fics for their authors and I was super excited to be able to bind this for a fellow bookbinder!

I'm rather new to the Drarry fandom but @epitomereally has been absolutely wonderful in providing fic recs and bookbinding advice. She is so so kind and I have enjoyed seeing the lovely books she has created for fellow authors, and somewhere along the way I hatched a sekret plan to bind a copy of her fic for her.

Some stats as usual:

97,262 words || 354 pages

body text: EB Garamond 11 point

accents: Bestaline Sans, Bell MT and Bembo Std

I had really wanted to do a design on the spine (both of us like doing some spine stitching as a design feature), so i really wanted to be able to put it in a bind for her. also my near obsessive fixation with spine stitching worked out in my favour because i settled on a constellation design and ran with it. the design on the spine is stitched with gold linen thread, and accented by some designs done in heat reactive foil.

for bookcloth, I settled fairly quickly on night sky blue so colibri elder made an appearance. I had a little trouble with colour matching for the endpapers with the endbands (i should have probably done pink instead of purple), but I still like the relative cohesiveness of the look of this book. Endpapers are Crepaldi, i am absolutely shameless about my stash.

I also was very excited because I learnt Affinity Publisher for this book!!! Zero regrets, it looks amazing, i am a convert I will never go back to Microsoft Word goddamn. and ME AND SIDE HEADERS - i love them though the book might have benefited from larger margins. THEY'RE SO SEXY MY GOD.

hehe, i may have also sustained a flesh wound while cutting the board for this book but HEY WE ALL EVENTUALLY HAVE ONE OF THESE THINGS (WHERE WE GOTTA GO TO THE A&E BECAUSE OF A BOOKBINDING MISHAP) BEAUTY IS PAIN Y'ALL.

ULTIMATELY I'M SO GLAD THE BOOK ARRIVED SAFELY TODAY AND I'M SO HAPPY SHE LOVED THE BOOK. when you bind for another bookbinder, it's both stressful and extremely endorphin-releasing because the other bookbinder both appreciates all the design choices you make as well as knows exactly where you might have fucked up.

ultimately, making a book is a small small gift for someone who so generously wrote a novel-length epic for free and shared it with the masses for a love of fandom.

anyway, go read this fic, guys, it's so so good, and SHE JUST WROTE A NEW ONE (IT IS ALSO EXCELLENT and i am savouring it WHILE PONDERING DESIGN CHOICES HEHEHEHEH)

Please check out her AO3 page here.

Other things I've been working on:

FOILED EDGES HAVE BECOME MY PASSION I HAVE NO REGRETS. @duran-binding and I have been excitedly getting everyone into sanding and THE LOVE FOR POWER SANDING AND DOING FOILED EDGES. Marissa has even succeeded with hidden fore-edge painting - ALL HAIL OUR EDGELORD who does marbled edges and hidden fore-edge painting and has so kindly shared all her information with others for absolutely free. ❤️‍🔥

[mallgothreject]

Nicky, after he's been chosen as the Slytherin Triwizard Champion and Mayah is losing her mind with worry:

[tare-anime]

Summary: Yor always loves it when she is reminded of the peaceful life she fights for. (AO3)

Inspired by this amazing art by @avokado25 (y'all should check their blog! Full of amazing arts) and chapter 103

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

It never occurs to Yor that there will be a day when she can come home from gruesome cleaning work to a lovely and warm home. 

That she would find a man who understands her, and accepts her as she is.

A man as wonderful as Loid, who is also the father of a beautiful and energetic daughter, and also a proud owner of a great Pyrenees dog. 

A man who will always welcome her home, prepare a good fulfilling late dinner, and also prepare a warm bath.

Yor especially loves it when he joins her, and shares the ‘home - shenanigans’ she missed during her more than 24 hours of work. 

Just like now. 

She rests her head on his shoulder as she closes her lids and listens to the amusing story.

Loid got a real patient emergency during their outing. When he returned to the park, It looked like that Anya and Franky had some kind of dog competition with Loid’s Handler’s dog Aaron, which somehow attracted other people’s dogs to join. Things that started fun ended up with a brawl over some minor disappointment and to top it up, it was suddenly raining, and somehow the park ended up as a big pool of mud.

Yor can easily picture how happy Anya and Bond playing with mud, despite the dirt on their clothes and fur.

Her smile blooms.

“I’m glad you found amusement in my misery during your absence.”

Yor blinks her eyes open and turns her head to look at her husband.

Is he pouting??

She chuckles and plants a kiss on his cheek. 

“I’m sorry dear, I know it’s a pain to clean that dirt from Anya’s clothes and Bond’s fur. But I’m sure you’ve done an amazing job in making sure they are clean before entering the apartment.”

“I thought spraying them with a hose at the parking lot would teach them something. But instead they, alongside Franky, found it to be fun.” He grumbles.

Yor laughed. “Of course. Playing with water is always fun.” Eyes full with mirth she adds, “And it truly wonderful to hear they can have so much fun peacefully. Make my work so much worth it.”

She lifts her hand and smoothens the creases between Loid’s brows. “Don’t you think?”

His eyes softened. He takes her hand and plants a soft kiss. “Yeah. I’m sorry you have to listen to me whining after having such a long day.”

She shakes her head. “Not at all. I love to hear any story coming from you.”

“Only you would find that kind of story as amusing.” He harrumphs and makes Yor giggles. 

Yep. 

This life is so much worth fighting for. 

[ailithnight]

After this chapter, I will no longer be doing a taglist. Sorry folks, there's just too many of y'all and I'm on mobile. Please subscribe on AO3 for updates, or follow the tag A King in Arkham.

A King in Arkham

Chapter 4

AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Danny. I understand you don't want to go with your godfather. Is there a reason for that?

Can't go with Vlad!

If you know something we don't about him, you need to tell us. Otherwise he will win custody.

It's.. He'll.. he'll make me.. turn me.. his fault!

What's his fault, Danny?

His fault. All his. All.. My.. no, my fault. It's all my fault...

Danny?

IT'S MY FAULT! I KILLED THEM! ALL DEAD! Because of me...

Now Danny, I'm sure that's not true. What happened at the Nasty Burger-

I made it happen.

Corporate negligence-

He knew. I knew. Dan knew what would happen. Dan made it happen. He knew the sauce was gonna blow. He knew Lancer would arrange the meeting there. He cheated. He lured them there. He bound them up so they couldn't escape and ran the time out until they exploded! Dan did that and Dan was me, so I did that.

Daniel...?

I murdered them. I murdered everyone. 

Da-

IT'S ALL MY FAU- *static*

.

Tim started talking after the audio cut to static.

"What you just heard is the last, partially recovered therapy session of Danny's in Chicago. The cameras were beyond salvaging. No one except Danny knows what happened after the audio cuts. What is known is that nearby witnesses heard what they claim sounded like a 'screaming moan' coming from the therapy room. When doctors and staff went to check; the therapist Mrs. Alders was slumped against the wall, appearing to have been forcefully pushed, with minor head trauma. Danny was curled up on the other side of the room, panicking and muttering about a Dan.

While Mrs. Alders mostly recovered from the incident, she does not know how she ended up slammed against the wall. Once this audio was recovered, it was turned over to the police. Given the severity of the... confession... in conjunction with the apparent assault, the courts decided to move Danny to an asylum for the criminally insane." Tim paused in the debrief, letting the information sink in. After a moment, Duke raised his hand. Jason scoffed at the action.

"This ain't kindergarten kid, say your bit."

"I just, that explains why an asylum in general. But why Arkham?" Tim nodded, pulling up a picture of a document.

"Kid's godfather, business tycoon and multimillionaire, Vlad Masters. Insisted that if his godson should have to go to an asylum, he'll go to the- and I quote- 'Best in the country.' Made a deal with the state that he'll foot the bill while he continues fighting for custody. Apparently didn't do his research enough to know that 'Best Known' and 'Best' are not the same." Bruce had the next question.

"So, Master's doesn't have custody yet?"

"Nope." Tim popped his 'p', pulling up more documents. Investigative reports. "Given Danny's reactions to him, CPS started investigating. Found a lot of shady shit. Narcissism, anger issues, control issues, coercion tactics. 

One agent said he tried to bribe her with a rather large sum of money, which she might have taken if she wasn't well enough off from a family inheritance and mostly doing this work for the kids. Of course, same agent also said he had 'Rancid vibes' and 'tried to posses' her, but her 'Grammy's necklace protected her' so her credibility was deemed iffy.

Still, there's enough there that it's unlikely Masters will be able to gain custody any time soon. So if Gotham's favorite serial adopter with a good track record for helping troubled kids, Brucie Wayne, were to step in..." Tim's smirk is infectious and makes its way around the table. Bruce's lips twitch ver briefly into a fond smile, before dropping back into a frown.

"What do you make of the... confession?" Jason doesn't even try to hold in his groan.

"Seriously, B? It was survivor's guilt or some kind of psychotic episode or something." Damian frowns.

"I would not discredit him so quickly, Hood. After all, his ghosts are real apparently."

"Hnn." Bruce gets that look on his face. The almost constipated frown that means he is going to have to do something unpleasant like host a gala or attend a business meeting or, "I will have to call Constantine to verify what the entity we are dealing with is." 

Jason lets out a gleeful snort. "Have fun with that one, B. In the mean time can I go break our kid out yet or what?"

"Actually, Hood," Jason turns a glare on Tim, who is once again holding his hands up placatingly. "That still leaves us with the issue of making him an escapee and you an accomplice."

"Well fuckin Brucie Wayne can't exactly just walk up to Arkham and ask if they've got any blue eyed black haired boys for him to adopt."

"Not exactly what I'm suggesting here."  Batman sighs.

"What are you suggesting." Tim pulls out a case he had tucked under the desk, a truly devious smirk painted across his face.

"Just a little temporary theft. Only long enough to put the kid's face on the news for Brucie to stumble across." He opens the case, sliding it over to Jason. Inside, a replica of a relic from Tim's own past; resized to fit his bigger, broader brother. "You remember Red X, don't you?" 

The green that had been tinting Jason's vision the whole meeting finally subsides, giving way to wicked mirth.

"Oh, hell yes." 

Batman sighs.

.

"You don't get it do you? I'm still here. I still exist. That means you still turn into me."

Another night, another nightmare of a memory jolting Danny back into the waking world. His chest is tight, a high whine suppressing itself in the back of his throat. Danny's eyes dart around his room, searching for the shadowy void of his most frequent visitor. But Spectra isn't there tonight. She hasn't come back since she was seen by Banana Bat. 

It's strange. Danny had gotten used to waking up with her there, towering over him, shadowy clawed hand resting somewhere on his body as she feasted on his misery. He didn't mind, really. He had plenty to give and she didn't even rough him up too bad. Just enough to keep the psyches concerned. The last 3 days without her presence had been... not lonely. Danny was already lonely. But emptier. Like the one good thing his continued existence was doing for someone had been ripped away.

Truly, Danny felt he had nothing left in this world. Nothing to give, nothing to gain. But he couldn't die. Couldn't unleash full ghost Phantom on the world again. That's what created Dan. No, this was what he had to give. All he had to give. To stay human so that Dan never becomes ghost.  To live, as the least burden he could be, so that Dan never died. 

Clockwork must have known what would happen if Danny fully died. That must be why he spared him. The Observants sentenced Danny to death. But Clockwork was smarter. He sentenced Danny to life. And really, it's such a small price to pay for the sins of his other self. 

Despite what the others say, Arkham isn't hell. The only issue Danny's had was the clown and that's not really anyone's fault. It's just, Danny looked at the Joker and he saw Freakshow. And he saw that stupid staff. And he heard that grating laugh. And all he could think about was how that was the only thing that could still turn him into Dan. If the clown took control again. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't! Not becoming a Dan, not becoming a problem; that's all he could do now! He couldn't he couldn't he couldn't...

Danny was broken out of his spiraling thoughts by the now familiar buzzing echoing clanging sound of another break out. He closed his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. Then, suddenly, he was lifted up, hoisted onto someone's shoulders in a fireman's carry. 

"Damn kid, do you weigh anything?" 

Danny's eyes flew open, his body subconsciously tensed for a fight Danny wouldn't actually fight. The voice, clearly modulated, sounded high and breezy. His head turned to look at the person now forcefully evicting him from his room. Black body suit. White mask. Red slashes in a stylized X. Built like his Dad... Danny had no idea who this was.

For a moment, Danny felt a twinge of fear. He had no idea who this was. They obviously weren't with Arkham. They had just stolen him from his room and, holy shit they were flying now. No. Not flying, grappling. And running. Moving very fast towards the exit. With Danny. For unknown reasons. 

Holy shit, someone was kidnapping a teenager from an insane asylum. That, probably wasn't good. Any normal or sane person would be scared for their health and wellbeing. But, well... Danny was hardly normal. And sane was becoming increasingly questionable. 

And this guy, well he didn't trigger Danny's ghost sense. No chilly breath escaping his mouth. So he was human, not a ghost. It's not like a human could kill Danny. Not with his ghostly healing factor. Sure, they could make his life a living hell. Beat him, violate him, enslave him. But a human couldn't turn him into Dan so... Danny doesn't think he really cares. 

"Um, why are you carrying me?"

"Taking you out of here." 

"Clearly, I meant why?"

"Owe someone a favor." That was mildly concerning. Danny could think of one person who would stoop to this.

"Did Vlad send you?"

"Master's? Nope. He couldn't afford my services."

"Oh. Okay." As long as it wasn't Vlad. They were almost to the main gate now. There was screaming behind them, now. Danny loomed behind them as the person grappled up the wall and vaulted them over. Danny caught the barest glimpse of the twink in a burlap sack mask striding out the door, leaving a noxious cloud in his wake.

Then they're gone, grappling to then moving across rooftops. It's not a bad feeling. Kinda fun even. Flying as a ghost was nice. Really nice. But different from this. Gravity literally didn't touch you if you didn't want it too. But this? Danny could feel the pull of the earth, the force of every swing. Gravity was still there, exerting its influence, but they were defying it. 

For a tiny moment, Danny felt the ghost of a smile on his lips. The good feeling was fleeting, like all his feelings these days. But it was there and it was enough to shock a small "Oh." from Danny.

"Oh what, runt?"

"Nothing, just. Never grappled before. S'nice."

"Oh." It was such a soft thing, Danny once more found himself pondering the intentions of his kidnapper. 

"Do I get to know where we're going?"

"Safe house for the night. I'm your baby sitter."

"And tomorrow?"

"We'll see."

"...Okay."

.

The next morning, Vicki Vale stumbles across the story of her career (so far) sitting dazed and confused in her office. A prepubescent boy in an oversized Arkham uniform? The day after a breakout where Scarecrow and only one other inmate escaped? Oh this is bound to sell.

Okay, I know the show pretty heavily implies that Teen Titans Robin us Dick.

But

What if it was Tim?

[wolfsbanesparks]

Wolfsbanesparks FTH 2024 Fanbinding!

Hey y'all!

Welcome to my Fandom Trumps Hate 2024 Crafts Bazaar stall!

What I'm Offering

A custom made, handbound book, fully typeset with a hard cover. Full color title page optional. Inclusion of full color fanart if permission is granted by the artist.

Depending on the length the fic, the book can be bound as either a foilio, quarto, or octavo.

For ease of binding, the fic should be < 150k words OR a collection of one-shots in the same range. (If the story is slightly over, there is some leeway here)

If you have specific design requests such as color scheme, cover design, decorative paper, etc. I am more than happy to work with your ideas! Final decisions will be made based on the materials I have access to.

Worldwide shipping! I am located in the US so if you will require international shipping let me know up front so I can plan for shipping costs and possible delays.

What I'll Bind

Your own work (fanfiction or original work)

Another author's work only if the author gives permission or has a public blanket permission statement for transformative works. Such a permission statement must be on their AO3 page or the site where they posted the fic. The bidder is responsible for obtaining permission for the story of their choice. (You can check here for a non-exhaustive list of authors/artists with blanket permission statements)

I will bind any fandom, ship, or rating with the caveat that you must be 18+ to receive an E rated work.

How It Works

The auction will run from Feb 29 to Mar 10 at 10 pm PST.

To enter the auction please fill out this google form.

You can check the current highest bidder on this spreadsheet.

I will contact the the winner by email within 24 hours after the auction ends.

Upon winning the auction you must donate the amount specified on your bid directly to one of Fandom Trumps Hate's listed nonprofits.

You will have until March 20th to send me proof of your donation.

Once I have received proof of donation, I will contact you to hash out the details of your project!

The final product will be shipped within 3-4 months. I will provide you with tracking info once it is available.

Please feel free to contact me with any questions you may have about this fanbinding offer.

Good luck! I look forward to working with you!

[rogueddie]

Established Relationship Steddie Fics

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 💌

love confessions in line

steddieas_shegoes

“Why do we have to be here so early? My dinner hasn’t even digested properly yet,” Robin complained.

And, okay. It was cold and there were a lot of people standing in line outside of the only Walmart carrying the very specific guitar amp Eddie wanted. He’d called every Walmart in Indiana. Multiple times.

But he had to go all out for Christmas this year. Eddie had already said he’d gotten Steve something he’ll never outdo, never even believe. Obviously, that meant Steve had to do better than the Metallica hoodie that was stashed in his closet for the last four months.

Words : 1,369 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Guts

AnnetheCatDetective

After a difficult visit from his parents, Steve relearns loving his recovering body. Just knowing he's wanted the way that he is isn't enough... but getting outside of himself might be.

Words : 2,578 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

fixer-upper

mourningshowers

Steve wakes up the morning of their two-month We-Finally-Got-Our-Shit-Together anniversary to find Eddie staring at him, crouched over at the foot of the bed with his round unblinking eyes like a fucking gargoyle. It should be creepy. Steve is used to this, though, so now it’s just kind of a thing that Eddie does.

“What,” Steve says groggily, wiping the drool from his mouth.

“Nothing, angel, go back to sleep,” Eddie trills.

Words : 20,596 Chapters : 3/3 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

your electric touch

sourw0lfs

“Don’t move! Whatever you do, Eds, do not fucking move!” Steve hollers from his spot in the doorway.

Without a question, Eddie freezes, eying him with a questioning gaze. He’s standing somewhere between the pool and the house, trying and failing to find what has so much fear working its way into Steve’s face.

“One of the lines just snapped and fell,” Steve explains, eyes on the area around Eddie but never directly on him. “Right into the puddle.”

Words : 1,093 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

if i ain't got you

vampbites

He shuts the fridge and turns around to lean against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, letting out a quiet sigh. Eddie’s back is turned to him so he can only see the movement of his shoulders as he scrubs the dishes harder than he ought to.

He’s still pissed, then.

Words : 1,425 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

The Photo File

Crowgirl

‘When were you going to tell me?’

Words : 1,633 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

Stimming

hotluncheddie

He’s on the couch, it’s dark, he actually feels really comfortable, and he’s watching The Breakfast Club. Watching it again. It’s his favourite, it feels like his. But he doesn’t like watching it with other people because they might notice how much he likes it and he doesn’t want that. Can’t be seen like that.. Embarrassing.

So he watches it alone, when he gets home from work. He pauses whenever he wants, rewinds, pauses. Takes a deep breath, rewinds, pauses, stares into space.

Words : 2,547 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

checking it twice

cranberrymoons

“Hi,” he says, and – fuck. It’s only been a couple months, hasn’t it? How is he already –

“Hey,” Eddie says. His smile matches Steve’s as he comes around the counter, slinging a dish towel over his shoulder as he goes. He catches Steve around the waist. “You look nice tonight.”

Words : 661 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

The Cat

digitaalbe

the one where Eddie Munson finds a cat, and then he keeps it.

Words : 1,538 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

Dustin Henderson vs The Apocalypse... Probably

writteninthewolfstar

Dustin wakes up from a movie night with the Party to find he's all alone in Steve's house. With no other logical explanation, he must conclude that he is the only person left on the planet... Until he goes upstairs to find something even more horrifying-

His best friend making out with his Dungeon Master!

Words : 1,620 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 18.2 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

TW: Sex. SO MUCH ANGST. Medication/drug use/overdose. Dub con (sort of?). References to medical trauma, miscarriage, infertility. Blood. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 16.3k (LOLOLOLOLOL)

A/N: Y'ALL, I'M SO SORRY, it's a monstrosity. I couldn't help it. There was just so much to be said while still in E's POV, so that's how we ended up here, over 16k. But we finally learn Elvis' BIG SECRET and experience the mighty fallout from that in his eyes, so hopefully it's worth it. This is my Thanksgiving gift to all of you, but you may want to pace yourselves. I feel like I had to rip my heart out a little bit to really get in E's headspace. Prepare yourselves emotionally. That's all I will say.

A quick note about the pictures...the first is actually from when he bought Graceland in March 1957 and it just works PERFECTLY for the beginning. I couldn't resist the pics from Red West's wedding in 1961, even though I know the timeline and the people don't match but the VIBES, the VIBES my friends, are oh so Jack and Reader's wedding so I just had to include them. The one for 1960 was taken the night of the Rollerdome. *sob*

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

Speaking of Thanksgiving, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY which is always evident but especially so when someone tried to steal PS last week and y'all went 'ride or die' for me instantly, without question, getting it taken down in record time. I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

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

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

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

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

(Elvis in March 1957, Graceland)

March 1957

Elvis parks in front of your house, his mind whirling with noise. He’s not exactly sure how he ended up here, but as soon as he’d gotten off that train, he knew he needed something that he couldn’t get from any of the guys or even his mama. So, he finds himself unexpectedly here.

Turning off the car, he seeks any sort of relief from the heartache he feels. He’s been holding it all in since the train stop in New Orleans, the one that sent the world crumbling under his feet, destroying the pretty picture he’d had for the future. But all that is gone now and here he sits, hands tapping on the steering wheel with nervous energy.

He nods to himself, finally leaping out of the car, and then he saunters down the walkway to the front door. The chime of the doorbell can be heard through the door, and he listens carefully, grateful to hear light footsteps from beyond.

When you open the door, it’s like he can breathe again for the first time since the train pulled away in New Orleans. You look surprised to see him, those big eyes of yours widening the slightest before you speak.

“Elvis, you’re home?” you ask with a hint of confusion, but overall, you seem pleased at finding him on your doorstep.

“Just got in, baby,” he says, that boyish smile curving up. He gathers you up into a big bear hug and instantly feels better as he breathes in the unique scent of your shampoo and lingering perfume. A scent that feels like home.

“And you came right here?” you ask, brow furrowing when he pulls away. He notices that you look a bit worn around the edges, darker circles rimming your eyes as if you haven’t been sleeping well.

You’re right to be confused. Of course, he hadn’t planned to see you right away. He’d planned to sweep June off her feet in New Orleans, wanting to show her Graceland immediately, the home he’d thought they’d share together for the rest of their lives. But all that had been dashed as soon as she’d blurted out that she was engaged to another man. Engaged. His June.

“I want to show ya something,” he blurts out instead of saying any of this. “It’s a surprise! Will ya come?” Oh, god, you have to come, he thinks. His heart might shatter if you don’t, though he’s not exactly sure why. You’re not his—you and Jack have been dating for nearly a year—so it’s not as though if you don’t come that it really means anything. Yet, still he hopes. He needs this. He needs to share this moment with someone he cares about.

Despite the fatigue in your eyes, you nod quickly, and then as if you can’t leave the house fast enough, you grab your purse and coat and shut the door behind you without a word.

He smiles gratefully, and relieved, he grabs your hand and practically skips to the car. Once he has you tucked in safely, he runs around the front of the Cadillac, jumps in, and peels away. It’s not too far of a drive, and he yammers on about the last few months he’s been away, the words flying out of him. You nod and ask all the right questions, but he notices that you are pensive, quieter than usual.

His verbal diarrhea halts for long enough for his brain to take into account that you don’t seem your usual self, and he asks, “Are you okay?”

You look down at your hands and then out the window, as if contemplating if and how much to share, which makes him a little nervous. Your fingers twist in your lap.

“Honestly? It’s been a hard few weeks, E,” you finally say, still unable to meet his eyes. “My nana passed last Tuesday.”

He’s mortified that he’d just been going on and on about himself and here you were dealing with such a loss. “Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know. I know how close you two were,” he says remorsefully, reaching his hand over to clasp one of yours.

You shake your head, sniffling back tears. “It’s okay, you’ve been away. There was no way for you to know. And I keep telling myself that she’s in a better place now, but that doesn’t really help all that much. I guess it still doesn’t seem real.”

He nods, because he can’t seem to think of anything to say that will make any of this better for you. “We can do this another time, baby, if you’re not feeling up to it,” he finally gets out.

“No, no. I need something to do instead of moping around the house. I’m worn from being sad and worrying about the rest of it. No, I’m glad you showed up, E. I can’t wait to see your surprise,” you add quickly, trying for a smile.

“The rest of it? What’re you so worried about, baby?” It’s obvious you don’t expect him to pick up on that because he sees the quick look of panic that flashes over your face at the question, so he’s quick to add, “I mean, you don’t hafta talk ‘bout it if ya don’t wanna, but I can tell somethin’ else is weighin’ on ya.”

“You could say that,” you sigh, raising your eyes to the roof and back down again. The twisting fingers are back. “God knows I haven’t been sleeping, and it’s giving me these terrible headaches.” You pinch the bridge of your nose for respite. “I…well, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell you, Elvis, because it’s about Jack, and I really don’t want him to think I’m running around telling everyone our business.”

A warning rush rolls over him at this because he suddenly and very desperately wants to know what has happened with Jack, and that is a dangerous game for all kinds of reasons, many of which he’s not ready to admit to himself.

“I swear and cross my heart I won’t say a word, if you wanna tell me,” he says instead, a little too eagerly, so he quickly adds, “If it’ll help ya feel better and all.”

He forces himself to watch the road and not you, but he can practically hear your mind whirring.

“Oh, fine, but not a word out of you to anyone, Elvis Presley, I mean it. I know how bad you are with secrets,” you glare at him.

“I promise, I promise!” he concedes, crossing his heart. “I swear on my mama!”

“Well, in the midst of all this with Nana, I found out that Jack was dating other women a while back while we were going together. Apparently, I thought we were exclusive, but he didn’t, and well…” you trail off bitterly.

Elvis has to bite his tongue and bite it hard because somehow this wasn’t what he expected, and oh, lord, he knows too much for comfort.

Thankfully, you take this as him listening intently, because you continue, “I know I shouldn’t be too mad at him. I suppose it’s an honest mistake, seeing as maybe we didn’t communicate clearly enough about where we stood with each other. But it was so obvious to me, and I don’t understand how it wasn’t obvious to him. It’s not like I was going around with other guys all the time! I know it was months ago, but damn if it doesn’t really sting. Part of me feels like such an idiot, you know? What else don’t I know about him and what he’s doing? It just makes it hard to trust him, even though he was truthful about it when I asked.” He can sense the conflict in you, as your voice fills and shakes with the emotion of your held-back tears.

His heart is beating fast now, and all he is seemingly able to do is nod furiously, as if agreeing vehemently with all you are saying. The problem is that Elvis is complicit in all this and you have no idea. You have no idea that he was the one who pushed the showgirls onto Jack when he came to visit him in Vegas in November. You have no idea that “dating” didn’t have much to do with it at all. And now he feels altogether shitty for being the one to put Jack in that position in the first place. He’d managed to spread his own unfaithfulness and debauchery right on over to Jack, and now you are the one paying for it.

Shit.

Although, knowing Jack, it’s also possible that there was other dating happening, too. Either way, Elvis knows he’s got to tread real careful here and needs to keep his trap shut.

But Elvis can’t stand that hurt look in your eyes when he dares to take his eyes off the road to glance at you. He hates how angry and sad you look, the blue-black circles under your eyes conveying your distress.

And his emotions feel complicated, too complicated for comfort. He suddenly wonders if he didn’t present Jack with those temptations on purpose because there is a very deep and selfish part of him that desperately wants you to kick Jack to the curb for this, and that terrible, selfish part of him wants you to finally see Elvis in the same way he sees you.

Maybe there’s a reason that things didn’t work out with June, that voice pokes at him hopefully.

Stop that shit right now.

All this is playing through his head and leaving him outwardly silent. He realizes he has to say something, anything, because you are waiting for him to do so.

“I-I’m sorry that happened, ‘specially finding out at the same time as all this with your Nana. W-What are you gonna do about Jack?” he says, trying not to gulp.

He watches your eyes narrow and then he quickly looks back at the road. He can feel you shift in your seat.

“I…well, right now, I wanna pummel his brains out, so I told him I need some space to figure out what I want to do. I just—I thought we…” you trail off dismally. “I don’t want to go through this again,” you add quietly.

Elvis knows you are talking about Ted. Stupid Teddy who stepped out and got Judy Cole knocked up and then left you brokenhearted in his wake. It still pisses him off, even though he knows he’s got no right to judge Ted, not now, not after all the foolin’ around he’s done.

But when it comes to you, he can’t help but be protective. It’s in his bones, the way he wants to take care of you. In fact, he wouldn’t mind punching Jack in the face right about now for hurting you like this. And he’s even more pissed at himself for his part in it all.

Elvis just wants you to be happy and to be with a man who deserves you, and deep down, he doesn’t know if that man is Jack, even though he loves Jack like a brother. But the real problem is he’s not sure if he thinks any man will ever be good enough for you.

But his brain is wary to dwell on the meaning of that, wanting to avoid anything else that feels uncomfortable, so instead, he lets the excitement of showing you his new home overshadow any other unwanted feelings he might be experiencing.

“Okay, baby, we’re almost there, so close your eyes,” he says excitedly, changing the subject abruptly, before pulling up the long drive.

“Alright, Elvis, this better be a big surprise with how hyped up you are,” you chuckle, letting the mood turn by doing as you are told.

“The biggest,” he breathes, sliding to a stop in front of the Colonial mansion. “Don’t open your eyes yet! I’ll come around!”

You wait until you hear the car door open and feel his hand take yours. He gently brings you out of the car to standing, an excited energy vibrating through him.

“Okay, darlin’, open!” he drawls dramatically.

You do, blinking out the early Spring sunlight. He watches your face light up as you take in the architecture.

“Oh my god, Elvis, it’s beautiful,” you say in awe. “Is it yours?”

“Yes, baby, it’ll be all mine very soon. And for Mama and Daddy, of course,” he adds hastily, as if you’d thought he’d abandon his parents.

“Of course,” you smile, looking at him with those pretty, though tired, eyes of yours. “Can we go inside?” you ask.

All he can do is nod excitedly. Elvis takes your hand, pulling you up the steps and past the huge white columns on either side. He can’t unlock the door fast enough, the keys rattling and shaking in his hands. Once inside, he pulls you through the house, mouth running a mile a minute about what he wants to do in each room, how he wants it to look.

Finally, you make it to the top level, the last room. “This is gonna be my bedroom,” he rambles on. “I’m gonna get the biggest bed you’ve ever seen in your life, made special.”

You gently pull your hand out of his, and he watches as you take a small pill bottle out of your purse and pop two of the pills before downing them dry. Aspirin, probably, for the headache you were talking about in the car.

“E, stop a minute,” you say. “This is all amazingly wonderful and beautiful, and I am so excited for you, but…well, what exactly am I doing here?” You look at him with curious and concerned eyes.

“I…uh…I…,” he stammers, unsure of what to say or how to say it, as it’s all been spinning inside for hours and hours. He looks away, unable to meet your eyes. He certainly doesn’t want to put any of his stuff onto you, not now, not after what you told him earlier. His hands fall to his sides, and he shakes them, wiggling his fingers like he does to come down after a show. It doesn’t help. There’s just too much emotion rolling through him all the sudden.

You step to him, first putting your hands on his shoulders, then you run them gently down his arms before grabbing his flailing hands, absorbing some of that wild energy. The feeling still manages to send little electric shocks through him, even after all this time. Only then does he finally still and dare to look at you.

“E, what’s wrong? You let me talk earlier, so why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?” you ask, your eyes searching his, open and concerned. He should’ve known you’d see right through him. Maybe that’s why you’re here, because he knew you’d understand, that you’d be able to tell he wasn’t okay when no one else cared to.

It takes a moment for him to gather his words as his emotions get in the way. Emotions he stoically hid from the guys the rest of the way to Memphis. Emotions he pushed down when he saw his mama because he just couldn’t bear to break her heart yet with the news. God, he’s spent so much time recently learning how to hide everything real about himself in order to become the man everyone wants him to be. But here, now, with you, it all begins to overflow.

“I-I-I told June to meet me in New Orleans. I-I w-w-was gonna bring her back here, to show her w-what I-I wanted to buy…for us,” he says, bouncing on his toes, tears welling and clouding his vision. He hates how it’s tearing him in two to say this.

You squeeze his hands, urging him to continue, and for you, he does.

“But when I-I got there, she was acting so strange. There w-wasn’t much time and, uh, she told me she’s engaged to someone else.” He blinks and the tears run over, finally spilling down his cheeks. Saying it out loud suddenly makes it feel all too real. His chest aches with betrayal, with loss.

You look at him with such care, though you do not look shocked at this news.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, E. I know you how much you loved her,” you say, squeezing his hands again gently.

‘Loved.’ As in past tense.

“Did you know?” he asks suddenly, stepping back, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

You take a conscious deep breath. “No, I didn’t. But she did call me a few times wondering where you were, if you were okay. She said she hadn’t heard from you in months…” you say awkwardly, petering off.

“Aw, shit,” he curses, running a hand through his greased hair. A wave of anger rolls through him, burning him from the inside, but as much as he wants to put it on June and her spiteful engagement, he knows the anger is mostly towards himself. He fucked up. He fucked around. And he’d expected June to just sit back and wait for him while he did it. He didn’t even make the time to call her.

And you know what he’s done. He can see it on your face. He looks down, unable to meet your eyes.

You don’t speak. You don’t lay into him or tell him he’s an asshole, although it might be better if you did. God knows he’s already thinking it. You just look at him with sadness and understanding and forgiveness, even though he doesn’t deserve it.

With that ache in his heart, he finally realizes that he couldn’t have loved June the way he said he did and then leave her hanging like that. But he did love her…at least, he had. They’d had such a beautiful summer together and he was sure he wanted to marry her, once his fame was settled. Three years, he’d told her.

Shit, I didn’t even make it six months, he thinks absently.

And then everything changed almost overnight. His fame exploded. There was Hollywood, then Vegas. And the girls, good god, there were so many beautiful girls who wanted him, needed him, who threw themselves at him. He’d been weak. He hated being alone. He couldn’t help it. It was just sex, he’d told himself, just a way to blow off steam as his world became smaller and smaller and nearly suffocated him. A thousand excuses run through his head, but in the end, it was his choice not to pick up the phone. It was his choice to screw around, to live this life.

It’s no wonder that June moved on, he thinks. I’m a first-rate asshole.

“Y/n, I messed it all up,” Elvis finally chokes out. The sob fully breaks the dam holding him together, the pressures of his fame and the realization hitting him like a truck: he is never going to be able to have that normal life with a wife and kids he’d once dreamed of. His knees buckle under the weight of all of it—his decisions, both good and bad, the fame he doesn’t know what to do with, the unexpected consequences of this privileged but isolating life he’s chosen.

He sinks to his knees, defeated, on the carpet of his future bedroom, the one he’ll probably never share with someone who loves him for who he truly is. Because he isn’t just Elvis Aron Presley anymore—he is “Elvis Presley,” the celebrity, the commodity, the fantasy.

While he relishes in the luxuries of it all, in being able to provide the life his family deserves, a small part of him cannot help but feel like he’s made a deal with the devil. That this talent he has been blessed with will also be the thing that damns him. He is overcome by the feeling that he’ll never know ever again if he is loved for who he really is, or if it is his fame and his image they love. And there is something about that that crushes his soul.

But he can’t say all this to you because it sounds dramatic and indulgent, and he knows there are very few people in this world who’d actually understand.  This is his cross to bear.

And yet you still comfort him. You are still here. “Oh, hon, I know. It’s okay, I know,” you say, kneeling down with him.

In the midst of all he’s achieved and gained these past few years, June is the representation of all that he stands to lose, all that he’s already lost. “She was my last chance, y/n. I’m never gonna be able to trust that a woman loves me for me and not for my fame after this. And I screwed it all up,” he says quietly, tears running freely. “I just feel so fucking alone.”

“Oh, that’s not true, Elvis, it’s not,” you say, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “You’ll find her, I know you will. And you have so many people who love you for just being you, not for the fancy cars or the mansion or the fame. You’ve got your family, you’ve got Jack and your true friends. And you’ve got me.”

The way you say it, so softly, yet so matter-of-fact hits him hard, so hard that his heart stops beating for a moment. If he wasn’t already kneeling, the honest way your tired yet beautiful eyes search his face might knock him right off his feet.

It’s you, it’s you, it’s always been you, he thinks suddenly. This is the feeling he was avoiding in the car. The feeling he’s been avoiding since he watched Jack kiss your cheek in the diner a year ago.

It takes his breath away. You take his breath away, you always have. He’s been enamored with you since you plowed into him all those years ago in the hallway at Humes High.

Suddenly, June is all but forgotten because you reach up, cupping his face in your cold little hands and wipe a tear off his cheek. He cannot help the way his eyelids flutter closed at the sensation of the pad of your thumb dragging softly across his face. His breathing, rapid from his cries is now labored for another reason entirely.

Opening his eyes slowly, he shouldn’t be shocked to see tears in yours, your grief and sorrow, not only for yourself, but for him, too, welling there, as if you are connected to him. In fact, Elvis feels like his brain is short-circuiting because you are too damn close and the tension in the room is suddenly so thick, he feels like he might suffocate.  

Every cell in his body feels on fire as you lean in closer and closer until your lips press against his forehead. You’ve never kissed him, not once in all these years, and this alone sends heat rushing through his young body. Then when you kiss his nose, and then one tear-stained cheek, he holds his breath, feeling like he might die from this chaste sensation.

Warning bells explode in his brain because suddenly he wants you more than anything in this world, always has. And now you are so close. This is Jack’s girl, he thinks, and she’s my dear friend. Don’t be an idiot.

But when you lean in to kiss his other cheek, you place your lips alarmingly close to his, his tears wet underneath your soft lips, and his body is on high alert as only a twenty-two-year-old’s could be. His heart flutters as you pull back just enough to look deeply into his eyes, tears shining in your own, and then you lean in once more.

This can’t be happening. This should not be happening, his mind screams, but then your lips are grazing his and all rational thought ceases to exist.

You taste so sweet.

Heat blooms through the ache in his chest, and in his disbelief, he freezes. Part of him wants to devour you whole, but he is terrified that if he moves, he might spook you and he cannot bear that.

His confusion is overridden when your hands, shaking but demanding, pull him closer. Your lips are soft and sure, and he cannot help but be swept away by them. He’s kissed so many girls, too many to count, all over the country, but not one has ever made him feel like this, like his heart is going to leap out of his damn chest.

But this is a betrayal of a monumental kind, for both of you. While he is no stranger to betrayal, he does not want this for you. As much as he wants you with every fiber of his being, he does not want to be the source of your regret or heartache. He’s already done enough in that regard already, though you don’t know it. Mustering up every ounce of his self-control, Elvis pulls out of your kiss.

“Y/n, baby, you don’t want this. I’m no good for you this way,” Elvis says in a hushed tone, his forehead resting against yours. “I-I can’t have you regretting me, I-I-I couldn’t bear it.”

You lean back the slightest bit, and he thinks you might be listening, reconsidering, making him feel mostly dismay but also a little relief. What he does not expect is for you to press your little pointer finger up against his lips, hushing him, as you stare into his eyes. It’s as though your soul is as weary and needy as his and it feels as though you see him, truly see him, which is a new feeling for him. This sends a welcoming shiver down his spine, and he knows that despite every scrap of logic and propriety he is trying to lean on, with you he is powerless.

When your finger drags down his lips, catching on the bottom one, it sends a bolt of pleasure straight to his groin. Yet still he resists (even though he wants more than anything to see where this is going), thinking you might realize your mistake, and this will all be over in an embarrassed, yet still salvageable, flash.

Instead, you very deliberately scoot closer, your knees bumping his on the carpet. You lean in again, your lips grazing his again with a yearning he cannot help but return in kind. It’s barely a kiss, but the intent is there and when you pull up, effectively opening your mouth to him, the way he can feel your warm breath mingling with his own has him struggling to control himself.

You are testing him, testing the waters, hesitant but somehow insistent at the same time. His long lashes flutter closed when your fingers brush his jaw then rake into his perfectly styled hair. But it’s when the tip of your tongue touches his, sending a hot shockwave through him, that he can stand it no longer and closes the gap between your mouths with a longing sigh.

Pressing his pliant lips to your yielding ones, he rolls his tongue softly but firmly against yours, earning him a quiet moan from you. This is like fuel on the fire, finally spurring him into action, and his hands fly to the back of your head, pulling you closer.

If there is one thing besides music that Elvis excels at and loves to do, it’s kissing. He plays with it the same way he plays a crowd, listening to you and adjusting his performance as necessary. The buzzy way it makes him feel, like every nerve is magnetic, is one of the only things in this world that is anything like how it feels for him to perform for an audience. He loves the way it makes him feel.

But kissing you is unlike anything Elvis has experienced before. It’s as though you are tuned to the exact same frequency, finding his rhythm immediately, adapting easily. The usual fumbling of people getting acquainted in this way does not seem to apply to the two of you, the ebb and flow so natural it’s as though you had done this with each other many times before.

But the passion of it stokes a fire that has been denied a long time. Intense heat crashes over him, sending tendrils of warmth through his limbs and deep into his belly. He drinks you in as deep as he can without being desperate, and oh how close he is to being desperate for you. His grief over June melts away the more he tastes you, and he wonders how he ever lived before having the taste of your lips on his.

It's all very dramatic and romantic, which he is both at heart. From just a few kisses, he suddenly knows that if he could kiss you and only you for the rest of his life, he would be a happy man indeed. This surprises him.

But what truly shocks him is when you lean so far into him that it pushes him over, his knees screaming a little, and he falls back into the wall with a thump. He scrambles backwards, maneuvering his long legs into a more comfortable seated position while you don’t even miss a beat or attempt to come up for air. And when you crawl into his lap, hoisting the flowing fabric of your dress up just enough so your warm, bare thighs are straddling his, his heart actually flies right out of his goddamned chest.

Speaking of which, you are currently running your hands down his, pulling his silky shirt up enough to dance your fingertips over his stomach. His breath hitches then hisses at that, his arms involuntarily encompassing you, large hands splaying across your back to draw you ever nearer.

And you go willingly, inching up his lap until you are straddling his hips. When you grind down into his lap, he thinks he might’ve died and gone to heaven, his blue eyes rolling back into his head with a low moan.

He'll admit he’s dreamed of this, fantasized about this, but nothing could truly prepare him for the reality of the way you are making him feel. A trickle of attraction that began six years ago is now a roaring river, and is so, so much more than anything he’s felt before with anyone else.

He doesn’t understand it. He loves women. He always falls in love too fast, enjoying the rapid descent into the madness of it all. There have only been a few that he feels were true, though every girl he’s with, he loves in his own way.

But you are not like any of them, not at all. With you, it has been slow, so gradual sometimes that he didn’t even realize it. A teenage crush turned into friendship, and within that has blossomed a love that he didn’t know he was capable of. It is not until this very instant that he realizes it truly for what it has become. He doesn’t just care for you. He loves you.

He is in love with you.

Fuck.

Realizing this as your hips begin to rock steadily over his crotch is not the best timing. He’s as hard as a rock, fighting both the swell of his physical need for you while wrestling with the emotional needs he’s quickly realizing at the same time.

If he didn’t love you, he might not care if this is just a quick fuck between friends, but he does care. And he’s worried about where this is coming from, likely your overall grief and your anger at Jack. No, he doesn’t like the messiness of that at all.

But another grind of your pelvis into his, coupled with your tongue down his throat has the physical quickly taking over any and all rational thought. He wants you, more than he’s ever wanted anyone. And he desperately wants to give you what you need, which based on the mewls escaping your lips, is a physical release, a connection.

God, he can feel the wet heat of your cunt now through your panties and his pants as you slide over his length, back and forth, again and again. He clings to you as your hands wind through his hair, burying his head in your neck, his lips taking in as much of your skin as he can. He revels in the scent of you, your perfume and your irresistible musk that is permeating the room. He is positively dizzy with it.

You are frantic in his lap now, chasing something he’s not entirely sure you’ve ever had. He knows about Ted, but he highly doubts Ted knew what to do with you. And with Jack, well, he’s not sure how far the two of you have gone, but he can only guess based on Jack’s recent actions and your desperation for no one to know that Ted had popped your cherry that you’ve been trying to be good and pure and wait.

But as you reach for his belt, pawing at him, for the first time in this whole event, he gets the distinct impression that you’re not sure what to do next, only that you are needy for something. And goddamn him, he is willing to give you what you need, but only if you really understand what it is you’re asking for.

“Wait, baby, just…wait,” Elvis pants, stilling your hips with one hand while grabbing the hand at his belt with the other. You whimper a little at the interruption, rolling your hips for emphasis, but despite the groan he can’t help, he’s having none of that.

“Baby, I need to know that you really want this,” he says, brushing your hair off your deliciously pink cheeks, your lips swollen from his kisses. He looks into your eyes, almost getting lost in them and forgetting what he set out to do. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“Yes,” you whisper, and then add, “Elvis, please,” in a begging tone that sets him completely aflame.

“Oh, damn, okay, baby, okay,” he breathes, barely able to contain himself with that. He’s only human, after all. He races to help you with his pants, pulling them over his hips and down his legs in record time, his erection springing free, precum already glistening the tip. You lift up on your knees, you move your panties aside, and touching the silky soft skin of his cock, you help him line up with your entrance. He can’t help but gasp at the feeling of your cool little fingers circling his shaft, losing it a little more when he feels how incredibly soaked you already are.

He can’t believe this is happening. It shouldn’t be happening. But all logic is gone from him, replaced by the sweetness of your mouth and the wetness of your pussy and his desperate need for whatever love you have to give him.

He watches as you bite your lip in concentration, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you try to take him in. You are incredibly tight around the sensitive tip of his cock, and he moans a little at the constriction. That’s when he knows for sure that no one else has touched you like this for a long time. You aren’t ready for him, not yet.

Reaching under your skirt, he deftly finds the delicate little bundle of nerves there and begins to work it ever so gently. He shifts his hips down, his cock regretfully released from your hold on it. Sliding his fingers through your folds (oh, god), he gently slips one finger into your tight heat, then two, allowing you to adjust around him before pumping them in and out. Your eyes go wide and you gasp with the intrusion, but then they flutter closed with a sigh, and then another, and another before your hips begin to rock again.

He watches you in your ecstasy, taking in every delectable reaction he can and committing it to memory. The way your brow scrunches and your mouth falls open into a little O. The feel of your thighs clenching around his hand as he massages and fingers your dripping pussy. Those alluring little breathy moans escaping your lips. Every part of you has him completely mesmerized and he knows it. He knows his mouth is agape and he is moaning softly right along with you. He is so aroused just by watching you, he feels like he could come without you even touching him.

“E, I need more…I need you,” you breathe with your eyes closed and brow concentrated, and oh sweet lord, those might be the best words in the English language with the way they come out of your mouth.

He is utterly unable to deny you this. He can’t even speak, he just pulls his fingers out of you, lifts your hips, and maneuvers his cock back to the place it wants to be most. And you are more ready for him now, your tightness yielding much more easily around the sensitive tip of him.

It’s in that moment, as you sink down ever-so-slowly onto him and he is enveloped by your wet heat, that Elvis realizes he is utterly ruined for any other woman, ever. They cannot and will not ever hold a candle to you. He should’ve known before. He should’ve stopped this while he still could. But as you finally settle in his lap, taking him in completely, your fingers relaxing and your eyes bright and glassy, he knows he is well and truly fucked in every way.

He kisses you deeply again and again, memorizing your mouth, as you begin to raise and lower yourself on his cock. You feel so good, so completely perfect, it’s as if you were made just for him. He is drunk on you, hands wandering your body, finding what makes you keen, and he’s unable to get enough of you.

But you are so needy and ready that unfortunately it doesn’t take very long of you riding him and him playing with your clit for you to begin falling apart at the seams. Based on your surprised gasps, he’s not sure you’ve ever come before, so he does his best to help you get there while holding on to his own release for dear life. You begin to shudder around him, clenching his length, and with a strangled moan you hit your peak. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the way you are coming undone on top of him, around him, your eyelashes fluttering closed and then popping open, all wild-eyed and rosy cheeked as the hushed sound of his name falls out of your perfect mouth.

He's so fucking enraptured that his orgasm hits harder and faster than expected, chasing yours almost immediately, not giving him time to pull out like he should have. But he can’t bring himself to care because it’s all you. All he’s ever wanted or needed—it’s you.

Oh, sweet Christ, I love you, I love you, I love you, he chants in his mind as he follows you over the edge.

He clings to you, head pressed into your breasts as he pulses hard into your warmth with a grunt, then stays there as he comes down from the high. And then you are both gasping in the silence, and there is an air of disbelief that fills the room that the two of you just did that, together.

This is making love, he realizes suddenly. It must be, considering the incredibly overwhelming feelings he has for you that are pouring through him in unreasonable amounts. He never wants to let you go, not ever.

He pulls back enough to kiss you tenderly, lingering a little too long. There is a sinking, nearly unbearable feeling that this may never happen again, and it threatens to break him, so he pushes it as far away as it will go.

You press your forehead to his, silent, you still enveloping him as he eventually begins to soften inside you. Neither of you rushes to move. He cannot read what you are thinking and that makes him nervous.

“Are you okay?” he finally whispers, his thumb grazing your cheek.

You nod but say nothing.

“Okay, baby.”

You both sit there a while, simmering in what you have done, and he wishes you would say something, say anything at all to let him know what is going on in that head of yours. But you are quiet, unreadable.

Finally, you remove yourself from his lap and stumble your way into the ensuite bathroom to clean up.

Elvis runs a hand down his face, wiping away the mixture of salty tears and sweat that has collected there. He uses his handkerchief to wipe himself off and then puts himself back together. Blissed out in his refraction, he is so full of love for you that he almost can’t stand it. He thought he’d known love before, and perhaps he did, but this realization of love for you is so big that he doesn’t know what to do with it. God, he feels like with you by his side, he could conquer the damn world.

But you’re not his girl.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.

His head falls back onto the wall with a thump.

Somehow, he’s both on top of the world and completely buried by it at the same time. You interrupt his thoughts, coming back in quietly and falling, exhausted, into his arms. He takes off his coat and puts it on top of you both. He can’t help but pull you closer, up into his lap, so your head rests against his chest. This is where you are supposed to be, he can’t help but think.

He knows the two of you need to talk about this. While he has been having his epiphany, he has absolutely no idea what you are thinking. He has no clue if you feel anything even close to what he feels for you. It is possible that all of this was just some sort of revenge on Jack, and that breaks his heart a little. And even if you did do it for that reason, you chose him. You felt safe enough with him to choose him.

But something deep inside him tells him it isn’t just that, not with the way you kissed him, not with the way he felt like his damn soul was connecting with yours. That deep connection he’s always felt to you, it can’t possibly be one-way.

But what if it is? a worried little voice creeps in.

He wants to ask you, but he looks down and sees you passed out on his chest. Fatigue begins to hit him, as he hasn’t slept in over a day.

It’s not long before he, too, falls into an exhausted slumber.

*

He’s not sure how long you sleep, but when he wakes, the sun has moved and the room is nearly dark. Disoriented, it takes a moment for him to realize that it’s you in his arms, and when he remembers why, his cheeks flame with heat.

Oh. Oh.

Drowsy, he rubs his eyes with one hand, trying to wake up. As the memories of your lovemaking resurface, his heart beats faster, and he knows the moment you wake you will both have to face what you’ve done. You’ll have to decide what comes next. And more than anything, the hopeful little voice inside him realizes that he wants to share this all with you—that’s why it is you he brought to Graceland today, and why it was so important to him that you like it.

“Y/n, honey, wake up,” he says quietly, not wanting to shock you awake, but you don’t even stir. He shifts under you, hoping that might get you moving, but you just lie there.

“Hey, baby, it’s time to wake up,” he says at full voice now, but you remain still, too still, and silent.

His heart starts to pound. Something isn’t right.

“Y/n! Honey, I need you to wake up!” He is getting frantic now, his hand gently tapping your face, which feels too cold. But still, you do not wake.

“Fuck. Fuck! Y/n, wake up!” He shakes you. Panic and confusion roll over him as he tries to figure out why you are knocked out. His sleep-addled brain runs through what happened before you both fell asleep, before you made love.

Her headache, he thinks. She took pills for her headache.

He had thought they were aspirin, but as he frantically rummages through her purse, pulling out the little prescription bottle, he reads “Percodan, one tablet every 6 hours for pain and sleep relief” on the label.

Elvis swears you took two tablets, not one, way too much for a girl your size. You hadn’t read the bottle.

Shit.

Having been in Hollywood, he knows that this happens. People overdose from taking these narcotics, usually to get high, but he knows that you did it on accident. Based on how full the bottle is, he’s guessing that you maybe hadn’t even taken the meds before today.

Regardless, he’s not taking any chances with you. There’s no phone hooked up at the house, so with his adrenaline now working overtime, he lifts your unconscious form and quickly carries you to the car. He peals out, driving to Baptist Memorial Hospital as fast as he possibly can.

The those few hours are some of the most terrifying of his life.

He bites every nail down to the quick in that waiting room, pacing there as your family sits, equally worried. He can’t help but feel that they are judging him for letting this happen, even though it was an accident.

He can’t bring himself to call Jack.

Guilt eats away at him, even though he knows he had no idea about the pills, but if he hadn’t fallen asleep, maybe he would’ve realized sooner that something was wrong. Part of him feels like this is punishment for his sins, for what he let happen in the house. He prays and prays to God, harder than he’s ever prayed before.

Please, God, I love her. I can’t lose her. Do what you want to me, just let her be okay.

His prayers work.

You wake up. The doctors say you are going to make a full recovery. His heart nearly explodes with relief.

He offers to stay while your family goes home to get some rest. It is past visiting hours, but being Memphis’ own superstar, the nurses take pity on him and let him stay, as long as he doesn’t keep you awake.

When you finally stir, it’s the middle of the night.

“E—Elvis?” you croak. “What happened? Where am I?”

He sits up straight and leans forward to take your cold little hand in his. “Y/n! Oh, baby, you took too many of your headache pills and I couldn’t wake you up. You scared the hell outta me. You’re in the hospital, but you’re gonna be okay,” he whispers, squeezing your hand.

“Wake me up? Why—why was I asleep?” your brow furrows in confusion.

His heart drops into his stomach, dread like ice in his veins. He doesn’t want to ask, but he knows he must:

“What’s the last thing you remember, honey?”

Obviously still groggy, you close your eyes for a moment to think. “Um, I remember you picked me up and took me to…to your new house,” you say, then your eyes pop open, “You were showing me your beautiful new house, and then my headache got really bad, so I took some of my pills, and then…” You stop, looking at him blankly. “And after that, I don’t remember. You said I fell asleep?”

Oh, God, no. No, no, no. He feels like he’s going to vomit.

The force of his dread hits him like a tsunami as he runs through what happened in his head again. You took the pills first and then he told you about June and then you kissed him.

But you don’t remember. You don’t remember because you were accidentally fucking high.

“Elvis, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” you say.

“Sorry, baby, I-I-I was just really worried about you, is all. I-I guess it’s all kinda hittin’ me at o-once, now that you’re o-o-okay,” he says, unable to keep his voice from shaking, unable to keep from stuttering through the half-truth.

“Please, go get some rest, E. I’ll be fine. I’m so tired, I feel like I could sleep for days…” you say, drowsily, eyes fluttering closed.

“Okay, okay, baby, I will…Get some rest,” he says, kissing you on the top of your head as you drift back into slumber.

In a panicked daze, he manages to make it down the hallway and to the men’s room before his stomach rolls and he is violently sick into the toilet.

Oh, sweet Lord, he took advantage of you. You were drugged and didn’t know what you were doing, and he had sex with you.

He vomits again, tears running down his face.

I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have ever let it happen if I’d known! I would never hurt her! the reasonable part of his brain cries out.

Shame eats at him from deep inside, cutting him. He deserves it.

How could he do this? How could he let this happen?

I should’ve known. I should’ve known the moment she kissed me that she wasn’t in her right mind.

But he didn’t, and what the hell does that say about him? He’s fucking selfish and he took something from you that you weren’t in your right mind to give.

He dry heaves, wanting desperately to expel his regret but knowing that he never will, not until the day he dies.

And what’s even worse is that he is still left with the fact that he is desperately in love with you. You don’t remember what, up until a few minutes ago, was one of the most amazing moments of his young life. You can’t share that with him. And that makes him feel even more selfish because the last thing he should be thinking of is his own damn feelings.

Sitting there on the cold floor, he tries to convince himself it’s for the best. It’s much less complicated for you this way. For you, there was no betrayal. For you, making love with him can never be a mistake you once made in a moment of anger and desperation. For you, there is only the love of friendship between you two.

Yes, it’s better this way, he thinks. He can carry the burden for both of you. He deserves to.

Because he knows he cannot give you what you need. He cannot be there for you, day in and day out, holding you tight and keeping you safe. Especially not now. Not after what he’s done.

He has to lock this away. You can never know, not ever. He must protect you from this and from his guilt. He knows you wouldn’t be able to look at him if you knew.

Oh, God. Please forgive me.

He can’t stop crying. He has to stop crying because he has to go out there and he has to look fine. He has to be fine, for your sake. You’re alive and going to be okay, and it’s that which he latches onto as a mantra in order to slide into the persona that has made his name.  

He manages to make it to the car without losing it again, as the dawn starts to break on another day. He can’t bring himself to go home; he can’t look his mother in the eye right now. So, he drives aimlessly, for hours, his sins eating away at him until he finds himself at the church.

He waits for Reverend Hamill in a pew, his thoughts dark and churning. This is just the straw that broke him, for he knows that since his fame began two years ago, he has fallen so very far. He has been self-centered and vain. He has fornicated and broken hearts and caused pain to those he claimed to love, all in the name of this new life of his. And he’s pushed his friends to do the same. His stupid, selfish actions have had a ripple effect that has completely ruined lives.

Not only had he driven June away and into the arms of another man, he’d played with your life and Jack’s as well. If he hadn’t pushed Jack to cheat, you would never have needed those pills in the first place. You almost died because he didn’t want to be alone in his debauchery, and he knows that some sick part of him pushed Jack to it because he wanted to sabotage your relationship.

Then he realizes that, on top of all that, he did another incredibly selfish and stupid thing. He came inside you, which means that you could be pregnant. And that would ruin you completely, and you wouldn’t even know why, you wouldn’t understand. He would do the right thing, of course, and maybe, someday, you would learn to forgive him, but it would ruin you all in the process.

Oh, Lord. Oh, Jesus.

He thinks he might vomit again.

When the Reverend emerges, he looks surprised to find Elvis sitting there.

“Pastor, I am the most miserable man you’ve ever seen. I am doing the things you taught me not to, and I’m not doing the things you said I should,” he sobs, “Please, please pray for me.”

“Oh, son…come in,” Reverend Hamill says.

Deflated, consumed, and heavy with his guilt and the repercussions of his actions, he follows the pastor into his office. He can’t bring himself to admit what he’s done, to admit how horrible he is. He just cannot get the words out. Instead, he weeps and prays, over and over, the Reverend praying with him.

All he can whimper out is, “Please, please forgive me for my sins. Please.” He’s not sure if he’s asking the minister or God or both. He only knows he cannot live with himself for hurting you, even if you don’t know it.

After over an hour of this, by the grace of God, he finally calms some. His entire body and soul aches.

But he knows what he has to do now. He understands the deal he has made.

It doesn’t matter what he wants or needs. You being okay is all that matters. He has to make sure you’re taken care of. He has to make sure that you are happy.

In the days and weeks and months that follow, Elvis pretends he is having the time of his life, becoming every bit the budding superstar that the country insists that he is now. Sometimes, he even believes it; sometimes, he even forgets. Though every time he sees you, his heart breaks a little more, his love for you permeating him to the core.

But he knows he can’t have you. He knows he doesn’t deserve you.

Instead, he plants seeds in Jack’s ear. “You love her, don’t ya, Jacky Boy? When are ya gonna make an honest woman of her?” He pushes Jack to fully commit to you. He even goes with Jack to buy the ring, though he stops himself from paying for it. Jack has his pride, after all.

Instead, he throws himself into work, grateful for the grueling cycle of touring and recording and appearances and acting. He throws himself into fixing up Graceland for his family, building a life of extravagance that he never could’ve dreamed of.

And, God help him, he starts seeing other girls. He leans into the image of the playboy they all want him to be. He dates and he fucks, thinking that maybe, just maybe, one of these girls will make him forget the perfect way you fit into him, forget the way your face looked when you came undone around him. That maybe one of them will come close to the wonder that is you. That they will help him forget his past sins by cutting new ones. He cannot seem to help but do the sinful things he swore he wouldn’t do, lest he drown in his sorrows, but the girls help keep him from the one thing that is off limits: You.

When Jack finally pops the question in the summer, and you accept immediately, he can barely keep himself together. He convinces himself this is the right thing, that he is happy for the both of you as he stares into the night sky knowing deep in his soul that it should be him. He reminds himself that this is the deal, this is what he wanted, to see you happy and taken care of.

And he will damn himself for your salvation every time.

December 28th, 1957, Graceland

Oh, God, what have I done?

The moment you appear down the aisle, looking ever the most beautiful, blushing bride, every part of him aches with love for you. He’d thought that by giving you the life you dreamed of, the life you needed, that it would be enough to let you go. But as Elvis stands by Jack’s side at the altar, he realizes that no matter what has happened, no matter what he has done, he is always going to love you and it’s never not going to hurt, especially not after this.

Not after the quick look you shoot him as you step up to meet Jack, your pretty, wide eyes full of excitement and emotion. Not after seeing you all in white and wishing to God that it was him marrying you right now. Not after he keeps his peace after the minister asks if there’s a reason these two should not be married.

He somehow manages to keep himself from openly weeping during the ceremony by biting the inside of his cheek repeatedly but still finds himself caught in your radiance more than once and must force himself to look away. During the wedding pictures, he cannot help but maneuver himself close to you to press a lingering kiss to your cheek, to be memorialized for all time on film. The press of his soft lips into your warm cheek sends that tell-tale shiver through him, one that drives in the fact that he still loves you. He gives himself this tiny thing, and no one questions it because they all know you are close friends, and a congratulatory cheek kiss on your wedding day is not strange.

Discretely, he makes sure to let the photographer know he wants copies of the pictures, with the excuse that he is paying for them and wants to make sure they are perfect. This, too, is not questioned, as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

To torture himself even more, he offers Graceland up for the reception. These are his two best friends, after all, now cleaved together in holy matrimony for the rest of their lives. No expense should be spared because they deserve all the happiness in the world.

And they do, he reminds himself throughout the day. They do deserve all the happiness in the world.

At least if you are with Jack, he thinks, he still has you in his life. He can still see those beautiful, wide eyes whenever he wants without question or suspicion.

He clings to this.

Even so, he feels as though he is being sucked into a riptide. It seems fated that his life is going in a much different direction than the newlyweds. The draft notice he received a week ago confirms this, weighing heavy on his heart and feeing like a nail in the coffin of his hopes and dreams.

God is testing him, he thinks. It is all a very clear and stark reminder that where he goes, you cannot follow. He cannot help but feel that God is punishing him for his sins by taking him away from the fame he has just settled into to, taking him from the people he loves and the things he loves to do. He wants to lament that it isn’t fair, but part of him knows that he deserves this, too, for what he’s done and for what he’s done to you.

And perhaps God works in mysterious ways, as while he is loathe to leave his parents and his career and his fans, he cannot help the small part of him that is relieved he doesn’t have to watch you and Jack in your newlywedded bliss for the next two years. It’s the only upshot to this entire disaster.

But he won’t let his sorrow overshadow your big day. With a smile plastered on his face, he gives a charming and loving speech of how wonderful it is to see his two best friends find such happiness with each other. He only stutters once or twice, which comes across as endearing rather than damning. But the thing is, even though he is miserable, he is still happy for you two. He wants more than anything for you to have everything you’ve ever wanted and more, and if that is with Jack, then so be it.

The only time he truly falters is during the dance.

Your little sister (who at 18 is not so little anymore), Rosie, as the Maid of Honor, dances with Jack, while he, the Best Man, dances with you. The moment he touches you, sparks fly through him and down his spine, and he cannot help but pull you in a little too close, even though everyone is looking. His large hand wraps around your smaller one and the other clings to your waist.

The thing is, you do not react to this at all, not outwardly, anyway. You let him hold you and press his cheek against your temple. You let him breathe in your scent and lean into you, as if memorizing everything about you. You let his hands contract, pulling you in closer. You let him lead because it’s like somehow you know, in your soul, that he needs this, even if you’re not exactly sure why.

And for that he is grateful. He is grateful as he takes in every bit of you, committing you to memory, knowing that soon that is all he will have of you. All you will be is a memory, imprinted on his heart, for the rest of time.

When the song comes to an end, he leans back slowly, his eyes searching your face for any recognition, any understanding of his plight, any feelings of your own that might linger in your subconscious. You stare back at him openly for a moment, and for a second he thinks he sees a glimmer of something in your eyes, but then Jack is pulling you away and the moment is gone.

As the party continues into the night, he feels like he is suffocating and escapes upstairs to his room. And as people know not to enter his bedroom without express permission, he feels safe to let out the shaking sob he’s been holding back for hours.

He’s not sure how long he cries before a tap at the door startles him into motion, frantically wiping at his face.

“Bewbie, sweet boy, can I come in? It’s just me,” his mama’s voice echoes through the door.

“Yeah, Mama, come in,” he croaks out, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. While he is relieved that it’s her and not one of the guys, or God forbid, you, he still doesn’t know how he’s going to explain the state he’s in.

His mama comes in quietly, shutting the door quickly behind her. She looks him over and in one fell swoop seems to understand, even though he’s said nothing, even though he’s spent months perfecting his nonchalantness for the world, what is going on.

But a mother knows.

His mama sits next to him on the edge of the bed, putting her arm comfortingly around his broad shoulders. “Oh, my wittle baby, it’s her, isn’t it? Our beautiful y/n. You love her,” she says, less of a question and more stating a fact.

That does him in, the way his secret is exposed so easily by his mama. It terrifies him that she knows him so well, and terrifies him that if she knows this, what else does she know? There’s no point in denying anything, so he curls into her like a child and lets go of it all, the tears streaming once again down his cheeks as his body shakes with quiet sobs.

His mama has always loved you, taking quickly to your genial ways and how you always made time to spend with her. Maybe she suspected something from the start, he doesn’t know, but she doesn’t judge or scold him now.

“H-hurts so bad, Satnin,” he hiccups out. And it does, now that he’s letting it. It feels like his heart is being ripped from his chest.

“I know, baby, I know,” she coos, rubbing his back. He can sense all the questions she wants to ask but doesn’t.

“I-I-I couldn’t…I-I ain’t w-w-what she needs or wants, Mama,” he stutters out. It’s as close as he’s willing to get to telling her the truth.

“It takes a brave man to let the girl he loves marry another, when he knows that’s what she wants, though I can’t say I wish it didn’t work out the other way,” his mama tuts.

“Y-you knew?”

“Course I knew, Bewbie. A mother always knows. To be fair, I been watchin’ the way ya look at that girl for the past few years and it didn’t take much t’put it all together, baby,” she says. “But the question is, does she know?”

He stills and stays silent for a moment, before answering truthfully, “I don’t know, Mama. I don’t think so.”

“Hmm,” she tuts, “I’m gonna trust you had good reason for lettin’ that wonderful girl go without tellin’ her how ya feel?”

His heart constricts, causing him to doubt his choices, but he can’t explain how he nearly killed you with his terrible decisions. He certainly can’t tell his mama that he made love to you when you weren’t yourself, no matter that it was you came on to him. And he knows his mama would balk if he told her how much he doesn’t deserve your love because of his sins.

“It’s better this way, Mama,” he says quietly, sitting up and staring at his hands. “And she’s happy, both she and Jack.”

His mama nods, resigned. “Alright, my sweet baby, puttin’ your friends’ happiness before your own…I know ya made the choice ya thought was best,” she says, wiping his face and pinching his cheeks, “but ya get yourself cleaned up now ‘n go be at least a ‘lil happy for your friends, okay?” She leaves the obvious unsaid—that he’s leaving to film in a few days and straight from there, it’ll be into the Army, so this will be one of the last times he can spend with them.

He nods. “O-okay, Satnin.”

And with that, he does as he’s told.

*

And then, in a blink of an eye, she’s gone. His mama is gone and his world fully collapses and it’s all his fault.

You are the only one who saves him from being completely swallowed in the blackness of his despair, and he’s not in his right mind to think or care how that looks. All he knows is you’re there when he needs you the most. You’re there to get him through the absolute worst of it before they send him a world away, and then, he loses you, too.

He loses everything that means anything to him—his mama, you, his career—and he wonders how long God will continue to punish him for his misdeeds, until he can’t bring himself to care much anymore about anything at all.

Germany feels like a cold fog that clouds his brain, even when he brings his Daddy and Dodger and Red over to live with him off base. In his haze, he writes Anita promises he wishes he could keep but deep down knows he won’t. Then, he turns around and does all the things he shouldn’t do because he can and what does it even matter if it’s all lost anyway? He takes the pills they give him to keep him awake in the field, and those make him feel pretty good, for a time anyway, and then he starts taking other pills they give him to bring him down after. In his off time, he screws and tries to forget the life he used to know.

And in those horrible quiet hours when he lies awake, trying to sleep when even the pills won’t let him, trying to escape and can’t, he thinks of you. He thinks of his love for you and your hold over him even now, a world away, and when he’s extra lonely, he imagines you on top of him, writhing and beautiful. And when he comes undone, there’s nothing left but a gaping hole in his heart and a mess in his hand.

*

March 1960

Elvis bites his nails to the quick on the long journey home. It’s not just because of the planes and the exhaustion and not knowing if he’ll ever get back to being “Elvis Presley,” but he knows he’ll be seeing you in a matter of hours. Not years or months or weeks, but hours.

And he thinks that maybe he is finally over you, that maybe he’s healed enough from everything and that he’s on his way to start something new, something fresh.

But, God, somehow you are more beautiful now than before, but you act so strange around him, and his heart wants to leap and implode all at once. Somehow everything has changed…but you, you still own his heart.

Once he discovers your pregnancy, he is over the moon for you because he can sense how badly you want this. He doesn’t care that the baby is Jack’s—he loves it more than anything because he loves you and seeing you so happy brings him true joy for the first time in a long, long time.

His career is taking off again, his new image impressing those who denounced him a few years ago, and he already has appearances and recordings and films lined up to go. Life feels…almost good, like maybe he’s finally paid his karmic debt.

Then you almost bleed to death in his arms.

His terrified confession of love is spoken in an act of desperation, a singular hope that if you know he loves you, you won’t be able to go, that the string of fate that draws you both together cannot be broken, that he can somehow will you back to life with the power of his love.

He begs God, begs as he’s never begged before, an inner wail of blood-soaked prayer that does not cease as he rides with your near-lifeless form to the hospital, nor when he calls Jack and your parents, nor as paces the waiting room.

Singularly focused on his pleas to God, he doesn’t even realize he’s covered in your blood until Charlie and Jerry arrive shortly after the ambulance and look at him in shock.

“Jesus, EP,” Charlie gasps quietly, taking in the macabre scene, “We need to get you changed and cleaned up before Jack gets here.”

That’s when he looks down and sees your life’s blood staining his pants, his shirt, his arms, his hands. God, it’s even under my nails, he thinks as he watches his hands shake, feeling utterly disconnected from his body.

He’s frozen, unable to move, repeating his prayers again and again, until Charlie whisks him away and has to physically help him strip down and wash the blood from his body in the bathroom. As he watches the pink-tinged water swirl down the drain, he cannot bear the thought that maybe it’s the last thing he has of you, these stains, and that maybe he’s truly lost you.

He just got you back. He can’t lose you. He won’t.

No, his inner mantra of prayer doesn’t cease until he is absolutely sure you are going to be okay.

Though “okay” is relative, he learns quickly. You have a long recovery ahead of you, the surgeons say, wiping their sweating brows, and the next few days will be crucial. The baby is gone, and the doctors say that more tests need to be done once you are well to see if that is even an option in the future.

He is heartbroken for you, and for Jack. But you are alive. You are alive.

Lamar and Red have to physically drag him from the hospital in the morning to get him ready and put him on the train to Florida for Frank Sinatra’s special, which is the very last thing he wants to do. But it is absolutely pivotal in his career comeback, so he tells Rosie in no uncertain terms that she is to keep him posted about her sister and any developments.

As he showers and packs, exhaustion seeping into his bones, it suddenly hits him that he told you he loved you, and it’s likely there will be fallout from that. It makes him incredibly worried, and he is even more loathe to leave until he knows where he stands with you. It’s possible you won’t even want to see him again.

Or it’s possible she loves you, too, a little voice hopes. But he knows better than to feed that monster. You don’t love him, not like that, and it’s selfish of him to even consider at a time like this.

“It’ll take your mind off things, EP,” Jerry tries to convince him, seeing his trepidation, prodding him along to get on the train. “And it’ll give y/n and Jack and her family time to get situated.”

The message is clear. Elvis is not in the inner circle of your life, not anymore, not as he wants to be. This fact is both sobering and cutting at the same time. It reminds him yet again that where he goes, you cannot follow, and where you go, he is not always welcome or needed.

He nods solemnly, thinking he finally understands, yet again, the terms of his deal with God. You live and he keeps his distance, he keeps his sins from tainting you. You live and he lets you go.

He pops a couple of pills, brought over from Germany, to wake him up, to get him in the performing mindset, to rev him up to being THE Elvis Presley. “Anything she needs, anything at all, comes to me,” he tells Jerry, “Hospital bills, recovery costs…and I want the best doctors helping her figure out her pregnancy issues. Oh, and send flowers, every day.”

Jerry nods, eyes observant and keen. “Of course, EP. Anything for y/n and Jack.”

Yes, anything for you.

*

You don’t remember a thing from that night, he learns from Rosie, and most of him thinks it’s for the best. But a small, egotistical part of him thinks bitterly that you certainly have a knack for forgetting anything monumental that happens between the two of you.

But he is busy. So busy, in fact, that he barely has time to think of you at all after that.

Except half the songs he chooses for his comeback album have something to do with you, which he only consciously realizes when he steps up to the mic to sing. And just as he thought of you the night of the talent show, he thinks of you now, singing about the girl of his best friend and how it feels so right being with you. He pours his hopes and dreams and frustrations and sorrows right into that album.

Perhaps it will cleanse him of needing you. Perhaps it’ll help him let you go.

When you find out that children are likely not in the cards for you and Jack, he sends more flowers, every day for a week. Jack is devastated and practically begs to come out to Hollywood to escape the sadness, so he agrees.

Anything for his friend, right?

He takes care of you from afar. He takes care of everything. Anything you could possibly want or need is yours. But he keeps his distance.

That is the bargain.

He falters at Christmas, almost letting his grief and yours ruin everything. He swears that you feel something for him, that maybe your impulse to be with him was not entirely driven by the drugs all those years ago. That maybe you do somehow remember his confession. Part of him swears if he had let it happen, you would’ve been his once again.

But you are not his, you never really were.

And while he knows this on a logical level, the more he is away, the more he fills his days with mindless movie making and wooing his costars and taking pills that bring him up and more that pull him down, the more he lets himself imagine you are his. From a distance, he can take care of you. From a distance and in the deep recesses of his mind, you belong to him and him alone.

“Elvis Presley” becomes a household name, now with a clean-cut image, alluring to both housewives and teenagers alike. His fame and wealth grow, and so does his isolation and loneliness. So does the need for the pills and to bring the rest of the guys into it all with him. Even Jack.

Especially Jack.

But he doesn’t like to think about why that is.

He manages to destroy his relationship with Anita along the way. He loved her, in his way, he really did. But she was not you. Neither is Ann, though he thinks for a moment that she may be the answer to his prayers, but in the end, he screws that up, too.

As the years drag on, he thinks he finally understands why he sabotages every relationship he’s ever had—it’s you—none of them are YOU. So he flits from fling to fling without ever truly landing because all he really wants is your love. But he doesn’t deserve it, he never has.

He knows this as he watches Jack descend into alcohol and drugs and women, and a small, horrible part of him wants Jack to self-destruct, and even though he knows this hurts you, he is too selfish to stop it. And the guilt of this, coupled with the downturn in his career, pushes him to self-destruct, too.

Still, he keeps his distance. When he’s home, he tries not to shoot you too many lingering glances. He reins himself in, most of the time, but in moments of weakness, he allows himself to get too close. He catches you alone, he makes a pass. But because you are you, you always rebuke him with a laugh. Silly Elvis, ever the jokester.

But sometimes, in the dark of night, in your beautiful, wide eyes, he sees something else. That deeper connection that drew you together in the first place, mixed with a heat he has only seen once or twice. And it is that which keeps his hope alive.

In an attempt to bury it and fill the hole in his heart, he almost marries, but in the end, he can’t go through with it. He’s wildly unhappy and dissatisfied, and it’s not until he finally gains some control over his career again that things take a turn for the better. He finally starts to clean up his act. He seeks knowledge and spiritual clarity. He finally finds his passion for music and performing again after nearly a decade.

But it’s too late for Jack. He managed to drag Jack to hell and while he made it back, Jack has not. And you are miserable because of it. This breaks his heart.

He tried to give you everything you wanted and needed by stepping back to let Jack do so. He kept his distance. He did what he’d promised God, and yet life still destroyed your dreams.

Jack no longer makes you happy. Jack is no longer the man who can give you what you need.

And suddenly Elvis wonders if he was wrong all along. That perhaps he wasn’t the man you needed then, but he is now. Perhaps his sins have been forgiven. Perhaps the more he pushes you away, the worse things become for both of you because you are indeed supposed to be together.

You are his. You’ve always been his.

So, riding high from his first Vegas performance, he finally allows himself to pursue you. He pushes away a decade and a half of guilt and shame and lets his charm and confidence entice you. He lets the sparks fly between you, finally free after all this time, and more intense than ever. To his gleeful surprise, you accept him willingly, if not a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it is just sex, he thinks at first, this carnal need he has for you, but he knows better. As soon as he tastes you after all these years, he knows he can never let you go again. As soon as he coaxes, then watches you come undone again and again, he realizes that still, after all this time, this is it for him. You are it. You always have been. And he will do anything to keep you, to make sure you know that you are his.

He thinks you might remember it all after that first night, but you don’t, not right away. He senses your fear to let go, to let yourself have him, to have this affair. He knows you want this to be only sex. And maybe it is for you, at first.

But he will have you. He doesn’t care how many mountains he must move or what he has to do to convince you to stay, but he loves you more than anything in the world and he’s not willing to part with you, not anymore.

It’s true that his fame, wealth, and influence have spoiled him into always getting what he desires. Of course, what he truly desires always has been you. Now unlocked, his love and want and need for you is insatiable, and he will do anything to keep it that way.

Anything for you. Anything but letting you go.

*

As the blackout of his rage starts to dissipate and he comes to, he assumes that his friends are holding him back from quite literally killing the disheveled and beaten man who used to be his best friend, and he watches with deep satisfaction as you slap the shit out of your husband.

He also feels the immense guilt of letting it get this far, of not knowing just how bad Jack was to you, and his part in all of it.

But when you vomit and promptly fall to an unconscious heap on the ground, his fear is what overshadows his rage and guilt. Something is wrong, he knows it.

Not again, not again, not again.

Triggered by your history, Elvis, with untold strength, wrenches himself from the four men holding him down and clamors to your side, everyone else forgotten.

Pulling your limp body into his lap, he screams for someone to call the doctor. His heart pounds so hard he thinks he might need one, too.

Please God, please God, please God. Not now, not after all we’ve been through.

That deep-seeded, old shame creeps back in as he rocks you: This is your fault. Your selfishness did this. You destroyed Jack, he took it out on her, and you’ve put her at risk, yet again. You are a scourge on this woman you claim to love so much. A pestilence.

He’s getting lost in this fearful despair, and then Jerry’s voice in his ear snaps him back: “EP. EP! You have to let her go, man. The doctor is here.” Jerry pulls his arms off her as the doctor examines her.

Elvis’ fingers go straight to his mouth, his obsessive habit of biting his nails taking over as he watches the doctor carefully.

The doctor looks up, taking in the scene. He looks at Elvis, then at Jack bleeding against the wall, and purses his lips. “Will somebody tell me what happened to this young lady?”

“There was an incident…” Jerry begins diplomatically.

“Her husband slammed his fist into her face!” Sandy yells over him, furious, earning scathing looks from the entourage. They knew better than to give details, knowing to keep things close to the chest and avoid any legal issues, to protect him at all costs.

“Sandy!” Jerry admonishes her.

“No, it’s okay, Jer,” Elvis says firmly, waving him off. “I’m sure the doctor knows to be discreet.”

The doctor looks up at his hovering, intimidating form, and says nothing for a moment. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I need to get her to a hospital and stabilized as soon as possible. She needs x-rays. It’s likely she has a serious concussion, Mr. Presley.”

The men start to argue, knowing that as soon as she leaves this room, a whole host of problems could fall down on them, but that’s the last thing he cares about right now. All that matters is you.

Elvis holds up his hand and everyone goes silent. “Do what you need to do, Doc. Anything she needs.”

The doctor nods and asks that someone phone for an ambulance.

Elvis looks up and sees that the men cleared the room at some point, leaving only the major players. Jack still sits, leaning on the wall next to Red, his face battered and bloody, watching the doctor. Elvis can’t tell if Jack is sorry or not. Elvis walks towards Jack, his anger tempered only by his concern for you.

“EP!” Jerry says in a warning tone, signaling for the men to flank him.

“I’m fine,” he commands, crouching at Jack’s side.

Jack flinches.

“Are you proud of yourself, Jacky Boy? Are you satisfied, seeing her laid out on the ground like that? Is this what you wanted?” he hisses.

Jack says nothing. He sees the tears in Jack’s eyes, the regret through the pain, and for a second, Elvis almost sees the man he used to know in there.

“Hmm,” he tuts, looking over his friend with disgust, shaking his head. “I’ll deal with you later. And you, too,” he says, with a low, deadly calm, pointedly to Red. Then he rises easily from the floor, his attention on the men with the stretcher who just entered the suite.

“It’s never enough with you, EP, you selfish motherfucker. The man who gets everything he wants, no matter how many lives he has to destroy to get it. The rules never apply to you, do they? Dammit, you coulda had anyone, anyone! Why did it have to be y/n?” Jack spits out mournfully from behind him.

Shame snakes through him, through the anger that continues to boil under just the surface, covering the sorrow that flows under that. There is truth in Jack’s words, he knows that, even though he wants to deny it.

“How long, Elvis?”

He supposes he owes Jack that much, though he doesn’t even turn his head.

“Opening night.”

“No, you bastard. How long have you been in love with my wife?”

The room goes silent yet again.

Elvis turns around, but he cannot bring himself to look Jack in the eyes for a moment. A lifetime of memories flashes through his head, of times much better than this, of times when they had each other’s backs. Ultimately, he knows what Jack has become is partially his fault. Ultimately, he knows it was wrong of him to want you when you weren’t his, wrong to have sex with you, even before the debacle of you and the pills. It was wrong of him to manipulate Jack into marrying you.

As much as he hates Jack right now, he once loved him, and still, he betrayed him.

Jack chuckles darkly, “That fucking long, huh?”

Elvis finally looks Jack in the eyes but says nothing. Nothing he can say will make any of this less of a fiasco. Nothing he can say with make it right, no matter how much he wants to jump in to defend himself, to tell Jack he saw you first, to tell him he wanted you first, to fucking explain that you’re his goddamn soulmate and he’s had to watch you be with someone else for almost two fucking decades.

“Ahhh, and she didn’t even know, did she?” A hint of a smile plays on Jack’s bloodied lips. “Didn’t even give the King the time of day! Well, at least I got that goin’ for me,” he laughs.  

His brow furrows as he fumes, and he steps towards Jack again. Lamar puts himself between the two men.

“It’s fine, Lamar, let him at me. What do I have to lose now anyways?” Jack laughs, which turn suddenly to sobs, “You were my brother. I gave up my life for you! I loved you, man!”

The words cut Elvis to the bone, flooding his fury with more guilt.

“And I love her,” Jack sobs.

“You don’t fucking love her,” Elvis says, infuriated, pushing past Lamar to grab Jack’s chin, wrenching his head to look at you being put on the stretcher. “You hurt her. You been hurtin’ her. And Jack, if she dies, I don’t care what brotherly love was between you and me—I will fucking kill you,” he says, low and vehement in Jack’s ear, for only him to hear.

He pulls back to stare Jack in the eye, to let him know just how serious he is, to make sure he understands that through the pain and the alcohol and whatever pills he might be on.

Jack blinks through his tears and nods his head once, shakily.

Elvis releases him.

Then he steps in behind you, still unconscious, on the stretcher as they take you out of the penthouse and to the elevator.

“EP, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to…” Charlie starts, hustling behind him.

He turns, seeing the stares of the men who have given him their lives to stand by his side. Some of them are befuddled, some understanding and resigned, some even a little suspicious after tonight’s events.

“I don’t give two shits if it’s a good idea or not, I’m goin’ with her. Anyone wanna argue with me about it?” he says impatiently, shooting up an eyebrow.

No one does.

It’s good it’s the middle of the night, otherwise he would’ve caused a huge scene at the hospital. But the nurses and doctors seem to gather by his demeanor that now is not the time for autographs. Instead of putting them in the waiting room, they set up an empty room at the end of the hall for the lot of them, a gruff old nurse warning them they best be quiet and not wake any of the patients before she closes the door on them.

And for the third time in his life, he waits to know your fate.

He waits for you, just as he’s been waiting for you for the last 18 years.

He waits and he prays, though this time, he makes no bargains with God.

He stills when the doctor finally comes to tell him that, yes, you do have a concussion and though you will likely experience symptoms as you recover, you should recover fully. He feels like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders.

When the doctor leads him and him alone back to your room, the doctor mentions the other symptoms you’ll likely experience and that you might have issues with your memory leading up to the event. Elvis cannot help but chuckle at that.

“Oh, I’m betting she will,” he says under his breath, though this time, he thinks it might be best after what you went through tonight.

He sits by your side in the quiet, dimmed room, and is taken aback by the angry bruising already spreading over your beautiful face. His fury at Jack swells through him once more, followed immediately by sadness. You look so innocent and fragile lying there. Suddenly, he feels afraid to touch you, as though you might break.

So, he waits. He waits for you to wake and he prays. He thinks of the lifetime he’s had without you and the life he wants with you going forward. And this time, he knows he won’t be leaving your side for anyone or anything.

But his secrets still lay heavy and dark on his heart. There are those things he cannot tell you of that day at Graceland so long ago, and the things he still cannot bring himself to admit to, like his confession of love as you almost died in his arms and his meddling in your life. He doesn’t want to tell you how all of it has led to you lying here in this hospital, hurt and fragile but somehow still his, he hopes.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it yet, so for now he just waits for you to come back to him.

He’s been too rough with you, he thinks, in his quest to show you how you are his. Pushing you too hard to keep up with his rockstar lifestyle and his insatiable need for you sexually has not been good for you. You’re exhausted, not eating, and have been on an emotional rollercoaster for days, and he was too consumed by his own selfishness to listen, so much so that he almost drove you away. The hurt, the feeling of pure panic that shot through him when you said you were leaving was enough to bring him to his knees, but of course, he could not tell you that. He couldn’t show you that weakness. Instead, he’d covered it with anger and passion, fucking you into submission.

He realizes his dominance, while fun in the bedroom, is perhaps masking his true feelings. He has told you in so many words how desperate he is for you, how he wants you to be with him, to let him take care of you, how he is yours, that he needs you. But in truth, he is afraid. Afraid that you don’t and never will feel the same towards him as he does towards you. That it is only his coercion, manipulation, and his sexual prowess that keeps you here with him. No matter how much you say you are his and that you will stay as he fucks it out of you, he’s not convinced that you’ll feel the same in the light of day, of your own accord.

Lord, the way you said you needed him tonight flashed him right back to that first time with you at Graceland. The time you don’t remember. He is putty in your hands now, just as he was then. But that need of yours was only sexual. If it is truly just sex for you and you are only staying for that…well, that scares him and makes him want to hold onto you so tightly that you can’t leave even if you wanted to.

If you don’t ever feel that same pull inside your heart, in your soul, that he has for you, he’s not sure what he will do.

Gone is the bravado and confidence gleaned from years of being Elvis Presley. Instead, he sits here at your bedside feeling stripped to his core: a nervous, stuttering boy with a funny name who loves you more than life itself. He is that boy who picked your books up off the ground, the one who you calmed backstage with your sweetness and wit. For you and you alone, he is just Elvis. And he’s worried he won’t recover if you don’t ever grow to love him.

Anxiety courses through him, a throbbing pulse that serves to remind him that for all he has and is in this world, he is still only a man. And you are the girl who has comforted him through some of his worst moments, yet now after all this time he’s still terrified to let you truly see him. If he lets you in, you will see him for all that he is and all the terrible parts of himself he’s ashamed of: his selfishness and possessiveness, his overindulgence, his obsessive tendencies, his goddamned vanity and ego. His secrets. If you know the things he’s kept from you, he’s not sure you’ll ever forgive him. Certainly, you could not love him.

His heart aches at that thought, flooding him with despair. He needs you so badly that he cannot bear to risk showing you everything; however, a deep part of him wants to flay himself bare to you, to expose himself in a way that he has never done before, not with anyone.

Elvis puts his head on the bed near your hand. He is going to be gentler with you, especially after tonight. He will prove to you that he is worthy of your love, that this is so much more than just sex. He’s going to take care of you and give you the life you’ve always deserved.

God has humbled him once again tonight, and he knows he must do better.

He loves you so deeply he can hardly breathe.

So, he waits. He prays.

And he hopes that one day, you will love him, too.

*

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