#i was expecting to be in a bad mood after he left lol

[anisespice]

“ block boy ” || tokyo rev.

parings: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, kaku, sanzu, rin, ran ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. cursing, mentions of violence, blood, pregnancy mentioned in ran’s, a lot of down bad behavior on both ends lol and i think that’s it.

notes: i pledge allegiance to doechii, and the absolute banger of a song that is “what it is”. literally the first thing i thought of was bonten and couldn’t get ‘em out of my head unless i wrote something down sooo here ya go lol 

notes ii: basically times where you pulled their weight when they least expected you to/when they’re not around. called the shots, took some shots, beat someone up, defended them, loving on them, stuff like this (•3•>)

tagged: @fantasycantasy, @illegalspacecow, @captaincyberqueen

“Did the severity of the situation finally click in your thick skulls, or do I have to waste more of my breath spelling it out for you?”

When MIKEY returned from his much needed evening snooze in the break room you threatened sweetly advised him to take after working for 17 hours straight, he was expecting to return to the shitstorm he left behind. However, when he entered his office, to his muted surprise there you were, in the middle of berating a handful of subordinates nearly twice your size, all shrunk within themselves as your sharp tone pierced through them all. He stood in the doorway with a curious gaze, head tilted ever so slightly as he made sure to keep quiet so not to notify you of his presence.

Mikey took note of your hip popped outward, balled fist rested upon it in the stance he knew all too well whenever you were on your last nerve. Knowing what those idiots did, someone was bound to stumble outta there in tears; your fury wasn’t for the weak.

You eyed the group with raised brows, expectant. “Well?”

One member was brave, or stupid enough to actually answer. He hesitated, but cleared his throat and replied, “I-It was an honest mistake…we thought the product was secured in the truck already when we made the exchange, b-but-”

“B-B—Bullshit. You were given specific instructions to check the inventory to make sure those smarmy assholes weren’t trying pull a fast one, and you were too careless to do a full sweep. You failed abortions not only made Bonten look like complete amateurs, but you added more nonsense for my man to deal with all because you didn’t check the back of the goddamn trucks!”

You flung the clipboard you were holding at the guy’s head, making them all duck around to avoid getting hit, only one unlucky sucker wasn’t as quick as the wooden projectile got him right in the nose. He yelped, no doubt it was broken with the sheer amount of force you put in the throw. Mikey barely flinched, but he did blink a few times in astonishment.

“You’re gonna hunt those fuckers down like dogs and make right of your ‘mistake’ by the end of today, or I’m gonna have Sanzu chop you into pieces and throw you in the Shinano River-!” Mikey cleared his throat.

You swiftly looked over your shoulder at the noise, mood doing a complete 180 when you locked eyes with the object of your affection, skittering over to wrap him in your arms. “Oh! Jiro, baby, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“‘s okay..” he leaned into your warmth, eyes hooded as he graced you with a faint, sleepy grin. “Didn’t want to interrupt your.. meeting. Seemed serious.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Just doing a little ‘housekeeping’ until you got enough rest, that’s all.”

He slowly nodded, lips pursed. “Could’ve sworn I pay good money for people to do that for me.”

“You do, but I was already here. Figured it was more productive to handle it myself rather than waste time looking for someone available. Besides, had to make sure you didn’t try to sneak your narrow butt back in here to continue working—We both know I’m the only one around here who can keep you in check.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

“Mm.. can’t say you don’t fill the role of boss rather nicely. It suits you. Should have you do it more often.”

Though you were sure he was teasing you, you couldn’t help but feel yourself grow warm at his praise. You lightly hit his arm, bashful. How this was the same woman who struck fear in a room full of criminals was beyond comprehension, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Speaking of which.. Mikey couldn’t help but notice the said group of subordinates silently begging for him to reconsider in his peripheral, hands clasped in prayer while the one with the busted nose bowed deeply to the floor, forehead to hardwood. It was as if the idea of you being in charge any longer brought them great despair. How interesting.

Huffing through his nose, Mikey placed a loving kiss on your forehead whilst eyeing the group behind majority of his stress for the day, void of any remorse as he coldly spoke.

“Matter of fact.. think ‘m still feeling a little tired, angel. How about you handle another hour f’me? Or two?”

The silence was deafening as the dual-color eyed man avoided looking at you while you stitched him up without a word. When you were greeted by a bleeding KAKUCHO at your doorstep a little past midnight, pale in the face and could barely stand, there were no questions asked as you quickly escorted him into your home, setting him gently on the couch before you sprung for your first aid in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what he could say in that moment, feeling like a complete moron for even showing up looking like he fled a crime scene which he kinda did but that’s besides the point. Your relationship was still in the budding phase, just starting to get a feel of one another as you tested the waters.

Well, consider the waters tested.

“You’re not really an undercover cop, are you?”

Kakucho gulped. He slowly shook his head, eyes trained on his lap while yours felt like they were burning holes right through him. You nodded as you continued carefully stitching him up. It wasn’t the best, but it would hold him over until he got proper medical attention. At first, he figured that would be all you said to him. But, when you completed dressing the wound, you asked a follow up question. “It’s something illegal, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t bring himself to answer, his strained grip on his pant leg enough response. Kakucho half expected you to berate him, curse him for potentially endangering your life, for lying.

“.. forgive me..” he croaked, bowing his head.

He felt sick to his stomach, he couldn’t bear the thought of you despising him, but he’d honor your wishes without protest if you never wanted to see him again…

However, what he didn’t expect was for you cup the sides of his face and bring his wavering gaze to your soft one. You smiled endearingly at the bewilderment that overcame his ashamed expression, him blinking at you widely with tears hanging onto his lashes like a wounded puppy. Your thumb ghosted over the tiny droplets, careful not to aggravate the bruise forming around the socket.

Leaning forward to shower him with tender kisses, Kakucho was at a crossroad—One side wanted nothing more than to melt into a puddle of goo, but the other refused to believe that he wasn’t hallucinating, waiting for the sick twisted punchline of this dream come true. Feeling him still so tense in your hold, you leaned back with your smile still present.

“This doesn’t change how I feel about you, Hitto.”

Kakucho blinked. Then, he meekly replied. “W-what?”

You coyly tilted your head, “To be honest, I always figured there was something…off about you. Like, you were holding something back. My first guess was that you were seeing other women-”

“Never.” His eyes switched from uncertain to stern in a matter of seconds, as if the implication alone repulsed him. He softened once you giggled at his declaration, patting his leg in reassurance.

“I know. You’re much too sweet to be a player. I pondered over it for a while, thought back to how we usually met up late at night, or you would have to leave at odd times. My second guess was your work just kept you really busy.. and after tonight.. after all of this,” you gestured at the blood stains everywhere, “safe to say I was on the right track.”

Kakucho hesitated. “And that doesn’t…put you off?”

“That you’re a thug?” He winced, but nodded. The silence that followed behind was borderline suffocating, leaving his hands sweaty and nerves shot as he anticipated your response with baited breath. But, he didn’t need to worry.

With a loving coo, you placed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, right over the split in his lip causing him to flinch slightly at the sting, but he welcomed the affection all the same. However, when your warm tongue peeked out to soothe the cut in slow, teasing swipes, homie nearly choked.

Kaku’s jaw fluttered open as a soft gasp escaped him next, the sensation foreign but not unpleasant as he felt his entire face heat up like a furnace. Your sudden proximity forced him back on the couch while you slid down to the floor betwixt his spread legs, making his head spin; this wasn’t going like how he thought it would at all. Being careful of his stitches, your arms rested on either side of him as your tongue explored his mouth, making him groan softly at the feeling of the wet muscle tangling around his so earnestly, hand reaching up instinctively to caress the side of your face as he deepened the kiss. His other hand held your waist, gripping your shirt as if he couldn’t believe you were there—That you wanted to stay.

The ravenette’s breath hitched when he felt one of your hands trailing up his thigh, slowly but surely making your way to his stiffening cock confined in his pants. Slightly startled, Kakucho pulled back from the heated kiss, a string of saliva still keeping you connected as you panted in each other’s mouths. Before he could question what you were up to, he cuts himself off with a whimper when you palmed his thick shaft while maintaining intense eye contact, a smile on your face as you sent the gangster into paradise when you sweetly whispered:

“Always wanted to be a ride or die.”

It was as if someone pushed him into an alternate dimension.

Not even moments ago, you were showing SANZU a cute tiktok of a kitten wrapped up like a burrito and mewing dramatically, nearly tearing up at the sight as you tugged on his arm and pleaded for him to buy you one just like it. Having bought out the entire evening in one of Tokyo’s most exclusive five star restaurants for your anniversary, Sanzu figured it’d be nothing more than a simple night with his lovely wife. Man’s must’ve forgot who he was.

When those fools tried an ambush on him, Sanzu was more than happy dealing with them quickly by just airing them out until his gun was empty. Although, as he went reaching for it, imagine his shock when you held his wrist to stop him. You had a different sentiment.

It was like a scene out of one of his most crazed fantasies. His lovely wife, holding his beloved katana to an enemy’s throat, covered in the blood of his comrades as he sobbed pathetically for you to spare him. As if Beatrix Kiddo entered the chat, you sliced into them with a swiftness, shredding through them all like paper; a dinner and a show. He wasn’t sure when you learned how to wield the weapon with such grace and precision, but he couldn’t care less when his pants were this fucking tight. But he couldn’t let you have all the fun, watching your six any time a goon tried to get the jump on you while your back was turned, Sanzu was quick to bust a cap right between their eyes. After spilling gallons of blood from the opposition, leaving one still standing, you decided to play with him a little bit.

“P-Please! I-if you let me go, you’ll never see my face again, I-I swear! I was just..just following orders, I-”

“Oh, c’mon, where’s your conviction from earlier, huh? You were so confident before I minced all your friends. What was it you said you’d do to me once you killed my husband? Can’t seem to put my finger on it…Haru, darling, do you recall?”

Sanzu, with his chin placed atop his interlocked fingers like a smitten fool, smoothly answered, “Said he’d ‘Fuck you raw on top of my corpse’.”

You winked. “Bingo. Thank you, handsome.”

“Welcome, gorgeous.”

The sniveling man yipped when the blade nicked his skin, a thin stream of blood flowing in its wake as you pressed it closer to his throat. His heart rate paced like a rabbit caught in a trap, nostrils flaring as he breathed sporadically while his life laid in the palm of your hand.

“Guess that didn’t go according to plan, aw.” You sardonically cooed, spurring on a bit of rage as he gritted out a dry ‘Fuck you’ in his final efforts of showing dominance. “Oo, there’s that passion we were missing!~ Let’s see how much more I can carve outta yo-”

Hearing the sound of faint sirens in the distance, Sanzu clicked his tongue in annoyance. With a grumble the pinkette popped a piece of his steak in his mouth and spoke between chews as he cocked his gun, “Alright, [_____], playtime’s over. We gotta haul ass.”

You pouted. “But, we didn’t get to fuck on top of his corpse...”

Sanzu swallowed, hard. He couldn’t help but internally groan with desire at your innocent display of vulgarity, tempted to take you up on that offer, but the last thing he wanted was for you to be involved in a standoff with the cops. You’ve proven you can handle yourself very well, a lot more than he realized that’s for sure, but you were still his precious baby at the end of the day.

Better to keep you out of danger than thrust you in more of it, no matter how much the thought excited him.

“Next time, pretty baby.”

You huffed. “Fine.”

Without hesitation, you strummed the man’s throat like a cello, the katana tearing through the skin with ease. The symphony of gurgles that escaped him sent shivers down Sanzu’s spine as he watched in manic glee as the man choked on his own blood. You never looked more stunning covered in red and holding his blade like it belonged in your hand, he wanted nothing more than to ravish you on the spot, but as the sirens drew near he tamed his urges just this once. You took his extended hand gratefully, swaying them as you both rushed for the restaurant’s back exit.

Once outside, while he scoped out the area for any cops patrolling, you nudged him. When he turned to see you beaming at him whilst blood stained your face, he swore his heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“You’re getting me a kitten to make up for this, right, Haru?”

He raised a brow, but exhaled a chuckle. “Sweetheart. Show off that violent side of yours more often, and you can have as many as you want.”

“You good, ma?” A delightful shiver ran down your spine and straight to your pussy.

That was always the visceral response your body had whenever RINDOU spoke, especially low and intimately in your ear. From either gently waking you first thing in the morning, or to secretly shit-talk in crowed areas, it was his go-to method to getting your attention effortlessly. A dangerous method, one that was about to make you act up in front of all these important clients, decorum be damned.

“I am now,” you purred, falling back into his embrace as strong arms came vining around your waist. He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple as he gently swayed you both to the rhythm of the soft jazz playing over the speakers of the ballroom.

“Missed me that bad, huh.” You nodded with a slight pout, turning in his hold to stare up longingly into his eyes. They were lidded, heady. Another dangerous method of your husband’s that made you weak in the knees—his undivided attention. “Bored?”

“So fucking bored,” you whined, tugging on his lapels. “These things are always such a drab..”

Rindou hummed, hands slowly slipping down from your waist to hold your hips. You tensed slightly, not even bothering to mask the second shiver it caused. His grin turned sharp in response, head tilting. “Ya sure that’s what has you so out of it?”

You tilted yours, confused. He continued, “You’re not as subtle as you think you are. You’ve been eye-fucking me for the past ten minutes. Came over to make sure you weren’t dripping all over the damn floor—”

“Shut up,” you jabbed him in the side, face boiling. Rindou barely flinched, squeezing your hips as he snickered cheekily at your embarrassment. “You’re so irking...”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. If you knew I was horny, I could’ve been folded on my back ten minutes ago.”

“Hm, almost as if I was doing something important, like…” he trailed off, making you squint and almost jab him again until he grabbed your hand in the last second, bringing it to his chest with a smug grin, “working.”

You huffed, “I’m important too…do me.”

Rindou snorted, but brought your hand up to gently kiss the inside of your wrist with a tender look in his eyes. “‘course you are, baby. Didn’t know it would go for this long, ‘m sorry.”

“Then, how ‘bout you and I take a little…smoke break,” you suggested, hopeful; desperate. However, it’s futile when your husband clicks his tongue.

“No can do. Kakucho’s still not over the last time we took a ‘smoke break’ together.”

“He’s not? Seriously? We weren’t even gone for that long!”

He raised a brow. “[______]. The check made it back to the table before we did.”

You groaned, exasperated as you wiggled around in his hold. Rindou merely watched in mirth, not even phased as he let you finish your tiny tantrum. He teasingly cooed, “I know, I know. Poor thing can’t go a day without something plugging up her slutty little hole.”

“Shut up..!” You shrunk into his chest to hide away from the sultry words spoken directly in your ear, thighs clenching together as his deep chuckle came soon after.

Rindou was very much aware of your voice kink. It filled his ego to the brim with how needy you were, crumbling anytime he so much as spoke to you in a certain way. There’s nothing he wanted more than to ditch and bury himself in your thighs, giving it to you however you wished, for as long as you wished, whispering praises to you with a sprinkle of degradation in there to keep you craving for more of his soothing voice. But, unless he wanted his nuts handed to him on a silver platter by his stickler of a superior, you were just gonna have to wait.

And he knew how much you hated doing that.

“Ten minutes.”

He sighed. “[_____]…”

“Five minutes?”

“We can’t-“

“A minute, god, I don’t even have to finish, Rin, please.” You whined in his ear, forcing him to close his eyes as a means to strengthen his resolve. It didn’t do much help when your arms wrapped around his neck to gently rake your manicured nails against the nape, your thigh deliberately rubbing up against the growing erection confined in his dress pants. The tables had turned with a shiver now running down his spine, mind turning to mush as common sense slowly sunk into his dick. Maybe…sparing just a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Even though the lavender-haired gangster couldn’t see your face, he was certain you were grinning victoriously at the sound of his resolve breaking instantly, the slow exhale through his nose being all the confirmation necessary. Clearly, you weren’t the only one who was needy.

Swallowing down a groan, he hissed through clenched teeth, “You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?”

Giggling, you were already leading him toward the nearest exit, swiftly evading the eyes of his coworkers, satisfied that you were getting exactly what you wanted in the end.

“Better me than Kaku.”

“Like I’ve already explained to you, Officer. My husband’s been here all day. Dunno if you’ve noticed, but he can’t exactly afford to leave my side for more than ten minuets let alone an entire evening.”

Despite gesturing to your swollen stomach and the small child shyly peering from behind your leg, the cop still fixed you with a skeptical look. You did your best to remain unnerved, providing comfort for not only your son but yourself as you ran your fingers through his hair. Apparently, there had been a shootout that happened in the streets of Tokyo, and apparently a witness was able to describe one of the shooters…

Henceforth, the unexpected visit from law enforcement. Again.

“Mhm. And, may I ask, where exactly your husband is now? Surely if he’s been tending to his pregnant wife, he wouldn’t have her answering the front door.” He raised an eyebrow, wry grin stretched across his face.

You worked your jaw, annoyed. “In the shower.”

“How convenient. Washing off the blood, I assume?”

“You can assume whatever you want, it doesn’t change my answer. He’s been here, with us. Whoever said they saw him was mistaken. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got mouths to feed. Have an evening, Officer.”

“Now, hold on—”

Without an ounce of hesitation, or care, you slammed the door in his smug little face. And just like that…blissful silence. A grand weight lifted off your shoulders at the disgruntled sound of the pig’s flat-footed steps exiting out of your day. Releasing a slow exhale, your son took it upon himself to blow a raspberry at the closed door, having worked up the courage to mock the officer now that he was out of sight.

You grinned as you ruffled his hair, endearingly. “You tell ‘em, baby.”

However, that silence didn’t last long as RAN made himself known now that the coast was clear. Having hid around the corner in case things escalated, he too released an exhale, easy grin spreading across his face. Though your child was happy to see him, racing to cling onto his long legs, you merely glared in disapproval. Based off his appearance alone, disheveled and glistening with sweat, you wished your fib from earlier was true; he needed a shower.

“[S/n], don’t touch daddy right now…he stinks.”

Though a bit childish in your phrasing, Ran was well aware it held an underlying meaning, a chill running down his spine under your harsh scrutiny. He cleared his throat, somewhat nervous, as he searched his brain for honeyed words that would soothe your soreness toward him. And he laid it on thick.

“That’s ‘cause Daddy had to run the rest of the way home to make sure his babies were safe,” he leaned down to scoop up the clinging child, lightly tickling at his stomach poking out from under his pajama shirt to receive more joyous squeals. “But, Mommy scared away the big, mean police man all on her own, didn’t she?”

“Yea!” [S/n] squeaked, bright laugh bouncing off the walls as he wiggled around eagerly. You felt the corner of your lip twitch upward at the sight, but you pursed your lips to hide the impending smile—Ran noticed. He always did.

“Yeah.. we’re real lucky to have someone as wonderful as her to watch our backs whenever we’re in trouble.. right, mama?”

Your glare still remained, though not as harsh compared to moments ago. Despite the mirth swirling in his lavender gaze, you took note of something else hiding within. Something more raw, more vulnerable.

Remorse.

Ran didn’t like getting you caught up in his business. He did everything he could to ensure that none of you were ever exposed to the ugly parts of his life. Tonight, he was sloppy. He fucked up, and he knew that. The second shit hit the fan, his only priority was his family… You had every right to be livid with him, having both your son and a pregnancy to deal with virtually on your own, while also covering his ass from prying cops itching to nail him to the wall…It’s a miracle how you haven’t packed up and left him yet…

And he thanks his lucky stars that you haven’t.

With another deep exhale, you rubbed your temple. “I don’t know what it is that you do in those streets to cause such an upset, Ran-”

“For the record, tonight wasn’t exactly my fault-”

“-and I don’t care. I just…”

Your exhausted tone was more than enough to shut him up. He felt his throat tighten as he gently bounced your son on his hip to distract his increasing anxiety. The lavender-haired man mentally prepared for your scolding, already set on sleeping in the dog house if that’s what got him in your good graces again…but it doesn’t come. Eyes that were hyper focused on [S/n] fiddling with his loosened tie slowly trailed up at the sound of you huffing in, what he assumed to be, relief.

Waddling over to your boys, you reached up to caress their faces. Instinctively, they nuzzled into your palms, Ran a little more hesitant than your beaming son before reaching out with his free hand to touch your stomach. When your unborn child kicked against it in response, you noticed his shoulders visibly relax. Your thumb gently rubbed under his eye, frowning at the dark circles that formed on the pale skin. He looked solemnly into your eyes, turning his head slightly to kiss the inside of your palm. You sighed once more, eventually granting him a smile in reassurance.

Despite his abnormal lifestyle, and how hectic it could get, “I’m just glad you’re home.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

#🍁wasabi #𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞~✩ #tokyo rev #tokyorev #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyorev smut #tr smut #tokyorev headcanons #tokyo revengers x reader #bonten x reader #bonten smut #manjiro #kakucho #sanzu #ran #rindou

[thebearer]

would you be willing to write something along the lines of casual dominant Carmy taking care of his girl who’s injured, maybe working at the restaurant with him? like maybe he’s super pissed at the carelessness causing injuries but also super concerned and caring

(may or may not be inspired by me breaking my finger and having it taped up, chipping the bone in my ankle and hurting most of the toes of the same foot 😅)

i tweaked the plot just a bit but same scenario lol. hope you enjoy!

"Hands!" Carmen yelled, plating the finished bolognese for Tina to grab, nodding at the perfected response. It was busy today, far busier than he expected with the stormy, summer weather, but he couldn't complain. The team was moving like a well oiled machine, customers were happy, and even Richie was in a good, upbeat mood.

"Corner!" Sydney announced, turning the corner abruptly, hand on the store's phone. "Chef, I need you."

"What?" Carmen looked over, adding the finishing garnish to the dish before putting it on the serving station. "What's the matter?"

Sydney hesitated, turning to Tina. "Tina, can you cover please? Just for a second?"

"Yes, Chef." Tina nodded, moving to Carmen's station, and ripping another order out.

"What's goin' on? Is it the freezer again? Fuckin' Richie-"

Sydney shook her head, nodding towards Carmen's office. "It's for you." Nodding to the phone in her hand.

"For me?" Carmen's eyes bulged, heart skipping a beat. "Are they mad?" His voice dropped low, eyes cutting to her's.

"No, no, not like that." Sydney shook her head. "It's a personal call. Look, I-I'll go cover for you."

Then Carmen was left, standing alone in his office, cradling the phone with a blinking hold line. He recognized the number nearly immediately- your number. Why would you call him at work? On the store phone? Suddenly, he was taken back to New York, standing in the kitchen after the dinner rush, looking at Sugar's name flash over and over and over on his phone.

His stomach turned, hands shaking when he answered it. "H-Hello?"

"Hi, Carmy." Your voice sounded small, a little wobbly- like you'd been crying. He was sure he was gonna be sick now.

"Hey," Carmen breathed, trying to still the beating in his chest. "What-What's goin' on? You alright? I-I didn't have my phone on me, but-"

"I'm alright." You soothed. "Well, I mean, for the most part. I... I'm at the emergency room."

That was all Carmen needed to hear, snatching his things out of the top drawer and bounding around the corner towards the back, shouting at Sydney to handle it, and cursing furiously when the line went dead.

Carmen walked through the dreaded halls of the emergency room, under the sickening fluorescence until he found your room. You looked up at him, eyes still red rimmed with left over tears, your friend chatting next to you.

"Hey, you alright?" Carmen pushed through the door, clumsily bounding towards your bedside. He still had his apron on, drove here in his fucking clogs he could barely press the pedals on, mind racing too quickly to care.

"Yeah, 'm alright." You muttered, looking down at your bandaged arm. "I burned myself and it was pretty bad. Jordie got scared and wanted to make sure it was treated." You nodded towards your friend.

Carmen felt the lump in his throat, bobbing with every movement of his head. "Yeah, I, uh, I see that." He looked carefully at the gauze.

"I'm gonna go," Jordie said, looking over at you gently. "If you're good with that."

"Yeah, I'll be alright now. Thank you." You hugged her with your good arm, Carmen muttering a thank you as she left.

Carmen sat beside you, hand falling over your leg. "How'd you do that, baby? What happened?"

You sighed, frustrated, maybe a little embarrassed. "It's so stupid." You could feel the tears flooding your water line again, Carmen's hand soothing them with tiny rubs. "I was making brownies for me and Jordie so we could have, like, a chill little movie day. And-And I wasn't even thinking, we were just talking, and I grabbed the tray out of the oven without a mitt." Your lip wobbled.

Carmen's eyes softened, cooing at you lightly. "And-And I freaked and didn't want to drop the tray so I threw it in the water, and then I ran my hand under cold water, like you said to do, but it was blistering really bad already and-and I don't know it looked like it was bleeding, and we were both freaking out because it hurt so fucking bad, so she took me here."

"That was good." Carmen nodded, your watery gaze meeting his. "No, that-that was the right thing to do. Could get infected."

"It's gonna cost so much." You muttered, looking down at your feet. "I-I should've called you- I tried to, but you didn't answer and... I just got scared."

"Don't worry about it." Carmen shook his head, reaching out to wipe a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "You got insurance, we'll figure it out, alright? Just... You did the right thing, baby."

You took a shaky breath, curling into his touch, cheek to the palm of his hand. "The doctor said it was third degree." You muttered.

Carmen sucked a breath in. "Ouch. That's gonna hurt tomorrow. They give you anything for it?"

You nodded. "It's at the pharmacy. Some cream and bandages and something for the pain."

"Good." Carmen nodded. "We'll stop on the way home, ok? You gotta make sure you keep it clean, alright? Be gentle with it. Take it easy, ok? Can't get it infected."

You rolled your eyes lightly, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. "I will." You nodded.

"I know you will. I'll make sure you do, alright? I'll help you, baby." Carmen cooed, taking your wrist gently in his hand, pressing a soft kiss to the bottom of the bandage.

"I didn't mean for you to leave, Carmy." You sighed, blinking at him gently. "You didn't have to leave for me-"

"-Yeah, I did." Carmen said, a finality in his tone that left no room for argument. "Don't say that to me. You know I'm gonna come check on you. You're hurt."

"And it's dinner." You countered. "I was just letting you know."

"And I'm glad you did." Carmen said sincerely. "But I wanted to come. Syd's got it. I called Sugar on the way here, and she's gonna help Richie out front, and I'm gonna take you home. Make sure you're all good."

Carmen took extra caution, listening to the doctor's orders before your discharge- as if he didn't know most of the protocol. He was meticulous about your schedule for the next few days, texting you when to take your medicine, clean your gauze, not hold your phone in your injured hand. Everything he could to make sure you felt better, even making those brownies for you- from scratch, this time, which beat your Betty Crocker box ones.

#thebearer #thebearerblurbs #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x reader #the bear #carmy the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear hulu #carmy x you

[moralesluvr]

Helloo✋🏾 I know it’s late af but I just wanted to get this request off my chest lol. May I request a hobie brown x reader where the reader is doing a “don’t kiss me” prank on him? Just a funny thought

'don't kiss me!' prank ft. hobie brown

♡ pairings & aus: hobie brown x fem!black!reader ♡ summary: you see a prank that a girl pulled on her boyfriend from tiktok, so you decide to try it on hobie ♡ warnings: very sad pouty hobie, reader being a bit of a meanie ♡ a/n: i loved writing this! thank you for your request! ♡ got a request? | masterlist ♡

YOU KNEW IT WAS WRONG.

Okay, maybe not exactly wrong, but it was definitely morally cruel.

You had saw the TikTok while you were sitting on the toilet in Hobie's bathroom, chatting with him about any and everything while he showered. You decided to stay at his place because it was late and you had missed him, so you figured you'd just steal some of his clothes and sleepover for a night or two.

When the idea came into your head, you slumped back onto the toilet seat and pretended you were just watching videos about makeup so that Hobie wouldn't be suspicious.

"Can you hand me my flannel, lovie?" He requested, and you sighed at the use of his slang that you've had to pick up over the last six months. You grab his towel and throw it over the curtain rod. You hear him suck his teeth, "Why do you have to be so annoying, eh?"

You hum with a grin, "Dunno. At least I'm not boring."

Hobie pulls the shower curtain back, and you nearly bite your lip.

This challenge was going to be hard.

The towel that you handed him was wrapped firmly around his waist, his chest glistening to the water droplets that reflecting from the bathroom's cheap lighting. He walks over to you, ready to kiss you, but you stand up and cough. "Um...I'm..hungry. Yeah, I needa' snack."

"Did you not just see what I was tryna do?" He almost pouts, following you into the kitchen, "I wanted to kiss 'ya, then you left."

You grab a bag of chips from his pantry, sitting down at one of his island stools, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't notice."

Hobie hums at you, walking back to his room, "Whatever."

You were sure that you had already made him upset. He wasn't always in a clingy mood- actually, mostly rarely- but when he was, he was upset if he didn't get what he wanted.

And although you did feel like you were being mean, you needed to get the prank on video to show him, and to laugh at later. So you rose from your chair and ran after him into the bedroom. He had on simple black pajama pants and no top, his hair pulled up in a bun. He was fiddling around with his guitar while sitting on his bed, so he didn't even notice when you propped up your phone and pressed record on your video app.

You winked at the camera when you did it, sliding onto the bed with him. He stopped playing.

"So why can't I kiss you?" Hobie asked, "Does my breath smell bad? Swear I just brushed 'em, love, so I know that isn't it."

"It's none of those things," you assure him, tapping your nails on the outskirts of his guitar. Usually he would flip if someone did that, but with you, he didn't really mind.

You saw him lean closer to you, and then his eyes start to close, and you rested your palm on his chest as you pushed him away. He gives you a watery-eyed look, "Okay, Y/N. D-Did I do somethin'? Because you're not wantin' to kiss me at all. Talk to me, yeah? Please?"

His big hands are cupping either of your cheeks as he looks at you intensively, and you can't help but break. You lean in, your lips connecting with his. You expect the kiss to be warm and light, but Hobie had a different motive. His right hand left your cheek as he snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to deepen it. A satisfied sigh leaves you as that same hand finds one of your braids. He twirls it in his fingers, pulling away from you, "So now you want to smooch me, hm? What's the matta'?"

You laugh, your head being thrown back at how humorous the situation was to you. Hobie's straightfaced, though, and he's not laughing when you look up again. You cup his cheek, your other hand pointing to your propped up phone, "Look, baby, it was a prank!"

Hobie gives you a playful slap to the shoulder, "Don't do that again, love, yeah? Was bloody painful."

You laugh, leaning in as you kissed your boyfriend.

"Don't worry, I won't." You smiled.

And maybe you wouldn't deprive him of kisses again, but when the time came, you'd definitely be playing more pranks on him sooner rather than later.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 ☻ thank you for reading!

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓🕷️: @queenesther996

#‧₊˚✩ — 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒! #‧₊˚✩ — 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒! #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown drabble #hobie brown blurb #hobie brown fluff #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderpunk #spiderpunk x reader #spider punk #hobie brown x black!reader #hobie x reader #hobie x y/n #hobie x you #hobie x black!reader #hobie x fem!reader

[cursedcola]

Dorm leaders react to finding reader/yuu crying and overhear them say "I want to go home"?

A/N: Ah. Angst. My specialty lol. I am assuming you want imagine format? Hope so because that's what I am going with. Thank you for the request :)

Note: Idia's is so long. I went so overboard omg. I am sorry. I just think that he's neat.

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle has seen many people cry, and unfortunately been the instigator for no small number of occurrences. Prior to turning over a new leaf, he was heinously blunt with his criticisms. Everyone knows this.

At the time he thought those people to be sensitive and naïve to the cruel ways of the world. They needed to toughen up!

That opinion lies in the past now. He was a prick. Riddle won't verbally acknowledge it but he knows. There is no need to bring it up because he is trying to change his ways

Key word: trying

You can't uproot years of bad habits and trauma overnight. He has his moments. From freaking out over students not studying, dress coding half the school, lecturing his friends on their diet....nothing too harsh, and no permanent harm done.

"This is not your world MC; 70% is unacceptable for a prefect to score on an exam. Slacking will not be tolerated! What kind of example are you setting for the other students?! Your grades reflect on the school!"

Perhaps he could have taken a moment to think and not let his emotions overcome him. Riddle knew how hard you studied; after all, you came to him for help many times. Each occasion he happily obliged and saw you progress using his study guides

It is why he wanted you to succeed. To show up with a perfect 100 that would be celebrated over sweets

Instead you arrived apprehensive and hiding your test behind your back. Already fragile and he-...goodness.

He sent you off running

Likely to go cower in the library and beat yourself up for disappointing him. Just like he used to do. Great Sevens he is an asshole. Ace is definetly going to rip him to shreds or at least throw his tea collection into the pond

After a brief rest to wash his face in the restroom, Riddle goes to the library and his heart shatters at the sound of sniffles from behind a particularly large stack of books.

"I can't do this anymore...this is too hard...he's right...he's right...he's right...I want to go home"

Sweat pools at his chin and his hands clench into tight, clammy fists. After hearing that, Riddle can't bring himself to interrupt and stands on the other side of the books, silent, and with his head down

He always felt regret and frustration after having an outburst - but all pale in comparison to the absolute shame and heartbreak hurting you has wrought

Leona Kingscholar

"Go home. It's past curfew"

And...no response. You are very lucky that Leona tolerates you, because ignoring him so flat-out would get you two nights in the slammer back where he comes from.

A goody-two-shoes like you never bends the rules, which is why Leona is curious to see you roaming the botanical garden so late. Not going to answer him? Now it's personal and he is your problem.

At first he opts to follow you around. Not for any particular reason, and merely because he wanted to find out if you stashed any secrets in the area

His patience runs thin as you walk up to every plaque and study each plant. You can't seriously be out here at this hour for a botany lesson, can you? Why not do this during the day

Each time you study a plant your mood seems to sour further. For absolutely no reason, at least from Leona's perspective. Not unless you have beef with the flora and fauna - which is impossible. Maybe. He really doesn't know what to expect from you anymore.

Eventually curiosity grows to concern. He's kept himself entertained, following you and leaving commentary once in a while. Yet he can't help but be creeped out with how you move around like a zombie.

With one plant left, he observes as you once again ignore him to examine it...only to let it go and sit on the floor in disappointment.

"So...You're out of plants, what now?"

He doesn't expect an answer after an entire night of nothing.

"I guess I'll go 'home'...wherever that is"

"Finally talking to me, huh? The hell is wrong with you? Do you think it's safe to be out here this late?,"

"Safe? It's just as safe right now as it is during the day"

A part of him screams to shut up and end the conversation there. It's not his buisness and he can just pretend this night never happened.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He can't help it.

"It means that nothing here is like home. Not the buildings, or the people, or the food, not even the plants. You know, where I come from roses grow on bushes not trees. And I don't have to worry about the broom I sweep the kitchen with suddenly taking flight! I want to go home where shit is normal"

Okay. You got him. He definetly wasn't prepared for that level of a stress dump.

What's worse is that he can't comfort you. He wants to. Truth be told, watching you wander through the garden listlessly upset him more than he is willing to admit. Yet he can't do anything, because that level of homesickness is something no one can understand.

"...NRC doesn't store every kind of plant in this garden. We can check other areas tomorrow"

Azul Ashengrotto

"Ah! At last, my food critique is here," Azul glows, clapping his hands when you walk into the room, "The Headmaster has given the Monstro Lounge a great opportunity to market our buisness at the upcoming cultural fair. Our stall's menu must be perfect!"

Azul ushers you inside with a hand on the small of your back and leads you to a prepared table. Truth be told, he could easily taste the new menu items himself or have one of the tweels do it on his behalf. So long as it tastes good, it will sell, right?

Wrong. In exchange for a vendor's slot and location that will actually yield profits - Azul had to make this contract worth the Headmaster's time.

In short, he promised something "never seen before," that would fit the festival's theme. Naturally, he did not do this without a plan. He had one made long before approaching Crowley with the idea.

You. You are the plan. Azul was going to theme his stall off of your world. Neat, right? All he needs is for you to monitor his project for accuracy, which he has already half-succeeded in doing by luring you here to taste test a new menu

"Jade! Bring out the first item," Sweat drips from the side of Azul's head, his inner anxiousness getting the better of him. Perhaps he should have told you instead of making it a surprise? He only had a few dish ideas to build off of from the rare times you spoke of your childhood. Sourcing similar ingredients without any idea of how things should taste was a task in itself. What if he butchers it? Would you hate him?

Jade sets the first dish on the table, and you visibly straighten up in surprise. You eye him in confusion, as if to say 'where the heck did you learn to make this? How?' and he softly smiles, "Go on. Take a bite,"

And you do. You lift a piece of the dish to your face and smell the aroma before taking a bite. A moment of silence passes, and Azul thinks he may have just killed two birds with one stone. Literally. Death to any chance he had with you or with the festival.

"It...it's not quite the same," you stare at the dish in thought, suddenly solemn, "yet still similar. Nostalgic, even. Thank you for making this for me. Truly, thank you"

A mixture of emotions fill him as he signals for Jade to prepare the next plate. Should he take that as a good response? He failed in recreating the dish perfectly, yet you appear content. Sitting there, slowly finishing the meal bit by bit and cherishing every bite.

"You’re welcome. If it suits your taste, we can add this to our permanent VIP menu," he hovers near your side before laying a gloved hand on your shoulder, "just for you"

You reach to lay your hand on top of his, "I'd like that. Sometimes I want to go home, but this? It helps,"

At that, Azul steels himself. Not only would this dish be added to his menu, but he will personally learn how to make anything you every mention from your home. He would make you talk more, and hopefully find a way to carve a place for you in Twisted Wonderland where you will never have to want for somewhere else.

Kalim Al' Asim

"Is that really necessary?"

Kalim pauses - well, to be fair, everything pauses with a flick of his wrist. Dust rags mid-air, sponges amidst cleaning dishes, the broom sweeping the floor, and so the books that were rearranging themselves in alphabetical order.

He hadn't expected you home for hours. Did Ruggie lie to him about you watching spelldrive practice?

Kalim rubs the back of his neck bashfully, and flicks his wrist for everything else to resume motion.

"Oh, prefect! You're home early. I wanted to help you fix up this dorm in return for everything you have done for me! Do you like it?"

A wet mop flies over your head, " I..uhm..yes? Yes, it's very sweet of you to offer but do we really need magic for this? I could have helped," and nearly drenches you in dirty mop water, earning a grimace of disgust.

Kalim chuckles, waving you off and out of the kitchen. He felt bad for sneaking in to your home while you were away, but he wanted o surprise you! Which...also did not happen, but you said he was sweet for it and that is exactly when he decided to stop listening.

A mantra of 'they think I'm sweet!' plays in his head as he sends more tools to clean the house as you both talk.

He makes a joke about how cleaning is easy with magic, and that you can call on him whenever you need help around the dorms. He will happily do it on your behalf

Which...may not have been the best thing to say to a magicless prefect that has been busting their ass trying to survive and be independent in a world where they do not fit in.

Just a little bit insensitive.

Miniscule enough for Kalim not to understand why you're suddenly frustrated with him.

His brow furrows when you plop on the couch an bury your face in your hands with a frustrated sigh.

"Ugh...you just- you don't get it. I swear, all you magic folk wouldn't last a day where I come from...ugh, I want to go home already"

You say the last bit under your breath but he still heard it. Kalim is aware that sometimes he does get ahead of himself, and that he has clearly overstepped a boundary. Normally he is not so hasty, but with you? All he wanted was to do something nice, and his mind was clouded.

He knows better than to flaunt what he has in front of other people. Not everyone has magic or the free will himself and many other students here are lucky enough to have. You've been working hard to be seen for your efforts, and that's something he admires greatly.

One by one the tools fly back to storage for safe keeping. All aside from the broom, which flies into Kalim's open hand. He steps in front of you, and holds the other out to help you up.

"Sorry, hehe. That was rude of me. I still want to help, so can we try again? Your way this time?"

Vil Schoenheit

"What is that thing?"

He had not intended to sound so repulsed. Disgusted? Yes. Just a tad, but there is a fine line.

You quirk an eyebrow at his comment, and follow his line of vision to the make-shift bracelet on your wrist. It was nothing fancy. Just your old shoe-laces put into an adjustable braid.

You tell him as such, and Vil cannot fathom what compelled you to make such an eyesore. He catches himself this time and doesn't voice it as bluntly

But my dear, it completely throws off your uniform. Goodness it's worse than Ruggie's oversized vest that he refuses to tailor.

"They're sentimental and from the sneakers I had on before someone put me in the ceremonial coffin. I still don't know who changed my clothes; and frankly? Don't want to, but at least they left my stuff in there,"

Okay, he understands. A piece from your past is hard to let go of but do you seriously need to wear it around campus? It completely throws off your charm.

Vil has always had a nasty habit of imposing his standards onto others, and so for the rest of the week you find him constantly eying your bracelet whenever he is nearby.

He merely wants to snip it with some scissors, he thinks, ever so tempted one evening when painting your nails.

You are his soon to be lover. Well, once you ask him to be so. Then he will turn you down and ask you himself because (1) he is not one who seeks, but is one who is sought after and (2) he must always have the upper hand despite this mindset

Anyway. You cannot walk around with those dirty laces on your wrist. He cannot accept it despite trying to on multiple occasions.

His compulsion overtakes reasoning, and as your nails are drying he "accidentally" cuts the thin cord holding the laces together with cuticle scissors

Needless to say that you are upset. Much more so than Vil ever could have predicted, and he watches in guilt as you try to salvage the laces with various knots

"I am sorry, my potato. Allow me to get you a new bracelet - "

"There is no new bracelet, Vil. This is from my home. I...I want to go home. This is all I have left and I need to fix it!"

It is not every day that Vil feels regret for his actions. He convinced himself that he was doing you a favor by getting rid of the old thing, but really? He was being selfish and ignored your feelings for what he wanted

He pushes that down, choosing not to acknowledge his fault and silently takes the broken bracelet. With a few strategic knots he has it stable, but it'll take some extra loving to fix properly.

"We can go out tomorrow to get some supplies. With a few beads, I am certain that these pieces could bind a lovely necklace together!"

He will have to be honest about breaking it on purpose, but for now Vil is happy that you have calmed down and are satisfied with his solution. Part of him wants to decipher what you said; however, he'll set that aside and take heed from his previous mistake. Something is keeping you tied to your home, and if he wants you to stay then he'll have to create a stronger bond for himself and this world first.

Idia Shroud

What does he always tell you?

No, not that there is always a catch with 'f2p' games. Well - yes, he does say that but right now we are talking about the other thing

Y'know

That the outside world sucks??? Hello??? He is essentially a broken record, repeating this every time Ortho or yourself try to get him to leave his room

Everything you need for survival can be acquired from one space. Need money? Work remote. Food? Delivery. Entertainment? Does he need to even -

Look. The point is made. Back on topic, Idia has enforced this time and time again. Yet you always insist on dragging him somewhere or going out on your own if he refuses. More often the latter, because you need to find him in a very special mood for him to go out anywhere physically. When you weren't as close, he would let you go off easily. It isn't his job to babysit you? Now though? He is a bit more 'tricky' on the topic.

Idia thrives on your attention. Absolutely adores it. When the CCTV picks you up as you bypass the Ignihyde security, his heart throbs because he knows that you have no other buisness here other than coming to see him or Ortho. Yet...he has issues being honest about this. Normally he'll be freaking out like a normie in his room until you knock, and then he speedily throws on his headset and pretends that he was in the middle of programming something important

Then you do your thing and "annoy," him with your "normie" talk. Tell him all about your day, joke around, play some games, maybe sneak out and get him stuff from the vending machine so he doesn't have to

And then it ends. Either it's late and you have to go home, or you have other plans to attend. Either way, you always extend an invitation for him to join. Just to get some fresh night air or go have some quality people time

As stated prior, at first he did not care. He'd let you go without a peep. Now? He has...ugh, emotional attachments *barf*. He hates knowing that you're leaving him to go have fun with other people, and he also is extremely uncomfortable with you walking alone at night. Did you not learn from what happened to him? Are you asking for a ghost to kidnap and take you as their bride/groom? He won't save you, y'know. He won't!

Needless to say, he is hella paranoid. More so about the second scenario than the first, because at least with other people you're just doing boring things like shopping.

So, Idia does what any sane person in his situation would do...and stalks you by hacking into NRC's security cameras. Just until you're in you’re home, safe, and he can relax. His intentions are pure and you haven't noticed yet. Why stop?

It's odd that on the night Idia begins to think his protective tendencies are unnecessary, that his anxiousness is justified

"What the f*ck?" He nearly growls, seeing three figures lurking outside his dorm, just beyond the entrance. Obviously not any of his students and seemingly waiting for someone.

His suspicions are proven right when you walk out the front door and one of them steps in your way. Idia thanks his past self for investing in high resolution cameras for his dorm, because he's easily able to get a clear picture of their face.

Unfortunately, audio recording is unethical (curse you Crowley) and he can't hear a word that they're saying - but it doesn't look good. Not from how you shrink backwards towards the front door, looking frantically for a way out. Sweat dribbles down Idia's neck as he debates what to do. He's not built for confrontation? But he's dorm leader, so isn't stopping this kind of stuff his job? Okay, but you're not a student of Ignihyde. Shit, you're his "friend" though. If he leaves you alone then why did he bother with all this in the first -

One of the figures grabs you by the collar, and Idia is out the door faster than Grimm when there's a can of tuna on the line. His desk chair left spinning in his wake as he bolts down the halls of his dorm

"Now listen here you little shit-"

"How about you listen ya filthy noob. I will give you three seconds,"

Idia throws open the front door an immediately pries the newly noted Savanaclaw student off you. His hair blazing double it's normal height and dark red, fueled by rage akin to what only Kingdom Hearts can evict from people. His eye begins to twitch just from looking at their false confidence fall apart. Of course, normies are all talk and no act when shit gets rough. What else did he expect?

"We have no buisness with you, shut-in. Butt out,"

"Three seconds. Leave or I will activate our military grade security systems,"

"Wha-"

"Two"

"Dude, you think we care?"

"One"

"Fine! Whatever! Don't think you're off the hook, prefect"

The title is spit out like a curse, and Idia nearly calls his newest project to chase after them ('Cerberus' Robotic doggos meant to deliver mail, but have an attack function. Why not?)

By the time they’re gone, Idia's thoughts begin to settle and his sense of self returns. He's outside, in his casual clothes with no shoes, there's a slight chill, and he's gripping something - or rather someone - tightly.

"Ah! I'msorryIdidn'tmeantotouchyou," he jumps back, his hair turning bright pink and hands shaking from what he did

You cough into your fist, "No prob. You didn't have to do that...I know you hate confrontation," your voice comes out shaky, and Idia's brain halts, "You're crying," he whispers in disbelief.

"What? No. Pssh. You seriously think that could shake me up? Have you seen the stuff I deal with daily?"

He is not convinced. If it were anyone else, he would have left. He can't handle this kind of stressful situation...then again, he normally can't handle confrontation either, but he just did so…

He sighs, inching closer "What...what did they say to you?" he can try. He might regret it, but he hasn't been rational all night.

Your eyes glaze over, likely reliving whatever conversation just took place before your eyes well up, "I know it's not true. I know. I know I can fit in somehow but I just want to go home. It would be so much easier if I could just go home,"

The last of your words are muffled by your hands as you frantically try to compose yourself. Idia doesn't need to hear more. He's intuitive. From what you've said and the way that student spoke your title...he gets it. Which is why he leads you back inside, lets you sleep in his bed, and prepares a special little surprise for those students with the camera footage from earlier. He was planning to stay awake playing video games, why not use his time more ‘productively’?

Idia stands by his words - the outside world sucks. Yet you know what sucks more? Pissing him off, and making one of the only people he has *barf* emotional attachments to, feel the need to leave him and go to another world to feel safe. There is a reason he was placed in Ignihyde, and it wasn't his smarts or reclusiveness.

No. It was his temper.

Malleus Draconia

“Prefect. Does this belong to you?”

Malleus holds out a phone unlike any sold in Twisted Wonderland. At first he thought his technological illiteracy was why he couldn’t pin point the design, so he brought the phone to Ignihyde’s dorm leader. Not even Idia recognized the brand, but with a bit of tinkering he was able to get the phone charged and working (through methods Malleus could not begin to fathom).

The home screen brightened up and soon they found your name in the settings. Malleus was surprised, to say the least. He did not expect you to be the owner of such foreign technology, or for Idia to throw the phone as if it burned him. Something about being a ‘red flag’ and invading your privacy? Eh. Surely there is nothing too concerning inside an old phone.

To be safe, he withholds his curiosity in favor of returning the phone to you. He could not navigate it even if he wanted to, honestly.

He made the right call. The way your eyes sparkle with recognition at the device and take it gingerly from his hands. You twirl it around a few times in disbelief, earning a bemused chuckle from him.

“I found it near the ceremonial hall. Be careful with your belongings or else they may one day end up in the wrong hands,”

You smile brightly at him when the screen lights up, and throw your arms over his shoulders in a hug, “Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I can’t believe you found this for me! I was so worried I lost all my pictures and data,”

You startle him with the physical contact. He definitely did not picture your first hug to go this way. Although he quickly composes himself, returning the gesture albeit with less strength.

He grows curious, “Pictures? Data?” wondering if there really was something worth while in the phone. You pull him at arms length and giddily start tapping away at the screen, “yeah! Having this means I can should you all what my world looks like! Food, people, scenery - oh, I think I have some memes saved too,”

He refrains from asking what a ‘meme’ is, too caught up in trying to understand you. Sure, he expected you to be happy that he found your phone but to see this level of cuteness? Are you missing anything else that he can find?

You hastily show him your phone and begin to swipe through the “camera roll,” as you call it. Once in a while you stop to laugh, explain who a person is or what’s going in in a picture. He soaks it all in like a sponge, committing each face to memory since they’re important to you.

Time passes, and you begin to slow down. Occasionally you’ll stare at a photo longingly, or revisit others to zoom in on faces or pieces of the scenery.

“I wonder if they miss me,” you whisper, and he understands where your heart is. Painfully so.

He stares at your reflection in the phone, wondering how such joy can be turned to sorrow so quickly, “They would be fools not to. You are…unforgettable…to say the least,”

You nod, wiping away a stray tear, “I hope so. I want to go home, but the thought of them forgetting me? Or the people here doing the same…I wish that I didn’t have to choose,”

You will never be forgotten. Malleus can assure you that much. The nickname “Tsunotaro,” will forever haunt him (affectionately) for the rest of his life - and you? He will always care for you, no matter where you go.

He cannot make that choice for you or take away your suffering. Neither does he regret retuning the phone and digging up these old memories. It pains him to see you so heartbroken, but he knows you love that world just as much as this one.

You won’t have to choose. He will find a way to bridge both worlds if it means that you can be happy. Then you can take him to all the places in those pictures, introduce him to the people and things you love - and then? He isn’t quite sure, but it’s a start to a long road of ensuring that you never leave his side.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #twst leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst azul ashengrotto #kalim al' asim x reader #twst kalim al asim #vil shoenheit x reader #twst vil schoenheit #idia shroud x reader #twst idia shroud #malleus draconia x reader #twst malleus draconia

[ferris-the-wheel]

@b-floyd-o-leech-b here, Tumblr doesn't allow you to send asks using your side blogs-

May I please just give Floyd a nice pair of shoes without expecting anything in return?

(If he gives me something back though, I wouldn't mind).

It can be afterschool in the hallway, and my current TWST oc is a grumpy guy named Bob that is a little bit tsundere, but he's a bit of a self-insert for my bad moods so if you just want Floyd to refer to him/me as in the 2nd person, I don't mind.

If I forgot or missed anything, please DM me, I read through the rules and probably still forgot, like, half of them. (My memory isn't great, sorry. 😅)

Totally fine >:D I'll do my best!!!

Christmas Secret Santa Event

m!reader x Floyd Leech

: ̗̀➛ Scenario: You decide to give Floyd an early Christmas gift so you track him down after classes end.

A/N: So what I got from your description is that reader is gonna be a grumpy/tsundere for Floyd. Hope I interpreted that correctly *nervously sweating*

ೃ⁀➷ Just 💖

ೃ⁀➷ Mutual crushes

ೃ⁀➷ Reader isn't Yuu

TW: None

"Y/N~~ What did you want me here for?" Floyd asked as you rounded the corner, him trailing behind you. "Azul's gonna be mad if I'm late for work at the Mostro Lounge." He said.

"I- I wanted to give you something." You said, growing more embarrassed by the minute. But you knew that if you gave him the present— or more likely, he'd get it from under the tree himself— that he'd make a huge fuss and make even more of a scene. Sooo, you decided that you should give him his gift alone and spare yourself the embarrassment.

You held out the box to him, feeling your cheeks turn red and you turned away. He blinked for a moment, likely not expecting you to be giving him something, but his droopy grin returned and he laughed. "Awwwww, Y/N~ you got me a gift?" He said in a drawled-out way. He took the box, making sure to touch your hand in the process with a sly grin.

You scowled at him and went to walk away but he grabbed your wrist with a pouty face. "Y/N~~! You aren't gonna wait until I unwrap it? That's so meeeean!" You gave an exasperated sigh and stood where you were. He snickered and opened the present.

When he pulled the new shoes you'd bought him out of the box, his face lit up and he gave a little gasp of happiness. "New shoes? Awww, you're so thoughtful!!" Before you could react, he pulled you into a tight squeezing hug. You momentarily lost your breath as you squirmed around, trying to free yourself, though you only got away because he let you go.

"Aw, but I don't have anything to give you in return!" Floyd exclaimed, his mood shifting to being sad. "T- That's fine! I don't need a gift anyway!" You replied hurriedly, holding up your hands.

"But that'd be unfair if you gave me something and I didn't do anything in return. Hmmmmmm...." Floyd didn't appear to be listening to any of your protests, until he finally decided on something. "I got it!" He said, eyeing you with his semi-sadistic looking smile.

You were not in the mood to figure out what that meant, but he grabbed you around the waist dropping the box in the process which you thought was rude since they were brand new and gave you a quick kiss on the lips. It ended pretty much in the same moment as it started, but the suddenness of it made your face heat up and you were certain that your face was bright red.

It also left you unable to form a proper sentence. "F- Floyd! I— you— what—" Floyd gave a giggle and scooped up the box, then started walking down the hallway like nothing had happened, leaving your mind racing. "Eh— FLOYD!!!!"

Now that you had collected your thoughts, you chased after him down the hallway. When he realized that you were now following him, he took off running as well, turning only to playfully stick his tongue out at you.

I'M DONE OMG 🥹 I had no idea how I was going to start this off and this was like the only thing I could think of. Also Floyd seems to be VERY popular. He might actually have more fics than Riddle soon lol. Anywayyyyys, I hope everyone enjoyed this kinda short post (especially you, @b-floyd-o-leech-b!!!!) and I look forward to more requests for this event <3

Taglist: @officialdaydreamer00 @mermaidfanficlibrary @edith-is-apparently-a-cat @lyle-my-beloved @haruhar-u @cookiesandbiscuits

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland floyd #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #just floyd #twst floyd #floyd leech #floyd twisted wonderland

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2)

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

 “Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him. 

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified. 

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily. 

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it. 

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst. 

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks. 

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.” 

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…” 

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that… 

“Pretty please?” 

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?” 

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context. 

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart. 

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you  can’t have.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - “Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed. 

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality. 

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor. 

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter. 

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it. 

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.

#mine #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap x you #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #johnny soap mctavish x you #soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #soap fanfic #soap fluff #soap cod #cod soap #cod fluff #soap squad™️ #soap quad #WHY THE FUCK DOES COPY PASTING TEXT INTO A TUMBLR POST MAKE THE ITALICS VANISH???

[kingofbodyrolls]

BTS fic recs: my 30th birthday special

Shit. I’m turning 30 today (I still feel like I’m 18 lol) 😯 So I wanted to make this special recommendation list for you, as a birthday present from me 💜 This includes some of my all time favorites (no, I’ll never stop screaming about those!!!!) and also, some good old ones that I’ve never gotten around to rec at the time. 

I also have another birthday present for you (wish is also why I didn’t finish my reading list and why ‘Friendcation’ is on pause until after my birthday). I wrote a short one-shot, so if you’re in the mood for that, check it out → ‘Say that Again (I Dare You)’ [reader x jjk (ft. pjm)].

I actually didn’t get to finish my reading list for this special rec list, so I’ll add the rest of my recommendations as I read them (I’ll specify which I haven’t re-read yet) and the rest will be posted to this month’s regular rec list.

I want to thank each and every writer on this list for creating such wonderful stories and art - you are truly amazing ✨ All the fics on this list hold a dear place in my heart 🥹

❗Most of these fics are smutty as hell or contains dark themes, so minors dni.❗ 

If you read anything on this list and you like it, please leave a comment to the writer or reblog the original fic’s post 💜And if you want more fic recs you can follow me to stay updated 🙂

BTS fic rec index → May | Jun | Jul | Aug | Sep (jjk)(knj) | Oct (pjm) | Nov (💜) | Dec (ksj)(kth) |

Emoji meaning → angst = 🌩️, smut = 🥵, fluff = 🥰, comedy = 😂, yandere = 😈, thriller/dark = 👻.

Namjoon

⭐All Night by @luaspersona // knj x f.reader // college!au, brother’s best friend!au, s2l // 🥵

📝 When your brother bails on you, you have to find another way to entertain yourself for the night and Kim Namjoon just so happens to be a great company.

🗨️ This was the most perfect, pure masterpiece of fucking gold writing 🤌🏾🥵 it is insanely filthy, so deliciously smutty!! Like I think my soul has left my body 🥵 the writing, story and the characters were brilliant ✨ this is hands down one of my new favorites and I WILL read this again soon, I promise you! Don’t sleep on this sweet bad boy Namjoon, okay 🥵 such an easy recommendation for me to make - do yourself a favor and read it if you haven’t (and if you have, then read it again!) ♥️💯

⭐All Aboard! (the passion express) by @ve1vetyoongi // knj x f.reader // office worker!namjoon // 🥵

📝 There were not many things that got your blood boiling in the same way that two simple words could. Kim Namjoon. The name of your irritating and (unfortunately enough, as the universe would have it) incredibly handsome co-worker. Which is exactly why you never expected to find your self on your knees for him on the train home.

🗨️ Holy fuck, fuck, fuck this was so incredibly filthy (in the best way possible) 🥵 the tension between reader and Namjoon was perfect, the build up was so satisfying 🌟 what’s not to like ✨😍

⭐The Wedding Arrangement by @sugaurora // knj x f.reader // ‘enemies’ to friends to lovers, wedding!au // 🥵🥰🌩️

📝 Unfortunately, he’s just gotten engaged to someone who isn’t you. Even more unfortunately, he expects you to help plan the wedding alongside Kim Namjoon, his other best friend and, based on your first meeting, just another judgmental jerk. Putting aside your distaste for the sake of your friend’s happiness, you both set about giving Seokjin the wedding of his dreams. Following a rough and satisfying affair at the caterer’s, you strike an unusual deal: you and Namjoon will be enemies with benefits until the wedding is over. And after six months of wedding planning, you both just might learn that weddings aren’t usually the end, but a brand new beginning.

🗨️ This was so amazing 🥹 the characters had so much depth and ugh! It was just so, so good. It was a pleasure reading their love unfolding 🥰 aish, I’m soft! It’s filled with plenty of soft, slight heartbreaking angst at times, but oh so fluffy and smutty too! It was perfect 👌🏾 💯 please don’t sleep on this one, okay? 🥹

Yoongi

⭐Roommates by @automnesleaves [AO3] [119K] // myg x f.reader // roommates!au, covid!au, slice of life // 😂🥰🌩️

📝 February 2020: Your best friend Jimin’s roommate recommendation, IT guy Yoongi Min, moves in with you. March 2020: Covid Lockdown.

🗨️ This is really, really good! I remember being so hooked on this, that I stayed up multiple nights to finish chapters. It was hard to put down, and so interesting to read how readers luck slowly turned – also, the dynamic between reader and Yoongi is great and there’s just so much lovely slice of life in it 💜

⭐Three Tangerines [series; ongoing] by @kithtaehyung // myg x f.reader // fuckboy!yoongi, brother’s best friend!au, age gap!au // 🌩️🥵

📝 Throughout high school, you sometimes caught glimpses of your brother’s older friends: some of them were sweet, some of them were smart. but the one closest to him? that guy was a total f*ckboy from day one. after a foray of horrid relationships spanning years - ending with one that broke up with you for an alarming reason - you needed advice on what the hell you were doing wrong… and this wasn’t a conversation for anyone sweet or smart.

🗨️ Yes. This is here again. It is one of my all-time favorites and I will not stop screaming about how fucking good this is! You just have to join the 3tan party or you are severely missing out, Doll. 💖✨

⭐Oh, darling! [series; completed] by @yoongiofmine // myg x f.reader // university!au, non idol au, professor!yoongi, student!reader // 🥰🌩️🥵

📝 Starting your second semester at one of South Korea’s most prestigious universities should be stressful enough. Between juggling classes, good grades and a social life, your plate was full. Hoping to spice up your academic career, you thought it was a good idea to enroll as an assistant for your literature professor, whom you’ve held a very secret and very forbidden crush on for the past several months. What will happen now that you’re forced to work closely together? And what if your crush isn’t as one sided as you thought? 

🗨️ Holy fucking shit 🥵🫣😳 This is just one of my favorites series, EVER 💜 This is in my top 10, no questions! ✨

Hoseok

⭐Fate Doesn’t Exist by @whenIseeUsmile [AO3] [47K] // jhs x myg (mxm) // pilot!au, formula1!au // 😂🌩️

📝 Yoongi is a pilot. Hoseok is a Formula 1 driver. Jungkook's a fanboy and Jimin is oblivious.

Yoongi hates people but likes one-night-stands. One in particular but he doesn't like the fact that he's famous. He really shouldn't get involved with Hoseok. He does it anyways.

🗨️ I’ve read this multiple times! And it will forever be one of my favorites! I just love how their personality compliments each other, and how they keep meeting each other (also can’t stay away from each other). Plus, the side couples, both Jungkook x Jimin and Namjoon x Seokjin are just fucking hilarious – everything about this is golden, so if you’re into mxm it’s a really good read! 👏

⭐Flight 18 by @noona-la-la-la [9.5K] // jhs x f. reader // flight!au, idol!au // 🥵😂

📝 Korean Air Flight 18 leaves daily from Los Angeles traveling to Seoul.  You’ve taken this flight before, but this time you’ve got an irritating passenger in the neighboring seat.  Little did you know that he would end up giving you the ride of your life.

🗨️ This was just really really amazing; utterly funny (like I was laughing at certain points), so much sexual tension that evolves into satisfying smut 😗

Jimin

⭐The Airport Couple: P[ass]anger from Hell + Drabble by @dovechim & @jimlingss [8K] // pjm x f.reader // e2l, frequent traveler jimin x tsa agent reader // 😂😂😂🥰

📝 As a TSA agent, you expect your job to be relatively easy, most passengers these days follow the rules to the T in order to avoid prolonging their custom checks. But not a certain Park Jimin, who seems to have a problem understanding what 100ml is, or the very simple fact that gadgets must be taken out of the bag, and bomb jokes are strictly off limits. Frequent traveller Park Jimin is your nemesis, but darn is he a cute one.

🗨️ This is just so fucking hilarious, don’t get me started. I laughed from beginning to end 😂 And it’s still as good as I remember, if not even better??? Like ✨ I’ve highlighted a few of my favorite parts from the fic. I don’t want to give too much away, but these lines are just so damn hilarious! Please go read it, it’s one of my faves 💯

⭐The Airport Couple: Park Jimin’s Cock[pit] by @jimlingss & @dovechim [12K] // pjm x f.reader // pilot!au, bf2l, coworkers!au // 😂🥰🥵

📝 Talk about Angry Birds, and most people would immediately think of the mobile game app. But within your circle of friends, it stands for something else. It’s synonymous with Park Jimin, one of the most talented pilots from your batch who also just happens to have anger issues, or in other words, air rage. He is your best friend, but when you get teamed up with him as his co-pilot, you can only pray that things don’t go south… literally. 

🗨️ I remember reading this a few years ago, and I loved it then and I still do ✨ It is incredibly funny, has good banter and dialogue to match. The chemistry between reader and Jimin is just priceless, their friendship is just pure giggles 🥹 It’s also fluffy and will tug on your heartstrings in the best way possible. Just really, really good and definitely also one of my all-time favorites 💯💜

⭐Since We Met by @inkjam-moon [9.2K] // pjm x f.reader // roommate!au // 🥵🥰🌩️

📝 Your in love with your roommate, so you think maybe trying to date someone else will help you get over him, but when your roommate shows signs of jealousy, you begin to wonder; could he like you back?

🗨️ I haven’t re-read this yet – but I remember I loved it 💜(I’ll insert my rec here when I have read it again).

⭐Turbulence by @yminie [9.3K] // pjm x f.reader // flight!au // 🥵🥰

📝 On your first flight the cute boy next to you helps to sooth your nerves, and on the second flight he soothes something else.

🗨️ I haven’t re-read this yet – but I remember I loved it 💜(I’ll insert my rec here when I have read it again).

⭐Accelerate by @yminie [8.9K] // pjm x f.reader // flight!au // 🥵🥰

📝 Jimin comes to retrieve his jacket on the condition that you then accompany him for dinner, and you can bet he satiates every hunger.

🗨️ I haven’t re-read this yet – but I remember I loved it 💜(I’ll insert my rec here when I have read it again).

⭐Beneath the Water by @jungshookz // pjm x reader // fantasy!au + mermaid!au // 🌩️🥵🥰😂

📝 His legs were sparkling. You looked up from his face slowly and towards his legs, your head tilting in confusion when you were met with the sight of… well, it certainly wasn’t a pair of legs. What the fuck?

🗨️ This is just perfect; a tiny bit angst, gold certified comedy and fluff (with a sprinkle of smut). There’s also a bullet point drabble of this, so please check that out too (here).

⭐Make Me by @jikookiekosmos // pjm x reader // office!au, boss!jimin/employee!reader + dom/sub themes // 🥵🥰🌩️

📝 After a bad breakup, you decide to go out one night and drink your sorrows away - that is, until you see your now ex-boyfriend there with someone clinging to his arm. To get your mind off of things, you go back to your job after hours; what you don’t expect is for your boss and CEO of the company, Park Jimin, to show up and offer you help in ways you didn’t know you needed.

🗨️ It has heavy dom/sub themes (which I’m normally not into, but imma switch for this one!). It is incredibly hot and so, so damn perfect 🥵

⭐Pay Attention by @jikookiekosmos // pjm x reader // office!au, boss!jimin/employee!reader + dom/sub themes // 🥵🥰

📝 You’d mentioned it in passing once before, your fantasy about blowing your boss - and now boyfriend - under his desk during one of his important CEO business meetings. So what happens when you want to turn that fantasy into a reality, and he wants it just as much?

🗨️ This is a sequel to ‘Make Me’ (but can be read as a stand-alone) - and it is just pure dirty smut. The dynamic between reader and Jimin is just so good ✨

Jungkook

⭐The Wedding Planners by @gukyi [28K] // jjk x f.reader // e2l, wedding!au // 😂🥰🌩️🥵

📝 Jeon jungkook is three things: cocky, terrible, and your worst enemy. then your best friend hoseok gets engaged to the love of his life, and suddenly jeon jungkook is four things: cocky, terrible, your worst enemy, and the man you will be spending the next seven months with in order to plan your best friend’s wedding. 

🗨️ I also remember reading this a few years ago and it was just a very funny and pleasant reread 💜 What I love about this is one, is definitely the slow-burn and the enemies to lovers aspect too. The banter between reader and Jungkook is just so priceless and reading how their relationship slowly unfolds and develops through the months of the wedding planning was just everything 💯 Hoseok and Yoongi’s personality in this also makes this fic truly amazing.

⭐Secret Slut (1) by @jeonsweetpea [7.7K] // jjk x f.reader (ft. pjm) // office!au, pa!jungkook x ceo!reader // 😂🌩️🥵

📝 Jungkook accidentally gifts you, his boss, a sex toy for Secret Santa.

🗨️ I remember reading this a few years ago and now I see that there’s even a part two to it, that I haven’t read! This one is really funny, like straight up hilarious – really made me laugh at times and then it got so freaking smutty 🥵 Really good!

⭐Secret Slut (2) by @jeonsweetpea [18.1K] // jjk x f.reader + pjm x f. reader // office!au, pa!jungkook, pa!jimin, ceo!reader // 🌩️🥵

📝 After being fired, Jungkook finds himself a new job only to realize he misses you too much. He comes back to discover you’ve hired a new personal assistant, Jimin. You offer him the only job position available, which was being the assistant’s assistant. Being demoted results in Jungkook feeling inadequate and he soon learns what it means to be jealous.

🗨️ I was so speechless after reading the last part of the series, like 🥵🥵🥵🥵 There’s so much smut in this, you’re like swimming in it, lol! And then something happens, that I won’t spoil because I actually didn’t expect that to happen (even though I should have seen it coming, because the build-up was there). So, a really good read! 

⭐Departure by @nomnomsik [6.2K] // jjk x f.reader (ft. jimin) // pilot!au, coworkers!au // 🥵🥰

📝 As a flight attendant for Korean Air, you’re scheduled for a thirteen-hour flight to Japan. However, things get intimate between you and your partner and co-pilot, Jeon Jungkook, when he realizes Park Jimin, the famous idol from Korea, broads the plane and blatantly flirts with you. 

🗨️ I haven’t re-read this yet – but I remember I loved it 💜(I’ll insert my rec here when I have read it again).

⭐Something Like Love by @iamtaekooked [8.4K] // jjk x f.reader // cop!au, police office!au // 🥰

📝 It was meant to be a regular day at the hospital. That is until you get kidnapped in broad daylight. Meanwhile, the famous detective Jeon Jeongguk who also happens to be your best friend, just wanted a normal day free of world’s bullshit, but he couldn’t even have that.

🗨️ I haven’t re-read this yet – but I remember I loved it 💜(I’ll insert my rec here when I have read it again).

⭐The Forgotten Spaces [completed series] by @oddinary4bts // jjk x reader // college!au, dancer!au + e2l // 🌩️🥵🥰

📝 you’ve been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

🗨️ This is truly a masterpiece! The writing is perfect and the characters have so much soul, dimension, hurt and love. It is exceptional 👏🏾♥️ you just have to read this gem 💎

⭐Two point Five (2.5): pt2 + pt3 [series] by @bratkook // jjk x f.reader // handyman!jk, s2f2l // 🥵🥰

📝 Who would have thought booking a handyman from an app would lead to this. sure, you wish he’d mount you instead of just your television, but you could totally be friends. Right?

🗨️ This is also one of my all time favorites! 💎There is just something incredibly hot about handyman JK 🥵 It is so good, juicy, smutty and there's comedy in it too! Please don’t be sleeping on this one.

Okay, okay, okay. So the list got out of hand! And I know I say “this is in my top 10” but I can’t even pick my top 10 because I have waaaay too many favorites 😂

I hope you have an awesome day, are happy and stay healthy! I’ll go and enjoy my birthday with a chill day, birthday dinner with my family, probably some reading and watching the finale of Loki  🥳 🎂 Thank you so much for liking, commenting or reblogging my rec lists, it means a lot to me – remember to reblog, comment and/or like the fics you like on the list to the the lovely authors know you love their stuff 💜

#bts fic recs #bts fic #bts fics #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook x reader #yoongi smut #Yoongi x reader #bts smut #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #bts x reader smut #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts x oc #jimin x reader #pjm x reader #hoseok x reader #jjk x reader #knj x reader #jhs x reader #ksj x reader #bangtan x reader #bangtan smut #bangtan fanfic

[calistrae]

silent treatment. jude bellingham

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

pairing: jude bellingham x gn!reader

warnings: silent treatment, cold!jude

summary: jude after a bad match can be quite different from his usual self

notes: my first time writing something, don't be too harsh pls lol

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

what started off as a great match was gradually going downhill. it was dortmund against bayern and up until the 54th minute, dortmund was in the lead with two goals, one of them scored by your boyfriend of three months.

you loved to watch him on the field - his determination to bring the win to his team was admirable. especially today. it seemed he was set on winning, his chestnut eyes flaming with dedication. having only been dating for three months, it was your very first time coming to his game and everything seemed to be going as both you and him hoped for. well, until it wasn't.

bayern caught up and you could see jude getting more and more frustrated as the time ticked. you were on the edge of your seat as you watched intensely, not tearing your eyes off the game for a second. you swore you could feel your heart drop into the pit of your stomach when bayern scored their third goal of the night. seeing as jude's jaw clenched while his eyes narrowed as the team had to admit their defeat, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him. he had worked so hard the entire game and you knew he was probably beating himself up over this. nonetheless, you were proud of him. but it was evident he was not proud of himself, whatsoever.

while jude was still showering, you waited out in the halls of the arena, entertaining yourself on your phone. it didn't take too long for him to walk out, his duffel bag on his shoulder. "hi" you greeted and attempted to press a kiss to his cheek, but to your surprise, he pulled back. in your attempt to lighten his mood at least a little bit, you gave him a gentle smile "you did well, proud of you, darling." but he was not having it. he huffed and stuck his hands into his pockets " 't was shit. don't bloody sugarcoat it." he barked back.

you were taken aback by the way he spoke to you. you had never heard him snap like that, not off the field at least. you brushed it off, heading towards your car. of course there were fans on the parking lot, waiting for jude and he did his best to put up a nice smile for them, but you could tell he wanted to get away as quickly as humanly possible. as soon as he got in, you began the drive back to his place. the whole car ride was silent, you had tried to catch his attention by attempting to place your hand on his thigh or trying to spark a conversation but he remained nonchalant, even cold. it wasn't like jude and you didn't quite know how to react.

the energy in the car was full of negativity, anger practically radiating off your boyfriend while the air felt tense. if you had a choice, you would've walked out of the vehicle minutes ago. he seemed to be withdrawn from anything but even as time passed, his jaw remained clenched, his left hand balled up into a fist. his eyes weren't warm and inviting as usual, they were dark, distant almost. while you understood, why he was unhappy, he was genuinely scaring you on some level.

"do you still want me to come over to yours, love?" you questioned as you pulled up to his driveway and put the car on park. you looked towards him when you received silence as an answer and you couldn't help but scoff. "look, i'm sorry you lost. i understand you're mad but i'm not going to be your scapegoat. i don't expect you to be in the mood for kisses and cuddles and all that, but i need an answer to know if i should stay or head home."

"come on, then" the footballer shrugged and you allowed a sigh to leave your lips before you followed him into the house. were you supposed to be more understanding? you feared so. at the same time, you were getting a little worked up yourself but you decided it would be best to give him some space. so while he was lounging on the sofa, you settled on making him a cup of tea to help him relax a little. you made it exactly how he liked - with a little bit of milk and sugar. as quiet as a mouse, you placed the steaming beverage on the coffee table before settling on the armchair across the room.

with a book in hand, you paid no mind to your boyfriend as you decided it'd be better to allow him to come to you. whenever he decided the right time was. although you didn't enjoy the way he was behaving, you understood him regardless. it was a big game after all. and god, did he feel like shit.

he blamed it on himself mainly. believing he should've done more, should've been better. if only he hadn't allowed one of the bayern guys to tackle him and if only he had tried harder. but worse were the embarrassment and shame he felt. he had invited you, a person he adored, to watch him play and you had to witness him fail. that was the worst bit of it all. it made his skin crawl with anger and disappointment towards himself. losing was a normal part of his job, but losing in front of someone he wanted to prove himself to, was so much worse. that's why he couldn't even look at you properly but he knew he couldn't keep treating you like this. it was unfair. it wasn't you that he should be punishing with a childish silent treatment.

"i'm sorry."

you lifted your eyes from the book in your hand when you heard jude speak up from the couch but instead of responding verbally, you just hummed in question.

"i'm sorry for how i've been acting. jus' felt embarrassed." he admitted and you could see him fiddle his fingers nervously. "wanted to impress you but clearly, i failed. i was furious at myself, but i shouldn't have made you have to deal wit' it."

you nodded slowly as you listened and raised your eyebrow "wanted to impress me? love, we're dating. i think i've seen plenty of things that have left me impressed." your voice took a much more playful tone.

jude's face brightened in an instant and even a small smile appeared. however, he made no effort to sit up or change his position. the bitterness wasn't entirely gone, but he seemed to be talking to you again, which was a relief. you knew better than to jump onto him so you settled for the armchair for now. but let's just say it didn't take long for him to plead you to move onto his lap.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #football #fluff #angst #footballer #world cup #trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold x reader #jude bellingham imagine #football one shot #football imagine #borussia dortmund #jude bellingham one shot #jb22 #bellingham

[eldritch-spouse]

Someone who for whatever reason wants to get eaten by Vorticia and so goes to the gluttony ring hoping to find her. They by some miracle get to interact with her but when they beg her to eat them she’s like “lol no,” because it turns out they’re her match

[This is fucking hilarious. Fem reader.]

TW: Macro/micro themes; Vore.

Tightly tied to a chair, you can hear them talk behind the kitchen doors.

" You're telling me you just found this one trying to break into the premises?! " The short imp you've only caught glimpses of so far sounds exasperated.

" Yes... " The much taller demon with a dark mane replies. " She wasn't very successful, but I'm fairly certain her goal was to get caught. "

" And she said she wants to get eaten. " It's not even a question.

" By mother. Specifically her. "

There's a beat of silence.

" Vorago. You can't expect me to present a fetishist to your mother. That is ridicu- "

" Is it? I would much prefer if my meals walked directly into the plate. " The prince counters. " You're doing the poor thing a favor. I've advocated for this in the past as well, think about the time and resources we could spare during ceremonies if we take in people just like her. "

" My prince- "

" Do you like chasing after them, dad? Do you enjoy spending money on increasingly expensive hunting services? "

Dad?! That little imp? Imp-ressive.

" No, but we can't just- "

" Then give this a shot, perhaps it'll open your eyes to more sustainable alternatives. "

An unmistakable defeated sigh rings out. " ... Fine. "

You smile silently, happy that the tusked high-ranker who caught you managed to get your dream to come true. For such a scary-looking guy, he's actually not that bad.

When the doors part, your head snaps towards the curly-horned imp. They spare you a skeptical glance.

" It looks like you're getting what you want after all. "

" Yes! " The cheer is immediate and juvenile, met with a grimace.

" ... Right. " They're clearly uncomfortable. " Undress please. "

Words cannot describe how wildly your heart is beating within your ribcage.

You've been dreaming of this day ever since you discovered the nuances of your sexuality. Queen Vorticia is the most gorgeous, regal, seductive demoness to ever slither upon this galaxy and to feel the caress of her tongue would bring you to a level so beyond Nirvana that you have to contain a freakish noise of delight just thinking about it. Not that it would have escaped very fair, with the strange fruit crammed in your mouth- It's starting to hurt your jaw a little actually...

Yes, you're not the most normal of humans, but that hardly matters now.

The cart you're laid upon is wheeled towards what you assume must be the main dining hall of Gluttony's mansion. The pace is slow, the imps in charge of transporting you dare not displace a single element of your large plate's design. See, upon hearing about your situation through the curly-horned imp, the chefs present decided that it would only be fitting if you got properly and excellently decorated for the occasion.

A few of them sympathized with your situation. Few things are as romantic as loving someone so much that you would like to become a part of them, be consumed by them. One of the girls was a bit emotional hearing you talk so sweetly about the Queen. All in all, you feel lucky to have gotten this far so smoothly.

A noise from beyond crashes your train of thought.

A crash. Hissing.

The imps pushing your cart whimper and look at each other fearfully.

Ah, a tempestuous mood. You wonder what has the Queen like that.

Your chaperones slow down even more, and if you could, you'd stomp your foot on the cart to make them hurry up. You're not about to be left stranded in this hall because these cowards are doubting their life's decisions.

Finally, oh finally, you can see the tall, intricately carved doors to the dinning hall. The last room you'll ever be in, if all goes according to plan. The realization breeds a heavy feeling that causes shortness of breath in you, but for some odd reason, you have no second thoughts about any of this. More servants stand stationary, guarding the doors.

At the sight of your cart approaching, said guards hurriedly open the doors much taller than themselves, seeming frantic in the way they hurry everyone inside.

You have to strain your neck to get a good look at the scenery.

Tones of orange, red and gold shower the room, it's large enough to be mistaken for some kind of bombastic ball room- But you've done a bit of research, and you know the dinning areas are the real focus of the Gluttonous Household.

Little does it all matter. You can't bring yourself to focus on anything other than the absolutely gigantic scaled woman currently seated at a massive, tall table. Her sandy yellow scales glimmer under the jeweled chandelier's light, everything from the twin-tipped tail that lounges across the room to her drooping black robe and pupils nearly as sharp as her eyes make you want to swoon, toes curling in delight.

Queen Vorticia reaches down below, you get to watch the demoness grab a flailing, kicking man by the ankles. He's muffled just as you are, but a lot more bruised and roughed up, trying his damndest to scream past an unforgiving muffler. He knows what will happen to him the moment he's raised in the air, as do you. And there's nothing he can do but close his eyes and accept his fate when the bottomless pit that is the Queen's maw stares back.

One second of mind-numbing anticipation is all it takes, then he's gone. Dropped. Her jaw clamping the second the man was submerged. Hardly a lump forms in the column of her long throat before it's over. With neither a scream nor a whimper, his doom arrives. The Queen however, looks unsatisfied. It's almost as if she didn't even eat anything to begin with, frowning at the wall pensively.

Until the platter that man was in goes flying across the room and nearly rips a chunk out of the wall. It was so fast you barely saw the flash of gold before your human eyes.

Two of the imps escorting you scurry beneath the cart for safety.

" I trussst you've brought me ssomething worthh my time? " Her voice finally rings through.

" Y- Yes, your Majesty! " One of them is brave enough to squeak, rattling the cart and everything on it as he pulls it forward, the others sticking to the back.

You can kind of understand them. Vorticia could easily swipe a hand down and capture two or three of these imps as an appetizer.

" Then hurry! Do you wisshh me to starve here?! "

A slam of a powerful fist causes the ground to quake.

" Never, my Queen! "

In a blink, your platter not only lifted off the cart but rushed onto the table, quickly turned and pushed to be in front of the demonlord herself. You almost get dizzy from all the jostling, and as your vision settles, you see the Queen wordlessly wave before scrambling steps follow. The servants nearly trample each other to leave the room alive.

You don't even look their way.

You can only bore holes into the gorgeous woman before you.

Vorticia raises a brow ridge, humming.

When a single claw descends, you imagine she'll slice your skin, peel you like an apple or go for your innards first. Instead, she stabs a tomato next to your waist and brings it to her lips, tongue roping it inside in a blink.

You're sure she can hear your poor heart thunder in its fickle confines.

" You mussst be the human they mentioned earlier. "

You blink.

" Pretty thhhing, wantss to be my dinner... " She nearly purrs, making something stir low in your belly.

At the way you attempt to frantically nod, she actually cracks a smile, incredulous. Although the hunger you've always yearned for resides in her thin eyes, there's also a hint of genuine curiosity you wouldn't typically see in the gaze of such a predator.

" Hmph. Well I hardly buy it. "

" MmMMF! " Even if you had something eloquent to counter with, muffled grunts are all you manage.

" Don't mumble, it'sss rude. "

She begins flirting with the decorations on your platter again. Every single time, you study the movements of her calloused, scaled hands as they move, waiting for the cut that never comes, the grip that never follows, she simply steals bits and pieces of vegetables and frivolous dressing. You're almost offended for a second. But... The anticipation is actually causing some curious effects in you.

In a way, every single time her claws scheme the platter, brushing over the bare skin of your legs and tickling your sides briefly before retreating with a slice of fruit or veggie, she's playing with you. Having her fun, as both an apex predator and a teasing mistress. Fear mingles with sparks of arousal you've poorly contained thus far, creating a fire that has you sweating under her serpentine gaze.

" You're almossst too cute to eat. " She chuckles eventually. Something wooshes nearby, it takes you a moment to notice it's her large tail.

You notice, rather belatedly, that there's no one else in the room but you and Vorticia, and a suspenseful quiet has fallen between you. You could not have asked for a better environment. It feels as if you're both sharing a very intimate, sacred moment.

The next time her hand dips, instead of skirting around the main course, she tip taps her way up your trembling figure and circles a long claw under the swell of your breast, watching you shiver attentively before edging the decorative leaf covering it. A more than pert nipple catches on her sharp extremity, and she uses a thumb to flick it idly, casually, head tilting at the way you squirm and exhale through your nostrils.

Your other breast is easily uncovered as well. The Queen betrays nothing in her expression when she grabs a piece of bread and soaks it in the condiment that coats your skin, dragging it upwards, swirling it around one of your tits before eagerly devouring it.

This is repeated enough times to drive you a little stupid with want, groaning miserably when she merely teases your tits and continues to torture you with featherlite caresses.

The sweet torture continues when she takes care of the rolls covering your spread legs, watching the shameful state you're in become more and more noticeable. Your cunt flutters beneath her mere stare.

" Ssstrange, I've yet to cut you, and you're already dripping. "

You'd shake your head in denial if you weren't able to feel your own soaked folds right now.

She has the mind-numbingly erotic audacity to grab another useless vegetable decoration and generously coat it in your wetness. The rounded tip of whatever she's pressing against your womanhood bumps your clit. She swirls it intentionally, tapping it down and circling the nub with enough pressure that you strain against your binds and whine behind the gag, wanting to beg her for more yet only drooling pointlessly.

She makes a noise like an amused snort, and when you toss your head back, you can hear her practically slurp the thing for all the flavor it has, her thumb replacing the vegetable and leisurely keeping you stimulated.

When you're able to look back, her pupils have blown wide, the black nearly drowning her acidic sclera.

" To thhhink that, ssomehow, suchh a preciouss gift would fall upon my table... Withhout notice... "

Even if you're loving the attention, heating up like a small fire -Probably enough to cook the ingredients around you- You could never have guessed the Queen would take such an intense liking to you. It feels like a dream.

" Do you wisssh to be eaten, my sssweet morssel? " She curves, shadowing you, strings of drool falling onto your neck and chest.

Her hues acquire a nearly hypnotizing quality, prohibiting you from glancing away while she toys with you. All you can respond with is frantic, vapid nodding while you grind yourself down on her finger like a mutt.

" Truly? "

" MMMhmnn!! "

Not even the gag could have curbed that whorish bleating.

" Then I will. " Vorticia grins wide enough to crinkle the edges of her eyes. " Tonight. In my chambersss. Your wissh comess true, in a way. "

You're not given enough time to rationalize anything before her touch vanishes, leaving you cold and miserable. The snaps of the Queen's fingers attract the same imp you met when this all began.

They look at you with a mixture of confusion and mild caution. " You called, Highness? "

" Yess. Run a bathh for me and my Queen to be. "

He coughs and chokes.

When your head snaps to Queen Vorticia, you find no hint of mockery on her face.

You're fairly certain one of the sauces you were doused in must be causing you to hallucinate...

#Vorticia oc #monster girlfriend #minors dni #terato tag #monsterfucker #not sfw

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass, Chapter 9 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Eeee! I can't believe it's finally DONE! At nearly a whopping 14k, I truly hope this makes up for me not updating this story since September! 🎉 Many thanks to my darling @ab4eva for finally helping me knock this loose and reminding me I could indeed still write! 💗💋💗

If I'm honest, Broken Glass is one of my favorite stories I've worked on. I know it's quite the slow burn and not nearly as smutty as my other works (...yet), but it really does make my creative heart sing and I'm so in love with these two and their stark vulnerabilities. 🥹

I highly recommend rereading Chapter 8 to refresh your memory, but the TL;DR is we left a jealous, ailing Elvis having just found out Lori's big secret from Sinatra and Sinatra calling Elvis out on feelings he hasn't quite been able to admit to himself until now. 😬

This chapter puts us firmly back in Lori's (rather confused) perspective. Elvis is acting weird, and she is feeling the fear of her past nipping at her heels. She's trying to manage her own emotions and health while chasing after Elvis' moody ass, which is going just as well as you'd expect LOL. And of course we have Welcome Home Elvis with Frank Sinatra! You might want to watch the Elvis portions on the show to fully get in the mood--I hope I did them justice! 🥰

Things will really kick into high gear after this chapter, so this setup is pretty important to what's coming. I really hope you enjoy! You can catch up here using the Broken Glass Masterlist ❤️‍🩹

I can't wait to hear what you think!! 💗

Much Love, 

Madi xoxoxoxo 💗💋

TW: references to SA/threats/abuse, Gianni, dissociation, emotional upheaval, nightmares/violence/blood, period-related misogyny, health issues (fainting, constipation, vomiting, etc.), Elvis being an asshole, Elvis being a damn snack, sooties 😏

Broken Glass Chapter 9

March 24th, 1960

Miami, Florida

“Just hang on, Elvis. Come on, open your eyes for me,” you say, patting his sallow cheek, the concrete biting at your knees where you’ve fallen ungracefully to the ground with him.

Your half a cigarette lies smoking and abandoned a foot away—a bad habit you picked up after needing an excuse to get outside after long, stressful shifts at the hospital. You haven’t smoked much since you left New York, not having much need for it when your current job is almost ornamental most days, except in those private, hidden moments away from the bustle of Elvis’ strange life.

But he’d pushed you to that Lucky Strike, what with his aloof behavior since Nashville and then his ridiculous jealousy over Frank Sinatra having the audacity to speak to you and you having the gall to laugh with him.

“You are. You’re jealous. Why? I’m not your girl, so why—”

“The hell you aren’t.”

Galloping in your chest, your heart betrays your tangled feelings about the way he’d acted, the way he’d said those words as if he thought for a moment you really were his girl. And before, how he’d kissed you so passionately…

The memory is interrupted by Elvis’ low groan, his long eyelashes fluttering open to reveal glassy but stormy ocean eyes, thrusting you back into the present emergency. You don’t particularly like the way he’s clutching his midsection or how wheezy and warm he is, but you can’t do much here, especially when people are starting to gather.

He starts, as if coming back into himself, and surprisingly tries to roll up and off you. “I’m fine,” he gasps, shrugging your hand off his shoulder in an uncharacteristic act of defiance.

You might be more annoyed if you weren’t so worried, but your feelings are beside the point right now. Treat him like any other patient, a voice in your head reminds you.

“You are not fine, and we’re going back to the hotel so I can get a look at you,” you whisper firmly in his ear.

He shoots you a petulant look.

“Unless you want to go to the hospital instead?” you throw at him, with a raised brow. That does the trick. His glare softens a bit and his eyes dart away as though he’s been scolded.

It doesn’t take more than a pointed look from you for Lamar and Joe to haul Elvis carefully to his feet. You may only be Elvis’ girlfriend in their eyes, but they do know you are a nurse with some expertise in these situations. And you can’t help but see concern on their faces.

Elvis clutches his midsection again with a gasping wince. The guys lead him to a bench outside the building.

“Joe, tell someone in charge Elvis isn’t feeling well. Lamar, go get the car, please. We’re leaving.”

Your tone leaves no room for questions, but the three men look at you with surprise. In truth, you are a little surprised yourself. Perhaps it’s your lack of outward panic, the calm surety of many a night on the emergency ward.

You can’t say the same for them, seeing the panic brewing in the eyes of Elvis’ friends. Along with that, none of them are used to taking orders from women, and certainly you haven’t shown much vocal backbone in these last few weeks, yet with hardly a pause, Lamar and Joe scurry off, leaving you with Elvis.

He doesn’t speak to you or try to joke his way out of the pain, which is unusual. Instead, he stares blankly at anywhere but you. A sliver of unease winds its way through your stomach, and while you don’t push him, it’s almost involuntary the way your hand falls on top of his.

There is no reaction at first. Is he trying to ignore you? Could he possibly still be mad about the Sinatra thing? Confusion washes over you at the slight, but then his eyes squint in pain and his hand finally grips yours.

You hold back the breath of relief at the response, and before you can spiral too much more into what ifs, Lamar pulls up with the car. With his help, you get Elvis into the backseat.

The drive to the hotel is mostly silent. Joe tries to crack a joke or two from the front seat, but Elvis’ lack of response beyond painful grimaces quiets the short man with the annoying laugh. Elvis continues to shut you out, his hands clasped around his middle now instead of your hand.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

He’s just distracted by his pain, you reassure yourself.

You spend the ride pushing away questions about his behavior towards you and try to focus on diagnosis and treatment checklists, going through in your head what you have to do once you two are alone. It grounds you.

Once you all arrive, the boys help him out, but he stubbornly pushes them away once they reach the lobby.

“I can get to the elevator by my damn self!” Elvis grumbles, his eyes darting around the open space with concern. He’s nervous, you think, about being mobbed in this condition. You’ve gleaned enough in the past few weeks to understand he always attracts attention and it’s almost impossible for him to say no to his fans, even when he’s in so much pain he can barely stand upright. You are continually amazed by his generosity and selflessness in this regard. It’s one of the most endearing things about him.

Luckily, the lobby isn’t busy, and you make it to the privacy of the elevator avoiding interruption from outsiders. The humid air in the small space feels stifling and heavy with concern, but no one speaks as the elevator lurches upwards.

The relief is palpable when the doors open to the penthouse, and without ceremony you help deposit Elvis on the king-sized bed in the suite.

“Should we call a doctor?” Joe whispers to you as you try to shut him out of the room. The look in his eyes shows real worry for his friend.

“No,” you snap back, wanting to avoid any doctors not already familiar with the complexity of the situation. Joe is taken aback, so you continue more gently, “Not yet, at least. Let me see what I can do, and I’ll let you know.”

You can’t close the door fast enough, finally able to rush to Elvis’ aid in earnest, grabbing your medical bag out of the closet.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, preparing the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

Elvis doesn’t respond, looking sullen. You can’t tell if it’s stubbornness or pain that’s keeping him this way though. But the dull hurt of your near-constant headache coupled with his strange mood has your temper feeling short.

“You smoke,” he says with distaste, avoiding your question.

“What?” Distracted, you count the seconds of his pulse using your watch.

“Girls of mine don’t smoke. I don’t like it,” he adds with a petulant glare.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Okay, Elvis, I’ll stop smoking,” you placate, “but you need to tell me what’s going on with your body or I cannot help you.” The command is clear.

He looks up at you then, his eyes churning with pain and something else you don’t have time to piece through right now.

“I feel hot an’ short of breath,” he says quietly, almost clinically. “And…” He hesitates, looking down with embarrassment.

You urge him on with a nod as you squeeze the cuff. “And? What’s going on with your belly?”

He clears his throat with a grimace. “It hurts something fierce. It’s, uh, been awhile since…you know.”

You sigh. Logically, you understand how anyone—any man, especially one in his position—might feel embarrassed talking about their bodily functions with a young woman, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating that he hides these issues from you when it’s your job to know.

“How long?” you ask.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, his face going flush.

“Alright, then, lay back,” you sigh, popping a thermometer in his mouth. Thankfully, he obeys without a fuss, and you pull his shirt up. It doesn’t take much gentle prodding on his lower belly to determine the issue. In fact, you can see the distention on his normally lean frame. That coupled with his pained whimpers and wincing makes it clear that his chronic constipation is rearing its ugly head.

For a normal and otherwise heathy person, it might not cause the severity of issues you have to contend with now. But Elvis is neither normal nor healthy. His pressure and temp are too high, his asthma is acting up, either from the pain or exertion of singing, and you know he’s not going to like the solution. But if he wants to stay out of the hospital and out of the press, he’ll just have to deal with it.

Despite your headache and frustration with him for not communicating readily with you about anything he should, be it his feelings or his health, you urge him to the bathroom as gently as possible, gathering the materials needed from your bag. The caretaker in you pushes everything else away as you prepare the solution and guide him through the process of what must be done.

He goes from furious to ashamed to resigned rather quickly. You are a little surprised at how readily he becomes vulnerable to you, considering the circumstances. The treatment momentarily strips away whatever inexplicable ire he was holding onto. It feels so intimate the way you both quiet and with how carefully you tend to him, massaging his belly and rubbing his back as the treatment works its magic. And after the relief comes, you run a bath, washing him gently, watching as his handsome face finally relaxes. Never has a man looked so innocent yet so beautifully dangerous. He leans into your comfort, too, and as clinical as your brain wants to make this whole experience, you are a little frightened by the realization of your heart aching not just with him, but for him.

He falls asleep in the warmth of the tub. You don’t wake him, knowing how sleep comes for him so irregularly and infrequently, but you are loathe to leave him alone when he could easily slip under the water. Elvis Presley will not drown in a tub on your watch.

Or at least this is what you tell yourself as you take a moment to catalogue such peaceful and unencumbered beauty, knowing very few get to see him like this.

Your mind finally wanders then, back to the moment in Nashville you’ve tried desperately not to think about, when he sang directly to you in so intimate a way you thought you’d combust from the inside out with feelings and urges you barely understood. Fire and shivers cascade down your spine all at once at the memory of his eyes, heavy lidded and molten, as he sang to you about just how right it would feel to be in his arms. It was so seductive, so real, it felt like he put a spell on you. There were no secrets between you in that tiny studio—only want and need.

In those few minutes, he wanted everything from you, and you had wanted to give it to him.

That is his wonderful talent, though, isn’t it? you think. To make others believe in the words of a song. Perhaps he believed them too, in the moment. It sure felt like it.

But he became so incredibly distant after Nashville, just when you thought you’d gotten closer. It was confusing and exasperating, like he pulled the rug of logic and sense right out from under you. It hurt more than it should have to be shut out by him. He hadn’t been unkind, per say, just aloof and detached.

You purse your fingers over the bridge of your nose, wishing it would ease the dull throbbing in your head. Lack of sleep and routine has done a number on you these past few weeks, though you know it’s keeping up with the façade of a relationship challenging you the most. You’ve slowly been getting better at playing the part of the doting girlfriend, to be sure, but the switching from fake girlfriend to nursemaid and back again is altogether exhausting.

And no matter how much better you get, you aren’t an actress. You aren’t used to pretending to feel something but not actually feeling it. It’s getting harder and harder to decern if these complicated feelings you are starting to have for Elvis are just part of your new job or if they are…real.

You don’t want them to be. They can’t be. Not only would it be unethical, but it’s perilous to think—to hope—he might see you as more. You’re not the type of girl a man like Elvis Presley falls for. And even if you were, a smart, practical girl like you knows better than to get involved with a womanizer like him.

A smart, practical girl like you knows any man is dangerous.

Speaking of danger, as soon as you’d left the safety of Graceland, you’ve felt the creeping unease Gianni or your father could pop out at any moment to steal you away back to New York. They have to know by now who you are with, and you don’t hold any fantasy of them letting you get on with your life without a fight. No, they’ll come for you at some point, you just don’t know when or how, and the more you’re out in the world, the more exposed you feel. Your hypervigilance has you always on edge, and you make sure to stay by Elvis’ side as much as possible in the hope he and his entourage will protect you.

So, yes, you are exhausted. The litany of masks you’re wearing to stay functional are crushing you with their weight, and it is taking more of a toll on you than you are letting on. Perhaps that is why Elvis’ mercurial attitude towards you feels so barbed and painful because, by some strange twist of fate, he is the only one in this world who knows even a fraction of who you really are.

And with that thought, you try not to berate yourself too much for taking a stolen moment to gawk at the ethereal man, this god-like Apollo, naked and asleep in the tub. You are too tired to fight the searing memory of how he kissed you today in front of Frank, so possessive and visceral as he clutched you to him like he never wanted to let you go. The way his tongue, oh Madone, how his tongue had teased your lips to part and how you’d melted in his arms, unable and unwilling to resist his charms. He held you close and all you had wanted in that moment was to be consumed by him, embarrassingly so.

Maybe that was why you’d reacted fervently to his jealousy. It is whiplash, this pendulum of his attentions (or lack thereof), and it embarrasses you how easily you’d caved to his kiss, and in front of Frank Sinatra of all people. But then when you were alone, Elvis reminded you so clearly with his words that it was all a lie, while his body and actions screamed the opposite.

It all felt like too much, then, when he’d tried to put it on you, as if you were the one playing with his emotions. He is an infuriating, obstinate man, and it’s even more infuriating how everyone in his circle allows him to be so. It certainly isn’t fair he can also be so generous and kind and talented and handsome and vulnerable…God, it would be so much easier if he was always a spoiled brat and you could hate him for it.

But it’s not that easy.

He scares you. Not like your father or Gianni, no. Elvis scares you because he—

“You alright, Little Bird?” he croaks from the bath, eyes slits against the light.

It startles you, and you realize your head has been in your hands in lament as you spiral. You straighten, blinking away your lingering, dangerous thoughts.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine. Just…tired.” It is not a lie, and you hope his own exhaustion keeps him from questioning you further.

“Well, we best get you to bed then, darlin’,” he groans, sitting up and stretching his long arms over his head. “Hand me that towel?”

“Of course,” you breathe, handing him the fuzzy, white towel, then you quickly turn away. You don’t want to leave because he may be unsteady on his feet, and it’s certainly not as though you haven’t seen him totally bare, but you feel your cheeks heat slightly anyway at his nakedness.

I’m only human.

Towel slung low on his narrow hips, you’re glad to follow him into the bedroom and not the other way around, worried the heat of his gaze might flay you open and reveal everything you are trying to hide from him. You don’t have the energy for masks right now.

It seems neither does he. He is docile and pliant as you help him into his silken pajamas and under the covers. You’ve noticed the pattern of him doing this after his episodes, putting himself completely in your capable hands.

As you head back to the bathroom to change and do your own nightly routine, you wonder if he’s ever been this way with anyone else, or if it’s just a special part of him set aside for you.

Stop thinking like that. I am his nurse and nothing more.

You keep a healthy distance between you and him when you climb into the sheets. It doesn’t take long, however, for your exhaustion to take the reins, and you quickly drift off, trying desperately not to think about the beautiful man—no, my patient—who sleeps so close by.

*

“Dolo-res, oh, Dolo-res!” The slithering sound of Gianni’s voice sing-songing your name in the dark sends your heart racing and your stomach dropping. His dress shoes click ominously on the wooden floor of your father’s house, slowly, taunting you. It’s as though he knows exactly where you are and is just biding his time. Finding pleasure in your fear.

You try to be as quiet as a mouse, but your breathing grows more ragged with each laborious step. The floor is working against you, like you are trying to run through water.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Sinatra sings, the sound slow and distorted. Frank watches you struggle up the stairs, his head tilting and those famous blues giving you a knowing wink from the hallway beneath you.

“You can’t hide from me, Bella,” Gianni purrs from behind you, his footfalls heavy.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Frank continues the song as though your world isn’t collapsing in on itself, as if you weren’t running for your life. The lyrics feel all too threatening under the circumstances.

Clawing your way to the landing, a sob catches in your throat. He’s too close. You can smell his awful cologne. It makes your head pound and your stomach roll.

If you crawl your way to your room…you could lock the door. You could be safe.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Frank croons from below.

Gianni’s hands are frigid when they clamp on your legs and turn you over.

“No, no, no, no!” you whimper.

“Did you get my gift, Bella?” Gianni smirks, feeling his way up your thighs, up under your skirt.

Looking down at your hand, the engagement ring he gave you shines menacingly, weighing your hand down so much you cannot lift it to defend yourself. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

“I was made to serenade Dolores,” the song continues, but it’s no longer Frank’s voice from below. No, it’s deeper, and warm, like velvet. And oh, so familiar.

Elvis.

He’s on the landing behind you as he sings. You crane your neck and see him upside down, towering over you, only a few steps away.

“Elvis, please,” you cry. You aren’t sure if it’s a plea for help or one encouraging him to run. He looks down at you, almost absently, like he sees you but cannot be bothered. Perhaps he does not see you at all.

You aren’t sure what’s worse.

Gianni looks up and growls at Elvis, the whites of his eyes disappearing, turning all the way black. Dark, vicious claws form at the ends of his fingers. He looks like a demonic beast, ready to pounce on his prey.

“I would die to be with my Dolores,” Elvis sings, and you know then it’s over. You close your eyes, not wanting to see Gianni tear Elvis apart just for being near you. You feel the heat of Gianni leap over your prone form, feel Elvis being knocked to the ground with a thud. A roar. Screams. The sounds are sickening and the heat of blood spatters over your face.

“NO!” you sob, uncontrollably. Every breath is tainted with your agony.

It’s all your fault.

Then heavy silence.

Your chest heaves with the speed of your panicked breathing and you sense Gianni crawling back over you. You open your eyes, even though you don’t want to.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Gianni sings quietly, finishing the song, his face and hands stained crimson with Elvis’ blood. He smiles at you, a terrifying white gash amongst the red.

“Mine.”

Then he digs his claws deep into your belly.

You shudder awake, breathing hard enough to know it is another nightmare that wakes you. The sheen of sweat across your brow, the throbbing at your temples reminds you that you are alive, awake, and when you open your eyes, they meet the darkness of the hotel suite. Your cheeks are damp with tears and your hand flies to your abdomen to make sure Gianni’s claws are not deep inside you.

Much to your shock, there is a hand already there, large and splayed across your belly, but completely unthreatening. No, almost comforting. It knocks away the dream, this hand, as you try to puzzle through why it is there, who it belongs to, and why you aren’t afraid. You hold your breath.

A moment passes. You take stock of the rest of you: the queasiness of your stomach subsiding some, the solid warmth pressed against your back, your legs tucked but feet tangled amongst the sheets and another set of feet.

Elvis.

And you wonder if you are still dreaming because of the way his arms hold you tight. You wait for the panic to come as a result of the embrace, but it never does. Your heart skips then slows, beat by beat as you sink into calm, protected warmth, lulled by his slow breathing against your back.

I’m safe.

Sleep takes you with little fuss.

*

Your eyes flutter open. The room is dark, thanks to the heavy blackout curtains Elvis requested, but one look at the clock tells you it’s morning and past time to get up. A shiver rolls through you, which is strange despite the arctic levels he keeps any room he sleeps in because he usually a furnace next to you. But your body already knows what your eyes quickly confirm: Elvis is gone. Not in the bed, or the suite, or in the darkened bathroom.

Puzzled, you sit up and flip on the lamp. Your memory is hazy. Blinking, you vaguely remember a nightmare involving Gianni, but blissfully cannot remember specifics. There is something else you are missing, though, something important, just outside the reach of your memory. A comfort maybe? It doesn’t make any sense. Unease settles over you as you rise, your hand falling unconsciously over your abdomen.

Elvis’ absence bothers you, though you can’t put a finger on why. Perhaps it’s just the lingering dreams you can’t quite remember that have you anxious.

Or maybe it’s because in less than a month, your entire life has been upended and changed irrevocably.

Could be that.

After a glance at the time, you rise and hasten to get ready, knowing you are running late. Elvis will need to be at rehearsal soon. The rush is a good distraction from your muddled thoughts.

When you exit into the rest of the suite, ready to go, it’s much, much too quiet. Your skin prickles at the absence of Elvis and the usual boisterousness of the group of men you’ve become used to being around all the time and the relative safety they provide.

Something is wrong, and a tendril of fear of being alone and exposed winds up your spine.

Oh, Madone, something happened to Elvis.

Gianni.

It’s then that Cliff exits the kitchenette with a cup of coffee and you jump, startled, hand flying to your chest as you suck in a breath.

“Oh, hey, Lori,” he says. “You’re finally up.”

“Madre di Dio, you scared me!” you gasp, trying not to let the panic leech into your voice too much. “Where is everyone? Where’s Elvis?”

“Oh, they went ahead to the studio. I stayed back to drive you, if you still want to go.” He says it with pity, like you’re one of Elvis’ paramours that can just be dismissed on a whim, and frankly, he seems a little put out by this assignment.

“He did what?” Red lines your vision quite suddenly, anger washing away the worry you’d felt only a moment ago. Elvis is not supposed to be without you. It’s the reason you’re even here. He knows it.

And he just left you. Alone. Without a word.

Cliff backpedals instantly, sensing your indignation, looking very uncomfortable. “Oh, I…um…I think he just thought you were tired? And wanted to let you sleep?”

“Oh, I bet he did,” you mutter under your breath. Then you grab your purse and beeline for the door. “Let’s go, Cliff.”

He scrambles behind out you, following you to the elevator. At first, he nervously prattles on about the weather, trying to make small talk, but finally gives up once he realizes your piercing glare isn’t going anywhere.

You tell yourself you’re angry because Elvis has put himself in danger by not having you with him, but you are smart enough to know it’s more than that. He’s treated you like any other woman when you are not.

It’s downright disrespectful.

Furthermore, it put you at risk. Without the safety of Elvis’ protective and insular group, you are exposed. Gianni or your father would have no trouble at all disposing of Cliff and dragging you back to New York, before Elvis even knew what happened.

Because you haven’t told him, a small voice reminds you.

It makes you sick to think of. Your pounding headache is back, and you feel a bit carsick with the intense Florida sun beating down as Cliff drives you to the studio.

Your frustration and fear have you out of the car before he has barely parked. Heels click-clacking on the concrete and Cliff struggling to keep up, you show your special pass to the doorman. You hate the way the man examines your pass as though it were fake, giving you a once over. Cliff nods at the man before he finally lets you both through, and you huff at the slight.

This isn’t like you. Before Elvis, you would have meekly stepped to the side and let Cliff lead, content to fade into the woodwork. Happy, even. Maybe Elvis’ hotheadedness is rubbing off on you because the swell of rage you feel is like nothing you’ve felt before.

Fuming, you finally reach the studio and then stop short at what you see, sending Cliff almost running into you.

Elvis looks the picture of health, none of the pain or vulnerability you’d seen last night anywhere to be seen. In fact, he has a pretty girl on either side of him, both tittering and blushing as he smiles his famous quirky smile at them in turn. Flirting.

Your nails dig into your clutch and your body goes rigid. It shouldn’t, but it makes your blood boil with betrayal.

How dare he.

It’s a stupid thought, and one you try to shake off as soon as it comes. He’s not your boyfriend. God knows he’s flirted—and done much more—with other girls around you before, and it didn’t bother you then. Not really.

But maybe it’s because he laid into you so hard yesterday about Sinatra and your supposed flirtation and about keeping up appearances and his damned jealousy, and yet here he is, blatantly disregarding all of it. Because of double standards and whatever other petty reasons he has for acting so strange with you since Nashville.

Your eyes burn into him and with the little sixth sense of his, he notices. His eyes darken and hit yours intentionally, and there’s not even a hint of surprise or regret in them. Just an infuriating quirk of a brow before the girls steal his attention again.

Like he planned this.

You grind your teeth, forcing yourself to take a breath instead of doing something stupid like slapping that smile right off his pretty face. No, you’ve got to be professional about this. You seethe, trying to reel in all these senseless emotions suddenly swirling out of control in your mind.

For whatever reason, he’s trying to get under your skin. Maybe he thinks he’s teaching you a lesson about yesterday. About Frank. About the smoking. Who knows what else.

Well, two can play at that game.

You breathe in, out, in again, forcing your shoulders to relax, forcing yourself back into your clinical mode. God knows between the last few weeks, your upbringing, and your nurse’s training, you’ve learned how to deal with difficult people.

Elvis Presley has severely underestimated you if he thinks you’ll fold over this.

In another highly uncharacteristic move, you school your features into a relaxed smile as you walk towards him and the girls. You know he senses you even though he’s barely looking, but instead of confronting him or slinking into the shadows, you clip right past him and head towards the other famous men in the room.

His eyes are burning holes into your back as Frank and Sammy Davis Jr. notice your approach. You appreciate the fact that the two men smile so warmly at you, and not at all dismissively. It was a gamble, as you easily could’ve been rejected by them, too, but your gamble seems to have paid off.

“And who is this pretty young thing?” Sammy asks charmingly, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. You don’t even have to pretend to blush under the scrutiny of both titans.

“Oh, this is the delightful Miss Dolores,” Frank says, “Elvis’ girl.”

“Ah, I knew that kid had good taste,” Sammy smiles.

“We weren’t sure if you were joining us today,” Frank says, looking not so casually behind you.

Three, two, one, you count silently.

“Oh, well, I—” you start.

“There you are, darlin’! Wanted to let you sleep in after such a long day yesterday,” Elvis says, smoothly sidling in beside you and planting a kiss to your temple.

You hide your smile at your presumption coming true and at the suggestive nature of his comment. A dismissive “Mmhmm,” is all you give him back, though. You don’t even look at him.

“You know, my mother was a huge fan of you both,” you gush instead to the other men in front of you, ignoring Elvis. “She passed years ago, but any time I hear That Old Black Magic or Birth of the Blues, I can’t help but think of her.”

It’s not a lie, nor is the sudden swell of emotion you have at the thought of your mother listening and singing along to those tunes while she made supper. You sniffle and let out a little laugh.

Perhaps you imagine the gentle squeeze at your waist.

“Look at me, getting all flustered,” you say, waving away your tears.

Madone, why am I so emotional today?

“Oh, we’re just honored to be a part of your memories like that, honey,” Sammy says kindly, and you feel Elvis stiffen beside you at the endearment.

“Frank, Elvis, we’re ready for the Love Me Tender/Witchcraftrun-through,” George, the very serious production assistant, interrupts.

Elvis starts directing you away. “Okay, then, baby, why don’t you—”

“Oh, I’d love to hear more about your mother, if you want to share,” Sammy says to you. “Don’t worry, Elvis, she’ll be safe with me.” He winks, reaching for your hand.

“I’m sure she—” Elvis starts.

“Well, how could I refuse the great Sammy Davis Jr.?” you interrupt, a little coyly. Part of you wonders when you became so bold as to flirt so shamelessly with men like this.

You aren’t feeling much like your old self these days.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

Tension ripples off Elvis and you honestly couldn’t have planned it better.

You can tell Elvis doesn’t want to offend Sammy as he hems and haws a bit too long. “Sure, sure, of course. I’ll come find ya after,” he finally gets out, a tad flippantly, and you don’t miss the amusement in Frank’s sparkling blue eyes as he leads Elvis away.

*

If you thought that would be the end of it, you were sorely mistaken. Your pleasure at winning the battle distracts you momentarily, making you think you’ve taught the man a lesson by giving him a taste of his own medicine.

You were wrong.

Instead, Elvis has doubled down on his nonchalant dismissal of you, barely even acknowledging your presence. Suddenly, there are more girls around than before and all of them seemed more than happy to be on the arm of the all-too-handsome singer, even if only for a moment.

You realize fleetingly he’d been true to his word in keeping the girls away before now because of your perceived relationship. But not anymore.

His message seems clear, even though you still don’t understand the reason behind it: You are easily replaced.

If you were actually his girlfriend, maybe that would be true. For a second, you feel the sting of his rejection as if you were just some poor girl fawning over him.

But the reality is much more complicated. Much worse is the dread pooling in your stomach at the thought of being fired and having to fend for yourself against the wolves nipping at your heels. As much as you don’t trust the Colonel, you don’t imagine he’d cast you aside so easily considering everything you know and the pains it would take to bring another nurse into the fold. And Elvis is smart enough to know it. It is a bit of a salve to the fear churning in your belly.

No, what Elvis is doing seems like some sort of strange tantrum, like he’s hurt and sending you a message the only way he knows how. What it truly could be, you have no idea, but having a slew of younger brothers, you understand that sometimes boys just need to wear themselves out with their nonsense. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating or humiliating for you, but you’ve been through worse than an adult man being immature and unable to communicate his feelings.

You almost wish his health was struggling a bit more because it would force him to engage with you. As it stands, he is the picture of health right now and he is only listening to you out of the necessity of keeping up appearances or when you have the gall to talk to another man.

It stings more than you want it to. More than it should.

It’s easy to blame it on the ever-growing fatigue you can’t seem to shake and on the fact you have less experience dealing with these kinds of relationships than most girls your age. It’s not as if you have a lot to compare it to, or even any girlfriends or relatives you talk to in order to help you try and understand what is wrong with him.

A deep loneliness sinks down over you suddenly, threatening to drown you in the overwhelming realization that you truly have only yourself to keep you steady. The worst part is Elvis is the only one who has any understanding of you at all, and for whatever reason, he is shutting you out. You force back the tears trying to spring to your eyes, swallowing your grief and resignation.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you mope as he entertains the girls the other guys have procured for the evening, you smile and keep up pleasantries for as long as you can before retiring to the bedroom to read. Not that you are able to, as the words keep swimming in your vision and you stay on the same page for much too long. Finally, you close your eyes against the emotional tide and your persistent headache, and it’s not until Elvis comes to bed that you stir again.

You don’t open your eyes, however, though you can feel him looking at you. His gaze burns through you, making your heart race. There’s a long moment of silence before he finally undresses, gets in the bed, and turns out the light.

*

March 26th, 1960

The studio is vibrating with energy. Not only are the people involved in the show bustling about, but the audience, packed full of young women, is tittering so much that you can feel it in your bones.

Surprisingly, Charlie came out and grabbed you after Elvis’ appearance in the opening. Elvis looked smart in the dress uniform he’d been so glad to be rid of those first days you’d met. While he’d been nicer to you today in general, you are unsure why he wants you backstage after the way he’d shooed you out before the show started. But there are thirty more minutes before his performance, and you are suddenly concerned he’s not doing as well as he made himself out to be.

You make your way back into the dressing room, trying to offset your own nerves. You slept terribly, thinking too much about your future, mulling over every worst-case scenario again and again in your head. But the moment you enter the dressing room, it all goes out the window.

Elvis turns around when the door opens, an absolute vision in a black tuxedo that does everything to show off his long frame. Everything.There’s no helping the sharp intake of breath you try to swallow and the way your feet stick to the floor as you take him in from top to bottom. He is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

His dark hair is swooped back on the sides, but styled tall and soft in the front, adding the appearance of at least three inches to his height and highlighting his long, chiseled jaw. His artfully applied makeup is subtle and does everything to show off his deep blue bedroom eyes.

Eyes that just happen to be swallowing you whole. A wave of heat washes over your entire body. You feel suspended in time and know you are gawking, but despite having spent over three weeks solid with the man, enduring every quirk and his maddening mood swings, you hadn’t been prepared to see him at his best.

Oh, Madone.

He has you locked down with his gaze, and while every professional bone in your body screams at you to be normal, it’s impossible. Every reason you’d been furious with him for the past week is forgotten in the blink of an eye. It’s as if it is suddenly dawning on you why Elvis Presley is who he is and that you’ve been working for him all this time without really realizing it.

“A-alright, everybody out. I need to talk to my Little Bird alone,” he drawls, but the command is crystal clear, sending all the boys filing out behind you. His nickname for you has never sounded so utterly sinful coming out of his mouth before. Your heart thuds in your chest and you hope to God Elvis cannot hear it or see the flush on your cheeks.

The door clicks shut, and Elvis sighs audibly in what seems like relief, his shoulders sagging a bit, and as he deflates, it breaks whatever strange spell he had on you. He adjusts his cufflinks nervously, then shakes his hands at his sides, bouncing on his toes, like he’s trying to expel the nerves out his limbs.

“Are you okay?” you ask, finally able to speak again.

“O-oh, honey, I-I-I-I’m so damn scared, I feel like my heart’s ‘bout ready to fly right o-o-outta my chest,” he stutters, looking at you as though you can provide him some relief. “S’like I can’t breathe.”

This kicks you into gear, the need to make sure he is healthy enough to perform washing away the awe at the handsome figure he cuts.

“You’re okay, just take off your jacket and sit down,” you guide him gently. He doesn’t fight you at all, but you can see the way he trembles with anxiety. The change in him seems strange to you considering the easy ego he’s been coasting on for weeks.

Maybe he’s been such a jerk because he’s been nervous, you think suddenly. As quick as it comes, you push it back out again, wanting to focus on his care.

You don’t have all your things, but you take his pulse, which is noticeably racing, and his breathing seems fast but not wheezing.

“I-I-I’m not dying, am I? W-w-what i-if I-I go o-out there and p-pass out in front of—” He is stuttering so much, it’s hard to understand what he’s saying, but his fear is clear: he’s terrified he’s going to mess up this critical piece of his comeback in front of the world and some of the greatest performers out there.

“Elvis,” you say gently, grabbing his hands in yours and stilling them. Once his fearful, wide eyes find yours, you continue, “You’re going to be just fine. You aren’t going to die out there, I promise. Now, take a deep breath with me.” You inhale deeply, hold, and then exhale nice and long, then do it again until he’s matching you.

In, out, in, out, again and again.

The breathing has just as much effect on you as it does him. The energy in the room calms substantially, your fears and his dissipating a little more with each breath.

You’re not quite sure how long you sit there with him, his hands dwarfing yours, but when he opens his eyes and meets yours, you can all at once see every iteration of Elvis Presley coexisting in harmony: the playful boy, the charming but humble superstar, the fiery and moody young man. He is both the most human you’ve ever seen him, yet the most ethereal in the same breath. The vulnerability and complexity astound you speechless once again.

“You are magic, Little Bird,” he says softly, eyes tracking over your face. Your heart skips a beat, then two. You’re in freefall for a few seconds before you can tear your eyes away from him enough to regain your wits.

When you look back at him, his face is a handsome mask, giving little away. Perhaps it’s just him preparing to perform, locking some of himself away. But something tells you there is more to it than that.

His thumbs trace up and down, sweeping between your thumbs and pointer fingers in the same rhythm as your breath. Somehow it grounds you while still making you feel a bit dizzy. He says you are magic, but he is the one enchanting you and all at once you want to tell him everything. Every single thing weighing on your mind. All your fears. The feelings you are starting to have for him that terrify you. How you see him. How you’ve deceived him to protect him. To protect yourself. It’s not the right time, it never is, but it’s like he’s drawing it out of you with his caress. You can’t bear for him to go cold on you again, not when he’s your only glimmer of hope.

They say the truth will set you free.

The words start to tumble out of their own accord, “Elvis, I need to tell you—”

A sharp rap at the door interrupts your confession before it even starts, and your heart catches in your throat.

“Places, Mr. Presley!” George yells through the door.

“Thank you!” he yells back. His eyes shine with something hopeful behind them when he turns his attention back to you, almost expectant. “Save that thought, honey.”

It’s all you can do to nod, tamping down on the adrenaline pouring through your veins. He leaps up, releasing your hands, severing the connection you hadn’t realized until right now you needed so much. Pulling his jacket on, he adjusts, and you stop him, craving the sense of intimacy that is slipping through your fingers like a sieve. You step up to him, straightening and smoothing the velvet lapels of his jacket. Your hands linger a moment too long near the button and you look at them, unable to stop the heat on your cheeks or to look up into Elvis’ eyes.

“Wish me luck, baby?” he says playfully, but with an edge of need you force yourself to ignore. He squeezes your hands, encouraging you to raise your head. You school your features into something calmer than what you feel.

“You don’t need it. You’ll be amazing and they’ll love you. They already do,” you say. It comes out much more breathless than you’d like, and you look everywhere but in his eyes.

The air gets heavy, crushing all sensibility, and you can’t help your eyes darting up then. His full lips part the slightest bit, his body leaning forward enough to make your breath catch. Suddenly every one of your nerves is on fire, crawling under your skin, something new and forbidden winding its way into your belly.

He’s only ever kissed you in a performative way, playing to an audience, but this, this is different. The way those sapphire eyes drink you in is much too much. You’re drowning in them, wondering how different it will be if he kisses you and not pretend-girlfriend you. He is so close you can smell the now-familiar, delicious waft of his cologne and feel the heat of his breath on your face.

Oh, Madone, we can’t. The thought stabs through your head with a panic, straightening your spine like a ramrod, and Elvis is nothing if not observant. So expertly does he change course you doubt he had any other intention than to press his open mouth to your cheek. The soft feeling has you sighing, but you aren’t sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.

Not unlike the look on his face.

Stepping back breaks the tension in the air enough for you to recover what is left of your wits. You smooth the front of your dress. “Would you like me in the audience or backstage?” You hope it comes out more professional than you feel.

“Needja out front. Wanna be able to see your pretty face unable to take your eyes off me,” he jokes, oozing charm, but his twitching hands and serious eyes belie his nervousness.

“Oh, we’ll see.” You roll your eyes, playing into what he seems to need in this moment from you, though your heart is still galloping enough that you feel breathless. You barely register opening the door and walking back out to your seat in the audience, feeling the roll of anxiety in your stomach, both for his performance and for what you almost let happen in the dressing room.

Before you can spiral too far into beating yourself up, Frank is up introducing Elvis. The girls in the studio go so wild, they sound possessed, chants of “We want Elvis!” devolving into shrieking. You resist the urge to stick your fingers in your ears to protect your eardrums.

But then Elvis, in all his breathtaking beauty, is ambling downstage, managing to be cool, casual, and charming, but also bashful, like he didn’t expect this reaction. And it’s not a put on.

He didn’t think they’d still love him, you realize.

The way he bites his lip, then runs his tongue over his teeth before erupting into an almost embarrassed grin makes your heart flutter at its sweetness because you know just how scared he is. His skill, however, is that no one else does.

He turns to signal the band and the first bars of Fame and Fortune come in. The man who turns around to sing is someone much different than the bashful boy of just a second ago. The sultry look he throws the audience takes your breath away, but as he waits to come in, he can’t totally hold the pose, that lip of his curling up and his tongue trying to banish it in the name of being serious. The girls scream in response, eating it up, and you can’t say you blame them. He looks up to the sky, perhaps saying a silent prayer, to regain his composure before he opens his mouth to sing.

Now, in the last few weeks, you’ve become well acquainted with his gifted voice, but it is not until this very moment you understand the scope of his talent. The spell that he casts over the room feels nearly as intimate as the one he had with you in the dressing room just minutes ago. The nervousness you know is there is so artfully maneuvered that it opens him to the audience rather than pushing them away. Few other stars would get away with smiling and laughing at the reaction of their audience in the middle of their ballad but when he does it, you feel it down to your toes.

Or maybe it’s the how his voice is like silk in your ears, a contradiction of impressively light but warm and rich. The honeyed timbre winds its way down your spine, right into the core of you. It’s not just in your body but your soul, too. The hair on your arms stands straight up, a visceral reaction proving his effect on you isn’t in your imagination.

A woman could fall in love with that voice alone.

Despite the way you want to fight the hold of his performance and its battle in your mind with the man you’re getting to know, it is quite impossible. You get utterly sucked into the tide of Elvis Presley.

He is stunning.

You can’t help the way your mouth drops open and your palms begin to sweat. There is brilliance in every move and sound he makes, and you’re amazed at his ability to include everyone in the room, from the camera, the band and backup singers, to how those bedroom eyes scan the entirety of the audience in one breath. You feel like you’ve been struck by lightning every time they catch yours.

If you weren’t so dumbstruck, you might chastise yourself for feeling so carried away, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s sharing something important with you right now—an essential part of his soul, this thing he was obviously born to do. It brings tears to your eyes.

As the song winds down, you and the rest of the audience mourn its end. But in the split second he bows his head and bites his lip, you see the utter relief that fills him at the realization that he’s still got it. Then the upbeat lilt of Stuck on You comes in and he’s immediately reinvigorated.

He knows he has you all now, and it’s as if suddenly his body remembers everything that made him a star. Sure, it’s toned down some for his new adult image, but those unique movements are still there. He’s playful and energized in a way you’ve never seen him before. It’s not just in his long limbs (which you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from) but also in his voice. Flirtatious and silly, he wraps you all around his snapping fingers.

The girls are going crazy and rightly so: you find yourself having to bite down on your lip to keep from squealing with them. A bead of sweat runs down your spine and you cross and uncross your legs to try and stave off the total, uncontrolled insanity you are feeling trying to reconcile this Elvis with the one you sleep in the same bed with, the one you care for when he’s so ill he can barely function.

Nothing about this is remotely helping the feelings for him you know are brewing under the surface. It’s like being dragged under by a riptide—you can’t fight it, not now, and you just have to give yourself over to the current.

But one thing is for certain: there is nothing sane about any of this.

You can see even Frank is off kilter because when he comes out for the duet, this cool-as-a-cucumber, wildly talented star in his own right is stumbling over his lines. The man is struggling to maintain his dominance as the host and the elder, more refined performer. Sensing what you think is his competitive edge, you watch Frank rebound for control as best he can, but even he has got to know Elvis is in a class of his own. He’s upstaging Frank without even trying.

Part of you knows you are witnessing history in the making. You can hardly believe it. A month ago, you were living an entirely different life. You certainly didn’t care much for Elvis in the beginning, and now you want nothing more than to stay in his orbit. It’s strange to feel so starstruck around him.

The whole thing is madness.

You are still buzzing and a bit dazed when Charlie pulls you backstage. The prideful, overly logical part of your brain wants you to calm yourself before you see Elvis, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big head around you, but the giddy girl in you doesn’t care. That silly little girl eats up the grin spreading across Elvis’ face and falls straight into his open arms. He hugs you tight, like he means it. It feels real and not for the benefit of all those around you thinking you’re the adoring girlfriend congratulating him on his triumph. The way he squeezes you and presses his lips to your temple feels special and just for you.

“What didja think, Little Bird?” he whispers in your ear.

“Oh, well, the guys did great, and Nancy was lovely,” you hear yourself teasing.

The playful, possessive little growl he makes and the way his fingers press into your ribcage has you fighting unsuccessfully to suppress the shudder of excitement running through you. You curl your toes in your heels trying to absorb the heady feeling it leaves you with to get yourself right enough to speak again.

“Well, I’m a bit loathe to admit it, but you were wonderful,” you finally say, looking up at him and placing your hand on his chest. His heart thumps wildly under your palm and under any other circumstance you might be concerned, but you let it be. This is his moment.

“Better than Ricky Nelson?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“Hmm, marginally,” you tut, trying to keep a straight face.

“’Marginally’, huh? I’ll show you marginal!” he laughs. And then he buries his head in your neck, his hot breath and soft lips pebbling your skin and setting your body aflame. You don’t recognize the gasping giggles erupting from you like a schoolgirl.

It’s all for show it’s all for show it’s all for show…a voice in your head viciously reminds you.

“Okay, okay!” you laugh breathlessly, trying to still his ministrations. “I will concede that you, Elvis Presley, are a very talented man.”

“Oooh, am I now?” He wiggles his brows suggestively, sending another wash of heat over your body.

Your mouth pops open, but before you can think to respond, someone cuts in. “Hey, Presley, quit making googly eyes at your girl and get over here!”

Elvis responds by doing the silly little thing he does with his eyes that makes all the girls scream and you can’t help but laugh.

The moment he walks away, taking his warm essence with him, you find yourself deflate a little. It sobers you quickly and the letdown of the entire experience has you unexpectedly emotional. Without his warmth and light, you feel cold and unprotected and alone.

Sneaking away to the restroom, you lock yourself in with shaking hands. Oh, God, what is wrong with me? you think as the tears well and then escape in rivulets down your cheeks. You swipe at them, fighting what you fear is happening but cannot quite admit to yourself.

You refuse to be like every other woman, falling over your own feet for Elvis. Desperate for any sliver of attention, living for his small touches and knowing gazes. Blinded by his talent and fame.

You are not that girl. Breathing in and out, trying to calm yourself, you remember he is just a flesh-and-blood man, and you cannot give another man the power to hurt you again. He is your employer, your patient, and nothing more.

Liar.

Pushing those treacherous thoughts away, you switch tacks. You need to protect him from the storm you know is coming but your survival instincts are doing everything possible to keep you safe, and Elvis might be the only person who can do that. Telling him about Gianni and your background risks his rejection. Your heart aches at the idea of him letting you go, and not just because of your safety. There’s no way you can tell him the truth about you now, not when he’s flying so high, not when for the first time in weeks you finally feel connected with him again.

Maybe too connected.

No, you’ll just have to wait until the right time. You can’t spoil this for him. Talk of Gianni and your father would destroy this goodness, and you can’t let them destroy anything else.

Forcing yourself to put it on the back burner, you paste on a smile and play the devoted girlfriend for the rest of the evening. Every little touch is like tinder catching flame under your skin—his hand around your waist, thumb grazing so near your breast, his fingers interlocking with yours—and the sparkle in his eyes makes your heart dance against your ribcage. It’s easy to believe he truly cares and that he’s yours.

He's a better actor than they give him credit for.

For once, you let yourself lean into it, pretending he wants you. You are swept up into his joy and relief and affection. It’s an addictive and glorious drug. By the time you both stumble exhausted into the bedroom of the suite, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Your body hums a little from the glass of champagne you allowed yourself, mind buzzing with the excitement of the day and from your proximity to the man of the hour. Elvis seems to be much in the same boat, riding high and energized as he takes off his jacket, throwing it over the chair in the corner. The tiny tie was lost long ago when he unbuttoned his top buttons at the studio and sweat glistens in the divot between his collarbones as he begins rolling up his sleeves. You were unaware until this very moment how attractive forearms could be.

Suddenly your mouth feels very dry. You lick your lips, watching his every movement.

Elvis looks up quickly, catching your undivided attention, and his lip quirks in a slow smirk that is both sinful and self-conscious. His eyes flash with a heat that makes your toes curl into the soles your shoes and your pulse flutter wildly.

Oh, no. No. I will not get flustered by Elvis.

Cheeks heating, you look away and focus every ounce of attention you have on undoing the straps on your heels.

Elvis starts to hum a song you don’t immediately recognize, the sound vibrating and warm and sultry. Like a siren’s song, it threatens to hypnotize you. It distracts you enough that you fumble with the stubborn clasp on your heel, unable to wrench the leather free of the buckle. You let out a huff.

“Here. Lemme help, baby,” he says, more a soft command than an offer, the sound wrapping around you like velvet. He kneels before you, placing your foot on his knee, his long, nimble fingers working the strap free. If you hadn’t already been holding your breath, the way he gently massages the crease the strap left on your ankle through your stockings might have caused you to gasp.

“How’d I never notice these pretty lil’ sooties?” he coos, rubbing his thumb into the sore arch of your foot.

You bite back the moan threatening to slip free due to the sensation, but it escapes anyway, as a tiny whimper instead. Perhaps you imagine the way the apples of his cheeks go pink at the sound. Either way, you feel like you are about to come apart at the seams.

He makes slow work of massaging your foot and then placing it back down. You suck in a breath, just as he grabs the other and repeats the action of freeing then massaging it.

“Elvis,” you gasp much too breathlessly. You want to melt into the sensation, but the rest of your body feels like it’s on fire, a molten pit growing in your belly that you can’t seem to stop. You should push him away, you know you should, because this is too much, too intimate, but you can’t seem to will yourself to do so.

“Hmm?” he replies innocently, as if he truly has no idea what he has reduced you to. His hand squeezes down your foot until he reaches your toes. “Oh, honey, why ain’t these perfect lil’ piggies painted?” he asks, near scandalized.

The question throws you. “I…I’ve never seen the need,” you stutter out. “It’s not as though anyone would see them and being on my feet all day in the ward would just ruin them…”

His brows furrow. “Not even with your girlfriends? Or for a day at the beach?” he asks, genuinely confused as to why a young lady would never paint her toenails.

Your heart aches acutely all the sudden. The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them: “I didn’t have many friends like that. Or time to spend with them. I was busy raising my brothers and then I left for nursing school….”

“Oh.” He says it so softly and full of compassion you nearly want to cry. Then, his demeanor shifts. “Well, all that changes now, Little Bird.” He gives your feet one last pat and then smoothly lifts himself off his knees, going towards the door.

“What?” you ask, confused. This man has your head spinning.

He flings the door open. “Hey, Charlie! Charlie!” he yells into the penthouse.

“Yeah?” you hear Charlie call back.

“I need you to get some nail polish. Pink is best, but red’ll do.”

You hear a long pause, then a shuffle. “Ummm, where am I gonna find polish in the middle of the night, EP?”

Elvis sighs. “Use yer brain, buddy. You tellin’ me none of those girls out there has any polish on ‘em? I have faith you can figure it out.” Then he shuts the door with a grin.

Dumbfounded, you gape at him. “You can’t be serious, Elvis. It’s late and we need to get some rest…I don’t particularly want to paint my toenails right now. And truth be told, I’m not very good at it,” you say, feeling panicked by the whole idea. The idea of him watching you trying and failing to paint your toes makes you squirm.

He just grins. “Good thing I ain’t tired, then, baby! You can relax and I’ll take care of it. Go get in your jammies.”

Your brain feels broken. He can’t possibly be suggesting what you think he is. Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Close that purty mouth—you look like a big ol’ guppy over ‘dere,” he laughs, his accent seeming stronger than usual. “Now, go on—get ready for bed,” he orders, pulling you off the bed.

“Elvis—”

“Nope, don’ wanna hear it, honey! Go!”

Which is how you find yourself in the bathroom, changing into the modest but silky, white, button up pajamas Elvis bought for you on your shopping spree a few weeks ago and doing your nightly routine with a flock of very baffled butterflies in your stomach. You are also a little afraid for the state of your toes by the time this is all said and done.

And yet, Elvis manages to surprise you again, not only with the fact that Charlie was indeed able to get his hands on pearly pink nail polish at this hour, but with his ability to paint nails. It’s more than adorable the way he concentrates on getting it right, tongue caught between his teeth, even sticking cotton between your toes to keep them apart. Usually, you would hate having someone touch your feet, but he’s so gentle about it and you are so distracted by how unbelievable the situation is and how a dark lock of hair falls imperfectly over his forehead as he bends over your toes that you can’t bring yourself to tell him no.

As always, time seems to warp with him, and it’s so late it’s early. You find yourself yawning, wiggling your freshly pink toenails in a state of strangely pleased disbelief.

“You like ‘em, Little Bird?” he asks, eyes shining with an unexpected need of approval.

“Yes, they are lovely. If this singing thing doesn’t work out, you could open a salon. The girls would go crazy,” you joke.

He bows his head with a bashful smile, then looks up at you through those long lashes and you feel like the bed has dropped out from under you.

“Naw, this is only for the special lil’ nurses who hafta put up with me every day. No one else.” His eyes twinkle, lighting your body with electricity.

Why does he have to be so charming?

Part of you wants to scream at him to stop being so nice to you. If he knew what trouble you were, what you’ve brought to his doorstep, he’d never be looking at you like this or treating you with such care.

No one since your mother has treated you with such care.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes, and you push your feelings as far away as you can, as fast as you can.

“Speaking of,” you say, clearing your throat, “I should take your vitals before you sleep.”

Elvis looks confused and maybe a little hurt at your abrupt subject change but recovers quickly enough. “Aww, come on, Little Bird, not tonight. I feel fine, I swear it.”

But you need your armor, and your job gives you that. It gives you space from these stupidly complicated feelings you are having. “Grab my bag and we can prove it.”

Elvis sighs, but does what you say, quiet as you take his temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. When you finish, surprise fills you.

Elvis looks concerned. “What is it? Everythin’ okay? I’m tired, sure, but I feel—”

“No, I know,” you interrupt, “your numbers are good. Apparently a wildly successful comeback performance coupled with giving a late-night pedicure was just the right medicine.” You can’t help but smile at him.

He looks at you wide eyed, then gives you a blinding smile. “Or maybe you’re just that good for me, darlin’.”

Your heart flips in your chest, beating in your throat, but you refuse to let it show on your face. “Sure, mister. Quit your flirting and get in the bed,” you say firmly, only realizing your mistake when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“To sleep! Go to sleep, Elvis!” you say, rolling your eyes. You cover the blush on your face by turning over to flip off the lamp on your nightstand.

His hiccupping laugh makes you smile in the dark when he slides into the bed next to you. You are acutely aware of the heat of him, and though he doesn’t touch you, you can’t help but sense that he wants to as his chuckles die down to silence.

After a pregnant pause, he speaks again, quiet but direct.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me, honey? From earlier when we got interrupted?”

Your heart trips, then races with both surprise and fear. Thank God he can’t see your face because you are battling the onslaught of thoughts spiraling in your mind.

He won’t understand. He’ll kick you out on the street.

No, don’t keep lying to him. He deserves the truth.

Not now, later.

Protect him, protect him, protect him…

It’s the vision of Gianni ripping out Elvis’ throat that makes the decision for you.

“No, it was nothing,” you whisper shakily, clutching the sheets in your hands.

“Oh,” he says, almost blankly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounded upset.

But that wouldn’t make sense.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” you say quietly.

“Goodnight, Lori.”

Your stomach drops at how he uses your actual name, all the warmth from earlier gone from his voice. As tired as you are, shame and regret churn in your stomach—a stew of nausea that won’t seem to abate, even after you eventually drift off to sleep.

*

Three more days you spend in Florida, each one bringing even more maddening behavior from Elvis. Somehow, when you weren’t looking, a switch flipped yet again. He’s rapidly vacillating between moody and sullen to downright cold and cutting.

He keeps you close, to be sure, while going water skiing and taking long drives and cavorting with his friends, but the sweet, compassionate closeness from the night of filming the special is nowhere to be found. You feel like an accessory he strapped to his wrist, desperately trying to make sure he doesn’t run himself ragged with all the “fun” he is having. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the flirting and the inappropriate jokes and jabs not fit for mixed company. No, he does it with you at his side, like he’s trying to make a point.

Even the Colonel is distressed, confronting Elvis about spending too much and making the return trip to Memphis one by bus instead of train as some sort of power move to wrangle the star. Elvis just laughs it off, and in what seems to be true Elvis fashion, he seems to spend more rather than less just to stick it to the Colonel. All of it put together reminds you of the adolescent behavior of your younger brothers.

It’s exhausting, running after this moody man-child who acts like you hung the moon one minute and in the next ignores you. You remind him until you are blue in the face that he must rest and have some semblance of a normal routine when he can, instead of running himself into the ground by overindulging in nearly every sense of the word. The man seems to have no concept of the word “moderation” and as annoyed as you are, you are more worried this will lead to another, more serious episode.

It's easy to blame him for the near-constant headaches and exhaustion ailing you. Having to pretend to go along with his antics as his girlfriend while also having to babysit him as his nurse is continuing to run you ragged. Not to mention the emotional upheaval of trying to piece out your own feelings for him and manage your lingering fear about Gianni at the same time.

The worst, however, is the lack of playfulness Elvis had with you coupled with the brooding silence he shoves between you in your very few moments alone. Nothing reminds you more you are just his nurse. The rest, whatever it was, seems a folly concocted by your addled imagination.

You can’t shake the feeling of being punished for some unknown offense. Maybe it is just your guilt brewing under the surface, trying to make sense of this man. It’s hard to break the habit of feeling like no matter what you do and how good you are at your job, you are somehow still a burden to the men in your life.

But it isn’t just that. Every stunning smile or touch he gives another woman fees barbed and has your blood boiling, even though it shouldn’t. Every sly remark about being “tied down” he makes to the guys makes your skin crawl. Worse yet, he starts poking fun at you any chance he gets, edging more into mean spirited with each jab, and even his friends shoot you apologetic looks by the end of the trip.

And yet another full day with them all, coupled with Elvis’ ire, all the stupid jokes, and the rampant gas that all the men seem to have, this time trapped on a smelly chartered bus, has you feeling claustrophobic and ready to throw yourself out the window. It’s unusual for you to feel so bothered by such things—you grew up in a houseful of men after all. You learned early on to keep your feelings to yourself, especially to keep off your father’s radar. Patience for rowdy men has historically been one of your greatest virtues, but Elvis has you digging your nails into your knees and biting your tongue more than once as the bus slowly ambles towards Memphis.

He's just an unruly patient—don’t take it personally, you chant to yourself all the way home. You try, you do, but your stomach ties in more knots with each passing mile and with the memory of feeling cared for by him contradicting everything he’s lobbing at you.

By the time you arrive back at Graceland, you are ruing all your life decisions. Despite reminding yourself of how, logically, you are safer and more secure here than you’ve ever been in your life, you’ve reached your limit of patience with Elvis and his entourage for the day. Maybe the week. Or the month.

Oh, Madone, how am I supposed to do this for the unforeseen future if I can’t make it a month with this man?

At least here you can safely put some space between you. You fly off the bus as soon as the door opens.

“Hey! Hey, where do you think you’re goin’?” he yells from behind you.

Why do you care? is what you want to say, but you swallow the urge instead.

You keep walking down the driveway, away from the house, pretending you don’t hear him. Nothing good can come from you answering him right now, not when you are feeling so on edge. Besides that, it’s hard to think with the throbbing behind your eyes and the slight carsickness rolling in your stomach from being on the bus all day.

“Lori, stop! Goddammit, Dolores, where. Are. You. Goin’?” he shouts, punctuating each word, your name rolling off his tongue like an admonishment. You stop in your tracks. It infuriates you he deems to use your given name like you’re the one who has done something wrong, like it’s your behavior that’s been so poor.

“Away from you!” you shout back at him, unable to keep your frustration locked in any longer.

Your heart sinks, immediately knowing you’ve overstepped but annoyed enough not to quit while you’re ahead. You start walking again, hurrying away as if you can still escape this whole situation.

The chorus of men chuckling and “oooh”ing at Elvis as they amble off the bus does not help matters.

“What the hell did you just say?” he growls low, his large strides hard on the pavement as they try to catch up with your smaller ones. “Hey, don’t walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to ya!”

“Leave me alone, Elvis! It’s obvious you’ve wanted me out of your hair for weeks, so go! Do whatever it is you need to do to get whatever this is out of your system,” you snap, still stomping forward, pulling your coat tight around your middle as you try to reacclimate to the early spring chill in the air. “Go…get laid or something,” you mutter, surprised at your own crassness.

“Hey! Stop bein’ such a b-bitch and stop walkin’ away from me!” he roars, grabbing your upper arm to pull you around.

You gasp as his rough touch lances through you, sending a lightning bolt of fear down to your toes. “Get your hands off me!” you hiss, violently yanking away from his grasp. Your heart knocks unpleasantly in your chest, faster and faster as your breath heaves. Part of you wants to run away as fast as you can, but you are frozen in place.

He’s not Gianni, a soft voice whispers. He won’t hurt you.

You want to believe it, you really do, but the fact is you barely know this man. You’ve wanted to believe so badly he is warm and caring, you’ve wanted to trust him because there is no one else you can, but your hopes don’t make it true.

Seeing your distress, something besides anger flashes in Elvis’ eyes and he quickly drops his arm from you.

All your pent-up fury washes over you then and you lash out uncharacteristically. “And don’t you dare call me a bitch when you’ve been acting the way you have,” you spit back at him.

He shutters his look of shock at your outburst so quickly you barely see it before flames darken his eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You’re just crazy.” It’s cutting but it’s obvious you struck a nerve.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart pounding and your head throbbing with a hundred emotions threatening to tear you apart.

You’ve never felt so bold or off the rails before, but the words fly out of you with little thought of the consequences as you point your finger at him. “Listen to me, Elvis Presley: I’m not Anita or one of your sycophantic girlfriends you can play your silly little hot-and-cold mind games with. I’m not crazy. I’m here to do a job. And instead of letting me, you are making it hard every step of the way. For days you’ve been sulking around like a child who hasn’t gotten his way instead of communicating like an adult what is wrong!”

Elvis’ eyes go wide as he reels back like you’ve slapped him in the face. Then his brow furrows, eyes blazing before locking you out once more.

“Oh, you’d know all about mind games, wouldn’t ya, honey?” he says coldly, advancing on you. “Why communicate w-w-when y-you can just pretend it’s not happenin’ and run away? I’m sure your fee-an-cè and his mafia buddies would have a lot to say about that, now, huh?”

Your heart screeches to a stop.

Dio mio…he knows.

“Elvis…” you breathe out, and then you can’t seem to breathe in again. Your shock is eclipsed by the fact somehow Elvis knows your secret. Everything else is forgotten. All your panicked mind can think of is how Gianni or your father somehow got to Elvis and they must be here, now, to take you back to New York.

An involuntary shudder overtakes you as you whisper, “How?”

“Oh, your good friend Sinatra told me the w-w-whole damn East Coast of mobsters is pissed o-off. Called you some mafia princess Helen of Troy and told me to cut you loose, if I-I-I knew w-what w-was good for me,” Elvis barrels on, his handsome face dark and storming with anger.

“What?” It’s so breathless, you aren’t sure you said it aloud. Frank knew? Of course.

Oh, God, everyone knows.

They are coming for me.

The acid in your stomach bubbles, and if it weren’t empty, the contents would be spilled over Elvis’ expensive shoes.

“I-It w-was humiliatin’, not knowin’ what the hell he was talkin’ about! But you wanna know the worst of it, Lori? That I gave you every chance to tell me and you still didn’t. You lied. I thought…” Elvis keeps speaking, his low voice angry and hurt, but suddenly it sounds like he’s in a wind tunnel. All your focus turns inward, though you are vaguely aware that you are shaking like a leaf.

Elvis is going to send me back.

And he has every right. He’s got to protect himself. You were selfish and brought this to his doorstep and didn’t even have the courtesy to warn him. Then he had to go and hear it from Frank of all people.

It was no wonder he’s been acting so strange.

He’s been preparing to let me go.

Your chest constricts and your heart aches. It feels like betrayal, though you know it’s not. You are the one who betrayed him, not the other way around. You’d thought maybe Elvis was different, he’d shown you such compassion at your worst moments, but that was before he knew what you’d dragged him into. And you are a horrible for doing it. Maybe you deserve the hell you know Gianni will put you through.

There is no stopping the tears from pouring down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so, so sorry,” you sob, now a hiccupping, shivering mess.

Gianni’s obsidian eyes and horrific smile when he sees you again flash in your mind. “Hello, Bella…”

Oh, Madone, I can’t go back, I can’t. He’ll kill me. Or worse…

The air in your lungs seems to evaporate, leaving you gasping and dizzy. That weightless space, the one you go to when you can’t bear to feel anymore, awaits you, but you can’t seem to reach it because Elvis is grabbing your shoulders, the anger gone from his eyes and replaced with concern. But he is tethering you to reality when all you want to do is disappear. And you can’t help but feel like you’ve damned him.

Your stomach churns once more and you lose the battle, heaving bile off to the side and onto the pavement. It steals what little strength and air you have left, and the edges of your vision bleed black, like the shadow of Gianni is finally here to take you away.

I’m sorry, is the only thought left when your knees buckle and your body crumbles into Elvis’ arms.

Then there is just dark, blissful silence.

*

Thank you for reading and supporting my work!! As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated if you enjoyed what you read! 💗

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

#broken glass #broken glass ch 9 #elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis smut #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x dolores #elvis presley x oc #elvis 1960 #frank sinatra #italian mafia #1960

[drewharrisonwriter]

On the Mend - Ch 2: Let Me Sleep On It

No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader

Read this on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: After seeing Joel Miller for the first time in months and revealing your little secret, Tommy Miller ran after you to the parking lot.

Word count: 1,972

A/N: I done did it, folks. Here is chapter 2 lol And it's lengthier, too but I'm still not sure what's gonna happen next or when this will end but hope you all like this chapter.

She hurriedly paid for her purchases and rushed to the parking lot. 

It had already been a long and arduous day in general. Seeing Joel Miller had been the last thing she needed. All she wanted was to go home and put this dreadful day behind her, and hopefully, never see Joel again.

But based on their last conversation, that wouldn't be a problem. 

She just wanted to avoid having to explain anything to him if it ever came to that. She didn't owe him an explanation; he had made it clear he never planned on marrying her or having a family with her. She understood that his priority was Sarah, and she loved Sarah deeply but she had left to give herself a fair chance in life, a chance to be a mother to her own child, and maybe one day, to find love and get married. 

At the moment, she was satisfied with the life she had been living since her breakup with Joel. It had been tough, especially going through the pregnancy alone, but she was doing alright, she thought to herself. She missed him, but she didn't allow herself to dwell on that because it only broke her heart, remembering that Joel had kept her for five years, only to tell her that their relationship was essentially a dead-end.

She fumbled for her car keys, her mind still reeling from the unexpected encounter with Joel. The wounds from their last confrontation were still fresh, and seeing him again had sent a shockwave through her emotions. But she did her best to calm herself down. It's going to be alright. She assured herself. You'll be home soon, and you can pretend that you never saw him. It's just one bad day. 

As she slid into the driver's seat and turned the ignition, she couldn't shake the image of Joel's stunned expression when he'd spotted her unmistakable baby bump. She didn't know whether it was anger, sadness, or some mix of emotions that clouded his eyes, but she knew one thing for sure: she saved herself from even more hurt by leaving him and not telling him about her baby. 

Just as she was about to pull out of the parking space, a familiar figure darted in front of her car, causing her to slam on the brakes. It was Tommy Miller, Joel's younger brother and one of her closest friends that she essentially ghosted along with Sarah when she left Joel. Tommy had always been the peacemaker (as much as he is a troublemaker, ironically), the one who tried to mend fences and bring people together.

She rolled down her window, and yelled, “Tommy what the fuck?!”  

“I’m sorry,” he laughed as he walked towards her. 

She sighed, her frustration evident. "Tommy, I'm really not in the mood for catching up right now. Can we do this another time?"

"Well, it's nice to see you too, stranger," Tommy began, his tone cool, accompanied by a friendly laugh. "I spotted you in the store, and I couldn't help but notice... Well, that you're expecting."

"Yeah, I am. What's it to you?" she snapped. Tommy let out an apologetic huff, and his expression turned serious as he glanced at her belly.

"I get it, you're going through a lot," Tommy said, "but I saw Joel's face back there. He looked shocked, confused, and probably a hundred other things. You can't just leave it like that."

She clenched her fists on the steering wheel, her emotions swirling. "Tommy, I don't owe him an explanation. I don't owe anyone an explanation."

Tommy nodded, his voice gentle. "I understand, but assuming the baby is Joel's, he would surely want to be a part of their life."

She sat there for a moment, torn between her instinct to protect herself and the undeniable truth in Tommy's words. Her gaze remained fixed on the steering wheel, her knuckles white from gripping it so tightly.

Finally, she let out a heavy sigh and turned to face him. "Tommy, I know you mean well, but you don't understand how painful things have been for me. Joel and I... we were never going to work out. We wanted completely different things in life. Now, I have what I want, my baby, and Joel can focus on giving Sarah a better life without me weighing him down."

Tommy reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder, his touch comforting. "I can't pretend to know how you feel, but I do know that this baby changes things. You have a right to make the best decision for yourself and your child. But consider this, not just for Joel, but for you too. Closure, even if it's painful, might be the first step toward healing."

She blinked back tears, and tried her best to keep her emotions at bay afraid of breaking down in the parking lot of the biggest grocery store in town in front of Tommy Miller. The day has already been rough enough. 

She finally smirked, cocking her head as she did. "Never thought I'd hear anything like that from you, Tommy." She joked and he laughed along with her. 

"I'll think about it." She said finally after a beat of silence.

Tommy gave her a reassuring smile. "That's all I ask. Whenever you're ready, just let me know. And... I never changed my number, so if you can please unblock me from your phone that would be great." They laugh a little again, "You can always call me if you need anything especially for the baby," 

She smiled at Tommy and thanked him before she drove off.

As she arrived home, she parked her car and took a moment to collect her thoughts. Despite Tommy's suggestion, she couldn't bring herself to even think of reaching out to Joel. After all, he made it clear that he never saw her beyond being a girlfriend. She's sure that Joel wouldn't even want anything to do with her and her baby, they can just continue living their own separate lives. 

But fate had other plans. 

A week later, there was an unexpected knock on her door. She grunted as she struggled to get off the couch. "Just a second!" She called out as she waddled towards the front door.

"I'm so sorry it's taking a while to--" She rambled but cut herself off when she saw Joel standing on her front porch with a black eye.

She blinked in surprise at the sight of Joel, her emotions a tangled mess of shock, confusion, and lingering anger. It had been months since they last spoke, and she hadn't expected to see him on her doorstep.

"What are you doing here, Joel?"

He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Hey, darlin'," he mumbled, his tone subdued. "Can I come in for a moment?"

"I'm not really in the mood to talk to anybody, Joel," she replied. "Just... go home, or go to the ER or something."

"Please?" He pleaded, and she looked at him, unsure. Finally, and reluctantly, she stepped aside, allowing him entry. As he walked into her living room, she gestured for him to take a seat as she walked down the hall to the kitchen. He looked around as he sat on the couch and took in his surroundings. He smiled to himself as he saw the shelf of records and the countless books in her living room, and the familiar scent of santal and citrus lightly mixed with her perfume. It's all so warm and familiar.

She finally stepped back into the living room, breaking his moment of nostalgia as she handed him both a glass of water and whiskey. "I don't know what you want," she said blankly, and he took both glasses as he muttered a thanks.

"What happened to your face?"

Joel sighed, downing the glass of water before taking a sip of whiskey. "Tommy and I had a disagreement."

She raised an eyebrow, "You boys are always having a disagreement. What is it this time?" The Miller brothers, despite the fact that they'd kill for each other, can also be killing each other with petty arguments.

He hesitated for a moment, then finally met her gaze. "About you. He told me he talked to you and that I should know. I didn't take it well, and things got physical."

"Joel," she let out a sigh and buried her face in her hands. She felt a pang of guilt, realizing that Tommy had probably acted out of concern for both of them.

He nodded, his expression a mix of regret and understanding. "I know we left things on bad terms, and I've had time to think about it. I should've handled it differently, and I'm sorry."

She bit her lip, her heart aching as she looked at the man who had once been her everything. "Joel, I appreciate your apology, but we want different things in life... And now we have it. This isn't necessary."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I can't stop thinkin' 'bout you, you know. Ever since that moment at the grocery store and seein' you pregnant... I couldn't help but wonder if... well, I know it's mine. It has to be, right? I wanted so badly to go after you then, but I was too scared to talk to you," he confessed. She listened intently, sitting across from him, nervously chewing on her bottom lip.

Tommy told him about the parking lot conversation and that she had no intentions of ever telling Joel about the baby. He was so hurt, he got mad at Tommy instead for not telling him right away. It was rash, and he was sorry, but he wondered if he could be there for her, for the baby.

"Joel," she began, her tone firm but tinged with sadness, "I appreciate your offer, but I don't want anything from you. I don't want you derailing your plans for me or my baby. It was incredibly difficult to accept that our five-year relationship had no future, and the last thing I want is for you to feel obligated or guilty. I've got this on my own, Joel. This is what I want, and I understand it's not what you want. I can't drag you back into my life; it just wouldn't work."

Joel swallowed hard, his eyes downcast as he processed her words. He knew he had hurt her deeply, and the weight of his actions over the past months was now crashing down on him. He couldn't let this end here, not without trying to make amends.

"Please," he began, his voice shaky. He's on his knees now, kneeling in front of her. "I can't change the past, and I can't take back the hurtful things I said. But please, just hear me out. I've had so much time to think, and I realize how wrong I was. I was scared, and I ran away from my responsibilities, from you. I was a fool, and I'm just so sorry, darlin'."

He reached out, hesitantly placing a hand on her arm, seeking any sign of forgiveness in her eyes. "I don't expect you to welcome me back with open arms, but I want to be there for you and the baby. I'll do whatever it takes to make amends, to earn your trust again."

She met his gaze, her expression softening as she looked into his remorseful eyes. The wounds were still fresh, but she couldn't deny that a part of her had missed him terribly. 

"Joel, I need time," she replied, her voice gentler now. "I can't make any promises right now."

Joel nodded, grateful for even a sliver of hope. "Thank you. That's all I ask for."

Next Chapter 👉🏻

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal edit #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x ofc #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal fan fic #pedro pascal x pregnant!reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedrito #pedrohub #pedropascaledit #now i understand the hype #Joel Miller #joel miller series #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fan fic #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x plus size reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x wife!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #the last of us

[ur-boyfiend]

i thought we'd manage with words left unspoken

hi hello felix x reader angst bc i feel like it and to balance out the fluff i'm also writing rn lol

uhhh gn!reader, angst like i said, depression / depressive episode, felix is an idiot but he's trying, hurt / comfort, soft ending dw

wc; 875

there's a strange kind of melancholy in the air around you. the sky is a weak shade of grey, almost as if it can't manage enough care to turn a true stormy grey.

it's ironic, you're not sure if the weather matches your mood or if your mood matches the weather. either way, it's not a pleasant combination.

you almost wished that the sky would just open, turn to an actual storm, anything but this odd limbo state. it was fitting, and you didn't want it to be.

you were in your own limbo, you didn't need the world to be in limbo with you, didn't want anyone else to be stuck in the same space of uncertainty you found yourself in.

and yet, as you sit by the window of your apartment, the sky is blank. you refocus on your reflection instead of the world outside, your expression as blank as the sky.

you try to remember the last time you'd felt anything really, anything besides this crushing apathy. and every memory leads back to him.

lee felix. your best friend, or who used to be at least. he'd stopped talking to you, apologized again and again because he hadn't just ghosted you, he told you that he needed space. you think you would've preferred him ghosting you.

you know that he doesn't want to hurt you, he never wanted to hurt you, and in a way, he hasn't. you can't feel hurt if you don't feel anything in the first place.

you'd always half-expected this to happen, he was the sun in human form, and you often wondered why he'd stuck around so long. after all, you might as well have been a black hole. but felix had balanced you out, he made things brighter, and you kept him grounded when he needed it.

you're not entirely sure how long you've been staring out the window, but there are clouds in the sky again. if the weather is reflecting your mood, you figure the clouds can only be memories. they drift across the sky, lingering just a bit too long, but there's nothing you can do to make them dissipate.

you only return to your body again instead of some place in the sky when you hear a knock on your apartment door. you ignore it, not wanting to see anyone, not wanting to remember what having someone there for you felt like.

but when you hear a key turning in the lock, any uncertainty solidifies into a solid mass of dread pressing down on your chest, crushing your lungs. you know full well that only one person besides you has a key to your apartment, and you curse yourself for not trying to get it back.

because if there was anyone you didn't want to see right now, it was the person currently opening the door. he looks almost as bad as you, and your throat tightens at the sight. you wish you didn't care, wish you could tell him to leave again, tell him that you didn't want to see him right now, no matter how much you needed to.

for a few long seconds you both look at each other across the apartment, the only light coming from the windows and the pale grey day.

"felix," it's all you can get out before tears threaten to fall, and you hide your face in your hands. you wish that it didn't matter so much to you, that he didn't matter so much to you.

a moment later you're being wrapped in a hug, and he's rubbing your back, mumbling countless "sorry"s into your hair. as soon as you feel his arms around you you let yourself break, feel yourself shatter in a way you'd been so close to since he left, but always managed to avoid with the knowledge that there'd be nobody to pick up the pieces.

you hope that he'll stay long enough to pick up the pieces.

when you can breathe again, you lift your head to meet his eyes. neither of you speak, afraid to break the fragile connection, afraid that if anything else breaks you may not be able to fix it.

leaning further into him, you try to figure out how to put everything into words.

"i missed you," is what you finally say, and hope that he knows you care, no matter how much you struggle to communicate.

he hugs you tighter, like he's scared you'll fade away if he lets go.

"i missed you too, i'm sorry y/n, i was an idiot."

you manage a small laugh, "yeah, you were."

"hey! you're not supposed to agree with me!"

"but it's true!"

he huffs, making you laugh again.

you hate yourself for a second, for how easily you welcomed felix back into your life, but it's not like you'd never done something stupid when feeling overwhelmed. and you both needed the other, you'd known that from the first time you'd met.

almost as if the universe was confirming something to you, the grey sky brightens into a bright blue, the melancholy clouds reorganizing into cottony white ones.

leaning further into felix, you smile slightly, hoping that this time the sun would stay.

#boyfiend writes #stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #felix stray kids #stray kids felix #stray kids angst #skz angst #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #lee felix #lee felix x reader #lee felix x y/n #lee felix fluff

[digitaldiarystuff]

False Hope Pt.3

so… i’m kinda back, well i at least hope so after ditching the blog completely lol

i’ll try to be a little more active starting with some requests after this, please don’t hate me 🥺

————

pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x Y/N

summary: you’re close friends with Pedri and pretty much in love with him, pretending you’re not you went to comfort him but he seeks the comfort in a different way than you would’ve expected

genre: suggestive but not quite, angst

————

“I’m outside, come out”

Your eyes scanned the text a million times just to make sure it was real and you weren’t actually dreaming. It was only when James reached over and touched your cheek that you came back to your senses.

“Is everything alright?” he asked concerned and you looked up at him with terror in your eyes.

Your mind was so full that you couldn’t even comprehend the situation, why was Pedri here? Did he check your location to find out where you were? Was the black Porsche his? And most importantly, what are you going to do now?

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just my friend, she reminded me of a quiz we have tomorrow.” that was the first lie you could come up with.

“Do you have to get back home?” James asked with slight disappointment.

You looked at your phone once more and up at him, Pedri has occupied your mind for years at this point and gave you false hope that there may be something more between you two but that had to end. You knew if you decide to walk out now, you’d be stuck in the same cycle you always have and wait for him to finally pick you, but you deserve more. You were moving on and choosing your own happiness over his.

“No no, I’m not going anywhere.” you smiled hoping he’d buy your lie and didn’t question it too much and judging by his mood change he ate it up.

You placed your phone back into your purse also shutting it off hoping Pedri would realize you weren’t going to respond and leave quickly because you knew if he’d send you any more texts it’d be over.

Out of sight, out of mind you thought and reached for James’ collar pulling him in. He got the message and quickly started kissing you, you closed your eyes trying your best to enjoy the moment and it was nice. It was good, actually but you couldn’t help but wish it was someone else’s hands finding your hips pulling you into him and pressing sloppy kisses across your neck and cleavage. That’s when you opened your eyes and saw Pedri’s dark eyes instead of James’ and freaked out pulling back immediately.

James looked worried asking you if everything’s okay or if he did something wrong.

“No, no it’s not you. I’m sorry I just need to handle this quiz tomorrow. I have to get home and deal with it.” you apologized knowing you couldn’t go any further with him. Your mind and heart wouldn’t let you knowing Pedri may be out there waiting for you and you hated yourself for it. You even felt like you were cheating on Pedri even though you were not in any sort of relationship, this was stupid but you couldn’t help your feelings.

You apologized to James a couple more times, grabbed your things and left the room in a hurry. You felt bad to leave him high and dry and couldn’t face him anymore. On the way to the lobby you turned your phone on trying to see if Pedri sent any more texts but found none and that made you feel sorry for yourself. You had a great guy trying to give you exactly what you wanted and deserved but still left him hanging just because Pedri sent a single text.

You exited the elevator hurriedly hoping he didn’t leave just yet when you heard his voice. At first you thought you were dreaming and scolded yourself for being this obsessed but soon you realized he was standing at the reception talking to the receptionist.

“And I understand your policy but I need the room number and yes I don’t know the last name but…”

You heard him talking, asking about James’ room number. You didn’t even know he knew the name but Sara probably told them at the club.

“Pedri” you walked over to him and he immediately turned your way his eyes softening as he released a sigh of relief.

“Y/N” he walked over without even glancing back at the receptionist and pulled you in a hug.

“What are you doing here?” you asked apprehensively.

“I came looking for you when you didn’t answer me and she wouldn’t let me look at the guest list. She said it was against hotel policy and I was just telling her the name but she still didn’t tell me anything.” he started rambling but didn’t give you a clear answer.

“That’s not what I’m asking, why are you here Pedri?”

He pulled back possibly realizing you didn’t hug him back and gave him cold shoulder. His eyes were so soft this time.

“I… I just came to check on you.” he shyly said as he looked down at his shoes.

“Why?” you pressed. “I already told Ferran I was good.”

“I know, I just…”

“You just what Pedri?” you raised your voice a little and he warily looked around hoping no one could hear you.

“Can we go out to the car please? Let’s not do this here.” he tried ushering you out but you didn’t budge.

“You can’t stay here.” he said as if he was stating the obvious.

“Why do you care if I stay here or not?”

“Look Y/N, there are people here. Let’s go back to mine and talk there, calmly.” he tried again this time reaching for your arm to pull you but you pulled back from his grip immediately.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Well you’re not staying here.” he firmly stood. You considered your options, you could either go with him and set everything on the table possibly ruining your friendship but no matter what happens you could say you tried or leave on your own getting in a taxi and try to forget this night, fight or flight.

You made up your mind and started walking past Pedri, he took a couple seconds but followed suit. Once you reached the front door of the hotel he caught up with you and opened the car door for you to get in. Even though you were upset with him, you felt a slight sense of warmth with his gesture.

“Do you want to talk now, or we could just wait until we get home.” he offered once you both were settled.

“Let’s talk here.” you coldly replied.

“Okay” he whispered.

“Talk”

“I don’t know what to say”

“You don’t know what to say.” you turned round him and laughed but it didn’t reach your eyes.

“You ignore me and leave the club, then follow me to a hotel where I’m with a guy, text me to come out, try to find my room number to come get me yourself when I don’t and when I’m right in front of you you don’t know what to say. Be so for fucking real Pedri” you started yelling and he put his face in his hands huffing.

“What do you want me to say Y/N?” he asked also raising his voice.

“I want you to be honest for god’s sake!”

“I was worried.” he finally said.

“Why?”

“You just met this guy and you go to a hotel with him, this isn’t you.”

“Oh so it’s okay when you do it but when I do it’s not me.”

“Yes, I know this sounds hypocritical but yes it’s not you.”

“You’re so right. It’s hypocritical.” you sighed and leaned back in your seat.

“I needed to forget, that’s why I came here.” you admitted because you realized he was never going to give you what you’re looking for. You finally accepted the fact that after tonight, Pedri wasn’t going to be a part of your life and you needed to get everything out of your chest.

“Forget what?”

“You” you simply said and closed your eyes afraid of his answer but nothing came out of his mouth.

“Why did you kiss me that day?”

He sighed loudly.

“Because I wanted to.”

You laughed a little.

“I’m serious.”

“No you’re not. You’re never serious Pedro.”

“Pedri” he corrected.

“I don’t think we’re on that basis anymore.” you admitted and his eyes turned to you in shock.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, tonight we say everything we need to and tomorrow we live our lives like we did before we met.”

“No” he started protesting but you held your hand up stopping him.

“I can’t go on like this, Pedri. This has to stop before it’s too late. I can’t wait for you any longer.”

“Y/N it doesn’t have to be like this, we can just go back to our normal ways.”

“You can, I can’t.”

“But I don’t want to let you go.” he whined and you felt your heart breaking, you really didn’t want to cause him any pain but you also couldn’t carry on any longer.

“Do you love me?”

You could easily cut the tension in the car with a knife now, it was dead silent.

“That’s the reason we can’t go back to how it was. Because I love you.” you said without opening your eyes but still felt tears start running. Pedri shuffled in his seat and placed his hand on your cheek wiping the tear away. You couldn’t fight it any longer and leaned into his touch and placed your hand over his.

“I love you too.” he whispered and you opened your eyes to see him staring.

“I know, it’s just not the same kind of love.” you sadly smiled. “It’s okay, I’ll be okay.” you reassured him because as much as you were hurting you never wanted him to.

“But I’m not.”

“It’ll pass.”

He pulled you closer and you leaned over the console to lie on his chest. He kissed your head and you placed your hand on his heart feeling its rhythm. You stayed like that for what felt like hours just holding each other knowing it’s the last time you’ll do it.

As sad as it sounds, you felt more at peace than any other moment.

#football imagine #football #football oneshot #football x reader #football x y/n #football x you #football blurb #football one shot #fc barcelona #football angst #pedri angst #pedri x y/n #pedri blurb #pedri one shot #pedri x you #pedri imagine #pedri x reader #pedrito #pedri #pedri gonzalez

[stylinsoncity]

posting this long snippet from the time travel fic i've been writing.. might not make any sense out of context but oh well. i think i'll also post a penn park snippet too. just to confirm for you all that i'm alive and writing lol

“This isn’t Back to the Future, Lou. Everything that’s meant to happen has already happened. Nothing you say can really change that. But it’s bad form and technically violates witch law for us to, like…tell you next week’s winning lottery numbers or something.”

“But it’s not against the rules to bring me here?”

“No,” Harry says. “It’s not like you’ll be going out or interacting with anyone else. You’ll be staying with us.”

“Who’s us?”

Harry peeks at him. He hesitates for a while. “Um. Me…and my husband.”

Louis angles his body to face him. “Husband?”

Harry throws another skittish glance his way.

“So you’re actually…?” Louis wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. “When did you decide for sure you were…?”

“Gay?” Harry supplies. “Maybe it was when you kissed me.”

“You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back,” Harry says. “Enthusiastically.”

“Whatever. Is that genuinely when you knew? You started snogging boys exclusively from then on?”

“Well, I was snogging a girl just now before we left, as you saw. And a boy,” Harry says. “But yeah, I guess…not long after that party, I decided to stick to blokes. Or just…one, really.”

Louis nearly misses that last bit. “What?”

Harry turns the radio up. “That’s enough questions for now. And we’re almost home.”

Louis goes on staring at him for a bit longer, wondering if he’s understood correctly. Did Harry meet his husband at that party? Was it someone he met the following week? Was Louis that stupid to step aside and let whoever it was take his place? Apparently so.

The mood grows tenser from then on, mostly due to Louis’ adamant silence and sour mood, neither of which he can justify. Did he expect Harry to never marry? Did he expect Harry to marry him?

Louis snorts aloud and sees Harry sneak a look at him. He sinks further into his seat, arms crossed over his chest, and stares through the windscreen for the rest of the ride.

Within the next few minutes, the car slows and turns at the corner of a downward sloping drive. At the end of the drive, as Harry approaches, a garage door rises. Louis didn’t see Harry press any buttons but perhaps it’s automatic.

Then Louis sees him. Or himself. Or his older self. At first he doesn’t believe his eyes. He’s still expecting something dimension-shattering to occur when he’s face to face with a future version of himself. He expects to implode or for Future Louis to fade out of existence. None of that happens, but there’s no denying that the man standing at the door connecting the garage to the house is Louis, eleven years older.

“Trippy, isn’t it?” Harry says, as he cuts the engine. “Ready to meet your future?”

And well, Louis won’t say it aloud because he’d just sound like a dickhead, but his future is quite fit, so the answer is yes. He’s got an actual beard, as opposed to Louis’ vague facial hair. He seems more built and broad around his shoulders and torso. It’s hard to be sure when he’s backlit by the light flowing from the interior of Harry’s home, but even his hair seems shinier and softer. He’s wearing a dark grey knit jumper with the sleeves pushed to his elbows and Louis catches sight of several more tattoos, although he doesn’t get a good look at them before the Older Louis pulls his sleeves down.

Harry pushes his door open, so Louis does the same. And finally meets eyes with himself, unobstructed by the windscreen.

“Forgot how small I was,” Older Louis says and nothing more.

Louis wasn’t expecting to be best mates with his older self or anything, but perhaps they won’t be friends at all. “You’re not exactly Dwayne Johnson, mate.”

Harry snorts, pushing the car door closed. “Don’t start,” he says to Older Louis. He noticeably pats his stomach as he eases past him into the house. It registers as familiar or even flirty to Louis, which is odd but reassuring. At least in the future, in spite of Harry’s husband, they manage to retain their closeness. Harry’s husband must not love that, but clearly Older Louis can’t be arsed.

Louis hears a chorus of barks from further inside and moves more quickly and curiously, eager to see every aspect of Harry’s adult life.

“Shoes off,” Older Louis says to younger Louis at the door. He tacks on a smile. “If you’d be so polite.”

Louis narrows his eyes at him as he shoves his shoes off.

“Come on,” Older Louis says. “I’ll be your tour guide.”

“You don’t even live here,” Louis says.

Older Louis looks at him. “Right,” he says. “Harry just lets me kip here every night ‘cause I don’t have a home of my own.”

“Seriously?”

“The future is tough, mate,” Older Louis says gravely. But just as he turns away, there’s a nearly imperceptible wiggle of his lips that suggests he’d like to laugh.

Louis decides his older self is not to be taken seriously. He’ll get his facts from Harry. Speaking of whom, they find him when they enter the kitchen as he steps inside from the back garden.

“What happened to your dogs?” Louis asks.

“I let them out. Jasper is a senior and when he gets really excited, he wets himself,” Harry says. “And he’ll get really excited seeing two of you.”

“I gave him his meds,” Older Louis says. “Should be fine in a bit.”

“Thanks, babe,” Harry says. His gaze flickers suddenly to younger Louis like he forgot he was there. He clears his throat. “Um, do you want a beer? Or tea? Water?”

“Whatever you’re having,” Louis says.

“Do you like wine?” Harry asks. “I can’t remember if we drank wine at your age.”

“Never too early to start,” Older Louis says. “He’ll like the Malbec.”

“Malbec, it is,” Harry says and goes into a walk-in pantry where he ostensibly keeps the wine. Meanwhile, Older Louis gets three glasses from a cupboard above the sink. He’s really a bit too familiar with Harry’s home. Maybe he is here all the time. Maybe he really doesn’t have a home of his own. Compounded with his imminent death tomorrow, the future doesn’t seem all that bright for Louis. No matter how hot he is.

But his friendship with Harry is a lot to be grateful for. Louis watches Harry and his older self speaking quietly to each other as Harry fills each of the three glasses. He watches Harry laugh at whatever Older Louis says and slap his hand playfully against his chest.

Louis wonders again about Harry’s husband. He wants to ask where he is and when he gets home, but he also never wants him to come home. So long as he’s away, Louis can keep tricking himself into believing he doesn’t exist.

But then he spies the wedding ring on Harry’s finger as Harry hands him a glass of wine and he can’t stop himself from blurting, “Where is he?”

Harry’s brows crease. “Who?”

“Your husband,” Louis says, pointedly.

“Oh.” Harry chews his top lip for a moment. “Why don’t we get comfortable first? Come on.”

Then he takes Louis’ free hand and pulls him off towards the sunken living area. It hasn’t slipped his notice how posh the entire home is. The kitchen was a massive gleaming wonder of marble and bronze. There were five cars in the drive and the first room Louis passed upon entering the home was a gym. He didn’t get a good look at the exterior under the cover of night, but what he could see revealed an expansive upper floor and several outdoor decks.

The living area features two parallel velvet couches, a marble coffee table, and a large flat screen tv mounted above a two-way fireplace. Louis can’t quite tell what’s on the other side of the fireplace but it seems like a formal dining room.

“Your house is fucking amazing,” Louis says, plopping down in a plush leather armchair.

“Thanks,” Harry says, smiling. He sits on the couch across from Louis. “It’s the kind of house you grow into. That’s why we bought it.”

Louis nearly asks if that means Harry has kids, but he has a big greedy gulp of wine instead. He shrivels at the taste initially, finding it bitter and sharp. But then he has another sip and it’s not so much that he likes it, but that he finds it distracting.

Older Louis enters the room much to Louis’ disappointment and takes up the seat right beside Harry.

“I can still get you a beer,” Harry says randomly. “If you don’t like the wine.”

“No,” Louis says. “It’s fine.”

“If there’s anything else you need, just let me know,” Harry says. “I want you to be comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable enough, Haz,” says Louis. “It’s just nice to see where you live in the future, and how well you’ve done for yourself. You deserve all this. The husband, too.”

Older Louis exhales a laugh. “Should I get a box of tissues?”

“Shut up,” Harry says.

“Tell him to shut up,” Older Louis says. “This is embarrassing.”

“If you’re so embarrassed, just leave,” Louis says. “I don’t even get why you’re still here.”

Older Louis groans suddenly and loudly, pressing his fingertips into his eyelids. “There’s no way you’re this daft. No fucking way.”

“Louis,” Harry says. “Please.”

[websterss]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 — 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐊𝐈

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Here’s a little werewolf au I conjured up. The supermoon overpowers Stiles control resulting in a casualty.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): ANGST, mentions of dying

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,477

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Werewolf!Stiles Stilinski x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you guys like it! ♡ I tried with the eyes lol, I don’t how to use after effects yet, had to turn to photoshop. :/

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You didn’t expect to become the only human in the pack. You see there were two humans in the pack, You and Stiles, but after what happened to Stiles, he didn’t have much of a choice. Stile’s life was at stake. He was practically on his deathbed. So, you had to turn to your only option left, Scott. Scott bit Stiles to save his life. It was hard enough as it was, but Stiles becoming a werewolf, now that was even harder. He had a hard time trying to control his shifting. But he had his friends to help him along the way.

“Tell me again why we’re here?” Malia asked. She clearly wasn’t in the mood to attend another pack meeting.

“Because there’s a supermoon tonight, and we need to make sure nobody does anything stupid.” All eyes turn to face Liam.

“Oh, come on, it was one time.” He whined.

“Yeah, and it’s forever engraved in our heads,” Stiles told him. 

“It was really hot out that night.” He shrugged.

“Beacon Hills usually is during the summer.” Stiles quipped.

“Okay we get it guys, knock it off you two.” You gave a playful stern look to them. Whether those two believed it or not they were the best of pals. Liam looked up to Stiles and Scott, but he would appreciate it more if the guidance didn’t consist of the constant sarcasm and teasing. 

“Y/n’s right, we have a serious matter, this isn’t like any other moon we’ve been through, the supermoon will make us more aggressive, stronger, even violent, and we have to stay alert at all times, we can’t risk anyone getting hurt,” Scott informed his pack.

“Or killed,” Malia said. 

“Exactly.” Scott nodded.

“So how will we be able to control it?” Hayden questioned.

“We have chains, shouldn’t that at least help get you all through the night?” Lydia said.

“It’s not enough, everyone would break free instantly.” Scott shook his head. 

“What about mountain ash, would that hold you guys back?” Mason suggested. 

“That’s not a bad idea.” Stiles nodded.

“Great problem solved! Um, but what are we going to do about the human in the room?” You pointed at yourself.

“The human…will stay as far away from any of us.” Stiles flailed his arms around gesturing to the supernatural beings in the room.

“I want to help.” You pleaded.

“No, I’m not risking putting you in danger.”

“I am perfectly capable of staying away from danger.” Stiles stood silent. His shoulders slumped. You were gonna give him a migraine. He looked away shaking his head.

“What, I can!” You raised an eyebrow.

“Just stay home tonight Y/n, please, just go home.” He pointed to the door. Every one of them avoids your gaze. 

“Scott.” You looked at the alpha. 

He sheepishly looked up at you, then at Stiles, who shook his head no. 

“Stiles is right. You could get hurt, Y/n. So stay home okay.”

“Fine.” You muttered. Little did he know you weren’t going to listen to him. 

-

“Okay, I think that’s enough mountain ash to keep you guys’ in.” Mason got up and dusted his palms on his jeans.

“Good job Mason.” Lydia stood beside him behind the line of mountain ash. They decided to keep them all in the library for the night. Scott, Hayden, Liam, Malia, and Stiles were all chained up to poles, the mountain ash was for just in case. All of them could feel how the super moon was affecting them. They let out grunts and growls. Fur growing on their face, claws coming out of their fingernails. It was a recipe for a disaster.

“I think that’s our cue to leave!” Mason started tugging on Lydia’s upper arm.

“Good idea.” She nodded her head in agreement. They ran out into the hall hoping that the mountain ash was enough to keep them from running wild into the night. When they thought they were good, it just got worse. They saw you walking past them. Lydia immediately calls after you to retreat.

You walked towards another set of doors pushing it forwards, the door creaking in response. You stood in the hallway. Staring down the dark eery hallways. There wasn’t anyone around. You never liked school at night. That gut feeling in your chest was telling you to turn back, and you almost did, except the low growl behind you caused a chill down your spine. You spun around slowly, your breathing labored as you now face what you were scared of encountering tonight. Your boyfriend was in full rage. You keep still in your tracks as two glowing eyes stare right back at you.

“Stiles.” You slowly stood. The only response was a grunt and heavy breathing. That further told your flight or fight response to take a step away from him.

“This isn’t you okay, it’s the moon taking control of you.” 

“This is me!” He roared, making you flinch.

“No, it’s not!” You cried out. You took each step back with caution.

“Baby, just, just find an anchor, okay? Yeah, an anchor, okay. Think of me.” You nodded.

“The only thing I’m thinking is wanting to sink my teeth in that pretty neck of yours!” 

Oh you were in total shit.

“Stiles please, okay. You have to fight this!” You pleaded. You couldn’t stop crying.

“Y/N!” You whipped your head to see Lydia and Mason approaching you. Stiles took your distraction as an advantage, rushing forward, full charge, the collision of your bodies was enough to knock you off balance. You slipped on your feet falling on your back.

“Stiles...” You whispered out in pain. You watched him slowly hover over you looking at you as if you were prey. Your eyes widened fearing the worst to come.

“No!” Lydia screamed, she was running to you as fast as she could in her heeled boots. Mason watched in terror as you screamed out in agony. 

You didn’t know what was happening. It felt like a blur. You felt a tremendous amount of pain in your chest, your senses were going numb. You were going in and out of an unconscious state of mind. Then everything seemed to go dark. Stiles had finally stopped, his brain slowly starting to process what he just did. His claws were dripping with blood. Your blood. His eyes went back to their original chocolate brown. He hesitantly brought a hand to your face caressing it softly. His eyes trailed down to the gory sight of your chest and stomach covered in claw marks. His doing. He let out a shaky breath as his eyes found your face again. His hand hovering over you, not wanting to further touch you, but his heart was trying to reach out for you

“Y/n? Y/n, hey, please wake up.” He whispered. “Y/n, please!”

“Stiles!” Scott’s voice rang out like an echo. Footsteps could be heard beating down the hall, growing closer to the messy sight of you laying still in Stiles’ arms.

“No, no, no! Y/n!” Stiles yelled out. He brought you into his chest, rocking you back and forth and kissing your temple. Your head pulled back. Eyes closed. Your whole body was limp. You were practically weightless. He could no longer hear your heart beating.

“No, baby, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He choked up. “Open your eyes, let me see them again, please...” He weeped.

Scott, Malia, Liam, and Hayden didn’t hear the rhythmic beating in your chest no more. You were gone. Lydia was on the floor weeping for you.

Stiles had a feeling that someone was going to end up hurt, he knew the risks of the supermoon, but he didn’t think you were going to be the casualty of tonight, nor did he think that he would be the one to take away your life. Sirens could be heard from a distance. It wasn’t the ambulance though, it was Stiles’ father and Deputy Parrish.

“Stiles...” Sheriff Stilinski ran up to his son, his gaze stopped on you. “Oh god...Is she?”

“Yeah,” Lydia responded.

“Oh god…” Sheriff Stilinski ran a hand down his face. It was bad enough he was dealing with all the supernatural stuff, but to see you, his son’s girlfriend lying dead in his arms was worse. He saw you like his own daughter and wanted to keep you safe, but then again no one was ever safe in Beacon Hills.

“I killed her dad,” Stiles muttered. 

“Stiles-” His dad started.

“No! She’s dead because of me. She’s dead!” He shouted out. All gazes suddenly fell on him.

Everyone knew what would happen if they ever took an innocent’s life. They’ve heard the stories. They knew the outcome. They knew how Derek ended up.

“What?” He cried out. 

“Stiles…your eyes, they’re blue.”

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski imagines #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski au #werewolf!stiles stilinski #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf x reader #my gif #writings by juls

[sugarlywhispers]

k.eijirou + size and praise kink

☆– request; "hiiiii, i completely loved your bakugou + gf blowjob, it was 🥵🥵🥵🔥🔥🔥 could write a red riit praise kink pretty plsss??"

☆– a/n; lol, it took me a while to understand what "red riit" meant🙈🤣. so, this is my very first kirishima drabble, so i hope i did it justice(?) 😊🤍 and i added the size kink cuz yeah, i was in the mood lol bye enjoy!

Your back arched, your hands grabbing strongly the tie that held your wrists tied to the headboard of the bed, when you felt a second orgasm run through your body with force. The moan that escaped you was long and low in your throat. With your legs shaking, Kirishima gave a few more laps to your pussy before kissing gently and seductively your inner thighs, smirking against your skin when he felt the trembling of the muscles between your legs.

“You're gorgeous,” he purred, starting a trail of open mouth kisses up your body, giving your pussy another lap with his tongue that made you squirm. He paused for a few extra minutes over your the left side of your hip, pecking gently the little tattoo that decorated the skin which was a chibi replica of Red Riot–it had inflated his ego so bad when you surprised him with it, he couldn't stop always giving it a peck whenever he had the chance to; "it's a reminder that you're mine, kitten, of course im gonna love it!"–and then licked his way up to the valley between your tits, nipping at each nipple with playfulness before attacking your neck.

“My kitten came so beautifully,” he whispered in your ear and you whined, still not having any coherent thought in your mind after that strong last orgasm; but the feeling of the head of his cock teasing your entrance made you want him more. More of him.

“Huh? Does my kitten want more?” You could hear the smirk in his deep, low voice.

And you loved it.

You nodded, whining and moving your hips, rubbing your wet pussy against his cock. You heard him hiss at your action before he supported his weight on his forearms next to your body. He was so big and broad in comparison to you, that your biggest turn on was exactly that: the feel of being and looking so little every time he was above you.

His eyes were so dark when he looked at you, you could practically feel the need of burying himself deep inside you. 

“Answer me.”

Fuck, he was so fucking sexy when he went all bossy on you.

You bit your lower lip still captivated by his stare. He was so… intense. Sometimes you wondered how you managed to keep up with him. His duality of being the kindest human being on earth, but also a beast in bed was going to be the end of you.

You closed your eyes when one of his hands started to caress your body softly, starting from your neck, squishing gently one of your boobs; then his hand kept moving lower from your chest to your hips… and that's when you felt it; the slap against one of your butt cheeks. How did he make it possible to do that? You didn't know. But, fuck, it did make you moan, loud.

“I said, answer me.”

You opened your eyes, and you were able to see it in his. Fuck, he was so ready to fuck the lights out of you.

“Please…” your voice sounded rougher than you intended or expected.

He smiled widely, “Please what, kitten?”

You were about to start crying, so lost in the pleasure that only he knew how to give you. You whimpered when he stilled your hips with his big hands and entered only the head in you.

“Please… Fuck me, Ejirou,” you cried, begging and desperate for him. You couldn't resist it any longer, you needed him.

He grinned one more time, looking proudly at you while caressing one of your cheeks with his thumb before kissing you deep, his tongue savoring your entire mouth and fighting your tongue for dominance that you were willing to surrender to him.

“That's my kitten,” he smiled with his forehead against yours.

Your mouth opened in an ‘O' shape in surprise of his following action. He thrusted his cock deep inside you in one go, making any sound that could come out of your mouth get stuck in your throat.

“Fuck, kitten,” he growled, touching with his hand the bulge that formed his cock inside you on your belly. “Your pussy takes my cock so well… It was made for me.” 

He started to move, taking his cock out of you slowly and then getting back inside in one hard thrust, still keeping his hand on your belly. He enjoyed so much to see how small you were that his cock practically made a very noticeable bulge every time it went inside you. 

“Fuck! Look at this small and tight pussy… All for me.”

He was lost in his pleasure.

And you just knew that this was only the beginning of a long and pleasurable night.

#mha fanfiction #mha smut #mha fluff #mha drabbles #mha imagines #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha kirishima #mha kirishima ejirou #mha kirishima smut #mha kirishima drabble #mha kirishima x you #mha eijiro kirishima #mha eijirou #bnha fanfiction #bnha drabble #bnha imagines #bnha smut #bnha fluff #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bnha kirishima #bnha kirishima ejirou #bnha eijiro kirishima #bnha kirishima x you #bnha kirishima smut #bnha eijirou kirishima smut