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happyhauntt · 5 months

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BURIAL GROUND, a hunger games fic.

─── summary: In District Four, they teach you how to survive the Games. They don’t teach you how to survive what comes after. ─── warnings: this story contains triggering themes including sexual assault & rape, prostitution, self-harm and thoughts of suicide, death and canon-typical violence. these themes, along with others, are prevalent in the hunger games universe and will come up in this story, so please don’t read if these things affect you! ─── fic tag. read on ao3. fic masterlist.

CHAPTER ONE ─── the uglier truth (3.8k words.)

YOU WOULD THINK, by the way people in the Capitol talk about Nimah Caplan, that she was some kind of deity. That she wasn't born human, but instead rose from the sea foam crashing onto the shores of District 4 one day, skin glowing like the inside of a buttercup and eyes greener than the freshest grass.

The Capitol likes to forget the uglier truth ━ that she was never some goddess that appeared out of the blue one day, some beautiful woman to be at the center of President Snow's glistening parties.

Nim hates to disappoint, but her life certainly didn't start out that way. She was a child, once, a long time ago. They drag it up every year, her adolescence reduced to nothing but a newsreel; it hurts to look at the films and see how young she used to be, still soft with innocence. She grew up a feral child, practically born with a knife in her hand, and yet still, before the Hunger Games, she'd been... something else.

On mornings like this, though, she wishes she were born of the sea. Dragging herself out of bed, the silken sheets still tangled around her legs, she stumbles into the bathroom across the hall. She runs the tap and holds her hands beneath the freezing water for a moment before splashing it onto her face, hoping the chill will wake her up faster.

Nim is fairly certain that goddesses don't get hangovers.

She groans, drying her face off with a towel. A mirror hangs above the sink, large and oval with a silver-painted frame. The sheet she threw over it years ago, in an effort to ensure she never saw her own reflection again, is loose at the edge. For just a moment, she catches a flash of blue-streaked curls, desperately in need of brushing.

She holds her breath and tugs the sheet back into place.

The clock says it's late. Later than she should be waking up, anyway, on market day. She learned a long time ago that alarm clocks weren't the best way of rousing her from a dead sleep, and Nim had destroyed more than enough of them in a panicked haze to prove it.

Heading back into her bedroom, she tugs on the nearest pair of black slacks she can find and grabs her tan wool-lined jacket from where it is draped over the foot of the bed. The empty bottle sitting on her bedside table glares at her until she grabs that, too, taking it downstairs with her and tossing it into the trash.

Her boots, slippery black leather, slide on too easily over her narrow shins. At the door, she pauses. The nausea comes quickly, an unpleasant burn lingering at the back of her throat, and Nim presses her forehead against the glass until it passes.

It isn't always so bad.

Most of the time, these days, she doesn't need to drink. At night, she can take her sleeping pills and drift off to a dreamless netherworld where little can trouble her, and the nightmares cannot fight their way into her subconscious to tear her brain apart. Nim is happy to survive in this way, half-rested, as long as the terrors stay safely trapped in the lining of her bones where they belong.

There are the bad days, though. Less now than there were a few years ago, when the Games were still fresh and the trauma was new, but they still happen. Those days, she cannot sleep without a bottle in her hand and enough alcohol in her system to tranquilize an elephant.

Those days only come when she knows the inevitable is coming. A fast train to the Capitol, a few nights clinking glasses with society's elite, a shining example of what a young woman should be, with the right stylists, escorts, manners ━ and a particularly memorable stint in the Hunger Games under her belt.

The thought of brushing shoulders with Capitol folk again always makes her want to crawl inside a bottle. The thought of what happens when the lights go down and the party is over makes her want to never come back out.

She swallows the bile back down and breathes deeply until her headache subsides a little, but the static on her skin never goes away. The hangover is only half of what makes her so sick; leaving her house in Victor's Village always feels like treading through a minefield. The wide open spaces, the eyes peering at her, judging her, reducing her to nothing but a tiny grain of sand...

Nimah can be confident. She can fake it with the best of them, hold her head high in the Capitol and wear her dazzling smile and bat her eyelashes, because when the cameras are out there is nothing else she can do. This was the part assigned to her when she won the Games, and it is the role she'll play for the rest of her life.

In her home district, though, Nim just wants to be invisible. Every pair of eyes on her feels like a dagger in her back. The navy streaks in her hair and the inhuman green of her eyes mark her out as a creature of the Capitol, now. An outsider.

Steeling herself, she wrenches open the front door and steps out into the street.

Nim used to think that Victor's Village was pretty. As a child, she'd stand at the gates and press her face between the bars, looking at the long row of a dozen white marble mansions, six on either side, dreaming of the day she'd get to live in one.

Now, as she treks down the path, gravel crunching beneath her feet, the mansions aren't so pretty anymore. They line up like pale tombstones on either side of her, empty windows leering into the street. At the very end of the road, six of the houses sit dark, with no one inside to make them into homes. Every other mansion in the village bares the flaws that Nim was blind to as a child; the cracks in the paint, the wrinkles in the skin of a Victor, the proof that the Games are not all they are made out to be.

Mags' home is nearest to the gates. Orange chrysanthemums blossom in the window boxes ━ gardening was the talent Mags chose when she won her Games around sixty years ago ━ but her gnarled hands haven't touched the soil in years. These days, the caretakers are the ones keeping the village looking perfect.

Annie Cresta's house sits across from it. There are little stars and hearts carved into the front door, from when the pair of them sat on the doorstep one day a few summers ago, intent on letting the world slip by for once. They'd been able to hear the voices from the square, where the rest of the district had gathered to watch that year's Victor on their victory tour. They were both supposed to go, but Annie's breakdown prevented her, and Nimah volunteered to stay behind and sit with her friend.

She'd stolen knives from the kitchen and they'd sat in silence, gritting their teeth, carving happy symbols into the wood, forcing their anger out in a way that was more productive than smashing things. The caretakers painted over them, but when Nim goes to visit her friend, she runs her fingers over the marks left behind by their knives. It reminds her of a solitary, pleasant memory in the midst of so much bad.

Next to Mags' house is Cowell. Winner of a Games that had long-since past, the windows of his mansion were broken years ago in a fit of rage, and boarded up with wood. Sometimes Nim can see the light from inside peeking through the gaps in the boards, but she doesn't see Cowell often. She doesn't mind. There is a haunted look lingering in his eyes, the kind she knows is mirrored in her own, and she hates to be reminded of her failures.

Hobbs lives next door to Annie. Almost as old as Mags, his door is always open for anyone who needs to talk. When Nim first returned from the Capitol after winning her Games, it was Hobbs she ran to when she could no longer stand the quiet in her own house.

Finnick and Nimah live opposite one another. She has been inside Finnick's home enough times to know that he keeps it immaculately tidy, as if cleaning up a physical mess is his way of sorting through the trauma he keeps buried. He always needs to keep his hands busy.

Nimah sleeps with every light on in her house. Before she goes to bed, she treks through all the rooms and closes all the curtains, only to turn on the light before she leaves. If she wakes up in a darkened room, terror clogs her throat until she can't breathe. Her screaming wakes up the whole street. Even now, at midday, if she looks back over her shoulder she'll find her bedroom window glowing with golden light. It's how she finds her way home.

When she reaches the gates, Nim pauses. Just beyond, down a long pathway, she can hear the bustle of the docks. From her window she can see the beach, the sea rising up in raucous grey waves to crash against the sand, and all the fishing boats bobbing in the water.

Her old house, a brown shack with only a few rooms and a leaking roof, isn't near the beach. It sits in a long row of other shacks, all different shapes and sizes, in the shadow of the huge fisheries. Her parents used to work on the conveyor line, sorting the fish. Nim grew up in a house where the scent of rotting fish permeated everything, and she shared a room with her brother, and her grandparents lived in the room next door. There were six of them in that house. Her family wasn't poor, they earned better wages than many in the district and Nim and her brother never had to take tesserae, but every spare bit of her parents' money was spent sending their children to the combat academies.

They didn't want the Hunger Games to take their children away.

At least not without a fight.

"Nim!"

The crunching of gravel creeps up on her, and she turns weary eyes upon her new companion, offering him a small smile. "Finnick. I thought you had left for the Capitol already."

His throat bobs as he comes to a stop beside her, holding the gate open so she can go through ahead of him. "Tomorrow." The smile he offers her in return is dazzling, white teeth gleaming like a shark's. "I've got business to attend to before the party next week. Are you going?"

His voice dips, and for a moment it vanishes in the cool wind blowing in off the sea. Nim can't help it; she shivers. The party in question is the Victor's Ball, held at the Presidential Palace for this year's newest winners, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. Former Victors have always been invited, but most of them don't bother to go; Annie hasn't been to the Capitol for years, not even as a Mentor, and Cowell never passes the threshold of his front door these days.

For Finnick and Nim, though, their attendance is not optional.

Nim grimaces at his question, knowing he is only asking to be polite. "I'm putting it off until the day before. I've no desire to be in the Capitol any longer than required."

Part of her likes it. The mindless gossip, the glitter and the gold, all the strange people and the way it distracts her for an hour or two. Her prep team dolls her up, and Nim has always shone as the center of attention, able to command a room with little effort.

The days after, though, she has to bury herself beneath the covers and cry. To be so outgoing comes at a cost. To allow strangers to touch her, to rub shoulders with them and laugh with them, takes all of her energy. At one of her first parties after winning, someone grabbed her wrist when she wasn't looking, and she nearly clawed their eyes out.

Surviving them takes everything she has.

Without another word, the pair of them start the slow trudge down the path towards the town square. Nim pulls her jacket tighter around her. In mid-winter, the weather in District 4 is mild. It never snows here, but on the coldest days, the wind coming from the sea nips and bites.

Her earliest memories are of summers spent playing on the beach with her brother, digging her toes into the warm sand. Those days were few and far between ━ the peacekeepers only opened the beach up to the public on holidays ━ but Nim's fondest memories are of chasing her brother into the surf and jumping over the waves.

Every one of those moments feels tinged with red, now. The salty tang in the air reminds Nim of blood on her tongue.

"What do you need from the market? I'll get it for you." Nim already has a list for Annie and Mags tucked into her pocket. The old woman had tried to insist that she was perfectly able to buy her own bread, but Nim had refused to listen.

Finnick shakes his head. "You look like you need the company." He looks at her, his eyes lingering on the plain silk eye patch and the dark circles beneath her uncovered eye, her unruly curls and the odd pallor of her skin.

Nim turns away. "I don't..."

She leaves her sentence unfinished and lowers her eyes, careful to ensure her steps are even, one boot in front of another. Part of Nim craves silence; where Finnick must always keep his hands busy, must always have something to do, Nim adores nothing more than the quiet rooms of her too-large house, legs crossed in the middle of the plush carpet, trying her best to breathe.

The small, traitorous heart of her, though, needs the company. Not to be surrounded, but to just exist with someone else, in the little moments of peace. To breathe with them. To be reminded that, no matter the horrors she has endured, there is someone else in the world that bleeds the same way she does.

That doesn't mean she appreciates it. Finnick Odair, the Capitol's golden boy, hovering over her shoulder like she's a fragile thing about to break. Him and Mags and Hobbs, all watching and waiting for her to snap again. Wondering if it will be worse than last time.

The pair of them walk on in silence, until they reach the town square. On market days, the square in front of the Justice Building fills up with stalls selling all kinds of goods. Peacekeepers mill through the crowd, white-gloved hands ready with their guns. They used to chat with stallholders, gossip and buy their bread without much trouble, but since Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark came through last week on their victory tour, things have been different.

There is a tension in the air that wasn't there before.

The shouting batters her ears. Nim closes her eyes for a moment, struck by the sudden rise in volume. Without a word, Finnick presses closer; not close enough to touch her, but she can feel the warmth of his hand hovering over the small of her back, close enough to shield her from the noise.

Releasing a slow breath through her nose, Nim heads over to the first of the long line of stalls. Drawing the crumpled list from her coat pocket, she passes it over to the stallholder, who sets to work putting a series of glass jars into a basket.

Finnick leans over Nim's shoulder. "What is Mags cooking up that requires that many jars?"

Nim shrugs. "Ask Mags."

They move along the line of stalls. Nim keeps her head low, eyes intently focused on the movements of her hands ━ passing the money across to each vendor, inspecting her purchases before carefully putting them into her basket. She can feel Finnick at her back, only a few inches taller but feeling infinitely more like a human shield the longer she spends in the midst of a crowd.

She hates this. Every time someone she doesn't know accidentally brushes past, she flinches away. A vile feeling coils in the pit of her stomach like a viper waiting to strike; an urge to run coupled with the instinct to attack first, to drive a knife through someone's throat before they can get her.

Her muscles tense. She keeps a tight grip on the basket, lime-green eye darting from stranger to stranger, her pupil narrowed to a tiny black pinprick. Everyone is an threat, even the people she recognises ━ a girl she went to school with lingers by one of the many shellfish stalls, hardly paying attention to her surroundings, but when Nim blinks, she sees a flash of bare teeth lunging for her neck.

To be that ignorant, she thinks, pushing the obtrusive thoughts away. It does not stop the horrible prickling of her skin, but she loosens her shoulders a bit. Even with the Peacekeepers wandering around, everyone in the marketplace seems so carefree in comparison to the thundering of her heart. None of them know what it is like to have blood on their hands; to feel the slick warmth of it as it runs up their wrist, to scrub and scrub until their skin is raw and still feel no closer to clean.

The girl ━ her name tugs at the edge of Nim's memory, but Nim hasn't thought of her old schoolmates in so long that it feels like that life belonged to someone else ━ moves along. Nim tracks her movements like a predator until she has moved just out of view, and suddenly someone else, someone heartbreakingly familiar, crosses into her line of vision.

She can feel Finnick looking at her, wondering why she froze like a deer caught in the sights of a hunter, but with one look at where she is staring, he understands.

Her grandmother hasn't seen them yet.

Distantly, as if she is underwater, Nim can hear the irritated mutters of people as they step around her and Finnick, annoyed that they've stopped in the middle of the path. Finnick wraps his hand around Nim's arm and gently tugs her out of the way. Almost automatically, she tears herself out of his grasp, shocked out of her haze.

The old woman stops at one of the stalls further down, clutching the hand of a young child. Something stony and cold ripples through Nim as the little girl, no older than six, chatters happily away. Beneath the eye patch, the marbled scar over Nim's eye burns.

"Have you talked to her recently?" Finnick's voice is soft in her ear, but Nim wants to reach up and rip his tongue out. Finnick, darling of the Capitol. Finnick, who, in the eyes of the world, seems never to have done anything wrong in his life ━ except save her.

Nim scoffs. "What do we have to talk about?"

He grimaces, a poor attempt to hide his loathing of the old woman. He has never been so good at biting his tongue when it could get him into trouble with Nim, but these days, he knows better than to push her where her family is concerned.

Her grandmother buys a loaf of bread and carries on walking, pulling the little girl along beside her. The child tosses her head back to giggle, a wave of brown curls cascading over her shoulders, before suddenly she looks back over her shoulder, beaming a bright smile at no-one in particular.

"I'm not a masochist," Nim says through gritted teeth. Jaw clenched, she watches as her grandmother and the girl press on, eyes lingering on them until the crowd swallows them up and they vanish from sight.

#* fic: burial ground.#* chapter update.#the hunger games #the hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #thg series #* ch: nimah caplan.

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octaviasdread · 2 days

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Mrs Perry, the 50s Housewife & Neil

This entire post is inspired by a discord discussion so I can't take all the credit, but Mrs Perry gives off alllll the signals of a 50s housewife reliant on emotional suppression and prescription pills to cope with the demands of post-war society.

'They used barbiturates to aid in sleep, minor tranquilizers to ease anxiety, and amphetamines to help lose weight and boost energy. [...] Women’s pill consumption signals their difficulties, at times, before feminism of the era explicitly touched upon them' - Erin Brown, You Go to My Head: Women's Prescription Pill Use in Postwar America

Her smoking while she waits for Neil to return with Mr Perry from the play suggests a habit to cope with stress. It’s also notable that she hurries to put it out. Is this a further sign she’s smoking to relieve anticipation, or is it something she doesn’t want Neil to see?

And Mr Perry? His treatment of her can partly be explained by patriarchal family structure. What Mr Perry wants, Mr Perry gets. He is head of the family, and takes the lead in family communications with Neil, so much that beneath Mr Perry's repeated use of 'we,' it's difficult to discern how Neil's mother feels.

In the scenes set in the Perry house, we mainly see the family in Mr Perry's study. This direct parallel to Nolan's office INSIDE Neil's home emphasises the rule of authority over his life, and the extent of how trapped he is.

The parallel is important because Nolan's office is shown as a place of punishment for the students, and a reinforcement of their lack of agency.

More specifically, the deleted scenes show school clubs being dictated to the boys as they stand in front of Nolan’s desk. This confirms that school annual - and the editorial position that Neil earned - is taken from him on Mr Perry's whim, just as his whole life is ripped away the next time he stands beside a desk in Mr Perry’s office.

The hurt and betrayal Neil feels in these early scenes is hidden from Nolan, and he submits to the authority of his father. But Neil can no longer hide his hurt by the end. He has gained and then lost too much to accept the stricter controls Mr Perry is imposing.

So what does Mrs Perry do when faced with her son's obvious distress? Almost nothing.

Her worry for her son is real, but she shows no true support that Neil can rely on. He looks to her for help and comfort twice. The first time, she looks down, then back at Neil, and says nothing. The second time is after she begins to speak, but her one attempt fails, and she falls back into passivity.

She stands aside. It's as if Mrs Perry isn't really there, stuck behind an invisible boundary observing the damage as the scene unfolds.

It's only when Mr Perry leaves that she provides some fleeting comfort - but this comfort doesn't feel present to Neil. She doesn't articulate her support, doesn't touch him, or make signs that Neil can grasp without doubting her belief in him.

Instead of prioritising her son, she follows Mr Perry without complaint, leaving Neil to grieve alone for the loss of everything he holds dear.

This tiny scene says so much about the dysfunctional family dynamic Neil has been raised in. It's impossible to say when it started, or when his mother stopped advocating for Neil's emotional wellbeing, but there's definitely a bond - however strained - between mother and son that isn't shared with Mr Perry.

As @desire-mona has said, Mr Perry uses his wife and possibly her health to guilt and manipulate Neil into following his demands. There's definitely an argument to made for Mrs Perry having fragile health. If this is physical, or a 'nervous' ailment historically diagnosed in housewives, or a combination of the two isn't clear. Whatever it is, she must not be upset.

This puts a lot of pressure on a child, and Neil (understandably) complies under the threat. As the above scene implies, Neil is blamed, and likely blames himself, if Mrs Perry's symptoms get worse around the time he disobeys, or just fails to please his parents.

The Perrys different reactions to stress are clearest at the discovery of Neil's death. The shock causes Mr Perry to bypass anger (although anger returns in his search for someone - i.e. Keating - to blame) and his care for Neil surfaces. This is the first time his care is shown through sympathetic emotion rather than demands for Neil to succeed.

Mrs Perry hurtles into denial. Her body is reacting to distress, but she can't comprehend reality. 'He's alright,' she repeats, retreating into a fragile imagined safety to cope.

@pencileraser1 has also linked the parallels between Mrs Perry and Neil smoking to the possibility of an inherited mental illness.

Being raised in an emotionally abusive household, and internalising the shame of not conforming to Mr Perry's ideal would be enough to contribute to depression in Neil. But I think both mother and son could share dissatisfaction and a desire for escapism.

When faced with the constraints of the larger system they live under, their mental illness plays out in different ways.

Neil finds a healthier outlet behind the backs of authority through the club, acting, and finding an adult mentor to support him, while Mrs Perry has little to no opportunities to escape the confines of the home or the scrutiny of her community.

Once these opportunities (and coping mechanisms) are taken from him, Neil doesn't turn to smoking, escapist poetry, or other forms of temporary numbing. He's seen his parents suburban lives, seen the life they want for him, and perhaps he can't and won't live in quiet compliance the way Mrs Perry does.

I wonder how Mrs Perry copes afterwards? Does she see a decent therapist? Separate (but not divorce) from Mr Perry? Does she take pills and numb herself further? I don't think I want to know.

#you know its exam season when I start posting essays no one asked for #but i was listening to fortnight and thinking 50s housewife thoughts and ended up here #mr perry only breaks his favourite toys indeed #CO Posts #dead poets society #dps #neil perry #dead poets fandom #mrs perry #dps fandom #mr perry

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littlemisspascal · 7 months

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Rockford & Roan Pt. 4

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’

Word Count:2.8k

Summary: “Do you doubt our match, Miss Roan?” he asks, and it’s a shocking enough question you legitimately can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But if he is being serious…

Rating: T

Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding, references of dead bodies + suicide, police, HTTYD reference, scars

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford. Reader is mentioned to have hair

Author Note: Thank you so so much for all the kind support 💗

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Series Masterlist

The Case

You take possession of one of Rockford’s spare notebooks, yellow and spiral bound, scribbling down details about the case he’s been asked by the police to help investigate.

7 suicides over the past 8 months

Unsure why the brief lapse during the third month

Perhaps to throw police off potential trail?

Victims are all different ages, backgrounds, careers

Also found dead in different locations across Fox Leap—alleyways, parking lots, isolated spots

No witnesses

No suicide notes left behind

Single commonality: all died by ingesting a cyanide pill

Suspects? None

Police aren’t convinced deaths are connected

Rockford is certain they are

I don’t know what to think

The Invitation

Friday evening finds you job hunting across the internet from the comfort of the couch. It’s another one of the steps of Dr. Odair’s grand therapy plan to reintegrate you into society. Of course, what she failed to mention was that the potential career opportunities for ex-military empaths are few and far between. You lean back against the cushion, resisting the urge to grab your mug of tea and pour it onto your laptop. It’s not the computer’s fault there’s a prejudice against those with mind-gifts after all.

The squeaks of Banjo’s stuffed toy pull your attention towards the dog rolling around on the floor, his beloved plush panda Bamboo held between his paws, teeth gnawing at its leg. Rockford lies stretched out on the white rug nearby, eyes closed, the picture perfect example of tranquility. He isn’t sleeping—you can tell by the tapping of his fingers against his stomach, a song only he knows—but it’s nice to pretend. For all that you’ve pestered him with questions about his job and for all that Rockford has patiently answered each one without even the tiniest thrum of irritation, his bizarre, seemingly nonexistent sleeping schedule is a topic you’ve yet to broach with him.

Brown eyes snap open, startling you so badly it’s a miracle your laptop isn’t sent crashing to the floor. Before you can ask what’s wrong, Rockford’s on his feet and stalking off down the hallway in a blur. You blink, caught off guard, and exchange a look with an equally bewildered Banjo. Should you follow after him or…?

A knock on the front door makes the decision for you.

The prospect of a guest sends Banjo into a tizzy, ditching Bamboo without remorse, tail wagging so fast it’s a wonder it doesn’t fly off. You can’t exactly blame him. Other than a quick visit from the landlady to give you your own set of keys and introduce herself— Professor Rosasharn Claremont, an instructor of forensic sciences at the local university with prehensile hair she used to slap the back of Rockford’s head for not visiting her enough—nobody’s knocked on the door as long as you’ve lived here.

You’re not sure who’s brain function shorts out first when you open the door: yours or the unknown man wearing a police badge on his belt. He’s middle-aged, dirty blond hair, a scar twisting along in a distorted line from the left side of his mouth to his ear. A hideous mark, but at the same time intriguing in its uniqueness. You can’t help but think how if it was copied onto the right side, it’d almost look like some kind of villainous grin.

Banjo’s attempt of squeezing between your leg and the doorway to get a good sniff of the man is enough to jumpstart you back into motion. Nudging him away with your socked foot, you tell him to return to his bed, punctuating the command with a firm point of your finger. Only once he sullenly pads away, ears drooped as if you’ve just gutted Bamboo right in front of him with a butcher knife, do you turn back to face the policeman, who appears to have also gotten over his initial surprise.

“Can I help you, officer?”

“Inspector,” he corrects with an accent you can’t quite place, almost like a rumbling sort of growl, but despite the harsh sound his tone is polite as he introduces himself. “Inspector Dorrance with the Fox Leap Police Department. I’m here for Tim Rockford.”

His emotions are almost unnaturally steady, like he’s got the internal parts of a clock ticking away rather than temperamental hormones. You figure he must’ve gone through some sort of training course for mood management. Smart. A lawman with a high pressure job, anger issues, and a loaded gun is a disaster waiting to happen.

“Oh, is this about the case?” you ask with far more perkiness in your voice than you intend.

“He told you about that, did he,” Inspector Dorrance says in the exact same instant that Rockford calls out from the depths of the apartment, “Get to the point why you’re here, Kez.”

Kez? You mouth to yourself before opening the door wider, inviting the inspector to step inside. He isn’t subtle as he looks around, gaze lingering noticeably on the few personal items of yours spread throughout the room, before he turns towards the hall.

“Another body’s been found. Abandoned warehouse near the wharf.”

“And?” Rockford asks, still out of view.

Dorrance side-eyes you, clearly debating with himself the legalities of discussing an open case with a civilian present. A civilian he clearly knew nothing about as of two minutes ago. You offer up only silence in response, too curious for your own good to leave without him directly asking.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Your roommate emerges from his office, his trench coat gripped in one hand and mouth fixed in an unimpressed frown. He gestures between you and the inspector. “Kez, my current roommate and match, Roan. Roan, my ex-roommate and one of the only competent members of law enforcement in the city, Keziah. Can we get back to the victim now?”

Your eyes widen. Ex-roommate? How long have they known each other? There’s definitely a story there.

“I’m sorry,” Dorrance begins, “did you just say she’s your match? When the hell were you going to tell me this happened?”

“Apparently not,” Rockford mutters. “I was going to tell you when it came up. And it just did.”

“You—” Dorrance cuts himself off with a sharp exhale through his nose.

It really is a credit to Dorrance’s mood management training his emotions don’t even so much as dip or catch fire. Instead, he shoots Rockford a look that plainly says, We’re going to be talking about this later, and then turns to face you once more.

“I wish we were meeting on better circumstances. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you since you’re his match that underneath this—” he gestures vaguely at Rockford which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You just gestured to all of me.”

Dorrance carries on, unbothered, “—is a giant question mark nobody will ever find the answer to. But if I were to bet on anyone coming close, I’d put my money on you.”

“Thank you, I think,” you say, daring a quick glance at Rockford’s face, which you’re pleased to notice has softened the tiniest bit. “You’ll be the first one I tell if I do.”

For whatever reason, your answer has the inspector immediately smirking, left side of his face stretched tight due to the scar tissue.

“Kez, in addition to being a recurring pain in my side,” Rockford explains, sensing your confusion, “is also a lie detector. Any hint of dishonesty and his gift’ll catch it. Makes him handy in the interrogation room.”

Gifts can be interesting like that sometimes, lining up perfectly with a specific job. A singer with the ability to alter their voice to any pitch, a fireman with an immunity to burns, a veterinarian who can speak to animals–you’ve seen them all. Human lie detector is a new one though, you’ll admit.

Dorrance shoves a hand into his pocket, fishing out his phone vibrating with an incoming text. He scans the message, smirk wiped off his face and replaced with grimness.

“Right, back to the reason I came over,” he says briskly, tucking his cell away again. “You know how the victims never leave notes?”

“Yes.” Rockford’s listening attentively, eyes narrowed. “What of it?”

“This one did.”

Rockford’s expression doesn’t change, not even a twitch of his brow. His mind though, oh his mind’s the calm before the storm. Something’s beginning to stir awake underneath the surface. Tempted by the reveal, hungry for more details to dig its teeth into.

For weeks you’ve wondered about the depths unknown to your empathy, about what lurks there. You’ve got a distinct, icy certainty crawling up your spine you’re soon to discover another side of your match previously unseen.

“Will you come to the scene?” Dorrance asks hopefully.

“Of course. No point sitting at home when there’s an exciting development going on.” Rockford begins slipping his arms through the sleeves of his trench coat, adjusting the collar to his liking. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been down to the wharf.”

“Just try not to piss off anyone, will you? One dead body is enough to deal with as it is.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Rockford says with a wry grin. Then, turning to you, he arches an eyebrow, “Well, Roan, you got any plans this evening?”

You think of your laptop back on the couch, numerous job sites still left to be checked.

“Uh, no,” you answer, shaking your head. “Not really.”

“Roan was in the military,” your roommate tells the inspector, but his eyes remain held on your face, a speculating glint in them that has you subconsciously straightening up. Almost as if you’re standing at attention. “You saw a lot of violent deaths, didn’t you?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Witnessed several dangerous situations?”

“Worst of the worst. Stuff of pure nightmares.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, becoming heavier. There’s a crime scene needing to be examined, a case to be closed, and yet everything seems to have slowed down all at once. As if the very air itself has frozen solid. And you realize you’re holding your breath, waiting for something.

“Want to see some more?”

An invitation.

Dr. Odair’s been telling you now that you’ve matched and your mind-gift has become more manageable, it’s time to pick up some hobbies. To go out to more places for fun other than just the library and dog park. No doubt she was probably thinking of safe and relaxing options like chess or badminton or pottery classes at the rec center.

The problem though, is that safe and relaxing doesn’t spark a wildfire in your blood, bringing you back to the days where you had a clear purpose to fulfill and problems to deal with head-on. You want another adventure, and here’s one dangling right in front of you, just waiting for you to say—

“Hell yes,” you blurt out, and even without your mind-gift you can tell Rockford’s happy with your choice by the half curl of his mouth and crinkling around his eyes as he asks Dorrance for the address.

The Doubt

Rockford holds the cab door open for you, sliding in after you’ve settled against the plush seat with Banjo secure in your lap. The little mutt’s tail beats a rhythm against your jacket, excited about the trip even if he has no clue the final destination. You’re still not convinced bringing a dog of all creatures to an active crime scene investigation is the wisest move, but let the record show your roommate has a helluva weakness for Banjo’s puppy eyes.

“Keziah’s team of imbeciles disguised as CSIs are wreaking havoc on the scene as we speak. I highly doubt there’s much more damage Banjo can cause,” Rockford had said with an amused look when you voiced your concern. “Besides, no man left behind. Isn’t that the military creed?”

And well, he wasn’t wrong about that. (Not to mention, you’ve got a pretty big weakness for Banjo’s sweet brown eyes too…)

The drive to the wharf is brief without too much annoying traffic. Outside, the sun’s dipped out of sight and darkness is enveloping the city, street lights blinking on. Inside, it’s quiet except for a country song playing lowly on the radio. The cabbie’s mood is easygoing if not a little bogged down by exhaustion whereas Banjo’s is a bouncy spring of enthusiasm, nose practically pressed against the window as his eyes struggle to keep up with all the sights rolling past. Still, as entertaining as the pup’s emotions are, your mind-gift continues circling back to the man sitting next you like a homing pigeon.

Nothing’s changed within his mindscape during the journey. The calm, almost eerie stillness from before is still in effect. You can tell he’s thinking about something—the man’s never not thinking—but whatever it is clouding his gaze, furrowing his brow, is not disturbing enough to imprint upon your empathy. It’s moments like this one where you wish you were a mind reader, if only for a few seconds.

“We’re here,” Rockford announces, paying the cabbie his fare.

Scrambling out of the vehicle, you set Banjo down on the ground. While he performs a full-bodied shake, you take in the cluster of police cars and flashing lights and abundance of barricade tape surrounding a warehouse, derelict and foreboding, along the waterfront. The press have also caught wind of the scene, prowling around with their microphones and cameras like vultures. You swallow, subconsciously twisting the leash around your fingers.

You’d wanted an adventure and yet…this is all so very, very different from a battlefield. It’s a whole other form of organized chaos, and it’s terrifying not having the slightest clue how to safely navigate it.

Your initial fears were misplaced. It won’t be Banjo making a mess. It will be you.

Rockford starts forward, clearly eager to get to work, only to halt after five steps when you fail to follow. He turns around to look you over from head to toe, carefully nudging at your mind-gift as he does so, confusion only deepening when he fails to understand your lack of movement. “Is something the matter?”

You bite your lip, glancing nervously once more between the hive of activity and his steady brown eyes. “I don’t think I belong here.”

Rockford stares at you, the glow of the street light illuminating one side of his face.

“Do you doubt our match, Miss Roan?” he asks, and it’s a shocking enough question you legitimately can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But if he is being serious…

Your head’s already shaking aggressively before a response forms. “N-no, absolutely not!” you say hastily, frantic to assure him of the truth. You close the gap of distance, hoping somehow being closer will remedy the spiraling situation, but when that doesn’t smoothen out the wrinkles on his forehead your empathy reacts by hurling a tangled ball of loyalty-friendship-safety-contentment straight at him. The most desperate of Hail Mary plays.

Rockford sucks in a breath. You watch his expression spasm, knocked off-kilter, before it settles into something as exasperated as it is fond. This time, the nudge against your mind-gift is firmer, the only warning you get before the ball you’d thrown returns and smacks you square in the chest.

“Oh,” is your immediate reaction, breathless from the intensity.

What was it he had said before? You and him are two halves of the same whole.

And then there’s a warm hand on top of your head, gentle, affectionate, and you’re breathless for an entirely different reason. You blink up at Rockford, heart thudding in your chest.

“That’s right. You,” he says slowly, purposefully, “belong anywhere I am. Banjo, too.”

Banjo woofs, baring his teeth in a snaggletoothed grin, and you’d chuckle at that if you had any air left in your lungs. Not for the first time, you cannot help but marvel at your match’s realness. There’s no such thing as perfection, but you think he comes pretty damn close.

“Now you’ve done it,” you aim for humor, but you can’t shake the wobble from your voice. “You'll never know a moment’s peace again.”

“Ah, peace is overrated,” Rockford declares with an unconcerned shrug, hand returning to the pocket of his trench coat. “So, we’re in agreement then. We’re stuck with each other.”

“Mhmm, no take backsies.”

You needed this moment, this reassurance. The doubts you hadn’t even known you carried have been firmly put to rest, vanquished by the proof he values the soulbond tying your lives together just as much as you do.

But despite the importance of this conversation you can’t keep ignoring the flashing lights up ahead forever. Your eyes slide past Rockford, spotting Inspector Dorrance in his grey suit amongst the sea of navy uniformed officers gesturing with his arms.

“Ultimately, it’s your choice where you go,” Rockford says, and it’s clear he’s made up his own mind by the way he turns away from you, resuming his walk towards the scene.

You watch the dramatic flaring of the bottom of his coat with each step, watch the tapping of his fingers against his left thigh, watch as the man tosses one last remark over his shoulder:

“Keep up, Roan. We both know you’re coming with me.”

By the time he reaches the barricade tape, you and Banjo are right by his side. Exactly where you both belong.

#tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x ofc #tim rockford fanfiction #pedrostories #my writing #my fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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bella-goths-wife · 6 months

Note

Hey! I had an Idea for the Father Lost Boys, How do you think the boys would react to accidently killing the reader, during the attack of the Emersons and the boys?

If you don't want to write it that's ok!

Thanks!

Lost boys accidentally killing their daughter

Hiya :)

I’m happy to write this but it won’t be for the Emerson attack because I don’t want to rush my timeline in my head for my fics if that makes sense?

This isn’t canon for my lost boys daughter au :)

Contents: how the lost boys would react if they accidentally killed their daughter

Warnings: overdoses, gore, death, murder, descriptions of wounds, burning, blood

Dwayne

You had been running around the cave trying to escape them again, you were trying to leave them and Dwayne couldn’t stand it.

Your leg muscles screamed in protest, for you to just take a break and to stop running. You couldn’t though, you were so close to the exit.

You had just reached the exit to the cave when Dwayne appeared behind you. You could hear the waves thrashing against the sharp rocks of the cliff side below.

“You can’t keep running sweetheart” Dwayne tries to say gently in an attempt to coax you back into the cave, his tone comes off more sinister than he wanted it to.

“Papa please, I can’t stay here” you say with tears in your eyes “not with David, I can’t be one of you”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you have to stay with us” Dwayne says firmly as he takes a few steps forward and you take a few steps back in response “we’re a family”

“No we’re not” you say with frustration in your voice “families don’t lock their children away in small spaces and starve them, families don’t hit their children and leave scars on them!”

“Stop talking like that baby, we’re a happy family and your our perfect little girl” Dwayne refuses to look outside his delusional view of the family as he comes closer and closer to you “your just going through an emotional phase right now”

“You can’t be serious” you yell in desperation “you all abused me, you locked me away and lied to me for years”

“Enough (y/n).” Dwayne orders firmly as he closes his eyes and attempts to calm his growing rage “your being ridiculous”

He continues to walk closer and closer as you back away with every stop he takes.

“You killed my mother!” You yell in a grief stricken rage “your all fucked in the head, your all sick-“

“I SAID ENOUGH” Dwayne yells in rage while his vampiric features forced their way to his face and he stared at you without a hint of recognition for you.

You hadn’t realised how close to the edge you were until Dwayne’s angry screams had scared you into moving backwards again, causing you to miss a step and fall down the cliff side.

There is a moment of hesitation in Dwayne’s actions as he watched the little girl that he had held as a baby and raised fall to her death. The shock rendering him stuck in place for a few seconds.

After the shock passed, he ran forward and attempted to use his vampiric abilities to reach you and save you, but it was too late.

He heard you let out a loud grunt as your body made impact with the sharp rocks below, but he still wanted to try and save you.

He fell to his hands and knees as he looked below and saw your body impaled on a particularly large rock. Even from the distance between the top of the cliffs to the waves and rocks below, he could hear you choking on your own blood.

He saw your pain filled eyes meet his and he watched as your life drained from them while your spirit left your body.

Dwayne stared with widened eyes at your mutilated body for a few minutes before the tears started to flow and he let out what could only be described as a pained howl of grief.

He had killed his little girl, and your last memory of him was watching you die.

Paul

Paul hadn’t meant to leave you locked up. He just forgot.

After David had commanded him to keep watch of the punishment room with you locked inside, Paul got bored, and when Paul got bored he got high.

After taking enough pills to tranquillise, or a vampire in this case, Paul fell asleep on the couch for several hours.

And when he awoke, he was still under the effects of the hallucinogenic medication.

“Kid?” He spoke confused with a raspy voice as he saw your figure sitting at the edge of the couch with your back to him “your not meant to be here”

“The sun rises soon” you whisper with no emotion in your voice “the rest will be back”

“How did you get out of the punishment room?” Paul asks confused and half asleep as he sits up on the couch and stares at your turned figure “it’s almost impossible to get out”

“Why did you take the pills Paul?” You ask calmly “don’t you know how dangerous that could be?”

“Don’t start (y/n)” Paul warns with a groan as he rubs his temple in an exasperated manner “or I’ll just take you straight back to the punishment room and make you spend another night in there”

“I don’t see how you could do that Paul” you say with what sounded like amusement “tell me Paul, have you always been this uncaring for me or is it a recent development”

“I love you kid, you know that” Paul says with an annoyed groan “but I can’t stop my fun for you all the time”

“I’d check your watch Paul” you warn calmly “it’s almost time”

“Time for what?” Paul asks exasperated “why are you talking in riddles?”

“Do you remember what you did after you locked me in that room?” You ask ominously “do you remember exactly”

“I locked the door, I pulled over the bolt and I lit the candle in the candle holder outside your door” he answers with an annoyed sigh “are you going to tell me I forgot to lock the door or something?”

“Which candle holder did you use Paul?” You prompt “the one on the right side of the door, or the one on the left side of the door”

“Does it matter?” Paul asks with a roll of his eyes

“The right side was cleaned and repaired by Dwayne the night before so that it was safe to hold the weight of the candle, the left side was rusted and falling apart” you state “so which did you use?”

“I don’t remember-“ Paul answers but you cut him off

“Fucking think about it” you snarl “which one did you use-“

“The left one!” Paul yells back “I used the left candle stick holder-“

Paul stops speaking when he smells smoke wafting down the caves tunnels. He springs up off the couch at the sudden realisation as he runs inhumanly fast to the punishment room.

When he gets to it, it’s covered in fire and smoke. The left candle stick holder is reduced to pieces of rusted metal on the floor and the candle sits idly next to the wooden door, erupting it into flames.

“The candle fell three hours into your nap, the fire started ten minutes after that” Paul heard your voice behind him but he could rip his eyes away from your cremated corpse that was laying on the floor in front of him, you were barely recognisable with your body burnt to charred skin apart from those damn eyes that stared at him lifelessly “I tried to stave the carbon dioxide that was going to suffocate me by placing blankets under the door but they eventually caught fire so I called for your help but you were too high to realise, I eventually suffocated after two hours of torture and then the fire reached my body and burned me to ash on the cave floors”

“This isn’t real” Paul denies frantically “you can’t be dead, your talking to me”

“You didn’t think those pills would effect you at all, did you?” You ask as your figure walks in front of him and looks him the eyes “I’m not your real daughter silly, she’s dead and burned”

“Please I’ll do anything, I’m so sorry” Paul gets to his knees and begs “please I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Bring me back to my little girl”

“Your so pathetic Paul” you spit “but there is one way you can see her again”

“How?” Paul asks desperately “please tell me”

You make your way behind him so he has a view of the flaming room as it crumbled beneath the hot temperatures.

“Walk into the flames” you command “and the you can be with her”

“I’ll die, I can’t” Paul refuses with a shake of his head

“The others will kill you once they get back anyway Paul” you remind

You walk in front of him and you hold your hand out for him to take.

“Walk into the flames with me papa” you command almost gently, wearing a joyful smile that reminded him of when you were a young girl “and we can stay together forever”

Paul stares at you figure with tears rolling down his cheeks. He knows your a hallucination, but your the closest thing he has to his daughter right now.

He wipes his tears and takes your hand before walking into the flaming room, ready to accept the fate he forced upon you.

Marko

This wasn’t markos best idea, but it was the only one he had.

He knocked on your door gently with the sandwich and milk on his hand, and he mustered a genuine smile to his face.

“Pops?” You say confused as you open the door to your room “what’s up?”

“I’ve made you some lunch” he says with an innocent smile “it’s your favourite from when you were a little girl, peanut butter and jelly sandwich”

“That’s nice pa, but I’m going for lunch with James and faith” you remind gently as possible to make sure not to anger him, markos face has an annoyed twitch at the mention of your lovers “did you forget?”

“Oh sorry baby” he coos almost condescendingly “but it’s a shame to waste the food, it’s not like I can eat it”

“Pa it’s sweet of you to offer but I don’t want to be full” you say apologetically

“So your not gonna eat it? I went out and bought bread specifically for you” he attempts to guilt “but I guess if your not hungry enough”

“No, no” you say quickly as you take the plate from him “I’m sorry I’m being rude, I’ll eat it”

“That’s my girl” marko says with a smile as he kisses your forehead “shout if you need me”

Marko walks away and once your door closes he lets a sinister smile spreads over his face. He thought himself so clever.

He stockpiled Paul’s sleeping pills for months so he could save you from having to go out with your lovers. Now every time they try and take you out you’ll simply sleep through it until they get tired of trying.

He thought crushing those pills up and putting them in your food was the best option, he didn’t know it would bite him in the ass.

After a few hours of you not emerging from your room and being hours late for the date with your lovers, Marko let a smirk come to his face.

After a few more hours the cave felt colder because of the winter air, so marko being a ‘dutiful’ father decided he should go bring you a blanket and tuck you in. Humans are fragile after all.

He opens your door with a grin and a blanket in his hands. He sees you turned on your side in the bed with your back facing him.

“It’s just me baby” he whispers to your sleeping form “i didn’t want you to get cold, so I brought you a blanket”

He approaches your sleeping form and notices your lack of snoring, he thought it was the sleeping pills just putting you in a deep sleep but that changed when he also noticed your lack of heartbeat.

He rushes to your body and turns you over to find a glassy sheen over your eyes and froth at your mouth.

“Baby?” He says desperately as he shakes your body in an attempt to wake you up “baby please”

You don’t wake up, your icy cold in his hands as he stare at your expressionless face and empty eyes.

“Your just sleeping” he tries to convince himself as he wipes your mouth “you made such a mess baby, it’s okay I’m here to clean in”

He strokes your hair gently before his hand brushes against your ice cold cheek.

“You should have told me If you were cold sweetie” he scolds your corpse as hysterical chuckles force their way up his throat “here let’s wrap you up nice and warm”

He wraps the two of you up in the blanket and he lays your head on his chest. He holds your limp body close to him as he tries his best to convince himself that your just asleep.

“My sweet girl, my little baby” he coos in delusional “I’m so sorry that your so sleepy, it’s all my fault”

He sobs and he holds your corpse close to him under the blanket, convinced that he’ll be wake you up if he gets you warm enough but you were dead hours before he found you and he never heard your heartbeat slow or you choking on your own vomit from the overdose.

The others would deal with him when they got back.

David

It was another typical day with David, the usual arguments and anger filled the room that only held the two of you.

David wanted time with you and you wanted to be as far away from him as you possibly could be, but he had the power to force you into the room with him. That didn’t mean you had to play nice for him.

He had your leg chained to the wall with a long chain that made it so you could sit on the couch with only a slight bit of discomfort. David was sat next to you as he pretended to watch whatever movie was on the old television.

“Stop staring at me” you commanded sternly as you kept your eyes on the tv and David’s gaze burned into the side of your face “it’s creepy”

“I’m your father, could it be creepy?” David questions with a scoff

“Technically you’re not” you point out with a huff “so it makes it creepy”

“I fed you, clothed you, and raised you” David points out as he sips his beer with a furrowed brow “that makes me your father”

“If we’re going by that logic then your still not my father” you scoff “Dwayne would be my only father if we go by your logic”

David massages his temple with a frown and an angry glare.

“Enough” he commands with a glare “i don’t even know how you got this attitude, but you need to cut it out”

“I got this attitude when I found out you killed my mother, kidnapped me, lied to me and abused me my entire life” you exclaim angrily

“Yeah but you seem extra pissy today and it’s pissing me off” David says in a sinister tone “so just shut the fuck up and enjoy the movie”

“Maybe I’m extra pissy today because I’m chained to the fucking wall David” you yell before sighing “your a sick fuck, y’know that David?”

“Yeah yeah, I get it” he refutes back unamused “poor you having a roof over your head and unconditional love from four fathers, woe is me and all”

“Unconditional love?” You laugh humourlessly as you stand to face him “love that I received in the form of starvation and abuse?”

“You needed to be punished” David says with an annoyed sigh

“What happened to you David?” You ask as he stands and you use all your force to push him away from you “who fucked you up this much? Who made you into this cruel monster? What happened to you? Did daddy hit you so now you have to do the same to me?”

David’s eyes widened and his head jerks to look at you as he grabs your arms and holds you in place.

“Listen here you little bitch” David seethes as he holds you in place “you don’t talk to me like that ever again. Do you understand me?”

“Or what David? You gonna hit me again?” You say without fear as you shove him away again “your just a coward David, a stupid fucking coward who targets children and vulnerable women just to feel less like a miserable fuck up”

“enough kid” David commands firmly as he balls up his fists and his vampiric claws begin to extend and stab into his palms

“Is that why you started this little group of emotionally stunted men? To feel less alone and less of a fuck up because you always had people to fall back on?” You scream in his face as you push him again in anger

“Enough (y/n)” David repeated louder this time as his fangs extended and he felt rage build up inside him

“Is that why you kidnapped me? Because you wanted to feel less alone so you stole me away and isolated me from everyone I loved” you scream “or did you do it because you wanted to prove to max that you don’t fuck up everything you touch and you thought a child would be the best option for that? Well David you fucking failed”

“Enough” David yells again as he stalks closer and you push him back once again

“I hate you” you yell out “you should just kill me like you killed my mother”

“Stop it” David yells sternly “shut the fuck up”

“Go on murder me, murder me like you murdered my mother” you yell louder with each word as you get more in David’s face “murder me! Murder me like you. Murdered. My. Mother!”

“I said stop” David yells and he pounced on you with his hands wrapping around your neck harshly and his vampiric claws dig into the delicate flesh of your neck “shut the fuck up”

David only realises your bleeding when he hears your pained howl. He removes his hands quickly from your neck and sees a large slit across your neck that his claws caused.

He stares at his blood covered hands before his gaze travels up your trembling body until it reached your fearful, teary eyed face.

“Oh baby” he says desperately as he holds his hand to your wound and applies pressure in attempt to stop the bleeding “oh fuck, what have I done”

Your tears run down your cheeks as you begin to gasp for air and choking on your own blood. You look David straight in the eyes as you feel yourself slowly choke.

“Dwayne! Marko! Paul! Help us! Please” David cries before returning his gaze back your bleeding neck as he hears your desperate gasps for air “no baby please, it’s gonna be okay, I’m here baby”

He clutches your neck desperately trying to stop the bleeding, knowing he couldn’t lose you. No one was responding to his calls and he could hear your heartbeat slowing down

“I’m so sorry baby” David cries as tears begin to build up in his eyes “I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to”

You feel your self losing consciousness and with your last moments of life.

“Fuck you” you mouth through choking on your own blood, your vocal chords had been cut apart so you unfortunately couldn’t scream like you wanted to

You go limp in David’s arms after a few minutes but the blood still pours from your neck like a waterfall as it creates a puddle on the cave floor. David sobs as he holds your corpse and looks into you now doll like eye’s because all they held was emptiness and a lack of a soul.

David cries apologies as he realises that his child is dead and gone, never to be with him again.

Until a thought pops into his head, how could he keep a part of you with him forever?

David’s fangs extend and poke holes into your half drained neck as he bites down and tastes your blood.

David cried as he drains your body of blood before letting your corpse gently fall to the ground. Now your blood was in his system, David was convinced that you’d never leave him.

Sorry this took so long I wanted each of the deaths to be unique because I like to imagine it as a alternative universe for the lost boys daughter au where she died and I wanted to make how the boys reacted very different or creepy

Thank you so much for the request, I love getting them :)

#slashers x reader #lost boys x reader #lost boys x child reader #poly lost boys x reader #yandere lost boys x reader #platonic lost boys x reader #yandere lost boys #dad lost boys #the lost boys #lost boy x reader

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jacksprostate · 2 months

Text

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The five days Tyler's stolen my voice from me, I spend watching. The commons, group therapy. I visit my cave with my eyes open. Mills should get used to the cold. I've heard if it drops below 50 while your respiration is this depressed, you go to sleep and never wake up.

Valley of the Dogs.

An orderly with fresh bruises peppering his temple lets me take my walk in the same time Mills is carted around. This is how I must've looked for months. Glazed. Drooling. At this point they probably have to use elephant tranquilizers on me, the tolerance I've built.

God, his petty ass, we meet up for one on one and he says he has to give me some bad news.

No, it's not about Mills.

Tyler, whatever.

He is giving me the bad news, of the passing of one Marla Singer. Everyone seems to think this is bad news. Found dead in her apartment because she didn't pick up any Meals on Wheels for her neighbors for three weeks, and they worried about those little old ladies, up there all starving alone since their angel in black stopped showing up.

Her corpse was found, instead. I imagine it all waxy, tits rotted off just like she said, at some point you're so sick even the bacteria in your gut won't bother decomposing you. I imagine Marla's skin pulling back, fleeing, away from her eyes, her teeth, like a mummy. Dried out as all her collagen rots.

Paper clutched in her hand. A will, sort of hasty and half-assed.

Marla's many worldly possessions all fit on a hotel notepad.

Many other worthless things go to a small number of worthless people Marla has mentioned leaving behind in her life, and god says, Marla Singer has left me something.

That's the entire reason I get to know all of this.

If not, I would've never known.

The world could blow up, and you'd never know in here unless it was in someone's will to tell you.

Marla Singer left me her dildo.

Oh, Marla.

Addressed me in the will half the time as Tyler.

I wonder, did the cancer spread from her tits to her brain, like the cancer I didn't have. It's everywhere now. God says they're working out treatment. I wonder if it matters.

Without Tyler between us, I don't really know what connected me and Marla.

What kept her calling.

I liked her. Another psycho boyfriend in her stories. There will never be another, unless she's gone to Heaven, the real one, and they've got some sort of exchange program going on for her to have fun with.

I think Marla might deserve that. She deserved better than this.

I wonder if it was pills. There was no Tyler to save her, this time. No one to listen to her death rattle. I don't have the voice to ask.

I won't be getting her dildo, because you don't get possessions in a psych ward. It'll get dumped in some other landfill to persist for time immemorial with all the other plastic iconography of our stupid, stupid lives.

Released back out to pasture, I watch Mills. His wife was murdered. Murdered, you see, it's an action, and it's solvable. Mills solved it.

You can't solve the slow death. Not really.

I think about how empty Mills is.

Am I empty?

An unidentifiable amount of time ago, Marla called me again, and she told me all about what happens at the new support groups she goes to, since I ruined the old ones for her. They were willing to rally behind her for the whole blowing my brains out show, and she only would've had to wait them out for six months or so, but she decided to just find new ones. A new church, with new temptations like Living With Angels, a group for those caring for severe dementia patients, and Recovery Road: a program for those trying to rebuild their lives after a loved one blew them up. She said, when I got out, we could both go to that one, and I could talk about Tyler, and she could talk about me, and we could have fun getting kicked out together.

Marla was always talking about that. When I got out.

I wasn't ever hearing any of it.

Mills, they've let up on him, finally, you can see his eyeballs aren't floating with all they've juiced him up on. He's watching me, back.

I wonder if he knows about Marla.

Would Tyler care?

Tyler had said, don't call this love.

Does it need to be?

When I get my voice back, I bury my thoughts on the subject and Marla and everything in a relentless campaign to needle Mills until he looks like a voodoo doll in a shitty tourist trap.

#fight club #my writing #se7en (1995)#se7en #something smth destabilizing parallel event #i always think abt how marlas time is limited. another thing i hate abt chucks sequels. they do what the movie does and just ignore her own #shit??#anyway the narrator doesn't know how to handle this because his little rat ass could barely handle how he felt about marla on a good day #if this seems like it came out of the blue. i alluded to it earlier haha #this is like 3k now and i have 2k notes... oopsie

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haggishlyhagging · 10 months

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Depression is commonplace among women because housework is boring, sex is boring, cooking is boring, children are boring, and the woman resents being bored but cannot change it. Depression is commonplace among women because women are often angry at the conditions of their lives, at what they must do because they are women, at the way they are treated because they are women; and depression truly is anger turned inward. Depression is commonplace among women because a woman's life is often a series of dead ends, joy in which is the measure of femininity. A decade or two ago, doctors prescribed amphetamines with a reckless abandon. Now they are more cautious, and not only because amphetamines wreak havoc on the human body: amphetamines lead women away from femininity toward aggression, social dysphoria, and a paranoia that threatens the women's compliance as a sexual partner; tranquilizers and sleeping pills interfere much less with the female life as it should be lived, no matter how serious the addiction. Doctors justify the use of amphetamines—by those 12 million women users in one year, for instance—in terms of getting women thinner. Women get the drug by saying they want or need to be thinner no matter how thin they are; or doctors prescribe the drug without explanation as to its qualities and effects—especially they make no reference to its addictive nature and to the high it produces. The woman knows her value is in becoming what the man wants to have; she has no sense of self outside his evaluation of what she should be. Male doctors essentially share the same male values; and women accept their authority as men, not just as doctors. The woman's body is evaluated according to a sexual aesthetic, not according to a medical ethic. Amphetamines prescribed by a doctor reinforce the misogynist rule that a woman's only wealth is her body as an object; and that any act of self-destruction—like taking amphetamines—is both justified and sexually enhancing if it makes her what men want. Doctors accept and sometimes encourage this logic; doctors often subscribe to it and pass it on to women. If women are not thin, what are they? This is not a standard that can be applied to a respected or self-respecting individual or to a respected or self-respecting group; it is applied ruthlessly to women and it is not applied to men.

-Andrea Dworkin, Right Wing Women

#andrea dworkin #female mental health #medical misogyny #amerika

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fanfiction4sooya · 9 months

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Annoyingly you (A! Chaeryeong/ O!Lia)

This is something translated from my portuguese writing, so if anything seems grammatically incorrect, no it doesn't, mind your own business I'm sorry.

ABO, unprotected sex, little bit of fluff, smut, +18

Lia was standing outside her apartment when she started to feel hot, very hot.

The city was still, there wasn't a soul in the streets because of the national holiday. In other words, it would be four days of peace and tranquility, since everything would be quiet and she would be alone with her thoughts and her books.

Lia worked as a senior editor in a prestigious publishing house in Seoul, everything went as desired, without distractions. And obviously, to avoid these distractions she didn't want to get involved with anyone. Dating any dirty alpha was out of the question, let alone just for the sake of it.

So she'd rather take suppressants than be with anyone in her rut.

She pushed the door open with her hip, since she had a handful of groceries, quickly dropped her things on the table and ran to take the little red pill that had gotten her out of trouble a couple times. She took a deep breath, waiting for the medicine to take effect. Meanwhile she took off her clothes and headed straight to the shower, hoping that the cold water would help speed up the process of the pill.

Fifteen minutes later, nothing. Niente. Zero.

Lia was starting to get impatient, her headache was increasing, as was her temperature. Another suppressant, ice water.

Still nothing.

"I wonder if these pills are expired" She said to herself as usual, looking at the bottom of the bottle.

She thought about going to the nearest pharmacy to buy suppressants of another brand, the streets were empty.

"But if I run into any alpha jerks out there it's going to be hard to keep everything under control" She took a deep breath.

She picked up her cell phone, the screen didn't light up. She tried to turn on the screen, but the battery was practically at zero. Frustrated she ran to look for the charger, only to remember that she had forgotten it in her office. In the company that was closed because of the holiday...

Lia was on the verge of tears, as the feeling of heat and headache was increasing considerably and she was already starting to feel her private parts getting increasingly wet. She threw the cell phone down hard, trying to make her frustration go away. It didn't.

She put on a jacket over the shirt she was wearing, her vision was a little blurry. "I've never felt this way before…" She said looking at the apartment keys as she slammed the door behind her.

She managed to take a few weak steps to the elevator and pressed the button several times, her vision getting blurrier and blurrier; She fell forward, eyes closed, waiting for the impact that didn't come. She opened her eyes a little to see who had saved her, only to notice the cocky smile of the person she least wanted to see in the world. Her tall, redheaded, and totally shameless neighbor, Dr. Lee Chaeryeong.

Not that she condones libidinous acts once in a while, but practically every day? Not even the thick walls could muffle the moans coming out of the redheaded alpha's apartment.

Lia laughs her heart out when she remembers that she once slammed the door in the face of the shameless alpha when she saw her walking towards her in the hallway.

"Now that's a reception"

The redhead joked, still holding Lia in her arms. She was surprised at the blonde's lack of response and pulled away a little to look at her face, which was as pale as a sheet of paper.

Lia mustered all the strength she had and stood up, backing away from the doctor. She hadn't even noticed that Chaeryeong had pulled her away from the elevator door. She sighed.

"I need… suppressors" She said weakly, trying to get past the other one who got in front of her.

"Where do you think you're going?" She was frowning. "I can smell you from the lobby, Miss Choi. And the state you're in, you won't make it around the corner without some other alpha cornering you or passing out" She said, taking Lia by the elbow and leading her to the door of her apartment.

The taller one locked her jaw, sighing. Lia felt a sharp twinge between her legs.

"How can you guarantee me that you won't try anything with me?" Lia weakly said. "You are an alpha, after all. A really shameless one, by the way"

"And I'm also a doctor, Miss Choi," She said, taking the keys from the other's hand and opening the door, putting her inside and closing it behind them. She laid Lia down on the couch, first taking off her coat. " Your symptoms are not the ones of a normal heat. When was the last time you took suppressants?"

"Maybe thirty minutes ago, I guess. I'm a little confused"

Lia said, opening her eyes to see Chaeryeong rolling up the sleeves of the social blouse she was wearing and going to the sink, wetting a cloth.

"It didn't have any effect, right?" she said frowning, wiping the damp cloth on the other's forehead. Lia shook her head negatively. " Are you sure you took the right medication?"

"I took two suppressants, the bottle's over there on the table," she pointed to where the bottle was.

The redhead stood up, reading what was in the bottle, her red hair half fallen in front of her eyes. Lia felt a very strong tremor as the other bent down, standing at the same level as her eyes.

"When was the last time you let your cycle happen without taking suppressants?" Chaeryeong used her professional tone, but the other didn't quite understand.

"Don't even think about it, Dr. Lee" Lia sat up, taking the cloth from the doctor's hands, who laughed.

"You're very suspicious" she said, standing up and putting her hands in her pockets.

'What a huge hand…' Lia thought. 'I wonder if something else is big too?' Her gaze wandered to the other, but she quickly pulled herself together.

"From your condition, I'd say you've probably gone about four cycles without a partner. Is that right?" Chaeryeong sighed. "Your hormones are building up, which over time can cause you to have unusual symptoms and activate your cycle when it shouldn't be activated"

Lia had a pained expression on her face, making the redhead's protective side sharpen.

"And what can I do to make it better?" Lia asked.

"Well, I can give you a tranquilizer now and you'll sleep, and at best you'll feel these symptoms more lightly when you wake up. But I should warn you, this is not ideal nor is it the most recommended, in my professional opinion," She said, reaching into her purse and grabbing a pill and a glass of water for the other woman.

"Dr. Lee?" The other stopped at the door, sighing. "And what's the best option?" Lia asked softly.

"Call someone you trust and let nature take its course" The redhead looked at Lia one last time on the couch and left.

Lia thought about taking the tranquilizer, but was feeling that this would not be enough. Calling anyone was also out of the question, since she had thrown her cell phone on the floor and had no charger anyway. So she made a decision. A decision she hoped she wouldn't regret.

Slowly she walked to her neighbor's door, her heart beating rapidly, her mouth salivating in anticipation. "Damn Lee Chaeryeong" Her mind screamed. She gave the door three light knocks, squeezing her legs as tight as she could to try to gain some friction. She leaned her head against the door, resting her weight on it. That's when it was opened and for the second time in the day, Lia fell into the strong arms of the doctor.

"The third time is for good luck" the redhead laughed, but Lia could only feel the heat emanating from her body.

Chaeryeong sat Lia down on her couch, stepping away.

"I need you" Lia said practically in a groan, taking the redhead's hand and bringing it to her face. "Please, please" She begged, tears threatening to roll down her face.

Chaeryong's face contorted and she closed her eyes, trying to pull herself together. She sighed, trying to find air that didn't have Lia's addictive smell, to no avail. All she could smell was that petty omega, and all she wanted to do was bury her erection where the omega needed it most.

"I thought you were going to call someone reliable" She said calmly. She was a professional, faced that situation almost every day. She wasn't going to let herself be beaten. No matter how much her cock was aching with the way she was holding it so it wouldn't get really erect.

"I don't want someone else, I want you" Lia hissed "Just you, alpha" She said, taking the redhead's index finger to her lips and beginning a gentle sucking motion.

"I'm considering it," Chaeryeong said in a dark, almost obscene tone to Lia's ears. "I have one condition, though" She leaned forward, inhaling Lia's scent and letting the blonde submerge herself in hers.

"Whatever you want" The blonde sighed when the other stroked her hair, pulling her by the nape, speaking with her lips close to hers in a provocative manner.

"When your cycle ends, you'll spend an afternoon with me," Lia frowned a little, not understanding "So you can see that I'm not the monster you paint me to be" She said, staring at the lips of the shorter girl, who nodded in agreement.

"Whatever you-"

Chaeryeong didn't even wait for the other to finish speaking, she just pulled Lia into a slow kiss.

Not the slow kisses that show you're taking it easy, but one that practically said, "We're only taking it slow to punish you"

Lia moaned when the other bit her lower lip, pulling her up and sitting her on her lap, her legs on either side of the redhead's body. Lia was about to lose control when the redhead bit her neck, practically growling as she felt her pulse point so close to her lips, rubbing her erection against the other's soaked intimacy.

Chaeryeong pulled Lia by the back of her neck, looking into her desperate eyes. She nodded, pressing her nails into the other's shoulders as she continued to press her hips into hers.

"You want it, baby?" Lia moaned. "It's yours for the take.

Chaeryeong reclined, putting her elbow on the arm of the couch, a mischievous smile on her lips. Lia took the cue and began desperately unbuttoning the other's blouse, kissing her collarbone and exposing her six pack on the way, running her nails over her pale skin.

Seeing Lia this wild was something completely new to the other. For her, Lia was the definition of composure. So much so that she had even given up on sleeping with her after the door in her face. And here she was, on her knees begging to be fucked.

Chaeryeong smiled as she saw the blonde's frustrated face as she tried to open her pants but couldn't because she was too shaky and desperate to do so.

The redhead took her hands and put them on her chest, sitting Lia again on her lap.

"No need to get desperate, I'll take care of you"

As she spoke, she unbuttoned her pants and lowered them enough to remove her hard meat from its confinement, a relieved sigh coming from her lips to Lia's, who now looked with desire at what she wanted so badly.

They kissed again with urgency, a mixture of saliva, lips, and bites here and there. The redhead put her hand inside the other's shorts, taking her by surprise.

"So wet…" She circled the swollen clit of the other. "So desperate for me…" She inserted a finger in Lia, who didn't even wait and started a fast back and forth movement in order to satiate that desperate desire.

The wet noise and the other's moans were making the redhead impatient, crazy to penetrate the blonde, make her scream of pleasure calling her name; but for pure chivalry she restrained herself, she knew that foreplay is super important. Even though she was almost as desperate as the other.

The smell of the omega was so good, so strong that it almost made her lose consciousness when she stepped out of the elevator, imagine now that it was practically in her face. Speaking of which…

She withdrew her finger from the other, pulling her shorts and panties along with them. Pulling the omega by the waist, she laid her back on the couch, lifting her shirt to expose her breasts. She kissed her again, moving down her neck when she felt Lia's legs cross behind her.

"If you continue with the foreplay, I swear I'll kill you," She said in a threatening tone, almost growling in her ear. Chaeryeong smiled with her lips still glued to the blonde's neck.

"Your request is an order, m'lady." Lia shivered as she heard the other's husky voice. The anticipation was eating her up inside.

She reached for the other's hard member, making her widen her eyes a little and smile, biting her lower lip. Lia moved her hand up and down, spreading pre-cum all over it, making the other moan lowly.

"It's bigger than I thought it would be." Lia said kissing her mouth, running her tongue over her lip.

"So you did imagine me fucking you?" Chaeryeong teased and Lia rolled her eyes, still doing the movement. "Don't worry, I'll go slow." They kissed and Lia nodded, guiding the tip to her entrance that was throbbing and needing attention.

With one hand on Lia's waist and the other almost ripping off the arm of the couch, she penetrated slowly, always looking at the other's face.

But as big as it was, Lia was too desperate to care about that minimal discomfort, she just wanted to get fucked to forget that agony at the tip of her stomach.

Chaeryeong closed her eyes and sighed as, inch by inch, she placed her entire cock inside the other, throbbing violently. It was an electrifying mix of her and the blonde's pleasure, something she had never felt before. Lia ran her hand over her face, making her open her eyes and blink just enough to clear her mind and not lose control.

"You can move now." The omega spoke with her lips glued to hers, whispering in a heart melting tone.

Chaeryeong started with short movements, testing the waters. With each of those movements, the wet noise got louder and louder. Lia scratched the sides of the redhead's body, letting the loudest moan of the night escape when she changed the angle of her thrusts. They were like two puzzle pieces, fitting together perfectly at that moment.

The redhead kissed the older woman once more, pulling her lower lip into a bite. The alpha's possessive side making her fangs come out a little, wanting to mark the woman beneath her at all costs. Lowering her lips to Lia's neck, she marked her skin with hickeys instead of her teeth, with no intention other than to show dominance.

"You'll never forget this night," she said in the other woman's ear, who only moaned in agreement. She lifted his torso, pulling one of Lia's legs over her shoulder, further improving the angle her member was at, reaching the spongy spot of Lia's soaked intimacy. "No one will ever fuck you like me." She growled, going harder and deeper, if that was possible.

They seemed to be lost in that pleasure for an eternity, lost in each other's heat and moans, too horny for anything other than that very moment.

"Don't stop!" the blonde practically shouted, her nails digging into Chaeryeong's milky thighs. The redhead smiled at the order, thinking that even at that moment the blonde could be bossy.

She felt the Lia's walls tightening, the sight of her breasts swaying with the force of each thrust and her eyes closed, biting her lips was almost enough to make her cum. Lia was close too, so the other one brought her thumb to her swollen clit circling it a few times, making her have the strongest orgasm she had in a long time, maybe in her life.

Chaeryeong didn't want to stop, her alpha side didn't want to waste her seed by throwing it all away, she wanted to leave her knot inside the other and only take it out when she was satisfied. But that was not agreed and it would not be right of her.

With her last ounce of strength, she pulled her member out of Lia, jerking her wet cock with the other's fluids, letting her hot cum fall onto her own rigid abdomen. She was trying to take a deep breath when she saw Lia making the world's biggest pout.

"You should've left it in." She gave an adorable little pout.

"Trust me." Chaeryeong lowered the other's leg from her shoulder, pulling her into a thankful kiss and removing her sweat-dripping blouse, leaving her completely naked. She wanted to take care of her omega. "You don't want any puppies around, especially from someone like me." Lia frowned, hugging the redhead's neck and hiding there, still having little a tantrum. "Do you feel better?"

"A little sore still, but less," She said softly. Chaeryeong sighed, kissing her neck. Lia's scent was even more intoxicating than before, making her cock start pumping blood again. The other felt it and bucked her hips to gain friction, almost getting excited again, but she was still weak.

"Don't even think about it" The doctor said, crossing the blonde's legs behind her and getting up. "First I'm going to give you a hot bath to relax your muscles" She said, going into the bathroom and turning on the water in the tub, Lia still hugging her koala style. "Then I'll prepare something for you to eat and we can do whatever you want afterwards."

"As many times as I want" Lia said, not bothering to lift her head from the warm spot on the alpha's neck that circled her hips with both arms. She sat both of them in the tub in her clothes and the other completely naked.

"As many times as you want," she said, kissing the spot below the blonde's ear, pouring hot water on her back. Lia smiled, finally looking at the younger woman.

"Your clothes…" she said sleepily. Chaeryeong shrugged, running a hand over her back.

"I don't care" She shook her head. "My omega first." Lia bit her lips upon hearing the redhead's somewhat possessive tone.

"You're not as bad as I thought, Dr. Lee," she said, smiling into her neck.

"Shh. Don't tell anyone, Miss Choi." Lia raised her face. "I really need to keep my reputation as a big bad wolf for all the others." She joked.

Lia rolled her eyes, pressing her nails into the redhead's white arms to show her displeasure with the teasing.

She just laughed, pulling the omega into another kiss, making it clear that the night was going to be very, very long…

#itzy #chaeryeong #chaeryeong smut #alpha chaeryeong #choi jisu #lia smut #itzy smut #alpha x omega #omegaverse #gxg smut

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didyoutrydynamite · 1 year

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Renegades: The Thin-Mint Job

Ring Ring!

Guard: *Walks up to the front gate of the business compound.* What do you want?

Jaune: *Wearing casual clothing and pulling a red wagon filled with girl scout cookies* Hi there! My little sister is with the Valiant Voyagers, and she would like to ask you a question.

Neo: *Shyly peaks from behind Jaune, with blonde hair and blue eyes matching her “brother”.*

Jaune: Come on Skye, just like we practiced.

Neo: *Steps out in a Girl Scout uniform, holding a poster board.* (Would you like to buy some Voyager Cookies Sir and/or Ma’am?)

Guard: Sorry, this business doesn’t accept door to door sales.

Jaune: Even if it’s for a good cause? You see, the Valiant Voyagers are raising funds for research in congenital heart disease!

Neo: *Flips poster board* (Raising Funds for the Happy Heart Foundation)

Guard: Listen, I’m all for charity, but the boss has a clear policy-

Jaune: Are you sure sir? This charity really means a lot to my sister, you see, *leans in and whispers* She was born with arrhythmia. She's constantly in and out of hospitals.

Neo: *Flips board* ( This donation will help my heart grow big and strong like yours one day.)

Guard: *Sweat drop* J-jeez, I’m sorry to hear that, but I really can’t-

Neo: *Pulls on Jaune’s sleeve with puppy dog eyes, and starts using sign language* (Hey, after we trick this sucker into buying these cookies, you want to go get some milkshakes after this?)

Jaune: *Kneels down to her with a heartfelt expression and starts signing back* I don’t think so, Skye, but don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll sell enough to get you that surgery. (I think I saw a Mister Milkshakes on the way here we can stop at.)

Guard; *Starts holding back sobs* L-Let me go ask the boss.

Neo: *Flips the board* (Tell him it’s $1,000 for 200 boxes.)

~O~O~O~O~O~

Jaune/Neo: *Sitting at Mister Milkshakes after giving the boss the whole same routine again, $1,500 richer.*

Jaune: 300 boxes for the whole building. *Chuckles* Killer touch with the puppy dog eyes, Neo.

Neo: Sipping her milkshake and conjures subtitles Excellent guilt trip with the congenital heart disease. You’ve learned well, you little crook. *Winks*

Jaune: I learn from the best. *Wink* Now all we have to do is wait for enough of the guards and staff to get knocked out by the laced cookies, have Cinder and Adam break in and steal that intel, then anonymously drop it off at the police station.

Neo: *Looks confused then hand signs* (Knocked out? Was I supposed to get roofies or something?)

Jaune: Or whatever other kind of tranquilizers… Wait, what did you think to get for the cookies?

Neo: *Awkwardly sips from her milkshake*

Jaune: NEO, WHAT DID WE PUT IN THOSE COOKIES?!?!

~O~O~O~O~O~

Cinder/Adam/Jaune/Neo: *All in Adam’s truck on the way to the police station as several ambulances drive by on the way to the office compound they were just heisting, sitting in awkward silence.*

Cinder: *Staring out the passenger window looking absolutely embarrassed *

Adam: *Driving, looking unbelievably pissed*

Neo: *Looking perturbed because everyone was on her ass again*

Jaune: … Was it bad?

Adam: FUCKING LAXATIVES!?

Cinder: It was horrible… I’ve never seen anything like it before.

Adam: We tell you to get pills to take out the staff and you decide laxatives are the best thing for the job?! ARE YOU FIVE?!

Neo: *Hand signs some expletives towards Adam*

Jaune: I’m not repeating that.

Cinder: The restrooms were a disaster… The way they went at each other to get to the stalls was like rats on a sinking ship.

Adam: *Snarls* Do you know how good a bull’s smell is? They can smell up to six miles, Neo! I can still smell them from here!!

Neo: *Conjures subtitles on the dash* Well it still worked didn’t it?! You got the intel without anyone trying to stop you!

Cinder: Not a single one of them raised a hand to stop us, some of them even begged us to put them out of their misery. There probably wasn’t a single office plant that went unsoiled in that building.

Adam: GODDAMNIT I think it’s on my boot!! *Smacks steering wheel in rage*

Jaune: *Face in hands from guilt for suggesting cookies*

#renegade au #jaune arc #cinder fall #neo politan #adam taurus

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geralt-of-baevia · 28 days

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Call It What You Want: Chapter Four

pairing: nooutbreak!joel x f!ofc (Violet Fletcher)

rating: explicit, MDNI 18+

word count: 1.7k

summary: Seeking solace from a painful breakup, Violet relocates to a tranquil town, purchasing a neglected house to renovate. In her new neighborhood, she befriends Harlow, who introduces her to Joel, a gruff and seasoned contractor with a heart of gold. Despite Joel's initial grumpiness, Violet finds herself drawn to his expertise and hidden kindness.

As Violet immerses herself in home renovations alongside Joel, their dynamic begins to shift, with Joel unexpectedly opening himself up to the possibility of love. Their budding relationship faces challenges as shadows from their pasts emerge, testing their newfound connection.

warnings/tags: fluuuuuuuff. we're getting close! what a nice slow burn it is, huh? bahahaha

a/n: okay so i know that this chapter is a small tiny baby, but I promise we're getting there! this maybe could have been at the end of chapter three, but oh well :P next chapter gets juicy. also, would anyone like to be added to a tag list? let me know!

When I woke up the next morning, I panicked a little. I couldn’t remember right away where I was, or whose bed I was in. In the comforting warmth of the bed, I sat and tried to remember where I was. Suddenly it dawned on me, I was at Joel’s. My heart started racing in my chest. I didn’t remember much of the evening before. After they gave me pain meds at the hospital, everything was a blur of images.

I got up slowly, cradling my arm with my hand until I was able to put my sling back on. The aching pain was starting to creep back and I could tell it was probably time for food and a pain pill. To my right was a black dresser, and without a second thought I went over and started opening the drawers, trying to find a new shirt to wear. The one I was currently wearing reeked of hospital. I’m sure the bedsheets did, too.

Carefully I slipped back off my sling, changed my shirt and slipped it back on. I tried to be patient with myself as a simple task like this took me longer than normal. I also changed out of my shorts, finding a pair of boxer shorts to wear. If he had an issue with me wearing his clothes, he’d have to deal with it. I also realized I wasn’t wearing a bra or underwear. A fact I was trying to not think about and put to the back of my brain.

I balled up my clothes that I had been wearing and tucked them under my good arm before venturing down the sairs. About half way down I was struck by the scent of breakfast. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until then.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs I saw Joel sitting on a couch watching something on TV, only being able to see the back of his head. To my left was the kitchen, food still warm in their pans; two empty plates on the counter. My eyes scanned the room, taking in as much as I could.

Joel’s place was very nice. Like, surprisingly nice. All of the walls were a robin’s egg green. Both the trim and the A frame ceiling were the same honey toned wood. Decorations were minimal, which is exactly what I expected from someone like him.

“Good morning,” I said a little too loudly. Joel jumped at my voice, turning around in his seat. His face lit up.

“Good morning, Violet,” he said, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Hungry and sore,” I said. I watched his eyes look me up and down, noticing that I was wearing his clothes. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind. My clothes just smelled like the hospital and I was over it.”

“It’s fine, I never wear those anyhow,” he replied. I furrowed my brow, wondering if he meant just this pair or underwear in general. He got up and made his way over to me, holding out his hand to me. “I’ll take those and wash them for you. Then let’s eat.”

Joel started a load of laundry and then plated us up breakfast: eggs, sausage and toast. He took our plates to the living room area, setting them down on the coffee table.

“I hope this is enough. I would have gotten more had I known I was going to have company over,” he told me. “Come sit, make yourself comfortable and I’ll get us some coffee.”

I sat down on the black leather couch, my skin instantly sticking. I reached out and grabbed the toast off of my plate and put it in my slinged hand. With my good hand I then began to tear off the crust. I may be 30, but that didn’t mean I have to eat the worst part of bread. I tossed the useless crust back to my plate and began munching on my toast.

I looked up as Joel came with two cups of steaming coffee. He set them down on the table next to our plates.

“And lets not forget these,” he said, pulling a orange bottle of pills out of the breast pocket of his shirt. He placed them down with a rattle.

“Thank you Joel, for everything.”

He smiled. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing! We’ve known each other for like a week. And now in the last 24 hours you’ve saved my life, become my emergency contact, confirmed that we’re friends and then I slept in your bed,” I said before taking another bite of toast. Through a chew I added, “Which I don’t remember getting into if I’m being completely honest.”

“What do you remember to?” he asked.

“I was conscious until they gave me pain meds. After that it was cloudy. I kinda remember getting in your truck, but that’s it. Everything after that is a blank.”

He took a drink from his cup and set it back down. “Well, you fell asleep in the truck on the way back. Then we got here I carried you upstairs and put you to bed and I came down here and slept on the couch. That’s it.”

“I didn’t say anything embarrassing, did I? The last time I had pain meds like that for my appendix I said a lot of things I wish I wouldn’t have,” I said. He chuckled through a bite of food.

“Okay, okay. I’ll admit: you did tell me I was handsome,” he confessed, blushing a little under the scruff on his cheeks.

My cheeks followed suit, burning hot with embarrassment.

“And then after I laid down I had to google what a ‘silver fox’ was,” he said, causing me to almost choke on my coffee.

“I’m sorry, a what?” I asked. I prayed I hadn’t called him that.

“You told me I was handsome and that I was a silver fox,” he said, “so you really meant it yesterday when you said you didn’t mind I was as old as I am, huh?”

My whole body was vibrating at this point.

“Violet? Are you okay?”

I turned to look at Joel, concern on his face.

“No- no I’m fine. I just need to have a talk with drugged me. She needs to realize I’m trying to play the long game,” I replied, my heart being rapidly in my chest. Joel reached over and put a comforting hand on my knee.

“I can assure you, we will still play the long game,” he said reassuringly. I met his gaze and smirked.

“It’s just that I- I just got out of a really intense relationship and I-”

“Violet, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything,” he said with a warm smile, giving my knee a squeeze, “We’re going to see a lot of each other this summer so we will have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

“That’s true.”

“And honestly, it’s been a long time since I felt something - anything like this, for someone. So this is like starting over brand new.”

“You mean an old dog can learn new tricks?” I jeered. He narrowed his eyes at me, a reluctant smirk creeping up on his lips.

“Yes, you could say somethin’ like that.”

We ate the rest of our breakfasts in comfortable silence. Joel put on some spaghetti Western as something to fill the silence. It was nice to have a foundation for whatever it was between us. It was something that was no pressure. I could do that.

After I was finished eating Joel picked up the pill bottle and got one out for me. I held out my palm and he placed it in the center. Even just his his fingertips brushing my skin sent electricity through me.

I took my pill and chugged the rest of my coffee with it. Joel cleared the coffee table and took our breakfast things to the kitchen. I would have offered to help, but clearly I wasn’t able to. I stared blankly at the TV as the water ran and he cleaned the dishes. Slowly I could feel the pain in my shoulder going away, and sleep starting to creep over me again.

It dawned on me that I had no idea what time it was, how long I had slept last night or even where my phone was. But honestly, part of me didn’t care. I was just in pain and wanted to sleep. When Joel came back over to the living room area, I look up at him through hooded eyes.

“That pill hittin' you?” he asked, a cheeky smile on his lips.

I nodded lazily. “Yes, now can I go back to sleep?”

“Do you want to sleep here again, or would you prefer me to take you home?”

I beamed at his offer. “How chivalrous of you. But no, I’d rather just sleep here and go home later if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s perfectly fine by me, let's get you upstairs.”

“Please, before I say something embarrassing again.”

I giggled to myself before trying to stand up, only for my knees to buckle underneath me. Thankfully Joel was close enough to catch me.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Here, let me help,” he mumbled out. I couldn’t help but close my eyes again as he moved me so that he could pick me up, cradling me in his arms.

“I’m too heavy,” I murmured. I felt his chest rise and fall as he chuckled.

“No you’re not Violet. This is how I got you up last night. It’s a breeze,” he assured me.

“It’s just because you’re really strong and muscley.”

He chuckled harder.

“Okay Vi, I think that’s enough talking for right now.” I nodded, nuzzling my face into his warm, comforting chest.

Soon enough I felt myself being laid on the bed, blankets being put over my frame. I peeked my eyes open and stopped his hand before he was able to pull it away from the comforter.

“Thank you Joel,” I practically whispered.

“You’re very welcome,” he said, brushing my hair out of my face. I felt his lips press against my forehead, his mustache and scruff tickling my skin. “Now get some sleep.”

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x oc #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfic

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b4sorex1a · 14 days

Note

What ideas abo gadri do you have? I love reading everything you write here

tw: nsfw, minors dni.

— ABO! Pablo Gavi x Pedri González prompts

If Gavi is an omega and Pedri is an alpha…

• Pablo succumbs very easily to the omega instinct of wanting to be pregnant, he begs his alpha to knot him inside without protection. Pedri, however, is responsible and does not get carried away.

• Public sex. It’s mostly because of Gavi, but Pedri secretly loves it too. Pablo gets soo horny and starts smelling all sweet and sugary all of a sudden… Pedri looks at him disapprovingly, but he knows he can’t resist him, his bulge grows big and uncomfortable when he smells Gavi getting turned on.

• Pedri acts all reserved and tranquil, but he’s the jealous type of boyfriend. When he’s close to his rut he gets territorial on Gavi, scenting him aggressively and marking all his body up with bites.

• Cockwarming,, Pablo enjoys it a lot when his boyfriend keeps the knot inside for hours, even when they have sex on the couch and are playing fifa, he still insists on Pedri not pulling out. The hot cum inside, the stretch, the closeness, it’s all Gavi needs.

• Pedri smells really good, like masculine but clean, after shave type of smell with fresh perfume. It’s intoxicating but calming, it really fits him. Gavi smells really sweet, like vainilla and caramel, or glazed donuts, something sugary but with spicy notes.

• Mostly all of the club knows about their relationship, Gavi can’t hide his excited scent at all, not when Pedri is accompanying him while training. It’s a like he gets sweeter, like an omega who wants to get fucked and bred hard.

• It gets Pedri every time. They know they can’t do it at the training grounds, but he can almost taste the slick that Gavi is probably leaking, and he wants to fuck him so bad, it’s getting unhealthy.

• Condoms? What is that? They don’t use them. Of course Gavi is on birth control pills but he loves his alpha’s cum way too much, it makes him feel happy to be filled with hot liquid.

• Rough sex. When Pedri is on his rut it gets pretty violent, it’s not anything real painful but it shakes Gavi to his core. Pedri fucks him like he hates him those times, like he’s just a stupid toy for him to break. Slaps, grabbing, biting, slow but full of force movement of hips…

—

awe thank u for the support!! I really appreciate it, hope u like this ♡ x

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timotey · 3 months

Text

Ficlet: Sleeping Beauty

The Sign. Phaya/Tharn. AU? Missing scene from ep 10? Unbeta'd.

Tharn never wakes up when Phaya is attacked in his dreams. How odd.

(Just something that made me pause and go all, "Hm..." Ergo, a ficlet!)

*.*.*

He finds out about the pills completely by accident.

They’re set to depart for Nongkai in the morning but Phaya vetoes the suggestion that he should go home and pack - that they should sleep in separate places! No way, not gonna happen, never! One bed and with Tharn safely tucked in his arms, that's how it's going to be. Packing can wait for tomorrow, he will just throw some things into his bag when they stop at Phaya’s house to pick up his grandmother and his sister.

So, that’s how it happens. He walks out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair dry with a towel, when he sees Tharn pull a pill bottle out of the bedside table, shake out one and swallow it with a sip of water.

“What’s that?” he asks, running his fingers through his hair. He isn’t really digging for information, just being nosy for nosiness’ sake.

Tharn sets the bottle down on the bedside table, pulling the bed covers aside. “Something the Doc gave me,” he says and when he sees Phaya's face, he rolls his eyes. “It’s just a mild sedative, is all. He noticed I wasn't sleeping well after the camp. It’s not the first time.”

Phaya feels a shiver run down his spine. “Chalothon... gave you sleeping pills?” he asks carefully, a dark suspicion gnawing at his insides.

Nodding, Tharn slips into the bed. “Yeah. Like I said, not the first time. And they really help. I’ve been sleeping much better these days.”

Phaya grips the towel in his hands so hard his knuckles turn white. “I… see,” he says.

Tharn’s always been there to save him - unless Phaya was attacked in his dreams, at night, while Tharn was deeply asleep and so unable to perceive any premonitions.

This can’t be a coincidence. There are no coincidences when that fucking lizard is involved.

Phaya doesn’t say anything, though. He just steals two pills from the bottle. Better safe than sorry.

***

Early in the morning, on their way to Phaya’s house, Phaya stops at the headquarters. He tells Tharn he needs to sign some paperwork before he can leave and that he will be back in a sec, no need to come with. He hates lying to Tharn but, well.

“Can you analyze this for me?” he asks Mayris, dropping the little bag containing the two pills on her desk in the lab.

She looks down at the bag and pokes at it with her pen. “What is it and why should I?”

Phaya sighs. “I can’t tell you and because I’m asking you. Please, Mayris. It’s really important.”

There must be something in his face or in his voice because she narrows her eyes and says, “Alright. But you will owe me one.”

He sighs in relief. “Anything.”

For Tharn, anything.

***

Tharn’s in their bedroom at his grandmother’s house, waiting for Yai to call back, when Phaya calls Mayris from their bathroom. He hates this sneaking around behind his lover’s back but there’s no way he could explain all this without telling Tharn about Chalothon being the Naga that’s threatening their lives.

“Are you planning to tranquilize an elephant?” is the first thing that Mayris says without even waiting for a greeting.

Phaya blinks. “What?”

“The pills you gave me,” she points out. “What do you think they are?”

Phaya's heart skips a beat. “I was told it was a mild sedative.”

Mayris snorts into her phone. “Mild sedative, my cute ass! This will put you under so hard a bomb could go off in your ear and you wouldn't even stir.”

“Shit,” Phaya hisses and closes his eyes. He was right. He wishes he wasn’t.

“Will you now tell me what’s going on?” Mayris asks.

Sighing, Phaya says, “It's better if you don't know.”

“That might be. I still do want to know. I'm nosy like that,” she says, leaving no room for debate.

Phaya rubs his forehead. This might be a bad idea but he needs to tell someone. He needs someone to know the truth about Chalothon, beside the abbot, that is. Just in case. He makes a decision.

“Those pills, Tharn’s psychiatrist, Chalothon, gave them to Tharn.”

There’s a pause. “The guy who helped us with Art’s case?” she asks slowly.

“Yeah.”

“Well, shit,” she says succinctly.

“Yeah.”

There’s a long pause, then Mayris says, “Look, I’m no doctor but I know my chemistry. Maybe Tharn really does need those pills but I can’t honestly imagine anyone but a literal walking zombie to need medication that strong. You need to get in touch with some other doctor and get him off that shit as soon as possible. Such strong meds can wreak real havoc with your body.”

“Agreed,” Phaya says, adding yet another item to his constantly growing list of Tharn related worries, most of them courtesy of one evil bastard.

“Just… don’t throw them simply out, the pills, I mean, if that crossed your mind,” Mayris warns. “You can’t go cold turkey from pills that strong. He will have to be weaned off gradually and under medical supervision.”

Phaya sighs again, feeling an even heavier weight settle on his shoulders. “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Mayris, I really appreciate it.”

There’s a pause. “You really like the guy, huh?” she asks and her voice is oddly soft. Phaya isn’t used to her being… like that. It weirds him out a little.

Still, he replies just as softly, “Yeah. Yeah, I do. A lot.”

“Good,” Mayris says, once again all brusqueness. “Then go and do something about the thing. Rip his doctor a new one, if you have to.” Then she hangs up.

Phaya stands there, in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the fogged over mirror. Well, he was right. The fucking snake’s been drugging Tharn for months now. But what should he do about it?

If he tells Tharn the truth about the pills, he will have to tell him the truth about Chalothon, too. And the abbot warned him not to do that. And seeing just how confrontational Tharn was with Captain Akk, a man they’ve known for mere months, Phaya can’t even imagine how Tharn would react to Chalothon’s betrayal. The guy - the Naga! - has been taking care of Tharn since Tharn was a teen…

Phaya leans against the sink, squeezing the rim so hard his knuckles turn white, and hangs his head. He feels guilty, so fucking guilty, but he has no real choice here. He will have to keep it to himself. For now. And just… watch out for Tharn even more carefully. The 15th night of the 11th moon is at hand. In a few days, it’s all going to be over and then, then they will deal with this, too. He will make sure that Tharn gets off the damn meds safely.

Taking a deep breath, Phaya straightens up, squaring his shoulders. Throwing one last look at himself in the mirror - what are you staring at? - he grabs his towel and leaves the bathroom.

Tharn’s still sitting at the desk, waiting for Yai’s call…

#the sign #the sign the series #my fics #my the sign fics #mé

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menalez · 5 months

Note

Sorry, you posted this in (an incredible) response to a genocide denier, but I don’t understand what it says, and my phone does not take it as text, so I cannot copy-paste to translate. Could you please post a translation? Thank you very much, and I am sorry you have to deal with such people on here. 🩷.

no need to apologise! here is the translation, ill highlight the parts i wanted to share here:

The screening of the "film". The same uncensored film that journalists have already been exposed to. Today was the turn of the members of the Knesset. The Knesset doctor stands outside the hall and offers sedatives before viewing. I have never taken such a pill. Today I took without thinking twice. Amir Ohana says a few words before the screening, mainly warning us not to reveal any concrete information from the film. I held out in the hall for five minutes. Then I ran away crying and shaking. Yes, a tranquilizer, not a tranquilizer - I'm writing you the following words out of an anxiety attack I've never experienced before: Don't hate each other. The monsters hate you enough. Hate the enemy. Hate the monsters. Any vestige of internal bickering is a maddeningly stupid waste of energy. Invest this energy in one thing; Erasing all of Gaza from the face of the earth. That the Gazan monsters will fly to the southern fence and try to enter Egyptian territory. or they will die. And their death is evil. Gaza should be erased. And fire and smoke on the heads of the Nazis in Judea and Samaria. Haron is also a Jew who will shake the earth of the world. A vengeful and cruel IDF is needed here. Anything less is immoral. Just unethical.

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rinbowaman · 11 months

Text

HHP - Chapter 15 pt 1

Sorry for the long wait! Part 1 is up, part 2 coming your way and possibly part 3. Tomorrow remaining parts will be posted. This chapter will have SMUT, just none in part 1....

Your eyes gently open to the rising light of the sun peering through the window. Laying on your side, you could smell Heeseung’s cologne over his bedspread as you took your time to raise yourself up to a seated position. His room looked clean, tranquil, and was quiet.

Looking around, you found that you were the only one present in the room.

‘Could he be downstairs?’ You wondered.

Barely able to recall exactly what had gone down, your memory appeared to be hazy and clouded, only the bits and pieces of the event that occurred the night before popped up.

You look around. You couldn’t even remember where your phone was until you suddenly remembered that you left your phone inside the car belonging to one of the girls just before the rugby sporting event, whereas after you were...taken.

Yes! That’s right! You were taken, now you’re starting to remember everything.

From the moment that you felt unfamiliar hands grabbing onto you, to being shoved into a van, and taken to a remote and wide parking space of an abandoned lot, you sporadically recalled what had followed afterwards.

‘Y/N, you see all these cameras? I’m going to need you to swap your view and make sure to look at each one, okay?’

‘If you move or scream I’ll cut your mouth wide open.’

‘Did Ethan give you this ring? Where’s the diamond?’

‘Y/N you’re on birth control, right? Whatever, just give me the plan B pill just in case.’

…………….

The awful words that reflected what Tiff and Scott had planned hit you…hard.

The emptiness of your gut propelled you to feel that sense of anxiety and helplessness that you felt the moment you were seated on the hood of that car, forced to face all those bright lights aimed at your face as Tiff and Scott began to make preparations for their ‘plan’ which you didn’t want to think about to confirm the details of what they were going to do. You had a good idea without thinking of it.

Just the thought of what could have transpired nearly brought you to tears. Scott and Tiff’s voice echo through your brain once more….

‘I’m assuming you’re not a virgin, are you? Because if you are I definitely need to know now, that’s a huge bonus.’

‘Scott, I need my car. When can I leave?’

The night would have continued, filled with your screams and tears, and a deep for longing of death to greet you at any cost. You would have welcomed death knowing full well what Scott and his crew were going to do with you, and it almost happened.

‘Scott, I need my car. When can I leave?’ Tiff’s voice plays through your head yet again.

It almost happened to you.

Until….

‘How about when I’m done with you? Does that sound good, Tiff?’

Heeseung…

Looking around, you noticed that you had no clothes on, just the covers of Heeseung’s bedding. As you shifted your position to go through the drawers to get some attire, you winced at the sudden pain that took place around your waist.

‘What is this?’

You remark the small, dotted indentations on your skin. Red, tender, and sensitive to the touch, you became puzzled at how you got the markings. Flash backs of Scott came to mind, where the man had rubbed his disgusting hands under your shirt, grabbed and fondled your breasts under your bra as he pinched your nipples, and smothered your cheek with his kisses and even licked you with his tongue, forcing the issue as you were tenacious on keeping your head turned away, not once opening your mouth for him to enter.

He did all of that…but he didn’t do this.

You stood up and walked over to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Once you flicked the light on, you observed the reflection of your naked body, covered in a series of bite marks, hickey’s, and finger prints. From your neck all the way down to your inner thighs, you looked as if you had been ravished by a demonic beast.

Ethan…

Now you started to remember, beginning with the ride back home, where Ethan was in full gear as he stared at the road the entire way back. You couldn’t remember exactly how or whose car you were in, as you recalled Jake and H/N dropping you both off somewhere, where there was a red vehcile waiting.

You remembered the keys being under the driver’s seat, which Ethan had already known about as he immediately retrieved them once he opened the door. After placing Eden in the front passenger seat, he started the car and drove…quietly.

He was not only quiet, but he looked as if his mind was zoned out or focused on something. Yet the moment that he would look at you…or rather, Eden, his stare was odd. It was different.

Normally he would stare with a desire to do the most personal and intimate acts with you or Eden, yet last night it was much more intense, for longing and fervent than ever. Last night, he wasn’t just yearning, he was...hungry.

‘Let me eat you.’

…………………

‘Okay….my Ethan. Go ahead…eat.’

………………..

So that’s what happened…. he ate…he quenched…and he had his fill with your body, under your Eden entity.

Dance for me forever Look at me in the broken mirror And tune it with the feet This beautiful moment I don't stop Woah, again, chaconne now Dance for mе, like you're drunk and fascinated by mе I just wanna dance on, can't stop it This is my world in the dark Woah, again, chaconne now

Part 2 <- click

#enha x reader #heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung fanfic #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #enhypen hard hours #heeseung hard hours #enha heeseung #heeseung hard thoughts #Spotify

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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 1 year

Text

DADDY ISSUES - Part Sixteen: God is a Woman

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Now that you have a plan to save Elvis, it's time to put it into motion. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: mentions of drugs, nsfw themes, the colonel, and i think that's all!

Rating: M || Word Count: 12,217

A/N: the fact that i can't finish a novel based on my own ideas but can sit down and in like two months write an entire novel about a man who passed on almost 50 years ago...how expensive is therapy?? fohaufhej

My sincerest thanks to everyone who has read along and given any of your time, energy, and love to this fic. I couldn't have done it without y'all!! I'm incredibly proud to be posting this last chapter and presenting a fully complete fic for only like the second time in my life. I usually quit projects halfway through but this fandom gave me the juice to keep going. TL;DR I love you guys and I hope you've enjoyed ✨ Daddy Issues ✨ :) 💕

Song Rec: god is a woman - ari

This is Part 16 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

When you wake up the next morning, you roll over to an empty bed. You sit up quickly and run your fingers through the sheets just to make sure. The sheets are cold. Your heart jumps and aches as you wonder where he could have gone and if he decided not to wait for you, after all. Your fingers stumble onto a small piece of paper in the sheets. You pick it up and unfold it. You smile and breathe a sigh of relief at the familiar scribbles.

Princess, I hope I didn’t disappoint you by not being in bed this morning. Sorry about that. I was thinking about what you said and you’re right. We’re leaving today, all of us. By the time you read this, I’ll be downstairs getting everything ready. I packed up some of my stuff last night. Whenever you wake up, just meet me downstairs. Interior parking garage. D

You run your finger over the letter, relieved that he’d listened to you. Mostly, you’re overjoyed by the small heart drawn next to his signature. You refold the page and hop out of bed to get ready, feeling utterly giddy as you pull your clothes on. You pause to check and see whether there’s anything Elvis left that you might want, taking a quick moment to glance around the hotel room.

As you walk around the bed to look through his nightstand, you remember the box of letters underneath the bed. The framed photograph of Lisa Marie is gone, but when you drop to your knees and glance under the mattress, you see the cardboard box. Reaching underneath, you pull it out and smile fondly. Although this box does contain the letters of Elvis’ previous women, you put your jealousy aside. He might want to have it. You pack it up, along with two of Elvis’ shirts, and head downstairs. On your way out, you notice a variety of pill bottles on the bathroom counter, all closed up and stacked together. You sigh happily. He left the pills.

After sprinting down to the front desk, you ask for the number to Trixie’s room. When she answers, you quickly explain the situation and wait for her to meet you in the lobby. She hands off your bag and, after a quick hug, you dash into the staff elevator. You know the way, without hesitation.

Hugging the letters and shirts to your chest, you climb into the elevator and hit the button for the ground level, where you can walk straight out into the interior parking garage as Elvis had instructed in his letter. You smile as the elevator starts descending. You can’t wait to get him back to Graceland and just make everything right, to help him relax and refuel.

As the elevators open and you step out, you freeze immediately. You’re caught right in between Elvis and the Colonel, who are clearly involved in some sort of massive argument. Your fingers go weak and you drop the box of letters onto the ground. Elvis is half-leaned over with a finger pointed firmly toward his manager. The very picture of tranquility in contrast to Elvis' anger, the Colonel is peacefully smoking a cigar on a couch in the lobby.

“Don’t you Mr. Presley me, you toad!” Elvis is in the middle of yelling.

When you step out of the elevator, accompanied by a loud bing announcing your presence, both men look over at you with surprise. You glance at Elvis first. His gaze softens immediately when it lands on you. His eyebrows fall into their normal position.

“If you are so determined to get out of our contract-” the Colonel begins talking again and your gaze shifts over to him. You squint your eyes and cross your arms over your chest.

“Ya goddamn right I want out!” Elvis yells, recentering his attention on the Colonel.

“Well, I will personally lend you the money that you owe to Jamboree Attractions.”

“You still got your claws in me! You’ll still have me workin here like some goddamn slave in a salt mine! You phony no good piece of trash! I should shoot you in your fat goddamn face! Let’s go, princess, we’re outta here.”

He turns to leave and you step forward, glaring at the Colonel as you pass. With your attention diverted, you can’t avoid Elvis’ body when he steps back. He gently bumps into you, pushing you back a few steps. You place your hands on his back to stabilize yourself and then leave them there to help support him. He turns back toward the Colonel.

“Who are you?”

“I am you and you are me,” the Colonel replies, standing up and taking a few steps toward you both.

You can feel yourself growing more defensive by the minute as he approaches. Your fingers curl into the leather of Elvis’ jacket and you clench your jaw to keep yourself from doing anything drastic.

“Cut the horseshit!” Elvis shouts. “Everythin I’ve ever known about ya’s been a lie!”

“EP, you good?”

Jerry’s familiar voice reaches your ears. Elvis holds up a hand to show Jerry that he’s alright. You glance around Elvis’ body to see Jerry sticking his head out from the inside of a black Cadillac, probably the same one Elvis had once used to take you to such a lovely dinner so long ago. That was the night he gifted you the EP collar. You resist the urge to reach up and touch your neck, where that very necklace should be.

“My past is the least of your problems my boy. Everyone else you associate with lives from you, Mr. Presley. Even Vernon. Yes, that’s right, even your own daddy has looked after himself before he’s looked after you.”

You feel Elvis’ body tense up and look up to see his jaw clenching. He must have felt you move because he glances over his shoulder at you. His eyes trace up and down your face with furrowed eyebrows.

“Yes, even her. Your…princess. She, too, lives from you. When you weren’t enough for her, what did she do? She left you, didn’t she?”

Elvis' eyebrows furrow momentarily. You glance up at him and shake your head. You gently slide your hand around to his chest to hold him closer to you. Your heart aches with the Colonel’s words because you know it's true. You have lived off of EP, even though he’s the one who offered in the first place. And you did leave him; you betrayed him even after everything he had done for you.

But as the Colonel's accusation floats around in your brain, your chest swells with anger. You glare at the hideous man in front of you. As if he hasn't also lived from Elvis. As if he hasn’t been taking 50% of every damn cent Elvis has earned. As if he hasn’t taken advantage of Elvis’ talent himself. Your fingers curl into the strings of Elvis’ shirt, white-knuckled. The Colonel continues, as if he had heard your innermost thoughts

“Yes, I have lived from you, too. But the difference is that you have also lived from me. We have supported each other because we shared a dream. We are the same you and I.”

You glance back over at Elvis to see that his eyes are glassy. You can feel his chest rising and falling shakily and you hear his uneven breaths as he stares at the man who ruined his life. No, claimed his life.

“We are two odd lonely children reaching for eternity," the Colonel continues.

Something in what the Colonel says, you're not sure what, triggers you. You can’t stand here and watch as he destroys the love of your life. You unlatch yourself from Elvis and step forward, pointing harshly into the face of the devil himself.

“How dare you,” you hiss. “How dare you compare yourself to him. How dare you claim to have supported him, to have shared his dream, when you’re the one who takes 50% of everything he makes and you're the one who uses it to gamble away your entire fortune. You bastard.”

“Oh, the little girl has opinions,” the Colonel raises his eyebrows, stepping forward to challenge you. “How wonderful. At least I stayed with my boy when it got hard. You ran off like a petulant little child, like a spoiled brat who didn’t get what she wanted.”

“Colonel Tom Parker, or whatever the hell your real name is, I want you to listen and listen good,” you step forward, even closer to him, and stare him straight in the eyes. “You will not send any additional bills or charges to Mr. Presley. You will not conduct any additional business with or in the name of Mr. Presley. You will not sell any memorabilia or merchandise using Mr. Presley’s name or likeness from this point forward. And you will not attempt to contact Mr. Presley again.”

“And why on earth would I respond to your trivial threats, you stupid child?” he asks as he raises the cigar to his lips.

“Because if you don't listen to my advice, you will be receiving a notice in the mail. That notice will inform you of a cease and desist filed against you for your harassment of Mr. Presley and his family as well as your mismanagement of Presley Enterprises. You will be taken before a judge, tried, and convicted of every crime you’ve ever committed, including being an illegal citizen of the United States of America.”

“Oh for god’s sake, my boy,” the Colonel attempts to step to the side of you to get to Elvis but you slide over in front of him, offering a curt smile.

“No. I wasn’t finished. For your reference, and because I'm a better person than you could ever be, here’s a little draft I had written up,” you reach into your purse and fish out the stack of paper, shoving it into his chest. He takes it from your hands, unfolding it to read.

"If you think anyone in their right mind, Colonel, will stand by you when Elvis Presley is the victim, if you think any jury will vote in favor of your manipulation and abuse, if you think I will ever stop pursuing you until you go down, you are dead wrong. I will do everything in my power to make absolutely certain that you cough up every single fraction of a cent you stole from this man, the true talent behind your fortune. I will make sure that you rot in jail for the rest of your sorry days, and I will make sure that you can never, ever, be a presence in his life again. You will live in fear, pain, and regret each and every single day until you die a miserable death. I, therefore, advise you to take my 'trivial' threats very, very seriously. Do I make myself clear?”

The Colonel lifts his chin, his eyes searching yours. Not surprisingly, he seems to find your attitude satisfactorily serious and genuine. He nods and steps away, shoving the cigar back in between his teeth.

“Very well," he replies, turning toward the elevator. "Maybe you should fly away, my boy. Away from all of this. But if you do choose to leave then I, for one, will be very lonely. So would your father. But I think…you may be lonely too."

“He won’t be lonely," you interrupt the Colonel and gesture behind you to the crew waiting. "He has me, he has Priscilla, he has Lisa, and all those people out there. Unlike you, Mr. Presley is a person worth loving and anyone with sense can see that.”

“Perhaps true, my dear. But, you see, Mr. Presley knows the truth about the rock of eternity. It’s forever just beyond our reach,” the Colonel replies just as the elevator doors begin to slide shut in front of his face.

You wait a couple of seconds, your fingers curling and uncurling into fists., your jaw clenching and unclenching, your chest rising and falling. You close your eyes and blow out a frustrated breath before gathering the courage to turn around and face Elvis. When you finally do, your expression softens immediately. He’s staring at you with those same glassy eyes. A tear has escaped and is rolling down his cheek. His head is tilted. He’s gazing at you, just as he did last night when you told him for the second time, and the first time in full confidence, that you love him. You bend down to pick up the box and shirts that you'd dropped before turning toward Elvis.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, approaching him. “I didn’t mean to be so forward, I just…fucking hate him. To see the way he’s hurt you, what he’s done to you…I couldn’t take it any longer.”

You reach up to cup his cheek and he gently leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he nods.

“Let’s go home, princess,” he says. “I wanna get the fuck outta here as soon as possible. This prison ain't gonna hold me no more.”

You smile weakly and wrap your hands around his bicep as you make your way toward the already packed and loaded Cadillac. Jerry holds the door for you and you climb into the car, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself. Elvis hops in after you and you’re off. After a few moments of driving in silence, Elvis breaks it.

“Thank you."

You turn toward him.

“For what?”

“For tellin the Colonel to go fuck himself,” he says, his teeth breaking through his lips in a huge goofy grin. “For standin up for me back 'ere. For doin what I shoulda a long time ago. You was pretty badass, I ain't gonna lie.”

“Really? I was so nervous,” you return a smile and shake your head. “I didn’t even know what I was saying, really. It just all came out at once.”

“Well, it was damn impressive. But I still don’t understand how you can do this. Don’t those typa legal things cost money? How does it all work, anyway?”

“This is what I was telling you about last night, the idea Jerry and I had. Trixie. My roommate back home has a family friend, Mr. Benson, who also happens to be a very good lawyer. Yesterday morning, I met with him and had him write up this draft. Of course, we can change it if you want. I wasn’t sure what you wanted it to say but at least this gives us something to start with. Jerry and I think that if we threaten real legal action with evidence, then the Colonel will leave you alone and just back off. Frankly, he would be stupid to challenge you in court. But if we do have to go that far, the jury will surely side with you when they can see how much abuse you’ve suffered. I grabbed this too. I thought it might help.”

You gesture to the box of letters. It hadn’t occurred to you before now, but you remember seeing an old receipt in there toward the bottom. Its existence provides real, tangible evidence that shows the Colonel taking 50% of Elvis’ earnings. And that's in addition to whatever evidence Elvis might have kept himself. When you grabbed the box from under the bed this morning, you mostly figured Elvis would like to have it for sentimental value. Now, it could mean so much more.

“Where the hell you get that?” he asks, taking it from your hands. “I thought I lost it.”

“It was under the bed. If I remember correctly, you have an old Presley Enterprises receipt in there which will show just how much the Colonel is taking from your earnings, and I-”

“How do ya know that’s in 'ere?” he glances up at you and you freeze.

“Uh…I sort of…leafed through it one day when you were gone. It caught on my foot and I just wondered what it was, that’s all. I realize…I probably shouldn’t have. I know a lot of those letters are probably personal and all, but…”

There’s really no excuse for what you did, other that the fact that you wanted to so you did. You can feel heat creeping into your face and neck as he stares at you with a quirked eyebrow.

“You read everythin in 'ere?”

“I’m...afraid so, sir,” you say, suddenly terrified that he’s angry with you.

It’s not very respectful to go through your sugar daddy’s mail while he’s not around. That’s private information and some of the letters were most certainly very…private. You release a breath of relief when Elvis chuckles warmly, glancing down at the box. He runs his fingers over it.

“But how did ya pay for it? I thought you was havin money troubles as it was when I was payin ya?”

“I…I’m sorry, Mr. Presley, but I had to sell the gifts you bought me. The dresses, the jewels, all of it. I had to so that I could pay off my debts and the legal fees and the fee for the order and... I know you’re probably furious with me but there was no other way. I knew you needed to get away from that man. I didn’t know how else to do it other than threatening legal action. I-”

“And ya did this all yesterday mornin? Fore you drove four hours up 'ere to convince me to leave?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. But what does that have to do with anything?”

He reaches up to remove his sunglasses, pushing them up through his hair. He stares into your eyes with furrowed eyebrows. He shakes his head.

“Colonel was wrong, ya know.”

“Not that I’m not glad to hear you say that," you giggle, "but about what?”

“He said that you're an ungrateful brat. I know I’ve called ya that myself a time or two. But I’ve never been caught more of a fool. Yeah, it’s true that you left, maybe…maybe when I needed ya most. But the difference between you and him, between you and my daddy, between you and everybody else who’s left me in the dust? You came back. And now I find out that ya came back fully equipped to fix every dumb ass goddamn problem that I caused for myself. You came back with the answers to every question I got, to every crisis I need solved. And you did it all in one day, for me. Ungrateful brat is the farthest thing from what you are. And I’m ashamed to ever have called ya that, to ever have believed it.I have never met somebody so selfless.”

“Oh, Mr. Presley…” you shake your head but freeze when his warm hand lands on yours. He curls his fingers around your palm and smiles.

“Ya know somethin else the Colonel was wrong bout?”

“I love the direction of this conversation,” you giggle again. “What’s that?”

“He said that we, me and him, shared a dream. That we supported each other cause we shared a dream. But that shit just ain't true. He ain't the one I share a dream with. You are. You was the one who inspired me to dream. To think, and talk and stand and walk and…and to dream.”

You feel the corners of your mouth turn downward and tears quickly brimming in your eyes. He’s talking about If I Can Dream. It feels like a lifetime ago now, the '68 special. The flash moment of courage in which you told him to sing the song, the first time you were alone together. That girl feels like a different person to you now, so naive and full of hope.

“And you’ve done a helluva lot more to support me than he ever did. But I ain't been supportin you. Financially, maybe, but that's not good nuff. I’d like to fix that. Come live with me at Graceland. There’s plenty of room now without Cilla and Lisa. Without daddy, too, I guess. When I tried to go up and get him to leave, he...he’s convinced we ain't got no other choice but to crawl back to the Colonel. I ain't gonna do that no more. I don't know how much longer we got the house if this cease and whatever doesn’t work but…it’s a big house, I’m sure there's enough space for us both.”

“Mr. Presley, I don’t know if-”

“Please. Don’t make me beg,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

“What if that’s exactly what I want to see,” you reply with a smirk. He chuckles. Damn it. You're a goner for those puppy dog eyes. "I would be honored to stay with you at Graceland. You know, I’ve never been to Tennessee.”

“No shit?”

“Never been out of California.”

“Well, I hope Memphis lives up to your expectations.”

“You know, I have a feeling it just might.”

By the time your conversation ends, someone is opening your door and leading you across the tarmac of an airport. You and Elvis board his private jet, the Lisa Marie. You can now confidently say that you vastly enjoy the private jet experience.

Three short hours later, your jaw is practically dropping to the floor as a purple Cadillac pulls up to the beautiful scene that is Graceland. Words can’t describe how picturesque the house is. Your heart flutters with excitement as the driver pulls you around the long driveway up toward the front door.

“Oh my god…” you mumble to yourself. “She's…not at her best," Elvis says as he peers out the window. "I gotta admit I been neglectin her but we’ll get her fixed up real nice for ya.”

You smile at him as the car rolls to a stop in front of the house. A few staff members help you unload your bags and take them into the house. You laugh at the sight of Elvis’ belongings piling up next to the one bag you’d frantically packed overnight. You'll have to call Trixie and arrange for her to bring your things up. After the bags have been unpacked, the driver and staff vacate the premises, leaving you and Elvis totally alone. You help him upstairs where he flops onto the bed and promptly falls asleep, his mouth hanging open as he snores softly. You gently throw a blanket over him and, this time, you don’t hesitate for a minute. You lean down and press a chaste kiss to his head.

“Sleep well, Mr. Presley.”

You start to unpack while he snoozes, too restless to sleep yourself. As you clean out his bathroom belongings, you grimace and pull out a pill bottle. Gripping it tightly, you swear to yourself that you’ll use some of the leftover cash to pay for therapy. You know there are places where people with addictions like Elvis can go to get help. And you intend to make that a priority. Starting on Monday.

─────

The next three and a half months pass as slow as molasses while you get settled in at Graceland. The conversation wasn’t necessarily pleasant but you somehow managed to convince Elvis to attend therapy for his drug addiction. During your argument, he mentioned that Priscilla had also begged him to get therapy so he could be a better father for Lisa Marie. You silently thanked her and hoped you would get the chance to apologize for everything. Although he put up a real fight, Elvis left three days later.

While he was gone, you spent your time cleaning up the house, both outside and in. You got to painting the walls, dusting the decor, planting some flowers, vacuuming, reorganizing, and finally restocking the fridge. You accomplished your housework all while working at a local diner on Beale Street. You served there during the day and worked on Graceland at night. Although you didn't enjoy the flashbacks to your previous job at Chadney’s and the horrors of that lifestyle, working on Beale Street turned out to be quite enjoyable. The people were kind and lovely and fun.

You would never tell Elvis but sometimes you pretend that you own the house yourself, that you’re the mistress of the property. That fantasy helps you get past days when you just want to sleep through the hours.

Despite all of your work, you still find that something is missing. Every time you pass Lisa's room, which happens often since her room is two doors down from yours, you think about those visions of the children on the front lawn, laughing as they play football with Elvis on the bright green grass. Of holidays and barbecues and birthday parties. Of winters, springs, autumns, and summers in the house. And each time you have to shake yourself back to reality and remind yourself that it’s not your place to wish that. Nor it is fair to the ex-wife and child that Elvis already have. You remind yourself that your visions will stay a dream, albeit not a dream you and Elvis get to share.

Trixie came up to visit you for a few weeks, helping clean up around the house and giving you a bit of a break. She also brought a carload of your stuff and asked, whether jokingly or not you’re unsure, if she could move into Lisa's room. With a teasing smile, you said you’d have to check with Elvis.

If you don't say so yourself, what you've been able to accomplish with the house is nothing short of a miracle. In three months, you have completely transformed the place. Every night as you lie down for bed, you're hit with a bout of excitement thinking about how lovely it will be to show Elvis what you've done with the place.

And today is finally the day. After three months, he's returning from therapy. You’re practically jumping out of your skin. Not only are you vibrating with anxious excitement to see how much healthier he looks, but you’re also dreaming of his touch. You now fully understand the sentiment of the saying 'distance makes the heart grow fonder.' You've grown tired of seeing your relationship in sections. Your entire journey together has felt like a series of snapshots and you just want to finally piece them together into an album.

When you hear the car rolling up the drive, you jump up and smooth your skirt down. Gulping and closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and open the front door. You step outside. Your eyebrows immediately raise at the sight of Elvis as he steps out of the car. Your heart pounds in your chest.

He looks incredible. He’s thinner than he’s been in years. He looks fit as a fiddle, stronger even than he was during the filming of the special. He has a healthy tan and his long dark hair is trimmed neatly, although a few pieces hang loose, handsomely on his forehead. When he lifts his head, you lose your breath. He looks almost identical to how he did in 1968. His bright blue eyes are sparkling and when he smiles, you can see it in his eyes. He’s wearing a white button-down, half unbuttoned of course, with black pants. The sleeves are teasingly rolled up to his elbows, tempting you with a glimpse of his muscular forearms. He looks simple, relaxed, comfortable.

“Mr. Presley!” you say excitedly, biting your lip to keep your tears at bay. “You look…wonderful. You're practically glowing.”

“Thank ya, darlin,” he says with a grin. “It’s good to be home.”

“Well, I hope you’re hungry.”

“Always.”

You smile and press your back against the door, opening it for him to enter. When he steps in to walk past you, his head tilts to the side and he pauses, glancing down at you with a smirk. His eyes trace your figure up and down quickly before he sighs softly and enters the dining room. Your heart is pulsing in your head, you can hear it. Words can't describe how much you missed being looked at like that. You close the door and follow EP into the dining room where the food has already been laid out.

You portion out the dishes and then sit in silence while you eat, the room unsettlingly quiet aside from the clinking of your silverware on the ceramic dishes. Every once in a while, you smile up at each other from across the table. You aren't sure about him, but you feel heat in your cheeks each time.

“So, how was it?” you finally ask. “How do you feel?”

He’s silent for a moment, just nodding with a smile.

“Better than I have in a very long time, princess. Much better.”

The next several weeks around the house follow suit. Things are much better than they have been in a very long time. Elvis is doing so much better, looking healthier and happier each day. Unfortunately, though, all those years of drug use have taken a steep toll on his body. You help him every day with gentle stretching exercises just to help keep him in shape. You're also responsible for ensuring that he eats a healthy and balanced diet with lots of water.

To your surprise, Elvis is furious when he finds out how much you’ve been working. So much so that he sets out immediately to look for a recording studio. He suggested a normal job but you quickly reminded him of just how famous he still is. You doubt anyone would hire Elvis Presley for anything other than music.

He starts to spend hours every day in the Jungle Room, writing and recording. Sometimes you join him and just listen or take a nap while he plays softly for you. You’ve taken up football, as much as you can. In the warmer weather, you both play on the front lawn. Or wrestle around on the grass is more like it. You’ve begun to teach Elvis how to cook and how to dance. In turn, he’s teaching you how to play the piano and the basics of karate. Every day feels like a gift and you wake up with a renewed sense of purpose and life.

And you could never miss the tension when your fingers overlap on the piano, or the longing glances you cast each other when you’re directing his body on the dancefloor. Or the way he asks you to stay with him at night, the silence when you lay next to each other, both waiting patiently for the other to be bold.

Elvis is doing so much better, looking healthier and happier each day. Although all those years of drug use have taken a steep toll on his body. You help him every day with gentle stretching exercises just to help keep him in shape. You're also responsible for ensuring that he eats a healthy and balanced diet with lots of water.

In December, you decorate the house for the holidays and learn quickly that Christmas is Elvis’ favorite time of the year. He’d never mentioned it to you before and, with the hullabaloo of the 68 special, Christmas and Elvis always felt like enemies in your mind. A giant snowstorm blew into Memphis just in time and you found yourself buried in beautiful white snow. Graceland looked absolutely magnificent, just beautiful and picturesque like a Christmas card from an old friend. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

As a thank you for all the work you've been putting in, Elvis has offered to cook dinner tonight. While you’re skeptical of his abilities, the idea of a night off is just too good to refuse.

After a long, hot, relaxing bath, you walk into your bedroom to get dressed and, instead, find a beautiful red silk gown folded on your dresser. You spy a note resting on top of the fabric and giggle.

Princess, Surprise! I finally have enough cash to do this again. Not like before but I want you to have something special for tonight. Hopefully my cooking doesn’t ruin it all! I can’t wait to see you in it. D

Your fingers love the feeling of the silk on your skin. The color compliments you wonderfully and you feel just beautiful in it. Although you don’t have an interest in doing a full face of makeup and styling your hair, you do slip on some black heels before making your way downstairs. When you reach the bottom of the stairs, your heart drops. None of the lights are on and it’s pitch black. You immediately assume that the storm probably knocked your power out.

“Mr. Presley!” you shout, squinting into the darkness.

You round the corner, still squinting but following a ray of light from the dining room. Once you step inside, you gasp. Candles are strewn everywhere and spread on the dining room table is a feast, probably edible although it's not too nice to look at. Your eyes take in the scene, pausing a record spinning in the back corner. Finally, you dare to glance over at Elvis’ frame. He’s standing behind your usual chair, holding it out for you. He’s in a stylish black suit with a big grin resting on his face.

“My lady,” he says, gesturing to the seat.

You’re so overwhelmed you can’t even say anything. You just take your seat in the chair as he does the same. You chat while you eat, laughing and flirting throughout the meal. When Elvis gets up to put on another record, your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god!” you shout. “Is this-?”

“The Genius Hits the Road,” he nods with a smile.

You laugh and shake your head. That old record from what feels like so long ago. Elvis takes two steps toward you and holds his empty palm out. You glance up at him.

“Dance with me," he says."

Even after all this time, five years and some change, you still feel those butterflies that tickle your stomach. The snapshots of your relationship have meant that every little move forward, every romantic gesture, every small thing feels a thousand times greater. The longer the wait, the sweeter the kiss.

You stare into his eyes, as the light from the candles flickers gently onto his face, and slide your fingers into his. He gently pulls you up and expertly guides you into his arms, his hand sliding around your back to hold you close to him. As you sway to the music, you glance up into his eyes and he down into yours.

"I'm sorry I could never get you the rock of eternity," you say quietly.

"What are you talkin bout?" he asks with a chuckle.

"That's what our deal was. That we would take the journey together. You got me the Ray Charles album, but I never could get you the rock of eternity. Just...too far away, I guess."

The corner of his mouth tilts up in a smile.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you? Honey, the rock of eternity ain't my dream no more."

You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows.

"What do you mean?"

"Just like Colonel said, the rock of eternity is forever out of reach. But I got everythin I could ever dream bout right here in my arms."

You shake your head to tell him that you still don't understand.

"You, princess," he chuckles, his fingers reaching up to pinch your chin. "You're my dream now."

Your smile falls and your breath catches in your throat. He smiles handsomely and you clench your jaw to keep the tears at bay. You sway in small circles across the carpeted dining room floor.

“I see ya didn’t sell everything that I gave ya,” he says.

“Oh, I could never do that to this record. It was the best gift I’ve ever received.”

“I was talkin bout this,” he says, and you’re confused until you feel his finger jiggling the TCB ring back and forth on your finger. You glance over at it and smile.

“Oh…that.”

“Yeah, that. How come you kept it?”

“Well, I just couldn’t sell this. My daddy gave it to me,” you say quietly, sliding your hands away from his and onto his shoulders.

His free hand joins his other on your back, pressing your body taut against him. You raise yourself up onto your tip toes and press your forehead against his. He leans down to meet you, both of you closing your eyes and swaying in the darkness together.

“Oh, I see,” he says quietly in that deep southern drawl that you missed so much. “You musta been a real good girl to get such a nice ring, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know. If I’ve been such a good girl, maybe I deserve something better than a ring.”

“Yeah? What did ya have in mind, princess?”

You open your eyes momentarily, just long enough to see that his are closed and a soft smile resting on his lips. With a gulp, you close your eyes again. As carefully as you can, you slowly tilt your head upward and to the side, your nose brushing against Elvis’. You feel his grip tighten on your back and his hot breath ghost over your lips. You nervously bite your bottom lip and hover in the space between for a moment. Your heart is racing in your chest, pounding against your ribcage. Your heart is fluttering and you can barely stomach the shallow breaths you take. You move forward just an inch, barely enough so that your lips are gently touching. Elvis exhales sharply, his lips twitching under the touch of yours. You hover there for a moment, swaying slowly to the music.

“You gonna kiss me, princess?” Elvis finally whispers against your lips. “Or are we just gonna stand ‘ere?”

You smile against his lips and then, finally, press yourself onto him for the very first time. His lips open to accept yours hungrily. The kiss is warm, deep, and slow. One of his hands gently slides up your spine and wraps around the back of your neck, pressing your kiss deeper into his own. You shiver under his touch, your hands wrapping around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair.

When your lips pull apart, your eyes remain closed and you drop your forehead onto his lips. He presses a warm kiss to your skin. While you sway back and forth, Elvis presses another kiss to your forehead. Then one to your temple, then to your cheekbone, your cheek, your jaw. His hand glides forward onto your cheek, tilting your head up so he can access your neck. You sigh happily as his lips press down on the skin while his hand pulls your back forward. He kisses your neck again and then gently sucks on the skin. Your fingers grip his roots, tugging his soft black locks. Your head rolls back and your eyes close in delight.

His fingers curl around your jaw, as they’ve done so many times before. His thumb rubs over your bottom lip. You open your mouth and it slips between your lips. You swirl your tongue around his fingertip as he nips at your neck. You can feel your heart fluttering under his touch and your core inches toward tenderness. Stuck in a glazed-over euphoria, you barely even notice when the record clicks off, spinning a song of silence. Elvis pulls back and removes his finger from your lips. You drop your chin and stare up at him through your eyelashes, begging him to understand how badly you need him.

“I don’t want to fuck tonight,” you say quietly.

“What do you want, princess? Ask and its yours.”

“I want you, all of you. I want you to make love to me, Elvis.”

He reaches forward and his thumb pinches the skin of your chin between his fingers. You’re immediately flashed back to the first time that you were alone with him. When he had asked you whether the panties he held in his fingertips were yours. You can almost feel the heat returning to your cheeks now as you think about it.

After he takes your body in, his eyes tracking up and down your figure, he moves to your side. One of his arms snakes underneath your upper back and the other underneath your knees. You yelp and giggle as he hoists you up into his arms, holding you bridal style. You wind your arms around his neck and bite your lip as he smirks down at you. He carefully walks you up the stairs and down the hall into his bedroom. The whole while, you keep your gaze on him, watching his soft smile. When you reach his bedroom, the door is just barely cracked open, too closed for you to enter comfortably.

“Damn,” he says, his shoulders falling. You release an awkward sigh as you can feel the mood starting to drain. He glances down at you with a crooked smile and you furrow your eyebrows.

“What?”

“Hold on tight, princess.”

You raise your eyebrows but clutch harder onto him. Elvis laughs, his chest rumbling against you. He grips tightly onto you and leans back before kicking his heel into the door. It swings open with a bang. As he carries you inside, you laugh, throwing your head back.

“Hell yeah! Those badass karate moves were finally worth something,” you giggle.

He smiles down at you and then pauses beside the bed. He gently lets you down onto the floor. Your hands slide down onto his chest and you tug at the material of his suit jacket. His big hands return to your lower back and he holds you steady. He tilts his head and leans down slowly. You raise yourself up on your tiptoes to meet his lips, pressing against him. He grips your waist and his lips move in between yours. He kisses you again and again and again, somehow pushing harder against you each time.

Your hands travel everywhere, pulling on his clothes, his hair, the skin of his cheeks, as you try everything you can to pull him closer into you. You push back against his chest, disconnecting your lips with a clear pop. You heave as you take the opportunity to push his suit jacket from his frame. It falls onto the floor, lifeless. You run your fingers down his chest before deftly unclipping each and every button. When you reach the bottom of the shirt, you curl your fingers into the fabric and yank it up from under the band of his pants.

You bite your lip as your fingers dance across his bare chest. In the moonlight, you can barely see him, but you prefer to appreciate him through touch only. Something about not being able to see his face makes you pay closer attention to the way his skin feels on yours. You carefully push the shirt from his muscular shoulders. You run your fingertips down his biceps, strong and taut. Your heart pounds in your chest as your mind conjures images of Elvis sweating while lifting weights or doing push-ups. You feel heat creeping into your cheeks. After all this time, you still find yourself flustered by his beautiful masculinity.

His finger slides underneath your chin and he tilts your head up, pressing his lips to yours. You hum contentedly into his mouth, the warmth of his chest radiating onto your skin. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you open your mouth for him. The feeling of his tongue against yours makes you clutch him closer. His mouth is warm and wet but you love the taste of his saliva on your tongue.

His lips slip from yours and he presses hot kisses down your jaw and onto your neck, biting harshly at the skin. He tugs it between his teeth and then swipes his tongue over it. When he nibbles on your collarbone, you arch your back into him and moan quietly. His fingers find their way to the zipper in the back of your dress. He pulls it up, agonizingly slowly, his fingertips ghosting over your skin so lightly that it almost tickles. When done, he slides his warm palms onto the skin of your back. You suck in a breath as he hovers by your ear, his breath on your skin. Neither of you say anything and you don’t kiss. You just press your cheeks together and his fingers unclip the back of your bra.

When he pulls away from you, you continue to stare up at him. His eyes refuse to leave your gaze even as he lifts the dress from your shoulders. His fingers curl onto the straps of your bra and slide the piece of clothing forward off your arms. His eyes immediately drop down to your chest. He smirks and steps forward, tossing your clothes elsewhere. His hand snakes around your back and he pulls you hard against him. You yelp quietly and then smile as he drops his lips down to you again.

Your hands return to his hair and you tangle your fingers into his locks. His hands cup your hips to push the rest of the dress down where it pools around your ankles. Then, his palms curl around your ass and thighs.

Against your lips, he mumbles, “Jump.”

You obey his command and he pulls you up onto his hips. You curl yourself around him and he walks a few steps back. Your lips move together in harmony as he gently lays you down on the bed below you. He hovers on top, his hand trailing along the side of your mostly naked body. His finger hooks into the side of your panties and he pulls them down. You bend your knee so he can slide them off your leg. He pulls away from your lips and falls to his knees by your core. You prop yourself up on your elbows to see what he’s doing. He flings your panties away, glancing up at you with a smirk.

“Nice panties,” he says with a smirk.

He’s referring to the pair of red panties he bought you to replace the ones you originally gave him in 1956. The pair of panties that brought you both to this moment right here. You giggle and he props your foot onto his knee, quickly unlatching the strap to your heels, one by one. You curl your toes in satisfaction at the freedom.

He takes your foot in his hands, pressing a gentle kiss to your toes, up your foot, your shin, on your knee, your thigh. When he reaches the inside of your thigh, his breath teases your folds and you throw your head back in anticipation of feeling him. He presses his hand onto your stomach and licks the skin right above your heat. You wriggle underneath him, your core throbbing with need.

You glance down at him and bite your lip. He stares up at you with glazed, dark eyes. His focus is solely on you, nothing else. Without breaking eye contact with you, he curls a hand over your thigh while the other gently tugs at the skin of your inner thigh. You breathe frustratedly and grasp at the bed beside your head. You can feel how swollen you are, just waiting for his attention. His finger moves inside, massaging the outside of your pussy. You gasp at the moment of pleasure when your clit gets stimulated just right from the pressure.

He smirks up at you and, holding your gaze, glides a finger along your wet folds. You bite your lip in response, resisting the urge to wriggle against him. He repeats the action again, applying some pressure by your entrance. You watch his chest heave and his lips part as he slides a finger inside of you. You moan quietly at the relief of stimulation.

He removes his finger and then reinserts two more, pumping you slowly and deeply. In a matter of seconds, you find your body reacting, moving in time with his fingers. He suddenly stops, withdrawing his fingers and sticking them into his mouth. You pout as he licks his skin clean, still glaring at you. Your pussy aches and you rub your fingertips together as you consider touching yourself.

Instead, you decide to tease your daddy, at least one last time. You sit up, scooting toward the edge of the bed. Grasping onto Elvis’ belt, you pull yourself up to standing. You slide a hand around his neck and yank his lips down to yours, kissing him hungrily as you spin him around. His hands grip onto your waist, pulling you against him. You latch onto his bottom lip with your teeth, pulling it out for a moment before releasing it and shoving him down onto the bed.

He falls with a thump and you lean over him, your fingers working to unlatch his belt. You pull it out and then unbutton his pants. With a coquettish giggle, you lean down, keeping your eyes on your daddy, as you take the zipper to his pants in your teeth and pull it down. Elvis smirks down at you, shaking his head.

“Goddamn, you still got it, princess,” he says quietly.

You smile and yank his pants down to his knees. He’s already kicked off his shoes. You drag your fingers over his bulge, tracing the outline of the tip. He breathes deeply, a sure sign that he’s ready for your touch. You remove his underwear and gasp at the sight of his perfect cock. You’ve missed it so much. You saw it so many times before but, even now, it looks just as perfect as it did the first time. The veins pulse before your eyes and the tip twitches. You tap your finger on top and swipe your tongue to taste salty precum, all gathered up nicely for you.

His dick twitches under your touch and you giggle. You trail a finger down his length and then lick the tip with your tongue. He releases another breath and shakes his head. You tap the tip once more before leaning forward, still gazing into his eyes, and wrap your lips around the head. You lean over, pushing him deep into your throat. When he hits the back of your esophagus, you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid gagging. When you release him, your saliva is wet on his dick. You spread the liquid around and pump him a few times. He leans back and moans deeply. You bite your lip and hum against him.

“I missed that,” you mumble against him.

“What?”

“The noises you make for me,” you reply with a giggle.

He smirks, suddenly sitting up and leaning forward. Before you can react, his hands are wrapping around your waist and pulling you up on top of him. You chuckle as he turns you over and positions himself on top of you. You settle in below him, your hands resting on his chest. He smiles as he reaches down for his dick. Without leaving your gaze, he positions himself by your entrance. You sigh in pleasure as he runs the sticky tip up your wet folds. He does it twice more.

“I should get a condom,” he says with a laugh.

“No,” you reply, grabbing onto his bicep to stop him. “No, don’t.”

His eyes search yours for a few moments. He shakes his head in disbelief.

“You sure, baby girl?”

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation.

“No argument from me," he smirks, leaning down to kiss you.

You giggle as he grabs himself and gently pushes into you. You breathe deeply and shut your eyes as you adjust to the pressure. You moan at the feeling of his length inside you, so gradual and gentle. Of course, you’ve had him before but never like this, never so slow, so tender. You open your eyes when you feel Elvis’ hand on your forehead, pushing your hair back from your skin. His head is tilted, a soft smile playing at his lips. He drags his knuckle down your cheek. You lean into his touch, winding your arms around his shoulders and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. You close your eyes and buck your hips against him, telling him to go. He follows your request immediately, starting to slide in and out of your folds. You instantly feel relief at the stimulation that your core so desperately needed. You move your hips against him as his length pushes in and out of you. You moan with his movements, the pressure building inside your body. You turn your head to the side as your moans grow louder and more frequent. He presses a kiss to your jaw and then rests his forehead against your cheek as he moves against you.

Your eyebrows furrow from the mixture of pleasure and pain. Elvis' arms slide underneath your shoulders and he holds you close to his body as he drives in and out of you. You tug at his hair and he moans against your cheek. His pants are loud in your ear, edging you on.

You smile, the pleasure building quickly. He growls as his movements start to become sloppier and sloppier. You hold him close, steadying him as he pushes into you. You feel the pleasure like waves of need crashing into one another. You bite down on his shoulder, tasting the sweat on his skin. You gasp loudly as he hits your g-spot perfectly, the pleasure so overwhelming it’s almost painful. He buries his head in your neck, his sweat wiping away on your skin. Your fingernails dig deep into his skin as he thrusts in and out of your dripping, swollen folds.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers against your skin.

Nothing else he could ever do or say would send you over the edge like this does. Your heart soars with pride and you feel your body shaking underneath him as you orgasm at the touch of your daddy. Your eyes fly open when you notice the sensation of his warmth flooding inside of you. You both shudder together as you drop down from your highs.

Your chest heaves and you fall limp. With your eyes closed, you barely notice Elvis flopping onto the sheets beside you. The quiet air is filled with your pants as you both gain the energy to check on each other.

Finally, you open your eyes and maneuver so that Elvis’ head is in your lap. His fingers drape lazily across your inner thigh and he starts to draw circles on your skin with his fingertips. You gently stroke his hair away from his forehead with a stupid soft smile resting on your face.

“I like it when ya do this,” he mutters against your thigh.

“Do what?”

“Stroke my hair like that. It reminds me of my mama.”

“...Is that a compliment or should I be freaked out?” you ask and he laughs, turning to lie on his back so he can look you in the eye. You adjust but continue to stroke his hair, watching in pleasure as his eyes close from the sensation.

“It’s a compliment. The highest one I can give. My mama was always my bestest girl. Sometimes I wonder if you wasn't sent to me to take her place.”

“Elvis Presley, are you calling me your bestest girl,” you ask and he opens one eye before closing it again.

“Ya know you never done that fore, neither,” he says and you tilt your head.

“Done what?” you ask with a laugh.

“Called me Elvis. You only ever called me Mr. Presley or daddy. Never Elvis.”

“Yeah…I guess I hadn’t noticed.”

“Why?”

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you ever call me by my name?"

“I guess it felt too intimate somehow? I don’t know. You never really called me by my name either. Not until tonight.”

“I was scared to. I thought it'd make us too close and I's terrified of hurtin ya. Y/N, baby, you don't know how badly I wanted to when you told me you loved me."

"Which time?" you snort. "The romantic time or the embarrassing one?"

Elvis shifts to sit up, crossing his legs. He places his warm hands on your thighs and gently pulls you onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his back, holding yourself firmly onto his body. His hands circle around your back. He reaches up to brush a rogue piece of hair from your face and then his eyes gaze into yours.

“Don’t you ever be embarrassed bout lovin me. Baby girl, ain't nobody ever loved me like that before. Nobody. I ain't felt this loved since my mama left me. It don't make no sense to me, why you do. How a woman like you — beautiful, talented, smart, kind — could love somebody as pathetic and selfish as me.”

“Because you’re not,” you whisper, reaching out to cup his cheeks. He scoffs. “You were being abused, Elvis, abused and used by someone you trusted. By someone you loved and someone you thought loved you. And after all of that, you’re still not selfish or pathetic. You’ve never been either of those things with me. I’ve never seen you that way. I wish I could show you how I see you. Not Elvis the rockstar, not Elvis the movie star, not Elvis the Vegas daddy. My Elvis. Who you are in here.”

You gently poke your fingertip into the middle of his chest, where his heart is pumping underneath. A few moments of silence pass as he stares up at you, his eyes glassy. You continue.

“You asked me once why I gave in and said yes to the arrangement. Do you remember?”

“The day after the reporters snapped us together. Yeah, I remember. Course I do.”

“I couldn’t answer you then. I can now. I came because of who you are. Because you and I are the same. We’re both dreamers, idealists, hopeless romantics. Because I knew, even from that first moment at Russwood Park, that you were something special. Something so different that you were out of this world, like a superhero or something, I don’t know. I came because I needed so badly to know that there was another soul out there who understood mine. And you did, you always have. I think you always will.”

“Y/N,” he whispers, moving his hand to cup your face. You lean into his touch with a soft smile. “I adore you. I-I can’t breathe without ya. When you left it was like…” he winces, “like my heart got ripped out my chest, like everything hurt. Like I was dyin'. The only thing made me feel better was drugs. I got so drugged up, so high. But when you came back and it was like…a ray of light just burst through all that darkness. Ya voice, I heard it and I just-I woke up. I have never been more alive than when I’m with you. I do love you, Y/N. Darlin, I’ve loved you for…too long now. I can’t even 'member when it happened.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?” you ask, bursting into tears. Your shoulders begin to shake as you cry. He shakes his head, dropping his gaze to catch yours as his hands tilt your face up. He wipes your tears with his thumbs.

“No, no, don’t cry, honey. Please don’t cry, baby. I’m sorry. I know I shoulda but I's scared and too proud to admit it. Every woman I ever said I love you to has left me. The thought of you leavin me for good, forever? I can't take that. I couldn’t imagine it and I don't want to. I was horrified you’d leave me again.”

“I will never leave you, for as long as you want me,” you say, grasping at the chain around his neck. “I promise you, Elvis Aaron Presley, I’ll never leave you.”

“You better not,” he replies and you both chuckle sadly. “Cause I got a lot of makin up to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“For the shit I put ya through. All those late nights and long days, the way I treated ya like an object. The things I said to ya, horrible things. I don’t mean none of 'em and I intend to make it all up to ya.”

“Yeah? How are you gonna do that?”

“I got some ideas,” his eyes drop down to your heat and you playfully smack his arm with a giggle.

“Elvis Presley. Behave, daddy.”

“I do have one idea that I think might just be the perfect start.”

“And what’s that? A shopping trip to replace all the things I sold to save your ass?”

He says nothing in response but takes your hand in his. Your smile begins to drop as he runs his fingers repeatedly over your ring finger. You glance down at your hand and then back up at him with wide eyes.

“Y/N, I been the dumbest fool there ever was. I wasted so much time that I shoulda used bein devoted to you. You give me purpose in life, you give me strength, and you give me the will to dream. I want ya to share that dream with me. Marry me.”

Your smile flattens and all you can do is stare at him. Your heart is racing. The question you never, ever thought you would be asked by a man like him. The Elvis Presley wants you to marry him. Starstruck doesn’t even begin to cover it. You shake your head to bring yourself back to reality and glance down at your naked fingers.

“Well," you say, laughing through happy tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. "Then I guess you better propose."

“What do you mean? I just-”

“A real proposal, Presley. On your knees, with a ring, in a place that’s not your bedroom, please.”

"I'll work on it."

He grins and shakes his head, jolting forward and knocking you down on the bed. You giggle and try to fight him off as his fingers dig into your skin, tickling you up and down your body. When he pulls away, he gently brushes his nose against yours and then presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. You smile and pull him down for a kiss.

───── August 16, 1977 ─────

“I just don’t know how to move on without him. The house and everything are just so…empty now,” you say, sniffing back another tear that threatens to fall.

“I know,” Trixie says, reaching out to hold your arm. “It was all so sudden. I just can’t believe he’s really gone.”

You nod as you both stare at an old photograph. You smile sadly and run your thumb over the glass. Putting it back down on the counter, you wipe a tear from the corner of your eye and turn your back on him forever.

“I can’t either. We lost someone very special. A once-in-a-lifetime man.”

“How is he handling it?” Trixie asks, gesturing out the front window toward the man who’s playing football with her fianceé.

“It’s been hard on him,” you say with a sigh. “Edmund was his favorite dog. He was such a good dog, too.”

“Poor, poor guy,” Trixie says, and you shoot one last look at the photograph of your beloved pomeranian dog, Edmund. “At least Elvis is doing better. I’m so glad to hear that therapy worked so well and so fast, too.”

“You’re glad? How do you think I feel?” you say and Trixie laughs. “He does look so much better and healthier, though, doesn’t he?”

You glance out the window at your husband, smiling as you absentmindedly rub your palm on your stomach. You bite your lip as he tackles Trixie's fianceé.

“Do you two need some private time?” Trixie asks.

he throws you a sideways glance with a suggestive quirk of her eyebrow. You shake your head and giggle.

“No, of course not. If you think I’m in the mood to have sex when I’m like this,” you pat your hand on top of your very pregnant belly, “then you’re the one who needs therapy. Even if my husband is the hottest man on earth. At this point, I just want the thing out.”

“Oh, speaking of babies, I think they’re here!” Trixie says, pointing down the drive. You smile at the sight of the familiar car driving up the way.

“They are, indeed! If you'll excuse me, Trix, I'd better rope him in,” you say, taking your leave to approach the husbands. “Elvis, honey, Priscilla and Lisa are here.”

Your husband's head shoots up, his enthusiastic expression complimented by a grass stain. You giggle and shake your head. His disheveled hair flops up and down as he hops over to you with a wide grin. Your eyes catch his bright blue ones and he wraps his arms around your waist. Holding you as close as he can with your belly, he presses a sweet kiss to your lips. You scrunch up your nose and push him away.

"You taste like grass," you laugh.

He shrugs and chuckles.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

You both turn at the sound of little Lisa Marie's voice. You smile down at her tiny figure as it runs up to her daddy. At nine years old, Lisa is beginning to look a lot more like her mother. But you can still see parts of Elvis in her, like the straightness of her nose and the soft downward tilt of her eyes.

Elvis kneels down and Lisa runs into his arms. He picks her up and spins her around as she giggles and laughs. Your gaze lifts up to see Priscilla and her new husband approaching you. Smiling, you hold your arms out and Priscilla gently wraps herself around your shoulders, rubbing your back gently.

"Priscilla! I'm so glad to see you, and Lisa, of course," you say.

You bend at the knees and scrunch down to allow Lisa to tuck herself into your arms. She rests her head on your belly, her ear pressed against the skin.

"I don't hear anything. Is she still in there?" Lisa asks, glancing up at you.

"Yes, she is. Although, I hope not for very much longer," you reply and shoot Priscilla an exhausted expression.

Priscilla laughs and nods. She steps forward and presses her palm to your stomach. You sigh happily.

"I'm sure it won't be much longer now," she adds. "You look ready to pop to me. How are you feeling?"

"My feet are swollen, my back is killing me, and I'm thinking about selling my soul to the devil for a good night's sleep. So, pretty standard for this late in the trimester, I guess."

"Oh yes, that sounds about right. It'll be over soon. I know Lisa is just ecstatic about having a little sister to fawn over. Have you decided what to call her yet?"

You nod with a smile.

"Love. It was Elvis' mother's middle name."

Priscilla smiles again and your conversation is interrupted by Elvis giving Priscilla a big hug.

While they get to talking, you take the opportunity to observe the guests at your summer party. A retired Vernon and his new wife, Dee, are sitting together on lawn chairs talking to Lisa Marie and some of the other kids. Steve and Jerry are drinking beers while their wives and children play cornhole. Trixie and Max — yes that Max who turned out to be a perfect match for your absolute best friend in the entire world — are lounging on a picnic blanket with plates full of classic summer barbecue.

You snap your attention back to Priscilla, the woman you long considered to be an enemy. Now, she's one of your best friends. It was easier than you expected to work out your differences, especially after you became engaged to Elvis. Lisa Marie was always a priority and turned out to be the best possible bridge to friendship for you and Cilla. Anyway, you both have a lot more in common than you previously thought. One of your favorite shared activities is poking fun at Elvis behind his back. Priscilla is the only other person in the world who truly understands.

You married Elvis less than a year after your engagement. Then, you took a lengthy honeymoon, a cruise across Europe. Elvis finally got to visit so many of the places he always wanted to see. Italy and Greece were his favorites and were so incredibly, almost unimaginably, romantic. You dream every single day of going back.

And you might be able to soon, with the release of Elvis’ newest album, the shining star of this summer get-together. "Dreamer" is the first album Elvis has released since March 1974 and the very first album he's released without the name Colonel Tom Parker pasted all over it.

After several months of settling back into life at Graceland, Elvis did receive threats from the Colonel. You'd called up Jerry and met with Trixie's family friend Mr. Benson to get the cease and desist order finalized before presenting it to the Colonel's people. After a bit of arguing back and forth and a final threat of taking his ass to court, the Colonel finally backed down. It all happened just as you and Jerry had suspected. Agreeing to settle out of court, the Colonel was ordered to repay Elvis back for 50% of what he'd stolen. Although your goal was to take everything Colonel had, every half of a cent felt like a win on Elvis' behalf.

With that situation finally resolved, Elvis became desperate to get back into music. This time, he wanted to do it his way. You watched with unmatched pride as he threw himself into gospel, the genre that had always spoken to his innermost soul. He continued to record with RCA and produced an album that he's happier and prouder of than any other piece of music he ever recorded. You could always tell his passion rested with this kind of music, music that matters, music you can feel in your soul.

As you look at him now, sitting on the grass and drawing shapes in the dirt with Lisa Marie in his lap, you know it. The void he'd been nursing back to health for so many years, that he'd been trying to fill, to replace, to erase. It's gone. He's finally healed.

Later that evening, after all your guests have left, you settle down in the living room with Lisa to watch a movie. Priscilla and her husband dropped Lisa off for the next week and you have plenty of plans to keep the little girl entertained. As you get settled on the couch, Elvis brings you a glass of water. You shoot him a thankful expression. He leans down and gently presses a kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, you slowly and begrudgingly open your eyes, smiling up at him.

“I love you,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against yours. You scrunch yours up against his.

“I love you, too.”

Your husband settles down on the other side of the couch and Lisa cuddles in between you, completely invested in the movie even though it’s just started. You readjust as a painful cramp rages in your stomach. You’ve had quite a number of them today. But, as with the others, you breathe through it and push further into the cushions.

You all sit in silence as you watch the film. Soon enough, Lisa has fallen into a deep slumber, her head nestled onto her daddy's tummy and her feet resting on your thigh. You feel Elvis’ fingers intertwining with yours on the top of the couch and glance over at him. He winks at you and you squeeze his hand before refocusing on the movie.

You only make it about five more minutes before you suddenly realize that you’re sitting in a wet spot. You gasp and look down to see that your water has most definitely broken.

“What’s wrong?” Elvis asks, jumping to his feet and walking around Lisa Marie to get to you on the couch. You place your hands on your cramping belly and glance up at him.

“I hope you’re ready to be a daddy again,” you say breathlessly.

“Well, thank god I have extensive experience. In both departments,” he replies immediately with a crooked smile.

“You may have extensive experience but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have my fair share of daddy issues," you quirk an eyebrow and he chuckles. "Now, get over here and get me to the hospital before I pop.”

“Yes, mommy,” he says and then pauses, his face flattening in embarrassment as he looks up at you.

“Mommy, huh?”

~ The End ~

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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