#LET ME MESSAGE PEOPLE WHO HAVE MESSAGED ME WITHOUT MATCHING WITH THEM FIRST!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

magics-neptunes-things · 4 months

Text

Part Of Me

Alexia please come back, the kids and I miss you 💔

No request for this one, only from my imagination. Enjoy!

TW : Mention of abusive relation, a little of angst I guess

______________________________________________________________

Since joining FC Barcelona a few months ago, you have become the biggest plot for your teammates. Before signing in Barcelona, you were under contract with PSG but you had not set foot on the football fields since months because of an injury. Your signing with the Barcelona club surprised a lot of people since you had not proven yourself for a long time, your absence falling at the worst time, just before the eventual renewal of your contract in the French capital.

But it's now in Barcelona that you evolve and your discretion foolproof intrigues your teammates a lot. You are almost never present at organized parties and if you didn't arrive late at regular intervals, you would probably be almost transparent. Not in the field that said and fortunately. Since you're goalkeeper and a turn is made between the other goalkeepers and you, you don't participate in all the matches and you are not called every week. This undoubtedly adds to the shadow that characterizes you.

Alexia cannot tell if it's this part of the mystery that draws her gaze irremediably on you. But still, she regularly surprises herself by letting her eyes slide on you during training, something that Mapi hasn't missed. She doesn’t hesitate to tease her best friend on the subject, Alexia standing up to her every time by telling her that it’s just that she's intrigued by the shadows around you.

It's the truth, but but there is more. When you aren't officially summoned to the matches, you nevertheless attend them in the stands. This is where you exchanged your first words with Alexia, first turned on football before the conversations became lighter. You’ve noticed that Alexia sometimes tries to learn more about your private life, but you’ve always managed to avoid her questions.

********

"Sorry, sorry, I’m late" you apologize to Jonatan, coming running into the weight room, jumping on one leg to put on your second shoes.

Mapi bows an eyebrow towards Alexia who shrugs her shoulders, when your coach apologizes you with a vague wave of the hand before asking you to join Ona to be her training partner. She greets you with a little smile and Alexia can hear her ask you if everything is okay. You answer her with a positive smile, before focusing on the requested exercises.

"It’s so weird. No one ever scolds her" mumbles Mapi towards Alexia. "When I'm late I have to run at least five laps."

Alexia shrugs her shoulders without answering, turning her gaze on Mapi when she elbows her.

"Stop staring at her for two seconds, everyone will catch you"

"Leave her alone, Maria" Ingrid scolds her, triggering a little cute argument between the two.

Alexia takes advantage of the exchange between the two women to shift her attention back to you. You look tired this morning and she wonders what made your night complicated. Do you suffer from insomnia? She doesn’t know anything about your life, doesn’t know if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend.

"Did you offer to come tonight?" Ingrid asks Alexia nicely.

"She received the message about the Whatsapp group like everyone else, but I don’t think she replied"

"Go ask her directly. Maybe she’s just shy?"

Alexia bites her lip as she hears Ingrid’s attempt to guess your behavior. It’s true that if we compare you to Mapi or Lucy, you are rather the opposite of them in terms of character. Alexia herself doesn't participate in parties when it involves going to a nightclub, but comes willingly when it comes to film evenings organized at someone's house.

"I can try" ended up answering Alexia thoughtfully, her eyes on you again.

As usual at the end of the training, you are the first to be dressed and ready to go. You are always polite and smiling with everyone, but you give the constant impression of having hundreds of things to do outside of games and practice.

But Alexia beat you in speed this time and she catches you when you walk along the corridors to return to your car.

"Hey, Y/N?"

You turn to her and smile at her when she arrives at your height, giving her an interrogative look.

"I was wondering if you were coming to Aitana’s tonight? You didn’t answer in the groupchat."

"Oh… no, I don’t think I can, I'm sorry"

You feel a little guilty about saying no, but you don’t really have a choice. Your regrets are sincere and it seems to have caught Alexia’s attention. The blonde bites her lip when she resumes speaking, playing nervously with her bracelet.

"It’s sad. I just… I mean, I’d really like you to come."

This surprises you and you look at her for a few seconds as you continue to walk, wondering if she's mocking you. But no, she seems sincere and you even find yourself blushing a little.

"I’ll see what I can do to free myself if that can makes you happy" you end up answering in a low voice.

"Really?"

"Yeah"

You are surprised by the big smile that appears on your captain’s face, but it's nothing compared to the one you feel when she approaches you to put a kiss on your cheek. Alexia turns her heels and in a whirlwind of blonde hair, she disappeared.

"So?" Mapi asks Alexia when she drops by her side, back in the locker room, putting her head in her hands.

"It’s a disaster. She’s gonna think I’m the weirdest person in the world."

"What are you other than that anyway?" snorts Mapi, before receiving a slap behind the head from her girlfriend.

********

When you arrive in front of Aitana, you find yourself hesitating before pressing the bell. You have never participated in this kind of party and even if everyone is very nice to you, you don't know if you will feel comfortable with them outside the field.

"Can’t find the doorbell?"

Lucy’s amused voice sounds behind you and you turn to see her arrive in the company of Ona. You find yourself mumbling some excuse, but you are quickly diverted from what you want to answer by the quick embrace that the English offers you before ringing. You also greet Ona and finally you are happy not to arrive alone.

Aitana comes to open you shortly after and greets you in turn with an embrace to each. A big smile spreads on her face when she sees you and you find yourself having the right to a full visit of her home. This allows you to see those who are already present and until you enter the living room, you feel a slight disappointment not to see Alexia. But the blonde is installed on the sofa in the living room, next to Irene, when you get there.

Your eyes cross quickly and you respond timidly to her smile before answering Aitana that you want to drink anything as long as it's not alcoholic. Your Fanta in hand, you return to the living room without really knowing where to sit. But you don't hesitate long since you suddenly find yourself facing Alexia, also a drink in the hand.

"It’s great that you could come" smiled Alexia looking at you

You nod, not being able to stop yourself from realizing that Alexia is as beautiful off the field as in her football kit. Her blonde hair falls out of cascade around her face and her dress look is particularly attractive to your taste.

"I wouldn't have wished to grieve my Captain" you answer with a slight smile.

Alexia doesn't answer and an emotion that you cannot describe passes through her eyes, before she continues on another topic of conversation. Some of your teammates will come to mingle with you, Cata and Sandra in particular, as you train together as goalkeepers, but you will mainly spend your early evening with Alexia. The rest too, since you find yourself sitting next to her when the film you have gathered for begins. Usually, you don’t allow yourself to think about any attraction that you might have for someone else, but you have to admit that if you have to put someone at the top of the list, it would be Alexia. You find yourself struggling with sensations that you shouldn’t feel when her knee grazes yours, making you feel like a teenager experiencing her first crush. At the end of the film, you get up to join Aitana in her kitchen, embarking on the passage of dirty dishes to facilitate her task. "I’m sorry, but I have to go" you announce with a slight smile. You don’t like the idea of leaving first, but you don’t really have a choice. "Don’t worry, it’s good that you could come. It’s a pleasure to have you with us" she assures you before offering you an embrace. "Are you leaving already?" Alexia’s voice resounds behind you and you turn in her direction, to explain to her too that you have no choice. "For once it's not you who leaves first" Aitana laughs in the direction of Alexia. The Spanish woman smiles and puts dishes in Aitana’s sink before resuming speaking. "I’ll leave too. I have an interview tomorrow before practice." With that, you find yourself saying goodbye to your teammates at the same time and leaving Aitana’s home together. When you find yourself outside, you offer a hug to Alexia to say goodbye, finding you troubled by her smell. You shiver when you feel her stroking your back and you suddenly realize the warmth of her body against yours, the softness of her skin, her hair that pleasantly caresses your face. And more intimately her chest against yours.

"It was nice to spend time with you outside the stadium" says Alexia.

Her mouth is right next to your ear since she still hasn’t released you. You quickly detach from her, feeling how disturbed you are by her closeness. But Alexia doesn’t release you completely, as if she wanted to enjoy this embrace a little longer. Your faces are only a few inches apart when your eyes cross and you wonder how you could never get lost in her honey-hazelnut eyes before that.

You don’t know how long your eye exchange lasts or what Alexia can read in yours. What you know is that when she slowly approaches her face from yours, you can’t resist the call of her lips. The kiss is sweet and delicate, Alexia gives you the impression that you are made of glass and ready to break into a thousand pieces. Which is probably the case.

You are breathless when you end the kiss, amazement taking precedence over the rest. Alexia Putellas has just kissed you.

"I.. I have to go" you stutter before you run away to your car.

The implicit rule asking everyone to send a message about the group when they come back, you simply send a "Home!" when you are, but you hurry to ignore your phone after that.

********

"It’s been three days and she never came back to training"

Sitting at the kitchen table of Mapi and Ingrid, Alexia ruminates her mixture of despair and questioning. She doesn't understand why you reacted in this way to your kiss, especially since you answered it and even extended it. She doesn't understand your disappearance after that and how you can be so traumatized that you simply decided to skip training.

Thanks to her title of captain, Alexia knows that it's officially for illness reasons that you didn't put a finger in the Barcelona stadium. But she can’t believe it.

Alexia is seated facing Mapi in front of a cup of coffee that she has not touched while Ingrid prepares a meal for them to regain strength after their training. The couple take Alexia here, touched by her distress.

"Maybe you're a very bad kisser?" laughs at Mapi, before abruptly shutting up when she receives a slap behind the head from her girlfriend.

"Stop doing that!" whines Mapi.

"Stop teasing your bestfriend!" answers back Ingrid

"Do you think so?" asked Alexia, ignoring their little fight, turning her head sharply towards the tattooed woman.

"Of course not, I'm sure it has nothing to do with it" intervenes Ingrid by raising rolling her eyes.

"How can you know that?" Mapi sulks, crossing her arms on her chest.

"I should never have kissed her" sighs Alexia before letting her forehead go against the wooden table in an alarming thud.

Mapi rolls her eyes in front of her best friend’s despair as Ingrid puts three plates on the table.

"What is done is done, you cannot change anything. On the other hand you can move your ass a little to make things better" replies the blonde, grabbing her cutlery.

"What do you mean?"

Alexia’s curious gaze rises on her best friend, but it is once again Ingrid who answers, the other blonde now having her mouth full of food.

"Go to her. You don’t need an excuse, just tell her the truth. That you’re worried about her."

Mapi simply agrees with Ingrid’s proposal and points to the Norwegian with her fork, nodding harshly. Basically, Ingrid isn't wrong, at least that’s what Alexia says when she looks out the window. "It’s still strange this behavior, to want to go home as soon as she finished training or matches." Alexia sighs thoughtfully before widening her eyes. "What if she’s married? You think I kissed a married woman?" "Oh god" sighs Ingrid as Mapi stands up on her chair abruptly. "Imagine she’s married to someone abusive? That would explain why she has so little freedom." "Okay, stop now" Ingrid intervenes again. "Alexia eats and goes to see her. And you, shut up" Mapi groans and shifts her attention to her plate, but nevertheless obeys quickly. Alexia also grabs her fork, thoughtfully thanking the brunette for her cooking. A few hours later, Alexia finds herself in front of an apartment on the ground floor of a residential area, where you live. It’s a bit out of town, but that doesn’t surprise her. In her opinion, it fits well with the discretion that characterizes you. After hesitating for a few more seconds, Alexia finally presses the doorbell button. It takes you a few minutes to answer, your surprise displayed on your face when you find yourself facing Alexia. You don't open the door entirely, sliding only your face by the interscice, which once again intrigues the blonde. She runs through your face with her eyes and it's true that you look tired. You have dark circles, drawn lines and your hair is styled in a messy bun. "Ale?" "Sorry to barge in like this without warning but uh... can we talk?"

You bite your lip while looking at her, apparently hesitating how you will answer her. This again makes Alexia mad with worry. What if Mapi was right? But you end up nodding, before going out the apartment after taking a look inside and gently closing the door behind you. It wasn’t what Alexia expected.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay"

Alexia talks nervously, realizing that you will not speak first.

"Oh… yes, I'm okay. I mean… the disease, all that" you mumble and shrug.

La Reina remains silent for long seconds, so long that you end up looking up at her face. You see her looking at you attentively and you find yourself foolishly blushing. The memory of your kiss has stuck in your head all these days and you have to use all your concentration capacity not to look at her lips.

"Listen Y/N, if your absence is related to what happened at the end of the evening…"

"Oh… no, I… it’s nothing to do with that, I promise"

You find yourself stuttering again and you hate yourself for it. If you wanted to give Alexia a good impression, you can hardly do worse.

"So what is it? To be honest, I can’t believe you’re sick. If something happens or you need help, you know we’re here for you? The others and myself, too"

You find it hard to support her gaze and you find yourself looking over her shoulder again. Without knowing what to say.

"Y/N"

The way she says your name in a mixture of tenderness and affection would have been enough to give you chills, but the fact that she touches your cheek with her fingers supports the sensation. That works though, your eyes quickly turning over on her face. But you step back, remembering that you can’t let go with her that way.

Which is terribly frustrating. Alexia seems to think the same, her eyes letting pass a burst of disappointment or rejection before she recovers. "I can’t. Not yet." You speak as well of any rapprochement with her as of a confession on your part. But Mapi’s assumption quickly comes back to Alexia’s mind and she gently takes your arm in her hand. "Is someone hurting you?" The surprise that appears on your face is so sincere that Alexia quickly understands that they have gone wrong. But it’s a relief and it’s comforting a few seconds before the frustration comes back. What would stop you from confiding in her if it wasn’t that? "No one is hurting me" you answer softly, though touched by Alexia’s level of worry. "It’s just that I don’t think I’m fit to get into a relationship right now, Ale. It wouldn’t be interesting for you for one second, much more annoying and constraining than anything else." "You can’t or you don't want to?" Alexia asks, almost ignoring what you just said. The answer you’re going to give Alexia will probably change a lot what she’s going to tell you in return, you know it perfectly. You could lie to her, but when you find yourself once again immersed in hwe eyes, you are incapable. Sighing slowly, you decide to tell her the truth. "I can’t." Obviously, this is the answer Alexia was hoping for, you realize it quickly when she steps in your direction. As delicately as before, her fingers stroke your face and you briefly close your eyes to reopen them when you feel her forehead leaning against yours. "Whatever it is, Y/N. I’m sure you’re worth it." When you shake your head in a negative way, it doesn’t seem to impress her. "Let me decide?" adds Alexia.

The seconds that pass while your brain turns a thousand an hour are torture for Alexia, but for you too. You know perfectly well that Alexia will leave when she understands. But the blonde adds a "Please" begging and you can no longer stand up to her.

So you finally accept, gently opening the door of your apartment to invite Alexia to enter. From your point of view, your apartment isn't exceptional, but you surprise the captain to look around in an intriguing way. However, this is not where she will understand what keeps you in many things in your life.

Without really thinking about your gesture, you take her hand to take her upstairs and open the door of a room. And the least we can say is that Alexia didn't expect that to be in front of her.

A children’s room in beige and sky blue colors in which there is the complete necessary for a baby. A changing table, a wardrobe, pictures of animals and a cradle with a mobile installed above. The cradle is occupied, Alexia realizes it quickly. She looks at you to ask your permission to approach and you smile at her to confirm that she can do so.

You will never forget the first time Alexia laid eyes on your son. A mixture of wonder and tenderness that takes your breath away. Deeply asleep in his bed, unlike the previous three nights, his stuffed rabbit tight against his face and thumb in the mouth, your baby seems particularly relaxed. Alexia spends long seconds looking at him before shifting her attention to you.

For your part, you didn't leave her sight for a single second, regretting not being able to read her thoughts. You signal her to follow you outside the room with a nod and Alexia obeys without being asked.

Back in the living room, you feel like you’re hearing her brain scrambling.

"I guess you have questions?"

Alexia sat in front of you on one of your sofas and looked at you thoughtfully for a few moments. Her fingers mechanically caress her lower lip, which you’ve noticed she does when what she thinks is intense.

"You have a child"

"Yes"

"And you’re married?"

You’re just shaking your head negatively this time.

"In a relationship?"

"Nope"

"I don't understand"

You sigh softly and let yourself go against the back of the sofa on which you were installed on the edge so that you can better observe Alexia. The situation is complicated and that’s partly why you didn’t tell anyone.

"His father left as soon as he learned of the pregnancy. It was not planned at all and my former club agreed to mask my pregnancy with an injury. My contract was coming to an end and it was the deal we made. I was thinking about quitting my career after giving birth, but Barcelona contacted me to offer me a contract before the summer. I refused without explaining why and they insisted" you explain, slightly frowned. You still don’t understand their interest. "So I finally told them the truth. The leaders and Jonatan are aware and they offered to help me rather than give up"

Alexia remains silent throughout your explanation but a small smile is drawn and accentuated as your story. You deduce that it's because of the behavior of her club who is in line with her own personal values, until she resumes speaking.

"Well thanks for sharing this with me, but that’s not what I don’t understand" she said without masking her amusement, before getting up to sit next to you. You follow her with your eyes, in turn a little lost. "What I don’t understand is why you think the fact that you have a child would stop me from being interested in you"

So this one, you didn't expect it. You remain frozen on your sofa, blinking at her.

"Well… I barely have time to come train with you, I can never join you for evenings… How could I have time for you?"

"Is it now that I remind you that I am the most homebody of the team and that I am called Grandma because I go to bed early?"

You smile softly as you hear her answer punctuated by a touch of humor. Her amused smile increases your own fun and you feel a heat wave spread throughout your body as she mixes her fingers with yours.

"What’s his name?"

"Romeo" you answer

"It's cute" she smiles before resuming speaking. "But I'm sure we can make it work. I don't mind if our dates are in your house and I can still pass time with you when your son is here... If you're ok with that of course"

When she sees you bite your lips, Alexia take both of your hand in hers, searching for your eyes.

"I really like you and I don't think that your son will make things complicated. I can't wait to meet him. I'm serious with it, if you let me in, I won't let you down. Never."

"Just kiss me again."

Alexia looks shocked for two seconds, before leaning in and obliged. People always talk about the first kiss, the sensations it gives. But you find that the second one is underestimated too much. That of the confirmation. The second kiss Alexia offers you is as tender and delicate as the first, without the fear of being pushed back. Which you obviously don’t do this time, even shyly sliding a hand on his neck to prolong your exchange.

This lasts a few minutes, before baby crying sounds upstairs, interrupting your moment.

"I hope you’re ready, because it’s only the beginning" you smile maliciously against his lips.

********

alexiaputellas

liked by ingrid_engen, yourinstagram, ona.batlle, marialeonn16 and 260 202 others people.

alexiaputellas We fell in love in October 🤍🎶

view all comments

YourInstagram ❤️

irene.paredes amo a ambos

fan1 Who's hand is it? ↳ fan3 it's me don't worry ↳ fan5 I feel like it's Y/N, they seems really close in the lasts after games ↳ fan6 she put an heart in the comment section too ↳ fan7 So is Mapi ↳ fan5 Mapi is with Ingrid, don't be stupid ↳ marialeonn16 Yeah, don't be stupid

fan2 I thought she was single?!

fan4 Alexia you naughty secret girl

yourinstagram

liked by alexiaputellas, lucybronze, janafernandez, __cata13 and 250 197 others people.

yourinstagram You look so pretty and I love this view 🎶❤️

view all comments

marialeonn16 please send thanks to your photographer ↳ alexiaputellas muchas gracias Mapi ↳ fan1 OMG WAIT WHAT ↳ fan3 I TOLD YOU I FUCKING TOLD YOU FDKSFHJAFKJAL

alexiaputellas 🤍🤍🤍

fan4 Not Y/N and Alexia breaking the Internet

ona.batlle ❤️

yourinstagram and alexiaputellas

liked by alexiaputellas, albaputellas, ona.batlle, irene.paredes, ingrid_engen, __cata13 and 590 154 others people.

yourinstagram The loves of my life 💙❤️

view all comments

alexiaputellas te amo mucho 🥹🤍 liked by you

ingrid_engen 🫶❤️

elialexiaalba mis corazones

alexiaputellas

liked by yourinstagram, claudia.pina, ona.batlle, marialeonn16, lucybronze, __cata13 and 473 154 others people.

alexiaputellas Ready to watch Mami and Mama tonight ⚽👀

yourinstagram 💙❤️

view all comments

jenni.hermoso he's growing up so fast 😭

marialeonn16 remember me to offer him a Maria Leon jersey for his birthday ↳ alexiaputellas He won't wear it ↳ marialeonn16 of course he will, I'm her favorite ↳ lucybronze We all know that it's Ingrid

______________________________________________________________

For real it was in my draft for so long because I wasn't able to find a name for this baby 😭

#woso x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

565 notes · View notes

bitdemonic · 9 months

Text

date. may 29th, 2023

time. 3:16pm

—❝𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞.❞

𝐬𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬. future spouse pac ✞ pics with them

𝐚𝐢𝐝. if the images above are too hard to differentiate between your intuition, use ‘pile 1, 2, 3, or 4’ for the choice selection instead. this reading has five piles and each pile is different in terms of context.

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫. 18+ content—no minors. please remember, this post is just for shits and giggles. pinch a grain of salt and use the best of your discernment. i tend to write under the impression that majority of this content’s viewers are women however i read for both feminine and masculine energies. if needed to, please flip the roles as reversed for an accurate message. hope this reading is useful, but not for plagiarism bitch. enjoy.❦

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ✞

🃏lovers. 5oc. magician↺. queen of pentacles↺. tower↺. strength↺ and peace.

let it be mentioned that the lovers card amplifies all of the energy that follows; def intense because i could feel it within the deck itself. pictures here are raw, they’re always unfiltered and passionate at w.e moment they’re taken. to me, y’all are the literal definition of ownership lmao so it’s hard not to notice the obsession with each another. y’all’s chemistry is def eye-catching, tantalizing to say the least. “mine.” there are resemblances between y’all, matching tattoos or even being mistaken for brother and sister. to put it in a nutshell, this is tongue kissing on the main and taunting old exes—it’s obvious there’s bomb ass sex with each other lmao, but more importantly there is devotion.

apart from posting on social media, there’s internet presence around y’all—could be popular influencers or just outright celebrities. possible youtube couple? very de’arra and ken vibes. either way, someone in the connection (if not both) went or will go viral. the tower in retrograde, this is a specific picture at a specific point in time; it even has the potential to be life changing. “break the internet.” attention that brings problems ngl. sure someone’s jealous ex, but apart from them there is so much outside negativity towards the feminine. people are pissed when she comes across their feed, but only because they secretly want to be her. queen of coins in retrograde; envy that simmers from deep within until it becomes hatred or outer turmoil. seeing pics sent in groupchats, hate comments from spam accounts, posting on close friends—her presence triggers insecurities and people hurt under pressure. black moon lilith. as delusional as it sounds, this is an eerie situation to be in fr so be mindful.

the masculine doesn’t stand a chance omg, the feminine is deadass the star of the show. represented as the queen of wands, she’s outshining tf out of him without even trying lmao. glamorization of what the masses can see, which undeniably is her beauty. this is “off guard” pretty, bad pictures just simply don’t exist. if y’all wear makeup, it’s very complimented—the blending and baking, or contour and highlighter are a ten. this even pertains to the first paragraph, how someone here is in the public eye, because pictures of her are taken unbeknownst due to her appearance. the magician in retrograde signifies fan cams, video edits, and pinterest boards—there’s also editorials and photoshop? mentions of an aesthetic came in, or “neptune.”

all in all, this couple has magnetism and attracts opportunities due to their pictures. def some gorgeous people, it was noted that y’all’s face cards elite lmao. however, y’all have to be cautious because taboo-ism is prone to happen as well. such as scamming or catfishing, things that could cause detriment to future occasions. outsiders are the issue here, they’ll def try to bank off on y’all’s identities. something could or could’ve already happened with a certain picture? “controversy.” the response to it is fifty-fifty; half who are defending and half who are criticizing. “stans” and a “fandom” are involved.

📸 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬

❦— from behind. the masculine will tower behind the feminine (no matter the height), engulfing her in a bear hug or whatever else to imply their presence. head buried in her neck, hands wrapped around her waist—this also denotes their possessiveness as partners together.

❦— pretty teeth. big big smiles here, the goofy grins and shut eyes. y’all countdown before taking a picture but numerous times because y’all can never be serious lmao. fingers in mouth type smiley faces.

❦— beauty queen. this is more-so on the feminine’s behalf, she’s the one that’s always ready for a picture and the one always asking someone to take one of her. being photogenic is one of her best features to date. no matter if y’all agree, but i’m def seeing the face of a model.

❦— cancer. this made me think of ariana grande and her husband dalton, their pic outside with the moon behind them. this is pictures in that same setting, or at least taking them during the nighttime. 8pm thru 5am. stargazing together is here too.

❦— taurus. this actually alludes to more than one thing. the masculine is a gift giver, i pulled the “sugar daddy” card for them in particular. they def have big bucks, or at least enough to gift you the finer things in life. they’ll spoil you for fun and in turn you’ll show off what they bought you—new toys lol. pics of the “next big thing” (vacation views, receipts or tickets, cars, etc). smell goods are specific, perfumes or colognes.

“glutton” corresponds with taurus as well—someone in this connection loves to chow down, meaning tons of food cameos in their (own) pictures. they’ll pose funnily; mid-chew or with a bunch of food stuffed in their mouth to be annoying lol. little dorky things like putting an orange peel in their mouth before they smile.

❦— do not disturb. pretty self-explanatory, but for y’all this seems to be alone time from the world. this reminded me of travel, but i channeled that this is to each others hometowns. this could be an interracial connection, mentions of cultural traditions and differences.

❦— naked bodies. the feminine’s chest is significant, something about that area in particular that the masculine loves. there’s pics of them fondling or sucking on her nipples, playing with them even. someone’s v-line is here, plus a hand going up their abdomen. the masculine’s bare ass is source material too, those pics are for funsies.

❦— topping. this could obviously mean they’re a daddy dom in general lmao, but if not it just means the masculine will be hunched over or “taller” than the feminine. she’ll be lower than him, as in he’s standing and she’s sitting or she’s laying down beneath him. sex-wise this is them doing it from behind or being on top quite literally.

❦— foreplay. tbh this one is vague, but i still wanted to put it in bc why tf not. this is while y’all are in the moment, or while someone is teasing the other before actual intercourse. pictures of them while they’re giving you hickies, or while they’re pulling at your underwear to give you oral. somebody’s an ass muncher too so expect pics of that lmaooo.

❦— sloppy. no but yes iykyk😂 this is more on the pic itself, how it won’t be organized or captured clearly during sexual moments. like if you’re pleasuring them and have them take a picture, it’ll just come out fucked and unfocused because they’re fucked and unfocused. kinda what would’ve been the perfect shot if y’all weren’t so “distracted”.

brooklyn and nicola peltz-beckham (hot ass names) are the perfect couple example for this pile. their expressiveness together is subtle, yet loud enough that we know they’re each other’s one and only. regardless of how long the relationship lasts, we’ll remember the fact that they were ultimately made for each other.

end.❤️‍🔥 previous reading

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ✞

🃏king of cups. princess of cups. 2oc. 5op↺. 8oc↺. rest and comfort.

this spread screams emotional depth, it’s haunting as hell but not in a bad way—in a way that’ll pull your soul into its deep abyss. hypnotic almost. this is “grow old together” love, i can literally feel the years in my bones. these are moments that you can’t help but reminisce on, pictures that are saved or bookmarked because they’re so very special. their essence is felt and appreciated, enough that there’ll be tears of happiness. lmao this is going to sound corny, but this connection’s energy reminds me of a warm blanket. like milk and cookies on the sofa, or a kiss goodbye from grandma. it’s just so snug, i can’t even put into words how safe i feel right now. how libras are sweet and tender, fragile enough to shatter if you aren’t gentle—this is softness at its finest.

[TW] substance abuse could’ve been an reoccurring issue in this relationship, or at least a bad problem. the five of pentacles being in retrograde was an indication of sobriety to me, along with the image of somebody holding their own sobriety chip with a smile—not for everyone, but pictures under this circumstance are meant to remember the past without having to revisit the pain. “encouragement.” it’s apparent at this point lmao, but the sweetest captions known to man are found here. paragraph after paragraph, an everflowing stream of appreciation for your partner. endearing birthday posts are significant, along with sweet nothings in the comments omg y’all are sapsss. if i had to put it in words, “smol” or “wubs” come to mind before anything else omg y’all are sapssssss.

there are before and after pictures with each other (childhood friends, neighbors, friend of a friend, etc.) because again “growing old iem together”, there’s a sense of watching each other through the years. feeling the vibe of them being around as kids, transitioning into adulthood then getting closer as grownups. if not tho, this is someone that you’ll literally feel at home with; they are home to be real. this is a person that’s familiar, regardless of if they’re new or not. y’all are going to be glued to each other’s side until death. similarities are here, but in the sense of same environment or same social circle. i’m also getting similar taste in hobbies, music, and clothing. meditation or gym pics are common, promoting balance and wellbeing is a shared interest. personalities in general, ya’ll coordinate so very well. no wonder people linger longer than they need to—they’re wanting to see what’s next with the world’s cutest couple. also because y’all are walking enigmas and it threatens them lmao.

the attributes of venus sums up y’all’s pictures together. they’re beautiful, and are the literal definition of a thousand words. i channeled date night, but this came to being in the kitchen most of the time. y’all love to cook together, or to be in the kitchen at the same time to goof off and be annoying. dinner at home happens frequently, i’m seeing someone set the table while the other chops vegetables and stirs the pot. there’s pictures of handwritten love letters or random bouquets of flowers, things that tend to sweeten life with them a little more than before. this is def “fell in love with my best friend”, even as a photo caption lol. friends in general are around y’all—drunk nights at the bar, group poses in front of an amusement park, eating edibles and doing vlogs, etc. a lot of moments with your future spouse include people y’all are close with as a couple (siblings, co-workers, group of friends). nostalgia is the overall vibe here. pictures together feel good and “homey”.

extra mentions because i can’t even get over this pile, this is my favorite one out of all of them. it just feels how a polaroid looks, but in the sense of being in love? i just keep seeing the little things🥹 walking alongside the beach, kissing in the photo booth, building a gingerbread house, picking their nose even lmao. wow ya’ll have custom fridge magnets too. i didn’t get that pics of them were frequent on social media, more so because they’re too special to share. this pile values their privacy so pictures aren’t taken with the thought of anyone else in mind, they’re very cherished. i did channel emotional milestones being posted (pregnancy, marriage, moving in, etc.) and i do see their own certified spot on your page (photo dumps, page highlights, name in bio). kinda like a virtual museum of their love to you and your love to them.

📸 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬

❦— them. a potent photo trait is literally your fs lmao, they’re lowkey walking art. something about their facial features or structure are resemblant to a god’s—very pretty people, and we photograph them as such. capturing them from their good angles with the best lighting, it’s flattering. people stop breathing when they see these pictures.

❦— b&w. these are heartwarming pictures, ones that are wholesome enough to frame and hang on the walls. i’m seeing pinkies being intertwined and eskimo kisses, innocence personified. closeups of someone covering their face and hiding their smile, but peeking through their fingers to see the camera cuteee.

❦— work. big thing here, it was mentioned three times. y’all could have an online business together, one that encourages or promotes positivity (self affirmations, fundraisers, products, etc.) it could be popular, there’s succession (passed down thru generations) and a sense of being stable despite y’all being new owners.

there’s also “goodbye” and “big city”, working creates long distance travel which means the time y’all usually spend together gets split in half. someone has to leave frequently and for long periods of time, this in turn creates photo dumps (which are so common here lol) and extra long captions.

❦— hermit mode. take a shot for each time i’ve said something’s cute lmao but this is so cute. so these are pics at home or in comfortable environments, in matching onesies or facial masks. just very big kid vibes, y’all even build pillow forts to sleep in them awww. this is peace and quiet with each other.

❦— phone. i channeled facetime and audio messages, “listen to me.” ya’ll spend hours upon hours on the phone. no matter if it’s meaningful convo or a simple check in, y’all will talk all day until your mouths go dry. taking screenshots of their goofy messages (hilarious btw) while falling asleep on the phone, y’all can’t get enough of each other. this is someone that will listen to and send songs that remind them of you, creating playlists that y’all will listen to together.

❦— landscapes. beautiful views with them, emphasis on beautiful. orange sunsets, mossy green hills, glittered night skies. blooming gardens or snowcapped peaks, nature as a whole is prominent but def within photos. a “secret” code is here; if someone isn’t in the picture entirely, their stuff will be so that we know they’re around. (car keys or a phone, initials in the sand, half-eaten food etc.)

❦— guess what? “we just fucked.” lame i know lmaoooo but this is what y’all do, leave writing on foggy windows or wet handprints against shower glass. it could be wet stains on the bed, bite marks on the thighs—anything goes to snitch on y’all selves tbh. even seeing red scratches across someone’s back, yet they grin with a thumbs up.

❦— nudes. if your person is a male, pictures of their wand are reoccurring. very reoccurring lmao, whether it’s sent from them or taken by you. specifically pictures of your hand wrapped around their wand after they’ve🥛 but there’s videos too, more of the oral part before the finish lmao. this is on the feminine’s phone in particular, she has a hidden folder in her camera roll just for these.

❦— home videos. y’all have beautiful sex together, as in pleasure that’s meant to be on film fr. emotions and passion at an all time high, it’s as if the walls were painted in y’all’s intimacy. “aesthetes.” so much thought and effort are put into the final product—props and low lighting, burning candles, background music. it’s a movie scene, even down to the settings that resemble paintings.

❦— the fool. it’s normal for nsfw pics to happen outside; in nature or in public spaces. wild cards fr, you’ll end up doing it anywhere and everywhere (oral included). no regard for the law or peeping toms either, y’all get too wrapped up in each other care. this is in restrooms, at parking lots, on beaches, etc. just don’t get caught lmao.

end.❤️‍🔥 previous reading

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ✞

🃏queen of cups↺. 6os↺. 5op. 10op↺. 9oc. cleanse and ideation↺.

i want to mention that i noticed a dime while shuffling—this made me think “a dime a dozen” or “diamond in the rough.” this is on the fs’s part, they put you on a pedestal. you’re a trophy to them, the winning prize, someone that they’re so proud to experience and witness in their everyday glory. no one in the world reminds them of you, you’re indifferent and cherishable. your own person. channeled that this is evident in their eyes—in pictures you’ll notice a glimmer or glint, even the admiration on their face. in awe of all that is you.

these are photos that can’t be shared, ones that are kept secret and stowed under passwords. “your eyes only.” this energy is very secretive, very “shhhh” and it seems to be a double edged sword situation. this pile’s future spouse has an outside relationship, someone they’re involved with despite their attachment to you. it’s shitty because y’all truly have a bomb ass connection but the secrecy behind it overshadows the love. the emperor in retrograde, their control over the situation is a nuance to the issue. the problem lies in their dismissal of reality, life outside of the fantasy they’ve created. pertaining to them leaving their current partner, it’s no negotiation on how or when to do it. they want to leave on their own time, but you’re not a fan of that sentiment because it’s tiring. this person is so matter of fact tho lmao, they say “deal with it or don’t.”

ngl i do see this as possessiveness, but it’s not as terrible as it seems. the circumstance could obviously be better, but as far as their intentions go it’s never out of spite. it sounds confusing because yes this is a love triangle, but truthfully they’re more invested in what y’all have. there’s just no forward action after the fact which screams lack of accountability due to their pride and ego. despite their leo placements (trust me), this person emulates the cowardly lion and his fear of courage, particularly their refusal to come clean and cut ties. with cleanse and ideation being contrasting colors (red and blue i.e. hot and cold), moments of passion turn into missed calls and ghosting. long periods on their end, on and off or up and down, because they don’t want to accept defeat—being in love.

these photos remind me of a mask, one that hides the truth behind wide smiles and kissy faces. it’s a lot going on within this connection and tbh that aspect is more evident than anything in the camera. despite their emotional response to you, i did channel that they have the tendency to forget you’re human lmao. not in a weird disrespectful sense, but that you’re an item they want to keep “all alone and only needing me.” it seems unhinged but again this isn’t with ill intent, it’s a claim for them. “competition” and i’m channeling flavor flav’s dating show—this is an ego (leo) thing for sure because of course this person has insecurities revolving your other options. this is such a situationship lmao but i don’t think it’s all bad, just some major inner reflection is needed. i will say that pile three’s energy was quiet, this seems to be withdrawal from dealing with old patterns and that’s valid.

📸 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬

❦— photobomb. this person is alwaysssss interrupting personal pictures lmao and with no shame too. i’m getting so many random instances of them, nine times out of ten they’ll be in the background of whatever is taken. channeling live photos specifically; you’re posing in the mirror as they walk in to bother you lmao. they start to grab at your waist to give you a kiss, but you’re laughing and squealing instead. they’ll have moments as such, but their gestures are significant (middle fingers, expressive faces, waving at the camera etc.)

❦— scorpio. very sexy, secluded energy is significant. for obvious reasons it’s borderline sneaking around, so the air of enticement is always there. “risqué.” there’s something about the lighting that adds to this dynamic, either lowering brightness or dimming the contrast (me coded) to “seduce” or add mystique. also it just looks better lmao.

❦— three of wands. specific so it’s not for all, but someone in this connection is either bisexual or bi-curious. this could even point to a polygamous or open relationship because i’m seeing threesomes or kissing people of the same sexual orientation. maybe even doing things with this person’s outside connection(s), it was mentioned. this didn’t come off as a photo trait but i still put it in lmao take what resonates.

❦— thin ice. one or the other are using their partner’s state of vulnerability as a quote unquote mindfuck😭 this is when they’re upset (yelling, crying, silent treatment etc). i even see someone sticking up their middle finger as their person spams a bunch of pictures. “aw you mad?” this seems to be the fs’s game of choice and it’s irritating bc sometimes they can’t read the room lmao.

❦— honey. this lands since together y’all seem to be hot and sticky, but turn out sweet at the same time. your person’s teasing and childish antics tie into this too (sticky), they’ll send pictures of things they ordered for you or send money to make up for upsetting you.

❦— hot. honey hot lmaoo don’t unfollow me yet. “turn me on” and “sexy sexy” came out, pretty self explanatory. i could see the energy if anything, y’alls energies are intense af. it’s like looking at porn in the form of a couple, very cunt tbh (i hate myself). sexual innuendos come from this too—grabbing crotches but it’s not in view, peeking at them from under the sheets, biting fingers or being choked.

❦— aquarius. very unserious couple lmaooo (take a shot for each lmao lmao), ya’ll are so silly together. this is milk mustaches, cheek biting, sniffing armpits, clenching butts—literally anything dumb. fun environments or dates that require being active, ones that are out the box or outside comfort zones. rock climbing, bungee jumping, parasailing, rooftop golf, riding atvs etc. veryyy fun pics.

❦— evidence. i didn’t want to include this because i don’t encourage it but we move. whatever pics come out of this specific part, they’re going to be vile. just outright nasty lmao and it’s for a reason. this is def ammunition for the feminine, this is her weapon for those that try to sabotage this relationship out of spite or competition. saved for “rainy days.” this is one leo ass pile😭

❦— aphrodite. because you’re breathtaking, they’ll catch you in the moments of being “free” or at ease. like when you’re getting undressed for a shower or when you’re glowing after great sex. capturing minuscule details that only a lover would notice, they see true beauty even when you aren’t attempting to be.

❦— nudes. the feminine is naughty oooo. “invisible ink.” she’s sending nudes like invitations lmao, but on the occasion that y’all have been separated for too long. wants to show her partner what they’ve been missing, or at least what they can’t have. “look since you can’t touch.” it’ll be torture too lmao, she’s def dolled up and posing in whatever’s sheer to flaunt her goods.

when it comes to sexual media in general, y’all are always on the same page. whenever, wherever, however—it’s always reciprocated because it’s always wanted lmao, it’s exciting and keeps things fun. sexting at work, whispering dirty talk into the phone, masturbation videos before noon etc. admiration of each other’s bodies is here; heart emojis and words of affirmation.

❦— queen of coins. this is value during pleasure, goddess treatment when it comes to bedroom activities. tbh if y’all stared at them long enough it’d just get y’all hot and bothered for more. i’m channeling that your person will dead send money in return for being blessed omg. roleplay and cosplay were mentioned, y’all go shopping for new costumes or items together.

had to mention because it kept reoccurring whenever i edited this specific pile—i kept repeating lmao after certain sentences or wanted to put in dumb shit for comedic presence, and i wanted to be blunt with this pile so bad because y’all felt so bestie. this was so y’all’s fs lmao idk who they are but they’re nothing but jokes, a pure clown at heart. i thought it was cute because i interpreted it as y’all being so connected that even when y’all are far apart y’all are still so close.

end.❤️‍🔥 previous reading

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 ✞

🃏5os↺. 2ow↺. 3oc. the hermit. the magician↺. flow↺ and growth.

off bat it seems that pictures didn’t come into fruition for a while, at least three-five months tops. “no sudden movements.” resistance and ghosting are here, someone is running from the connection out of fear. the hermit card means that they’re scared of stepping outside their comfort zone to take a risk. not even in a negative way it’s just that they’re terrified lmao. this is def bestfriends to lovers but there’s turtle movement around the union coming together—that same someone doesn’t want to ruin the friendship. they don’t know this obviously, but y’all are actually a divine union. “ancient” so this could be souls from a past life coming together again. “grounded as human beings.” this is so slow burn tho lmao i can deadass see a tree starting to grow but in slowww motion.

this person fantasizes heavyyy about taking passionate photos with you, but again y’all are nowhere near that level of commitment yet. pretty sure this reading’s timeline is during the beginning or middle of y’all’s friendship since there’s so many downloads about comfortability and not wanting to mess up. they’re fighting temptation so bad it’s wild lmao, they’ve never felt this strongly about someone—let alone a friend. red hearts are in their eyes whenever you’re near, but they’ll still turn away to avoid facing the truth of their feelings. it’s annoying to them too lmao, queen of cups represents the emotional pull your presence has on them. to be caught up in the depths of inner reflection is so outside themselves and yet here they are.

someone else is involved with the pacing of this connection. the three of cups being pulled is representative as a person or situation outside of y’all, one that they’re incapable of leaving though they’re desperate to. “can’t.” something about being bound (marriage, children, parents, religion etc.) is the reason why. whichever or whatever it is, unfortunately it’s not an easy fix. their energy is obviously the most prominent and that’s because they’re yearning for this idea of becoming more, they just hate that blockages exist and are effective. you’re a literal pleasure to be around, they wish to easily accept and embrace all that you should offer. channeled tupac’s love letter to jada and how he wrote, “you bring me 2 climax without sex.” beautiful ass words from him btw, but in correspondence to your person this is what they’d say about you too. it’s a lot to relish in and it’s prob not obvious, but they do worship the very ground you walk on. admiration, adoration, appreciation in every way possible. honorable mention, your future spouse loves talking to you. general conversation is nice, but y’all peel off the layers of topics that are taboo or undiscussed. the conversation will reach the very ends of the earth just to double back again for more.

didn’t realize until now that pics together weren’t mentioned that much because this person had some things to say instead lmao. it’ll start off discreet, sneaking photos of you from behind or getting them walking past your table. this is cute considering the reading was mainly from fs’s perspective, but you’re the one that’s taking “accidental” pictures of them first. and when this person happens to take “accidental” pictures too, they won’t ever delete them. keepsakes. those accidents soothe the big fat secret crushes y’all have on each other. y’all are literally 🩷 in human form, or puppy love as a couple. very cute like i’m squealing for y’all.

📸 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬

❦— spam. “123” was pulled twice, but instead of countdowns i channeled multiple pictures at once. getting in each other’s faces for the fun of it, catching them off guard or at their “worst” to be silly lol. i see y’all picking out the most embarrassing ones and saving them to y’all’s favorites.

❦— beyoncè. “middle fingers up, put them hands high.” boy do y’all love this gesture lmaooo this is def in almost every pic if not all. i did hear until it’s used with direct intent then the rest of the song came in😭 this is a jab at their on and off behavior, y’all have periods of being beefed out bc of it.

❦— hair. someone’s hair is prominent, could be curly? if not it’s still apart of photos together, it’s even a prop sometimes. very nice hair, bold or beautiful. this is using strands of hair for mustaches or pretending to eat it with wide eyes lmao.

❦— taurus. could be food pics as well, but i channeled netflix and chill vibes. lounging around with y’all’s legs on the other or using chests as pillows. y’all send screenshots of movie favorites (actors and directors, behind the scenes, monologues etc.) or of movie knickknacks. seeing pics at comic-con and animals in character costumes. movie funko pops or figurines too.

❦— venusian. this is someone that will always always always compliment you before, after, or during a picture. if you ask them to take one of you, you’ll notice how fucking long it takes them to do it. i’m seeing them look back and forth, from you to the camera, because “wow you’re real.” gorgeous too. taken aback for sure but they’ll hide it behind witty little remarks. “wow you actually look nice today” but instead it’s the shittiest attempt at hiding what they really want to say.

❦— old friend. waving hello or goodbye, someone is doing this to the other as they come closer or farther away. pictures while they’re walking, seeing small smiles and timid hands. sweet gestures are significant, followed by blushing cheeks or shy eye contact.

❦— baby. this🥹 this is literally y’all’s aesthetic in most pictures. it’s like looking at puppies and kittens, how your whole demeanor goes soft and you can’t stop saying “awww.” tenderness is always there and it’s shown—forehead kisses, tracing noses, wearing each other’s shirts or hoodies, hugs from behind etc.

❦— boobies and more boobies. boobies.

❦— fluids. horrendous ass word but these are pics of 🥛 or 🧃 on each other’s faces. releasing on your lower body, or you’ll get them drenched in yours. if this person has a wand, i’m seeing it lodged in your mouth or being tapped across your cheek. this includes (loud and expressive🤭) self-masturbation on their end as well.

❦— condiments. yessss this is them putting whip cream on your neck to suck it off or pouring syrup into your belly button and licking it out. not food but ice cubes were mentioned too, dragging it along your body or kissing it into your mouth. plus they’re delicate with it. these are vids more than pics, but nonetheless y’all hot af lmao.

❦— lingerie. high quality, as in lace corsets and beaded garters that give off haute couture. getting the vibe of something expensive, and it doesn’t have to be but y’all not wearing nothing cheap lmao. doe or siren eyes in the camera, along with lewd poses and provocative faces.

❦— hotttt. vids of them taking control or dirtying you up real good since they’re on camera🥵 rough and nasty, crying and begging type shit. i’m hearing taunting or a tone of condescendence while they pound harder and deeper wow. very raw and disgusting i love it. choking and spitting even, they’re extremely intense when they want to be and you’re going to love it lmao.

❦— aftercare. capturing each other’s naked bodies, either rubbing against one another or winding down after a round. this is when it’s all said and done, when y’all are out of breath and exhausted from banging each other’s brains out lmao. but it could also be the slower part of intercourse, where y’all still “attached” but it’s coming to an end. bro y’all are hot af😭

end.❤️‍🔥 previous reading

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 ✞

🃏5ow. 10ow↺. death↺. 4os↺. 9ow. 2os↺. space and passion.

starting with the cards space and passion, this pile def has to tiptoe around the concept of taking photos with their fs. whoever they are, there’s disapproval around them being romantically involved with you. channeled “good girl gone bad” and it reminds me of the preacher’s daughter who turned out to be someone different than expected. with death in retrograde, that’s literally what i just said lmao—fated transformation will occur during this person and after. matter of fact, all of the cards in reverse represent the people whom are trying to lure you back into who you “used to be.” these people fear your transformation because they think it’s happening under the circumstance of pleasing your future spouse and not for personal gain. something tells me this is family talking opposed to public influence or nosey exes, and i also feel like you’re without a voice here. people don’t hear you out even when you try to speak up? with the nine of wands, you’re incessantly being put in positions where your beliefs are challenged as an adult, but this could stem from childhood as well. chiron in the 3rd, lillith in the 4th, and mercury in the 12th could be significant.

going back to this person, they give me first vibes. not in the sense of losing virginities or love and heartbreak, but your first sexual awakening. the aura around pictures with them are intense enough to be sexy but the dark and brooding type that’s why i made the assumption of this being the opened door to devotion. this feels like sex magick lmao, you’ll feel bonded to them whether it was before or after the first time. you’ve never been this infatuated before and if you think you have, no you haven’t. this is going to sound lame lmao but y’all’s energy feels like my persona on here, the profile pic and username. kourtney kardash and travis barker are a better example since they’re an actual couple. y’all are like them, not their entire relationship but the aesthetic they share and how in lust they are. don’t hate me either but i’m picking up on how kourtney pretty much changed her whole look to match travis’s vibe, this is that too (don’t do that tho, be yourself baby).

lmao let me again mention that people are pissed at this union like real bad. of course they don’t necessarily matter considering this is your life, but funnily enough they want the best for you. don’t get me wrong, however way they go about expressing this could def be better but the intention isn’t to be assholes. four of swords in retrograde, their thoughts revolve around emotional stability and maturity—you’re too young for them (fs) in terms of naivety. “ticking time bomb.” there’s truth to this tho and ofc you’ll discover why that is once it’s time to. bringing up the nine of wands again, as a whole it turned out be an age gap—your person could be older and it doesn’t have to be a huge ass difference but it’s not subtle lmao. channeled the trope dbf!character x daughter!reader😭 ngl that sums up why there’s so much tsking around y’all being together. y’all better be of legal age, and please careful when old creeps come around because no.

ngl this seems to be a karmic relationship that comes with a profound lesson; don’t get discouraged either, this is going to bring in so much growth as a physical and spiritual being. this is meant to help you transition through life seamlessly, or at least without the mindset of giving up. this lesson seems to be made up of spiritual guidance bordering past wounds (relationship, childhood, generational etc.), a universal test that’ll heal the old and assist the new. you’re kicking people from the past back where they were left at, very intent on standing where your foot lands. beautiful baby, congrats to your future self!

extra notes because i had no space to fit them in with the other paragraphs. as i said earlier, people are against y’all’s connection but it’s not just your family members that try to intercept. “tabloids.” i think your future spouse may be in the public eye? i didn’t pick up on fame in particular, but there’s some type of attention on them that gets put on you. regardless, the situation brings a shitload of haters. it’s weird tbh because people don’t not like you but at the same time they do?😭 “bittersweet” came to mind and that’s replicant of this energy in a way? “you deserve better.” people want to save you from something they don’t think is worth your time, but then want to rub it in your face that they told you so? bro idk who this person is but they are notttt popular, people not fw them at all lmao. it’s negativity around them if anything but i just heard “bad publicity is still publicity”, maybe that image works for them.

📸 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬

y’all must be special irl this pile is so different from the others lol—i didn’t pick up on photo traits but personality traits instead so i went with it. there’s no nsfw section for y’all because i didn’t pick up on that either, however there are four more piles for y’all to choose from!

❦— green eyes. this could be literal green eyes, but i felt more of an envious energy instead. surprise surprise the same people that hate on y’all’s relationship wish it could be theirs. people are jealous of what you’re getting with them, or “earning.” gifts and pretty things for being their spouse, it’s one of those dreams that everyone wants but only few have.

❦— king of wands. daddy warbucks himself, this person is for sure rich af. they’re someone with lots of power, lots of control, lots of fucking money lmao within their career. i don’t get that they’re ceo of wherever they work, but they have enough pull to take trips around the sun and bring you along too. “penthouse views” are included (obvi).

❦— honey. this person def has some seasoning to them, heavy dilf and silverfox vibes around their appearance. seeing a beard, low eyes, maybe even flannel shirts lmao. some of y’all have the twd cast (andrew lincoln, norman reedus, jeffrey dean morgan) and pedro pascal for face references. a rugged daddy basically😂

❦— cherries. maybe this is someone’s favorite fruit? this made me think of the tropics or places similar to the virgin islands. frequent flyer miles, traveling to visit warm beaches and clear coastal waters.

❦— hunter x chaser. this is such forty-year old energy lol it’s charming and that’s what they typically know best. your future spouse def got on your nerves with how much they kept hitting on you😂 not in a weird way, but in a way where they were intent on getting your name. i’m seeing phone number offers and warm smiles, crow’s feet around their eyes too. there is a sense of rejection here, but eventually you cave to their advances.

❦— 22. could be significant to y’all’s age gap, or maybe you’re this age at the time y’all meet. this number made me channel birthdays or special celebrations (anniversary, party, holiday etc). we’re aware of this person’s bank account lmao so it’s no surprise that they’re fond of spending whatever to throw the best whatever. “cover it all.” they’re the type to make things extra special and absolutely perfect for you, no matter the cost.

❦— awakening. this is in regards to you, how being with this person brought a rebirth that ultimately forced you to shed old skin. “Jesus.” major spiritual transitions, regardless of if you believe in higher power or not. this person is the catalyst to writing a new chapter of your life and thriving in it, you’ll be so powerful without the burden of dragging dead weight and opinions. ngl i don’t think your future spouse is meant to be longterm based on how important this transformation is for your story, i think you’ll realize that in the end. “it was fun while it lasted.” you’ll grow and reap your blessings.

end.❤️‍🔥 previous reading

#future spouse #fs tarot #future spouse pac #free tarot #pick a card #new pac #tarotblr #pick a pile #bitdemonic

1K notes · View notes

wheresarizona · 2 months

Text

Learning to Live Part 31

summary: Mondays are Javier’s least favorite day. Add in he has a meeting he’s doing as a favor to the Sheriff that he doesn’t want to do, and the day was destined to be shitty. But things take a turn for the better that morning when he gets a text message from his fiancée that reads: Need u bad. Lunch? ;)

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (about ten years), explicit smut, Protective Javier Peña, Angry Javier Peña (not at you), Switch Javier Peña (there’s subby Javi as a treat). first smut: masturbation (f), vibrators, accidental voyeurism, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), creampie, **BREEDING** (an actual attempt at babymaking). second smut: dry humping, coming in pants, semi-public sex? (it happens in a hospital). in both: dirty talk, praise | discussion of pregnancy, dysfunctional family, insults, yelling, arguing, angst with a happy ending, Javier meets your parents for the first time, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional hurt/comfort, Javier going off)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (a nurse with no physical descriptions)

word count: 16k

a/n: The dirty talk in this one makes me 🫠🫠🫠. This chapter is something a lot of people have been waiting for. Thank you to everyone who comments and reblogs! I try to reply to them all, and if I miss any, it’s not on purpose and I’m sorry! The love so many people have for this silly story of mine makes me literally 😭😭😭. So, THANK YOU. We’ve got about nine chapters left after this one (could become more). Thank you to the love of my life @juletheghoul for giving this a look over and ensuring my Spanish is correct. I love you.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

The New Year started with Javier’s big hands caressing your face as he kissed you, the Times Square ball having dropped on the nearby television in your best friend’s living room, where you were attending a party. He had tasted like cherry and orange jello from the Tequila Sunrise jello shot you convinced him to take with you a minute before midnight and smelled like his spicy cologne; the familiar scent had made you feel warm and safe—it had made you feel at home.

Javier Peña was your home.

He was your always and forever, the sun shining after it rained, a warm, cozy blanket on a cold day, the bright star that guides you through the darkness, and the greatest love you would ever have.

And he belonged to you as you belonged to him.

The New Year started with a kiss—one full of promises for the months ahead and shared hopes and dreams; your lips pressed together and moving in sync, silently proclaiming to the other your insurmountable love and undying devotion. And when it had ended, you wore matching grins, Javi's cheeks tinted in a lovely pink flush, his perfect full lips glistening under the room's lights from saliva while his beautiful chocolate-colored eyes gazed tenderly into yours, and he said, "Happy New Year, Cielito. I know it's gonna be a great fucking year because I have you—my best friend, the love of my life, and in ten days, my wife.”

Monday, January 4, started like any other Monday—the alarm going off and your fiancé hitting the snooze button so he could pull you into his arms and get nine minutes of uninterrupted cuddling in before the incessant beeping went off again. When your time was up, he sometimes, like this morning, grumbled as he moved to turn it off, "Fucking hate Mondays." This was why his coffee mug had Garfield the cat on it with a speech bubble containing the same sentiment, just without the cursing, but let’s be real, if that orange cartoon cat wasn’t censored, he’d absolutely say ‘fuck.’

In December, Javier’s prima (cousin) Alma—his tío’s (uncle’s) daughter and sister to Sebastián—was home from college and introduced you to something the kids had started doing: texting. You found this new form of communication came in handy when you were busy and didn’t have time to talk, like right this second as you stood in a storage room at work an hour into your shift with a bag of saline in your hand, your cell phone in the other sending Javi a message.

Your thumb punched the numbers on the keypad, typing: Need u bad. Lunch? ;)

The phone went back into your scrub pants pocket, and you started grabbing the other supplies you needed from the shelves. Seconds later, ringing sounded, making you sigh and have to juggle what you held into one arm to fish your cell phone out again, seeing he was calling from his office phone. You pressed the accept button, the device going to your ear as you answered in exasperation, “Why do you always call instead of texting back?”

“Because talking is easier than trying to type shit out with the keypad,” Javier replied. “Why do you send messages when you know I’m just going to call you?”

“My naive hope that you’ll get I’m too busy to talk.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll make it quick—is this a regular lunch quickie, or is it finally time…?” He sounded hopeful.

“With how I’m feeling a little crampy and insanely horny this morning, I’m pretty sure it’s time—like, the horniness is bad enough there’s no way I can wait until work is over.”

There was noticeable excitement in his voice. “Apartment or truck?”

As tempting as the truck was, you weren’t in the mood for the risk.

“Home.”

“Got it, and why is there extra punctuation after the question? Is it code or something? Should I know what it means?”

“Turn the phone sideways, and it looks like a winking face—I was trying to be flirty and cute with my request for dick.”

“Huh, I guess it does kinda look like a face…”

“I have to get back to work, babe. We’re meeting at home on lunch for you to fuck my brains out, got it?”

“Yes, Cielito—home on lunch to fuck a baby into you.”

“Perfect. Love you, bye.”

“Love you, too. Bye, mi amor (my love).”

The device was put away, and you double-checked you got everything you needed for the new patient who’d just been brought to your department to recover from surgery. While in the patient’s room setting up their IV, you felt your pocket vibrate. After ensuring your new occupant was comfortable and not in need of anything, you left the room, looking at your phone as you walked down the hall and finding you had an unread text from Javi that you opened:

I love you and im excited for lunch ;)

It made you smile, and you replied back: Love u too. cant wait to see u <3

A few minutes after getting back to work, you felt the vibration of another message from him that ended up containing a question: What does <3 mean?

Robyn got a rushed 'See you in an hour' as you left for lunch in a hurry.

You didn't have road rage—it was more road annoyance when people were driving below the speed limit, didn't go as soon as the light turned green, or cut you off like that asshole who worked over at the hardware store did; what was his name? Jimmy? Jerry? Terry? It didn’t matter; he got a raised middle finger. When you pulled into your parking space at the apartment complex, Javi's spot beside yours was empty, and you booked it inside, kicking off your shoes once you got through the door, throwing your purse onto the console table in the entryway, along with your keys.

The thought of leaving the front door unlocked for Javi was squashed almost immediately with the reminder of him telling you always to keep it locked when he wasn't home—so you locked it, the deadbolt turning with a click.

When you told him you were insanely horny, it wasn’t an exaggeration—the horniness had your heartbeat pulsating in your cunt and made the scrubs you were wearing feel stifling over your heated skin, needing them off as soon as possible; your mind was consumed with all of the dirty things Javi could do to ease the ache between your legs—his thick fingers pushing into you and crooking them to hit that one spot only he could reach; his hips pounding into you from behind while rubbing your clit just right to make you come around him; his talented tongue and mouth working you over, licking and sucking on your wet heat with the finesse of a man devouring his first meal in weeks; his cock fucking into you nice and slow, feeling the stretch you couldn’t replicate with your fingers or a toy.

All those thoughts had you wanting Javier with every fiber of your being, and each passing second he wasn’t there was driving you crazy.

Walking toward the bedroom, you removed your clothes as you went, shimmying out of your pants, pushing down and off your panties, your blue scrub shirt getting tugged over your head next, followed by your white tank top, and finally, upon entering the room, your bra was unsnapped, and gravity took it to the floor, leaving behind a trail of garments that’d lead your fiancé to you buck naked and wanting.

You crawled onto the bed Javi had made that morning, the navy blue duvet decorated in golden suns, moons, and bright white stars. The burning ache at the apex of your thighs was begging to be assuaged by any means necessary, and with the absence of the person you wanted more than anything, it was up to you to take off the edge until he arrived.

Pulling open your bedside table drawer, you got out your small bullet vibrator and got comfortable lying down with your head on a pillow and slightly spreading your legs—cold air hit the slick-coated skin on your inner thighs and the lips of your sex, making you shiver. The toy hummed to life with the click of a button, your eyes closing as you slid it along your wet folds, the thrumming igniting sparks of arousal in your belly. You were imagining Javi on top of you, his hips pinning you to the mattress with his dick buried inside you, thrusting deep while his tongue was in your mouth—your jaw went slack, and your spine stiffened when you circled the vibe around your swollen clit, the sharp bolt of pleasure shooting to your core causing you to gasp.

The excitement in your pelvis was growing, moving the waves of vibrations side to side over your sensitive nub, fanning the flames of arousal in your center. You were so turned on your orgasm was building quickly, your nipples tightening, the heat in your abdomen spreading out from your groin, and getting hotter by the second. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and sweat was beginning to bead on your forehead, your thighs shaking as you envisioned Javier fucking you.

“Javi,” you moaned.

“I’m here, baby,” came his deep rasp. Your eyes flew open as you gasped, jolting in surprise.

He was standing at the end of the bed in his charcoal grey suit pants and a white dress shirt gaping at the neck from the three or so buttons he’d undone. His jacket and the red-patterned tie he’d left for work wearing were nowhere to be seen—there was a noticeable bulge at the front of his slacks, his pupils blown wide, his hungry gaze feasting on you spread out in front of him while he rolled up his sleeves to reveal the golden skin of his forearms, the overhead light glinting off of the face of the silver Rolex watch on his wrist you’d gotten him for Christmas.

Seeing him there in the flesh had such a strong spike of arousal cutting through you that you were unable to stop your desperate moan of his name. “I need you,” you whined, lifting the vibrator from yourself and turning it off in preference of having him instead. “I need you to fuck me—right now, Javier.”

His big hand was stroking over his straining length beneath his pants, his eyes locked on your glistening center. He licked his lips like he was imagining what you’d taste like. “You weren’t lying about being insanely horny, Cielito,” he said, not moving his gaze from between your thighs. “Look at how wet you are—how needy your pussy is for me. You want my dick, hermosa (beautiful)? You want my come?”

“Yes,” you answered, nodding your head.

“You can have it, Cielito.” You squeaked in surprise when he grabbed your ankles and roughly pulled you toward him to have your ass at the edge of the mattress. “—in a minute,” he continued and dropped to his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

He eagerly dove in, running the flat of his tongue through your slit to gather your wetness with an appreciative hum. It felt so good, your lip was pulled between your teeth, and your fingers curled into his hair, moaning as he lapped at your cunt.

The tip of his beautiful nose rubbed your clit with every drag of his plush mouth along your pussy, causing shocks of electricity to course through your wet core, your eyes rolling back, and the pleasure building inside you. His groans were vibrating against your sensitive skin, his tongue dipping into your opening before moving up to tease your bundle of nerves—flicking at it side to side, over and over again.

Your fists tightened in his hair. “Javi,” you whimpered. “God, it’s so good.”

There was something about someone enthusiastically going down on you that made the act a million times better—your past boyfriends would only do it if you asked, or they felt they had to because you gave them a blow job. But Javier? This man wanted to eat you out. He craved your taste; he loved getting you off with his mouth. You were pretty sure if he could, he’d live with his face shoved in your cunt, and you loved hearing how much he was enjoying himself; his moans making it sound like you were the one pleasuring him.

The horniness and using the vibrator had you so worked up that adding in Javi eating your pussy like it was his favorite meal had you cresting in hardly any time at all—your insides knotting up, winding tighter and tighter until the tension shattered and you came with a gasp of his name, relishing the euphoria that washed over you. His tongue went down to your entrance, licking up every bit of your release he could get, not missing a single drop.

The orgasm was nice, but it was more of an appetizer—it got you into the mood and even more excited for the main course that was getting his cock inside you so you’d finally be relieved of the aching emptiness in your core.

You let go of his hair, your words coming out hoarse, “Can I have your dick now?”

He let your legs fall off his shoulders and rose with a crooked grin, his mustache and the bottom half of his face wet with your juices. He started undoing his belt. “I’m sorry for making you wait,” he said, popping open the button on his slacks and pulling down the zipper. “I wanted to make sure I got you off first.” He shoved the pants and white boxer briefs down his legs, his cock springing free under the hem of his dress shirt.

Sitting up on your elbows, you smiled at him. “A gentleman,” you replied with a wink. “I’ll take it you’re unbelievably excited about possibly getting me pregnant, and you don’t think you’ll be able to last? Which, no shame—it flatters me when you’re so jazzed about fucking me you bust a nut sooner than you wanted.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I’m excited.” He looked down, lifting the bottom of his shirt with one hand and spitting onto the fingers of the other, using them to slick up his throbbing length and making it shine in the lights of the room. “I’m really fucking excited.” He hooked his left arm under your knee and pulled you a little closer as he stepped forward with his dick in his right hand, pumping it a couple of times and pressing the tip to your soaked hole. “I love you,” the last word devolved into a groan as he pushed forward, sliding all the way home inside your cunt until he was balls deep.

The moment he breached your entrance, your mouth fell open at the delicious stretch your tight walls had to make for him to fit; your breaths went ragged, and your fingers clutched the duvet at the fullness. This was what you wanted. This was what you needed, feeling him so deep inside you that you were sure if he went any deeper, he’d nudge your spleen.

Your eyes had closed, and you fell back, the first sound escaping your lips coming out as a trembling whisper of his name. Javi went completely still for some seconds to calm himself down before he got his arms under each of your knees to spread you wide.

His voice was huskier when he spoke. “This what you needed, mi amor?” he asked. “My cock? Need me to fill this perfect pussy with my come? Need me to fuck it so deep I get you pregnant?”

“Yes,” you moaned.

“I’ll make you a mother, Cielito,” he said in a sure tone.

That statement had you clenching around him, Javi hissing. He audibly swallowed.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “It’s fucking embarrassing how close I am.”

You huffed in amusement, your mouth dry and sweat forming on your brow. “You riled yourself up while riling me up—you played yourself.”

“Don’t give me shit.”

Opening your eyes, his broad figure was looming over you with a grumpy look on his perfect face, his dark eyes on yours.

“I’m not giving you shit, Javi,” you said. “I love it—now, hurry up and fuck me, so we’ll be parents in nine months.”

That seemed to kick him into gear, Javi pulling out almost all the way and slamming back in hard enough to push the air from your lungs, setting up a hard, fast pace that had your mouth forming a perfect ‘O.’ He was pounding into you, grunting with each thrust, and stuttering your moans—it was so amazing, arousal was seeping from your cunt and down his shaft, hearing him working his dick in and out of your sopping hole and the harsh slap of his balls against your skin.

Heat was growing at the base of your spine, your thoughts consumed with how good he was fucking you and the fact there was a chance he could knock you up—that alone had you speeding toward another orgasm.

Ever since the first time Javier told you he loved you, his preference in sex positions had changed—before, it was backshots, railing you from behind to the point he had you incoherent and drooling. Now, it was anything face to face for the intimacy and wanting to kiss you, which was so unbelievably sweet.

A newer development that you’d noticed not too long ago was he liked having access to your breasts—he was still an ass man, but there’d been an uptick in titty action, like at this moment with him wrapping your legs around his waist so he could lean down to suck your nipple between his lips while he palmed your other breast, his hips never waning from their brutal onslaught.

His tongue laved at your stiff peak, sucking and licking it and causing lightning to shoot straight to your core, the volume of your moans increasing. The hot pleasure curling in your gut made you move your hands into his hair, your legs squeezed tight around his hips.

His cock was pushing in and out of you, filling you over and over again, his mouth moving to your other nipple to give it the same attention while his fingers pinched and rolled the first—he had your pussy weeping for him, your slick escaping where you were joined, dripping down between your asscheeks as he fucked you into the mattress.

You were almost there. The muscles in your stomach were tensing in preparation for your release.

You wanted to kiss, and he got the message when you pulled his head up by the hair, his lips smashing against yours, holding his weight on his arms beside your head. The kiss was messy, with your tongues tangling and teeth clattering, sharing breaths, his body taking up your vision. You were lost in it all and all of him, Javier becoming the only thing you could think about, the two of you in your own little world, where nothing else mattered except each other.

When you needed air, your mouth blazed a sloppy trail of kisses along his jaw to his neck, his breathing getting shallower and rhythm jerky, knowing he was close—you sucked on the taut skin of his throat hard enough to leave a mark, and it made him whine, the sound going straight to your cunt.

“I’m gonna come inside you,” he said in a breathy rumble, the deep timbre of his voice making your scalp tingle. “I’m gonna—shit—I’m gonna fuck a baby into you.” It was your turn to whine. “I’m gonna fill you up, keep you stuffed until it—fuck—until it takes.” He sounded totally and completely wrecked.

Your words were muffled into his neck, “Y-Yes, Javi—give it to me. Fuck a baby into me.”

“I wanna,” he groaned, “I wanna see you pregnant with my child.” He wasn’t going to last much longer; his strokes were getting sloppier, and he’d hit the point of being so close that he rambled. “I wanna see your body change—your tits get bigger with milk.” His dick twitched hard inside you. “You’ll be so fucking beautiful—fuck—so fucking beautiful carrying my baby.” He was panting. “I love you so much—please don’t leave—please don’t ever leave me.”

You grabbed his cheeks and passionately kissed him, saying into his lips, “I’m never gonna leave you—I love you—I love you,” you repeated with more emphasis. “I’m yours—I’ll always be yours. Put a baby in me, Javi—fuck your come deep.”

That did him in.

His groan was ragged as he broke the kiss to shove his face into your neck—his teeth were bared, his hot breaths fanning against your skin, his pace going frantic.

“Yes, yes, yes,” was gasped from your lips, chanting the word like a prayer. “Come in me,” you practically beg.

His hips bucked into you one last time, pushing his cock in as deep as it could go inside you, feeling it thicken and jerk as he came, gushing inside you with a rumbling moan. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, the pleasurable pain making you gasp, feeling the hot flood of his come painting your insides. His hips were rolling to fuck it deeper, catching you off guard when he suddenly shifted his weight onto one arm to shove his other hand down between your bodies to rub your sensitive clit.

There was a quivering in your belly, a quaking that spread out to make your arms and legs tremble, his fingers circling, stroking, over and over again.

“Come for me,” he murmured against your ear. “Let me have it.”

You hit your tipping point, falling over the edge with an unintelligible cry—the surge of pleasure that bursted from your core had your hips jerking and your pussy spasming around him, Javi’s head falling against your shoulder with a strangled groan of good girl because you were squeezing him like a vice.

Now, this was one of those orgasms that consumed your entire being, taking you apart piece by piece until you were nothing but an incoherent, blissed-out puddle of a person who couldn’t even remember their own name.

A body slumped onto you, welcoming the familiar weight, the only sounds in the room being the hum of the air conditioning and panted breaths of the two inhabitants. It was reflex that had your fingers pressing into his slightly sweat-damp hair and rubbing your fingertips along his scalp—he made a pleased sound in the back of his throat.

Seconds pass, then some minutes, it was Javi who spoke first, grumbling with his face now in the crook of your neck, “I don’t wanna go back to fucking work.”

The reminder that your workday wasn’t over made you whine ‘No’ dramatically.

His hand, not above your head, rubbed along your ribs. “I know, baby—it’s shitty.”

“Why did we think a lunch quickie was a good idea?”

“Was there any thinking…?” he questioned.

“God, you’re so right. We suspected I was ovulating and immediately jumped to ‘We need to fuck right now.’ Zero planning whatsoever. An error was made when we assumed it’d be like our usual sexy lunchtime shenanigans.”

He hummed in agreement. “Was it better than normal for you, too…?”

“Um, yes—apparently, actual babymaking sex is another level of amazing.”

“It really is.” He held up his wrist so you could look at his watch. “How much time do we have?”

“Not enough for you to shower or either of us to eat—we probably should’ve gotten up like five minutes ago.”

“Fuck,” he said. Javi groaned as he pushed himself up to stand, a hiss slipping through his teeth when he pulled himself out of you.

Sitting up on your elbows, his attention was focused on the swollen lips between your thighs, his come starting to dribble from your used hole. You spread your legs a little wider for him to get a better look.

“So fucking pretty,” he mused, his hand moving without a second thought to catch his leaking spend on two fingers and press it back inside you. “Not letting a drop go to waste, mi amor.” His eyes met yours, laying his free hand low on your belly over your womb. He smiled. “A couple of weeks from now, you could be pregnant.”

You shared his happy expression. “We are going to fuck so much that your dick is going to hurt by the end of this week—might even get chafed.”

He grimaced. “Why are you excited about that?”

Reaching, you pressed a palm to his cheek. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ll ice it for you.”

“That doesn’t make it any better…”

“It’s a sacrifice we must make to knock me up.”

He pulled his fingers out. “Sacrifice we have to make? I’m the one making the sacrifice…”

Your eyebrow lifted. “Okay, and what about the sacrifice I have to make with my body growing a tiny human from practically nothing, sharing said body with them for nine months, then having to go through probably the most excruciating pain of my entire life to push them out of my vagina, Javier? Still think you’re the only one making a sacrifice by being uncomfortable for a couple of days after contributing your pleasurable 1% to our group project, that I will be doing 99% of the work on?”

His eyes had rounded, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Right,” he said and cleared his throat. “I’m fine with the dick discomfort—I’m sorry, cariño (sweetheart).” He rubbed your bicep with his clean hand. “Can I get you some water?” He checked his watch. “Fuck it, I’ll go back to the office late. I don’t have a meeting for another half an hour anyway—I’m gonna make you lunch to take to work.” He bent to pull up his underwear and slacks he didn’t bother buttoning up and leaned to give you a quick kiss. “I just need to wash up real fast—I love you. Thank you.” He pecked you on the lips again.

“I love you, too—you don’t have to make me food,” you said as he retreated to the bathroom. “I’m not mad at you.”

“I know you’re not mad,” he replied over his shoulder, “but I’m still making my wife and the future mother of my children food because I love her and appreciate everything she does for me.”

You gasped in pretend shock. “You’re married?!” you exclaimed. “I’m sleeping with a married man?!”

He stopped in the bathroom doorway and turned your way with a look that said he was done with your shit, and it made you grin.

“You will be in seven days,” he replied.

You got up from the mattress on shaky legs, walking toward him.

“Does your wife know that?”

“Cielito?”

“Yes, Javier?”

“I’m fucking you in seven days—mark it on your calendar.”

That made you giggle. “If I scheduled all the times we fuck, there wouldn’t be any empty days on the calendar.”

You were close to him.

“Probably.” He shrugged. “But next Monday is special.”

“Is that so?” you asked, finally in his space and wrapping your arms around his shirt-covered middle. He hugged you back, looking you in the eyes with a smile.

“Yeah,” he answered, “‘cause it’ll be the first time I fuck you as my lawfully wedded wife.”

“Should I expect sex to be different as Mrs. Javier Peña?”

He nodded. “It’ll be better.”

And before the lunch quickie, you’d just had, you would’ve told him that was impossible. However, now, you thought he was right; that as your relationship continued to grow and evolve, so would you both, and it’d affect something like your sex life, hopefully, positively as each year passed. It felt like you won the lottery that this kind, sweet, caring, respectful, incredible man loved you and would no doubt ensure sex with him was nothing less than spectacular.

“Well, Mr. Peña, I’m excited for you to make an honest woman out of me.”

His head moved, hovering his lips over yours, feeling his breath as he spoke in a low husk, “I’m excited to be your husband and share my last name with you, Mrs. Peña—I love you.”

“I love you, too—kiss me,” you whispered.

He nudged his nose against yours. “As you wish, mi amor—I promise to kiss you every day for as long as I live.” He pressed his lips to yours, kissing you tenderly.

Robyn was going to give you so much shit for returning to work late…

Javier didn’t mind Mondays when he was in Colombia.

To be honest, during his first stint trying to get Pablo Escobar, he was working so much his days blended together, and he didn’t know the date until he looked at a calendar in the office or Steve told him. As attaché, Mondays were the start of his week, and if he happened to have Sunday or the whole weekend off, he was still doing work at home and couldn’t wait to get back to the office—Monday mornings were used to plan out and go over his week’s schedule with his staff, the rest of the day he attended required meetings and when he had time, assessing where they were at in their operation and strategizing next steps.

He’d been too consumed with his job to take a break or relax over the weekend. it wasn’t something he would’ve wanted to do anyway because it’d mean he’d be alone with his thoughts, and who’d want that? Thinking about all of the mistakes he’d made, how much he fucked up and let his family down, mulling over how alone and miserable he felt—obsessing about his work meant there wasn’t time to think about those things, so Mondays were always welcome.

His life had changed since then.

Drastically.

Now, he looked forward to the weekend.

It meant a full forty-eight hours he got to spend with the most amazing woman he loved more than anything. It was forty-eight hours full of love, happiness, and contentment. He could actually relax with her, let his guard down, and just be himself.

The weekend was sacred, and he hated waking up on Monday morning, knowing he'd have to be away from his media naranja (soulmate) for at least forty hours over the next five days.

It was safe to say that Javier wasn't the jolliest of people when the alarm clock went off at the start of the week; it was such a common occurrence Cielito often compared him to Garfield, the cat.

He felt he'd done some good work since starting at the Sheriff's office a while back. The narcotics unit, he advised, had managed to do double the busts and arrests than the previous year, the DEA practically frothing at the mouth over the amount of drugs, weapons, and dirty money they’d seized. The agent in charge of their region, who he’d previously butted heads with, had even commended him on their last call. His notoriety was known enough he’d lost count of how many offers he'd gotten to do lectures and the number of agencies in Texas and across the country who had tried to poach him at most or get him to do short-term freelance consulting at minimum.

Basically, there were a lot of people who wanted to pick his brain and/or talk about his time with the DEA.

His, was it, popularity? In the drug enforcement circles and public knowledge of his efforts in Colombia had led to an interesting phenomenon, the Sheriff loved and Javier hated. Philanthropists, sometimes businesses, a lot of the times just individuals, many of whom weren’t even from the area, wanted to donate decent sums of money to the various anti-drug and addiction treatment programs the Sheriff's office and county, in general, ran with the caveat of discussing where their money was going with someone who fought in the War on Drugs.

Him.

Most of the time when he met with these 'philanthropists,' they just wanted to hear stories about Pablo Escobar and the Cali cartel that weren't reported in the mainstream media, or in other words, Javier had to schmooze.

Javier hated schmoozing.

He absolutely fucking hated all the ass kissing he had to do with higher-ups as attaché, and he sure as fuck, didn't like having to do it now with people who had more money than god and a morbid curiosity about two of the biggest, most violent cartels in recent history.

He could decline these meetings if he wanted—Sheriff Arturo told him it was completely his choice if he took them or not. Obviously, his preference would be the latter, but he cared about his community and checked into it to confirm the donations were being used as intended, so he figured it was worth an hour of his time every once in a while.

This morning, he'd been extra annoyed it was Monday because he was scheduled to meet with one of these potential donors who was from Dallas or somewhere else in the state; he wasn't actually paying attention the prior week when Joy, the Sheriff's assistant who also helped out Javier sometimes, was giving him the information due to the fact seconds before she walked into his office he'd gotten a message on his phone from his wi-fiancée that read:

Can I blow u on lunch?

And he’d needed Joy to leave so he could call Cielito to give her an emphatic yes, with the stipulation he could eat her out for his afternoon meal instead of the sandwich she made him. All that’d registered when his, kind of, assistant was talking were the date and time for the meeting he hastily scribbled down on his yellow legal pad.

Since it was the beginning of a new week and having the meeting on his agenda, he didn’t have much hope for it being a good day, and then his phone vibrated with a text message from his soon-to-be wife:

Need u bad. Lunch? ;)

See, in the week after they came home from Miami, they had an in-depth conversation about starting their family—yes, they both had already enthusiastically agreed to try for a baby, but Cielito wanted to manage his expectations and ensure he understood the statistics, risks, and tragic possibilities he didn’t even want to think about, yet needed to be aware of.

That night, he’d gotten out his mother’s rosary for the first time in a while, sat on the edge of the bathtub in the locked bathroom, and had a quiet conversation with her about how happy and ecstatic he was, along with his new fears and worries, making a tearful request for her to please watch over them. He wasn’t religious by any means and didn’t see a point in praying to some all-powerful being that possibly existed and, if so, had more serious matters in the world to attend to, but Javier knew his mom would care if she was listening, and it comforted him, thinking she was, and that she would watch over them.

Another thing his fiancée had done was try and pinpoint when they actually had a chance of conceiving, and that was how he found out she’d begun keeping track of her periods when they started dating, her reasoning:

‘I thought you didn’t want kids, so I made sure I could catch any surprises as quickly as possible to give us time to figure out what we wanted to do, then I found out you’re actually pro-kids and knew the data would come in handy when we decided to go for it, and I was right.”

She was right, she was always right, though, and had marked possible dates their chances were high on the Star Wars-themed wall calendar in the kitchen—January’s picture was a still from the first movie of Darth Vader interrogating Princess Leia in her cell on the Death Star—and Javier had been waiting for the prospective days with almost the same amount of glee as their impending nuptials.

Today was a possibility, and getting her text message and having her confirm over the phone her telling symptoms had him fist pumping with an excited ‘Yes!’ when he hung up.

His day had completely turned around, and he wasn’t even bothered about his afternoon meeting because he was on top of the world and beyond happy about the possibility of becoming a father.

He’d been vibrating with so much excitement he couldn't even focus on his work, and there were some important reports he needed to go over and create; he also had a few files on some recent busts one of the guys on the narcotics team wanted him to look over to see if Javier noticed the same things he did without disclosing what they were—he’d be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued.

Over the months he’d been with the Sheriff’s office, they’d had some leads on how the drugs were crossing the border from Mexico into Laredo, but they all ended up being dead ends. They knew what cartel was supplying; however, they didn’t know the link that was getting them into the US, and it bothered him so fucking much. Every person they caught and interrogated either wouldn’t say anything because they feared what the cartel would do or didn’t know shit, and had the same story that they got a call from an unknown number that gave them a location to pick up what was usually a vehicle with the drugs hidden inside along with their cash payment, and a destination where they needed to take it—generally, random parking lots they’d abandon the cars in. The narcotics team had attempted numerous times to get one of the traffickers to wait for their next call and report the specifics in order to conduct a sting, but once they were arrested, they were never contacted again or, in some cases, mysteriously disappeared; the assumption was they either fled to Mexico, or the sicarios got them.

It also didn't help that the town police department wasn't very forthcoming with their drug arrests and made getting their reports a pain in the ass—apparently, this only became an issue when Javier came on board as a consultant, which told him the person making their life difficult was the Laredo Police Department Chief, who also happened to be Lorraine's uncle.

That fucking family.

Since he'd been too amped to work, the time leading up to the lunch hour was spent going through the catalogs he had delivered to the office he hid in his desk drawer, containing baby stuff—clothes, toys, furniture, and making notes of the things he liked or needed to call Connie about to get her opinion.

The lunchtime quickie that ended up not being very quick was better than he ever could have imagined; it was so fucking fantastic that it easily made his top three Greatest Fucks—the other two were the sex on his birthday last month and the first time they fucked after they confessed their love on the kitchen floor—and it had him itching for the end of the workday to go home, and do it again, and probably again after that. It seemed Cielito wasn’t wrong about the probability of his dick hurting by the end of the week, and after some perspective (her gentle reminder of her sacrifices), it was something he was more than okay with—he was looking forward to it, actually.

He'd made her a cheese quesadilla and cut up some apple slices for her to take back to work and eaten his own before he left the apartment.

Javier had fussed with his clothes and hair to ensure it wasn’t obvious what he’d been doing the past hour and thought he did a pretty good job. He arrived at work ten minutes before his meeting and stopped by Joy’s desk, located outside Sheriff Arturos’s office, to get any messages he may have missed. The Sheriff was standing at his door talking to her in his uniform of a short-sleeved khaki shirt and army green pants, his gold Sheriff star badge gleaming under the overhead lights.

The older man’s dark eyes landed on him as he approached, the expression on his face turning to amusement.

“Parece que tuviste un buen almuerzo (Looks like you had a good lunch),” the Sheriff said.

His eyebrows furrowed. “¿Por qué dices eso (Why do you say that)...?”

Arturo tapped the side of his neck with his finger. “Ella te marcó (She marked you).”

Javier knew the exact spot, his hand instinctively moving to cover it. His attention went to Joy, who looked just as amused as the Sheriff. “How bad is it?” he asked her as he uncovered it.

She peered up at him through her wire-rimmed glasses, examining the spot. “She got you good, but you’ve had worse,” she answered. This was something that had happened many times before. “I can cover it up for your meeting if you want.”

He usually didn’t care about walking around with hickies on his neck—he actually loved that it broadcasted he was with someone. Unfortunately, there were some instances where he needed to look professional, and Joy would help by covering the marks with makeup Cielito had given her.

Checking his watch, the people would be arriving any minute. “There’s no time,” he sighed. “I’ll get my messages after the meeting—thank you!” He started walking to his office down the hall.

He’d made sure his desk didn’t look messy, keeping a legal pad and his pen at the ready, his suit jacket hanging on the back of his chair, and he had some program brochures in case whoever he was meeting with wanted them. He was sitting, absentmindedly thinking about what kind of flowers he’d bring home to his fiancée, leaning towards a bouquet of colorful tulips or there’d been a pink rose and lilies arrangement he saw last week he thought was really pretty, she’d like.

His desk phone rang, and he picked up the receiver, answering, “Peña.”

“Your appointment has arrived, Mr. Peña,” Joy said on the other line. “Are you ready for them?”

“Sure,” he replied. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.” There was a lot he could do instead of regaling people with stories from the worst years of his life.

“We’re on our way.” She hung up, and so did he, Javier standing up from his chair.

Joy appeared at his doorway, holding out her arm to direct the newcomers inside, as she said, “Right this way.”

Three nicely dressed people walked in, two men and a woman, Javier stepped around his desk to shake the first man’s hand—he was much older than Javier, giving him a firm handshake.

“Thank you for meeting with us, Javier,” the man said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—he had an air about him that he knew he was the richest and most important person in the room; so, snobby. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“From someone I know?” Javier figured it was an agent at the DEA.

“I believe so,” he answered. “We can talk about that in a minute—this is my wife.” He looked at the woman beside him, and Javier shook her hand. She was probably ten to fifteen years younger than her husband, dressed in clothes and jewelry that had to be worth more than he made in a year—she wasn’t smiling. It was obvious from her expression that she was disappointed in what she was seeing and unimpressed, Javier cringing when her eyes zeroed in on his neck.

This was going to go so well.

Maybe she was expecting someone older who looked more experienced?

“It’s nice to meet you,” Javier said with a polite smile. He let go of her hand. “I didn’t get either of your names?”

The man spoke, “Call us…” he paused. “John,” he finally answered, “and Jane.”

“Okay… John and Jane…?”

“Doe.”

Fake names. “So, you want to be anonymous donors…?”

It had happened before; however, in those instances, they did tell him their names and just requested they be listed as anonymous.

“Precisely—you’re a smart guy, Javier,” John said, with a smile that wasn’t sincere and the comment coming off as condescending, making Javier’s teeth clench.

“Right…”

“Well—” John clapped his hands together once. “—let’s talk business.”

There was still the other man behind them—tall, gangly, balding, probably about John’s age, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a black suit, holding a briefcase—a lawyer if he had to guess, which wasn’t odd when there were large sums of money involved.

“I’ll take it the gentleman accompanying you is your lawyer?” he asked.

“Yes.”

They obviously weren’t going to introduce the guy to Javier, so he walked around them and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Javi,” he said, “and you are?”

“Gerald,” he answered, shaking his hand.

He smiled. “Nice to meet you, Gerald.” Javier moved to close his office door. “Please, have a seat,” he told the room as he made his way to his desk. “Sorry, I only have two chairs, but I can have Joy bring in a third.”

He sat down in his, the couple taking seats in the two chairs in front of his desk.

“That won’t be necessary,” John said, waving away his offer. “Jerry is fine standing.”

Javier looked up at the man in question standing behind them. “Would you like a seat, Gerald?”

“I’m fine,” he answered.

Javier nodded and turned his attention to the people in front of him, who now looked annoyed because they apparently didn’t like politeness. He crossed his arms on his desk and gave them a close-lipped smile.

“So,” he started, “I was told you wanted to meet with me specifically. I’ll just say I don’t normally do these kinds of meetings, but if it helps get funding, I will. How can I help you? Would you like me to go over the programs?”

“We had some questions for you,” John replied.

“Okay.” He nodded. “I’m assuming they’re about my work in Colombia?”

“Some,” he answered.

“What university did you go to?” Jane asked.

“Texas A&M.”

“What degree?”

“Criminal justice with a minor in psychology.”

Her nose scrunched as if she smelled something bad, and John sat up straighter in his seat. “Were you really involved with taking down Pablo Escobar?” he asked.

“I helped—spent seven/eight years going after him with my partner. I wasn’t there when he died, but my partner was.”

“That’s a considerable amount of time to hunt someone. Why weren’t you there in the end?”

“I was on leave here in Laredo visiting my family.” Kind of true. “Bad timing, as you can tell.” He humorlessly chuckled.

“Right… And there was another cartel you were involved in dismantling?”

“The Cali cartel,” he answered. “They took over after Escobar.”

“Sounds like a dangerous job. Do you have to worry about their associates or the criminals you put away coming after you?”

“Not really? Many are dead, and I’ve been out of the DEA for a while, so I think if something were going to happen, it would’ve by now.”

“Your achievements are impressive.” He said it, but he didn’t look impressed. “How old are you?”

“Forty.” He felt like he was being interrogated. “Can I tell you about the county’s programs?”

“Right, right,” John said. “Money. We promise you’ll have a check. We’re just interested in learning more about The Great Javier Peña.”

He frowned. “I wouldn’t say I’m great…”

“We wouldn’t either,” Jane mumbled under her breath, not looking at him.

“That’s something we can agree on,” John said so smoothly that Javier was stunned by the rudeness.

What was with these people? They requested this meeting with him and didn’t seem to like him all that much—he was pretty sure the wife hated his guts, and he had no clue what he’d done or who they were. He didn’t have to put up with this shit, no matter who they thought they were or how much they were going to donate, so he let his mask fall along with all the pleasantries.

“So, I’m doing this as a favor for the Sheriff,” Javier said. “I don’t have to talk to you people, especially with you giving me the impression you don’t even like me. I don’t want to waste your time or mine—let’s cut to the chase; how much money are you donating? And I’ll decide if it’s worth answering any more of your questions.”

His shift in demeanor had the couple looking taken aback at his audacity, like they couldn’t believe he’d speak to them in such a way.

“Is that how you talk to people who want to give you money?” Jane asked.

His eyes went to her. “It’s how I talk to people who clearly don’t like or respect me. if you want this meeting to continue, tell me how much.”

“Okay, Javier,” John said. “Is one hundred thousand enough?”

He kept his face neutral, but Javier was shocked. No one had ever donated that much.

“That’ll work,” he responded. “What do you want to know?”

“Is it true you’d pay and sleep with prostitutes to get information while in Colombia?” Jane asked.

Javier jolted as if she’d slapped him, his eyebrows creasing. “Where’d you hear that? What does that have to do with Webb County or my career?”

“It’s a question of your morals,” she answered. “Did you use women for your own personal gain?”

“One hundred thousand,” John reminded him.

Jesus Christ.

His jaw ticked, his fists clenching. He answered, “Yes.”

“Is it true you were fired from the DEA for helping a paramilitary group that killed civilians?” Jane asked.

“I only helped them get a handful of Escobar’s sicarios and told them no civilians were to be harmed.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

He icily stared. “Yes.”

This was an interrogation.

“Were you engaged to Lorraine Smith seventeen years ago and left her the night before your wedding?”

How the fuck did they know that?

“She was trying to trap me,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

John leaned forward, staring him down. “All those deplorable things—do you actually think you’re good enough to marry our daughter?”

There it was.

Everything finally made sense.

He’d only seen a few pictures of her parents since his fiancée didn’t enjoy going through her family photo album, actively avoiding the reminders of how she’d been neglected and shunned, so he hadn’t recognized them. Now that he knew their true identities, he could see the features Cielito had gotten from each of them—eyes, mouth, chin, nose, that crinkle between her eyebrows when they pulled together—if her mother had smiled just once instead of glowering at him the entire time, he would’ve clocked who they were in ten seconds flat.

These fuckers, he knew they were up to something, and to wait and show up a week before their wedding, was fucking diabolical—obviously, they were going to pull some shit to try and stop him from marrying their daughter. A sick part of Javier wished they knew he could still smell Cielito in his mustache and had some of her dried come on his dick; he was happy the mark on his neck stood out since it showed he was with her recently.

His surprise only lasted a second as it quickly turned into burning hot anger, Javier glaring at them.

“Do I think I’m good enough for your daughter? No, but she thinks I am, and her opinion is the only one that matters,” he answered.

Jane rolled her eyes, and John sat back, crossing his arms.

“It used to be common courtesy to ask the Father for permission to marry his daughter,” the other man said.

Javier leaned back, mirroring John with his arms over his chest. “When they considered their daughters property,” he said. “Your daughter is not your property; she’s a person who can do whatever the fuck she wants without your permission—get out of here with that sexist bullshit.”

Jane scoffed.

John jutted a finger at him. “You’re not good enough for our daughter,” he said. “You’re not cut from the same cloth—she’s Cashmere, and you’re a dirty old rag. She’s better than you—she deserves better than you, and you cannot marry her. We won’t allow it. She needs to marry someone from a family of worth or a man in a profession of notoriety who makes good money, like that great surgeon she dated, Dr. Andrews. He’s made a name for himself and would’ve been a great match for her. If she marries you, people will talk, and we’ll be a laughingstock amongst our peers that our daughter was with someone so beneath her—you’d sully her name and all that we’ve built. So, here’s how this is going to go, Javier,” he spat. “We promised you a check, and you’ll get one for one hundred thousand as we agreed for you to put toward whatever menial program you wish. Then you’ll get a second check for the same amount to call off your wedding and leave our daughter. You will never speak to her again, and if she happens to be pregnant with your child—god help us—you will sever your parental rights and have nothing to do with either of them. Am I understood?”

Javier was so fucking angry he thought he was going to explode.

He figured they’d lay into him about his unworthiness to try and make him second guess being with her. He also thought they’d try threatening him with god only knows what to stop their wedding. Trying to pay him off to keep him from marrying their daughter was unexpected and unbelievably insulting. They were out of their minds thinking money would get him to leave her; they were fucking insane thinking money would get him to leave her and their child.

His ears were ringing, his blood was boiling, feeling hot and so full of rage he was seeing red.

His tone was low and menacing, “Get. The fuck. Out.”

John sighed. “Fine. two hundred fifty thousand.”

“I don’t want your fucking money.”

“Everyone has a price,” Jane said.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes, resting his arms back on the desk. “Some people don’t actually give a fuck about money, Jane. So, no, I don’t have a fucking price. You could offer me one million dollars right this second, and I’d still tell you to fuck off. You people are fucking despicable—does she even know you’re here?”

“Of course not,” John said, giving him a look like that should be obvious. “We’re here on business.”

Javier’s attention went to him. “Your daughter’s happiness is ‘business?’ Wanting to ruin our lives is ‘business?’ Do either of you have hearts, or is it purely hatred keeping you alive? You know what, I don’t fucking care—be honest with me, do you even love her?”

“Yes, of course we love her!” Jane replied. “Why do you think we’re doing this? We love her and want what’s best for her!”

“No, you want what’s best for you.” He pointed at her. “If you actually loved her, you wouldn’t be doing this because you’d care about her happiness and not your family’s image. If you loved her, you’d be happy about our marriage.” His voice rose, “If you fucking loved her, you would treat her as such and respect her life choices! You don’t fucking love her, and you never have all because she wasn’t born with a fucking penis and didn’t follow some stupid fucking career tradition! No, you don’t fucking love her!” He stood from his chair so abruptly that it rolled back to ram into a bookcase.

He took a deep breath, his heart pounding, face hot.

His voice brokered no room for argument, “So, here’s how this is going to go. I won’t tell her about this absolutely fucked up conversation and attempted bribe, and you’re going to get the fuck out of our town without another word. You will not see her before leaving, and you will never show your faces here again. If you do not follow any of these instructions, I will tell her everything, and because I genuinely love your daughter—“ He pressed a hand over his heart. “—and know her, I can tell you that you will never hear from her again, and you won’t ever meet our children. Am I understood?”

After this meeting was finished, he was rushing to Cielito’s work to tell her all that had happened—he wouldn’t keep anything from her, especially this.

“One million,” John tried.

“Stop offering me fucking money!” Javier shouted, slamming his hands onto the desk. “You can’t pay me off!” His volume lowered. “Now, are you gonna go straight home, or do I need to call your daughter, my fiancée, on speakerphone so you can tell her what’s happening?”

John looked over his shoulder at the man behind him. “Jerry, the paperwork.” He snapped his fingers.

Gerald used his knee to prop up the briefcase that he popped open. Grabbing a large manila envelope, he passed it to John, who tossed it onto the wooden surface in front of Javier.

“Sign it,” the older man ordered, pointing at it. “Standard prenup—you get divorced, you take what little you brought with you, and don’t get a single cent of our money; if you won’t be reasonable, then you’ll play by our rules. She knows she must either keep her last name or hyphenate when she marries.” Cielito had never mentioned that and planned to take his last name, which her parents definitely wouldn’t like. “The children she has with you will have hyphenated last names, ours first—which shouldn’t be a problem for you.” That was aggressive and not fucking happening with how adamant his future wife was about getting rid of her maiden name. “—and they’ll have trusts set up for them that they can access at the age of eighteen if they pursue a medical degree, if not, then they’ll have to wait until they’re twenty-five.” How fucking rich were these people? And his kids would go to school for whatever they wanted; his fiancée had told him she could afford it. “—you, Javier, are barred from touching any of the money.”

“I don’t want your fucking money, pal,” Javier rolled his eyes. “Stop acting like it matters to me, and pull your head out of your ass—we don’t give a single fuck about you enough to do any of this asinine bullshit.”

“I’m not done,” John’s words were clipped with irritation, and his face showed it. “And you’ll want to hear the rest.”

“I don’t think I do, but please, buddy, keep up this disappointing attempt to intimidate me. Just remember, I spent years with a target on my back and know what it’s like to be at the end of a loaded gun, so your words aren’t gonna do shit.”

“We expect you to visit during the holidays and act civil; that means smiling in the annual family photo.” Javier snorted at this man being so full of himself to think he could get them to play ‘one big happy family.’ “If you don’t sign, then your children will get nothing, we will write our daughter out of our wills, and she will never get any additional financial support from us outside of the money we put aside for her college education—” She had the same stipulation that unless she went to medical school, she wouldn’t have access to her college fund until she was twenty-five. “—and what her grandparents left her; our son will inherit everything.”

Well, shit.

Javier frowned. This just put him between a rock and a goddamn concrete wall of a hard place.

“I’m sure you want your children to have a head start in life,” John continued, looking smug, “so we advise you sign, right Jerry?”

“It’s a substantial amount of money,” Gerald replied. “It would be in your best interest to sign, and that’s just my unbiased opinion.”

Javier was ready to tell them to take the prenup and shove it up their asses, the problem: he couldn’t make an executive decision on Cielito’s behalf that would lose her inheritance. This was something he needed to discuss with her and figure out if she wanted him to abide by the demands—which he would, for her; he wouldn’t like it, but he’d do anything for her. Now he needed to get these assholes to leave, so he could head to the hospital and talk to her.

“Thank you for your unbiased opinion, Gerald,” Javier said. He looked at the man who’d unfortunately be his father-in-law in a week. “Have you listed all of that in here?” He poked the manila envelope.

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m not gonna sign a legally binding document without having my lawyer look it over—I’m a smart guy, after all. You got a card with your fax number on it, Gerald?”

“Yes,” he answered, pulling one out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and walking around his bosses to hand it to Javier.

“Thanks. I’m going to let my lawyer determine if it really is in my best interest to agree to this, and he’ll be in touch in a couple of days—you probably won’t tell me, but where’d you hear all that shit about me?”

How people in town found out about his history with the informants has been a mystery since he never told anyone. He knew a person could find out about his involvement with Los Pepes from reading an article in a Miami newspaper, and everyone in fucking Laredo was aware of Lorraine.

John looked at him like he was stupid. “Private investigator,” he answered.

“Let me guess, he talked to Lorraine and her family?”

“No comment.”

So, that was a yes.

He sighed. “I’m really fucking curious about where he got the intel on my… relations with the women in Colombia. It had to be someone I worked with—“ He knew it wasn’t Steve. “—or who knew me down there.”

“They contacted us anonymously, so I don’t know.”

It smelled like Stechner, which, now that he was thinking about it, that fucker had been through this area before he arrived unannounced a couple of months ago, working alongside the DEA with what was going on in Mexico. He would’ve loved stirring up trouble by letting it slip about Javier’s relationships with informants.

He nodded once. “Well,” Javier started, “eating a bowl of shattered glass would’ve been more pleasant than this shitshow of a meeting. You folks really know how to make a great first impression,” he said sarcastically. “Now get the fuck out of my office and town.” He gestured toward the door. “You’re not welcome here.”

The couple got up from their chairs.

John checked the time on his Rolex, the gold watch featuring a white dial that easily cost three to four times the amount of the one on Javier’s wrist. “We need to get going anyway,” he said, “I have to be in San Francisco tomorrow for a medical conference, and I can’t miss it since I’m speaking at it—hopefully, I’ll run into Daniel. It’s always nice talking to him.”

Javier’s eyes rolled so hard he thought they might get stuck.

“We’re happy to leave this awful town,” Jane sneered. “One day, she’ll tire of you and realize the mistake she made letting you trap her here. We’ll be there when she finally comes to her senses and returns home to us.”

Javier huffed amusedly. “You’re fucking delusional, lady. You don’t even know her! She loves living here. Especially since it’s so fucking far away from you snobby fuckers.”

The woman raised her nose at him and hmph’d.

“Last chance, Javier,” John said, meeting his eyes. “One million dollars and all you have to do is disappear from her life—you’ve done it before, so do it again, and this time be compensated for it. Someone like you can easily find another woman to love.”

Javier straightened, his hands sitting on his hips, staring daggers at the other man. “I don’t want another woman,” he growled. “You’re not understanding, so let me say it nice and slow, and maybe you’ll get it: I. Love. Your. Daughter. No one else. I will never love anyone else. I love her more than life itself. I would take a bullet for her. I would die for her. I would do anything for her, like signing this fucking document—” He tapped his finger on it. “—that I don’t agree with or want to do 99% of because I love her, and I want her to be happy. She is my entire world, and just the thought of being away from her makes me sick to my stomach. So, unless she tells me to leave, I’m not going anywhere; I am spending the rest of my life with her, and there is no amount of money in the entire fucking universe that could get me to do otherwise.” He took in a big breath and slowly let it out, frowning. “From the way you can’t seem to grasp the love we have and what your daughter means to me, I’m under the impression your marriage is transactional or for appearances only—there was never any love, it was just a way to improve your social standing, or whatever stupid shit you rich people care about, but the fact of the matter is it wasn’t built on love. It’s superficial.” He looked at John. “If you went bankrupt tomorrow, she wouldn’t stay with you.” He pointed at the wife. “There’s no for richer or poorer with you two, and that’s really fucking sad. I pity you.”

The couple were scowling at him. “We don’t need your pity,” the older man said. “You know nothing about our marriage. We’ll be expecting to see the signed papers soon.”

They didn’t wait for him to respond, storming toward the door with Gerald following.

Javier sighed, pressing his fingers to his brow.

He knew eventually he’d have to meet Cielito’s parents. He had thought about what he’d say to them when he did so many times he’d lost count because Javier needed them to know how angry he was with how they’d treated the woman he loved. He needed them to know how they failed her as parents. He needed them to know how much he loved her and that he wouldn’t let them continue hurting her. He finally had his chance, and they’d made him so mad, he couldn’t remember a single fucking thing he said and hoped in his rage he got some of his points across.

They were at a crossroads now. He’d tell her what happened, every detail he could remember, and then it would be up to her—will they cut off complete contact with her family? Or would they have to abide by her parents’ demands? Javier thought he knew which way she’d choose, but money had a way of making people do things they normally wouldn’t, and from the looks of it, there was a lot of money on the line.

He sighed again. Anxiety had his stomach twisting into knots, and he was so fucking worried about what she’d choose that his chest was aching. He’d go along with whatever it was because, in the end, it was her decision, and he’d respect it, even if it was something he didn’t like and, holy shit, did Javier hate the idea of these stuck-up pricks remaining in their lives and having any kind of relationship with their future children.

There was a knock on his office door, and his hand lowered, finding Joy standing in the doorway with worry on her brow. She was a great kid who’d really gotten the hang of the job, which was her first out of college, and she was doing very well—Joy also loved Cielito and hung on her every word when they talked.

“Is everything okay, Javi?” she asked. “I heard yelling.”

“They were my in-laws, and they fucking hate me. I’ve never met them in person; hell, I’ve never even spoken to her dad on the phone, and they flew all the way here to talk to me.”

Her eyes went wide behind her glasses. “It wasn’t to congratulate you on your marriage, was it…?”

He scoffed. “No, they were trying to convince me to call it off.”

“Then why are you still here? Go to the hospital! Don’t worry about your messages.”

“I’m going,” he said, grabbing the large envelope containing the documents and moving toward the door, not even bothering to put on his suit jacket.

“You should know they left this with me.” She held up what looked to be paper as he approached, and he took it, reading what it was.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he said in disbelief. “They donated the fucking hundred grand—we didn’t even talk about the programs. How did they know who to write the check out to?” He met her eyes.

“They asked me which one was my favorite.” She shrugged. “Now, go!” She snagged the check back. “I’ll get this to where it belongs, and you go deal with what you need to—tell her hi from me.”

“I will.” He made his way out of the door. “Thank you!” he said, walking as fast as his legs could go.

Once in his truck and on his way, he’d gotten his cell phone out and speed-dialed a number.

Ring.

“Doctor’s Hospital of Laredo. How may I direct your call?”

“Robyn Thompson, post-op.”

“One moment.”

Ring.

“Hi, this is Robyn,” she answered.

“Hey, it’s Javi.”

“Oh, they paged me to answer the phone. Let me go get her.”

“No!” he quickly said. “I need to talk to you.”

Her tone went serious, “What’s goin’ on, Javi?”

“I’m on my way there right now and need to talk to her about something that happened. Would you be okay if I borrowed her for ten, maybe fifteen minutes?”

“Javier,” she whispered, “are you gettin’ cold feet?”

That being her first assumption stung, and it hurt worse because she knew damn well how head over heels he was for her best friend. It looked like even after all these years since his failed wedding, it didn’t matter if he was madly in love with someone and had a great relationship; people were still going to wonder if he would leave his new bride at the altar.

“What? No! Never! Not with her. Her fucking parents came to town and tried to pay me a fuckton of money to call off the wedding and leave her, I told them to fuck off, but they want me to sign a goddamn prenup with a list of demands that I need to talk to her about.”

“Her parents…? Here in Laredo…?”

“Yeah, I was pretty fucking shocked, too, then so fucking angry I can’t remember what I yelled at them.”

“She can take her break early, and I’ll cover.”

“Please don’t say anything to her.”

“Oh, this is all you.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

He ended the call.

The radio’s volume was down low, and the air conditioner was turned up high, Javier alone with his thoughts as he figured out how he was going to tell her about what happened—he’d tell her the truth, of course, but he didn’t want to upset her. That was the thing, though; she was going to be upset and royally pissed off.

The patient in room three wanted some apple juice; room five was asking for pain meds, but they had an hour before they could have another dose and hated being told ‘no’ so much they wouldn’t stop hitting their call button as if each press would magically make the minutes go by faster; room one was asleep and in—you checked the time on your watch—the next forty-five minutes, an orderly was coming by to take them for a walk to exercise their new hip.

It had been a busy fucking day, and you felt awful about coming back to work a little late after lunch.

You were heading toward the storage room to get the apple juice and just put your hand on the door handle.

“Hey,” Robyn said as she walked up to you. “What are your rooms needin’?”

“Three, apple juice. Five, pain meds, but we have to wait an hour. One is asleep for now.”

She nodded. “Okay, I’m gonna take care of all that for you while you go on break.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, looking at your watch. “It’s way too early for me to take a break. I’ve got another hour, at least.”

Her smile was small, patting your arm. “You’re gonna wanna go now ‘cause Javi’s waitin’ for you over at the desk.”

Your head whipped in that direction, and sure enough, he was standing there in his charcoal-colored slacks, white dress shirt, and red-patterned tie, staring at you with big brown puppy dog eyes and a little smile—and doing a little awkward wave that was both adorable and weirdly out of character from his usual suaveness.

“Uh, why is he here?” you asked, returning his gesture with a small wave of your own. “I was just with him on lunch...”

She turned her attention to him. “Oh, look at him doin’ a lil wave,” she cooed as if she was fawning over a cute baby, waving back. “Isn’t that just adorably weird and a reason you should talk to him right now?”

“You’re really okay if I take my break?” Your face turned her way.

She met your eyes. “Girl, my two patients are passed out, and the next one isn't arrivin’ for another hour, shoo.” She shooed you away with her hands, and you went.

Javi had stopped waving as you approached him, and once you were close enough, you asked, “Is everything okay? What are you doing here?”

The look on his face wasn’t happy; he was clearly worried, and it made you nervous.

“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

Alarm bells started going off in your head.

“Javier, is your dad okay? Did something happen to him? Or someone else in the family?”

He grabbed your hand, his thumb rubbing on the skin of the back of it. “Pop’s okay, Cielito—everyone in our family is okay. Take me somewhere we can talk, and I’ll explain.”

You chewed on your lip, not wanting to ask the question but needing to in order to prepare yourself. “Does this have something to do with our wedding…?” your voice was quiet.

“Baby, no,” he reassured. “Mi amor, look at me.” You did. “Us, our family, our friends, are all good—something happened at work, and I can’t talk to you on the phone about it or wait until we get home. I’ll tell you once we’re somewhere alone.”

“Okay.” You nodded, interlacing your fingers with his and leading him down the hall. For privacy’s sake, you took him to the closest on-call room, the small space containing a twin-sized bed and a desk.

The door was locked, and you moved further into the room and stopped, turning to face your fiancé.

Your eyes were on his. “What’s going on, babe?” you asked.

He took in a big lungful of air, saying as he exhaled, “Your parents came to my office today.”

What he stated was so absurd you thought you misheard him. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you right. It sounded like you said my parents were at your office, like physically, in person at your office, which is just absolute crazyballs because why would they come all the way here and not tell me or visit me…?”

The look on his face was so sad it made your stomach drop to your toes. He slid his hand soothingly along your bicep, up and down, over and over.

His tone was gentle. “You know how we’ve been wondering if they’re up to something?”

“Yes,” you whispered, dreading what he would say.

“They were pretending to like me and support our marriage, so you wouldn’t suspect them of having anything to do with their plan of getting me to leave you the week before our wedding....”

“What are you talking about?”

“They came to my office today to try and pay me a lot of fucking money to disappear from your life.”

Your eyes widened.

“They tried to pay you to leave me…?”

“Yes, and it made me so fucking angry that they’d do such a thing and try to frame it like they were doing it out of love and wanting what was best for you when in reality, it’s what they want—I’m still fucking pissed.” You could tell he was with how upset he was getting as he continued speaking. “I suspected if they were gonna pull some shit, it’d be trying to make me doubt I was good enough for you or threaten me with what? I don’t know, but to try and pay me off? Like our love can be fucking bought? Or to assume money would mean more to me than you?” His eyes were getting watery. “You, my fucking soulmate. I told them no amount of money could get me to leave you. It was so fucked up, and I hate them,” he seethed. “I’m sorry, baby, but I hate your fucking parents, I hate your family, and I lost my cool and yelled at them for not loving you and being so goddamn despicable.”

It took a second for you to process that your parents flew thousands of miles to try and pay Javi to break things off. You knew they didn’t approve of him, but to go so low? It had anger welling up inside you the longer you thought about it, getting madder at how upset they made your sweet, caring, loving fiancé, who you knew absolutely laid into them for trying such a heinous thing.

After your mother’s abrupt change in opinion of him, Javi and you had been suspicious of how out of character it was for her. There was a tiny bit of hope about the size of a grain of sand that she was being sincere with how she called more in the following weeks, wanting to hear about your wedding plans and find out the date. When you thought about it, it wasn’t all that surprising she was just fishing for information to put together her scheme. She never had any intention of helping you when she offered to hire you a wedding planner; it was a ruse to buy her time to figure out how to stop the whole thing, and you threw a wrench in her plotting by getting married so soon.

And this was the final straw.

You’d given your family enough chances, and this time, they went too far—there was no coming back from this. They could never be trusted, and you wouldn’t let them continue treating the man you loved so horribly. This whole thing was confirmation they didn’t love you.

You reached to cradle his smooth cheeks in your hands.

“I’m so sorry, Javi. I’m sorry for what they put you through. I’m sorry for how they treated you. I’m sorry for them, and I’m done. They’ve shown me who they really are, and it’s the nail in the fucking coffin.” Tears didn’t come to your eyes, and you felt no sadness about cutting them out, probably because you’d already spent enough time mourning the loss of a relationship with them and had come to terms with it. “I’ve got you, your dad, your family, Robyn—I don’t need people full of so much hate. I’m done, it’s over. I won’t be answering any of their calls.”

His eyes closed in relief, his breath stuttering on a sob. The emotion was thick when he spoke, “I want that to be true, but there’s more…”

“What do you mean there’s more?”

He looked at you. “Your father gave us an ultimatum—I sign a prenup, and we go along with his terms, or you lose your inheritance; they’ll write you out of their wills, and our kids won’t get any money. They said all you’d have is your college fund and what your grandparents left you.” He held up a large manila envelope. “You can read everything he’ll require us to do, and I’ll sign if that's what you want.”

“Wait, let me guess his terms.”

He looked confused. “What?”

“Did he say I had to keep my maiden name?”

“Yes… or hyphenate it.”

You huffed out a breath. “Typical. God, did he say the shit about our children having my last name first? Which I know you have your dad and mom’s last names, but that’s how it’s ordered: your dad's, then mom’s; it’d be weird if we did mine first.”

“He did…”

“Yeah, I’d prefer our kids just being Peñas. Um, what else? Oh! Was there anything about our babies getting money for medical school?”

“Trusts… They can access at eighteen for medical school, twenty-five if not.”

“Figures.” Your eyes rolled. “Didn’t get access to any of my money until I was twenty-five.”

His free hand caressed your face, his expression still pinched in confusion. “Cielito, what is happening right now? Why aren’t you upset?”

Your eyebrows dipped. “Why would I be upset…? You’re not signing that.” You pointed at the packet. “I don’t want their money. Do you want their money?”

“What? No. I told your father exactly how much I didn’t want his fucking money. I’m not quite getting why you aren’t more upset about no longer speaking to them…”

“Oh! This is probably hard for you to understand because your parents love you unconditionally and are, in general, fantastic people. See, my parents’ love is conditional, which you’re holding proof of, and when you spend the first eighteen years of your life trying to live up to impossible standards for the tiniest scrap of affection, you kinda develop a lot of resentment toward the ones who are supposed to love you no matter what.

“Then there’s the way they think they can dictate my life choices as an adult,” you continued, “and only call me so often to keep tabs on what I’m up to in order to ensure I’m not doing anything that would embarrass them or bring shame to the family name—they’re fucking ridiculous about their traditions and keeping up appearances that their family is perfect.

“So, sure, I love them,” you told him, “but I’ve been tired of their bullshit for a while now and have been clear about my boundaries; plus, they knew they were on thin ice, and Javi, every time I’ve told you I’d choose you over them, I meant it.” You swiped his bangs off his forehead. “Your love is unconditional, and you genuinely love me; what’s better than that? And that’s why I don’t have any issues cutting them out of our lives and don’t care about losing my inheritance.

“You’ve seen firsthand how toxic they are,” you said, “and I won’t have them around us or our children. Our happiness is more important than keeping shitty people in our lives for money, and babe, believe me when I say we don’t need their money.”

His eyes were searching yours. “Are you sure?”

You smiled. “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t—yes, Javier, I’m sure, I’m more than sure. You are what matters to me. You and our future babies are what matter to me.” You took the envelope from his hand and looked around the room, finding the small garbage can over by the door. “Swoosh!” you called out and tossed the documents toward it.

—them landing on the floor beside the trash with a thud.

“There goes my NBA career,” you mumbled.

A surprised sound left you when lips crushed against yours hard, Javi’s big, warm hands holding your face—there was a second delay before you started kissing him back just as fervently with your eyes closed, your fingers threading into the soft, thick strands of his hair, pressing your body into his as close as you could get without crawling into his skin.

His palm slid down your back to grab a handful of your ass, his tongue slipping between your lips to massage your own.

Javier could be an imposing figure with the broadness of his shoulders, his wide chest, and tall stature. He had a way of making you feel delicate and safe when he caged you in his arms, something ancient in the back of your mind repeating, 'Protector, protector, protector...' and purring happily.

He could easily get you to move where he wanted, and he walked you back until your legs hit the side of the bed. In the blink of an eye, he had your spine to the mattress with him on top of you, the kissing getting frantic.

"I love you," his sentence muffled against your mouth. "I love you—I need... I need." He sounded desperate, unable to articulate what he wanted, but if you thought about what he went through that day—the excitement of actually trying for the baby, the rage at meeting your parents, the worry at what you'd choose—he felt a lot of big emotions, and you knew his way of coping when he got overwhelmed was losing himself in another person's body.

He needed you.

His hips were cradled in your thighs, feeling him hardening.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. Today, however, there were a couple of issues, the big one being that you were at your place of employment, and the second was you didn’t have time—Robyn was already doing you a solid by covering, and it’d be rude to go over your allotted fifteen minutes of break time.

Javi needed you, though, and you wanted to make him feel better.

With a quick glance at your watch, you had seven minutes to work with, a plan quickly forming in your head.

It wasn’t hard to get him to roll you both to have you on top of him, straddling his hips and shoving his arms above his head, where you held them down. Your mouths were fused together, the kiss becoming needy and hungry, your lips slick, and your tongues moving together with practiced familiarity. With a roll of your hips, you ground yourself against his hardened cock, heat zipping through your belly at the broken whine he made, which only encouraged you to keep going, continuing to grind, rubbing your pussy along his thick shaft.

He wanted to touch you, making an attempt to get his hands out of your hold, but you kept them firmly in place. You spoke quietly into his lips, “You gonna be a good boy and let me make you feel good?” He groaned, his entire body shivering under you.

His length was between the lips of your clothed cunt, grinding yourself against it, the friction to your clit causing sparks to dance in your core. "You gonna come for me?" you asked, keeping your voice low and nipping at his bottom lip, kissing him again, rough sounds rumbling from his chest.

Your mouth broke away from his, pressing your foreheads together. "You gonna think about how I still have you inside me?" you murmured, not slowing your movements, sliding your pussy over him repeatedly.

Occasionally, there were voices or the wheels of hospital beds rolling outside the room’s door as people passed by. Inside, where you and Javier were alone, the sounds filling the air were the mattress springs softly squeaking, his breathy moans, and your panted breaths.

"You gonna think about how you might've gotten me pregnant today?" you asked. That got you a groan and him bucking his hips.

"You gonna think about how you’ll fill me again when we get home? How you're gonna keep me all nice and stuffed so I have your baby in nine months?" A desperate sound left him, and he started thrusting up into you while you kept grinding.

"You gonna think about what I'll look like knocked up with your baby? The big belly and swollen tits? You like that my boobs are gonna get bigger, don't you?" You were reveling in his whimpers and moans, knowing you had him. "Have you imagined what I'll look like riding you when I'm pregnant?"

“Yes,” he answered breathlessly. His hands broke free, pawing at your body and zeroing in on your breasts with the enthusiasm of a man who just got home from war. “Get so fucking hard imagining it.” His fingers dug into your waist as he helped you move faster and pressed you harder against him.

“Are you gonna come thinking about it?”

The question made him gasp out, “Yes.”

You knew he was close when his breaths got shaky.

“Come for me, Javi,” you said. “Come on. Let go.”

Your mouth descended on his, the kiss sloppy and more of a mash of lips to quiet his sounds. He suddenly went still and stiffened with a choked whine, feeling his dick under you pulsing as he fell apart, your movements stopping. It was quiet in the room, save for the heavy breaths. Your mouth left his to kiss his chin, then both of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and finally, his forehead. You admired his pretty face with his closed eyes, and his reddened lips turned up in the cutest smile you couldn’t help but kiss.

His breathing started to even out. “How are you feeling?” you asked. Checking your watch to see you still had two minutes remaining.

“Better,” he whispered.

“Good.” The bed complained as you got off of him and it, taking a couple of steps to grab the box of tissues from the desk. “You’ll probably want to clean up the mess in your pants,” you said, setting them on the mattress beside him. “Sorry about that.”

“Liar,” he replied, blinking his eyes open all cat-like and turning his head to look at you.

You smiled. “I mean, it’s very hot, and I’m proud of myself. I wish I could stay longer, but I need to get back to work.” Bending down, you quickly pecked him on the lips before straightening. “Bye.”

You started to walk away, and his arm shot out to grab your hand. “Wait,” he said.

Meeting his gaze, you asked, “Yeah?”

His eyes had gone round, and he was looking at you like you hung the moon or painted the sky with stars; there was so much awe and love in his expression that it stole your breath and made you feel as though you were all that mattered to him, and wasn’t that the truth? It was hard to believe that someone loved you so completely and would do anything for you, knowing that had you said you wanted your inheritance, he would’ve gone along with all the shit that came with it—he would’ve hated it a lot, but Javi still would’ve done it for you because he loved you. He loved you more than any other person or thing on the planet, and when you had kids, he’d love them just as much, and that thrilled you.

You knew what he would say before the words left his mouth.

“I love you,” you said at the same time, and he smiled so big it made his eyes crinkle at the edges.

“What am I gonna say next?” he asked.

“Well, you had a day, and now you’re ridiculously happy about never having to deal with the people I’m related to again; add in that you just came and have all those love chemicals floating around in your body, you’re gonna wax poetic about how much you love me very beautifully and probably in Spanish because you tend to reset to your original programming and speak in your first language when you’re extremely lost in the sauce or come really hard.”

He huffed out an amused breath. “Smartass.”

“But am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Then lay it on me.”

“I don’t want to now—you already know what I was gonna say.”

“Okay, then I’m heading back to work,” you said, calling his bluff.

He frowned and squeezed your hand. “Wait, don’t go yet.”

“What’s up?”

“Te amo (I love you),” he replied. “Te amo tanto (I love you so much).”

“Yo sé y yo también te amo (I know and I love you, too).”

“No, cuando digo que te amo, es una promesa de que solo te amaré a ti por toda la eternidad (No, when I say I love you, it’s a promise that I will only love you for all eternity). Cuando digo que te amo, es una promesa de que sólo tú tendrás mi devoción completa (When I say I love you, it’s a promise that only you have my complete devotion). Cuando digo que te amo, las palabras vienen de lo más profundo de mi alma, donde has llenado la parte que me faltaba (When I say I love you, the words are coming from the depths of my soul where you’ve filled in the missing part of me). Cuando digo que te amo, lo siento en cada célula de mi cuerpo (When I say I love you, I feel it in every cell of my body). Cuando digo que te amo, lo digo en serio: te amo y siempre te amaré hasta el fin de los tiempos (When I say I love you, I mean it: I love you, and I’ll always love you until the end of time). Te amo, Cielito (I love you, Cielito).”

He had your eyes feeling a little misty at what he said and how it was apparent he meant every word.

“God, I love you,” you told him, “and I hate that I can’t articulate how much I love you as poetically as you do—just know I love you as much as you love me, and I’m yours forever, and I mean forever. Let me kiss you, and then I really have to go. I’ll lock the door on my way out so you can clean up.”

“Baby, I don’t need you to say sappy bullshit for me to know how fucking much you love me.” He brought your hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it. “I feel it in all the things you do for me. Like throwing away the prenup and knowing I was fucked up about everything today and making me cream my pants like an inexperienced teenager getting his dick touched for the first time to make me feel better. I know you love me, and that’s why I’m marrying you next week and am so fucking excited to start a family with you.”

“Oh, Javi,” you gasped. “You creamed your pants like a besotted grown man getting his dick touched by the woman he’s madly in love with—I’m being honest when I say it’s romantic and very hot.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer by the arm, and you leaned down to press your lips to his, hoping he felt it in your kiss, the all-consuming love you had for him.

“You are the woman I’m madly in love with,” he murmured into your mouth.

“And you’re the man, I’m madly in love with,” came your muffled reply.

There were a lot of ways your life could’ve turned out and many paths you could’ve chosen. What you knew for certain was they all would’ve led you to him. Mistakes weren’t mistakes, all of your choices were right, even if they were wrong, and it didn’t matter where you lived in the past or all of the people you’d met over the years; the invisible string tying you together would’ve somehow, some way pulled you to him in that grocery store on that hot summer day because it was the perfect moment in both of your lives to find one another—you were two lost souls who finally found what you’d been missing: each other.

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

#pedro pascal #javier peña #Javier Peña/reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier pena x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #wheresarizona writes #learning to live series

384 notes · View notes

pey4562 · 3 months

Text

What a Liar.

Pedro Pascal x Actressf!reader

Pedro pascal x actressf!reder

(It reminds me of this song)

Disclaimer: ! This is the first thing I’ve written and probably the only one I will write lol and probably a lot of grammar issues but I tried guys 🙌 but I hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: mention of smut but nothing really happens, possibly and age gap not specified, pet names, implied relationship, good amount of Y/N, that’s really all. (feel free to let me know if there is more)

Description: you and Pedro have been dating for about a year, and never really mentioned anything to anyone yet you both always said if one was ready, the other one was ready too . You grew really close after you had an intimate scene in Narcos, and when you found out you were both casted for Tlou, you were both happy. Then Pedro decides he’s ready to announce your relationship and announces it in an interview and calls you a liar. In a jokingly way.

*********************************************************

“Ugh this dress is so itchy” you say with a frustrated tone that fills the limo you two were in. ” I can’t wait to take it off of you later.” Pedro says, with a smirky tone. You lightly punch his shoulder as a way of saying ‘oh shut up’ without even opening your mouth. He lightly chuckles under his breath and sets his hand on your thigh, using the slit of your dress to his advantage. he slowly starts rubbing your thigh to calm your nerves which were through the roof.

“I’m glad I have you on my side” you lightly lay your head on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t dare be on anyone else’s side baby,” baby, you loved it when he called you that. It made your heart do backflips.

Sometimes you were surprised that not everyone knew about you and Pedro’s relationship. He would always post pictures with you, call you sweet names, and you guys were obviously very close, but many people didn’t think much about it because Pedro was just a sweet guy. But obviously there were people that made ‘ship edits’ of you two and you adored seeing them, then there were the jealous people sending you mean messages just because you were close with Pedro and they weren’t, but who could blame them, you got so lucky.

“You alright hun?” His low voice brings you back to you’re consciousness. “Oh yeah, I just got lost in thought” you replied then your eyes locked on his. He was giving you those perfect puppy eyes that put you into a comma if you looked for to long. He looked worried “thinking about what” he adds on. “How lucky I am to have you, that’s all” you look at him with your doe eyes, on purpose because you knew how much he loved that. “If anyone is lucky it is me sweetheart, you are the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on.” After that you could no longer keep eye contact with him, you were the first to crack you always were, and he loved that he had that dominance over you. Even though you have been together for a year you still blush around him like a high school crush.

The limo stopped. You made it, to the premier of ‘The Last Of Us’. He got out first, everyone was cheering extremely loud, then he opened the door for you. He put his hand out for you to grab to help you get out of the limo. Everyone saw you guys matching, Pedro with a long black sparkly coat and suit, then you with a long slim black sparkly dress. Everyone loved it, especially Pedro. You two hooked arms and walked down the carpet to get inside and filled out autographs as you went through. Once you were inside interviewers were flooding you with questions you tried to answer as many as you could. You looked around and saw Pedro was a few feet away still taking pictures and writing autographs. “Y/N!!, Y/N!” Interviewers are calling you over and over. The first few were just asking you questions about the show, then you got to one of the last ones. “Hello Y/N, everybody is wondering, what is your relationship with Pedro! Ever since THE scene from ‘Narcos’you guys seem to be extremely close. What’s going on!?” The woman asks, you really have to think about your response but it comes to you instantly. “Oh me and Pedro are just friends, he’s actually my best friend and one of my favorite people, but when we found out we were both casted for Tlou we were super excited,” you say then take a small sigh of relief for covering it up so well. “Thank you for your time Y/N” then you head on to the next few interviewers.

“Pedro!! Pedro!!” The same interviewer is calling Pedro,

“Everybody needs to know, what’s up with you and Y/N?” She pauses as he looks puzzled what to say “Y/N said you were just friends” that really caught his attention he knew exactly what to say “Y/N said we were just friends? That little liar.” Then he walks off without saying anything else. Everyone around froze hearing that from Pedro.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ after the party ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You hadn’t known about what Pedro had said until you got into the limo and checked social media. “Pedro? What happened?” You say puzzled “what’s the matter darling?” He asks not sure what you’re talking about “Y/N Y/L/N and Pedro Pascal dating; Confirmed.” You say genuinely confused. “Oh, I guess I kind of announced our relationship,” he says scared of how you will react. “YOU WHAT?!?” He tries to calm you “ I know baby, I’m so sorry. I just saw the perfect opportunity and I took it, I want to show the whole world that you are mine, no one else can have you. I just don’t want to hide anymore.” He says he looks down towards the ground and refuses to make eye contact with you. “I’m sorry if I came of angry I didn’t mean to I just wish you would have talked to me about it first,” you pause “I’m so excited to be public with you Pedro.” You reassure him and lift up his chin forcing him to look at you. “You’re not mad?” His face lights up. “No honey I’m not mad.” He quickly squeezes you and hugs you as tight as possible as if you were about to run away. “Babe…” you pause. “What exactly was the ‘perfect opportunity’ that you said happened” He lets go of you “that one can wait until we get home, for now let’s worry about right now” you knew that ment you wouldn’t like what he said but he was right, you should just enjoy the moment.

As you rested your head on his shoulder, your leg over his and he was rubbing your thigh. It was so soothing you fell asleep. When you woke up, you were in bed, in your pajamas, hair wrapped up and all your makeup was off, Pedro had carried you out of the limo, straight to bed and pampered you like a little puppy.

When you turned over you saw Pedro, out like a light. You hugged his nearly lifeless body and kissed the crook of his neck. You were alerted by the low growl he let out waking up to you fully bear hugging him. “Baby?” He said with his eyes still closed “I love you so much Pascal.” He knew exactly why you said that. “I love you too…” he paused “Mrs. Pascal” hearing him call you that made your stomach flip inside out 10 times. “But what did you say in that interview, sir” you said with a sassy tone “hold on miss sass, I’ll turn on the tv” He turned it on and went to YouTube. The first video that popped up was your interviews you watched it and heard him say it “that little liar.” He looked at you expecting you to be furious, but just looked over to see you laughing. “You don’t care?” He tilted his head in confusion. “No Pedro! That’s hilarious. Why would I be mad at that!” You say still lightly chuckling “I don’t know, I guess I-“ you cut him off with a kiss on his lips. Then he grabs his phone and takes a picture. “Can I post this,” he asks ever so politely. “Yes, please do,”

#pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedrostories #Pedro #fluff #pedro x reader #Spotify

194 notes · View notes

jaegeraether · 4 months

Text

Sunsets and footballers (Part 31)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (29)

Masterlist (other parts here)

YFN eventually managed to find a car park and carefully park Lucy’s car. Still no phone call. It was now 6pm.

She turned the car off and sighed her stress, placing her head on the steering wheel. She didn't want to text, and now she didn’t want to call. Was Lucy ashamed that she’d been caught on camera with Ona? Was their relationship more serious than she realised and Lucy just didn’t know how to tell her? Was she just a convenient fling in England for her? Perhaps an easy break without emotional complications was for the best.

“You’re okay,” she whispered to herself. She heard her tears hit the centre of the steering wheel. “You’re going to be okay. This is why we don’t let people in, Blue.” She sniffled. “It hurts right now but we’re going to be fine. We always are.”

Talking to herself out loud always helped her when she was a kid, trying to understand the strong, scared emotions her father stirred in her, and she’d carried that on into adulthood.

She sniffed again and lifted her head, wiping her tears and attempting a smile for her colleagues. She knew that if she stayed in that car, she’d just fall further into that emotional wreck, and so she grabbed her equipment and entered the stadium.

The game hadn’t even begun yet, it was scheduled for 6:45pm, so she had time to get through security with her pass and head to the bathroom where she tidied herself up and made the decision to take Lucy’s hoodie off, and switch to a Lumos hoodie. It just felt like the right thing to do. She folded it carefully and placed it in her workbag, with the intention of leaving it at Lucy’s apartment that night. She figured it would make sense to leave the keys there as well, though her main concern was the car. She didn’t have one.

YFN: Hi Joe, any chance I can take you up on that previous offer for a work vehicle?

Joe was always working. She replied almost instantly.

Joe: Absolutely! I’ll get onto that first thing in the morning.

Joe: Also, I’ve had a look through the footage from tonight. It’s excellent.

YFN: Thank you, I appreciate it.

YFN: You picked some incredibly talented people for the job.. I can already see a need for a lot more people.

Joe: Just let me know what you need. I have a lot of faith in this.

YFN knew Joe was someone who poured her heart and soul into whatever she did. She was intelligent and a smart businesswoman, though the words from the twat, Mark, at the Charity Event had stuck with her. She knew she had to ask Joe what he’d meant when he’d mentioned “the controversy she brings”, though she knew it was best for another night, and perhaps not over message.

YFN: I do too. I was also roped into doing our first interview with a few of the Arsenal and City players. I’ll send you the rough footage now.

Joe: Looking forward to it!

YFN sent the footage and entered pitch side where the teams were warming up and was happy that the weather wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been the previous matches. Emily spotted her first and came over to chat about the best photo spots, while Bridget was scouting around the entire edging of the pitch the find the best video positions. She eventually looped back around to them to join in on the work discussions.

It was during their discussions that YFN noticed a photographer taking footage of them all together. She’d never been to Broadfield Street Stadium before and so she assumed it was perhaps someone from media for one of the teams, however he was incredibly persistent and focussed on the Lumos trio. YFN didn’t want to worry the girls, and so she finished up their discussions and let them get back to getting footage of the players during their warms ups.

As warm-ups finished, YFN took a few final photos of the teams and looked down at the images, proud of the action shots. It was then that she noticed Mary Earps walking over to her. She’d spoken to Mary at the pub quite a lot, having been introduced through the England squad. She was the goalkeeper for Man United, and for the Lionesses. Mary, Queen of Stops.

“Hey, you! Good to see you! How are you mate?” She went straight in for a hug. Mary was lovely and caring, as always.

“Hey Mary. I’m great besides the very long day I’m having.” She laughed. “You were looking pretty solid in warm ups.”

“Aw thanks mate!” She said enthusiastically, hands still on her shoulders and giving her a little shake.

“I have no idea how you jump so high or so quick and the speed that you get up… I was worn out just watching you!”

She laughed at that. “Aw you’re too kind..” then she whispered, “I’ll give you a tenner later.”

YFN rolled her eyes. “Still struggling to accept compliments, I see!”

“Always mate. It’s just so awkward! Anyways, you girls are looking so cute in your little merch. Any chance I could have a beanie?”

“Oh course.” YFN chuckled and grabbed a beanie from her merch bag before putting it on the keeper herself. “Look at that!”

“Do I look cute?” She asked cheekily. “I look cute, don’t I?”

“You’re adorable.” She laughed. “Do they put you up in hotel overnight for these late night games?”

“Oh, yeah. They’ve booked us in London though so it’s a bit of a travel. Late night for us. Where are you staying?”

“London also.” She shrugged. “We probably won’t be home until 11pm.”

Mary groaned and she joined in. They bantered for a little longer until Mary was called into the training rooms and ran away excitedly with her little beanie on.

The game was fairly evenly matched, which was a surprise as Man United were a notoriously a hard team to beat. Because it was so back and forth, the Lumos crew including YFN found themselves running up and down the field for the best footage. It was almost comical. Almost.

At half time, Brighton were up 1-0 and Mary looked disappointed in herself, regardless of the fact that she’d made some incredible saves. Following the break, there was a 2nd yellow given to yet another United player, and it wasn’t until both teams had made multiple substitutions that the next goal was scored, and it was a United goal. 10 minutes later Brighton scored their 2nd, however United managed to equalise again in over time, ending it in a 2-2 draw.

The whole game was entertaining, especially watching Mary have to make so many saves, but also uncomfortable as YFN kept noticing that one photographer who was still taking photos of Lumos around the pitch. She didn’t understand until when they were nearing the end of the game, and she saw a businessman in a suit talking to the photographer and pointing to her. She hadn’t recognised him as he walked down from the crowd, but she had when she saw them talking a little closer to her. It was Mark. Mark from the Charity Event. The one who had basically warned her about Joe without actually warning her. He looked up from his photographer and caught YFN’s eye. Usually it would be normal to smile and wave, but he didn’t. He simply stared with an expression on his face that she couldn’t decipher. Whatever it was, it wasn’t positive.

From then on, she tried to move further away, working her way around the edge of the pitch, however the photographer was always close behind, following her. She felt uneasy, however she was glad he was focussed on her and not her colleagues. She tried to keep him far away from them.

At the end of the game, Mary came back over for her usual, friendly chat and brought Katie Zelem and Ella Toone with her. They were all Lionesses, having played in major tournaments together, and she'd met them all at the pub, so it was a great, natural banter they had about the game. Somehow, she was also roped into doing an interview with the three of them, after Mary had seen that she’d interviewed others and insisted on it, fakely threatening favouritism if YFN didn’t. Bridget came over, they set them up with mics and the ‘interview’ was basically a good chat about all things in the match. YFN realised how much she loved the dynamic of interviewing multiple players who would tease each other and bounce off each other. It was the perfect, relaxed setting. She also made sure to not ask too many questions about the game, preferring that the girls talk about whatever they wanted to about the game to avoid the typical media response. It wasn’t lost on her, however, that Mark’s photographer was filming everything. She put on a brave face for the camera, smiling and laughing with the girls, but felt uneasy.

They all parted ways and Bridget, Emily and YFN didn’t hang around long as they’d all had long days. It was now 9:30pm and they still had a 90 minute drive back to London. They agreed to do their editing tomorrow and call it a night. As YFN entered the car, the hair on the back of her neck stood up as she saw a car parked behind her, on and idling, as if waiting for her to leave. It was strange because most of the car park was already empty, and it was right behind her. One look in the driver’s seat and she could see who it was. The photographer.

She tried to keep her fear under control as she entered Lucy’s car and locked the doors. She immediately felt better but that all went away when she found herself on the M23 being followed.

She told herself to calm down and that they were probably taking a different exit, but they weren’t. They followed her to the M25 and all the way back to towards Lucy’s apartment.

YFN was starting to get scared and ran a cheeky orange light to lose them, which worked. She parked up Lucy’s car and entered the apartment, feeling like she didn’t belong. She turned the lights on and put the keys down near the entrance as she wandered into the beautifully modern place with her overnight bag over her shoulder. She looked around briefly and was reminded of the few happy memories. Sex here. Flirting there. Making out here. Massaging Lucy’s knee there. Making breakfast there.

She shook her head as if it would remove those memories and entered the guest bedroom. She couldn’t bring herself to use Lucy’s bedroom. The one they’d cuddled in and done much worse things in. She unpacked the few items from her overnight bag and looked at the time. Just after 11pm. She needed sleep. She quickly showered and then got dressed into a pair of pajama shorts and a loose top by itself, no bra. And socks, of course. She always needed socks.

She went to get some water and then found herself fighting a losing battle and letting curiosity and her emotions get the better of her as she entered Lucy’s room. She didn’t pry, she just… looked. Remembered. Then she went into the bathroom which was still filled with Lucy’s face care all lined up and… a blue toothbrush. Like the one she’d left at Jordan’s. YFN picked it up slowly and stared at it before her lips trembled and she gave in to those emotions from the previous few days.

“You’re okay.” She whispered to herself in between sobs. “You’re okay… it’ll pass, remember? You’ve got this.”

Suddenly she heard the front door and ran out as far as Lucy’s bedroom door to see the front door handle shaking, someone palying with the lock. The photographer? Or Mark? She didn’t call out because that would be an admittance that she was in fact there in the apartment. Instead her reaction was to close Lucy’s bedroom door quietly and then move into her bathroom, shutting that and entering the shower. None of the doors had locks and she’d never been more frustrated or scared in her life. She stood in the shower with her back to the corner of the wall, and looked down at the blue toothbrush that was her only form of defence. She couldn’t fight a man.. especially with her being so small.

She heard footsteps and could feel her body shaking as the bathroom door swung open.

#woso #womens football #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso soccer #jordan nobbs #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #engwnt #lionesses #lucy bronze imagine #woso x reader

150 notes · View notes

sourholland · 1 year

Text

based off of taylor swift’s song style

a/n → part two!! how this played out was debated for awhile honestly. i hope you guys enjoy and start to understand a little more of the dynamic we’re looking at here. as always, feedback is heavily heavily appreciated and let’s me know you want more. let me know to be added to the taglist! ALSO - a lot of people who commented on part 1 to be added to the taglist don’t have it turned on in settings where i’m able to tag them, so i couldn’t. i won’t be going back through several parts to find your @ so you’ll need to fix it and comment again if you want to be on the taglist in the future.

summary → he’s the quarterback of the cincinnati bengals, a worldwide heartthrob with an ego the size of lake erie—but does he have the heart to match it? you’re the bengals newest cheerleader, desperate to prove how much you deserve your spot on the team. it doesn’t take much to catch the eye of joe burrow, however that isn’t necessarily a good thing when you’re told that any romantic relations between cheerleaders and players is strictly prohibited.

warnings → alcohol use, strong language, nsfw content - oral sex

word count → 3.3k

remember to reblog and leave a comment if you enjoy!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Ever since the spontaneous car hookup earlier in the week, things had been a sort of comfortably complicated. Joe had driven you to pick up your car, half hard watching your legs cross so delicately as if he hadn’t just ripped your panties off in the backseat. It was more than a turn on for him.

It was a still silence all the way back to the practice facility. He kissed your cheek and told you to have a goodnight, then you grabbed your cheer bag and had gone home. Joe waited to see if he’d hear from you, wanting to see where you stood on the matter before he pushed his way into your space. He was giving you an out if you wanted it.

You wanted to want it.

It was so wrong. You were breaking the biggest rule imposed on you. Yet, you couldn’t. So you didn’t. It took until mid-afternoon the next day when you texted him to get his actual phone number, the texting exclusively through instagram private message felt a little middle school. He happily obliged, not wanting to pressure you into anything.

The conversation was casual, nothing pertaining to the subject of you fucking in the backseat of his Porsche. The only discussion of that was via Venmo, when he sent you money for a Plan B without question. You hadn’t even requested the money, he just let you know through the transaction that he didn’t want to act entitled to knowing if you were on contraception.

He didn’t know why he was so enamored by you. Joe had a very fuck boy-ish college career, he’d done his fair share of sleeping around and having women throw themselves at him. Some would say this has given him a big ego, he partially agreed. It was never about the hookup culture, though. It was more so just what he thought was right for a college athlete, it was what all his friends had done. He’d broken some hearts, for that he wasn’t proud. It was a time in his life that he was focused on two things: football and partying.

It was pretty obvious that you were the opposite to him. He had done a little social media stalking to find out a little more about the so-called rookie Ben-Gal. Just through instagram he saw that you were a very spirited girl during high school, it seemed like you had a serious boyfriend through most of those four years. He sort of disappeared when you came to the University of Cincinnati.

He wondered if he was your first love. Joe hadn’t ever been able to recall a first love for himself. There had been plenty of girls, he just didn’t ever feel like it was love.

He saw that you had maintained the good girl persona through college too. He was shocked that you’d never joined a sorority. Joe came to realize that you really were just a dedicated student athlete through and through. How you ended up as a Bengals cheerleader? He wasn’t sure.

Joe: What’re you up to tonight?

He typed the message out without thinking much of it, it’d been days since you’d last been together. He hadn’t pushed anything since the car incident. He hung back after practice and watched you rehearse the dance choreography for the preseason that would begin in a few days.

Y/N: Not sure yet

Y/N: Why?

He didn’t really know why. Joe wasn’t so selfish that he wanted to get you in trouble for hanging around him. He just wanted to see you.

Joe: I want to see you.

This was a surprise to you. Not that Joe seemed like the type to sleep with a girl and ghost, but he did kind of seem like the type of guy to do that. He was so charming, though. Everything he said to you sent your stomach into somersaults.

Y/N: Do you?

Joe: I really do

Joe: How do you feel about dive bars?

Y/N: LMAOO

When he didn’t respond to that, you realized he wasn’t kidding when he asked you that. Without thinking much, you laughed and began to type again.

Y/N: Oh shit, you’re serious

Y/N: Can’t say I’m very familiar with the scene lol

Joe: Really?

Y/N: I mean, I just turned 21, I don’t really go to frat parties at school. I really only drink with friends. Haven’t been to many bars.

Joe: Fair enough. I know a spot outside of Cincinnati. It’s pretty small, usually pretty deserted. The crowd is older.

This made you nervous, being in public and easily spotted with Joe made you nervous. It wasn’t the fact that anyone would know who you were, being an NFL cheerleader didn’t make you a celebrity. It was more so the possibility of someone snapping a picture of Joe with you in it, Joe is a celebrity and he’s extremely recognizable.

Y/N: Joe, I really don’t want all this to get back to my coaches. It only takes one person to fuck this all up for me before the season even starts..

Joe: I get that. I’m telling you, nobody here is going to be a problem.

In between finishing up your hair and adding a red lip tint, you heard a knock on your apartment door. That would definitely be Joe. He’d insisted on coming up to grab you when picking you up, something about being raised decent.

You’d slipped into a navy blue miniskirt and white ribbed tank top. It seemed like the simplest thing for going out to a hole-in-the-wall bar.

“You’re punctual,” you laughed as you opened the door to reveal Joe in a pair of khakis and t-shirt.

“You look,” Joe began, scanning your figure. “I mean you look really great, Y/N.”

He couldn’t help but think about your reddened lips. He didn’t know where the both of you stood on a lot of things, this made him hold back some of what he wished to say.

“Thank you,” your face flushed at his comments.

Both of you just kinda stood there in the doorway for a moment, grinning like high schoolers after their first kiss. Joe’s cheeks were pink, his hands shoved in his pockets as he watched you retrieve your clutch. His eyes fell to the way your ass looked in that skirt on more than one occasion, or more specifically what it would look like out of that skirt.

“Ready?” You asked.

Joe nodded and you headed down to the complex’s garage. It was a comfortable walk, filled with you having the inability to tear your gaze from his toned arms and back. He definitely noticed you staring, grinning each time he caught you from the corner of his eye.

He opened the passenger side door for you, walking around and getting in himself. He looked so fucking good. There was just something about an attractive guy driving, but Joe took it to a whole different level. He pushed his hand through his hair and backed out seamlessly.

Some A$AP Rocky song was playing in the background as you looked out the window at the lit up city. Joe drummed along the steering wheel. It was obvious every time he attempted to slyly glance at the skirt riding up your thighs.

“How do you think this game in a few days will go?” You said softly.

“Hard to say,” Joe replied. “It’s preseason, so technically it doesn’t matter. To the team it matters, though. Losing these early games give guys like Skip Bayless a reason to rip us apart before the season even starts.”

“You listen to stuff like that?”

“It’s hard not to, they practically shove it down our throats the entire season. Last season was tough, not winning the Super Bowl.”

“You made it, though,” you said. “Counts for something.”

He looked at you, smiling softly and glancing at your lips briefly. Once his eyes were back on the road, you took the opportunity to brush a hand over his arm. He let a deep breath out, chuckling a little. The tension was thick, both of you tiptoeing around the fact that you wanted so desperately to rip the other’s clothes off.

He let you touch him, obviously enjoying it. Maybe he wanted to see how far you’d take it, maybe you wanted to see how far you’d take it. Letting your hand fall to his thigh, you used your thumb to brush over the fabric softly. His breathing became a bit unsteady, eyes flickering to you every few seconds.

When you inched closer to his erection, you gave him a look as if to ask for permission. He nodded, groaning soon after you began to palm him through his pants. He was hard, aching for anything you would give him. You felt yourself heating up, surprised by your own actions when you began to undo the button on his pants, unzipping them and assisting in pulling them down ever so slightly.

He was still driving, eyes very focused on the road now. You let yourself begin to palm him through his briefs now, watching him yearn for your touch more and more.

Joe was driving down a long stretch, the road was deserted and only occupied by him as far as he could see. High beams on, he wondered if he should pull over and fuck you then and there. Or maybe he should see where you were going with this.

“Is this okay?” You asked him, looking up.

“Yeah, more than okay,” he breathed out.

Pulling down his briefs, you tried to maneuver your body into a comfortable position. He was hard in your hand, precum gleaming at the tip. As you let yourself take him in your mouth, he let out a guttural moan. With one hand on the wheel, another found the back of your head and weaved its way into your hair.

This was definitely unsafe.

With your knees bent towards him, your ass was in the air as he started to steadily pace you. He thrusted into your mouth, telling you not to stop. Using your tongue to your advantage, you used your hand to pump where you couldn’t reach.

“Good girl, fuck,” he praised you. “Just like that, I really don’t want to crash this car.”

Trying to push him to the back of your throat, you made sure to take it slow. While this was incredibly hot and sexy, Joe was right. One wrong move, he’s crashing you both into a tree.

Letting yourself release him from your mouth, you used your saliva as a lubricant and pumped your hand over top of his shaft. He was breathing hard, letting you gain composure before your mouth was on him again. He couldn’t take it, the way you swirled your tongue to hit every single nerve. It was only when he began to enter the small downtown area that he realized he’d have to forfeit this without finishing.

Pulling up, you wiped your chin and helped him to get his pants done up. This was a space with a decent number of other cars and stoplights. Last thing either of you needed was someone snapping a picture of Joe receiving a blowjob at a red light or something.

You both laughed a little, Joe still very worked up and giving you the side eye. Pulling down the sun visor, you looking into the tiny mirror and realized your red lip had become all smudged. You went into your clutch and grabbed the tint stick out, applying it evenly.

This only turned Joe on more, watching you as he drove down the tiny street. There seemed to be a lot of brick buildings, some people out and about. It was late, though. He pulled into a small side lot, saying this was it.

Stepping out of the car was a breath of fresh air, it had been very hot and sticky after you decided to blow him. Joe adjusted himself, rolling his eyes when you smirked at him. He held a hand out to you, making your cheeks heat up ever so slightly. Then he pulled you down some cellar like set of steps, pushing a heavy green door open to reveal a dimly lit bar. It was a room of purple hues, lights strung up with music playing. There were a few older people, like three or four. All of the bar seats were empty.

“Come sit,” Joe brought you over.

The bartender was easily seventy, she had red hair that was pulled back tightly and an apron tied to her waist. She smiled at you, the tag on her shirt read ‘Jenny’.

“What can I get you tonight?” She asked, looking at the two of you.

“I’ll have a Blue Moon,” he told her.

“I’ll just have a vodka tonic.”

The woman didn’t ask for any ID, she just nodded and smiled. Joe glanced at you, looking around the space and chuckling. You leaned against the bar, taking a sip of your drink as she placed it down. Joe followed suit, talking to you mindlessly about practice.

“Oh my god, it’s Maggie May!” You said over the music, eyes wide when you grabbed Joe and pulled him to the empty space at the middle of the bar.

“What’re you doing?” He laughed.

“We’re dancing!” You smiled, letting him take you by the waist.

He was laughing as you swayed around, spinning in his arms and singing the lyrics as if you were performing them for him. He eventually gained the courage to take your hands and go back and forth a little. The few people occupying the bar watched and whistled, clearly not used to the display.

Taking you in his arms, Joe kissed you sweetly. Watching as you gallivanted him around a little, trying very hard to spin him yourself. Didn’t work very easily when your dance partner was 6’4.

“Oh Maggie I couldn’t have tried anymore! You led me away from home, ‘cause you didn’t want to be alone! You stole my heart, I couldn’t leave you if I tried,” you sang the 70s ballad at him with a large smile.

“You’re beautiful!” He told you over the music.

You both swayed for a moment or so, flustered and laughing at yourselves. Once the song ended, the three or four people watching chuckled with you. Talking about how they remembered when that song had come out.

When you returned to you seats at the bar, you both drank for awhile and made small talk about life. Joe brushed a piece of hair that had fallen in your face back, making you smile and lean in to press a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I like hanging out with you,” you confessed.

It felt like such a small statement, something a sixteen year old would utter to her crush. It was how you felt, though. Joe lit up some suppressed youth within you, he made you feel like a young girl just coming into herself. He was older than you, more mature, well established. It made you question what he saw in you in the first place.

“I like hanging out with you too,” he said in almost a whisper. “I’ll be right back, I’ve gotta use the bathroom.”

Nodding, he walked to the back of the bar. He left his phone face up. His wallpaper was a photo of him and Ja’Marr Chase at the Super Bowl last season. It was sweet, they seemed very close.

A minute or so passed and his phone went off with two texts, one after the other. It felt disrespectful to glance and read them, but anyone would’ve. He left his phone when he could’ve easily grabbed it.

Ava: Missing you.

Ava: Come over?

There was a sudden lurching in your stomach, like you were going to be sick or something. The feeling lasted for a few seconds, leaving you to pull out your own phone and open the Uber app.

“How much was the tab?” You asked the woman, handing her your card and signing all within the span of about a minute.

“You alright, honey?” She asked, watching you grab your clutch to leave.

No.

“Yes, I’m alright.”

Walking out the same way you came in was easy enough, the Uber would be a few minutes so you’d have to wait outside. You were angry, of course, but more so just hurt and upset over the fact that you thought he was actually interested in you.

This was your fault. Your own naive stupidity. This was a twenty five year old NFL quarterback, what the fuck would he want with you? Sex, clearly. That much was obvious. In the end, Joe wasn’t your boyfriend. Not at all, not even a little bit. He was some guy who you barely knew, some guy you’d maybe even misjudged a little bit.

Leaning against the brick of the building, you felt the tears begin to well up. How could you be so fucking stupid?

“Y/N?” Joe came up the steps. “What’s wrong? What’re you doing?”

“Fuck you, Joe,” you sighed into your hands. “I mean seriously, what the fuck do you get out of stringing me along while you’ve already clearly got a girlfriend or a fuck buddy at least!”

He looked confused, a line forming between his eyebrows when suddenly realization washed over him. He got sort of pale all of sudden, embarrassment flushing his face.

“Y/N, it’s not like that. I promise you, it’s not like that with her. There’s more to the situation—”

“Go to hell, Joe,” you sniffled. “Or better, go see Ava. She misses you.”

He stood there silent for a moment, unable to find the words to express how sorry he was for how he made you feel. He could see through the yellow hue of the streetlight that you were crying. His fingernails dug into the flesh of his palm, cursing himself for not bringing his phone into the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“No, you’re sorry I saw,” you spit back. “Get the fuck away from me, Joe. I’m taking an Uber home.”

“Let me drive you home, at least. If you never want to speak to me again after that, okay. Just let me take you home.”

When you said nothing, he knew that was it. He’d have to accept defeat there. Anything he said would make it worse, seeing as there really wasn’t a way to make the situation better. There was no excuse, no way to make you see his point of view.

The silence between you was hard and rigid, the only sound being the ambiance of the outside and your occasional sniffling. The worst part was that he’d led you to believe he liked you. That was why it hurt so badly.

The sleek black SUV pulled up and you pushed off the wall you’d been leaning against. Not being able to bear giving Joe a second glance, you went straight to opening the door and hopping inside.

Joe didn’t try and stop you. It wasn’t his place. He only stood there under the streetlight, watching the car drive off and eventually disappear. He felt horrible, running a hand through his hair and walking towards the brick you’d just leaned against. Pressing his forehead to the cold structure, he tried to bring himself to some conclusion.

“Fuck,” was all he muttered.

taglist - @angelspovxo @humannoodlesoup @nikkisimps @kriss-harrington @wooahaeuji @teasandcrumpets @chmpgnnlace @hummusxx @rivivie @madsblogsstuff @nngkay @raeofsunshine629 @siutforjjmaybank @alternativemadchen @ryiamarie @ohreggieboy @coldheartedmar @nowandkei

let me know to be added to the taglist

#joe burrow x yn #joe #burrow #joe burrow #joe shiesty #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow smut #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow series #joe burrow angst #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow imagines #joe burrow fan fic #joey burrow #joe burrow x oc #elle’s fics

595 notes · View notes

smartycvnt · 6 months

Text

Hung Up

Title: Hung Up Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Reader Prompt: 4. "You care for the people you love." R WC: 1139

The arena went silent as they all stared over to where Y/n had just been knocked down. Almost everybody looked absolutely shocked by the events that had transpired. Damian had charged at Seth, who moved out of the way at the last second, causing Damian to suicide dive into Y/n. That spot had been planned and worked over for weeks, but the arena's set up had been wrong, so Y/n hit the back of her head as she went down. There was a sickening crack, and Y/n thought for a moment that she was dead. She couldn't hear or feel a thing, but within a few moments, the feeling returned to her in waves of pain.

Damian looked down at Y/n in horror at what he had accidentally done to her. Finn and Dom came sprinting around to check on Y/n without crowding her. Seth had been the first by Y/n's side, holding her hand while the medics rushed down to ringside. Inside the ring, Rhea stood there screaming at the referee to count Y/n and Seth out of the match. Y/n watched curiously as Rhea seemed completely unbothered by the entire situation. She only seemed to want to get Damian his title shot against Seth without him having to use his cash in. Y/n was glad that she was already crying from the physical pain because she couldn't have explained the wave of tears from Rhea's behavior.

"Hey kid, you're doing great. They're going to take you to the hospital. Do you want me to ride with you?" Seth asked as he squeezed Y/n's hand. She turned her neck towards him and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. "Is it okay if I come with her?"

"Come on." Seth climbed into the ambulance alongside Y/n. He was determined not to leave her side as she went through all of the stupid tests and scans they needed before letting her go home. The verdict was a concussion, Y/n's first of her career. It wasn't good news, but Y/n was grateful that it wasn't a broken neck or anything along those lines. The concussion was bad, and she had to be monitored, but Y/n didn't mind getting the company. Several of her fellow superstars stopped by her hotel room to check up on her, but Rhea wasn't among them. In fact, Y/n had been checking her phone periodically throughout the night for a text or tweet or something from Rhea, only to come up with nothing.

Even Rhea's usual messages were absent while Y/n was stuck at home with an injury. Y/n was at Seth's side for a few backstage promos, but she wasn't cleared to go back into the ring for months. Y/n hated being stuck on the sidelines, but she hated Rhea ignoring her even more. It began to make more sense why Rhea had suddenly started paying attention to her whenever Y/n switched brands over to Raw with Seth. She had immediately sided up with her mentor and teacher as his right hand. Rhea had never cared about Y/n as a person, she just wanted to get one of her guys closer to his championship title. It was hard, but by the time that Y/n came back, she had accepted it as the truth.

"What has gotten into you lately?" Seth asked as he ran his hands along Y/n's arms to smooth out her sleeves. Y/n had learned long ago not to try and fight his dad instincts, but to instead just go along with them. It was sort of nice to have that figure in her life that had been missing for so long. There had been a time when she mistook his actions for romantic, and thankfully, Seth and Becky had never held it against her. Instead, they took her in as if she was one of their own.

"I'm tired of being the underdog. Tonight, I'm making Rhea feel like the underdog," Y/n answered. Seth took note of the intense look in her eye and recognized it as that of heartbreak. There was more to Y/n's issues with Rhea than she was letting on, but Seth was certain that it'd all come out in good time. He trusted that Y/n wouldn't hold it in until it destroyed her, she was smarter than that.

"Good luck out there," Seth said. Y/n went out without a cue to interrupt Rhea's championship match. There wasn't really anything that Y/n could actually do since Rhea was in a cage match, but just her presence proved to be a good enough distraction. Rhea let herself get caught off guard at the sight of Y/n after a few months of no contact at all. Y/n had gone dead on social media as she worked on bettering herself and creating her new gimmick. She was all about revenge and vendettas. She would right the wrongs that she felt had been committed against her, starting with taking away the title that Rhea had worked so hard to earn, which would go over as well as she expected it to.

"Hey! Hey! Why did you do that to me?" Rhea had chased Y/n down in the parking lot after the show. Y/n looked smug as she stared Rhea down. They had never been close to equals before, but now Rhea seemed smaller than ever. She had lost her title, and with that, a great deal of her confidence. "What the hell was that about? Now, I have to win my title back in a rematch."

"Man, that really sucks, but you can't expect them to take the title off of Liv that quickly, can you? I mean, you heard how pumped the crowd was. Hunter likes you, but he's not stupid enough to just pluck it out of her hands so quickly. It looks like you'll either have to run back to Raw or go to the end of the line," Y/n told her. Rhea growled in anger at the teasing undertone in Y/n's voice. "If you don't mind, I have a date with the new champion at the hotel."

"What if I would have needed you tonight? Don't you care about me anymore?" Rhea asked. "I thought you loved me."

"You care for the people you love. I'm just showing you the same love and care you showed for me when I got hurt." With that, Y/n was able to walk away from Rhea without a fight. She pulled her phone out as she went to shoot a text to Liv to confirm their meeting in the hotel bar when she got there.

#my writing #one shot #wwe x reader #wwe #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley

145 notes · View notes

sunshine-theseus · 4 months

Text

Cyclones | Christine Sinclair x Reader

Words: 3k

Summary: cyclones and cancelled flights eventually lead to good things.

Warnings: natural disaster?, fake injury. Let me know if I missed anything

“Are you sure you’re okay?” the voice crackles through my phone speaker, the shotty connection barely giving me time to talk to my best friend.

“I have my candles and torches, the tub and my water bottles are full, everything is inside or tied down. The only devasting loss so far is my leftover curry I had to throw out.” The torrential rain hasn’t let up since it arrived last night, but it isn’t helping the sweltering heat that will only worsen with no power. The second of which I fear I may lose any moment.

“This isn’t my first rodeo Chris, I’ll be okay.”

“But what if this is the one time you aren’t? I can’t spend my retirement vacation without my best friend. I’ll end up mourning you instead.”

“Why the fuck would y-” my phone dies and everything else in my house goes with it. I didn’t realise I had such little charge, but the newly found lack of airflow through my house is my number one issue.

A cyclone hasn’t hit my little coastal town in years, but the universe has conveniently chosen the day I’m supposed to fly out to join Christine, to hit. The Australian heat is wasting no time and as the rain carries on, I lay down on the tiles to find relief. I originally planned to turn my generator on, but eventually decide to keep everything off, it’s been a while since I’ve properly disconnected.

I gather books I’m yet to read, candles and snacks from the cupboard and sit down at my desk. I’m an hour into reading The Iliad when my cat jumps up and starts meowing and pawing at the pictures that are carefully placed on or around my desk. The main focus seems to be the two polaroid images in the same frame, of Christine and I from when we first played each other at the 2003 world cup, and from her retirement match a month ago.

We’d never met before 2003, but both sported the number 12 and thought a jersey swap would be cool. We became close friends rather quickly but only played each other at big tournaments until we both signed for the Portland Thorns in 2013.

I think that’s when I first knew I had a crush on her, but 10 years into a friendship is a rather odd time to confess to your best friend you like them, so I never mentioned it. We’ve both dated multiple people since then, but nothing ever sticks.

Then, 4 years ago, I retired after one too many ACL injuries. At 34 it was probably time for me anyway, and I always knew I’d never play for as long as Christine. After my official retirement, I moved back to Cairns, now a professional sports psychologist. I love being home, but it was missing something, or someone. Within the first month I put up every memento, gift or picture I had that reminds me of Chris, who Scout has also grown to love.

“I miss her too buddy. Maybe she should come visit us so she can see you huh?” I scratch her chin as she leans into my hand affectionately.

I spend the rest of the day and the next, reading and playing around on my violin. The doors and window are all shut to keep the rain from flying in but I’m so desperate to open them to feel some sort of relief from the sauna I’ve created.

It’s around 4pm on the 3rd day that the rain slows, and another few hours until fans begin to spin again and lights flicker on. I scramble for my aircon remote before rushing to plug in my phone, desperate to speak to someone other than my cat.

It takes a few minutes, the battery slowly whirring to life, but I can’t even swipe to put in my password before a rather excessive amount of notification begin to make their way through. There are messages from friends and family asking if I’m safe, others are simple social media notifications, but the majority seem to be made up by a certain, newly retired striker.

13 missed calls

58 messages

I can’t suppress the smile that slides onto my face and the red tint that warms my cheeks as I think about how worried she was. That’s what friends do right? Worry when you might get eaten up by a natural disaster.

And I quickly figure I should call her and let her know I have power again and am in fact not dead. And I do just that.

“YOU’RE OKAY. YOU’RE BACK.” I move the phone aware from my ear as she screams down the line, but I laugh none the less.

“I’m alive, nothing is damaged, the rain has stopped, everything is back in business.”

“I can’t wait to see you. Get your ass on the next plane I swear.”

“I don’t think there’ll be a plane on a route to Canada for at least a few days. The world hates us Sincy.” A groan I’ve grown familiar with sounds over the speaker, and I can picture her falling back dramatically in her chair.

“I promise as soon as I can I’ll be on that flight out of here. Scout will be chilling with my neighbours, and we’ll be chilling on the beach with some gin.”

“Good. First flight out, I expect you on it.”

~~~~~

The first flight route heading to Vancouver turns out to be 4 days after the cyclone passed. So far two of those days have gone and I’m trying to fill my time, Christine seemed to drop off everyone’s radar and that left me with very little to do.

I’m loading up The Sims 4 for the first time in months when a knock rattles against my door. While confused, not expecting anyone or anything, I sneak toward the door, peaking my head around the wall to get a glance of who it could be. That’s when I see a very familiar face, looking around in a stupor.

“Christine?” I stand in the doorway looking quite the mess with a dumbfound look on my face. My hair in a knotty bun, glasses resting crookedly on my nose, shirt 3 sizes too big (perhaps one of Christine’s I stole a few visits ago) and bike shorts. Anything more and I’d be dying from the heat.

“Surprise! No flights were leaving for a while but some were coming in, so I thought why not go to the ultimate vacation destination.” Despite what would be nearly a full 24-hours of travel, she looks rather adorable. Her own hoodie must be a few sizes bigger and her curls rest over her shoulders, a rare sight. Her headphones rest around her neck and her bags are almost toppling over behind her.

I shake off my surprise and start running, jumping into her arms and nearly tackle her to the ground.

“I can’t believe you’re here! What the fuck, oh my god, holy shit. There’s so much to show you, very little to do. I don’t have a spare room. I’ll sleep on the couch, take my room. Oh, let’s get your bags in, you’re probably exhausted.” I squeeze between her and the lattice work that makes the short hallway outside my door and grab her rather large duffle bag and suitcase.

I take them to my bedroom, which thankfully had been tidied up recently, and tuck them neatly in the corner. Her footsteps signal that she’s following me and I quickly wipe my sweaty palms on my shirt before turning toward her.

“It gets super hot so the aircon remote is on the bedside table, or you can open the window, but Scout likes to jump out of it sometimes. Speaking of, she’s here somewhere, you’ll hear her before you see her. Also free-range of like the kitchen and stuff. There’s an ensui-” Christine cuts my rambling off with a tap to the back of my knee with her foot. Said knee buckles and I fall forward, into her arms.

“What the fuck Sincy?”

“You’re rambling.”

“Sorry. It’s just the first time you’ve been here. In my house. In my hometown. Ever.”

“And I’m excited. I’m sorry for springing it on you, I don’t actually have to stay here I can get a hotel.”

“No! No I want you to stay here. It’s just I’m usually the one making the trip, I’m not a very good host.”

“You’ll be fine. I’m down for anything and everything. After a very long nap.”

~~~~~

I waited until a reasonable hour to wake Christine up the next day.

“What the fuck is this? Do you put tar on your toast?”

“You’re telling me, all the times you’ve visited Australia, even during the world cup, you’ve never tried Vegemite? Christine… come on.” I push the plate toward her.

“No. You can’t make me eat that.” She pushes it away.

“Please, just one bite. You’re staying with me you gotta try stuff. You’re on vacation, you’re trying new things.”

“If you even try to bring a shoe with beer near me, I’m hopping on the next flight out.”

“I promise a shoey is completely off limits. That shit is nasty. But I’m going to take you to a cricket game and snorkelling on the reef, and Harley’s Crocodile Farm. The point is I have a list. Now try the ‘mite Chris.” The plate slides back toward her and she hesitantly takes a bite. A pleasantly surprised look flashes across her face.

“I’ll give you the point. This is good.”

“Oh! Mary, Mary Fowler that is, is back for Christmas. Do you want to have a beach day with her and her family? Play beach cricket and soccer?”

“For sure.”

“Oh make sure to have thongs. Your feet will thank me.”

“If you said that sentence to me 20 years ago, I possibly would have slapped you.” I giggle but make my way to grab togs and pack a beach bag.

When we arrive, the promised burning sand is what greets us, rather than the young Australian who I’ve grown somewhat close with. The sun beams down, in great comparison to the previous week, and I make sure to push more sunscreen into Christine’s hands.

“Dude how do you survive here.” A bead of sweat rolls down the side of her face and I just smile, slip my thongs off and lead the way to try and find the Fowlers.

When we do eventually find them, Christine is desperate to slip into the water, and I set up our towels beside Mary, who watches over her own family’s things as she soaks up the sun.

“In all my years of knowing you, and that is almost all my life, you’ve never been this happy. And you won’t even admit your feelings to the person who makes you this happy. You giggled when you called telling me she surprised you. Giggled Y/n.”

“I- I don’t know what to do Maz. I know I like her; I have for years. I just always figured it’d go away once I moved after retiring and seeing her significantly less but if anything, it’s worse.” I flop back against the towel covered sand and Mary joins me, resting a hand on my arm.

“Maybe you should just confess. I can’t say I know she likes you back, but the chances are high.” I glance toward the water and let a soft smile grace my lips as I watch Christine play with Louise and Ciara. Maybe confessing wouldn’t be such a terrible idea.

~~~~~

A few hours later, the sun is lower in the sky and the water laps at my feet as I retrieve the soccer ball. I throw it back into play and run along the sand. The ball ends up at my feet and I begin the run back to my team’s goal, I’m about to make a pass to Caoimhin when Christine makes a tackle and takes my feet out from underneath me.

I let out a scream and clutch my knee. The sand sticks to my skin as I writhe in pain, and I feel a hand gently touch my shoulder.

“Fuck fuck fuck it hurts.”

“Holy shit I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make a tackle. Oh god we need to call the ambulance.” Christine rolls me onto my back, and I scrunch my eyes in pain. She stands up to grab her phone when I stick my leg out and trip her, making her fall beside me.

“What the fuck!?.” I start to giggle as I watch Christine’s face morph from fear to shock.

“You little shit! You faked it?”

“Uhh yeah, you were playing dirty Sinclair.” I poke her in the side as I stand and offer her a hand. As she stands back up, I remember how much she towers over me and blush.

Not long after, Mary and her family head back home, and before the sun begins to set, I get some fish and chips for Chris and me to share. As I sit back on the sand, the sun begins dipping below the horizon, casting pinks and oranges across the sky. The light shines on Chris and for a moment I forget I’m staring. Her blue eyes are clouded by the golden hues but still as beautiful as they have always been. Her hair is wet from the salty water, curling as it dries.

I only stop when she bumps her shoulder against mine, holding a chip toward me expectantly.

“You’re staring.”

“Sorry.” The now familiar heat spreads over my cheeks as I tuck my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on them.

“What’s running through that pretty little head of yours?” I take a moment to contemplate if I should tell her the truth.

“I… I’ve just missed playing, especially with you. I haven’t felt anything close to how I felt on the pitch, and I was forced out because of a stupid ACL injury. It’s been so long.” She wraps an arm around me and pulls me into her side. My head falls to her shoulder and her’s falls on top of mine.

“You deserved a better ending.” We both reach for the chips, hands grazing against each other. I drop the chip and rest my hand on my lap, palm facing upward. Christine’s fingers trace the lines on my palm before slipping her fingers between mine and interlocking our hands.

Nothing is said as we watch the sun rest behind the water. The sound of waves crashing on the sand nearly lulls me to sleep but Christine slowly slips from beside me and stands up. I follow suit, grabbing the fish and chips and heading to the car.

“I’d say this was a rather successful first day. Wouldn’t you?” I ask as I sit on the edge of the bed, drying off my freshly washed hair.

It’s silent for a moment and I turn to look at the Canadian.

“Chris?” her vacant stare refocuses, and she smiles.

“Absolutely.” I smile back and stand up, about to head out to go to sleep.

“Wait.” I stop at the door and wait for her to continue.

“Do you want to sleep here? I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want. Or we can put like pillows between us or something. Or-” I run and jump onto the bed, rolling onto my side to face Christine.

“Thank you for coming. I’m excited to show you everything I love. Today is only one of many.”

“I’d do anything for you. And I was thinking… what if I made this stay a little more… permanent? Well not permanent maybe just extended. Or permanent if you want. Or neither at all.”

“Yes! Yes, yes absolutely 100% I want that definitely. Please stay.” I only now notice how close together we are. I can feel her breath against my cheek, her leg brushing against my own.

Her fingers brush against my forehead and cheek as she moves a piece of hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. I inch closer, eyes flickering between her own eyes and her lips.

“Are you going to kiss me or do I have to kiss you.” Her lips ghost mine as she jokes, but I don’t allow myself to overthink it as I close the gap between us.

Her lips are as soft as expected, and sweet. I can feel her smile as she kisses me back and I wind an arm around her waist.

“I’ve wanted to do that for 10 years.” I whisper.

“Do not tell me I wasted 10 years of my life thinking you didn’t like me back.” I let out a rather pathetic laugh and my head falls forward, forehead resting against Christine’s.

“Well now is as good a time as any to make up for all the lost time.”

~~~~~

Our hands swing between us as I lead her down the esplanade. The bright rainbow lights of the ferris wheel that never left, reflect off every surface as we approach. The carriages lurch to a stop and we’re ushered on by the teenager at the counter.

“This is possibly the cheesiest thing you’ve done. If we stop at the top, I will start laughing.”

“No! Stop, it’s going to be cute, okay? And a little cliché.” I knock my foot against her’s as we stare out the window, looking out across the water and the mountains, in awe of the stars that twinkle above us.

As predicted, we come to a stop right at the top, and I smile as Christine starts laughing.

“I’d do anything to make you smile, including cheesy ass shit like this.” I slide across to her and she pulls me into her side.

“I love you.” I kiss each of her cheeks before kissing her lips.

“I’ll love you forever.”

“Is it odd I’m glad you retired? I just don’t know if this would have happened if you did.” She smiles and kisses me on the forehead, and we continue to watch the landscape as we make the decent.

@Y/N_Y/L

@Y/N_Y/L I will love you until the end of time. 20 years of knowing you, 1 year of getting to let you know I love you. Chris, you’ll always be my number 1 @c_sinc12.

#woso x reader #woso #womens soccer #wwc 2023 #christine sinclair #christine sinclair x reader #canwnt #canada wnt #portland thorns

100 notes · View notes

daydreamgoddess14 · 9 months

Text

Support System pt. 4

MASTERLIST

CH1 | CH 2 | CH 3

Roy Kent x Reader

I'm on a roll. Roy Kent making me feel things 🥵 This one is a bit angsty but buckle up - we're getting to the good stuff soon!

Chapter 4

Some call it wallowing, some call it self pity, some call it licking your wounds. You don’t give a shit which one it is, you spend the whole of Sunday morning on your sofa under a blanket alternating between tears of shame and being angry at your own stupidity. In what possible world would former footballer and dater of models - actual, beautiful, magazine fronting models, Roy Kent, really want to kiss a single mum in their mid (cough *late*) -thirties? You honestly have to consider the fact that you’ve lost the plot. The fighting and arguing late last year took its toll on you, the split early in December actually helped, but also kind of… didn’t? And now you’re in a position where you can finally make the best of the separation and the first chance you get, you royally cock it up.

Andy has Lexie right up until you need to collect her on Monday afternoon, so you plan your week accordingly. Trying to make sure that you can avoid Roy completely for at least long enough for you to be able to laugh it off. Somewhere around Christmas would probably work for that. Annoyingly, the person you want to reach out to and talk to and cry to is Sara. You’ve exchanged a handful of messages about hangovers but you’ve not been brave enough to tell her anything. Don’t be hungover alone! My mum is cooking, you should come over. Late dinner today cos of the football. A new message appears. You try and put her off, there’s no way you’re going over there without a Lexie buffer. The match kicked off at midday, you’d put it on the TV and then turned it straight off when you realised how much the camera loved focusing on Coach Lasso and his coaching staff. Your damn body betrayed you every time the camera honed in on his surly face. You shuffled further under the blanket, content to wallow alone until another message came through, Please come. I know something’s going on, I thought Roy was going to punch a wall when I asked him if you were ok when he dropped you off. You concede - it doesn’t take much, the urge to avoid Roy was strong, but you didn’t want to have to avoid Sara as well. She sends you the address and an hour later, you’re walking to her parents house in the late March sunshine. Chief door opener, Phoebe lets you in and is instantly dismayed when you have to tell her that Lexie isn’t around today. She soon gets over it though, she’s got uncle Roy playing Princesses and Dragons. Sara ushers you straight into the kitchen to meet her mum.

“Oh darling! I’ve heard so much about you from… well Sara, Phoebe and Roy actually. And lovely little Lexie as well. Such a shame she couldn’t come, there’s always next time though. It is so lovely to meet you! Come in, sit down. Do you fancy a drink or is your head still a little delicate?” The dainty woman knocks you off your feet with her kindness and sweetness. It reminded you of being in your teens and finding the one parent of your friend group who welcomed you all with open arms, didn’t care if you all swore like troopers and let you sit in the garden all night with a case of warm cider cans in the summer. The home you could go to when you’d argued with your own parents, but still needed home comforts.

“It’s great to meet you. I might be tempted later, I could go for a cup of tea though? I’ll make them, you’re busy.” You get up and start making a round of tea for everyone, working neatly around Sara’s mum and laughing with her at the state of the ‘favourite uncle’ mug Phoebe insisted that Roy always use.

“Thought I heard you.” A deeper voice muttered from the doorway. You bite down on your lip and try to force yourself to act naturally. He'd obviously been there a little while, watching. The only people who knew what had happened last night were you and Roy, and you certainly weren’t going to shout it from the rooftops. You hoped he was on the same page.

“Try this love,” his mum hands you a spoonful of cheese sauce, you close your eyes and moan in appreciation - it’s incredible.

“God, that’s gorgeous. Can I have the recipe please?”

“Course you can. Remind me in a bit, I’ll swap you for that wonderful lemon sponge recipe.” In the other room, Phoebe calls her nan for something so she prods Roy out of the doorway so she can get through.

“How’s your head?” He asks once she’s gone.

“Fine, nothing a can of coke and three ibuprofen can’t fix.”

“Three? That’s specific."

"Tried and tested. Two isn't enough and four would get me in trouble with people like her," you point at Sara who's just come in. Roy sniggers,

"Her? No way, she's the biggest fucking culprit for wrongly medicating friends and family."

"Your knee got you to Nelson Road didn't it?" She queried, recalling the day he'd gone back after retiring.

"Yeah but half a co-codemol and a shot of whiskey can't be classified as a prescription."

"My slightly alternative suggestions are only for specific people. Not medically authorised." She hugs you and takes the tea gratefully. "Let me guess, three ibuprofen and a can of coke?"

"Bingo." You confirm and she sticks her tongue out at Roy. She can feel the tension in the air between you, a million miles from the laughter and glances you'd shared the night before.

"Mum wants you to lay the table dickhead." He tells her.

"OK," she looks to you, "come help me, I need to move it first."

"There's a cup of tea on the side for you." You tell him as you follow Sara out of the room.

Standing either side of the dining table, you and Sara look like you could be at war. You both pull at your end of the table, making it longer.

"The fucks going on with you two?" She whispers, leaning forwards.

"Nothing, just very drunk crossed wires." She looks very sceptical but doesn't push you. She does, however, ensure that you end up sitting next to Roy for dinner. Fortunately, he seems just as embarrassed as you and is reluctant to talk to you much. You're starting to think that it's not so bad, avoiding him could be easy if he’s going to help you out, until he starts drying the plates you've been washing after dinner and dessert.

"You don't need to do that, you're the fucking guest."

"Which is exactly why I am doing it." You carry on washing up in silence.

"Are we gonna talk about last night or what?"

"Not if I can help it."

"Probably should though." You stop with your hands in the sink, and turn to him.

"Roy, I was drunk and stupid and I apologise. I made a horrible mistake-"

"A mistake?"

"Yeah, I mean I must have been crazy drunk to think that I'm the kind of person that you would ever-"

"Hmm. I'd fuckin' stop there." You can't help but carry on,

"You're like ridiculously gorgeous - it's borderline fucking obscene to be honest - and I'm a normal, boring person and for a tiny drunken moment, I forgot myself. It was a complete mistake, I'm sorry. Now please, I'm begging you, please forget this ever happened." Roy looks stunned while you take the towel from him and dry your hands before passing it back to him. "See you in the week." You say softly, going to the living room to say goodbye to his mum, Sara and Phoebe.

The next day, you're rushing between meetings trying to eat a quick lunch, check your phone and book Lexie in for the Easter Holiday club at school all at the same time. When you see 10+ missed calls from Andy, your stomach drops to your feet. Your hands shake as you call him back.

"Lexie's not well, where the fuck are you?"

"It's Monday lunchtime, I'm at work. What happened?"

"I've called you loads, I-"

"I've been in a meeting, do you need me to come home, or is she OK with you? What do you mean she’s not well?"

"You should want to come home to her." You frown at your phone, resisting the urge to throw it in the nearest bin.

"Of course I want to come home to her, I'm her mum. However, since I'm also paying for a house alone now and everything that goes with that, I have to make sure I'm doing the right thing and not just what I want. We don't all get to do what we want, Andy."

"I get it, work is more important. Always has been."

"That's not what I said and you know it."

"No, it's fine. I'll get her from school and I'm sure you'll turn up whenever you can."

"Fuck you, Andy. I'm on my way." You hang up on him and start making calls to rearrange your afternoon meetings. In the depths of the underground when your phone signal gives up, you chuck it in your bag and lean heavily against the pushchair space. You roll your ankles, taking some of the weight off your feet for a second. The higher the zone number, the quieter the train gets so you're able to grab a real seat.

"Penny for 'em?" A gruff voice asks, sitting across from you. You look up and despite your mood, the situation and your Saturday night fuck up, you still smile at him. You wonder when he got on the train, how long he’d been so close to you.

"Hi. Lexie's not well, Andy basically said I was a shit mum for not coming home. So now I'm going home to be called a shit mum to my face. Happy Monday!"

"Fuck, wish I hadn't fucking asked. What's up with Lex?"

"Dunno, he wouldn't tell me. She's probably fine - you know what 8 year olds are like. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Had to go for a suit fitting." You can't help it. Your mind goes there, of course it does. It's been a shit few days. It's only going to get worse, so why wouldn't your brain reward you for keeping going by providing a visual representation of Roy at a suit fitting? Hands skimming over his body, a beautifully tailored suit. As if the standard dark jeans and t-shirt aren’t enough. You’re certain a suit would blow your tiny mind. You daren’t speak so settle for a nod. At the station, it’s pouring with rain. He sees your heels and straight away opens the passenger door of his car for you. “Come on, I’ll take you.” The domesticity of it is a little crushing, you’d bet it’s not all boring lifts to the train station and the park when you date models. More like champagne and sex on tap. You’d take a happy balance if such a thing existed, a domestic luxury of sorts. It sounded like an Instagram Influencer advert for washing powder. You direct Roy to Andy’s flat and take a couple of deep breaths before going to get out of the car. “Shall I wait?”

“No, no, don't do that. You should get back. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just bracing myself, that’s all.”

“Whatever he says, it’s a fucking lie.”

“How do you know?” You ask quietly.

“Let me guess, you didn’t care about him, drove him away, you’ll do the same to Lexie, work’s more important…? Am I on the right track?” You nod, looking down at your hands in your lap, already ashamed.

“None of that is fucking true. I’ve seen you, you’re… you’re pretty fucking brilliant. You and Lexie are perfect. In one ear, and out the other - don’t listen to a word he says.” He reaches across and takes your hand in his, persuading you to look up. “Don’t let him make you cry.”

“It’s you making me cry, you dumbass.” You laugh a little.

“That’s better. Go get Lexie and forget about him for the rest of the week.”

“Yes boss. Thanks for the lift.” He gives your hand a little squeeze and you dash out into the rain, trying to get undercover quickly.

Andy leaves you out in the rain for a minute or two. Of course, small punishments wherever he can. Noticeably, Roy doesn’t drive off and waits until he sees you go inside.

“What’s he doing driving you?” Is the greeting you get when you’re finally allowed in.

“We bumped into each other at the train station, it’s raining and I was going to walk here. Where’s Lexie?”

“Sofa.” He grunts. You take off your soaking jacket, your blouse underneath is no drier, with various wet patches making it transparent in places.You kick off your shoes and go through to what you presume is the living room - you’ve never wanted or been offered a tour of his flat before. Most pick ups and drop offs took place at school so you could go blissful weeks without seeing him. Lexie is laying on the sofa under a blanket watching a film, she visibly brightens at seeing you and scrambles to sit up. You kneel in front of her and gather her into your arms.

“You ok my little one?” She nods, her temperature feels fine and she doesn’t look particularly ill.

“Yeah, I just felt a bit poorly.”

“Been sick?” She shakes her little head. “Ok, shall we go home?” You put her coat on her, get both of your bags and put your wet jacket back on. She holds onto you limply and you know the 10 minute walk is not going to be fun in the rain. “Up you come,” you tell her, gesturing to your back. As soon as she’s got her arms looped around your neck and her little legs around your waist, you step up into your heels. Andy watches with no intention of offering a lift and no comments on the rain outside.

“Dad?” Lexie asks quietly.

“Sorry kiddo, some of us have got some work to finish.”

“We’re ok babe, we can manage.” You say firmly, you don’t want to argue with him in front of Lexie. Roy’s low voice in your ear: don’t let him make you cry. Fortunately his flat is on the ground floor so there are no stairs to navigate. You step out into the rain and start down the road towards your house. You only just reach the corner onto the main road when you see his car up ahead, pulled over. He nips out into the rain, walks up to meet you and takes Lexie off your back, she cuddles up to him while he takes her back to the car and puts her in the back. Without her on you, you can jog the short distance to the car and the two of you get into the front, your doors slamming in unison. You don’t know what to say. You stare at him as he starts the car and pulls out onto the main road.

“Alright, I waited. Don’t be fucking weird about it.” He mutters, reaching to the backseat and handing you a black sweater. You peel off your soaking jacket, so cold that you don’t give a thought to the state of your blouse underneath until Lexie draws attention to it.

“Mum, I can see your bra!” Lexie giggles from the backseat.

“Yeah, thanks honey. The rain got me.” You pull on the sweater, his scent surrounding you in an overwhelmingly wonderful way. It’s almost enough to distract you from the embarrassment of the wet t-shirt competition. Almost. He gets Lexie out of the car and carries her to the house while you get the bags. She’s soon off inside getting her wet coat and school uniform off, you hover in the small hallway next to Roy. “Thank you for everything today.”

“It’s nothing.” He tries to brush off.

“It’s not nothing, far from it. Lexie’s own dad couldn’t even be arsed to drive her home. Here,” you move to take off the sweater,

“Keep it. Suits you.” He says, halfway out the door. “See you later.” You're still watching the space where his car had been long after it drives off.

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fic #roy kent fluff #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fic #roy kent x reader #roy kent

165 notes · View notes

missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

Text

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

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Elvis in March 1957, Graceland)

March 1957

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

Stop that shit right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Loved.’ As in past tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You taste so sweet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is in love with you.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod but say nothing.

“Okay, baby.”

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

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

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

But you’re not his girl.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.

His head falls back onto the wall with a thump.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

He can’t bring himself to call Jack.

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

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

His prayers work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He vomits again, tears running down his face.

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

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

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

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

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

He dry heaves, wanting desperately to expel his regret but knowing that he never will, not until the day he dies.

And what’s even worse is that he is still left with the fact that he is desperately in love with you. You don’t remember what, up until a few minutes ago, was one of the most amazing moments of his young life. You can’t share that with him. And that makes him feel even more selfish because the last thing he should be thinking of is his own damn feelings.

Sitting there on the cold floor, he tries to convince himself it’s for the best. It’s much less complicated for you this way. For you, there was no betrayal. For you, making love with him can never be a mistake you once made in a moment of anger and desperation. For you, there is only the love of friendship between you two.

Yes, it’s better this way, he thinks. He can carry the burden for both of you. He deserves to.

Because he knows he cannot give you what you need. He cannot be there for you, day in and day out, holding you tight and keeping you safe. Especially not now. Not after what he’s done.

He has to lock this away. You can never know, not ever. He must protect you from this and from his guilt. He knows you wouldn’t be able to look at him if you knew.

Oh, God. Please forgive me.

He can’t stop crying. He has to stop crying because he has to go out there and he has to look fine. He has to be fine, for your sake. You’re alive and going to be okay, and it’s that which he latches onto as a mantra in order to slide into the persona that has made his name.

He manages to make it to the car without losing it again, as the dawn starts to break on another day. He can’t bring himself to go home; he can’t look his mother in the eye right now. So, he drives aimlessly, for hours, his sins eating away at him until he finds himself at the church.

He waits for Reverend Hamill in a pew, his thoughts dark and churning. This is just the straw that broke him, for he knows that since his fame began two years ago, he has fallen so very far. He has been self-centered and vain. He has fornicated and broken hearts and caused pain to those he claimed to love, all in the name of this new life of his. And he’s pushed his friends to do the same. His stupid, selfish actions have had a ripple effect that has completely ruined lives.

Not only had he driven June away and into the arms of another man, he’d played with your life and Jack’s as well. If he hadn’t pushed Jack to cheat, you would never have needed those pills in the first place. You almost died because he didn’t want to be alone in his debauchery, and he knows that some sick part of him pushed Jack to it because he wanted to sabotage your relationship.

Then he realizes that, on top of all that, he did another incredibly selfish and stupid thing. He came inside you, which means that you could be pregnant. And that would ruin you completely, and you wouldn’t even know why, you wouldn’t understand. He would do the right thing, of course, and maybe, someday, you would learn to forgive him, but it would ruin you all in the process.

Oh, Lord. Oh, Jesus.

He thinks he might vomit again.

When the Reverend emerges, he looks surprised to find Elvis sitting there.

“Pastor, I am the most miserable man you’ve ever seen. I am doing the things you taught me not to, and I’m not doing the things you said I should,” he sobs, “Please, please pray for me.”

“Oh, son…come in,” Reverend Hamill says.

Deflated, consumed, and heavy with his guilt and the repercussions of his actions, he follows the pastor into his office. He can’t bring himself to admit what he’s done, to admit how horrible he is. He just cannot get the words out. Instead, he weeps and prays, over and over, the Reverend praying with him.

All he can whimper out is, “Please, please forgive me for my sins. Please.” He’s not sure if he’s asking the minister or God or both. He only knows he cannot live with himself for hurting you, even if you don’t know it.

After over an hour of this, by the grace of God, he finally calms some. His entire body and soul aches.

But he knows what he has to do now. He understands the deal he has made.

It doesn’t matter what he wants or needs. You being okay is all that matters. He has to make sure you’re taken care of. He has to make sure that you are happy.

In the days and weeks and months that follow, Elvis pretends he is having the time of his life, becoming every bit the budding superstar that the country insists that he is now. Sometimes, he even believes it; sometimes, he even forgets. Though every time he sees you, his heart breaks a little more, his love for you permeating him to the core.

But he knows he can’t have you. He knows he doesn’t deserve you.

Instead, he plants seeds in Jack’s ear. “You love her, don’t ya, Jacky Boy? When are ya gonna make an honest woman of her?” He pushes Jack to fully commit to you. He even goes with Jack to buy the ring, though he stops himself from paying for it. Jack has his pride, after all.

Instead, he throws himself into work, grateful for the grueling cycle of touring and recording and appearances and acting. He throws himself into fixing up Graceland for his family, building a life of extravagance that he never could’ve dreamed of.

And, God help him, he starts seeing other girls. He leans into the image of the playboy they all want him to be. He dates and he fucks, thinking that maybe, just maybe, one of these girls will make him forget the perfect way you fit into him, forget the way your face looked when you came undone around him. That maybe one of them will come close to the wonder that is you. That they will help him forget his past sins by cutting new ones. He cannot seem to help but do the sinful things he swore he wouldn’t do, lest he drown in his sorrows, but the girls help keep him from the one thing that is off limits: You.

When Jack finally pops the question in the summer, and you accept immediately, he can barely keep himself together. He convinces himself this is the right thing, that he is happy for the both of you as he stares into the night sky knowing deep in his soul that it should be him. He reminds himself that this is the deal, this is what he wanted, to see you happy and taken care of.

And he will damn himself for your salvation every time.

December 28th, 1957, Graceland

Oh, God, what have I done?

The moment you appear down the aisle, looking ever the most beautiful, blushing bride, every part of him aches with love for you. He’d thought that by giving you the life you dreamed of, the life you needed, that it would be enough to let you go. But as Elvis stands by Jack’s side at the altar, he realizes that no matter what has happened, no matter what he has done, he is always going to love you and it’s never not going to hurt, especially not after this.

Not after the quick look you shoot him as you step up to meet Jack, your pretty, wide eyes full of excitement and emotion. Not after seeing you all in white and wishing to God that it was him marrying you right now. Not after he keeps his peace after the minister asks if there’s a reason these two should not be married.

He somehow manages to keep himself from openly weeping during the ceremony by biting the inside of his cheek repeatedly but still finds himself caught in your radiance more than once and must force himself to look away. During the wedding pictures, he cannot help but maneuver himself close to you to press a lingering kiss to your cheek, to be memorialized for all time on film. The press of his soft lips into your warm cheek sends that tell-tale shiver through him, one that drives in the fact that he still loves you. He gives himself this tiny thing, and no one questions it because they all know you are close friends, and a congratulatory cheek kiss on your wedding day is not strange.

Discretely, he makes sure to let the photographer know he wants copies of the pictures, with the excuse that he is paying for them and wants to make sure they are perfect. This, too, is not questioned, as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

To torture himself even more, he offers Graceland up for the reception. These are his two best friends, after all, now cleaved together in holy matrimony for the rest of their lives. No expense should be spared because they deserve all the happiness in the world.

And they do, he reminds himself throughout the day. They do deserve all the happiness in the world.

At least if you are with Jack, he thinks, he still has you in his life. He can still see those beautiful, wide eyes whenever he wants without question or suspicion.

He clings to this.

Even so, he feels as though he is being sucked into a riptide. It seems fated that his life is going in a much different direction than the newlyweds. The draft notice he received a week ago confirms this, weighing heavy on his heart and feeing like a nail in the coffin of his hopes and dreams.

God is testing him, he thinks. It is all a very clear and stark reminder that where he goes, you cannot follow. He cannot help but feel that God is punishing him for his sins by taking him away from the fame he has just settled into to, taking him from the people he loves and the things he loves to do. He wants to lament that it isn’t fair, but part of him knows that he deserves this, too, for what he’s done and for what he’s done to you.

And perhaps God works in mysterious ways, as while he is loathe to leave his parents and his career and his fans, he cannot help the small part of him that is relieved he doesn’t have to watch you and Jack in your newlywedded bliss for the next two years. It’s the only upshot to this entire disaster.

But he won’t let his sorrow overshadow your big day. With a smile plastered on his face, he gives a charming and loving speech of how wonderful it is to see his two best friends find such happiness with each other. He only stutters once or twice, which comes across as endearing rather than damning. But the thing is, even though he is miserable, he is still happy for you two. He wants more than anything for you to have everything you’ve ever wanted and more, and if that is with Jack, then so be it.

The only time he truly falters is during the dance.

Your little sister (who at 18 is not so little anymore), Rosie, as the Maid of Honor, dances with Jack, while he, the Best Man, dances with you. The moment he touches you, sparks fly through him and down his spine, and he cannot help but pull you in a little too close, even though everyone is looking. His large hand wraps around your smaller one and the other clings to your waist.

The thing is, you do not react to this at all, not outwardly, anyway. You let him hold you and press his cheek against your temple. You let him breathe in your scent and lean into you, as if memorizing everything about you. You let his hands contract, pulling you in closer. You let him lead because it’s like somehow you know, in your soul, that he needs this, even if you’re not exactly sure why.

And for that he is grateful. He is grateful as he takes in every bit of you, committing you to memory, knowing that soon that is all he will have of you. All you will be is a memory, imprinted on his heart, for the rest of time.

When the song comes to an end, he leans back slowly, his eyes searching your face for any recognition, any understanding of his plight, any feelings of your own that might linger in your subconscious. You stare back at him openly for a moment, and for a second he thinks he sees a glimmer of something in your eyes, but then Jack is pulling you away and the moment is gone.

As the party continues into the night, he feels like he is suffocating and escapes upstairs to his room. And as people know not to enter his bedroom without express permission, he feels safe to let out the shaking sob he’s been holding back for hours.

He’s not sure how long he cries before a tap at the door startles him into motion, frantically wiping at his face.

“Bewbie, sweet boy, can I come in? It’s just me,” his mama’s voice echoes through the door.

“Yeah, Mama, come in,” he croaks out, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. While he is relieved that it’s her and not one of the guys, or God forbid, you, he still doesn’t know how he’s going to explain the state he’s in.

His mama comes in quietly, shutting the door quickly behind her. She looks him over and in one fell swoop seems to understand, even though he’s said nothing, even though he’s spent months perfecting his nonchalantness for the world, what is going on.

But a mother knows.

His mama sits next to him on the edge of the bed, putting her arm comfortingly around his broad shoulders. “Oh, my wittle baby, it’s her, isn’t it? Our beautiful y/n. You love her,” she says, less of a question and more stating a fact.

That does him in, the way his secret is exposed so easily by his mama. It terrifies him that she knows him so well, and terrifies him that if she knows this, what else does she know? There’s no point in denying anything, so he curls into her like a child and lets go of it all, the tears streaming once again down his cheeks as his body shakes with quiet sobs.

His mama has always loved you, taking quickly to your genial ways and how you always made time to spend with her. Maybe she suspected something from the start, he doesn’t know, but she doesn’t judge or scold him now.

“H-hurts so bad, Satnin,” he hiccups out. And it does, now that he’s letting it. It feels like his heart is being ripped from his chest.

“I know, baby, I know,” she coos, rubbing his back. He can sense all the questions she wants to ask but doesn’t.

“I-I-I couldn’t…I-I ain’t w-w-what she needs or wants, Mama,” he stutters out. It’s as close as he’s willing to get to telling her the truth.

“It takes a brave man to let the girl he loves marry another, when he knows that’s what she wants, though I can’t say I wish it didn’t work out the other way,” his mama tuts.

“Y-you knew?”

“Course I knew, Bewbie. A mother always knows. To be fair, I been watchin’ the way ya look at that girl for the past few years and it didn’t take much t’put it all together, baby,” she says. “But the question is, does she know?”

He stills and stays silent for a moment, before answering truthfully, “I don’t know, Mama. I don’t think so.”

“Hmm,” she tuts, “I’m gonna trust you had good reason for lettin’ that wonderful girl go without tellin’ her how ya feel?”

His heart constricts, causing him to doubt his choices, but he can’t explain how he nearly killed you with his terrible decisions. He certainly can’t tell his mama that he made love to you when you weren’t yourself, no matter that it was you came on to him. And he knows his mama would balk if he told her how much he doesn’t deserve your love because of his sins.

“It’s better this way, Mama,” he says quietly, sitting up and staring at his hands. “And she’s happy, both she and Jack.”

His mama nods, resigned. “Alright, my sweet baby, puttin’ your friends’ happiness before your own…I know ya made the choice ya thought was best,” she says, wiping his face and pinching his cheeks, “but ya get yourself cleaned up now ‘n go be at least a ‘lil happy for your friends, okay?” She leaves the obvious unsaid—that he’s leaving to film in a few days and straight from there, it’ll be into the Army, so this will be one of the last times he can spend with them.

He nods. “O-okay, Satnin.”

And with that, he does as he’s told.

And then, in a blink of an eye, she’s gone. His mama is gone and his world fully collapses and it’s all his fault.

You are the only one who saves him from being completely swallowed in the blackness of his despair, and he’s not in his right mind to think or care how that looks. All he knows is you’re there when he needs you the most. You’re there to get him through the absolute worst of it before they send him a world away, and then, he loses you, too.

He loses everything that means anything to him—his mama, you, his career—and he wonders how long God will continue to punish him for his misdeeds, until he can’t bring himself to care much anymore about anything at all.

Germany feels like a cold fog that clouds his brain, even when he brings his Daddy and Dodger and Red over to live with him off base. In his haze, he writes Anita promises he wishes he could keep but deep down knows he won’t. Then, he turns around and does all the things he shouldn’t do because he can and what does it even matter if it’s all lost anyway? He takes the pills they give him to keep him awake in the field, and those make him feel pretty good, for a time anyway, and then he starts taking other pills they give him to bring him down after. In his off time, he screws and tries to forget the life he used to know.

And in those horrible quiet hours when he lies awake, trying to sleep when even the pills won’t let him, trying to escape and can’t, he thinks of you. He thinks of his love for you and your hold over him even now, a world away, and when he’s extra lonely, he imagines you on top of him, writhing and beautiful. And when he comes undone, there’s nothing left but a gaping hole in his heart and a mess in his hand.

March 1960

Elvis bites his nails to the quick on the long journey home. It’s not just because of the planes and the exhaustion and not knowing if he’ll ever get back to being “Elvis Presley,” but he knows he’ll be seeing you in a matter of hours. Not years or months or weeks, but hours.

And he thinks that maybe he is finally over you, that maybe he’s healed enough from everything and that he’s on his way to start something new, something fresh.

But, God, somehow you are more beautiful now than before, but you act so strange around him, and his heart wants to leap and implode all at once. Somehow everything has changed…but you, you still own his heart.

Once he discovers your pregnancy, he is over the moon for you because he can sense how badly you want this. He doesn’t care that the baby is Jack’s—he loves it more than anything because he loves you and seeing you so happy brings him true joy for the first time in a long, long time.

His career is taking off again, his new image impressing those who denounced him a few years ago, and he already has appearances and recordings and films lined up to go. Life feels…almost good, like maybe he’s finally paid his karmic debt.

Then you almost bleed to death in his arms.

His terrified confession of love is spoken in an act of desperation, a singular hope that if you know he loves you, you won’t be able to go, that the string of fate that draws you both together cannot be broken, that he can somehow will you back to life with the power of his love.

He begs God, begs as he’s never begged before, an inner wail of blood-soaked prayer that does not cease as he rides with your near-lifeless form to the hospital, nor when he calls Jack and your parents, nor as paces the waiting room.

Singularly focused on his pleas to God, he doesn’t even realize he’s covered in your blood until Charlie and Jerry arrive shortly after the ambulance and look at him in shock.

“Jesus, EP,” Charlie gasps quietly, taking in the macabre scene, “We need to get you changed and cleaned up before Jack gets here.”

That’s when he looks down and sees your life’s blood staining his pants, his shirt, his arms, his hands. God, it’s even under my nails, he thinks as he watches his hands shake, feeling utterly disconnected from his body.

He’s frozen, unable to move, repeating his prayers again and again, until Charlie whisks him away and has to physically help him strip down and wash the blood from his body in the bathroom. As he watches the pink-tinged water swirl down the drain, he cannot bear the thought that maybe it’s the last thing he has of you, these stains, and that maybe he’s truly lost you.

He just got you back. He can’t lose you. He won’t.

No, his inner mantra of prayer doesn’t cease until he is absolutely sure you are going to be okay.

Though “okay” is relative, he learns quickly. You have a long recovery ahead of you, the surgeons say, wiping their sweating brows, and the next few days will be crucial. The baby is gone, and the doctors say that more tests need to be done once you are well to see if that is even an option in the future.

He is heartbroken for you, and for Jack. But you are alive. You are alive.

Lamar and Red have to physically drag him from the hospital in the morning to get him ready and put him on the train to Florida for Frank Sinatra’s special, which is the very last thing he wants to do. But it is absolutely pivotal in his career comeback, so he tells Rosie in no uncertain terms that she is to keep him posted about her sister and any developments.

As he showers and packs, exhaustion seeping into his bones, it suddenly hits him that he told you he loved you, and it’s likely there will be fallout from that. It makes him incredibly worried, and he is even more loathe to leave until he knows where he stands with you. It’s possible you won’t even want to see him again.

Or it’s possible she loves you, too, a little voice hopes. But he knows better than to feed that monster. You don’t love him, not like that, and it’s selfish of him to even consider at a time like this.

“It’ll take your mind off things, EP,” Jerry tries to convince him, seeing his trepidation, prodding him along to get on the train. “And it’ll give y/n and Jack and her family time to get situated.”

The message is clear. Elvis is not in the inner circle of your life, not anymore, not as he wants to be. This fact is both sobering and cutting at the same time. It reminds him yet again that where he goes, you cannot follow, and where you go, he is not always welcome or needed.

He nods solemnly, thinking he finally understands, yet again, the terms of his deal with God. You live and he keeps his distance, he keeps his sins from tainting you. You live and he lets you go.

He pops a couple of pills, brought over from Germany, to wake him up, to get him in the performing mindset, to rev him up to being THE Elvis Presley. “Anything she needs, anything at all, comes to me,” he tells Jerry, “Hospital bills, recovery costs…and I want the best doctors helping her figure out her pregnancy issues. Oh, and send flowers, every day.”

Jerry nods, eyes observant and keen. “Of course, EP. Anything for y/n and Jack.”

Yes, anything for you.

You don’t remember a thing from that night, he learns from Rosie, and most of him thinks it’s for the best. But a small, egotistical part of him thinks bitterly that you certainly have a knack for forgetting anything monumental that happens between the two of you.

But he is busy. So busy, in fact, that he barely has time to think of you at all after that.

Except half the songs he chooses for his comeback album have something to do with you, which he only consciously realizes when he steps up to the mic to sing. And just as he thought of you the night of the talent show, he thinks of you now, singing about the girl of his best friend and how it feels so right being with you. He pours his hopes and dreams and frustrations and sorrows right into that album.

Perhaps it will cleanse him of needing you. Perhaps it’ll help him let you go.

When you find out that children are likely not in the cards for you and Jack, he sends more flowers, every day for a week. Jack is devastated and practically begs to come out to Hollywood to escape the sadness, so he agrees.

Anything for his friend, right?

He takes care of you from afar. He takes care of everything. Anything you could possibly want or need is yours. But he keeps his distance.

That is the bargain.

He falters at Christmas, almost letting his grief and yours ruin everything. He swears that you feel something for him, that maybe your impulse to be with him was not entirely driven by the drugs all those years ago. That maybe you do somehow remember his confession. Part of him swears if he had let it happen, you would’ve been his once again.

But you are not his, you never really were.

And while he knows this on a logical level, the more he is away, the more he fills his days with mindless movie making and wooing his costars and taking pills that bring him up and more that pull him down, the more he lets himself imagine you are his. From a distance, he can take care of you. From a distance and in the deep recesses of his mind, you belong to him and him alone.

“Elvis Presley” becomes a household name, now with a clean-cut image, alluring to both housewives and teenagers alike. His fame and wealth grow, and so does his isolation and loneliness. So does the need for the pills and to bring the rest of the guys into it all with him. Even Jack.

Especially Jack.

But he doesn’t like to think about why that is.

He manages to destroy his relationship with Anita along the way. He loved her, in his way, he really did. But she was not you. Neither is Ann, though he thinks for a moment that she may be the answer to his prayers, but in the end, he screws that up, too.

As the years drag on, he thinks he finally understands why he sabotages every relationship he’s ever had—it’s you—none of them are YOU. So he flits from fling to fling without ever truly landing because all he really wants is your love. But he doesn’t deserve it, he never has.

He knows this as he watches Jack descend into alcohol and drugs and women, and a small, horrible part of him wants Jack to self-destruct, and even though he knows this hurts you, he is too selfish to stop it. And the guilt of this, coupled with the downturn in his career, pushes him to self-destruct, too.

Still, he keeps his distance. When he’s home, he tries not to shoot you too many lingering glances. He reins himself in, most of the time, but in moments of weakness, he allows himself to get too close. He catches you alone, he makes a pass. But because you are you, you always rebuke him with a laugh. Silly Elvis, ever the jokester.

But sometimes, in the dark of night, in your beautiful, wide eyes, he sees something else. That deeper connection that drew you together in the first place, mixed with a heat he has only seen once or twice. And it is that which keeps his hope alive.

In an attempt to bury it and fill the hole in his heart, he almost marries, but in the end, he can’t go through with it. He’s wildly unhappy and dissatisfied, and it’s not until he finally gains some control over his career again that things take a turn for the better. He finally starts to clean up his act. He seeks knowledge and spiritual clarity. He finally finds his passion for music and performing again after nearly a decade.

But it’s too late for Jack. He managed to drag Jack to hell and while he made it back, Jack has not. And you are miserable because of it. This breaks his heart.

He tried to give you everything you wanted and needed by stepping back to let Jack do so. He kept his distance. He did what he’d promised God, and yet life still destroyed your dreams.

Jack no longer makes you happy. Jack is no longer the man who can give you what you need.

And suddenly Elvis wonders if he was wrong all along. That perhaps he wasn’t the man you needed then, but he is now. Perhaps his sins have been forgiven. Perhaps the more he pushes you away, the worse things become for both of you because you are indeed supposed to be together.

You are his. You’ve always been his.

So, riding high from his first Vegas performance, he finally allows himself to pursue you. He pushes away a decade and a half of guilt and shame and lets his charm and confidence entice you. He lets the sparks fly between you, finally free after all this time, and more intense than ever. To his gleeful surprise, you accept him willingly, if not a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it is just sex, he thinks at first, this carnal need he has for you, but he knows better. As soon as he tastes you after all these years, he knows he can never let you go again. As soon as he coaxes, then watches you come undone again and again, he realizes that still, after all this time, this is it for him. You are it. You always have been. And he will do anything to keep you, to make sure you know that you are his.

He thinks you might remember it all after that first night, but you don’t, not right away. He senses your fear to let go, to let yourself have him, to have this affair. He knows you want this to be only sex. And maybe it is for you, at first.

But he will have you. He doesn’t care how many mountains he must move or what he has to do to convince you to stay, but he loves you more than anything in the world and he’s not willing to part with you, not anymore.

It’s true that his fame, wealth, and influence have spoiled him into always getting what he desires. Of course, what he truly desires always has been you. Now unlocked, his love and want and need for you is insatiable, and he will do anything to keep it that way.

Anything for you. Anything but letting you go.

As the blackout of his rage starts to dissipate and he comes to, he assumes that his friends are holding him back from quite literally killing the disheveled and beaten man who used to be his best friend, and he watches with deep satisfaction as you slap the shit out of your husband.

He also feels the immense guilt of letting it get this far, of not knowing just how bad Jack was to you, and his part in all of it.

But when you vomit and promptly fall to an unconscious heap on the ground, his fear is what overshadows his rage and guilt. Something is wrong, he knows it.

Not again, not again, not again.

Triggered by your history, Elvis, with untold strength, wrenches himself from the four men holding him down and clamors to your side, everyone else forgotten.

Pulling your limp body into his lap, he screams for someone to call the doctor. His heart pounds so hard he thinks he might need one, too.

Please God, please God, please God. Not now, not after all we’ve been through.

That deep-seeded, old shame creeps back in as he rocks you: This is your fault. Your selfishness did this. You destroyed Jack, he took it out on her, and you’ve put her at risk, yet again. You are a scourge on this woman you claim to love so much. A pestilence.

He’s getting lost in this fearful despair, and then Jerry’s voice in his ear snaps him back: “EP. EP! You have to let her go, man. The doctor is here.” Jerry pulls his arms off her as the doctor examines her.

Elvis’ fingers go straight to his mouth, his obsessive habit of biting his nails taking over as he watches the doctor carefully.

The doctor looks up, taking in the scene. He looks at Elvis, then at Jack bleeding against the wall, and purses his lips. “Will somebody tell me what happened to this young lady?”

“There was an incident…” Jerry begins diplomatically.

“Her husband slammed his fist into her face!” Sandy yells over him, furious, earning scathing looks from the entourage. They knew better than to give details, knowing to keep things close to the chest and avoid any legal issues, to protect him at all costs.

“Sandy!” Jerry admonishes her.

“No, it’s okay, Jer,” Elvis says firmly, waving him off. “I’m sure the doctor knows to be discreet.”

The doctor looks up at his hovering, intimidating form, and says nothing for a moment. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I need to get her to a hospital and stabilized as soon as possible. She needs x-rays. It’s likely she has a serious concussion, Mr. Presley.”

The men start to argue, knowing that as soon as she leaves this room, a whole host of problems could fall down on them, but that’s the last thing he cares about right now. All that matters is you.

Elvis holds up his hand and everyone goes silent. “Do what you need to do, Doc. Anything she needs.”

The doctor nods and asks that someone phone for an ambulance.

Elvis looks up and sees that the men cleared the room at some point, leaving only the major players. Jack still sits, leaning on the wall next to Red, his face battered and bloody, watching the doctor. Elvis can’t tell if Jack is sorry or not. Elvis walks towards Jack, his anger tempered only by his concern for you.

“EP!” Jerry says in a warning tone, signaling for the men to flank him.

“I’m fine,” he commands, crouching at Jack’s side.

Jack flinches.

“Are you proud of yourself, Jacky Boy? Are you satisfied, seeing her laid out on the ground like that? Is this what you wanted?” he hisses.

Jack says nothing. He sees the tears in Jack’s eyes, the regret through the pain, and for a second, Elvis almost sees the man he used to know in there.

“Hmm,” he tuts, looking over his friend with disgust, shaking his head. “I’ll deal with you later. And you, too,” he says, with a low, deadly calm, pointedly to Red. Then he rises easily from the floor, his attention on the men with the stretcher who just entered the suite.

“It’s never enough with you, EP, you selfish motherfucker. The man who gets everything he wants, no matter how many lives he has to destroy to get it. The rules never apply to you, do they? Dammit, you coulda had anyone, anyone! Why did it have to be y/n?” Jack spits out mournfully from behind him.

Shame snakes through him, through the anger that continues to boil under just the surface, covering the sorrow that flows under that. There is truth in Jack’s words, he knows that, even though he wants to deny it.

“How long, Elvis?”

He supposes he owes Jack that much, though he doesn’t even turn his head.

“Opening night.”

“No, you bastard. How long have you been in love with my wife?”

The room goes silent yet again.

Elvis turns around, but he cannot bring himself to look Jack in the eyes for a moment. A lifetime of memories flashes through his head, of times much better than this, of times when they had each other’s backs. Ultimately, he knows what Jack has become is partially his fault. Ultimately, he knows it was wrong of him to want you when you weren’t his, wrong to have sex with you, even before the debacle of you and the pills. It was wrong of him to manipulate Jack into marrying you.

As much as he hates Jack right now, he once loved him, and still, he betrayed him.

Jack chuckles darkly, “That fucking long, huh?”

Elvis finally looks Jack in the eyes but says nothing. Nothing he can say will make any of this less of a fiasco. Nothing he can say with make it right, no matter how much he wants to jump in to defend himself, to tell Jack he saw you first, to tell him he wanted you first, to fucking explain that you’re his goddamn soulmate and he’s had to watch you be with someone else for almost two fucking decades.

“Ahhh, and she didn’t even know, did she?” A hint of a smile plays on Jack’s bloodied lips. “Didn’t even give the King the time of day! Well, at least I got that goin’ for me,” he laughs.

His brow furrows as he fumes, and he steps towards Jack again. Lamar puts himself between the two men.

“It’s fine, Lamar, let him at me. What do I have to lose now anyways?” Jack laughs, which turn suddenly to sobs, “You were my brother. I gave up my life for you! I loved you, man!”

The words cut Elvis to the bone, flooding his fury with more guilt.

“And I love her,” Jack sobs.

“You don’t fucking love her,” Elvis says, infuriated, pushing past Lamar to grab Jack’s chin, wrenching his head to look at you being put on the stretcher. “You hurt her. You been hurtin’ her. And Jack, if she dies, I don’t care what brotherly love was between you and me—I will fucking kill you,” he says, low and vehement in Jack’s ear, for only him to hear.

He pulls back to stare Jack in the eye, to let him know just how serious he is, to make sure he understands that through the pain and the alcohol and whatever pills he might be on.

Jack blinks through his tears and nods his head once, shakily.

Elvis releases him.

Then he steps in behind you, still unconscious, on the stretcher as they take you out of the penthouse and to the elevator.

“EP, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to…” Charlie starts, hustling behind him.

He turns, seeing the stares of the men who have given him their lives to stand by his side. Some of them are befuddled, some understanding and resigned, some even a little suspicious after tonight’s events.

“I don’t give two shits if it’s a good idea or not, I’m goin’ with her. Anyone wanna argue with me about it?” he says impatiently, shooting up an eyebrow.

No one does.

It’s good it’s the middle of the night, otherwise he would’ve caused a huge scene at the hospital. But the nurses and doctors seem to gather by his demeanor that now is not the time for autographs. Instead of putting them in the waiting room, they set up an empty room at the end of the hall for the lot of them, a gruff old nurse warning them they best be quiet and not wake any of the patients before she closes the door on them.

And for the third time in his life, he waits to know your fate.

He waits for you, just as he’s been waiting for you for the last 18 years.

He waits and he prays, though this time, he makes no bargains with God.

He stills when the doctor finally comes to tell him that, yes, you do have a concussion and though you will likely experience symptoms as you recover, you should recover fully. He feels like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders.

When the doctor leads him and him alone back to your room, the doctor mentions the other symptoms you’ll likely experience and that you might have issues with your memory leading up to the event. Elvis cannot help but chuckle at that.

“Oh, I’m betting she will,” he says under his breath, though this time, he thinks it might be best after what you went through tonight.

He sits by your side in the quiet, dimmed room, and is taken aback by the angry bruising already spreading over your beautiful face. His fury at Jack swells through him once more, followed immediately by sadness. You look so innocent and fragile lying there. Suddenly, he feels afraid to touch you, as though you might break.

So, he waits. He waits for you to wake and he prays. He thinks of the lifetime he’s had without you and the life he wants with you going forward. And this time, he knows he won’t be leaving your side for anyone or anything.

But his secrets still lay heavy and dark on his heart. There are those things he cannot tell you of that day at Graceland so long ago, and the things he still cannot bring himself to admit to, like his confession of love as you almost died in his arms and his meddling in your life. He doesn’t want to tell you how all of it has led to you lying here in this hospital, hurt and fragile but somehow still his, he hopes.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it yet, so for now he just waits for you to come back to him.

He’s been too rough with you, he thinks, in his quest to show you how you are his. Pushing you too hard to keep up with his rockstar lifestyle and his insatiable need for you sexually has not been good for you. You’re exhausted, not eating, and have been on an emotional rollercoaster for days, and he was too consumed by his own selfishness to listen, so much so that he almost drove you away. The hurt, the feeling of pure panic that shot through him when you said you were leaving was enough to bring him to his knees, but of course, he could not tell you that. He couldn’t show you that weakness. Instead, he’d covered it with anger and passion, fucking you into submission.

He realizes his dominance, while fun in the bedroom, is perhaps masking his true feelings. He has told you in so many words how desperate he is for you, how he wants you to be with him, to let him take care of you, how he is yours, that he needs you. But in truth, he is afraid. Afraid that you don’t and never will feel the same towards him as he does towards you. That it is only his coercion, manipulation, and his sexual prowess that keeps you here with him. No matter how much you say you are his and that you will stay as he fucks it out of you, he’s not convinced that you’ll feel the same in the light of day, of your own accord.

Lord, the way you said you needed him tonight flashed him right back to that first time with you at Graceland. The time you don’t remember. He is putty in your hands now, just as he was then. But that need of yours was only sexual. If it is truly just sex for you and you are only staying for that…well, that scares him and makes him want to hold onto you so tightly that you can’t leave even if you wanted to.

If you don’t ever feel that same pull inside your heart, in your soul, that he has for you, he’s not sure what he will do.

Gone is the bravado and confidence gleaned from years of being Elvis Presley. Instead, he sits here at your bedside feeling stripped to his core: a nervous, stuttering boy with a funny name who loves you more than life itself. He is that boy who picked your books up off the ground, the one who you calmed backstage with your sweetness and wit. For you and you alone, he is just Elvis. And he’s worried he won’t recover if you don’t ever grow to love him.

Anxiety courses through him, a throbbing pulse that serves to remind him that for all he has and is in this world, he is still only a man. And you are the girl who has comforted him through some of his worst moments, yet now after all this time he’s still terrified to let you truly see him. If he lets you in, you will see him for all that he is and all the terrible parts of himself he’s ashamed of: his selfishness and possessiveness, his overindulgence, his obsessive tendencies, his goddamned vanity and ego. His secrets. If you know the things he’s kept from you, he’s not sure you’ll ever forgive him. Certainly, you could not love him.

His heart aches at that thought, flooding him with despair. He needs you so badly that he cannot bear to risk showing you everything; however, a deep part of him wants to flay himself bare to you, to expose himself in a way that he has never done before, not with anyone.

Elvis puts his head on the bed near your hand. He is going to be gentler with you, especially after tonight. He will prove to you that he is worthy of your love, that this is so much more than just sex. He’s going to take care of you and give you the life you’ve always deserved.

God has humbled him once again tonight, and he knows he must do better.

He loves you so deeply he can hardly breathe.

So, he waits. He prays.

And he hopes that one day, you will love him, too.

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211 @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy @amiets2 @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis

Reblogs, likes, tips, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

499 notes · View notes