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fandomwritingbit · 2 months

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Sweet Girl pt.5

dbf/William Afton x (fem) virgin/reader

pt.1 - here. pt.2 - here. pt.3 - here. pt.4 - here.

Synop: Bored of the lack of contact you and William decide to bring wanking to the 21st century.

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, obsessive behaviour/thoughts for the both of you, corruption, coercion. Virgin reader.

A/n: MATES, MATES, I FUCKING WROTE SOMMET. This is not a drill, I wrote something after weeks of nada and it's... well, it's mediocre. But it's something! This was not the part 5 I had planned but rather a dirty thought that ran away with me that I hope reads half decently.

Is this fuck proofread lmao, soz for any errors I'll try to fix them later on x

You wake very confused, squinting in the light from your bedroom window that was much too bright for 8 in the morning, so you lift yourself from your sheets to check your phone: 9:30. You’ve overslept. Siting up properly you glace at your side table clock through sleepy eyes, needing to confirm the reality of the time, you set an alarm, what the fuck? You have plans today that are now going to have to be pushed up.

You’re up like a whirlwind, messaging the friend you’re supposed to be having breakfast with that it’s now going to have to be a lunch, a late lunch ideally. Surprisingly they’re not too put out, they must be running late themselves. Crisis averted, you head downstairs to get yourself some coffee which will hopefully combat the awful feeling of having screwed your whole day up already. To be fair, it’s about time something like this happened to you, life’s been too easy for too long. Well, baring the odd relationship with your father’s friend, of course.

Not wanting to tackle the coffee machine, which you swear is as old as you, if not older, you go for coffee granules and the kettle. A simple man’s brew, and that’s certainly how you feel today. You hadn’t bothered with dressing or throwing a dressing gown on, it’s a warm enough morning that you can stand in the kitchen in your pyjama shorts and vest without shivering, the only cold you feel is your bare feet on the tile.

Your kettle clicks and you set about making your cup, ignoring the squeak of the backdoor opening, you’ll greet whichever parent it is when they greet you, if the interaction can be delayed it’s for the best. You pour your water, but the sudden and crisp sound of a wolf whistle makes you overspill onto the counter. Sliding your phone out the way of the spillage, you turn to see the sniggering face of William and your heart manages to soar and sink at the same time, something only this man is able to do.

Your annoyed expression melts into a flush, you know exactly why he whistled and you cross your arms over your chest accordingly, hard up to do anything about the shorts position high up your thighs.

“Sorry,” He says without any conviction, still grinning as the coffee begins to drip off the edge of the worktop. Adding slyly, “You wouldn’t mind making me one, would you?”

You neglect to answer, going for an embarrassed, “What are you doing here?” instead. The man’s been in your kitchen for less than a minute and you already feel like you shouldn’t be here, for your own protection. Last time springs to your mind, involuntarily quickening your heart rate. He’d caught you off guard then too, then used you up and wrung you out, and you loved every second of it. You hate him for that, and the way your pussy seems to know when he’s in the room, it’s not fair.

“Clearing out the garage with you dad.” He presents his palms in his own defence, the smug look of him shows his pride at begging her legitimately. “He told me you were out.” It’s phrased like a question, again making you feel like a trespasser in your own home.

“I’m supposed to be.” You explain without detail, averting your gaze from his and instantly remembering the mess on the counter, and now the floor.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Especially in that.” He laughs meanly, making you frown. You look pretty all annoyed at him, the furrow of your brown not doing anything to hide the heat on your face from the invasive way his eyes drink you in. And as if that wasn’t far enough he steps forward, sliding his hand over the silky fabric coating your hip. “Almost as revealing as that pretty little bikini.” Your back hits the surface behind you, he has a knack for cornering you, but you suppose it’s not exactly herding cats if the prey doesn’t want to run away.

The comment hits home though and you remember exactly how easy it was for him to move that garment aside and-

You’re pulled from that thought as his hand slides further, over your hip to your arse. “Stop.” You say a little breathless, not liking how he just grins at the word. “...My dad could walk in.”

“That didn’t stop you last time.” His tone is mocking, riddled with amusement at how you can’t seem to refuse him.

“That was stupid… You make me stupid.” You mutter, pushing his hand away and trying to ignore how affected you feel already. “You need to stop.” You affirm, holding your voice steady to prevent the whine that threatened to accompany it.

William leans closer to you, a mean joy practically emanating from him when your breath hitches. He speaks lowly, a gleeful edge warming you for him and doing everything possible to add to that stupidity “Are you going to make me?”

You just look up at him, your chest rising quickly less than half an inch from his. “...Yes.” You finally manage, nerves and need in your core making you hesitant. Your eyes are wide in wait for response, and the man holds firm just long enough that you panic. He reaches behind you for something before obeying your word, you realise sharpish that he’s plucked your phone from the countertop.

Trying to take it back fails when he catches your wrist and flicks you away. You’re whining like a child, unable to help the discomfort flooding your veins at him holding something so personal. “William, give it back. What are you-” Your words die when he simply holds the phone in front of you and you hear the subtle click of your face ID unlocking it.

You watch angrily as he steps away with the device, internally fighting the urge to try and take it back by force.

He glances at your outrage, stoking it with, “You must have some dirty secrets on here to protest so much.” Shaking his head, he makes you wait whilst he does whatever he nicked your phone to do. Chuckling as he has to manoeuvre the screen from your sight when you try to at least see what he’s doing. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m giving you my number… You don’t want to entertain me now, then you can later.”

You find yourself nodding when he hands you the phone back.

Your day is spent, lunch and coffee with your mate over and done with, dinner with your parents finished. So you slip away to bed with your phone clutched to your chest, which is tight with forbidden excitement. Halfway through the day your checking of messages was fruitful, with one from William telling you that you’re going to ‘entertain him’ at 11pm tonight, and despite your naivety you know exactly what that means.

The only way to combat your nerves is preparation so you pick out a matching bra and knickers set, light pink and lacy, you know he’s going to like them, perhaps too much if anything. Then a white nightdress, just see-through enough to give a hint as to the underwear underneath.

Then it’s propping your phone up with a pillow and sitting cross-legged on your bed, checking to see it the view will be good, and it certainly will. From there, all you do is wait, your foot absentmindedly tapping away with the excess excitement, you’re aroused at the thought of it. A dirty video call with a bloke older than your dad, it’s everything you’re not supposed to do, a bad idea all around, but that just makes your panties that bit wetter.

He’s a little late, but the very moment he calls you answer, not even waiting for a ring. It makes him smirk, such a sweet thing, ready for him, no doubt waiting for him. Fuck, if he was twenty years younger he’d scale the window and see it in person.

You know you’ve given your want away by his sly expression, and he teases you by saying, “Eager, huh?”

You pout, now hating all the effort you went to and trying to explain it away. “Well, I was expecting-I knew you were going to-”

Somehow, even through your tiny phone screen he has enough presence to be able to cut you off. “It’s a good thing.” He pauses before adding with a snicker, “I doubt you’re as eager as me.” He shifts as he says that and your heart skips a beat at the thought of him touching himself already. It’s a power only he has ever given you, to know just how mental you make him and that power makes your core tighten.

“Now, sweet thing.” There’s a nonchalance to his words that contradict the fact he’s palming himself over his boxers, he can’t help it, he can see the strap of your bra peeking out and the curve of your hips suggested by your nightie. It doesn’t pass him by that he’s fucking pathetic. “Have you got headphones, or do I have to keep my voice down?”

You hadn’t thought of that, but you’re glad he did when you think how often you hear your parents tv through the wall. So you reach to your bedside drawer to retrieve your headphones, well aware that he’s watching you and trying to catch sight of whatever he can. And after a moment you plug them in and pop them in your ears, flushing when you realise that the sound feels a lot more intimate now. Maybe he knew that.

“God you drive me crazy with all the tiny fucking clothes you wear.” He’s laughing but you know he’s not joking. You’re not in a position to laugh, how exactly can you tell him that he drives you crazy with everything he fucking does. From the tensing of his jaw to the delirious sensation of his voice on your skin. All of it has your body begging for anything he’s willing to give you, regardless of what your mind thinks.

You can’t prevent a small smile on your lips though, “I don’t do it on purpose.” Even as you say it you know it’s a lie, you didn’t do it on purpose at first, now though, you want him to see you.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, sweetheart.” He knows you better than that. You giggle, it should be illegal for him to read your mind that easily. “I’d wager under that nightie you’re wearing something nice for me. Like a gift to be unwrapped.” The look on your face says it all, when you bite your lip like that he wants to bite it for you. “Am I right?”

You can hardly look at your screen, but you nod, barely able to sit still.

“Fuck, let me see.” Something about how he’s speaking now is very telling and you revel in the feeling for a moment before shifting to sit on your feet.

“Okay.” You sound so small and quiet you can hardly hear it over that arousal in your blood. Your fingers hook under the bottom of your nightdress, hesitant to begin the process and your eyes flick to the screen.

You catch his gaze and he smirks, “Come on, you know I’d do it for you if I could.” That you are certain of, sometimes there’s such hunger in his eyes you think he’s a breath away from ripping the fabric off you.

You do as asked, your panties straps revealed high on your hips guiding the sight up your stomach,then to the thin lace hardly covering your breasts. You were right, he does like it. Much too much.

“God, you are like a fucking present.” You grin at that, watching the hint of movement you can see towards the bottom of the screen, and you core pangs with the knowledge of what he’s doing. Now sitting on your feet, you press your heel between your legs and jump at the jolt of stimulation it brings.

Your lip is between your teeth again as you debate whether you’re brave enough to ask for what you want. “...Show me.” You manage in a surge of voice, you wish you didn’t sound as shy as you do.

You hear William’s scoff of disbelief, he hadn’t expected you to ask that but he supposes it’s only fair. “Yeah?”

You nod, watching eagerly as he moves a hand to change the angle of your view. The sight stirs you immensely, his boxers pulled down enough to let his cock free, he held it, touching himself at a slow pace. You rake the image for what you can see, his shirt pulled up to let you see the trail of dark hair that leads down to his length. A crazy part of you burns to press your nose against his trail, curiosity, or something dirtier you don’t know, but you know he’d let you if you asked.

It’s with near fascination you watch his stroke himself, not noticing how you’ve begun grinding your pussy against your heel, your knickers are clinging to your slick but all shame is lost.

“I didn’t expect you to want to see.” He sniggers, you recognise the thickness of his voice, remembering the pride in your core when you took him in your mouth, the heavy breathing of someone clinging on to their self restraint by the tips of their fingers. There’s precum on his tip smeared by each rise of his fist, it’s a dirty feeling and if you were in his reach he’d have it resting pretty on your tongue.

Soon your movement isn’t enough anymore, your heat whines for better friction, the attention on your clit that he does just right. It’s written in your posture and the pinch of frustration between your brows.

William’s voice affirms your need. “You can touch yourself, lovely. Don’t have to wait to be told.”

“I know.” You reply quickly, embarrassed at how easy he’d jumped to that conclusion. If you were harder to read maybe he wouldn't have such a hold on you.

“Or do you want me to ask?” There it is again, that mocking that shouldn’t speak directly to your slick, it’s condescending but you know in your heart that he knows better. You open your mouth to protest the teasing but you have no chance to. “Come on, show me how you play late at night, how you give yourself what you need.” He wants to seem like he’s humouring you but right now, with his cock in his hand, he’d beg to see just how you touch your perfect cunt.

You’re doing it, shifting your position so you’re sitting properly, legs raised to let you trace over your bundle of nerves. The fabric of your panties quickly proves irritating, so you hurry to take them off, glancing repeatedly at the view on screen, dying to match the rhythm of him stroking himself, not wanting to miss anything. At the sight of your pussy bare for him, knickers discarded, he hisses through his teeth; now that is the kind of thing that gets a bloke in serious trouble.

“And the rest.” He adds, and you’re so lost in your new-found touch it takes you a moment to realise what he’s referring to, when you do you push the bra straps from your shoulders, shimmying the garment down so that your chest is free. Your nipples are hard from your excitement, all parts of you aware of the growing need in your core, begging for the release your touch promises. It should be familiar but with William’s eyes on you it takes you time to remember what you like.

You rub your clit, the cues from your body calling for you to press your fingers inside your hole. You’re unable to reach like he does, but it’s enough to bring your end into sight and a soft moan from your lips.

He’s chuckling watching how weak you become, like he’s not moving faster with the taste of release on his tongue. It takes a lot for him to ask the question burning in his head, he already knows the answer but hearing it from you is going to be delicious. “Tell me, what you think about, when you play with yourself, sweet thing.” The words are stilted with his involuntarily quickening pace, he’s close and it’s fucking stupid how much he needs to cum.

“You.” You say instantly, voice cracking. Your head between my legs, fingers hooking inside, teeth on my neck as you line your cock up between my legs. You haven’t the coherent thought process to say that, it’s flicking images of past imaginings, you shouldn’t want to give yourself to this man as much as you do.

William grunts, speaking through gritted teeth to try and remain somewhat controlled, though there’s nothing controlled about his frantic movement, nor yours. “You’re so fucking lucky I’m not in there with you.”

It’s not a threat, you’ve seen the size of him, you’ve been delirious from just his fingers, but you want it. You want him in there with you. You want it all.

He loses it at your wide eyed look, fucking his fist ‘til his cum is dripping down his abdomen. You're not far yourself from the view alone, but you can hear his breathing, the groan right as he touches the peak. And your walls clamp around your fingers in stuttering waves of climax, you shiver with it, your legs unwillingly pressing together. You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to keep any noise leaving you, a startled thought of discovery hitting you out of nowhere.

“Fucking hell.” His voice makes you regain your senses, he’s chuckling and the hand not coated in release slips out of shot to rub the bridge of his nose; why is it so much better when a pretty thing like you is watching?

“William?” You’re shaky as you speak, weighing up what you want to ask, deciding that closed mouths don’t get fed. In response he tilts the camera up so you can see he’s listening, and you can’t help but hit screenshot at the sight of him so dishevelled. “Next time… I want you to be here with me.”

He laughs, “Anything you want, princess. I mean it.”

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf smut #william afton x you #fnaf william afton #fnaf movie #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you

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david-talks-sw · 1 month

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I got a good feeling about "The Acolyte"

Not even kidding. Like, I've spoken before about why I'm wary of it.

George Lucas' Star Wars is something that intentionally has black and white morality, rather than shades of gray. Those movies are meant for kids and projecting a "gray" morality onto them then proclaiming it was George's vision all along is doing so in bad faith.

The narrative of the Prequels doesn't frame the Prequel Jedi in as negative a light as Leslye Headland, Dave Filoni, etc etc do.

See here for more details, but bottom line: yeah, a show that has a darksider as the underdog is bound to demonize the Jedi (who are the actual underdogs in the Prequels), and obviously that rubs me the wrong way.

BUT.

The trailer looks fucking cool. It really really does.

youtube

And more importantly? I've done some research... and Leslye Headland is ticking a lot of good boxes, in my book.

1. The Acolyte won't be a 10-hour movie.

I've criticized Disney Plus shows before, explaining that a big source for most of their issues is that these series are being structured as "long movies" rather than, y'know, actual shows.

But in this interview with Collider, Headland addresses that: it'll be a series. Not a long movie that you need to watch across four weeks.

Thank God. You have no idea how much that comforts me. Finally a showrunner who's, y'know, actually running a show.

And this goes hand in hand with what she told IGN, here, about how she's going about building suspense.

Yes! Exactly! That's how it's supposed to be!

Like, compare this to Baylan Skoll's storyline in Ahsoka.

In no possible way was that emotionally-fulfilling. For 8 episodes we had no idea what he was after, and the season ended where we still don't know. What does he want? What is he after? Your guess is as good as mine, it's something Mortis-related.

So yeah. Maybe getting the Emmy-nominated trained screenwriter on board to run this was a good idea.

2. Maybe the Jedi will not be as demonized as I originally thought.

Don't get me wrong. 80% of what she says about the Jedi makes me cringe. It's the typical fan's interpretation and y'all know I disagree with that interpretation.

It's painful to see her refer to the Jedi as an institution (not how the Prequels' narrative frames them) and to see her frame "Balance" in the "oh there's so many of them and just two Sith, that means the Force is out of balance" meaning... but at least she acknowledges the Jedi are a benevolent institution.

They're not an "elitist force hiding in their ivory tower" as others have described the Jedi.

Moreover, there'll be a variety of Jedi POVs, many personalities.

Yord Fandar, is described as a strictly by-the-book Jedi Knight and guardian from the Jedi Temple, is an overachiever and a rule follower.

The question now becomes: will the narrative frame him as "your typical Jedi" or is it just this one guy? I'm hoping it's the latter.

I also like how her reasoning goes re: Jedi drawing their lightsabers.

Which explains the hand-to-hand combat seen in the trailer.

This teenager is coming at Carrie-Ann Moss with a dagger, of course the Jedi won't draw her saber.

3. She's a fan of Star Wars... but a screenwriter first.

You can tell in the interviews she's a fan. She's using words like "BBY" and "EU" casually. In the above-linked interviews she's bringing up the Nightsisters, Timothy Zahn, The Clone Wars, she mentions she has a tattoo of Ralph McQuarrie's concept art of Leia, the High Republic books, etc.

She's done her homework. She's a fan.

But the vibe I'm getting from these interviews is that she's weaving in these various lore-elements in a more organic way, rather than in the "fan-servicey" way Dave Filoni has been doing in his shows.

The references and Easter Eggs will be there, but the narrative won't bend over itself just so you can get it. Crafting a good story comes first, and Andor is a beautiful illustration of why this is true.

Which is why I was never bothered about one of the writers never having watched Star Wars before getting the job. You need those fresh eyes when you're tackling something of this scale.

That makes sense to me. Maybe it's because of my own screenwriting experience, but yeah. That out-of-the box perspective is precious.

And like, obviously, that writer watched the films eventually, but for some reason everyone who bitched about Headland omitted that detail and opted for a more bad faith interpretation.

Hm. Wonder why.

Maybe it's the same reason that months ago this clipped audio circulated socials without context, in which she debates whether Star Wars only came from George Lucas and only Lucas is the key.

The FULL context of that interview reveals that she's actually:

debating the "autheur director" myth and positing that it was achieved by a collective of excellent filmmakers and craftspeople that George was skilled and smart enough to recruit...

the studios now think it's a simple as hiring one guy and throwing money at him, because they have no idea what the fuck they're talking about. See Napoleon (2023) for example.

Yes, she also does a jab to the Prequels, which speaks to the generation of fans she's a part of... but overall she's giving Lucas props whilst also stating an ideological difference, that's it!

George is a proponent of the "autheur" theory, Leslye isn't.

However, guess what, in like half the talks George gave post-selling Star Wars? He's giving shoutouts to everyone who helped make the first film, even remembering their names.

So I'm not even sure he'd vehemently disagree with Leslye, in fact they'd prolly have a conversation about it and immediately bitch about how stupid studio executives are :D

But that's not as incendiary, is it? Again, the more I do the research, the more it feels like the reason most of these influencers are hating on her is purely sexist.

I mean, on IGN she's even acknowledging that she does plan on taking stock of fan reactions for Season 2.

It's not a guarantee that she'll incorporate the feedback, but at least that's more consideration than, say, JJ Abrams or Rian Johnson gave the fandom.

She's even bringing the moral ambiguity that the Gray Jedi-loving edge-lords love so much.

"No, she's a woke feminist! Anything she does is evil! Eww, girls!"

🙄

Needless to say... I'm gonna give it a shot.

I think it's gonna be a good show, I think it's gonna be a solid story.

I'm crossing my fingers that they won't as biased against the Jedi as it seems they'll be. Even if they are... if it's still an enjoyable experience, I'll gloss over it.

As @gffa states in this post:

Worst case? It's not a story from George. I can dismiss it from my headcanon without a moment's hesitation :D

#the acolyte #jedi order #star wars #leslye headland #george lucas #Youtube #discussion

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hogwartslegacyreactions2 · 18 days

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Hello I am a big fan of your work But I have a request (if request are even open then u can ignore it) how would the HLC characters react to MC being able to transform into a Hungarian Horntail dragon? (Btw have a great day or night and drink water please)

A/N: Blog rules and request updates are put on the pinned post at the top of the blog! If you have any questions, feel free to shoot me a DM :3

HLC REACT TO MC TURNING INTO A HUNGARIAN HORNTAIL

MC still doesn't know the limits of ancient magic, but apparently, it includes being able to transform oneself into a powerful magical beast of their choice for a time. Today, the beast of choice was the ferocious Hungarian Horntail dragon. Admittedly, MC was just showing off.

They show their closest friends and mentor the full transformation and even a fireblast demonstration. Then they sit pretty to soak in the praise. They know they look cool.

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: His jaw was already on the ground when MC transformed, but it somehow got lower when he witnessed the 40ft jet of fire rise from MC's maw. Such POWER. He wants to see MC decimate a dark wizard outpost. Set fire to EVERYTHING!

OMINIS GAUNT: He can feel the rumble of the earth beneath him with every step MC takes. The heat of the flames makes him turn away. Just the low rumble from MC's throat sends shivers down his spine. This is the closest he EVER wants to get to the real thing. Even though he knows it's MC, it's a scary experience.

ANNE SALLOW: She's more collected than her brother, but still as excited over MC's ability to burn everything in their path. Just thinking about what MC could do with a single breath makes her giddy. She's as much a firebug as Sebastian, she's just better at keeping her head.

IMELDA REYES: She is a simple woman with simple interests. See dragon, must race. Fly MC! Show her what you're really made of! Bet she could fly circles around them. Bet they can catch her? Prove it!

NATSAI ONAI: She'll beat Poppy to the punch about asking for rides. The spines make it challenging but she'll figure something out. She grabs MC by the nostrils and gets in their face. "Let me ride you! ...wait, that sounded-... You know what I mean!"

GARRETH WEASLEY: He NEEDS to hear them roar. Dragons are so strong that they don't even need to use fire. A roar from a fully grown dragon at close range can shatter eardrums. You feel the shockwave of sound go through your body. His ears ring for a bit even though he covered them.

LEANDER PREWETT: He's feeling so inadequate as a wizard. He can barely balance on a broom right and MC can transfigure themself into a mother loving DRAGON. No fair...

AMIT THAKKAR: He's dying to know how this works. This is magic that's either never been seen or never recorded, because he's never even heard of anyone capable of this without being some sort of rare animagus. MC needs to be studied, and he's the one to do it. Next to the stars themselves, MC is the universe's greatest mystery.

EVERETT CLOPTON: Dragons scare the ever living shit out of him. They're big, powerful and sometimes go after broom flyers when hungry. Hell admire MC from a distance. Like, way back behind the stoney hill, distant. Please don't come closer, he will cry.

POPPY SWEETING: She's absolutely ECSTATIC! She can examine a powerful dragon up close that isn't trying to eat her. It's a dream come true! She does circles around MC, taking in every detail. She takes out a small, leather bound book and a piece of charcoal and sketches every part MC lets her study. When MC puts their snoot right up against her, she actually squeals a little with excitement. She gets to TOUCH a live dragon. She's on cloud nine and never wants to come down.

ELEAZAR FIG: When MC tells him this is something they could do thanks to ancient magic, the only thing he can think is: "Miriam would have loved to see this." He's so proud. MC is capable of way more than he ever thought. He only hopes to live long enough to witness the rest of the wizarding world realize the same.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy reactions #hl #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #anne sallow #imelda reyes #natsai onai #garreth weasley #leander prewett #amit thakkar #everett clopton #poppy sweeting #eleazar fig

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jq37 · 2 months

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How do you rank the Rat Grinders in terms of "most want to be friends" vs "die"

Honorable Mention #1 spot goes to Lucy Frostblade who seems like an absolute sweetheart. Anyone who's doing the Cinderella thing w/ the local rodent population is worth befriending in my book. Hope you're resting in peace now girl. You would have loved Zayne Darkshadow and Edgar.

(1) Oisin: OK listen, I am aware that all Rat Grinders must be regarded with some level of suspicion but come ON. I want so so badly for him to be exactly what he's been portrayed to be--a hot buff nerd who is easily flustered by Adaine. Fig got a wizard girlfriend so Adaine should get a wizard boyfriend. That's just equity. Don't you believe in equity Brennan? Joking aside, I think it would be really nice for Adaine to have another someone in her life who thinks she's great and tells her that since she spent so long deprived of that and is just recently starting to get that from people. Anyway, would love another wizard paramour in the Bad Kid rotation.

(2) Buddy: Hear me out. This dude absolutely needs to be deprogrammed a bit but so did Kristen when we met her. And his heart seems to be in the right place. I think he could be a good friend if they approach this from the right angle/are interested in flipping him. Also I went to college in Alabama, alright? His southern charm got me.

(3) Mary Ann: I haven't really gotten a solid read on Mary Ann yet. Is she suspicious or worn down or just Like That? No way to tell yet. But she hasn't actually done anything wrong yet so she gets this spot.

(4) Ruben: I'm more suspicious of Ruben this week than last week after his performance turned about to be a secret ritual, and he's also consistently been shitty to Fig which I don't like. But I'm suspicious abut how much of that is his natural energy and how much of that is related to the rage god. He wasn't emo when he started, remember? He was all smiles and braces and acoustic guitar. People can just genuinely change for the worse but I dunno. Might be something there and the Bad Kids ally list includes SEVERAL people who should be in jail right now so you know. Open mind.

(5) Kipperlilly: Kipperlilly is frankly just more fun as an antagonist than as an ally lol. Like even outside of the point that they hate her to the point of refusing to properly say her name so friendship was never an option, it's just not the most fun route.

(6) Ivy: Choke on grapes, bitch. I hope she ends up in hell with Penelope. This is Fantasy High. You can be a murderer but you can't be RACIST.

Interested to hear anyone else's takes if their list is different!

#dimension 20 #a-salty-alto #fantasy high #spoilers #asks

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withered--s0uls · 4 days

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Oh look it's another GD crossover

Ghost Drone AU - @electrozeistyking

You already saw all this art but shhh HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

This originally started out with me just wanting to draw Beanie interacting with the Intertwined Codes Kids but then I added some extra stuff lol.

If you're a reader of Intertwined Codes, this kinda sorta spoils future stuff bc only the twins have been mentioned in the Draft/Teaser fic but oh well. You have been warned.

IC!Uzi wouldn't like actually meet GD!N bc they'd kinda decide that "hey, let's not have the widowed man see an alternate version of his wife that actually got live." simply out of respect kinda?? So she would stick around at home with the kids whilst IC!N goes out to look for Beanies Dad after their kids drag her to them lmao.

So yeah she doesn't necessarily know the extent of the mans depression, the kids just mentioned there only being a dad so she just specifically asks about GD!N in this doodle

IC!N would quickly pick up on GD!N not being completely okay, even without being told any details. So he probably would end up sitting him down to talk on their way back to the IC!Doorman families place, wanting to help if he can in any way. (He runs a Daycare and tries to also be a support to any parent that needs it, so I feel he out of habit would lean into trying to do that with GD!N)

More/The kids under the Cut otherwise the post looks so long rip

I will go over each of these one by one (can'tdo close ups bc 10 image limit, I'll reblog this in a second with the close ups.)

Left are the Code-Related Nuzi kids, right are the adopted ones.

Code related kids

Zagi:

Not much to say, I'm still working out their personality - they're maybe 2-3 years older than Beanie, so they aren't too far apart in age. :)

Orita:

She's the sibling who started the trend of putting stickers on her siblings, so she DEFINITELY would do the same with Beanie.

She also probably originally was going to show her how to build a weapon, but her parents promptly stopped that lmao .

She would think it's really cool that Beanie has a custom core icon & in general is completely customized from the start! She herself was originally put into a regular worker body (just with the tail and headband being custom made by her mom), she had to build the DD forearms herself. She also has a sticker of the DD icon on her core, covering the WD icon :3

Rexim:

At this point he has enough siblings to be past the "ew a little kid" phase, so luckily Beanie gets spared that. His main camera is damaged, he only really uses his headband optics to look around, so he would kinda just look as if he's staring past her a lot. But bc of the obvious cracks in his visor I feel she would pick up on the fact he's not actually ignoring her.

Also he definitely would just play music to her, because IC!Uzi kinda always has music on whilst working in her workspace he kinda picked up some of her taste in music (Hence he's playing the same song that Uzi is shown to have been listening to in Ep7)

Raven:

First up THANK YOU Zeisty for helping me brainstorm silly stuff for them. They're a little ball of chaos now and I love them.

Anyways.

They would join Orita in bedazzling Beanie, and then they'd start talking about bird facts and also try to get Beanie to talk about her interests.

(Their height difference isnt 100% accurate bc halfway through drawing this I changed the IC timeline, making Raven about the same age as Zagi instead of them being a teen, so I kinda had to manually try and semi-fit their heights lol)

Adopted Kids

Ray:

Nothing to say. He's a baby. Tho whilst I was outlining this one I had to giggle because of how big he is in Beanies hands. She's so tiny 😭💕 /affectionate

Annika:

Oh boy. Ann.

Annika is the eldest kid & was adopted a while before Zagi was coded / whilst the parents were organizing the code copies for Zagi

She does NOT know how to talk to other kids. Never did. It made her stick out at the orphanage wing because she just avoided everyone. And it is very chaotic when Olivia and Ray first show up, because Ann's only idea of talking to other Drones is "well you got to be relatable" so she brings up the siblings dead parents bc like, her code parents are dead too. Both pairs dying to DDs. So yeah she probably would be the first, if not only one, in the whole household to just bring up GD!Uzi. She would do it like it's nothing either.

IC!Uzi would promptly get her to stop and sit her down having a conversation about "what did N and I say about trying to connect on that topic?"

Like IC!Uzi would actually feel really bad about it despite Beanie not knowing her mom. Bc she herself obviously didn't remember IC!Nori growing up but still didn't like the topic.

Olivia:

Olivia, as I said, was greeted with the topic of dead parents by Annika as well. So she probably would kinda interfere when IC!Uzi goes to sit Ann down to talk.

She would feel the need to apologize for the older girls behavior (which Ann would apologize for herself later too ofc) and would try to get Beanie to go play something together whilst IC!Uzi sorts that whole situation out.

She's also the closest to Beanies age probably, just was forced to mature bc of what happened to her parents, despite being taken in by Nuzi shortly after. She still obviously acts like a kid tho when comfortable, so I feel she would kinda ease up around Beanie and actually act more like a 4-5 year old around her.

Bonus? Bonus!

Needless to say Beanie would return home covered in stickers & hairpins (Orita & Raven have more than enough of those, they'd just let Beanie keep some)

RIP GD!N having to get her out of those stickers once they're back home

Also, for the "*humming*" variation of the picture I blame @k1k0oftheworld. Kiko was in vc with me when I was talking about how Beanie would be covered in stickers when she gets home, and saw the doodles as well.

He proposed the following scenario after seeing Rexim show Beanie IC!Uzis playlist:

Beanie humming dead batteries song & GD!N having a breakdown bc it reminds him of GD!Uzi

I do not take accountability for this, I was going to spare the poor widowed man.

(I scrapped the idea of him not knowing ab the IC!Doorman family and him getting a mini heart attack when Beanie goes "I met Mom today" in favor of him and IC!N meeting & talking - I WANTED TO SPARE HIS POOR HEART)

@k1k0oftheworld you owe him money for a therapy session now /silly

Anyways that's it, I'll put the close ups in the reblog like I said 👍

#murder drones #serial designation n #md #uzi doorman #ghost drone au #Intertwined codes #beanie doorman #Nuzi ship kids #like a lot of them #I'm tagging all of my kids in the reblog i dont have the patience rn #au crossover #gd x ic #ghost drone x intertwined codes #ElectroZeistyKing #my art

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pascalsbby · 8 months

Text

The Devil & His Brother

Joel x Tommy x You

Prologue / Part I : 6.4K / Part II

Summary: The Devil was begging you to forgive him, and you wanted to. You wanted to bring your palms together and whisper his name through the cracks, hoping he would hear your silent prayer. “Let me stay here, with you.” He would get down on his knees and pray to your altar. He would bless it first, kiss it clean, before he would send two fingers to spread open your love.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, eventual smut. enemies to lovers, slow-burn, angst/comfort/sex, age gap, power imbalance, possessive tendencies, drugs/pills/alcohol, major daddy issues (that’s why you need BOTH miller brother’s instead of 1). talk of death, shit-talking god & the devil himself.

This was a labor of love, please comment, reblog, & let me know what you think <3

I will take a crowbar and pry out the broken pieces of God in me.

- Anne Carson

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

Your soul was given to another man before you had even yearned for the rage to scratch it back yourself- have a choice in the matter of your own eternity. Two eyes looking down upon you, gazing into the depth of your skull. Where the fuck was he, when his children were screaming on their knees for his forgiveness, for whatever they had done to deserve this?

You couldn’t remember your own baptism- despite seeing countless bodies pushed underwater, coming back anew. Later in life, not coming back up at all. Drowning sinfully sin-less. You were thankful now, that the hard stuff was done when you weren’t old enough to know it- or deny it. You wouldn’t have washed yourself clean for him, drown for him, now.

You were angry at him- you had every right to be. You were utterly alone in a world that was trying to devour you whole by sinking one tooth into any part of your tender flesh. Your eternal soul was saved (given) to a hand in the sky before you even knew what a God was, what he was capable of, what he would allow, and you had suffered for it during life. But now, when it mattered most, you didn’t have to do a goddamn thing but lay here and die. Yet he wasn’t doing his part. What a fucking surprise.

He never came like all the people said he would, like the Bible said. There was no reckoning. Even he was too scared of what he created.

“I ain’t no God, sweetheart.” The sound reverberated through his throat in a sickly Southern accent. He might as well have been. His thick arms were the ones holding you, warming you against the soft flannel. You haven’t been touched by another human in a long time, and the veins running through his arms were suddenly whispering love stories into your own running blood. His hands were so big.

They refused your pleas. “Please, if you don’t do it just hand me the gun.” Always met with a thickly harsh, “don’t think so,” from the one who shot you. The younger one is somehow quieter than the first. You had been full of anger for years, but it didn't seem as heavy as it normally would, despite barking, “You already tried once and failed, let me do it myself then.” He looked at you, surprised that you wasted your breath in such a manner, it had barely come out of the back of your throat to begin with. He huffed a laugh as he turned his head back to his brother before looking straight into the dark night again, focusing on something that wasn't even there. Focusing on anything that wasn’t you.

You were used to men not following through. Your father was the ‘savior’ (born-again post-outbreak pastor)(liar) of a small group, all now a couple of feet underground, frozen in the decomposing water of themselves- and whoever was lucky enough to be thrown in the dug-up hole on top of them. Baptized over and over as the ground warmed in the spring and froze again in the winter. Perpetually drowning until they become what they were trying to escape all along- food for the earth to devour.

We didn’t burn them, because that would have given us away, invited anyone near to pluck the last of us out, but fire would have been easier. But we don’t do easy, not here. We gather whoever is responsible for your already rotting body and make them throw you into the ground, all in the name of God. You had written a lot into your leather-bound notebook, at first not wanting to fill the pages, because once the paper was gone, there was nowhere else to rip the thoughts out of your head, let them bleed through the pages. You read that specific entry over and over, having memorized it by now, making crinkles in the dusty pages from how many times you turned back to it and prayed to a God that wasn’t there to save them- you.

He was never planning on it.

Your journal was the same color as the Devil’s eyes, darkened honey-brown, alive. You didn’t have many places to look whenever you did have enough spite in you to open your own, body swaying from side to side on a horse that wasn’t yours, in a man's lap that you didn’t know. He looked pretty, even from below, even more so leaning his chin downwards towards your face and gazing up your body. I guess anything safe looks heavenly amidst fire.

Why would they do that? Kill you and then take you along for the ride. They hadn't spoken much for however many days you had been dying, watching as the sun kissed the sky goodnight and welcomed the moon, at least three times. Maybe you were bait for something even bigger- a young woman goes a long way these days. Always has, really.

You had always harbored a deep fear of death. It wasn't exactly the physical suffering that frightened you, but rather the haunting notion of losing loved ones. The consequences of deviating from the life path thrown on you by your parents. There was always this looming presence of the ‘evil’. The Devil… Lucifer, Satan, whatever moniker you choose. In the narrative your parents scripted for you, he was cast as the villain. It was all too funny now, his thighs warming your skin, setting you ablaze.

Lucifer was a beautiful, Southern gentleman- one who spoke quickly and stern. And God sat right next to him, mouth shut, waiting for command. You were so tired of following orders from men but suddenly it’s as if you’ve known all along that his gaze would be the one you melted under. Sludge. Burning flesh. Maybe there was no God. Sure, the other man who sat next to him looked like one, but so does this one. He was an idea, the fear instilled in you, your parents' guilt. But you knew evil more than you knew true good, and the Devil was below you, only cementing that truth further. He was keeping you right here, draped across his lap, and despite your dying, he still caught glimpses of your naked flesh. And you didn’t know if it was eyes burning into you, or the gunshot wound he had so nicely gifted you. You almost wanted to thank him, if that’s what it took for him to wrap himself around you.

Romans 6:4 hung on a carved board in your parent's room after the first wave of death. After your father decided that the group needed someone to lead them, and that your mother wasn’t it, she sat back happily and carved words into worn wood. You had felt safe there, sixteen and under the guise of whatever your parents told you. Young, naive, pure.

‘We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life. We’re now dead to the power of sin. Being raised from the water.’ It later hung in the main room of a run-down grocery store turned Church. The church itself was down the street, the rotten door holding in rotten bodies from whoever had come before. Maybe they had sat and awaited the way you all did at first, waiting for their savior. He never rang the doorbell, never knocked. He had just walked right on by, whistling his hymns and being grateful he was above it all.

A new life? If Jesus died for our sins, wouldn’t he be upset with you right now? Laying on your… death horse…. And still not bruising your knees for him? Why can’t he be angry enough to let you slip out of line and take the easier way? I guess suffering wasn’t his go-to, at least outwardly. Fear was more his thing, and fear would eat you alive and cement your veins before true sin ever could. Guilt is what gnaws at your ankles, whispering poetry into your hair. Fear had passed. Anger had too, momentarily. Rage was a common home.

He should have taken you by now, held your hand and kissed your forehead goodnight. But you knew that he wasn’t coming. He never came for your parents either, nor your brother. You waited each time by their bodies, but he never called, never even picked up the goddamn phone.

He promised resurrection to people who needed something to hang on to. Promises made to be broken. God was more comfortable than death. You repeated it over and over as a prayer to those who had lost someone. We all have. Your dads own voice booming through the quiet. Now, you are losing yourself.

But really, there was no more you, not really. Maybe the horse knew too, bucked you off, and laughed as you felt the thud of the ground under your shoulder blades, because suddenly there was no air left in the entire dwindling world. The snow that was kicked up into your face from the weight of your body wasn’t melting as it would have before. You were cold. There was no world. There was just endless pain before a bout of relief. Not even enough to fill your lungs in one breath in or out. Even the horse knew you were dead weight. Every animal fighting for its survival. That’s why you were shot, too.

You scared the Devil and he took it upon himself to punish you.

At least that’s what you convince yourself as you lay dying on the cold, unforgiving ground, the weight of your pain bore down on your frail body- words trying to come out in shallow gasps. He wasn’t coming.

“Please,” you begged.

You heard shuffling, and then a shadow covered the setting moon above you. The all-to-familiar sound of his boots gaining on your still body. You could still smell him, had been able to this entire time you had been on his horse, in his lap. You could feel the pressure of his fingers rapidly squeezing your cheeks, feeling for blood flow, then the burning of his fingers on your neck, looking for signs of life amidst the dark night. Finally, he was touching you again. Maybe now he would kill you, too. His final gift.

“Fuck,” he hissed. That muttered obscenity made you feel more alive. “Get the fuckin’ horse away from her Tommy.” You heard the reins of the animal you were sat upon being pulled, and the hooves cascading further into the night. He returned to you, the coolness of his rings stung against your face, the cool air keeping them cold despite the warmth of his body. The bullseye tattoo, the only indication of who was touching you besides his smell. You had seen it multiple times throughout the rising and falling of the sun. It had cupped your body against his. He holds your face, as he leans into you, bullseye sitting right beneath your chin.

Throw a dart and it would hit you right in the throat- where you wanted him. Where you wanted him to breathe life into you again.

“Please. Help me go home.” Home hasn’t existed in years. You’d been unconscious for days.

“Shhh. No point in talkin' baby. Hurts too much. We’re goin’ home.” You looked up at him and despite the hardness of his exterior, you saw the understanding in his eyes. Just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared back into his skull.

Almost how a lighter ignites, flickers, warms, almost unbearable but not quite. The wind blows the fire to your fingers, stings, then disappears. As did his burning gaze. The feeling of putting out a cigarette as it shoves its last bit of self out into the world, smoke followed by nothing, simultaneously.

That was him, you would come to find out, as his silhouette and his own warmth flees from your touch. As the brown from his eyes turns to black as your own close. He sighs.

The snow crunches under his weight as he assesses how to pick you back up.

“And you ain’t goin’ anywhere but where I take you. Got it?” A half-attempted nod before a sigh of pain.

You didn’t know where you were going- why, you were still alive… or whatever this in-between was. All you know is that you prayed to the Devil. And he answered.

He was the only one who ever answered.

The return to Jackson was painful, the remnants of a long-ago shattered world marred the landscape. As they neared home, the journey became colder, perhaps another reason why it remained a well-hidden place- not many people made it there alive. Joel and Tommy, ever vigilant, guided the two horses with unwavering resolve, constantly scanning the horizon for any indications of danger. Meanwhile, they carried the injured girl, whose body was only partially present after being thrown from the horse three days ago, blankets thrown atop. It had been five days since she was shot. Since Joel shot her.

The way you looked up at him every once in a while was breathtaking- it was too much of a painful reminder that he’d lost (or will lose) everything he’s ever cared about. He could see it in your eyes, the confusion of who and where you were. Watching life move through someone's body and out of their eyes used to be a victorious occasion. It meant he succeeded, that he was still alive regardless of the mangled bodies he left behind. But this felt different to him. You were so godamn young and he plays the scream ripping through your throat over and over an- he swears he didn’t pull the trigger. Joel's gruff voice broke through the haze of silence that had fallen upon them days ago and never left. He broke through his own circling thoughts. As he spoke to Tommy a mixture of concern and guilt for your being broke through, he felt it in his throat, his chest. He didn't want to be responsible for this death, but he sure as hell didn’t want to know you either. Because knowing someone only meant more pain.

“We've been carryin’ her for days, Tommy. How much longer can she hold on like this? No point in bringin’ a dead girl home.”

Denial was a motherfucker, wasn’t it?

Joel knew of death- he didn’t believe in shit besides such. He used to be a God-fearing man but knew if he ever had the chance to stand in front of him he’d rip him in two and gnaw on the pieces of his holiness.

Tommy knew of death too, even before the outbreak, but the difference was that he also believed in life. He knew exactly why Joel had that scar, even though they’d never talked about it. It was a quiet understanding, one he never pushed or even poked and prodded.

Tommy's response was laced with a fear, for what Joel had done, but empathy for what he knows he sees every single time he looks down upon you. "We're almost there, Joel. She's tough, you know that. She should have died from that wound but she’s still breathin’, that counts f’something. We'll get her to Jackson, n’ she'll have a chance." He kept looking into his brother's eyes before pulling away and looking ahead into the blinding white. If he said what he really wanted, he wouldn’t stop. “You fuckin’ shot her but now you want to save her? Make up your fuckin’ mind.” The least he could do is help him save someone, even if it’s just for Joel’s sake, especially after he couldn't save Sarah. ‘Least he could do is keep his mouth shut.

Joel was the last person he had- the only person. Ellie didn’t even love him like she loved Joel. It’s always the broken, harsh ones that receive the most attention. People spend so much time trying to put broken people back together that they don’t realize the others are teetering with one foot over the edge.

They’d gone outside the walls because funny enough, they thought it would be more safe this time of year, the dead of winter. Ellie had begged for months for the boys to take her out with them and show her this and that. She was getting homesick for a place she never truly loved. She was tired of sitting still inside walls of safety when everyone she had ever loved was buried outside of them. Tess came along too, providing an extra line of safety, ‘just in case’.

Tommy remembers Joel whispering, “There's somethin’ coming.” More so someone, you. A moment later, a gunshot, a thudding body. Joel was normally calm on the trigger, rifle in hand, looking down the barrel of the gun, aimed at his prey. But Ellie was there, Tommy, and Tess. His people. There was no time to fuck around, so he didn’t. Tommy understood. But that didn’t make it right in his head. His brother was never patient in the moments that mattered the most.

One evening, about ten hours from wherever the fuck they were taking you, the sun began to set, setting ablaze a warm glow over the frozen landscape. You had been awake, more so than the past couple of days, looking up at the moving clouds in the sky, watching as his chest moved and released more air into the sky, breathing visible and dancing in the cold. The horse beneath you abruptly stopped and the two men descended their spots atop of them, stretching their legs and gaining more control of their tired bodies.

“You’re awake,” the younger one let out, moving his focus from the soft mumbles he was giving to the other man. “‘Bout time we clean your wound again, see how it’s doing.” You let out a faint, “mm” and attempted to sit up. “No. We’ll get ya off the horse. Be still,” the other said. The Devil grabbed the water and reached up to you, his fingers moved across your face as he gathered your wandering hair and moved it away from your lips. He turned the canister upwards, slowly, letting you drink from it. “Thank you,” you managed. It was the first time he heard your voice not mangled with absolute fear. He stared, eyes roaming the silence, looking ever-so surprised that you had said anything at all, and so clearly at that.

The angel moved closer and reached out his hand, thinking now was a good time to introduce himself to you. “Tommy, Miller. This is my brother, Joel.” he looked toward him. Joel forced an upside-down grin and nodded his head toward you. “You…” pointing towards the one called Joel, “you shot me.” Silence followed, it was heavy, thick. “I didn- Thought you were dangerous, came around that corner too fast.”

“I wasn’t even armed, I-“

“Don’t wanna talk bout’ it.” he huffed, almost angrily. You opened your mouth again, wanting to rattle off one of three hundred questions that you had, but he looked you over once more, and then turned around and walked off. Tommy, with gentle hands, tenderly lifted your body off of the saddle and carried you towards the fire Joel was nursing. The crackling of a campfire and the scent of cooked food filled the air as they set to work, tending to your wounds with diligence that spoke to Tommy's belief that you would be okay (You had to be. He couldn’t fail Joel again. Couldn’t watch as his face fell with the realization that you were completely dead).

His fingers were deft as he cleaned your wounds, his touch sending shivers down your spine. He saw the goosebumps rise, and felt them, as the fire lit your skin. You caught glimpses of concern in his eyes, a silent reassurance that he was determined to see you through this. Joel's presence was a constant anchor, as he spoke into the fire, keeping it lit. They laid out blankets, far too many for just two people to be carrying alone, and sat you atop and below them.

The rest of the night had been filled with your echoing screams, Joel’s palm across your mouth, “Stop screamin’ or someone is gonna find us.” Sure, stop screaming while dirty, whiskey-cleaned fingers are prodding at your open wound. Not even a sorry moved past his lips.

Joel laid down on one side of you, Tommy on the other. “M’ sorry,” he whispered towards you. They both smelled of sweat and whiskey. Their chests rolled and fell at different times, Joel murmuring in his sleep once he finally stopped looking around the parameter. You could tell they were brothers.

It was night when the three of you arrived ‘home’. You heard a young girl's voice above the gathering crowd.

“Joel!” She parted the gathering crowd as the patter of quickening footsteps approached. His head whipped quickly, finding her immediately.

“What the fuck?”

“Ellie,” he warned.

“You can’t fucking do that Joel, I thought you…We made it home three days ago. Tess dragged me by my hair but I-”

“Good,” he huffed back, “Where is she?” Ellie blustered but gave up arguing.

Multiple men gathered around and took the blankets off your body, the air hissing through your torn clothes. You whimpered as they moved your body off of Joel’s horse. He didn’t say anything to you, instead he turned and followed Ellie out of the crowd, carrying the reins with him.

You were carefully carried to a bigger two-story home on the outskirts of the city. As the night turned towards the morning sun, you found yourself gaining strength. The length of the night had been blurry, chattering voices and hands, everywhere. Needles, bliss, whispers. Stripping you from the blood-ridden clothes and water pouring over your lips. Fingers, hands touching you, always caught in a delicate dance between stoic tenderness and warmth

‘Gonna be jus’ fine, baby.” Tommy had assured you, multiple times.

Suddenly it had been a week. They took turns caring for you, someone sleeping in the same room as you at all times in case you needed something. Always talking about “patrol shifts” and how Tommy was expected to be a leader of some sort. You had overheard a lot of conversations booming through the thin walls of the house. One hurting more than the others.

“Shouldn’t have fuckin’ brought her here in the first place. You know the whole town is gossipin’ about it right now. The Miller brothers bringing in another mouth to feed.”

“Stop it. Sh’can hear you Joel. You know that’s not how anyone thinks of it. She could help this place. Give her a chance.”

“She’s been practically fuckin’ unconscious for a week now, Tommy. You think she’s just gonna get right up n’ run the town?”

“Why did you take her in if you don’t even want to be responsible for her survival?” Tommy threw back at him. He regretted saying it immediately, watching as it hit Joel in the face before he closed his eyes and looked away. Joel was more so there to watch you and make sure you didn’t bleed into his wooden floor, while Tommy tried to provide as much comfort as possible. After realizing that this was Joel’s home, it made sense in what little you knew about him. There were few things on the wall, but there were remnants of him everywhere.

Ellie would come home and sit with you, read to you and then tuck you in after Joel carried you up the stairs and into his bed. You missed Tommy’s gentleness when it wasn’t there, but you missed the warmth from Joel's body, his lap, when he wasn’t there. His breathing, his nervous habit of cracking his fingers. Even though you could tell that every nerve ending in his body wanted you anywhere else but wherever he was- there was still a silent curiosity.

About a week and a half after your arrival, someone knocked on the front door of the tattered house and Joel called for Tommy up the stairs. He walked down them quickly, walking out of the front door with Joel.

He returned a few minutes later, looking at you sitting in the seat you hadn’t left in since you’d been there. He gave you a look, slowly looking towards the ground as he spoke up so you could hear him. “Gotta go for a couple of days. Heard there’s a group who probably followed us close to here, saw their smoke, gonna take care of them before they can make it any further.” You hadn’t spoken much, if at all, the past couple of days. You didn’t think you would make it this far, and now you were sitting with two strangers and a teenager in their house, rotting away. They had poked and prodded, trying to get any information out of you that they could, but you didn’t give in.

You stared out the window and answered meekly whenever spoken to, if at all. You should be ecstatic at the thought of finally being housed somewhere ‘safe’, somewhere with electricity and running water. Somewhere where they gathered the children and let them watch movies in the mess hall (all information coming from Tommy, telling you stories as he changed your bandages)- but you weren’t. You felt like you were still teetering on the edge of death. You felt like a burden to Joel.

You didn’t answer Tommy, just nodded. He packed up a few things and promised to ‘be back in no time, then maybe you can tell me your name.’ And then he was gone out of the termite-ridden front door.

You had fallen asleep, and awoken to Joel in another room somewhere, those same goddamn boots thudding against the creaking wooden floors. His presence was constant, every once in a while getting up from a creaking chair to come look at you. You slept, mostly. Ate the dinner he got from the dining hall. Your rage had returned. But baring your teeth in anger took energy you didn’t have.

Joel couldn’t look at you without feeling like he was looking straight through the blood and guts of you(r)(side). Tommy wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone about it before he left. How pretty you were, how there ‘weren’t many pretty faces left n’ you’re tryin’ to kill one?’ He watched as Tommy cooked you with his stare, warming his next meal only to put on his best-dressed suit and bail on the date before he could even pick up the tab. He was glad he was gone for a while, letting him forget about the fact that he had put the bullet in you. He loved his brother, but he knew his games. He knew his inability to stay.

Joel had nursed you back to… alive. At least. He hadn’t really thought about what that entailed after you were stable. He was surprised you were still breathing. He didn’t think about the feeding, changing, and bathing of you. Of hands touching flesh and natural bodily reactions to such.

You could tell he was the older brother. He held the normal stereotypes, sternly telling you what to do. The older one was always more serious, and stoic. The younger, who probably got away with more, but was the loneliest from eyes diverting. But his big brother was always there, begrudgingly present. And he was in this instance too.

Tommy had washed you multiple times before he left, but never your hair or the rest of you. He was more concerned that your stitches didn’t get infected.

Joel probably thought giving you a rag bath was wasting water, but did it anyway, probably tired of your stench in his bed. It’s cold until he heats the towel after noticing you shiver. “Let me draw you an actual bath. Think you can take one now.” He was softer at that moment, more gently with the way he wiped the towel across your chest. Those moments happened least expectedly. But when they did happen, it hurt even deeper. You felt something for him. And that just wouldn’t do. Rather it be lust, loneliness, or your raging fucking daddy issues.

Tommy likes the water cold, and Joel likes it burning to the skin. Of course, he does. He is all or nothing. Hot or cold. Soft or hard. He’s solitude but brings the same warmth of a front door opening to a sea of snow, chimney warm, lights warmer, hot chocolate, and bourbon- he is. In any other world but this one, he would probably be a good man; one to settle down with. One to hold you against himself, despite of raging night.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

a/n: Phew do I have plans for these three…

taglist: @worhols @sarap-77 @mishasminion360 @justagalwhowrites @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @romanarose @milla-frenchy @bandluvr97 @alwaysdjarin @basicoccult @hellfyreroz @northernbluess-blog @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pr0ximamidnight @bambydxll @morgaussy @n7cje @theywhowriteandknowthings @gracie7209 @pedritoferg @twirl731 @med494 @k-ra @gintheginger @obscurexsorrows @cool-iguana @livingdeadmaria @ours-is-a-strange-fate @megangovier20 @rayslittlekitten @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrotonin @bluetattoos @sscorpiiio

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legacyshenanigans · 9 months

Text

A part 3 to this

(I mean I didn't expect to make this a little thing but you guys seem to want it 🙂 So I don't mind carrying on this little AU story I've got going on)

Sebastian out of Azkaban

It had been close to 3 months now, since Sebastian had been staying with Garreth. He was feeling some normality in himself again, thanks to Garreths aid, and was back on his feet. Garreth sat at his dining room table, enjoying the morning sun coming through the window, Sebastian wandered downstairs after getting ready, Garreth looked over at him.

Garreth: Morning! *smiles*

Sebastian: *small smile* Hey.

Sebastian wandered over and sat at the table with Garreth, also turning his head to take in the sun and sighed.

Sebastian: I feel good for the first time in a long time..

Garreth: Thats great, Pal *warm grin*

Sebastian: Thank you, Weasley. Again, I don't know what to do to make it up to you.

Garreth: Naah, you don't have to thank me, and you don't have to do anything *smiles* Got everything I need, I was happy to help you. You're my friend.

Sebastian: *smiles* It means alot, truly.

The two sat for a moment, Garreth narrowed his eyes slightly at Sebastian, leaning forward in his chair.

Garreth: Are you ready to talk more about Ominis?

Sebastian ears perked up just hearing his name. this journey that Garreth had taken him on made him do a lot of thinking, he'd forgiven, and he felt some peace, and understood why Ominis and MC did what they did, though it was hard.

Sebastian: I think I am..You havnt told me much.

Garreth: I thought it would be too painful..

Sebastian: It would have been, but I'm ready.

Garreth: Well..I havnt seen him in a while, but we keep in touch. He doesn't live too locally anymore, not far though. And he doesn't know you're here, but he knows you're out of Azkaban. He wrote about it in his last letter to me.

Sebastian: ....I see. I hope he doesn't hate me..

Garreth: He definitely doesn't hate you, Ominis really struggled, Sebastian. After you got sent away, he wasn't himself. He hated it, but he knew it was the right thing to do for YOUR own benefit, do you understand?

Sebastian: I do..I do NOW anyway..It was awful in there..But, I think I needed it, Dark magic was taking over my mind, my soul, everything *sigh* I was angry and clouded when I first got out, wanted to find him, of course after I tried to find Anne first, the night you found me outside that bar, I'd just been drinking, after discovering she'd died...

Garreth: *nods his head in sympathy* I've wanted to talk to you about all this stuff..But my main focus was just getting you normal and stabilised, I didn't want to bring up anything that may have caused pain, and you never said anything, so I left it be.

Sebastian: I know, and I appreciate that. I just hope Anne knows, wherever her soul is, how sorry I am.

Garreth: I'm sure she does, mate. *warm smile*

Sebastian: Yeah *sits for a moment* So, Ominis? Married? Kids? How is he?

Garreth: He's good, lives a nice peaceful life, not married, no kids, but he's happy.

Sebastian: I'm glad he's happy. I'd love to see him.

Garreth: Well..When I last sent him a letter, I asked if he'd like to meet, he's going to be in the gardens in Hogsmeade later today, that's where I told him to meet me..Are you truly ready Sebastian? Have you forgiven?

Sebastian: Yes, I have, honestly! Oh my god *big genuine smile* I've, missed him, so much.

Garreth: Then we'll go together, Leanders coming too, but me and him will wait at The Three Broomsticks while you go and get Ominis, yeah?

Sebastian: *smiles and nods his head*

Garreth: I can trust you, right? You really are OK?

Sebastian: Gaz, you've helped me massively, I really am..I'm ok. *thankful smile*

Garreth: *warm grin* Good..

Later that day, after giving Sebastian a pat on the back, Garreth and Leander made their way to the Three Broomsticks from the town centre, as Sebastian wandered towards the gardens his heart was in his throat seeing his old friend, Ominis sat there on a Bench under a tree, looking prim and proper as always, Sebastian couldn't believe it, he was so overwhelmed with emotion seeing Ominis, his lip was shaking as he approached, standing in front of him. Ominis looked up, knowing a presence was there.

Ominis: *smiles* Garreth?

Sebastian: ....

Ominis: Garreth? Is that you? *stands*

Sebastian: Ominis..

Ominis let out a small sharp gasp, both of them frozen solid for a moment, before Ominis reached out, his breathing shakey as he felt Sebastians face, Sebastian looked at him, a tear falling down his cheek.

Ominis: S-Sebastian?

Sebastian: *sniffles* Ominis.

Tears started to stream down Ominis's face as he grabbed Sebastians' shoulders.

Ominis: Sebastian, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

Sebastian: *starts crying himself, pulling Ominis in for a hug* It doesn't matter anymore, it's ok..

Ominis: It..Its no OK..It was never OK *hugging him back* Oh Sebastian *cries more, holding his old friend*

Sebastian: Ominis *clinging to him* It's so good to see you again.

The pair sat on the bench for a while, chatting. Sebastian told Ominis everything that Garreth had done for him and his emotional journey.

Ominis: *sigh* Garreth is an angel for that.

Sebastian: Really is, heh. Oh God, I'm so happy to see you. You look so well..I'm glad you can't see me *chuckles* I aged like damn milk in that place, you've aged like a fine wine.

Ominis: *chuckles* Oh shush..Sebastian, I can't tell you how happy I am, I'm so glad you've forgiven me for the decision I made, because I never truly forgave myself for doing that.

Sebastian: The past is the past, I just want to look forward now *smiles*

Ominis: As do I, old friend *smiles*

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy headcanons #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy drabbles #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt headcanon #sebastian sallow headcanon #garreth weasley headcanons #garreth weasley

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sagesolsticewrites · 2 years

Text

“i can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” | Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

12 years ago, Elvis chose his career over you. What happens when he shows up at your door asking for a second chance?

a/n: this is entirely based on a dialogue prompt I saw from @twelvegods: “I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” apparently it was a really good prompt because it inspired all 8,735 words of this lol. I I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it <3 Thank you all again so so so much for 500 followers!!

Word count: 8.7k

Warnings: a couple swear words, lots of angst in the first half, Y/N has trust issues oops, I think that's it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

“I’m gonna marry you someday.”

That’s what Elvis Presley had said to you when he was just 20 years old and his career was starting to take off, thanks in large part (as Elvis said) to the Colonel. And you, being the young girl in love that you were, believed him.

What a fool you were.

You managed to stay together for another year before the Colonel, his claws digging into Elvis’s heart and soul to bleed all the green he could out of him, managed to convince him that appearing single would be what was best for his career— he had to let all those screaming girls believe they had a chance with him, after all.

“Baby please,” Elvis pleaded, “this is for my career. I promise it won’t be for long. We’ll get back together, you’ll see.”

You shook your head, “No, Elvis. I’m not gonna sit around waiting for you like some damsel in distress. If you want me, keep me. But otherwise…”

You paused, waiting for him to say something. Begging, pleading, praying he would say something, that you had managed to change his mind.

When he said nothing, you exploded.

You had screamed and cried, and he had screamed and cried, and you had taken your things that had made their way into his room in Graceland and stormed out of his life for good, only pausing to give him one final sincere “I love you” before you walked out the door.

The last image you had of him (that wasn’t on a tv screen or poster) was of him standing in the foyer in Graceland, tears streaming down his face, refusing to chase after you.

You hoped that time would eventually heal your wounded heart, but apparently whoever said time heals all wounds was a fucking idiot because it was now just over a decade later and you were still as in love with Elvis Presley as you had been when you were one of the only girls in the world who knew his name.

He, evidently, didn’t feel the same.

That much was clear, at least, based on the way he was still overly flirtatious with his audience in his shows, not to mention the rumors about relationships with his movie co-stars. In his shows, before he went off to Germany, he had taken to stepping down into the audience and kissing practically every woman in the room. That alone cleared any remaining doubts from your mind that he still thought about you in any capacity, despite that little voice in the back of your head that still held out some futile, desperate hope.

You’re about to curl up on the couch with some tea and your copy of Anne of Green Gables — exactly what you need on a rainy day like today — when someone knocks on your door.

“You expecting anyone, Y/N?” your friend Annie calls from the hall. You had been living with her for about 5 years down in Louisiana, after the memories in Memphis had become too much, and you loved it.

“Nope,” You call back, wondering who on earth would be knocking on doors in this weather. “If it’s one of those door-to-door salesmen, slam it in his face again.” You suggest with a laugh.

“Will do,” comes her reply, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

You turn you attention back to your book as the door opens, and nearly spill your tea all over yourself as you hear a sultry drawl you hadn’t heard in person in over a decade.

“Hi Annie… is Y/N here?”

There’s a moment of silence where you’re sure Annie is as stunned as you are, then:

“Maybe,” she replies curtly, “What do ya want?”

Annie knew the whole story of you and Elvis, and she had sworn that she’d never let you get hurt like that ever again.

“Please, Annie, I just wanna talk to her.”

“And why should I let you? You’ve got a lotta nerve comin’ here after what you did—“

You’re not sure what prompts you to set your book and mug down and sigh “Annie, just let him in,” but you’re just as surprised as Annie is that you did.

She reluctantly steps aside to let him in, eyeing him warily the entire time.

Your eyes drink him in; this is the first time you’re seeing him in person in over 12 years, and your mind automatically catalogs the differences since you last saw him. He’s tanned, with a few more freckles, a result of the California sun, no doubt, and tinted glasses hide his eyes. His burgundy suit is soaked, and his hair, which was no doubt carefully styled before, now flops onto his forehead, dripping into his eyes.

He takes off his sunglasses, revealing tired blue eyes. From the way his eyes track along your body, he was drinking you in the same way you had done him.

There’s a beat of silence, then his eyes finally meet yours.

“Hi,” he says softly.

You maintain a straight face, unwilling to be taken in so easily.

“What do you want?” you ask, your voice cold. You want nothing more than to rush into his arms, but you remind yourself: he chose his career over you, and never looked back.

“I fired the Colonel,” he blurts, after several moments of trying to figure out what to say.

“About time,” you snort, dropping your serious demeanor for a split second, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“I made a mistake, Y/N. A lotta mistakes, really, but letting you go was the biggest one I ever made in my life. I missed you so, so much, and I—“

You cut him off, “Elvis, cut the shit. You made it very clear you moved on from me.”

“Y/N, I never stopped thinkin’ about you, I promise.”

“Sure, and was that before or after you kissed every girl in the audience at the end of every damn show?”

“Y/N, I—“ he starts, frustrated, then takes a deep breath. He starts again, calmer, softer, “I know how that looks. But I… I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” He looks earnestly into your eyes.

You feel your cracked heart melt just a little at his words, and yet…

“I don’t…” you sigh, “I don’t believe you. You put your career before me over a decade ago, and I tried to move on, but I couldn’t when I was seeing your face and hearing your voice everywhere, and it hurt like hell. And now you walk back in here, tell me you just made a mistake, and… what? Expect me to take you back just like that?”

“Please, Y/N,” he says, an echo of his plea back when he broke your heart for the first time, “I know I messed up bad, but… it’s you. It’s always been you, with those girls in the audience, even with Ann-Margret… I was always thinkin’ about you. And I’m willin’ to do whatever I have to to fix this. Anything. I mean it.”

And you can see the conviction in his eyes, like he’s that little boy again who believed he was Captain Marvel Jr. and could fly his family out of poverty to the Rock of Eternity. You know in your bones that he’d buy you the moon if it meant he could love you again.

But you’d made the mistake of believing his promises before.

“Elvis, I don’t know if I can trust you. How do I know you won’t drop me when your next manager thinks that’d be ‘what’s best for your career’?”

He winces as you throw the Colonel’s words from all those years ago back in his face. “I know I ruined any kind of trust you had in me that day, and I can’t tell you enough how goddamn sorry I am, Y/N. But I’m not askin’ for you to forgive me right now, I just want a chance to try and fix this. That’s all, I swear.”

He waits as you process his words, practically holding his breath as you think of how to reply.

“I’ll think about it,” you say softly.

He nods. “That’s all I’m askin’ for, sw— Y/N,” he fumbles to avoid using the old pet name for you.

“I think you should go now,” you say, your voice cold again to hide how the almost-pet name brought a storm of feelings rushing back..

“Right, um..” he fumbles around in his pocket, producing a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it, “Gimme a call, if you want? I’ve gotta head back to Memphis in a couple days, that’ll probably be the easiest way to reach me if you, uh, decide anything.”

“Okay,” you nod, glancing at it quickly before stuffing it in your pocket. The number was for Graceland’s house phone; a number you’d never forgotten for a second, not that you’d be telling Elvis that.

“Well, um… bye Y/N, Annie,” he nods as he moves past your roommate towards the door. He pauses, hesitating for a moment before turning back to you. “You look good, Y/N,” he says softly before heading back out into the downpour.

The “you, too” you whisper in reply is lost in the sound of rain hitting the pavement outside.

The enormity of everything that had just transpired suddenly hits you and you fall back onto the couch, tears welling up in your eyes.

Annie rushes over, concerned. You look up as she fusses over you.

“Was that… did that actually just happen?”

Annie nods, “Yeah, it did, honey. I can scarcely believe it myself.”

“Did I do the right thing?” You wring your hands, suddenly second-guessing every decision you made during the interaction with Elvis.

“I know I’ve always said that I’d punch him in his smug face if he ever showed up here after what he did to you,” Annie says, “But I see the way you look at him when he shows up on the TV, and that ain’t the look of someone who’s just angry at an ex. You’re still in love with him, honey, I know it, and I feel like a fresh start is what both of you need. I don’t mean to overstep,” she drawls, “But if I can give you some advice: just start over as friends. Don’t jump back into a relationship right away. Try to make it organic. A clean slate.”

“A clean slate,” you echo, processing her words.

You mull over what to do for a few days, worst and best-case scenarios swirling around your brain, and eventually dial Graceland. Your foot taps anxiously as you lean against the wall by the phone, listening to it ring.

“Hullo?” A raspy voice comes over the receiver.

“Hi, Elvis,” you say, trying your best to sound casual, “It’s, uh, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh, hey,” he stammers, sounding less like the confident King of Rock and Roll superstar and more like the shy little kid you’d grown up with, “Uh, how are you?”

“I’m alright.” You reply, “Look, I did some thinking about what you said and, well… I’ve got a couple questions before I decide anything.”

“Sure, yeah, what is it?”

“Well, first of all… why now?”

“Huh?”

You sigh, “It’s been over 10 years, Elvis. What made you come back now? What made you fire the Colonel after all this time?”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t very happy with the movies the Colonel was signing me up for. And then he planned this whole silly special for NBC…” he sighs, “I’ve been lost ever since I lost Mama— before that, even, when I lost—“ he cuts himself off with an awkward cough, “uh, anyway; he wasn’t helping. And I finally realized that he didn’t really care what I wanted to do. It was all about profit for him,” he says quietly. He goes on to explain hiring Binder and Bones to help with the special, to “find himself” again, and the realization he’d had that he hadn’t truly felt like himself since he’d left you.

“Hm,” is your only response at first, trying to shove down the warmth growing in your chest. “Well, um… thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome. I want you to know, Y/N… you can trust me. I know I ruined that back then, but I’d really like a chance to try and rebuild it with you if I can.”

“I think I’d like that, too.” You say after a moment of silence. “Look, Elvis, I… I don’t think it would be a good idea, if we’re gonna do this, to pick up right where we left off. We need a… a clean slate. So what if we started over as friends?” You fidget with the phone cord as you await his reply.

There are several moments of silence, and you're wondering if something happened with the call before his raspy drawl comes over the phone once more.

“I’d love to be your friend again, Y/N.”

A wave of relief floods your body, and you smile. You think for a moment before speaking again, saying hesitantly, “I’m coming up to visit for Mama’s birthday next weekend, and… maybe we could see each other then? That would be a ‘friend’ thing to do, right?”

“Yeah, I’d… I’d really like that.”

“Great, well,” you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, “I’ll just give you a call when I’m back home and we can figure everything out then?”

“Whatever works for you is fine with me,” he assures you, “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

“Me, too,” you say softly, allowing a tiny bit of the warmth you felt earlier to creep back. “I’ll see you next weekend, then.”

“See you then,” he says and with a click, the phone is back to humming a dial tone.

You’re buzzing with anticipation for the next week, not only excited to see your family but also to see Elvis.

“Y/N!” Your mother rushes out as you pull into the driveway of your family’s Memphis home, “My baby’s home!”

“Happy birthday, Mama,” you smile as she rushes up to give you a hug, squeezing you tight.

“Thank you, darlin’. Come inside, honey, come in!” she insists, grabbing your suitcase from you despite your protests.

“Honey!” she calls to your father as she leads you into your childhood home, “Look who’s finally decided to come for a visit!”

“Mama, I was just here for Easter,” you remind her as you head to the living room to greet your father. “Hi Daddy,” you smile as he pulls you in for a hug.

“Good to see you, sweetheart,” he says, “Louisiana treatin’ you well?”

You nod, “Mhm. Everyone’s real nice, and Annie’s always lookin’ out for me.”

You fill your parents in on life in Louisiana, and in return they (your mother, mostly) regale you with all the Memphis gossip you’ve missed. Apparently the young couple next door had a baby recently, another young couple in town just got married, and oh yes, Elvis came back fr—

“Mary Ann, you know I don’t like talkin’ about that boy!” your father exclaims, cutting your mother off.

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do, Walter,” your mother retorts, “It’s not as if we can pretend he doesn’t exist, not when he’s such a big part of this town…”

As you listen to your parents bicker, you decide that now might as well be as good a time as any to bring up your new friendship.

“Actually, Mama,” you interrupt their bickering, “I’m gonna try and meet up with Elvis while I’m in town this weekend…”

Your father’s expression flickers between confusion and anger at your words, while your mother’s morphs into one of delight.

“Oh honey, that’s wonderful!” She exclaims, “Though I admit, I thought you’d’ve at least called to tell us you got back together—“

“Mama!” You cut her off, heat flooding your face, “We’re not back together, I promise,” you add with a glance over to your father. “He showed up at our place last week, we had a talk, and we’re gonna try to be friends again.”

“Well I’m glad to see the two of you are startin’ over, honey,” your mother says with a smile

“I still don’t trust that boy,” your father grumbles. “Just… be careful, alright?”

You nod, “Of course, you know I always am, Daddy.”

”When were you two planning on meeting up?” your mother asks.

You shrug, “We haven’t figured out the details yet. I was gonna call him today to sort everything out.”

”Well you should invite him over for dinner while you’re in town.” your mother suggests, with just a hint of a mischievous sparkle in her eye, ignoring your father’s clear alarm at the suggestion.

You groan. “Mama, no, he really doesn’t need to come for dinner—“

”Y/N L/N, inviting a friend over for dinner is a polite thing to do,” your mother scolds, “and in this house we are always…?”

“Polite and respectful,” you mumble, repeating the words that had been drilled into you in childhood.

She nods, satisfied. ”It’s settled then. You two will have your little meetup and then he can come over for dinner that night, or the next if it suits him.”

”Yes, Mama,” you say, resigned. “I’ll go call him now.”

You make your way over to the kitchen, dialing the number you’ve had memorized for over 12 years.

“Hello?” The same raspy voice comes over the receiver.

”Hey, it’s um, it’s me. Y/N.”

”Oh, hey. Um, how are ya?”

”I’m alright. I’m back in town now, and Mama’s bein’… well, Mama, so you can imagine.” you say with a soft laugh.

”Oh, I can imagine,” he agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “How was the drive up?”

The two of you make small talk for a bit, slowly easing back into being a part of each other’s lives, and eventually you remember the reason you called. “Oh, yeah, by the way; I was calling to see if there was a day or time that worked for you as far as meeting up this weekend?”

”Oh, yeah.” You can hear some rustling on his end, and you assume he’s checking his schedule. “I’m actually free this afternoon around 1 if that works? Or tomorrow?”

You weren’t prepared to see him quite so soon, but you suppose now is better than putting it off until tomorrow. “This afternoon is perfect. You still like that diner on Beale Street, right?”

He hums an affirmative, and you smile, “Great, I’ll meet you there at 1, then.”

”I’ll see you then,” and the line clicks back to a dial tone.

You head back to the living room, entering to see your parents doing a wonderfully poor job of pretending as though they weren’t listening to your conversation. You roll your eyes.

”I assume you already heard, but Elvis and I are meeting for lunch at 1, just as friends, Mama,” you say pointedly, noting the beam on your mother’s face. “I’ll ask him about dinner then.”

Your father harrumphs, but mainly keeps silent, a firm frown on his face.

”That’s wonderful, honey,” your mother beams, “You’ve gotta get goin’ pretty soon then, huh?”

“Huh?” You glance over at the clock on the mantle and sure enough, it’s already 15 past noon and you still haven’t changed out of the outfit you wore for the 6-hour drive up to Memphis. You grab your suitcase and race to make yourself presentable, managing to change into a dress that seems nice enough for a lunch outing (but not too fancy), fix your windswept hair, and reapply your makeup in a cool 30 minutes before racing out the door.

Before you can make it out to the porch, though, your father stops you, calling your name as you’re about to step out the door. You turn, “Yes, Daddy?”

He has a solemn look on his face. “Just… be careful, darlin’. You know me, I hold grudges like no one else, and I admit I still haven’t forgiven him for what he did to you all those years ago. If you let him in, and he hurts you again somehow I… I don’t know what I’d do.”

You step back into the room and envelop him in a hug. “Thank you for looking out for me, Daddy. I’ll be careful, I promise. I’m not the same girl I was when I met him.” You add with a sad smile.

He squeezes your hand comfortingly, “I know you’ll be smart. If he does anything, you come right to me and I’ll sort him out, alright?” You nod and, satisfied, he kindly shoos you out the door with a soft “Go on, have fun.”

You pull up to the diner to find that Elvis is already there, if the deep purple Cadillac parked nearby is any indication.

He waves from a booth near the back as you enter, his bodyguards seated at a table nearby. You slide into the seat across from him, pushing down the butterflies that threaten to stir. It might’ve been a bad idea to choose the place you went on your first date, you realize belatedly, but too late now.

“How are you?” he asks with a casual smile.

“Pretty good,” you reply, “My parents have been updating me on all the Memphis gossip I’ve missed since I was away, very exciting stuff,” you say sarcastically. “Mama says hi, by the way.”

“Tell her I say hi back,” he grins.

“Will do. Uh, how are you?” You say, trying to fall back into the rhythm of talking to him.

“I’m alright. There’s this big thing I’m gonna be workin’ on soon, I’m pretty excited for it.”

“Oh, big thing?” You ask, your interest piqued.

“It’s a…” he pauses, looking around, “no one really knows about it yet, so you gotta promise not to tell anyone, alright?”

You nod, and he continues, leaning in to whisper, “You remember that special I told you about, the one that Steve and Bones are helpin’ me with? It’s gonna be a TV special for NBC. A Christmas show, kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Well, it’ll have a couple of Christmas songs, but I really want it to be about finding myself again. Gettin’ back to the real Elvis.”

“Sounds exciting,” you reply, a genuine smile coming across your face at how excited he seems.

A starstruck waitress comes to take your order, and the conversation continues.

“So,” Elvis says, “how are you doin’ in Louisiana?”

“I actually really like it there,” you reply, smiling. “Annie’s great, obviously, and I found a job at a bookstore that I really love, things are goin’ pretty well. I do have the occasional grumpy customer, but that’s just how it is.” You finish with a shrug.

“Grumpy customer? Sounds like you’ve got some stories to tell,” he says, sounding genuinely interested, and you can’t help but launch into the story of a man who was sure that Stranger in a Strange Land was in the nonfiction section no matter how many times you tried to lead him over to science fiction.

You finally fall back into a rhythm of friendly conversation, trading stories for over an hour before you finally bring up what your mother had asked.

“Oh by the way,” you say, sipping your milkshake, “Mama wanted me to invite you to dinner tomorrow night.”

Elvis nearly chokes on the fry he’s just taken a bite of. “Sorry, what?”

“I told my parents that we were meeting up and she was adamant that I at the very least invite you to come over for dinner tomorrow— you know how she is about politeness—“ you explain, “but I promise, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I completely understand, I’d be more than happy to make up an excuse for you.”

“And refuse an invitation from Mrs. L/N? It’s like you want her to kill me,” he jokes. “I’d be more than happy to come,” he says, in a more sincere tone. “Besides, friends come over for dinner right?”

“Of course,” you say, trying to reassure yourself as much as him, “and Mama’s very excited to see you, so be prepared for that.”

“I always am,” he replies with a smile.

You arrange for him to come over at 7 the next night, and the rest of lunch goes smoothly until the check arrives, which starts off a round of bickering between the two of you about who should pay.

“Please let me get this, I want this to be a start to making it up to you,” Elvis argues.

“I appreciate it but I’m perfectly capable of paying for lunch, thank you very much,” you retort, and this goes on for several minutes before the two of you eventually agree to split the check.

“It was good to see you, Y/N,” Elvis says as you exit the diner, his bodyguards dutifully on alert as they follow you out.

“You, too.” You say. “I…” I didn’t realize just how much I missed you, is what you want to say, but instead, you go with “I had a good time.”

His face lights up as if those 5 little words were all he needed to brighten his day. He steps towards the Cadillac, throwing a friendly wave to you as he calls “See you tomorrow!”

You wave back, and you don’t realize how happy you are until your cheeks start to ache from smiling on the drive home.

The next day, your mother is practically frantic, bustling around the house making sure everything is perfect for when Elvis gets here.

“Mama, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever been here! And we’re just friends, please try to remember that.”

“Alright, alright, I know, honey. I just think it’s nice that you two are spending time together again, that’s—“

The doorbell rings, and your mother jumps into action, plucking microscopic bits of lint from your dress before hurrying to the door and opening it with a polite smile.

Elvis stands on your porch, bearing a polite smile and a bouquet of lilacs. “Hello, Mrs. L/N.”

“Hello, Elvis!” Your mother beams, “It’s wonderful to see you again. And you brought Y/N flowers, how sweet!” She looks pointedly at you.

Elvis lets out a nervous laugh as he steps into the house, “Actually, Mrs. L/N, these are for you. A birthday gift.” He holds out the bouquet to her with a shy smile, looking remarkably like the shy boy he had been back in ‘51 when you first became friends.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you dear. Wasn’t that kind of him, Walter?”

“Very kind,” your father grumbles in a tone that makes it seem as though Elvis had brought a pile of mud as a gift. He nods a greeting, “Hello, Elvis. California’s treatin’ you well, I hear.”

“Uh, yes, sir, it is. Thank you.” he replies.

When your father doesn’t respond, Elvis turns his attention to you. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you reply, resisting the urge to fuss with your dress.

The awkward silence that follows is broken as your mother ushers everyone to the dining room, arranged so she and your father are at the heads of the table while you and Elvis are sitting across from one another.

The meal begins, and the conversation that follows is strained but polite, with your mother eagerly asking questions about life in California and Hollywood and Elvis answering modestly then turning the conversation back to your family, remaining the picture of a Southern gentleman. The conversation remains polite apart from your father’s not-so-subtle grumbling about Elvis running off the California, and just when you think it can’t get any worse, he decides to bring up the rumors of Elvis’s womanizing.

“So, Elvis,” your father says casually, though his eyes remain calculating, “what’s all this I hear about you and… what’s that actress’s name, Ann-Margret? Or have you moved on to someone new by now?”

You feel your face flush, and you’re sure the mortification shows on your face as you hiss for your father to stop, please.

“Oh well sir, that’s really all just the tabloids tryin’ to get their stuff to sell, there’s no truth to that at all, I promise. Ann-Margret is a good friend of mine now, though.” Elvis answers politely, unfazed as your mother quietly scolds your father.

“Walter, quit it, you’re scarin’ the boy!”

“Well good, he should be scared after what he did to my little girl!”

“Dad!” you exclaim, mortified, “We talked about this! We’re friends now, you promised you’d be polite!”

“No, it’s alright, Y/N,” Elvis assures you, briefly breaking eye contact with your father to glance over at you, “He’s just lookin’ out for you like any father would, and I respect you for that, sir.”

Your father grunts a reply, and the conversation picks up again, still polite but even more strained than before.

Elvis remains as polite as ever, even offering to take care of the dishes — “Oh I can get those plates for ya, don’t you worry Mrs. L/N” — and despite your determination for a clean slate, your mind betrays you, reminding you of how shy and overly polite he was the first few times he was over for dinner, especially after the two of you first got together. Sure, he’s gotten a little more confident, which you’ll admit is kind of attractive, but— NO.

You firmly cut off that train of thought, no matter how badly that little voice in the back of your head (the one that practically melted at the sight of him at your door with a bouquet, reminiscent of your first date) wants to keep on track. Just friends, clean slate, you remind yourself.

After the dishes are done, your mother prepares coffee for everyone and the four of you head to the living room. At one point, Elvis gets up to get a refill, and your father follows him.

Your father approaches Elvis once it’s clear that neither you nor your mother will be getting up, and corners him.

“Now Elvis, I’m gonna try to be polite, because my daughter’s told me you two are tryin’ to be friends and I respect her wishes, but I don’t trust you after what you did to her. And if I get even a hint that you’re playin’ with her feelings, well… I’m afraid that won’t end well for ya, son.”

Elvis nods quickly, “Sir I promise you, I have no intentions of playing with your daughter’s feelings. She’s very dear to me, and I swear I’d do anything to make sure she’s happy.” He says, conviction clear in his eyes.

Your father eyes Elvis for several long moments and, apparently satisfied, returns to the living room with more coffee for you and your mother.

Elvis takes a breath to compose himself — he’s forgotten how scary your father could be when he wanted to — and exits the kitchen, re-entering as you’re laughing at some comment your mother made.

You turn as he enters with a wide smile on your face, and he’s suddenly slammed back to a time where you looked at him like that every time he entered a room— when you looked at him as though he’d hung the moon and stars just for you.

Fighting the urge to rush over and kiss you senseless — that’s not something a friend would do, he reminds himself — he moves to sit in the armchair across from you, turning his attention to whatever neighbor your mother is gossiping about tonight.

The night eventually winds to a close and Elvis thanks your parents profusely for “a wonderful meal and even better company.”

Your mother waves off the compliment modestly, “Oh it was nothin’ darling. We’ll be glad to have you back anytime. Y/N, why don’t you walk our guest out while we take care of these last few things?” she says, gesturing to the coffee mugs still sitting out.

Elvis gives one last wave to your parents, wishing them well, before stepping out to the porch with you.

“Well, my parents loved you,” you tease as the two of you make your way to the pink Cadillac looking more than slightly out of place in your modest gravel driveway.

He lets out a shy laugh, “They haven’t changed a bit, that’s for sure. Your daddy’s still as protective as ever.” His tone softens as he continues, “It was nice seein’ them again. ‘Specially your mama. She’s always been better to me than I deserve.”

Acting on impulse, you lean over and squeeze his hand as you remember his own mama isn’t waiting for him at home anymore. “You’re welcome over anytime. I mean it.”

“Thank you,” he replies in a near whisper. Your hand stays clasped with his, the warmth of him tempting you closer, and his gaze drifts slowly down to your lips before the two of you snap back to yourselves and create a respectable two feet of distance between you.

“Uh, anyway,” you attempt to continue the conversation, refusing to acknowledge that moment of… whatever that was, “Are you gonna be here for a while longer?”

He shakes his head, “I’m actually gonna be leaving for California again tomorrow.” he says almost apologetically, adding with a nod to the house, “But I’ll still be able to call ya for a bit, right?”

A frown crosses your face as you remember: “I’m actually headin’ back to Louisiana tomorrow. But,” you brighten, “I can give you my number for down there if you want?”

“I’d love that,” Elvis smiles.

You rummage around in your pockets for anything you can scribble on, producing some long-forgotten shopping list and a small pen. You scrawl your phone number down and hand it to him, determinedly not noticing the sparks you feel as your fingers brush.

“I’ll call ya every night,” he says as he stuffs it in his pocket, “I’ll need ya to keep me updated on all the Louisiana gossip, hm?”

A sad smile crosses your face at the memory of the last time he’d made a promise like that. Despite all your talk of a clean slate, you can’t help but remind him, “Let’s not make promises you can’t keep, Elvis.”

You give him one last wave, wish him goodnight, and walk back inside, his pleas of “What? No, Y/N, this ain’t gonna be like that!” falling on deaf ears.

You put on a brave face for your parents the next day, joking about what a coincidence it was that both you and Elvis happened to be leaving town on the same day, but behind closed doors, you’re unable to block the memories of the last time he had promised he’d call you every night: when he went along with the Colonel on Hank Snow’s tour.

1955

“I’ll be back in time for prom, darlin’, I promise,” Elvis reassures you over the phone. “I’ll bring you a corsage, we’ll have a great time.”

“Okay,” you reply, “I’m sorry, I know I must sound silly, but I’m just really lookin’ forward to going with you.”

“That’s not silly,” he assures you with a soft laugh, “I’m lookin’ forward to it, t—“ he cuts off, and you can barely make out what sounds like a knock on the door on his end of the line. “That’ll be Scotty again, no doubt.” he groans good-naturedly. There’s some shuffling as he makes his way over, yanking the door open with a “Scotty, how many times do I have to tell ya—“

“Elvis?” you say, concerned at how he cuts off mid-sentence, “Is everything alright?”

There’s a moment of silence, after which he stammers out a response.

“I, uh… I gotta go, I’ll call ya back, darlin’, alright?”

He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before hanging up, but in the split second before it goes to a dial tone you can just make out a woman’s sultry voice over the receiver.

1968 - Present Day

He had still called after that, but not as frequently; certainly not every day like he promised. And while you forgave what happened on tour, you had never quite forgotten what him being away for a stretch of time could mean.

Still. Clean slate. Maybe this time could be different, you reasoned, though you were barely convincing yourself at this point.

You head back to Louisiana, promising your parents you’ll visit again soon and that you’ll give them a call as soon as you get home. You stumble through the door of your little house, exhausted after the 6-hour drive. Annie rushes over to hug you.

“Hey honey! Good to have ya home,” she grins, taking your suitcase from you, “I’ve got lunch for ya, you go sit down. I’ll put this in your room. And then I wanna hear all about how that li’l meetup went,” she adds with a wink, gently shoving you towards the kitchen while she heads down the hall.

You smile as you enter the kitchen to see a little card with the words “Welcome Home” in Annie’s signature scrawl next to a plate on the counter. You take a bite of the sandwich waiting for you — grilled cheese, Annie’s specialty — and finally allow yourself to relax. At that moment, Annie slides in with a mischievous grin, plopping herself down on the stool next to you.

“So…” she leads, a sparkle in her eye. “How was it?”

“It was good,” you reply, purposefully misinterpreting her question, “We took Mama out for dinner and I made her a cake—”

Annie cuts you off with a playful swat to your arm, “Not that! Elvis,” she says, dragging out the ‘s’ longer than necessary.

You roll your eyes, “Fine! It was… fine. We met up for lunch at this old diner we used to go to, we talked… Mama had me invite him over for dinner, and he brought flowers for her” you say pointedly, noticing the gleam in her eyes. “It went well, all things considered. Daddy did have some things to say, he still hasn’t quite forgiven him for what he did, but Elvis was a real gentleman the whole time. He actually went back to California today, filming somethin’ for TV, but he said he wants to keep in touch.”

“That’s great, honey!” Annie squeals, “I’m glad y’all are doin’ well.”

You give a weak smile in return. “Yeah, he said he’s gonna call every day, but…”

“Oh…” Annie’s eyes soften in understanding, recalling what you had told her about your relationship before. “Y/N, I know it might be scary, but what if it’s different this time? What if he actually keeps his promise? He’s said he wants to work on trust with you again, right? This is the perfect opportunity for him to prove to you that he’s worth trusting. And if he doesn’t,” she adds in a lighter tone, “I’ll fly out to California and sock him right in his pretty face myself.”

“I know you will,” you laugh, “but you’re right, I’ll—“

You’re cut off as the phone rings, and you lock eyes with Annie. It can’t be him already, can it? No, it’s probably your parents calling to make sure you made it home safely, you reason as you move to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N,” the heavy drawl surprises you, and you nearly miss what Elvis says next, “I’m glad I caught you, I was callin’ a bit ago and got quite a tellin’ off from Annie sayin’ that you weren’t there yet.”

At that you turn to glare at Annie, who only gives you a smug, mischievous smirk in return.

“Yeah, I just got in maybe twenty minutes ago,” you reply, the shock slowly fading into a kind of warmth as his voice washes over you.

“How was the drive?”

“Long,” you say with a laugh, “I’m glad to be home now. How’s California?”

“‘S alright,” he replies, “I just got back from finalizing some stuff with Steve for filming tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah,” you recall your conversation from a few days ago, “The Christmas special, right? Or,” you correct yourself, “the not-entirely-Christmas special.”

“Exactly,” he laughs, “I’m actually pretty excited about it.”

“That’s good,” you smile, “I hope everything goes well.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says sincerely. “But anyway, enough about me. How are you?”

“Well, Annie had one of her famous grilled cheeses waiting for me when I got here so I’d say we’re off to a pretty good start. Tomorrow’s an inventory day at work, though, not nearly as exciting as filming a special for NBC.”

He sucks in a breath in sympathy, “I remember you never liked those days. Good luck with that,” he says, “and I’ll tell ya what: I’ll make sure to tell you all about the boring parts of filming so ya don’t get too jealous, how ‘bout that?” he teases

“Sounds perfect,” you laugh.

You don’t even notice the time flying by as the conversation continues, the two of you talking about everything and nothing, and you fall into a rhythm of talking for hours every night. Slowly, the nagging fear you feel that today’s the day he won’t call starts to fade, and you look forward to your nightly chats where you fill him in on any interesting customers and he tells you about the goofs he made that day during filming.

“I’m not kiddin’, I legitimately forgot the words!” he laughs.

Your only reply is to laugh even harder at the image of him surrounded by cameras forgetting the words to Heartbreak Hotel.

“Alright, come on, it ain’t that funny,” he says in a mock-hurt tone.

“Oh, I promise it is,” you say, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye, “I might need you to send me a copy or whatever of these goofs, I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.”

“I’ll see if I can arrange that for ya…” he replies, his voice trailing off as he seemingly turns away from the receiver for some reason.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just someone at the door,” he assures you, “Gimme one second.”

There’s some shuffling as he makes his way to the door, and your surprise at the thought of him carrying the phone with him across the room turns into a sinking feeling in your stomach as you hear the squeak of a door open and the muffled sounds of a woman’s voice. Your heart sinks as the memory of that day on his tour starts to play again in your mind, a cacophony of not again, I knew this would happen, I shouldn’t have trusted him filling your ears.

“-N? Y/N, you there?” You slowly blink back to reality as Elvis calls your name over the receiver, “Everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” you reply hesitantly as he dives into an explanation about some crazy fan sneaking past security to his room. He pauses, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice.

“Y/N… you can talk to me, you know that, right? What’s wrong?” he says softly, and he sounds so genuine you want to cry.

“It’s… it’s silly…” you reply, embarrassed at the thought of telling him that that memory from all this years ago still haunts you.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d really like to know if I can help,” he replies patiently.

You sigh, and launch into an explanation of that night back in ‘55. “You just hung up on me, and the last thing I heard was some woman’s voice, and I didn’t realize how much that hurt me until I started worrying about who you were with whenever you were gone for a long time.” You explain softly, nervously fiddling with the phone cord.

“So just now, when you heard that girl at my door…” he sighs, realization dawning on him, “that brought all that back, didn’t it? I’m sorry, Y/N.” He says, and the sincerity of his words does bring tears to your eyes this time.

“I’m alright, I promise,” you reassure him, “surprised you turned her down,” you tease, wanting to move on.

“I don’t do that kinda thing anymore,” he laughs, picking up on your attempt to move to another topic, “besides, why would I stop to talk to some stranger who thinks they know everything about me when I could talk to you?”

Your heart flutters at the compliment, and you hope he can’t tell how much you’re blushing over the phone, “Aw, you’re sweet.”

There’s a moment of silence; not an awkward one, but comfortable, like the two of you don’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company, even if it’s just on the phone. The moment is cut short, however, as Elvis speaks up again.

“I was thinkin’— and you’re free to say no, of course— well, Steve’s organizing this screening of the special before it airs. Right now it’s just Steve, Bones, Dad, Jerry, and me, but I’d like you to be there, too. Maybe get an opinion from someone who’s not family or paid to be nice to me.” He jokes.

“I’d love to,” you reply, “I’ll have to see if I can get off work, but if I can I’ll absolutely be there. And don’t worry, I’ll be brutally honest about the whole thing,” you add teasingly.

“I’m countin’ on it.” He laughs, “I’ll call once Steve has the day arranged and hopefully you can make it.”

The date Steve apparently figures out is November 19, two weeks before the special is actually set to air. Elvis relays to you that he’s arranged to do the screening at Graceland, and luckily you manage to convince your boss to give you both that day and the following day off for the long drive. Your parents are delighted to see you, of course, and you just barely miss the knowing smile on your mother’s face as you gush about how well your friendship with Elvis is going. Your father has warmed up to him the slightest bit, it seems, since your visit back in June, if the fact that he doesn’t scowl at every mention of Elvis’s name is any indication.

You take a deep breath as you pull up to Graceland. You force down the surfacing memories from the last time you were here, when Elvis officially put his career before you. Clean. Slate. you forcefully remind yourself as you step up to the front door.

The door swings open barely half a second after you ring the doorbell, and you find Elvis standing there, a nervous smile on his face.

“Hey.”

There’s a moment where the two of you simply stare at each other before he blinks, as if coming back to his senses, and steps aside to let you in. “Come on in, lemme introduce you to everybody,” he says, leading you to a room with not one, not two, but three TVs mounted into the wall, as one of his household staff comes to take your coat. 4 spaces on the immense couch taking up most of the space in the room are taken, one by his father and three others by people you don’t recognize. “This is Jerry, my manager,” Elvis says, gesturing to a man in a brown suit who looked to be in his late-20s with shaggy blondish hair, “and Steve and Bones, the masterminds behind this whole thing,” he introduces the two men sitting beside Jerry with a smile, one with neat brown hair and an ascot tied around his neck, the other with dark curly hair and round glasses. The three men give you various waves and smiles.

“And of course you know my dad,” Elvis finishes, gesturing to where he’s sitting next to Bones.

“Of course, hi Mr. Presley,” you say with a smile, coming over to shake his hand.

“Good to see you again, Y/N, how’ve ya been?” he asks as you take a seat next to him.

You’re hyperaware of Elvis sitting next to you as you make small talk with everyone, carefully leaning so that there’s a bit of distance between the two of you. As the screening begins, your attention is torn between the performance onscreen and real-life Elvis making jokes in your ear about “this is actually the take right after that goof I told you about—“ Your senses are full of him: the scent of his cologne, his arm brushing against yours, the feeling of his breath on your neck as he whispers to you, and it takes more and more of your energy to actually focus on the TVs in front of you.

About half an hour into the special, you excuse yourself and wander out to the hall, needing a break from the proximity. You don’t realize Elvis followed you out until his hand gently wraps around your wrist, making you jump.

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were alright” he explains, releasing you.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “just… needed a break.”

“It was that bad?” he jokes, “Damn, I’ll have to let Steve know.”

You shake your head, “No, no, it’s not that, it’s…” You hesitate, unsure if you should say what the real reason is. Your friendship is going so well, you’re not sure how he’ll react if you admit that your feelings for him were back in full force, that in truth they never really left.

“What is it?” he asks, concern in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, deciding it’s now or never.

“I’m in love with you. I never really stopped being in love with you, if I’m being honest. But being with you these past few months, being your friend again… I’ve loved it. I’ve loved talking with you on the phone for hours about everything and nothing, seeing you talk with my parents like nothing’s changed, and I… I wanna try again. For real this time.” You bite your lip, nervously gauging his reaction.

“You— you mean that?” Elvis asks softly, eyes wide.

“Yes,” you reply, “I mean it.”

“Y/N, I’d… I’d love that. I promise,” he says sincerely, “I’ll do it right this time. I’ll be the man you deserve.” He steps closer, his lips now just a breath away from yours. “Can I—“ his eyes flick from looking into yours down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you right now.” he breathes.

You nod your consent, and he swoops down to capture your lips with his, one hand cupping your cheek while the other grips your waist, pulling you close. Your arms wind around his neck up into his hair, mussing the carefully styled locks as you savor the feeling of his lips velvet-soft against yours. He walks you backward until you’re pressed against the wall, his lips never leaving yours as his body presses against you. Eventually the need for air gets the better of you, and he reluctantly pulls away, keeping his forehead and nose pressed to yours as if he can’t bear to be any farther away. His blue eyes lock with yours as you catch your breath.

“I missed you so much,” he breathes, lips brushing against yours, and the amount of love clear in those 5 little words brings tears to your eyes.

“I missed you, too,” you reply softly, a smile spreading across your face.

The two of you stay like that for a while, pressed against the wall of the hallway, before Elvis mumbles “As much as I’d love to just stay here with you forever, we should probably get back before they notice we’re gone.”

“Oh, right,” you laugh sheepishly as you remember the reason you were there in the first place.

The two of you slip back into the TV room, your absence seemingly having gone unnoticed, and assume the spaces you had occupied before you left, with one small difference: your hand is intertwined with his throughout the rest of the screening.

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abeautylives · 22 days

Text

Times I Remember Well

(and Some That I Don’t)

Part 3

author’s note: Thank you for reading this ridiculous story. Now for the good stuff.

pairing: female!OCxjake

time frame: 2016-2018

word count: almost 7.8k this part

warnings: language, underage drinking (implied), mentions of sex and sexual situations, nudity, oral (m. and f. receiving), unprotected penetrative sex

You know how most people’s lives change pretty drastically when they move away for college?

What, were you expecting me to claim that I was different, special in some way?

I’m not.

If you’re wondering, Sam and I were fine. I guess he’d matured enough to keep speaking to me when he found out I’d almost fucked his brother. I was still immature enough to give him a classic three day long silent treatment over the whole Sam said he thought you were fucking that guy you dated thing.

I even made him agree to never bring me up to Jake again. Ever.

Anyway, my first semester of college kind of kicked my ass. I was smart enough, but I couldn’t decide on a major and it made the whole experience feel like a waste of time. I didn’t meet anyone worth much of my effort to get to know, and I spent a lot of nights alone in my dorm room. I barely even liked my roommate. Meanwhile, Sam was at home breezing through his last year of high school and preparing to actually go on tour.

Like a real tour. It was my worst nightmare. And I had to hear all about it when I came home for winter break.

But he was excited, of course he was. And I was proud of him. And Josh, and Danny. I couldn’t bring myself to have positive feelings for Jake. After he’d rejected and embarrassed me (again), I’d run off to school determined to lose my v-card to literally anyone who’d never been to Frankenmuth or heard of their band. Fortunately for me, almost no one had heard of either.

So, I did. And Matthew Nowak had been a very cursory and lazy fuck, but he got the job done. I mean, he popped the cherry or whatever, he didn’t make me come, and I never gave him another opportunity to try.

I almost didn’t even go home for Christmas, my dad had been begging me to come see him, but I knew if I didn’t go home, I might never see my best friend again.

Was that a little dramatic? Sure, but the dates for tour were going to start around my birthday, before he even graduated, and he wouldn’t be home for the entire summer. There were talks of getting signed, to a fucking label. Releasing their music to the world. Jake’s dreams were coming true and he was stealing my best fucking friend from me.

He really was an asshole.

I went back to school in the spring a little sad, nostalgic for a time when things were easy and fun, and I always had a weekend smoke sesh in the Kiszka garage to look forward to. There was nothing for me to look forward to in Ann Arbor. Until I met Soph.

Sophie and I were paired up within the first few days of one of our classes, and thank God we were. We clicked instantly, she was almost like a female version of Sam with even better hair.

She got me out of my slump, out of my dorm room and out of my own head.

As we started hanging out more outside of class, we learned about each other’s lives at home, and she let me talk endlessly about Sam. About moving away from Traverse and finding the best friend I’d ever had, growing up with him, becoming an adult at his side.

I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but eventually I ran out of stories and didn’t feel the need to talk about him much anymore.

For a few months, we worked hard and partied harder, and I felt more and more like myself, or my new self, with her help. My new self must have been putting out certain vibes that attracted attention, because I wasn’t hurting for it. Not that I really had back home, but home had narrowed my view, the Kiszkas my whole world. Even when I did date boys, Sam was there to tell me he didn’t like them, then Josh was there shining brighter than the sun, blinding me to them.

Then Jake was there. Ruining me for everyone else, just by existing.

In Ann Arbor, Soph had the opposite effect. Every guy was cute, cute enough to talk to, flirt with, party with. A select few were hot enough to make out with, let them touch our bodies, we would touch theirs. Dance with them, let them pull us close, throw our arms around them and tell them to take us somewhere quieter.

There was that one time, I’d gone back to this guy’s dorm and he’d put a playlist on shuffle. Ya know, so we wouldn’t be heard. And right before I put his dick in my mouth, fucking Highway Tune started playing.

Instant no. I left him there with a hard-on and zero promises of returning.

But anyway, Soph and I had fun every weekend, studied every weeknight. By the end of the second semester, we’d decided on my major, and made sure we would share more classes in the fall.

When summer break rolled around, we spent the first half with her family in Grand Rapids and the second, reluctantly, with my mom. Home was weird without Sam, but he was off galavanting across the U.S. Communication between us had been sparse, though he did call me once every few weeks to fill me in, and let’s be honest, brag. I didn’t mind the bragging, much, but even with how well things were going at school, I’d have given anything to drop it all and be with him.

Even if it meant tolerating Jake.

Life goes on, time keeps on slipping, the wheel in the sky keeps on turning and all that.

College was hard, but Soph and I really buttoned up in the fall. More studying, fewer boys, a little less fun, but Michigan gets cold fast and running wild all over campus didn’t hold the same appeal. We vowed to live it up in the spring, maybe settle down and get some boyfriends. Maybe not.

“Holy shit holy shit!”

We were in the library, Soph across the table from me with wide eyes, laptops, books and notes spread out between us.

“Shhh! What? What the fuck?” She leaned in conspiratorially and I turned my phone around to show her the screen.

“They’re playing in Detroit. They’re coming home!”

“Will you be quiet? Who, Sam’s band?”

That made me laugh every time. I always called it Sam’s band, because he would’ve loved it and someone else I knew would have loathed it.

They hadn’t been home in forever, they were hardly even in the states, and when they’d played the Fillmore in the spring I’d been so bogged down with new classes and so much fucking homework, I couldn’t justify leaving campus let alone the city.

But they were coming back, and I’d be on winter break. Sam had sent me their schedule, which I’d thrust into Soph’s hands.

“Aww, reunion! I wish I could go with you.” Her pouty face was unmatched, but she was going with her parents to visit family in Ohio for the holidays. For a moment, that realization made me panic. I wanted to go, needed to see my best friend, but to do it alone? Why did that make me nervous?

Maybe because I hadn’t seen him in two years. Maybe because I hadn’t seen him in more than two. I doubted I’d even get to spend much time with Sam, and I doubted further that I’d be able to get him away from the others.

Not that I wouldn’t want to hang out with Danny, or even Josh. But… well, you know.

I wondered if they were going home for the brief break between Detroit and Seattle, and I made a mental note to ask Sam.

I’d insisted on buying my own ticket to the show, their third added at the Fox after the first two sold out, but Sam wouldn’t hear of it. He set me up with a ticket and access to see them backstage, and I tried not to let it get to my head. It's not like they were famous or anything.

Selling out multiple shows.

I FaceTime’d Sophie so she could help me decide what to wear - I hadn’t put this kind of pressure on an outfit since the night I kissed… yeah, you saw how that went.

We landed on skin tight faux leather pants, an extremely low-cut black and tan floral print top with a fitted bodice and wide, flowy sleeves, and chunky black boots. I planned to top it off with a vintage fur coat Sam and I had found thrifting a few years back. We’d always joked that it originally belonged to the old lady they named their band after.

“Okayyyyy, so what about your underwear?”

I stopped spinning in front of my phone, where I’d been showing Sophie the whole get up.

“What the fuck do you mean, my underwear? Who cares?”

“Babe, it’s a rock show! What if you meet a super hot guy with like, tattoos and a tongue ring that wants to rock your world?” I watched her eyebrows waggle as she stuck her own tongue out at me.

“Yeah I don’t think that’s really their demographic.”

But… an idea started to form. Sexy underwear would make me feel sexy. Who would be irritated to see me, looking and feeling sexy, arguably hotter now than I’d ever been? Who would be downright furious to watch me get a little flirty, a little provocative with another man? Men? His brothers?

Ohhh, Jake Kiszka was gonna kill me. And it was gonna be worth it.

The ticket Sam held for me was in the front fucking row. Of the seats, behind the pit floor, but still. How embarrassing, what if I didn’t know any of the words? I didn’t really listen to their music, not since I was in high school, watching them practice or play at Fischer.

As you can imagine, I didn’t need to worry. Every, single, song was familiar. Songs that they’d written or started writing when Sam was barely fifteen. But the people around me knew them all, better than I did actually.

That was… pretty cool.

I left my seat as the guys were blowing kisses and throwing flowers into the crowd, stopped in a bathroom to check myself out, and followed Sam’s directions to make it backstage. The guys made it there before me, I could hear their excited voices from the hall as a security guard led me to their green room. We slowed as we got closer, and I stopped the guard before we reached the door, composing myself, slipping my coat off, smoothing my hair and controlling my expression.

You should've seen his face when I walked through the doorway, slow clapping and wearing my best deadpan. They all turned their heads in my direction, but his face was the one I sought out.

His cheeks were still flushed from the stage (he honestly goes crazy up there) but he immediately turned so bright pink I hoped his head would explode.

“YOU’RE HERE! Holy shit, you’re here!” Sam rushed at me and instantly my feet were off the ground, he swung me around and I couldn’t help the smile that stretched wide as I laughed with him.

“You’re sweaty! Put me down, idiot!” He dropped me to my feet and grabbed a hand, lifted it above my head and spun me in a circle.

“Look at you, you look hot, T!” His laughter cracked loud and joyous and my heart soared. He didn’t mean anything by it, of course, but he was right and I knew it.

Danny approached me next, taller and even broader than I ever remembered him being, and wrapped me up in another sweaty hug. “Good to see you, did you get tinier?” We laughed and I slapped him away. Then Josh caught my eye, arms crossed over his bare chest under an open black vest and leaning against the vanity, grinning.

I moved toward him and he met me in the middle, opened his arms and threw them around me. He didn’t make fun of me, or comment on the way I looked. Our cheeks were pressed together and he turned his face and dropped a kiss to mine. “We’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you guys too, more than you know.”

He let me go and his grin stretched into a blinding smile. “What’d you think of the show?”

“It was fucking awesome, I can’t believe you guys are like, legit rockstars! Seems like yesterday you were jamming in your garage.” Sam sidled up and threw a long arm over my shoulders.

“To be fair, we didn’t really stop jamming in the garage until last year, T.”

I knew that, I guess. But I’d missed it, and I’d missed the moment my best friend grew up. But this wasn’t the time to get weepy about that. I still had a mission to accomplish.

Turning out of Sam’s hold, I faced him. He no longer looked apoplectic, but his nostrils were flared and his arms were crossed, one hand running a finger across his chin below pursed lips. His focus was distinctly somewhere on the floor, but I walked toward him and watched his eyes connect with my boots and then travel, slowly, all the way up my body.

Get a good look, asshole.

And he did, his gaze lingered for a fraction of a second on my hips, and then again on my chest before it finally met my face.

Say something stupid, I dare you.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

My own eyes rolled in my skull. “Good to see you too, Jacob. How have you been?”

His features twisted in confusion for just a moment before he smoothed them back out. Good.

“Fantastic, living the dream, ya know. How have you been, Tiny?”

“Oh, really good!” I crossed one arm, tucking it under my tits and pushing them up while I twirled a finger through a strand of my hair with the other hand. “I’m majoring in English and Writing and aced all of my finals this past semester. Just really living my best on-campus life. Work hard, play hard and all that.”

It was so satisfying, the way he’d accidentally looked at my chest and then failed to look back at my face until I was done speaking. I swear to you my pussy fluttered when he swallowed, hard, before responding. It was that satisfying.

“That’s- ahem, that’s great. Glad to hear it. Thanks for coming by to say hi or whatever but we need to pack up our gear and head to the hotel.”

Nice try.

“Oh, cool! I’d love to come with you guys, I just miss you all so much.” His face started turning pink again before I looked over my shoulder. “Sammy! Can I come with and hang out at the hotel? Just for a little bit?” I whipped my head back, my hair swinging with it, to see his face before Sam even answered.

I wanted to see if steam came out of his ears.

“Fuck yeah! You can crash with me if you want!”

One corner of my mouth lifted and curled. “Perfect!”

I regret to inform you that no steam came out. But I think it was pretty close.

When I pulled in at the hotel, I texted Sam and he told me they were in the lobby so I flipped my visor down, checked my face and fluffed my hair. After a deep breath, I got out of the car and made my way inside.

The hotel wasn’t anything too ritzy, and I figured despite it all, they weren’t that famous. Sam still looked and sounded like the best friend I’d grown up with, though there was something about him that had become more attractive. All of them actually exuded more… sex appeal?

Ugh, musicians.

My timing was pretty good, I entered the building in time to catch them getting in the elevator, Jake being the last left in the lobby. But we caught each other’s eye and instead of walking on, he backed up a step. The doors closed and the elevator rose without him.

He stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, and waited for me to reach him. When I did, he spoke before I could.

“What are you doing here, T?”

I painted confusion on my face instead of the pure gratification I actually felt. “Visiting my friends? What are you-“

“Cut the bullshit. It’s unbecoming.”

Okay, that was a little wrinkle in my plan. I hadn’t even started shamelessly flirting with anyone yet and he was already cursing at me. I doubled down.

“I came to see them, Jake.” I pressed the button to call the elevator back down and crossed my arms.

“And what about me?”

“What about you?” Just as I glanced up, feigning more interest in the LED display of numbers as the elevator came down than this conversation, he stepped closer and gripped my arm. Pulled me closer.

It felt familiar.

“I’m not buying it. Come on.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened to an empty car, but he was already pulling me down a hall toward a stairwell door. It swung open as he shoved through it, yanked me through and pushed me ahead of him, and it slammed shut behind us.

The stairwell was silent, our breathing was amplified and bounced off the walls. His voice made me flinch.

“Third floor. Go.”

Four flights of stairs and two landings separated me from their room. That was fine, I could do it.

Except he stayed behind me the entire time and didn’t speak a word. By the time I pushed the door to the third floor open, my nerves were fried and I was still trying to discern his reasoning for taking the stairs. If he had yelled at me or pushed me to the wall and kissed me in the stairwell, it would’ve made more sense. Instead, he placed a hand low on my back and led me down a deserted hallway to room 307. I breathed a shaky sigh of relief, ready to abandon the plan completely and run to Sam, use him as a personal human shield for the rest of the night.

But he pulled a key card out of his pocket and slid it into the lock, and the heavy door opened to a dark, empty room.

Jake stepped inside and flicked on a light, holding the door open for me. I didn’t move.

“Jake, what-“

“Get in here, we need to talk.”

It sounded like a terrible idea, I hadn’t come here to talk. I came to spend time with Sam and do enough harmless flirting with the guys to drive Jake crazy.

“No. Where are the guys?”

He just stared at me for a tense few seconds before he sighed impatiently. “In Sam and Danny’s room.”

“And which room would that be, exactly? I’ll just go knock-“

“Please.”

I know, I know. Did he really have to go and ask nicely?

“Fine, you know what? You have five minutes then I’m the fuck out of here.” He had the nerve to give me a tight-lipped smile, lift his palm and wave me in as I started to pass him and head into the room. Then he let the door swing shut.

We were alone.

The room was pretty standard, two queen-size beds, a table and two chairs. Not exactly rockstar shit. I tossed my coat onto the closest bed.

“You want a drink?”

I dropped into a chair, crossed my legs and folded my hands over my knee. “No, I don’t. What did you need to talk to me about? You have four minutes.”

He pulled a White Claw out of the mini fridge, popped the tab and sat at the end of the bed closest to me. After a swig from the can, he leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees.

“Three minutes.”

“Jesus, give it a rest, T.” He pinned me with a glare and my eyes widened. “Don’t. Don’t act all affronted because you’re not getting your way, I’m sick of it.”

“I don’t know what you mean, I-“

“Stop! Tell me why you’re really here.”

“To see Sam! I told you-“

He stood from the bed, leaned across me and slammed the can onto the table. I jumped in my seat, but then he bent down and gripped the arms of the chair on either side of me. Right in my face, he ripped me to shreds.

“I’m tired of this, T. Since day one, everything has always had to be all about you, your feelings, your stupid ideas, your fucking games.”

That was ridiculous and it straightened my spine, I sat up taller and put us nose to nose, but he didn’t stop.

“How many times have you come between us and Sam? Pitted us against each other? Run away when you didn’t get your way, with one of us or all of us?”

With a huff, he pushed himself away from me but now I was ready for a fight. Launching from the chair, my body followed his. “And what about you, Jake? You spent years fucking with me, leading me on, just to humiliate me over and over again!”

“Is that really what you think?!” We were squared up now, hands flailing as we yelled in each other's faces. “I didn’t do shit, and you spent years avoiding me, making me feel awkward and unwelcome in my own house because God forbid I ever be in the presence of such a self-entitled, delicate fucking princess!”

“Oh, you fucking prick. Fuck you-“

“So eloquent, that’s really lovely Tiny.”

You already know that he said that on purpose.

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” I was fuming, the steam was probably coming out of my ears, and that pissed me off further. Everything about this was infuriating, my night completely off-railed, my time with my friends ruined. I was done.

I threw my hands up and then put them on his shoulders, with all intention to shove him out of my way and walk out of the room with some part of my dignity intact, for once.

But that’s not exactly what happened.

Because once I touched him, the tension reached a breaking point. And boy did it break.

Before I could push him away, his arms were around me, his hands spread across my back, and he pulled me in.

Yep, he was kissing me.

Our mouths slammed together and all the anger, all the fury, combusted between them.

My own hands betrayed me and shot from a grip on his shoulders to a grip in the hair at the back of his head, still slightly damp from sweat or a shower at the venue, I had no idea. And I didn’t care.

He ravaged my lips until they felt bruised, opened them with his and forced our tongues to battle for dominance, sucked the air from my lungs until I couldn’t breathe. I pulled away to drag some back in but he hardly gave me the chance, tugging me back in to kiss my lips, bite my jaw, murmuring between the attacks.

“Why are you really here…”

His hands slid up my back and sunk into my hair, pulled my head to the side so he could continue his attack on my neck, my throat.

“Say it, the truth.”

My brain was in shut down, I forgot what words were and how to make them. His teeth reminded me, scraping along my skin.

“You. For you.”

His lips closed over mine again and he was moving me, two steps backward and we turned, the back of my knees hit the bed where he’d been sitting. Our mouths broke apart, our hands fell away. The sound of our breathing, fast and uneven, thundered between us.

“I’m not gonna stop this time, T.”

My heart stumbled over its next few beats.

“I don’t want you to.”

We fell back into silence as he reached forward and slid his hands up underneath my shirt, rough fingertips pushing the fabric up over my ribs, my chest, I lifted my arms and let him pull it over my head and shook my hair out as he let it drop to the floor.

There was just enough light coming from the only one he’d flicked on, and the moonlight spilling through the uncovered window, that I saw his nostrils flare. His eyes trailed over my lace and silk covered chest before meeting mine.

“You’re so beautiful,” My breath caught, I held it. “I’ve never told you how beautiful you are.”

I couldn’t speak, emotion squeezing my throat, the words I’d always wanted to hear from him tightening every muscle in my body. So instead, I mirrored his actions and tucked my fingers under the hem of his t-shirt. Soft, heated skin met my touch and I flattened my palms over his hips, up over his stomach and I swear he trembled. Seriously! When they made it to his chest, I could feel the hard, steady beat of his heart, rapid beneath my hand.

Maybe he knew I could feel it, maybe not, but he leaned in and pulled a soft, sweet kiss from my lips before he took over and tugged the shirt over his head.

“Jake…” His chest and stomach were lightly toned and completely flawless, a glimpse of which I’d gotten when he was onstage, shirtless under an open jacket. I wanted to tell him just how perfect I thought he was, he’d always been, but the words wouldn’t come. So I bent my knees and dropped to the bed, the barely there happy trail leading up from the low waist of his pants now directly in front of my face.

I leaned forward and kissed it. A strangled noise came from above me, I smiled against his skin. Then his hand was in my hair and he pulled, forcing my face up. He smirked.

“You ever done this before?”

Asshole.

Blindly I reached for and found the button of his jeans, popped it open and worked his zipper down slowly.

“Please don’t piss me off, or I won’t be nice.”

A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Just making sure.”

His grip in my hair kept my chin tilted up, eyes locked with his. I peeled the denim over his hips and pulled it down to his knees. Heat rolled off his body in waves, I was dying to look at it, take it all in but there was fire in his stare and I was burning. My fingertips mapped out what I couldn’t see, found the subtle V that led down into his briefs and traced it before I tucked them under the elastic and rolled it down his legs.

Jake Kiszka’s cock bobbed in the air between his hips and my face. Crazy, I know. I wrapped shaky fingers around him, felt how thick and hard he was before I’d even seen it, tried to picture what I could remember from his dark bedroom.

“Fuck, T.” I tightened my grip on him, just a little, stroked him once. His eyes slid shut. “I can’t believe you’re here.” I stroked him again and his grasp on my hair loosened, my chin dropped and there it was. As perfect as the rest of him, his dick was big, the head flushed pink. My mouth watered.

For real.

In that moment, I wondered quickly what he liked, how fast, how slow, how hard? My tongue slid out and tasted him, just the very tip, and he snatched my hair up again. The sting in my scalp made my eyes water and I opened my lips and took him in, wrapped them around him and swirled my tongue over his skin. He whimpered.

I could be remembering that wrong, but I swear he did.

He wanted to take control, I could feel it in the smallest amount of pressure from his knuckles on my scalp, but I wanted to be stubborn. I was tired of the control he seemed to have over every one of our interactions. I released him with a soft pop and his eyes shot open.

“C’monnn,” he groaned. I took my hand off of his dick and pushed him back, he almost stumbled, his legs still trapped in his half-removed jeans. I stood from the bed, spun us around and reversed our positions, then pushed him by the shoulders to sit.

“Patience, Jake, patience.” I flicked the front clasp of my bra open and felt the unrestrained relief as my tits spilled out, then that flutter of satisfaction as his eyes went wide right before going soft and dreamy. What can I say, Jake’s a breast man. “Aht.” He’d reached for them, lifted his hands like he just couldn’t wait to feel them again, but they paused in midair. “I said patience.”

He huffed out a sigh and dropped them, so I continued. Made a little show out of unzipping my boots, sliding them off and peeling the skin-tight material of my pants down my legs. His fingers flexed against his thighs the entire time, clenching into fists and releasing over and over. I waited until I was left in just the lacy thong to instruct him to remove his pants.

His boots were kicked off and denim tossed away in an instant.

And there we were again. Jake, fully bared to me while we stared at each other, my tits out and pussy covered. But this wasn’t going to end the way it did two years ago.

Not if I had anything to say about it.

I dropped to my knees and his legs spread, making room for me to kneel between them. His cock jumped when I touched him, just my fingertips, up his shins and over his kneecaps before I placed my palms flat on his thighs. When I peeked up at him through my lashes, he was staring hard, jaw clenched and nostrils flared again. So I continued to trace my fingers over his skin, further up his thighs, over his hips, up and down his happy trail.

Through gritted teeth, “Baby, please.”

Baby? I was throbbing, slick between my thighs already but that hit me like lightning.

I wrapped a fist around him at the base and took him all the way to the back of my throat.

I had to.

A string of rough curses fell from his lips and a hand tangled in my hair, but I kept my composure, sucking him in and stroking with my fist, letting him sink as deep as I could without choking. His skin was hot velvet on my tongue, I could taste his desire, his need, and I couldn’t help the moan that rippled up my throat around his cock.

“Jesus fuck.” His hips jerked, I gagged around him, he fisted the hair at the back of my head and yanked me off of him. “Get up here.”

Remember how I wanted to maintain the control here? Yeah, I failed.

He used his grip on my head to bring my lips to his, his tongue sweeping in to dance with mine immediately, his hands moving down my body to pull me up and into his lap. I threw my arms around him and rocked into it instantly, his roving hands landing on my ass and pulling me in, his dick rock hard and slick with my spit grinding against my silk-covered pussy.

Just like that, I lost control of my insolent mouth too.

The kiss broke and I rested my forehead on his, my eyes trained on what was happening between our hips. “God… I-“ The head of his cock caught on my clit, I gasped at the feeling. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Embarrassing, I know. But then… ohh then.

His hands skimmed up my ribs until they were cupping my breasts, thumbs grazing over my nipples.

“I’ve wanted you longer, T. Forever.”

Goosebumps. Literal goosebumps ran up my arms, I shivered, my nipples tightened, and he pulled one into his mouth. He sucked and lapped at it, thumb still moving over the other, and without hesitation he sunk his teeth in.

“Fuck yes, yes yes…”

His tongue circled it again and he released it, pressed a hot and fast kiss to my mouth.

“You still like that, huh?” He chuckled as he opened his lips over the other side. The silk between my legs was soaked, I could feel how easily I was sliding over his cock, and I was getting impatient despite the way I’d reprimanded him hardly ten minutes ago.

“Jake, please…”

He popped off of my nipple and pulled another kiss from my lips, then leaned back and let one corner of his mouth curl up, self-satisfied and cocky.

Still an asshole.

“Please what, baby? Tell me.”

My eyes rolled, even as he tucked his face into the crook of my neck, nipped and licked me there.

“I want you inside, please fuck me.” Self-control, out the window.

“Mmm,” he hummed into my skin, “No.”

Before I could be properly offended, and believe me, I was, he gripped my thighs and hauled me up, then deposited me onto the mattress. Well, tossed me, really. I bounced once, arms and legs flailing, hair falling in my face. By the time I pushed it away and propped myself up on my elbows, he was standing at the foot of the bed, dick in his fist. I opened my mouth to speak, to yell at him or beg him to stick it in, I don’t know, but he was stroking himself, and he moaned. My mouth snapped shut.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” I scoffed, offended, pissed even. “Yet.” He let himself go and placed his hands on the mattress, then climbed onto the edge of the bed and started crawling towards me.

It was so fucking hot. His cheeks were flushed, his hair wild from my hands, his eyes dark. I backed away, moving up the bed until my shoulders met the headboard. He didn’t stop coming, and I didn’t want him to. Instinctively, my knees bent and my legs fell open, inviting him in. But he didn’t settle there, when his hands reached me, he grabbed me by the calf and threw my leg over his shoulder on his way down.

His mouth opened over damp silk and I cried out, his name or God’s, I’m not sure, but his lips and tongue were moving against me and I may have blacked out. I came to when one of his hands skimmed up my inner thigh, and he broke away long enough to slip two fingers under the material and tug it aside.

Jake Kiszka’s tongue was on my actual, bare pussy.

My shoulders sagged against the headboard as I reached for him, burying my fingers in his already tangled and unruly hair, our eyes met and he dragged his tongue over me again and again.

“Shit, you were right, this is better,” I panted. He smiled against my cunt and I felt it. I smiled too.

My cheeks hurt I was smiling so hard, until he laser-focused his attention to my clit. His lips wrapped around it and he sucked it past them, my jaw dropped.

“Oh, oh my God, oh my God!” He was good at this. Too good. The beginnings of an orgasm were already swirling, tightening in my belly, making my toes tingle. The tip of his tongue moving against me until he opened his mouth over me again, and I felt it plunge inside me. The sounds I was making were unholy but I had no shame, I couldn’t feel anything other than need. I needed to scream, I needed to come, I needed him.

He brought a hand up around my thigh and ran his thumb over my folds, licking himself as he lapped at me, then swirled it over my clit as his tongue fucked me. Before I could even moan, two fingers from his other hand replaced his tongue inside me.

“Jake!”

His head tilted and he pressed his lips against my thigh, kissed it and grinned. “Yes?” Fingers everywhere, filling me and fucking me, circling the most sensitive part of me - I forgot what I wanted to say, if I had even wanted to. Instead I pulled his mouth back, he slid his thumb away and flicked his tongue against me.

“Yessss, yes just like that, please!” I let my eyes close and stars were already dancing behind my lids, I was close, so close, and I told him so. I moaned it and his fingers plunged deep and curled. I screamed it and he sucked my clit back into his mouth.

I came hard, nails dug into his scalp, bucking my hips against his face, screaming his name.

It was unreal. College guys had nothing, fucking nothing, on him.

Before my muscles had even relaxed, he lifted his head from between my thighs and moved up my body, his fingers still pumping slowly inside me as he kissed my hip, my stomach, my breast on his way up to my mouth. He tasted like me when my tongue touched his, and he eased his fingers from my body.

“Absolutely fucking stunning, breathtaking.”

His breath was taken? I still couldn’t breathe, my chest continued to heave as he left the bed, taking my panties down my legs with him, and I could barely lift my head to see what he was doing. My eyes closed and I felt the mattress dip with his weight as he returned and settled on his heels between my legs, still splayed open. I cracked an eyelid and found him watching me, wrapped condom held between his fingers.

Under his gaze, I shifted down until my head rested on the pillows, spreading my legs wider, pussy presented to him on a silver fucking platter.

This was happening. There was absolutely no way this was not happening. Not this time.

“Now, Jake.” Unrecognizable, my voice had a distinct sex kitten-like quality that I loved as soon as it hit my ears. He must have loved it too, because his dick twitched and he gripped it. I reached up and snatched the condom from his fingers, tore it open and started rolling it on while his eyes bugged out and his jaw fell slack.

“Jesus, not your first time, huh?” My hand replaced his around him and I stroked, he leaned over me and I guided the head to my center, moved it through the slick pool of arousal there. He paused, poised to enter me, and met my eyes.

“I’m pretty much out of firsts, Jake.”

His eyes closed, his hips rocked forward, and he pushed just past my opening, the tip not even fully inside me.

I tilted my own hips up, he slipped a fraction of an inch deeper. I whispered, and it was sexy, and seductive. “It could’ve been you.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, opened his eyes and we watched each other’s faces as he sunk deeper, slowly, to the hilt. “It should’ve been me.”

Stunned, speechless, we stayed like that. Unmoving, bodies connected, eyes locked. He broke first, dropping his lips to mine and rocking into me softly. A sound I’d never heard before, quieter than a moan, crept up his throat, trapped behind his lips as they caressed mine. My legs lifted, cradling him between my thighs and wrapping around him.

It was gentle, sweet. The exact opposite of how I knew it would’ve been, if I’d let him be my first, thinking he wasn’t.

I felt my cheeks warm, my eyes pool with tears. I blinked them away. This was everything I’d wanted and more. I knew I’d been an idiot to think otherwise. Especially when he pulled back and delivered a quick, deep thrust and there was no pain. Only pleasure bloomed inside me, hot and volatile.

“Again, more…”

An excellent listener, he repeated it. Again, again, and I met each thrust with my own. Our kiss turned frantic, sloppy, lips and tongues clashing and pushing, pulling and taking. The temperature in the room was rising with the heat of our skin, our bodies slipping against each other. He lifted his chest from mine, hands braced on the pillows on either side of my head, and the conditioned air on our damp skin made us both groan in ecstasy.

I damn near came again, almost commented on it but he dropped back down and shoved an arm between me and the mattress, rolled us both. We laughed as we landed, his hair strewn across the pillow and mine falling in his face. My laughter stuck in my throat when he grabbed onto my thighs and pulled, tucking my knees against his hips and forcing me to sit. I propped myself up with my hands on his chest and fell back into the rhythm, my hips rolling.

“Goddamn, you feel so good, look so good riding me.”

My head fell back as his words rippled through me, his fingertips digging into me, his hands moving my body over his. He brought one to my chest, squeezed me roughly, rolled my nipple with his fingers, pinched it. Hard.

“Yes!” He did the same to the other, my pussy clenched around him.

“You like when it hurts a little, don’t you?”

“I- I don’t know, I guess so- ohhh!” He wrapped a hand around each tit and sunk his fingertips into my flesh, then kneaded them both, ran the pads of his thumbs over the peaks.

“Fuck, that’s so hot. You’re fucking perfect.”

Yeah, I lost my mind a little bit. My hips bucked wildly in his lap. Perfect? Me? My nails pressed into his skin, I dragged them down his chest, reveling in the sharp hiss sucked between his teeth, the way his own hips lifted from the bed and he fucked into me. Sharp, fast thrusts hitting me so deep I was screaming his name. He sat up and pulled my face to his, kissed me hard, bit down on my bottom lip, and then tipped me backwards.

My head was nearly hanging off the end of the bed, but really, who cares? My ankles locked behind his back and he was slamming his hips into the back of my thighs.

Fuck, was I gonna come? He had to be close. I lifted my head, now very much hanging off the bed, to ask him.

Beep. Click.

His hips stuttered and paused, we both whipped our heads to the door, which was fucking opening.

Josh appeared, his foot crossed the threshold and he was looking down at his phone.

“GET OUT!!” We yelled in unison. Josh’s head popped up, his eyes went huge, and then he laughed.

“Shit, sorry guys.” He started backing out into the hall, the door creaking closed. “About time,” We heard him chuckling to himself and the door clicked behind him.

Jake turned his face back to me and seemed to realize for the first time that I was barely on the mattress. An arm wrapped around my back and he shifted us until I could look him in the eyes.

“What the fuck…” I whispered up at him.

His smile was subtle and affectionate before it stretched to a full grin, and he huffed a laugh.

“There was no fucking way I was stopping.”

I matched his grin and lifted to pull a kiss from his lips. “Good.”

He tucked his face into my neck and began the roll of his body into mine again. I let my hands roam across his back as he kissed and nipped my skin and his thrusts picked up speed. The orgasm that had been teasing me before we were interrupted built again quickly, and Jake was panting in my ear.

But then… then. A whisper. Low and deep, but a whisper nonetheless.

My name, my real name, hit my ear and I gasped, right on the edge.

“Come for me. Please come for me.”

How could I say no?

It broke, crashed, consumed me. His name on my lips as I tightened, writhed, and shook for him.

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, he chased after me and followed into the flames. My name burned into my flesh by his kisses, a guttural groan as he came inside me.

Easily the best orgasm I’d ever had. Easily.

Because he’s just a man, albeit an incredibly hot, multiple-orgasm-inducing man, he collapsed on top of me. I let him. I ran my hands over his sweat-dampened hair and the soft skin of his back and we both caught our breath. Then he started giggling.

I pinched his ass. “What’s so funny, Kiszka?”

His head popped up and he propped himself on an elbow, a wide grin splitting his face in half, gorgeous. “I can’t believe we waited so long to do that, that might’ve been the best sex I’ve ever had.”

We both laughed as I slapped his chest. “Might be?!”

“Okay okay, you’re right.” He looked at me dreamily, his eyes bouncing around my face. “It was the best.”

Because I’m a woman, albeit a mind-blowing sex goddess, I started overthinking. I couldn’t help it! You should’ve seen the way he was looking at me.

“Jake…” He lifted his eyebrows, I lifted a hand to his face, tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “What does this mean?”

Those eyebrows knitted together, a quick moment to think that over. Then he kissed me, soft and slow.

“I don’t know what it means. But I do know this hotel has free breakfast downstairs, so be up and ready by nine.” His smile stretched again, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oooh, do you think they have French toast? That’s Sam’s favorite.”

He attacked me, tickled me until I had tears in my eyes, kissed me until I was breathless, and fell asleep with his arms around me.

The truth is, I don’t remember the exact moment I fell utterly, completely in love with Jake Kiszka. Maybe you should ask him.

#greta van fleet #gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #gvf fic #greta van fleet smut #gvf smut #jake kiszka #jake gvf #greta van fleet fanfiction #jake kiszka fan fiction #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut

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kaidynsarell · 6 months

Text

Unpopular Opinion time: Sebastian

* Also Spoilers!*

And TW: long, rambling, possibly incoherent thoughts. Because there are too many of them in my brain 😅

Okay, maybe it’s not actually an unpopular opinion. Im not actually sure. Buuuut….

I absolutely love that Sebastian gets SO mad when we tell him about Lodgok.

Now, before anyone says anything….

I have reasons.

1. His reaction 100% makes sense for his character. I’m not saying his views aren’t problematic. They definitely are. Boy needs some lessons. But we also have to remember literally every interaction we have seen or heard of Sebastian having with a goblin has been completely negative. Goblins cursed Anne (It was Rookwood, but Seb doesn’t know that), Sebastian and MC are attacked by goblins multiple times, Goblins raid Feldcroft and nearby hamlets, AND a Goblin tries to kill Anne with an Axe in front of Sebastian. For him to have reacted to MC working with a Goblin in any other way would have felt disingenuous.

2. You could argue that he’s only angry because he cares about Anne, but I think you could also argue that In his own dumb 15-year-old boy way, he’s worried about MC, too. As stated previously, every interaction he’s had with Goblins has been negative. This kid is stressed to the nines, and now his new friend (MC) is galavanting off with some Goblin. Of course, he’s going to react negatively. In Sebastian’s mind, we’re doing something stupid and dangerous, and he’s scared. His reaction is definitely painful, but it’s also human. People don’t always react appropriately or how we’d like them too in those situations. Plus, like I said….. He’s a dumb boy

3. Let’s also not forget that since losing his parents. Sebastian has been taught, (via Solomon’s example) to react to things he fears/doesn’t understand with anger and hostility. Which is exactly what he does.

Look,I’m not saying I don’t want to drop kick him sometimes.

But…there’s just a special little place in my heart for our moody angsty little Seb. 💚🐍

*also if you actually made it through that. Thank You and I’m sorry. I hope your brain is okay after that….😬

#I love moody seb #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy sebastian #not my art #anne sallow #ominis gaunt #moody Sebastian #hogwarts legacy sebastian sallow #angst #angsty Sebastian sallow #Sebby #avada kedavra #too many thoughts #what even is my brain

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1-800-c0sm1c · 1 year

Note

Hey!! Sorry if I’m doing this wrong I am new to this kinda stuff but do u mind writing headcanons on how the p5 phantom thief boys would take care of the reader when they’re on their period? If not it’s fine!

꒰baby im yours !꒱

p5 boys when their s/o is on their period headcannons !

character x afab!reader

includes joker, ryuji, yusuke, and akechi !

warnings : mentions of periods, obviously lol

a/n : its shark week for yours truly so i thought now is the best time to write this :D i wasnt sure what gendered reader you wanted, so i just decided to leave it as afab, hope thats alright :))

JOKER // REN AMAMIYA

maybe this is biased, but i feel out of everyone on this list hes the most prepared.

like, hes not overbearing but he knows just enough to spare you both any awkward conversations.

he doesnt have any feminine products in his bathroom since its technically shared with leblanc customers and he doesnt want to embarrass you or anyone else, but you know theres always a few of whatever you need in his school bag or his dresser!

hes a very calm person, which can be very relieving, especially when you accidentally bleed on something.

you both were hanging out one day after school, and when you got up off of his bed to go make some food, you noticed a red spot on the sheets.

you were internally freaking out, trying to figure out what to do knowing how some guys tend to find it gross, while ren literally just comments "dont worry about it, i needed motivation to do laundry anyways." and asks if you need anything.

you feel like youve just been given whiplash, no way thats it, hes so cool with it?

he even gives you a pair of his boxers and sweatpants since you bled through your clothes, and when you come out of the bathroom hes got a steaming hot cup of coffee and some chocolates on the counter all ready for you. <3

SKULL // RYUJI SAKAMOTO

confused, embarrassed, and a little bit (a lot) dramatic. he tries to act like its not a big deal, but in reality he doesnt really know anything about periods, and hes convinced youre secretly in a lot of pain. (which i mean, you could be depending on cramps… but you get what i mean.)

hes horribly uneducated on this topic, and definitely the worst person to be stuck with when you start.

hes calling ann asking her to explain what to do with the reddest face youve ever seen. 🧍

ryuji definitely thought it was a little gross at first too, but once he understood it was just a normal thing your body did he felt more okay about it.

hes trying super hard to be a good boyfriend, but hes stuttering over his questions. barely able to ask you if he needs to get you anything.

i swear his eyes almost popped out of his head when you said all you wanted was for him to shut up and cuddle with you. 💀💀

he tries to be there for you as much as possible, but if you tend to get more angry, just note that hell try to stay away a bit.

he has issues keeping his temper under control, even when it comes to you, and he doesnt want to start any unnecessary arguments.

at the end of the day, communication is key when it comes to you guys relationship, he just wants whats best for both of you!

FOX // YUSUKE KITAGAWA

yusuke has probably never felt the touch of another human being before you so hes very… confused to say the least.

what do you mean youre bleeding? and its normal? this happens monthly? his mind is blown.

i dont see him being weird in the way he wants to use your period as inspiration for a painting, but weird in the way that hell track it.

maybe this just a personal thing who finds it weird when a guy wants to track when your on your cycle, but it seems right up yusukes alley 😭.

hes a little strange, and he just wants to help! but he also doesnt really know what hes doing, so his presence can be a bit overwhelming.

gets pouty when you end up snapping at him, but once you explain why hes a lot more aware of how much hes bothering you.

hes also willing to get you whatever you need, as long as youre buying.

one time you had asked him to get you pads/tampons, and he called you 30 minutes later saying that he didnt have any money…

however, unlike someone else on this list, hes not embarrassed about it. more so genuinely curious, as he loves learning about you and he thinks its important to know how your body works!

hell probably draw you something nice as well if it makes you feel better. :)

CROW // GORO AKECHI

oh boy, akechi sure is a character. and i think with him it depends.

usually though hes just a pretty average guy. hes not stupid, but he also isnt the best at understanding your emotions, or his own, for that matter.

youre in public, akechi talking to one of the tv hosts after hes finished appearing on a show, and you gently tug on his jacket to let him know you started your period, and need the restroom.

hes conflicted, whats supposed to come first, you or his reputation? when it comes to him, he makes any simple situation way more complicated in his head.

he makes an eternal sacrifice to shoo away the people talking to him, and he quickly takes off his jacket to wrap it around your waist. you both find a bathroom nearby and he paitently waits for you outside.

when you walk out, he offers to pick up whatever you may need (including some food) and take you home.

at your front door, he kisses your cheek, but cant help but noticed the nervous expression on your face.

its only then when you mention that akechis jacket is, in fact, a light color, and is most definitely stained now with bright red blood. his face goes blank, and youre worried for a second he might be mad.

he only shrugs at that, same detective prince smile as always, and jokes that youre paying for his dry cleaning.

#✧;;↬ my work.❞┊🍓#✧;;↬ baton pass.❞┊🪄#✧;;↬ 1 more.❞┊🎭#persona 5 #persona 5 x reader #shin megami tensai persona #persona #joker x reader #ryuji sakamoto x reader #joker x you #ryuji sakamoto x you #yusuke kitagawa x reader #yusuke kitagawa x you #goro akechi x reader #goro akechi x you #fox persona 5 #skull persona 5 #crow persona 5 #joker persona 5

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strawberrysands · 8 months

Text

Secret Love - Spencer Reid pt.1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 1,5k exactly lol

Warnings: Ususal criminal minds gore, talk of anxiety and panic attack

Summary of whole series: Reader joined the BAU not because she wanted to, but because she was forced to. For the sake of her younger brother, she has to lie to the best profilers in the world. How long can she keep this up?

If you ever need someone to talk to, feel free to do so with me. My dm's are always open :)

“We have a case." Hotch announced over the bullpen.

About a month ago, you had joined the BAU. And that month had been one of the most incredible ones of your life. If you could forget the fact that your little brother's life was on the line if you didn't do what was expected of you.

Before the FBI, you had worked at the CIA for roughly seven years at the department against sex crimes. Your supervisor, a woman named Anne Miller, had for some reason a huge interest in the BAU. She wanted to know EVERYTHING about everyone who worked there. Because you worked in your department the longest, she knew you and how to manipulate you the best.

"I have an offer." She had said about two months ago.

"An offer?" You had inquired, not sure where it would go.

"Come with me." Anne had guided you to an interrogation room, locking the door behind you.

"You're getting a transfer. To the FBI." She had stated. You had looked at her sheepishly, confused as to why the hell you got a transfer without you or anyone else requesting it.

"Why?" You had wanted to know.

"You don't ask questions." She had said sternly, suddenly being a completely different person than the woman you had gotten to know. Now it really seemed like she was interrogating you.

"You're going to the BAU." She had continued, "And you're going to find out EVERYTHING about everyone there. I want to know where they live, what their favorite food is, everything. Most importantly, I want you to get into Aaron Hotchner's life. His wife was killed not too long ago, and there are still suspicions around Hotchner killing Foyet. I want you to get to the bottom of it."

"Why would I do that?" You had said, not caring about what she said before. Then, something happened that you never could have imagined. Anne Miller, a gentle and caring woman, or so she seemed, slapped you right across the face.

"Was I not clear?" She'd hissed while you held your cheek in shock. "You don't ask questions. Besides, this little guy's life is on the line. Is that no reason enough?"

She had slid you a picture of you and your little brother, Tommy. You couldn't help it; a single tear slid down your face.

"What?" You had whispered, astonished. "Please, don't hurt him." You pleaded with her.

"I won't." She had said coldly. "As long as you do exactly as I say."

"Why are you doing this? What happened to you?" Your voice trembled, daring to ask a question.

"The 'why' is none of your business. Now, you transfer in a month to Virginia. I'd say, spend your free time with Tommy. Virginia is a long way from Georgia, and if you don't do as I asked, well..." She ripped the picture in half, sending a clear enough message of what would happen.

You got up from your desk and headed to the conference room where Garcia had already put up pictures of the bodies.

"3 women were found dead in Atlanta, Georgia." Garcia started.

"Looks like just any murder to me. Why'd they call in the BAU?" Derek asked.

"Because," Garcia continued, turning away from the board, and clicking her remote, "they were missing their eyes."

Even though the pictures were horrifying, there was some sort of order to it.

"Looks like the eyes are surgically removed, not just ripped out." You remarked.

"So does he have anatomical knowledge?" Prentiss wondered out loud.

"You know, 'no eyes' represents privacy, anonymity, and visual censorship. It suggests the idea that one can remain hidden or unidentified." Reid said, making you smile at his wits.

"So, he wants his victims to remain unidentified?" Rossi wondered.

"Or more literally; he just doesn't want his victims to see." JJ remarked.

"See what? Getting killed? Most sexual sadists get off on the victim witnessing their torture." You countered, and now it was Reid's turn to be impressed.

"Or he felt remorse. Maybe he took their eyes out after the kill because they saw their torture." Morgan added.

"There isn't really any sign of torture other than their eyes though..." Prentiss stated the obvious.

"Alright, looks like we're going to Georgia. Wheels up in thirty." Hotch said.

"You ready?" Derek asked you back at the bullpen.

"For what?" You asked, confused.

"Your first case."

You frowned. "This isn't the first case I've done since I'm here."

"Yeah sure, but it's the first one out of state. You know, with the jet and all."

You smiled. "Yeah, I'm not a bad flyer." That was a straight lie through your teeth. You hated flying; you were terrified of it.

"Good. It can get bumpy sometimes." Morgan said with a toothy grin.

You chuckled uncomfortably and noticed Reid frown at you, and he came towards you.

"It's okay to not like flying, you know." He said with a comforting smile.

"Oh, I know. I get nauseous sometimes, that's all." You said, and he seemed to believe your lie.

"I'm sure you'll be fine." He said, placing a hand on your lower back for a few seconds before leaving to get his go-bag.

You stood there frozen for a few seconds with a giddy smile on your face. The place his hand had been just a few seconds earlier felt like it was on fire.

What you didn't notice however, was JJ and Emily stood a few meters away, grinning stupidly at the little interaction.

On the way to the plane though, you couldn't help but let one of your nervous ticks shine through. Your leg started bouncing in the car, no matter how hard you tried to stop it.

Spencer noticed since he was sitting right next to you and placed his hand on your thigh.

"You okay?" He whispered, and your leg immediately stilled. The warmth of his hand was enough to make your insides melt.

You shrugged. "Of course."

He gave your thigh one last squeeze before retracting his hand, almost making you pout.

"Alright Garcia, what do you have?" JJ asked through the webcam on the plane. You felt uneasy and tried to focus on the case to make it go away.

"The three women were all from central Atlanta, all in their 30s to 40s, and all married. They also had at least one child each." Garcia said.

"So, marriage and children are the only similarity? Nothing in their jobs, hobbies...?" Rossi wondered.

"Well, apart from their similar looks, nada nopes, my loves." She replied.

"Alright. JJ, I want you and Dave to come with me to set up at the field office in Atlanta." Hotch announced. "Prentiss and Morgan, I want you to go to the crime scene. Reid, you, and Y/l/n go to the coroner. See if there's anything they missed."

Everyone agreed to their jobs and settled in to try and get some rest before the plane landed. You, however, felt your flight anxiety bubble up again.

"I'm going to the bathroom." You announced, wobbly on your feet. You don't quite remember walking to the bathroom; suddenly you were sat on the floor of the bathroom breathing heavily. Everything suddenly just came down on you; the stupid plane, the case, and most of all, the danger your brother was in. Tears started sliding down your face as you covered your mouth with your hands to minimize the sounds you were making.

"Y/n?" You heard softly outside the door. Spencer. Fuck. What the hell were you supposed to do? You couldn't focus anymore; the walls were closing in on you. Suddenly, you saw Spencer's face in front of you. You saw his lips move but couldn't make out what he was saying. All you knew was that you were gasping for air and that it didn't seem to come to you.

"Breathe, y/n, breathe. You're okay. I've got you." He kept saying.

"In through your nose, out through your mouth. Wanna do it together?" He offered. And as stupid as it may have looked, you nodded and did the breathing exercise with him. Slowly, your vision started to turn normal again and you could see Spencer in front of you. His caramel eyes had something soothing.

"There you go. Welcome back." He said kindly. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

"Yeah." You breathed, letting out a sob.

He took your hands in his and slowly started rubbing circles with his fingers.

"Wanna talk about it?" He offered, but you immediately shook your head.

"That's okay." He smiled. "Don't worry about the team. They don't know what's going on." You sighed, another worry less. You wiped your tears of your face and hoped you looked half decent.

"Do I look okay to go back?" You asked.

"You look perfect." He said smoothly and your heart fluttered.

"Come on." He stood up and offered you his hand to pull you up. "We're about to land."

#fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader

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amuseoffyre · 7 months

Text

Having some thoughts about Ed's final and destructive reaction to everything in episode 10 and seeing how the seeds of that destruction have been scattered from episode 3, all the way through.

We know he's bored and struggling with it and that Izzy has basically been keeping the Queen Anne running in his stead when the crew are questioning things. Ed never deals with those confrontations because he has Izzy as his buffer. Izzy says it himself - even when Ed is at his most unstable and erratic, Izzy has kept the crew in check for him. "I need you here", Ed says, because he relies on Izzy to keep things operating.

Then we move onto the way he tries to fit into a different station and class and Stede is there to back him up, but the minute Stede leaves him unaccompanied, things go wrong. Stede being absent from the table is even highlighted as we see Ed's anxiety about the cutlery rising. And more importantly, Ed isn't present when Stede does demolish the aristocrats. He comes in to find the ship burning and Stede laughing and has no idea how he did it. Stede used the weapons of that world and wrecked them, which defininitely plants the seeds that Stede is more part of that world that Ed can never understand.

And when things begin to turn sour, it's at the hand of someone he trusts and considers a friend. Calico Jack takes his surprise at the betrayal as a joke, laughing in his face, and telling him "we're all just at various stages of fucking each other over".

This is the important thing - Ed explicitly put his trust and reliance on three people in the course of the show. He trusted in Izzy to watch his back, both pre-show-canon and after he returns from the Academy and is in a spiral of depression. He trusted Stede to be beside him because he said they were friends. He trusted Jack, because why wouldn't you trust the crewmate who saved your life?

Jack is the first one to knock that certainty sideways. Ed seems genuinely shocked and wounded by the fact he's been double-crossed and tricked by someone he considered a friend. At this point, he doesn't see this fully as Izzy's betrayal, because Izzy was targeting Stede and not Ed.

Immediately, he goes back to Stede, the person who said he was his friend. He even gets arrested - under threat of death - and signs his life away for this friend. Despite the old school chum of his friend saying "he's from my world, not yours", Stede is still there with him. And then, when he thinks he's got this all sorted out, when he's put his heart out on his sleeve, he gets to the dock and someone else has betrayed him and left him on his own again. He's from that world, he remembers. Not yours. We're just not those kind of people.

So he returns to the ship alone and asks for the person who he knows he can rely on, the person who has stood by him for years and who he can trust implicitly. And at first, Izzy does as he's always done: he keeps Ed's real condition from the crew. But there's a secondary motive for Izzy too: he always said he was honoured to work for the Legendary Blackbeard. He's there for the image that has kept them all alive this long and even when he sends Lucius in, he warns him he's not allowed to talk about what he sees "on pain of death".

But Lucius does what Lucius does and encourages Ed to come out, express himself and share his feelings and that is when Izzy's fraying nerves shred to bits. And he has no idea of exactly how catastrophic the repercussions will be when he takes that last shaky support Ed has depended on and kicks it out from under him.

"You said above all else is loyalty to my Captain" has become "I should have let the English kill you."

What he is, what he is allowing himself to be, is not enough. It wasn't enough to stop Jack. It wasn't enough to stop Stede. And now Izzy, the one person who had been there beside him for years, is pleased to see him show anger and violence, tells him "Edward better watch his fucking step".

Every person he has counted on and trusted and been vulnerable with has let him down in rapid succession. The only people left who have seen him that way are the crew and the "Come on Eddie, give us another song" was the death blow.

They're cheering him now. They're clapping and saying his name and telling him how cool and brilliant he is, but he's learned a lesson. He's learned it from the people who treated him like a rockstar and then turned on him and laughed in his face only hours later. He's learned it from the people he considered his friends and most trusted allies.

Any one of them might turn on him. Any one of them might turn him into a mockery and a joke and humiliate him. Any one of them might trick him the way Jack did. Any one of them might betray him the way Stede did. Any one of them might threaten him the way Izzy did.

And so, the Kraken rises. The part of himself that kills before it can be killed. That hurts others before it can be hurt. That will close itself from everyone and be so terrible and monstrous, no one will ever get close enough to hurt him again.

#ofmd meta #ofmd s2 #ofmd thinkie thoughts #ofmd #edward teach #blackbeard #the kraken

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sysakiddo · 4 days

Text

we are SO BACK baby. is Sebchal alive?? Have I succeeded in the CPR?

ao3(with some notes), 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Before lunch, Max is trying to catch up on the lost sleep in the lounge chair. Daniel is swimming with long, strong strokes that smoothly break the water’s surface and barely make any sound. When he dives up and sees Max, planes of milky skin on show, his mouth waters. Max's nose had already started to turn red, and his sunglasses were doing nothing to hide that.

Max thinks about joining him for a split second, but last night's dream still lives at the back of his head. He breathes in the smell of chlorine, and another memory flashes, him trying to resurface, legs and arms tied, lungs on fire from the lack of oxygen.

“Cover your tits, Max!” Charles yells across the terrace, framing his mouth with his hands so he's louder. Max doesn't even stir.

Anne is sitting on a chair, typing away on her computer. Her phone rings and she starts chattering in quick Dutch, something Daniel doesn't even try to decipher. Max, however, sits up when she hangs up.

“He gave you an E?” he asks, his voice scratchy.

Anne blushes and nods once. She picks up the drink Charles has poured for her but doesn't drink it. “I guess he didn't really-”

“Well, that's bullshit. You told me what you would write about and made some great points.” Max stands up, and the shadow from his figure stretches all the way to Daniel.

Anne sighs and lets Max sit down on the chair next to her. “It's not that bad, Max. He did have some valid criticism-”

“Honestly, fuck him.” His shoulders are hunched, and his lips are forming a thin line. Daniel's stomach tightens at seeing him like this.

“I need to try harder. My classmates-”

Max scoffs. “It's just that, you know, they are all so-” she continues, her voice wobbly now. “I feel like I need to do three times more just to be able to play with them at the sandpit.”

It always felt stupid to Max to talk to her about the glass ceiling and feminism when he was a white man from a wealthy family. After all, the only other woman here was Pierre's girlfriend. She still hasn't introduced herself to them.

“Maybe we should introduce her to Mlinarević.” Charles quips beside them and rolls his eyes when Max immediately scrunches his nose.

“What about Susie?” Daniel asks from where he is leaning on his forearms in the pool.

Anne nods. “She's nice, yeah. But she's been trying to persuade me to change my nationality for over a year now.”

“Yeah, we have to figure out something different.”

Daniel exits the pool, and the water swooshes in short, quick waves. “Maybe you should just drop out,”

“Daniel!” Max hushes him and Daniel smirks, shaking his hair just beside him so the droplets fall on Max's heated skin.

Anne just shoots him a smile and turns back to her computer. Max, however, isn't going to let him get away with it. He stands up and pushes into him just as Daniel leans over to get the towel. He falls into the pool with a loud splash, laughing as he resurfaces.

“Maybe don't try to persuade my mentee to drop out of school, yeah?” Max says, but this time, he is smiling.

“She's right, though,” Alex unexpectedly joins the conversation. “Poli sci students are assholes.”

Daniel and Sebastian are put on the market duty for the day. Daniel doesn't mind, thankful for some alone time with the older man.

They walk around the market in silence for a while, Sebastian looking for asparagus and Daniel for some fruits. It's buzzing with life at this time and the smell of lavender is ever-present. Sebastian is the first to speak right after Daniel manages to buy the green apples that Max likes. Daniel thinks they are too sour. “What did he say about Beijing?”

Daniel purses his lips. “He was very humble with the word count. More of a horrified-facial expression-situation,”

Seb smirks. “He's going to talk to Jos about it, but I know he doesn't want to go.” Daniel feels his voice tightening and he coughs a little to clear it.

“It would be a career suicide not to go,”

Daniel puts on his sunglasses even though the sun is not directly above them just yet. “It's going to be a career suicide for him to go.”

Sebastian stops by the stand with the asparagus, smiling winningly. “Max is still so young. He can wait a bit.”

“I think, listen, just between us,” Daniel says in a hushed voice. “They are trying to get him into politics - again. And for the first time, it seems like he would consider it. He thinks he's doing a great job hiding it from me.”

Sebastian hands him the asparagus he bought and doesn't grace Daniel's gossip with an answer.

“You know something.” Daniel accuses him after he stays quiet for just a bit too long.

The blond just shrugs, says some French pleasantries to the merchant and turns to look at him. “Sorry, Daniel, you don't have clearance for that.”

Daniel rolls his eyes and puckers his lips in an annoyed expression. “Yeah, you can fuck right off,” He looks at Seb's tanned hands, the ring-less fingers and shifts to an offense. “Any development in the tortured lovers saga?”

“Well, funny you should ask. Yesterday,” Sebastian says with a small smile on his lips. “I told Charles I had feelings for him.”

Daniel whips around so fast that he gets a whiplash. “What?” he yells out and immediately hears a low grumble in French.

Sebastian has the nerve to just nod.

“AND?” Daniel is so loud Sebastian shushes him, rolling his eyes.

“He said he doesn't care,” he continues only after they move on to another stand, this one with strawberries.

“What?” Daniel mouths soundlessly, shocked.

By now, Sebastian is blushing a bit. “He said he already knew I had feelings for him-”

Daniel makes a sound but doesn't speak in fear of spooking Sebastian into silence.

“But-” Seb sighs, observing the strawberries with the eye of a professional. “He doesn't care because he also knows I don't want to do anything about it. Said he could see I'd not decided to do anything about it and he wasn't interested in mind games. But he told me he would always say yes if I asked.”

“Oh my god,” Daniel whispers like the gossip he is. “This is the most absurd thing I have ever heard!” he says nonsensically, realising it's not true at all. “How do you feel about that?”

Sebastian stops in his tracks, thinking mutely for a second. “I'm happy. Really, really happy.”

He smiles, handing the strawberries to Daniel, who takes them, not even trying to hide his astonishment. He can't wait to have a debrief about this with Max.

#maxiel #diplomacy au #max/daniel #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #my writing #my ficlets #f1 rpf #f1 fic #sebchal

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foxes-that-run · 2 months

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MH cried on stage about haylor?? I need to see this give me link

The TLDR is that the meltdown video: ramps up at 3:49, there is also this tumblr post by someone who was there about it and this news about it.

Maylor/Haylor storytime with too much info

Matty Healy's parents are actors Tim Healy and Denise Welch, overseas 1D fans may know his mum from this Loose Women interview with 1D. His parents had a messy public divorce covered in Tabloids.

1999 - When his mum was featured on This is Your Life, in this clip, 10 year old Matty said he wanted to be "a popstar and top class musician" with his mum looking tense.

2002 - the 1975 was formed with school friends in Manchester, it will be 10 years before they have success.

2009 - 1975 met and was unsigned by every major label. Their manager formed an independent label and signed them for £20.

2010 - One Direction is formed on X-Factor with Harry, 5 years younger also from Cheshire, 30 minutes drive from Mattys hometown of Wilmslow, both near Manchester. 1D becomes a national sensation and sign a £1m record deal with a major label.

2011 - One Direction continues to grow with the X-Factor tour, records Up All Night and starts their own tour.

2012 - What Makes You Beautiful is #1 in 16 countries including the UK and US. Harry starts dating Taylor Swift and the world loses it's mind over them and the band.

2013, February - 1975 get their first top 20 song, Chocolate that reaches #19 (Teenage Kicks was on #6 in the same chart, on it's way down from #1).

2013, September 3 - Harry tweeted that he downloaded the self-titled 1975 album. Matty Healy told an interviewer that he went from 4k followers to 15k followers in 10 minutes. Matty said they became mates, he texted Harry to thank him. The 1975 covered What Makes You Beautiful:

youtube

All fab, or so it seems.

2014, February - Taylor finishes 1989, Harry and Taylor start dating again and seem to for the rest of the year.

2014, March 20, fallout boy shares this photo of Matty Healy, fallout boy and 1d minus Harry to instagram captioned “London hangs.” I don’t know when the photo with Harry is from, the jacket is St Laurent 2014 and it first appeared on live journal June 2014. Harry wore the coat again in September.

2014, March - MH plays call or delete with Harry's BFF Nick Grimshaw and calls Niall and Harry, he says he has Niall’s number because he is writing a song for one direction and that he had never spoken to Harry before (but had his number and Harry recognised his voice and/or just would know Nick had the show on and who was on it.) MH asks to borrow £5k and Harry agrees. Harry probably knew he was on Nick Grimshaw.

2014, April - his mum says MH is writing a song for 1D and talks about Anne.

2014, May 8 - One Direction record Change Your Ticket in Fasano Hotel, the TV Special includes footage (2:12) of Julien and Niall figuring out the lyrics and melody in Rio De Janeiro. The band then toured

2014, May 24 - One Direction and the 1975 both play the Glasgow Big Weekend, though 1D fly in for just their show they are then in London.

2014, July - Anne tweets Denise with a throwback photo

At some point they play Change Your Ticket for Matty who Later said:

“They got me in and they said, ‘We really like your band. Would you write a song for us?’,” Matt revealed to Spin. “[But] they didn’t seem to be actually that interested. They just wanted to play me this song that they said was really, really inspired by us.", “Listen guys, fill your boots, the song doesn’t sound that much like ‘Girls’. But the guitar and the whole vibe of it is a complete lift, So take the guitars off and we’re good." “It would have been a bad 1975 song.”

2014 - October 27 - 1989 released. Taylor says to Rolling Stone that her publicist has said a relationship is not a good idea:

‘How long do we have on the clock — before something comes along and puts a wrench in it, or your publicist calls and says this isn’t a good idea?'” (bless you @cntfightmydemonsthyknowhowtoswim)

2014 - November 8 - Matty Healy wears a 1989 T-Shirt, Taylor likes a Tumblr post about it.

2014 - November 17 - FOUR comes out with Change Your Ticket including the 1975-esq guitar. In the Four Hangout Harry says "well done Tyler" (32:25) and Niall adds "your Boyfriends back", Liam adds "Your gonna get in trouble" Tyler is Taylor's name I n the Man video, the 1D band had rhyming or celebrity code names for themselves that they used in interviews (Harry = Susan Boyle etc)

2014 - November 19 - Harry, Taylor & Selena go to a 1975 concert together. This is often cited as the Maylor starting point, Harry was there and called her boyfriend by Niall 2 days before. Taylor posts a video of her, Selena and Harry is briefly seen. Video of Taylor and MH backstage.

2014 - December 2 - Harry and Taylor at Victoria's Secret After party and leave together in London. First time Style performed.

2014 - December 4 - Taylor at a 1975 concert in NYC.

2014 - December 5 - 1D in London, appeared on Graham Norton. Rumours Taylor dating Matty, he tweets they got his name wrong.

2014 - December 6 - Taylor has laryngitis at Jingle Bell Ball. Matty Healy does this on stage in Boston, crying and yelling at the audience:

youtube

8 December - Blind "The B- list celebrity offspring of two of the worst celebrity parents ever has been hooking up the past few weeks with the lead singer of the band that Taylor Swift loves. Apparently they sent Taylor a pic of themselves naked in bed together." (Ali Lohan (Dina and Michael)/Matty Healy “The 1975″)

2014 - December 9, after Twitter ran with the meltdown, coupled with Matty being linked to Taylor who the band knew to be with Harry. They go on more Four promo. One Direction was not getting on, Harry had broached the topic of the Hiatus a few weeks earlier. They appear on RTL in the Netherlands. Liam seems drunk and makes a beard joke at Harry.

24 December - Tabloid media about Ali Lohan/MH

And that's the end of the 2014, interaction, between Matty appearing in the 1989 t-shirt and the meltdown was 1 month, and Harry and Taylor were seen together in that time. Taylor did go to one 1975 concert without Harry, 2 days before Matty melted down.

13 December Taylor tweets asking the media to stop accusing her of dating her friends (kk & MH)

In this time Matty was also smoking heroin, from the New Yorker in May 2023:

In 2014, amid the early rush of fame and steady touring, Healy began smoking heroin, the only substance he found that could pull him down from the stratosphere. It was a secret, for a while; then the band staged an intervention. Healy resisted: he was the star, and the rest of them would have to get on board.

2015, November - Matty said to the Guardian:

On 6 December, onstage in Boston. “There was girl stuff,” he says. “There was family stuff. There was financial stuff. There was drug stuff. I remember hearing the crowd and having an identity crisis. I thought: ‘If you want to see a show, I’ll give you a fucking show. If you’ve come to see the jester drink himself into a slumber, I’ll give it to you.’ I felt like I’d become an idea as opposed to being a person.” At one point, a fan shouted, “I love you, Matty!” He’s ashamed of his response. “What did I say to the poor fucking girl? ‘You don’t have the right to love me. You don’t know me. I love you but you don’t get to love me.’ Jesus. Can you imagine your favourite band shouting that at you? What a dickhead. What a horrible thing to say to a kid who fucking does love me.”

2015 - January - Matty also does this interview where he says it was all fake that he dated Taylor and there is noone in the world he knows less than Harry Styles

youtube

2015 - February 26 - Taylor pictured hugging Nick Grimshaw, Harry’s BFF, next to Matty Healy at the 2015 Brit awards after party. Harry was in Australia, he and Taylor had broken Up and this is the night she met and seemed to immediately start dating Calvin Harris’s

2015 - April - Matty Healy and sources close gives a lot of interviews saying he is angry about Change Your Ticket and that One Direction stole the 1975's sound.

Love Me

2015 - October - 1975 Love Me came out which is a rather direct Harry diss:

the lyrics reference Blank Space "Rumors Fly": "You've been reading about yourself on a plane".

"caught up in fashion, Karcrashian panache" a style reference and a diss to Kendall

music video where Matty makes out with the cardboard cutout of a 17 year old Harry Styles.

on stage he copies Harry's dancing in this song.

In the BTS Matty says "I just wanted to make a video that was about some kind of sexually confused rockstar type that who buys into his own nonsense really"

he also wore Chelsea looking boots and pointed them out in the BTS

2016, March to Q Magazine, (and widely reported) Matty said:

“I feel like I’m not very good at relationships,” he’d said, and I wondered why. Healy explained the jumble of reasons – insecurity, self-obsession, a fear of misrepresentation. Was it also, I asked, a fear of losing himself? He nodded. “Absolutely. And the reason I mention that is because if I had [properly] gone out with Taylor Swift the first thing I would’ve [thought was] ‘Fucking hell I am NOT being Taylor Swift’s boyfriend.’ You know, FUCK. THAT.” Then he had added an afterthought: “That’s also a man thing, a de-masculinating, emasculating thing.”

I'm skipping ahead a few years, Matty brings Taylor and Harry up alot, like in random interviews with Zane Lowe, Nick Grimshaw etc. But the vibe is often separating him from success. I wonder if he is also reminding others he knows them.

2022 he works with Jack Antonoff. There are rumours of a collab which Matty both says it is fake news he worked on Midnights and then that he did but it wasn't used. Taylor never acknowledged.

2022 - midnights comes out, no 1975 collab.

2023 - 12 January - Taylor performs anti-hero and The City at 1975 concert, multiple rumors Harry was also there: x, x, x

2023 - 15 January - MH invites HS to perform, H declines. MH makes inappropriate comments accusing Harry of Queerbaiting.

2023 - 11 February blind item:

2023 - March - Reps for Matty Healy's girlfriend Meredith says

“She did not see this coming at all. All the time Matty was in the studio with Taylor, she thought nothing of it. He’d spend the day in the studio and then come home to her. “Things were going well until around March 29 then, out of the blue, he stopped replying to messages and calls. “He just ghosted her and that was it. Then, four weeks later, he went public with Taylor.

2023 - March/April/May/June - Taylor touring the US. The 1975 touring Latin America in March, Asia and Australia in April and May, Europe in June. The only times they would have seen each other are the handful of times they were photographed.

2023 - 10 April - Taylor and Joe's separation press release. MH delete socials said:

"everything happens in eras. The 1975 is a very eras band. The era of me being a f***ing a***hole is coming to an end. […] I can’t perform off the stage any more.”

2023 April 14 - MH cries on stage in I always wanna die, and puts his head in his hands during Love it if we make it in Sydney. Saying “You changed all the words on my set list to rude words,” he says, pointing off-stage, before admitting the culprit is “trying to cheer me up because I’ve been going through a bit”. Covered in news

2023 April 24 - MH introduces 'She's American' in Tokyo with: "When I picture it, there's like three places I picture people listening to it, there's Manchester, Pennsylvania, that’s a whole other thing don’t worry about that and Tokyo” 1975 was formed in Manchester. Matty and Harry are from nearby Wilmslow or Cheshire respectively.

2023 - May 3 - TS & MH mouth "this is about you, you know who you are. I love you" on stage.

2023 5 May - MH at Eras tour, Sparks Fly and Teardrops on my guitar. He joined Phoebe Bridges on stage.

2023 6 May - OOTW/Fifteen. MH attends again

2023 11 May - MH and Taylor hold hands in NY

2023 12 May - Gold Rush & CBBH, Philli. MH on stage at Eras in skeleton costume. MH and Taylor at group dinner hold hands.

2023 13 May - TS This Love, no intro/Forever and Always (Philli) MH attends eras and seen with Scott Swift.

2023 15 May - Taylor leaving Electric Lady with MH

2023 24 May - People reports Taylor kissed MH at Zero bond, no photos of them arriving, no photos allowed in club. Last time reported to be seen together. 50 days since his ex said they were good.

2023 27 May - during the Radio 1 Big Weekend at Glasglow, a broadcast event, Matty Healy acted unusually and said "Try romanticising your life for a job, see how you like it". This section is cut from the BBC's official video of About You. Harry was also in Scotland in Edinburgh.

2023 June 5 - MH break up reported by TMZ later confirmed no longer speaking

2023 August 16 - MH back with the girl he dumped in March for …. That.

2024 February 15 - MH said on stage “Do not come for me. Trust me. You know who I’m talking to. Honestly, you know who you are. I’m as mental as I seem. I have the receipts. Don’t f**k with me. Trust me.”

I have no idea what happened in 2023, but I think the blind is correct.

#Haylor #maylor #taylor swift #matty healy #harry styles

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