#sequins squeaks

[sequintial]

Okay but. Episode 9 really does have me freaking out thematic style. Like, they're DEATHDRIVES, shown to both cause death in others and seek out their own death in their idiosyncratic ways. But not Bravern! He seeks to protect life and live his ideal life as a hero! Smith literally so gay he inverted Cunid thematically.

#sequins squeaks #bravern #bang brave bang bravern #bravern spoilers #should. probably tag that. im not used to being up to date on things #i usually join fandoms 2-20 years after their source release

[the-iceni-bitch]

Mɪss Aᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ Hᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ Pʀɪɴᴄᴇ

Relationship: professional tight end!Ari Levinson x pop superstar!fem reader

Words: ~3.7k

Summary: You and Ari bring in the holiday season with your own special celebration.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (m receiving oral sex, f receiving oral sex, daddy kink, unprotected p in v sex, dumbification, multiple orgasms) celebrity lifestyle, America’s sweethearts, 6’7” Ari. SMUT!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: an early Christmas gift for all you lovelies!! I think it’s painfully obvious what this fic was inspired by and I’m not even a little embarrassed about it. They’re too cute!

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all my latest fics, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

You waved exuberantly to the crowd as your float rolled past them, the cold autumn sunlight filtering through the skyscrapers and making the sequins all over your dress sparkle. It was absolutely freezing, but you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling like an idiot. Not only had your tour ended up being even more successful than you had ever thought it could be, you finally got to realize your dream of singing in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Of course, there was something else that had you smiling like an idiot for the past few months. As soon as you got close to the parade’s end at 34th Street you could see him in the stands, holding what may have been the most adorable homemade sign you had ever seen while surrounded by a bunch of screaming tween girls. He was easy to spot since he was six feet seven inches, which made it even cuter each time he had to bend down to answer one of their questions until they all started squealing. Ari was your big, burly, all American man but also perhaps the softest teddy bear on the planet.

When they all saw you they started screaming, and you beamed back at them, laughing when Ari lifted a little girl onto his shoulders so she could see better. Yeah, he was too cute for you, everything the man did made your ovaries flutter. It was hard not to just give him moony eyes all through your performance, but you managed to share your attention with the other fans as you sang your new Christmas song. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much once you were finished performing, like they did every time you saw your beefcake of a man.

Backstage was a zoo but when was it not. Assistants flurried around you as they helped you out of your intricate costume. By the time a large, warm hand slid around your waist you were down to nothing but your bra and some leggings. It’s not like Ari cared about that, though.

“Hey princess.” Ari beamed when you squeaked before turning around to look up at him. “You were amazing.”

“Staaaaaaaahp…” you giggled when he bent down to kiss the tip of your nose, batting your hands at his chest when he teased his hands under the hooks of your bra. “Ari! We only have a few minutes before we have to go to your game, I don’t want your teammates teasing you about being whipped by your superstar girlfriend again.”

“Baby, if I minded their teasing I wouldn’t be dating you.” He kissed your nose once more before pulling your sweater over your head. “There, ready to go in record time.”

“Ari… Ari!” You shrieked with laughter when he flung you over his shoulder and slapped your ass a few times, your face heating up as he got closer to the doors and outside where you knew a pack of paparazzi were waiting to catch the two of you. “Ari!!!”

“Calm down, princess.” He dropped you to the ground and kissed you so deeply you couldn’t breathe for a second, then opened the doors and led you outside with your hand in his even though you were blinking and stumbling like a newborn baby deer. “I feel like they would have thought it was cute.”

“Maybe.” You waved at a few of the paps and made sure they got a good shot of you kissing Ari’s cheek before stepping into the limo. “They do seem to enjoy how much bigger than me you are.”

“Do they now?” Ari pulled you into his lap and started pressing kisses all over your face. “I also enjoy it an incredible amount.”

“Yeah, I bet you do, teddy bear.” You giggled when he leaned back and his face was covered in glitter. “Oh, I think your teammates are still gonna tease you…”

“What? Why?” Ari furrowed his brow until you held up a compact so he could see himself. “Yeah they might.”

“My poor teddy bear.” You pouted and wiggled a little bit in his lap before you began to slide down to the floor between his legs. “How can I ever make it up to you?”

“Yeah, princess, I’m not sure getting glitter all over my dick is gonna keep them from teasing me… ow!” He guffawed when you pinched his thigh before starting to drag his zipper down. “But whatever, I don’t care.”

You hummed in agreement before pulling his thick cock out of his pants and licking a heavy stripe up the underside of his shaft, keeping your eyes fixed on his when you wrapped your lips around his tip and sucked softly. Ari groaned when you swirled your tongue around him, cupping your cheek gently for just a few seconds before curling it around your throat. The sensation of his fingers pressing against your carotid was one you welcomed, your eyes fluttering closed as you started bobbing your head up and down.

Every time you gave him head you marveled at just how huge he was; how he towered over you when you were on your knees; how your jaw ached as you stretched it as wide as you could; how even after so many months you still sometimes had to fight the urge to heave when he slid down your throat. His grip on your throat tightened as you started gagging around him, guttural grunts and murmurs falling from his lips as your drool slid down his shaft until it was covering his balls. Ari’s face was getting flushed as you kept going, and when he leaned forward and braced his massive thighs on either side of your shoulders you could have fainted.

His free hand gripped the edge of the seat until his knuckles turned white when you brought your own hand up to fondle his balls, his gaze intense and full of affection as his thumb stroked your throat. He throbbed and twitched in your mouth as you brought him closer and closer, the taste of his precum coating your tongue before you swallowed him to the root again. You whimpered when he swelled even larger, your eyes beginning to water as you breathed deeply through your nose and gulped around his massive cock.

When he finally came down your throat you sighed, watching his face screw up and then relax as he let out a primal groan. Ari looked so good when he came, the way every muscle in his body would tense up for just a few moments before he would sag and breathe easily as he gazed at you with a sense of possession. You made sure to keep your lips wrapped tightly around his cock as he started to pull out, slurping up every drop of his cum until he slid out of your mouth with a pop.

“Not a spot of glitter on your dick, teddy bear.” You beamed at him as you licked your lips clean, purring when he cupped your chin lovingly.

“No, just all over my pants.” Ari couldn’t help but laugh about it, especially when you spluttered and tried to wipe it off but only made it worse. “Princess, it's fine. No ones going to notice.”

“They have flashbulbs, Ari!” You whined when he tucked himself back in and pulled you up to sit next to him. “Oh my god…”

You didn’t have any more time to worry before the limo came to a stop, squeaking and feeling yourself getting hot again as Ari helped you out of the limo. Thank goodness the man practically ran as he led you towards the team entrance, not giving the press a chance to pick up the sparkly evidence of you fellating him that was all over his pants. Even though he had to go warm up he still took a minute to say goodbye to you, kissing you several times before heading to the locker room while you waved adorably.

He was definitely falling head over heels for you, and he didn’t even care who knew it. There was definitely an unbelievable amount of teasing in regards to the glitter on his crotch and in his beard, but it was good hearted. All of his teammates could tell how happy he was, so even the barbs about him being a kept man for the rest of his life were filled with that sort of friendly affection that old friends shared.

There was also the fact that he seemed to play exponentially better whenever you were in the stands. Analysts were quick to point out that whenever you were watching him play he tended to double his receiving yards, it even became a little joke among the sports commentators. What could he say, he liked to show off for his girl. As soon as he ran onto the field with the rest of the team and saw you cheering on the Jumbotron he felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

The trend continued. Maybe it was because every time he caught a pass or made a touchdown he could look up and see you screaming your adorable head off on the Jumbotron, but he managed to set a new personal record for receiving yards. Over a hundred yards by the fourth quarter as well as two touchdowns, and he could tell you were proud by the way you were jumping up and down in the box. Yes, he was extremely tired and extremely sore after so much effort, but the smile on your face made it more than worth it.

Ari couldn’t shower and get dressed fast enough. He definitely got some exasperated looks from the rest of the team when he left them to give all the post-game interviews, but it was hard to care when he knew you were waiting for him. As soon as he stepped out of the locker room you were right there, squealing happily and telling him how amazing he was while he lifted you off your feet to kiss you like a fiend. It was hard to control himself around you, but he managed to keep from feeling you up as you made your way to his car.

He couldn’t keep from feeling you up once you were in the Impala though. Every time he came to a light his hand was on your thigh or your waist, and when he heard your tiny little sighs he growled in response. You were starting to squirm in your seat too, and he knew exactly what that meant.

“Tell me how wet you are, princess.” Ari tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and toyed with the hem of your skirt while he waited for the light to change. “C’mon baby girl, I’ve been waiting all day.”

“Teddy bear…” you squeaked when he pinched the inside of your thigh and felt your face starting to get hot again. “Sorry, Daddy. I’m so wet, Daddy, my panties are sticky.”

“Yeah, I bet they fucking are.” He grumbled when the light changed and he had to focus on the road again. “Show me.”

“Yes Daddy.” Your heart was pounding in your ears as you slid your panties down your legs and hung them from the rear view mirror, wiggling even more when the air cooled the wetness that was between your legs.

It took all his restraint not to reach out and press them against his face. Yeah, he would have crashed the car, but dying with your scent filling his lungs was the way he wanted to go. He stopped himself just in time, though he did suddenly find himself speeding through traffic faster than the law allowed. When he finally pulled into the hotel’s garage he dragged you after him and lifted you to wrap your legs around his waist, leaving your panties dangling from the mirror without thought.

“Fuck, I need you real fucking bad, princess.” Ari’s lips vibrated against yours as he growled with lust. “I haven’t had your pussy in almost thirty-six hours, it’s killing me.”

“I know, I don’t like it either, Daddy.” You wound your arms around his neck as he carried you to the elevator. “Feel so empty without you.”

“I know, and it’s a damn crime.” He nipped at your chin as the elevator rose to your floor, grateful that no other guests decided to join you as he was pretty sure your ass was hanging out of your skirt. “My poor baby girl.”

You could only moan in agreement when the elevator arrived at your floor, giggling when Ari poked his head out first to make sure there was nobody in the hall before he started towards your room. While he worked on the door you nibbled on his ear, writhing against him and whining until you were in the room and he threw you onto the bed. Ari grinned at you as he ripped his shirt off and undid his pants, giving you a few mischievous growls and barks before pouncing on you.

Even when he was domming you he was still so soft and sweet, calling you his good girl and pretty princess while he kissed your neck and peeled your clothes off your body. The way he looked at you once you were naked made everything below your waist clench, especially when he growled at you like a hungry bear who was going to eat you alive. Then he leaned down to pull your legs over his shoulders and do just that.

“Daddy! Oh god…” Ari just grunted against you in response as he ran his tongue all over your pussy until you felt dizzy. “Mmm, ‘s so good.”

Ari knew it was good, he fucking loved making you turn into a panting, whimpering mess with your eyes rolled back in your head. It made him feel like a god. Those cute little noises and the way your thighs squeezed his head while he drank his fill from your cunt made him purr like a jungle cat. You were so sweet and so creamy, and the way your little pussy would pulse against his lips made his cock get so painfully hard he had to start grinding it against the bed.

His tongue parted your pussy lips so he could push it inside you and you had to kick your feet so you didn’t lose it completely. They thumped against his back as he started to gently fuck you with his mouth, your breathing starting to get heavier and heavier as every muscle in your body grew tight. Every single time he ate you out he managed to bring you to the edge so fast it was unbelievable, and tonight was no different. You were trembling underneath him, your eyes already starting to flutter and your toes curling while his beard rubbed your sensitive folds raw.

When he pulled his tongue out of you and started sucking on your clit that was it for you. You sobbed his name and arched off the bed as you gushed sweet juices all over his face. He reached his hands up to massage your breasts and that just made it more intense, tears rolling down your face and your fingers yanking on his hair while he kept sucking and squeezing until you couldn’t breathe.

“That’s my good girl.” Ari was grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he sat up between your quivering legs. “Fuck, you look so fucking pretty after you come, princess. You think you’re ready for Daddy’s big dick, honey?”

“Mmhm.” You licked your lips and gave up trying to catch your breath when he yanked his pants down and kicked them away so you could finally see him in all his naked glory. “Want it so bad, Daddy.”

“Daddy knows, princess.” He moved slowly as he crawled on top of you, his massive body completely covering yours and making your pussy start throbbing even harder. “You just relax and let Daddy take care of you, baby girl.”

You nodded and drew in a shuddering breath when he reached between the two of you to start rubbing your clit as he lined himself up. Ari hooked your knees over his hips to keep you wide open for him, his eyes fixed on your face for any sign of pain or discomfort as he started to push inside you. Even though he wanted to just drive his cock deep and fuck your brains out, he was painfully aware of your size difference and if he ever hurt you he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. He could tell you were just as hungry for him, beaming at you when your hands clawed at his massive biceps when he finally got halfway in.

It felt like it took an hour, but when his hips finally met the soft flesh of your thighs you moaned and wiggled happily underneath him. Your body was slick with sweat and glowing, and he’d never seen anything more beautiful. Ari gripped your hands and pinned them above your head as he started to move, his lips ghosting against your throat when you whimpered at the feeling of his cock stretching you so wide it burned. You loved it, though, murmuring nonsense words of encouragement under your breath and locking your ankles at the small of his back.

When Ari really started to move you almost fainted, arching your body to meet his and whimpering when he sucked on your ear. He had hardly even gotten going before you were moaning and whining in his ear, your body spasming underneath him as you came for the second time and felt your muscles turning to jelly. Your pussy was so slick that Ari couldn’t stop himself from starting to slam into you, not that you minded. His breath was hot as he grunted against the sensitive skin of your throat, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of bruises in their wake while he shoved his cock so deep inside you you could swear you saw god.

Even though he had well and truly fucked you stupid he couldn’t stop murmuring sweet praises for you under his breath. Every ‘good girl’ or ‘pretty baby’ just made you slip further and further into the rosy haze of multiple orgasms as he wrung another one out of you. At some point he had rolled the two of you so your were laying on top of him, but it’s not like you could actually ride him in your fucked out state. So Ari was just holding your waist and moving you up and down on his cock like his own personal cocksleeve, grinning up at you the whole time and telling you how good and tight your pussy felt while you whined and drooled all over yourself.

“C’mon baby girl, you want it?” The teasing tone of his voice was still full of affection when you hiccuped as he fucked yet another intense orgasm out of your body. “Daddy needs to hear his princess say she wants his cum or I’m just gonna end up fucking you all night, and I’m not sure you could handle that, baby.”

“Mm-mm… Daddy…” you couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore, crying softly as you rested your face in the crook of his shoulder as he continued to drive up into you. “Please come inside my pussy, please. I want it, Daddy.”

“That’s my good girl.” Ari kissed the top of your head and gave a lewd grind of his hips, chuckling into your hair when you shuddered with another climax. “Can’t say no to you, princess.”

Your eyes fluttered closed when you felt him swell and throb inside you, a low whine escaping from you when you felt the first hot, sticky spurt of his seed shooting inside your pussy. Ari held you close as he filled you to the brim, his big hands rubbing your hips while his body rolled under yours and he let out one of those yummy groans he always made when he got to come inside you. When you finally came to you were still on top of him, only barely able to lift your head and beaming at the sight of his face flushed red as he struggled to come back down.

“Hiiiiiii teddy.” You scrunched up your face adorably when he grinned at you and kissed your forehead. “I’d say that was a pretty good way to kick off the holiday season.”

“I’m gonna have to agree with you there, princess.” His thick fingers trailed along the curve of your spine and you felt like you could fall asleep just like that. “Definitely gonna have to keep it up. Speaking of holidays, though, I may have gotten you an early present, since we’re gonna be apart next week.”

“A present? Ari!” You squeaked and giggled when he reached towards the nightstand without letting you climb off him, shivering when the change in position made him rub right against your over sensitive clit. “That still gives you three weeks until Christmas, silly.”

“Well fuck me for wanting to spoil my girl.” He kissed all over your face and pulled out a small velvet box. “I know how much you like statement jewelry, so I figured the statement for this one could be just how smitten you are with your beefy football player boyfriend.”

“Ari… oh my god!” You sat up so fast when he opened the box you almost fell off him, grinning like an idiot when he caught you at the last second and steadied you while he showed you the ring. “It’s so big and sparkly!”

The moonstone in the ring was at least fifteen karats, and surrounding the center stone was a chain of labradorite that glittered under the low lights in the hotel room. As soon as he placed it on your right ring finger you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his face over and over and squealing with happiness.

“Everyone is gonna think we’re getting married now, teddy bear.” You rested your head against his chest once you made sure every inch of his face had been kissed at least once.

“Well, not quite yet, princess.” Like he hadn’t known the moment you said yes to a second date with him that he was going to marry you.

#natalie writes #holiday fic #ari levinson #football player!ari levinson #popstar fem!reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x y/n #ari levinson smut #female reader #chris evans #chris evans character x reader #chris evans characters #chris evans smut #chris evans character #swiftie coded #miss americana and the heartbreak prince

[rustedhearts]

happy valentine's day from dad boxer!steve in 1998

tags: fluff, smut-ish at the end because the harringtons still get freaky after parenthood

Glue, glitter, sequins, and paper scraps cluttered the dining room table. You carefully cut a piece of red paper into a heart over the drawn line, tongue perched between your lips. Jane waited patiently in her seat, plucking up feathers and a capped glue-stick to bang on her highchair.

You slid the paper, now heart-shaped, her way and gently took the feather from her hand. "Okay, Janey, what do you want to draw for Daddy?"

She babbled her reply, and you were able to reasonably make out a few sounds she used for her version of words. Butterflies were her new fixation—they practically threw up all over her room. She loved all things to do with the color red, applesauce, and her dad. So, you plopped her into her highchair, gave her an applesauce, and promised craft-time while Steve was training.

She, of course, wanted to draw a butterfly. You wrapped her chubby hand around a blue crayon, guiding her hand through a jagged butterfly shape. She drew three, and then you held the jars of glitter before her.

"Which color, Janey?"

She grabbed at the white, and you slid the paper your way to sprinkle a small amount of glitter over a trail of glue. When it was finished, you handed it back to her and set a collection of crayons beside her, allowing her to scribble to her heart's desire.

Feeling silly and indulgent, you made your own for Steve, as well.

The sound of the front door unlocking caused your head to snap up. His sneakers squeaking over the polished floors had Janey bouncing happily—she knew the familiar sounds of Steve's arrival all too well.

Moments later, he came staggering into the room—a little lopsided in his step—with a lush, cellophane-wrapped bouquet of pink roses, and a single red rose wrapped with a white bow. He had bags under his arms and a wide grin on his face as he entered the room.

"Daddy!" Jane squealed, her excitement mirroring his as her hands flailed for him.

Steve immediately swooped in to smack a kiss on her pudgy cheek. "Hi, my Janey. Missed you."

When she as sufficiently giddy, he carefully tiptoed toward your end of the table and swept his hand under your chin. You beamed in his hold, cheeks warm.

"Hi, Daddy," you cooed teasingly, making him snicker as he approached your mouth.

The kiss was languid and warm and flavored with mint gum. You knew it meant he smoked a cigarette on the ride over and attempted to mask the taste—but you couldn't be upset wit him on Valentine's Day.

"Hi, angel," he murmured. He straightened up and held out the bouquet. "For you."

You brought them into your arms with a blinding grin, dipping down to breathe in their sweetness. Steve stooped Jane's way again, showing her the rose.

"And for you, little chick. Shoppin' for both my girls now."

Another kiss popped on her cheek, and you stood from the table to place your own on Steve's jaw. He watched you twirl your way toward the sink, pulling a large vase for your flowers and a tiny single-stemmed for Jane's to fill them with water. They came to sit in the center of the cluttered table.

As you sank back into your seat, Steve craned his head over your shoulder.

"Whatcha makin'?"

You immediately clamped your hands over the Valentines. "Nothing. You can't see yet. Tell him, Janey."

Steve's eyes slid Jane's way, but the toddler was gnawing on her sticky fingers. He chuckled, hand braced on the back of your high-back chair. He fit his head into your neck, mouth ghosting hot air across the sensitive skin. You squirmed and giggled, fingers pushing through the front of his damp hair.

"M' gonna go shower."

"Okay."

As he headed toward the door, you eyed the colorful shopping bags in his hand, packaged prettily with bows and tissue paper.

"What are those?" you called.

He continued walking, calling as he headed down the hall: "You can't see yet."

The handmade Valentines were posted on the refrigerator, properly cooed and cawed over when Jane waddled Steve's way after dinner and handed them to him. He hoisted her into his lap and smattered her with kisses, to which she squealed and giggled until she had hiccups.

She went down easily for the night, tucked in with a soft pink butterfly blanket in her crib. You tiptoed out of the nursery and into your bedroom, finding Steve on the edge of the bed with the shopping bags splayed out.

You bit away a grin, leaning against the doorway. "Are those mine?"

He cocked his head. "Come see."

You skimped his way, stopped before his feet so his hands could roam your thighs.

"Gotta get naked first, angel."

You frowned. "Why?"

He patted your thigh gently, head tipped back to blink up at you. "You'll see."

You stripped and waited, handed first a small pink bag. Inside was a pink lace teddy, delicately draped over your head until it pooled toward your thighs.

The next bag was a tiny white one, which housed a leather box. Inside, a diamond necklace that fit perfectly around your neck, cool against your throat.

The final bag was a two for one. A pink satin blindfold, and a pair of steel handcuffs. You giggled as you handed them off to Steve, who spun you to face the bed with his hard cock pressed into your back.

He tugged your arms behind your back, clicking the cuffs in place just enough to keep you from wriggling. His arms draped over your shoulders, bringing the soft fabric of the blindfold over your eyes. It came into a bow at the back of your head.

Steve's lips brushed your cheek, hot breath fanning the bare skin of your neck. "Glad you waited, angel?"

You nodded with another giggle. "Mhm."

He swept the back of two fingers over your cheek: up, down, so gently it made you shiver. Down the side of your neck, pausing only to rub his thumb into your pulse point. You waited with bated breaths, shuddered in and out in anticipation.

Finally, his lips returned to your cheek. "On your knees."

He spun you first, and you sank blindly until the familiar fibers of your bedroom carpet came to your knees. Steve's gaze followed you the whole way down, smiling triumphantly when you thumped to the floor. His fingers grazed your shoulders, bracing them, letting you know where he was. As if you couldn't feel the warmth of his cock in front of your mouth, still zipped and tucked away.

"Gonna thank me properly?" he mumbled.

The tinkle of his belt buckle had you swallowing and shifting on your knees. "Yes, Steve."

He freed his cock, jeans pooled around his socked feet, and held it before your waiting mouth.

"Don't forget to say 'please.'"

#rolly! #boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #boxer!steve #boxer!steve blurb

[idanceuntilidie]

Don't you know who I am?

Male Best friend Yan x Male Reader

TW: yandere themes|Threats| Someone gets their ass kicked. Request are open Dear God I have never been this empty headed, i will try my best to do at least two posts tomorrow.

Cara was quite popular, so he was invited to many parties. People say if Cara doesn’t show up that means the party sucks. Naturally being Caras bestie meant you were usually dragged along, even if you really didn’t want to. There was one time actually where you were falling asleep but the next thing you saw when you opened your eyes were flashing lights and very VERY loud music. At this point people knew that if Cara is invited, so are you. This time you actually wanted to go, surprisingly, because it was a birthday party so naturally there was a birthday cake, good free food and drinks.You didn’t really know the person, so you and Cara bought the gift together. Actually Cara bought it, he insisted that you shouldn’t waste money. You felt kinda bad, but you knew he wouldn’t let that one go.

You didn’t go in anything fancy, plain white shirt with f/c loose pants. It made it easier to blend in, if you were going yourself. You knew Cara would choose something flashy and he did. God, of course he did. Cara wore a very flashy, literally, gold sequin shirt with hot pink flares. It made you slightly self conscious, and well feel underdressed, but on the other side you knew only he was able to pull something like this off.

Cara noticed that and when he saw you he shrieked, complimented you and gave you lots of kisses on your cheeks.

The food wasn’t worth it.

You sat in the corner of the club, munching on whatever you got your hands on. You lost Cara in the crowd, so you ended up alone. Though there was a guy slowly getting closer and closer to you and finally sitting, too close to your comfort.

“Hey sweets, what’s a cutie like you doing all alone huh?” You stopped eating and slowly looked at the guy. Nose scrunching in confusion and disgust you roll your eyes before mumbling. “I lost my best friend in the crowd” “Oh what a horrible friend that is! Leaving you all alone~” Your stomach dropped when he placed a hand on your thigh, but before you even got a chance to say something your eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar flashy gold shirt. Which was walking really fast in your direction.

“Hands off of my boyfriend jackass” “B-Boyfriend?” You squeaked when Cara picked you up and held you protectively.

“Boyfriend huh? Aren’t you Cara? A slut that probably fucked every single person in this room?” You heard Cara scoff, and when you looked up you saw a scowly forming on his face. His manicured nails digged into your skin.

“Y/n cover your ears” And without question you did, you also hid your face in Caras shoulder. “If you don’t fucking leave right now, I am going to skin and gut you like a pig.” Cara hissed at the man. He put you down, caressing your head and he placed a small kiss on your forehead.

Cara walked in front of the guy that was harassing you and beat the shit out of him. By the time you actually looked in that direction you saw the man trying to crawl away from your best friend, and Cara spitting at him.

It was horrible, but the problem was solved, police were called; Cara explained the situation and you both drove home. You don’t think you could sleep with that image engraved in your mind. But there was also another small thought screaming in the back of your mind.

“Boyfriend?”

“Boy friend, silly. I mean I could be your partner if you wanna” you heard him chuckle, it made you smile.

“Nah” You closed your eyes, hoping that you won’t dream about the guy from the party. Slowly drifting off to sleep you didn’t hear Cara mumble,

“Haha yeah, you will change your mind sooner or later.”

#best friend yan cara #male best friend yan #best friend yandere #yandere best friend #yandere oc #male yandere #male yan oc #male yandere oc #male yandere x male darling #male yandere x male reader #male reader #x male reader #yandere male #yandere #yandere x darling #tw yandere #yandere blog #oc yandere

[teacasket]

pink champagne

genre: fluff au: non idol au warnings: alcohol word count: 0.5k   pairing: gn!reader x bang chan a/n: happy 2024, everyone!

A new year, a new city, a new friend. This is how trouble begins, you think, as you follow Chan through the crowds. Sequins and lamé glitter under the golden lights of crystal chandeliers, and premature confetti covers the floor. Waiters in dark, clean-cut suits carry trays of champagne, while guests drink, mingle, and take pictures in front of the famed staircase.

You climb up that very staircase, earning yourself a few disgruntled cries and disdainful looks. Chan mutters an apology but darts upwards before they can say anything. On the other hand, you linger to take in the beauty. They don’t have historic hotels or fancy parties like this where you're from.

The guests on the stairs scan you up and down. Sneakers and a warm coat aren’t wrong for this party, but scuffed canvas and loose, fraying threads are. You squeak out a jumble of incoherent words and run up after Chan.

He waits for you by the elevator and graciously gestures for you to head inside first. The doors shut, and the long ride to the topmost floor starts.

“Told you the lobby would be worth it,” he says, smiling as if you were against the idea in the first place.

“Shut up. You sure we can get on the roof?”

He pats his bag, heavy with illegally copied keys and other secrets. His friend used to work at the hotel, or so Chan said. You didn’t bother asking for more detail.

On the highest floor, he leads you down hallways of closed doors before stopping in front of a metal door with the words STAFF ONLY painted in red. He slides in his key, and the lock gives. When he pushes it open, you brace yourself for an alarm, a security guard hurtling through one of the dozens of doors, anything that signals that you and Chan aren’t permitted onto the roof, but there's nothing.

You tentatively step out, and the winter chill saps all of the warmth from your skin. Your breath makes wispy, summer clouds in the winter air as you take in the city below you.

Music and shouts intertwine like a sonata. Faraway windows glow, shining like the stars above, and crowds swell and ripple like a silver snake. There is so much light, it threatens to drown out the night.

“I love it,” you declare, spellbound by the view. You sit beside Chan, close enough to feel his leg shift as he involuntarily leans closer. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

“Yeah, no problem. Oh, I got a surprise.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out an unopened bottle of pink champagne. “Friend of mine stole it on the last day of work. He said it was expensive, so it’s probably good.”

“Is this the same friend who used to work here?”

“Maybe. Watch out.”

It doesn’t open with a pop and a flying cork but with a light hiss that is barely audible over the sudden thundering of fireworks. You stare in awe as the sky lights with gold and white, so blinding you have to look away. If you reach your hand up, you swear you could catch a spark in your palm.

“Happy New Year,” Chan says. He takes a hearty swig of champagne, exhaling with pleasure as he holds out the bottle to you. “Hope it’s a good one.”

“Me too. Happy New Year.”

As you put the bottle to your lips, you think this is what fireworks must taste like.

if you liked this, maybe you’ll like one of my older pics also centered around chan and new year’s: ringing in the new year

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #bang chan imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #bang chan scenarios #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #bang chan fluff #stray kids au #skz au #non idol au

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐫

Christmas was a time for gifts and giving; of sharing with those you loved with all of your heart. Bucky was one of the lucky ones, and you had the most perfect gift for him.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ♆ Pornstar!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ♆ 1.5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ♆ Fluff, crack

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ♆ I've always wanted one of these, and who better to express that than with our favourite daddy? 😌

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ♆ @rookthorne's Merry Buckmas — Masterlist

𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Christmas sweaters were one of your favourite things about Christmas. That was a known fact; everyone knew that when Christmas rolled ‘round, you would be found wearing a new, different sweater each and every day. 

It was the festive designs — they charmed you to no end, and the variety, well, it was to be said that you were determined to find those on the spicier side, too. 

You struck gold no less than a week ago, and the package had arrived just in time. Bucky was getting ready for his day of shoots, sculling coffee like his life depended on it, when you pounced into action. Just as he left the bedroom for the bathroom, you grabbed the sweater and waited. 

And waited. 

Until he appeared again, freshly clean from his shower and wet hair slicked back. Rivulets of water ran down his toned, muscled body, and you almost didn’t notice how he came to an abrupt stop in the doorway, staring at you and the bundle in your arms. 

Bucky snorted, then pointed at the material, a wide grin pulling at his lips. “What in the fuck is that?” he laughed. “What have you done, my lil’ Vixen, huh?”

You shook yourself and blinked — when you finally realised what he was talking about. “Oh– I found you something, for when you’re at work,” you explained. “I know they keep some of the sets cold.” 

The soft wool of the sleeves felt like heaven on your fingertips, and you shook out the article gently, allowing the design of creatively placed round ornaments and candles to be more obvious. “And I couldn’t resist.”

Bucky stood there, blinking slowly until the realisation settled over him. “You got me a dick sweater. Well–” he hummed and tilted his head. “A dick and balls sweater, to wear to work—to set.”

“Yes,” you said proudly, beaming at him. “And it sparkles—look.” The small, otherwise not obvious sequins shone in the warm light of your bedroom. “Isn’t it cool?”

“I fuckin’ love it,” Bucky rushed, and you squeaked with shock when he collided with your chest, wrapping you in his arms. “I can’t wait—I am wearin’ it today.”

“Oh, no,” you gasped. “They’ll laugh! I–”

Bucky kissed you full on the lips, silencing your protest with a heated kiss. When he finally pulled away, he leaned his forehead on yours, and said, “I’ll call you when I get there. You’ll see how much they love this shit. Especially Wands.”

You sighed. “Okay. But you have to get going soon, right?” Bucky hummed an ascension, and you shyly asked, “Can I get some pictures first?”

“Anythin’ for my baby,” he replied easily. “What kind?”

“Nice ones!” you laughed, shoving his shoulder. “I just want a nice one, maybe of us two?” 

“‘Course, sweetheart.”

After more than a few photos were taken, Bucky changed into a pair of jeans and a muscle tank top, before he shrugged the sweater over the top. “This thing’s warmer than I thought,” he mumbled, slipping his arms into the soft woollen sleeves. “I might not even need my jacket–”

“No, you take your jacket,” you insisted, pointing towards the front door. “I am not having you freeze.”

“But then you get to take care of me,” he said petulantly, pouting. “I thought you liked doin’ that.”

You laughed and grabbed his hand to pull him along. “I do, but you have work; the sooner you’re done, the sooner you can come back home to me.”

The chilled air outside of your home nipped at your nose when you stood and watched Bucky’s car pull away and drive down the road, all while nerves boiled away in your stomach — what if they did laugh? What if they did tease him? You only wanted to give Bucky something to keep him warm and comfortable.

You shook yourself from the stupor and headed back inside, where it was warm. “Movies, or reading…” The TV glinted in the dimmed light of the sun from the window, and your bookshelf looked as cosy as ever in its corner. “Movie,” you decided finally. “And a warm drink.”

Soft, fluffy blankets enveloped you twenty minutes later, and just as you reached to turn on the TV, your phone chimed with an incoming video call. You took a deep breath to steel your nerves, then you swiped the screen to accept the call. 

“Baby! Hey, I just walked in,” Bucky greeted. “What’s my sweet girl doin’ now I’m not there?” The sound of other people milling about the studio filled the speakers before you answered. 

“I just turned on the TV to watch a movie.” 

Bucky looked into the camera then, brow raised. “You’re startin’ the Christmas movies, aren’t you?”

“So what if I am?” you defended, furrowing your brows. “It’s none of your business.”

There was a snort of laughter, then, “She sure told you—you know not to get in the way of your girl and Christmas, James. Which, by the way,” a woman’s voice said. 

The phone was snatched from Bucky’s hand with a loud “Hey!”

Red hair filled the screen, and a wicked, playful smirk pulled at red painted lips; green eyes glinted cheekily at you. “Excellent choice of sweater, darling.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Natalia — or, more accurately (if you didn’t want any grievous injuries), Natasha, or Nat — the woman who had eased you into the life of being best friends with a pornstar. She knew well before you had even realised that you had feelings for Bucky, and she was devious in her ways of matchmaking. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey,” she said back, and she looked at you, then off camera. “So, your boy is pouting at me—I will have to keep this short. When do you think you’ll be free to have a girls night? Or come on set, I miss you, you know.”

“I’ll come in soon,” you promised, feeling the heat creep up your neck. Your first visit to the set had left you feeling so flustered you could barely speak — it was not something you wanted to repeat, but there may be no harm in doing so now; Bucky would make sure you were comfortable, that you knew for sure. “And we can have a movie night or something. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Nat chirped, grinning at the camera. “I better hand you back to your boy before I get in trouble.” 

The two of you said your goodbyes, and Bucky came onto the screen, pouting. “With the way you two behave,” he said, and you heard the squeak of a door opening. “You would think you’re her girlfriend.”

“You wish,” you huffed.

He looked sharply at the camera. “That’s an idea.”

“Bucky!”

He laughed and shook his head, then he was tackled by someone with a head of auburn hair. “Fuck! Wands, hello to you too,” he grunted, pushing himself off the wall. “Say hey to–”

A bright smile filled the screen and you were suddenly looking at one of your closest friends. “Hey, hey,” you said, blowing Wanda a kiss. “How are you doing?”

“Hey! Busy—work is never slowing down,” she explained, and you took note of the makeup brush tucked behind her ear. “I was just working on Steve.”

The blond in question yelled from somewhere in the background, “Hey, Vixen!”

“Hey, Stevie,” you called back, and Wanda flipped the camera. Steve was sitting on a high stool, shoulders slumped and his phone in his hand. “Busy day?”

“Don’t remind me.” His eyes drifted from you on the screen, to something off screen. “What in the–” The chair scraped as he stood, then Wanda turned the camera back to her. She was looking in the same direction. 

“What’s–?” you asked, worried about the sudden, stunned silence. 

“What are you wearing, Buck?” Steve asked, and he was just visible as he neared Bucky. “I fucking love it!”

Wanda looked at you, brow raised. “This was you, wasn’t it?”

Shyly, you nodded. “Yeah– Yeah I got it for him, for after shoots and–” All of what you could see was the ceiling and the downlights of the dressing room as a squeal, a booming laugh, and a surprised grunt echoed through the speaker. “Guys?”

“It’s adorable!” yelled Wanda, and you could hear Bucky’s deep chuckle. “I want one,” she rushed, and then she appeared on the screen. “I’m sorry, I got too excited. Where did you get it?”

You reeled off the shop that you brought it from, feeling relieved that they weren’t making fun of your taste in sweaters. 

Finally, Bucky appeared on the screen, and you smiled hesitantly. “I told you they would love it, baby,” he said proudly. “But I better get goin’, first shoot’s soon and I need Wands to work her magic.”

“Okay, babe.” The soft, fondness in his eyes made your stomach swoop, and you blew him a kiss. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah,” he replied, winking. “I’ll text you later, sweetheart. Enjoy the movies.”

The screen went black after he hung up, and you sat there, smiling. “Now I need a matching one.”

⠁⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠁⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fluff #MB #rookthorne's works

[from-memphis-with-love]

Gambling on Your Love - An Elvis Presley Fanfiction

Summary: Mid-'60s Elvis is stuck in a dead end film career that he hates. Until he meets one Francesca Ferrara, a triple threat from Brooklyn, NY on a meteoric rise whose talent rivals his own. The Colonel is determined to put a stop to their hot and heavy romance at any cost, fearing it may hurt his client's career. But Elvis has other plans.

Word count: ~12,000 Warnings: alcohol, cigarette, and pill usage; sexual content and innuendos; mental health and turmoil. Elvis is not a happy camper as we start this story.

The limousine was oppressive with heat. Boozy breath clung in the air like miasma. City lights smeared like paints along the fogging glass. Glittering nails and hairsprayed blonde curls skewed his already hazy vision and he just barely put out his cigarette in the ashtray without scalding Daisy’s—or was it Cindy’s?—sequin dress.

“Hey! Watch it,” she drunkenly giggled in his face, poking him in the chest with one bony index. She looked older, harsher now in the neon lights. Tap tap tap. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

He didn’t know what he said in response, but it didn’t matter. She was still happy just to be in a limousine, leaving a party with Elvis Presley. Something she keenly shared with him that she couldn’t wait to tell her friends all about. 

Stumbling into his hotel room, ceiling-to-floor mirrors reflecting him back, he didn’t remember the elevator trip up. He heard once that if nothing new happens on a routine route, your brain doesn’t bother to write it down. Just doesn’t think you need to use that extra space for something rudimentary. 

Sitting down on a different couch, with a different girl, in a different one of his suites, didn’t constitute much change. The pills he’d imbibed suppressed his lust and he felt himself just going through the motions with her. With himself.

The silence was sharp. Always ringing in his ear. It’s why he liked keeping the party going—he didn’t have to listen to it. She was asleep in the bed, and he wasn’t sure if he was, too, when he stumbled out and into the too empty, echoing living room. The uncomfortable leather couch squeaked when he sat down, cold and sticky. The television was on a late-night variety show. It was an encore for an hours-prior live performance. He held the remote poised at the set, blinking tiredly at the political jab Johnny Carson made, the crowd laughing even when he didn’t say anything funny. He introduced their next guest and Elvis clicked away. 

But before he switched to Nightlife, he caught a glimpse of dark hair and a sparkling high cut dress. Elvis clicked back. Trapezing onto stage, jovial and collected, was a songstress he didn’t recognize, though lately he hadn’t been busy with keeping up with anyone else but himself. He didn’t know anyone on set, hadn’t even heard of the director before—it was just another film in a long line of commercially successful mediocrity. Sitting, he watched her as she glowed with something he felt fading away, spilling out of his seams. He leaned closer towards the television, and Johnny introduced her to an anticipating audience. 

Her name was Francesca Ferrara. What was that, Italian? Either way, it rolled pleasantly off his tongue. He repeated it out loud, watching as she performed. Her voice was like velvet and when she danced, the notes didn’t even quiver. She retained perfect pitch while going heel-toe, shimmying and sliding, dipping her hips in her glittering gown. He was enthralled, gazing from so far away yet feeling like she was right before him, and he was an awestruck member of the audience. 

Grabbing a pill he left close at hand for pangs of severe loneliness, he drank it down with a swig of water, wiping his mouth and saying goodbye with the crowd as everyone waved at lovely Frannie, leaving the stage and leaving him longing for someone he’d probably never meet. Probably wouldn’t even remember. 

Waking up on the couch hours later, he had to go through the awkward peel-away of scooting his latest girl out with a fistful of cab fare. “Thanks for the great night,” he clipped, holding the door like a baseball bat, ready to swing. “Of course! I had suuuch a good time with you, I put my number on your fridge for when you’re lonely, big guy.” She wasn’t bothered by his briskness and ambled away without argument, leaving him by himself. A routine start to his days.

Three months later, he saw Frannie again. But this time he was clear-headed, clearer than he’d been in years. And he did remember.

“Can’t y’all be quiet for five minutes? Goddamn pack of cacklin’ hens!” Elvis scolded the rowdy group of partygoers behind him. Their raucous cheers and shouts drowned out any hope of silence. He couldn’t entirely blame them for having fun without him, though, as his attention was elsewhere.

"Is anyone else seeing her?!" he muttered to himself as he absentmindedly jiggled his fingers. The crowd hushed ever so slightly, allowing him to catch fragments of the sit-down interview taking place on the television screen. There she was again, that Ferrara girl. She was just as beautiful as he remembered. Her voice reached out to him like a siren's call, its rhythm hypnotic. Penetrating his very being. 

On set, she sunk back into the big red couch, legs crossed demurely in a miniskirt, listening intently as Mike Douglas poked and prodded with his innuendos. Petite, just like Elvis liked ‘em. Fishnet stockings on supple thighs evoked just the right amount of daring playfulness. Then, with suggestive abandon, she threw her head back into the most beautiful laugh Elvis had ever heard. Seeing the soft flesh of her graceful neck made him tingle in a deep, forgotten place inside. She was sensual without even trying. Even better, she seemed completely unaware of her effect on the men around her. The cameraman, for one, must have been completely smitten for the way he lingered on her face. "So, this is the female version of me everyone's been talking about," Elvis mused, a mix of astonishment and delight coloring his voice. "Well, I'll be damned."

Her natural charisma was palpable. Her lips, just like his, bent into an impishly crooked smile that could bring members of the opposite sex to their knees. As she joked with Douglas, it became increasingly apparent why people drew comparisons between them. They both radiated an effortless sensuality that seemed to leap from the screen. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but disagree with the comparison as she palmed the microphone for an impromptu song—he thought she was even better, a force that surpassed his own artistry. 

Her voice. It was soulful, raspy, and powerful, yet also warm and velvety. Effortless, even. From the lower notes that were rich, heavy, and dark to the higher ones that rang clear as a bell, she had an impressive range. Elvis surmised that she easily spanned three octaves and a major sixth, far surpassing his own two and a third. The way she easily hit an E6, a note that seemed out of reach for many singers, left him both jealous and utterly fascinated. Her talent and beauty made him question his own abilities, yet his ego pushed him to pursue her. To consume her. Elvis’ breath hitched in his throat and his hands dropped idly to his sides. Accustomed to being the center of attention, he found the tables turning, himself transfixed and  unable to tear his gaze away. He silently vowed to meet this Frannie at any cost.

He had never experienced love at first sight before, but this was as close as it gets.

As she continued to sing, her voice dripped raw with passion. Elvis didn’t know how long he’d been watching, but by the time Frannie entered the chorus for the second time, it seemed as if every man in the room had somehow crowded around the television set. Suddenly, the once boisterous party fell into deafening silence.

"Damn, EP, who is that?" Red West, one of the men in the room, practically gaped at the screen, his jaw hanging open. Whoever it was on the stage, he thought she was phenomenal. 

"That," Elvis responded with a confident grin, "is going to be my next co-star."

The next day, Colonel Parker jumped down his throat about late nights and partying, always quick to remind Elvis just who tirelessly scouted for him, trying to get him better and better roles. He went from quipping about Elvis’s pale skin and sunken eyes some mornings to blatantly questioning Elvis’s apparent lack of control. 

But Elvis could stop whenever he wanted to. He just didn’t want to.

*

The movie premiere went without a hitch. Everyone at the showing had rave reviews about “Kissin’ Cousins,” but almost everyone in attendance had been family or friends. It’d been a gauzy shield, a curtain keeping reality just out of sight for when the movie would release in theaters just two weeks later.

Even the “good” reviews were hard for him to grit through.

“Good, harmless fun. Pandering, unpretentious, dim-witted fun.”

The bad reviews just cut.

“The songs weren’t memorable, and the dialogue was sitcom levels of easily digestible canned slop for the masses. You’re better off glancing at the poster and thinking up your own plot to stimulate your brain more than this “film” will.”

“Bad. Bad. Bad. Do I need to say anything with depth for a film lacking any? Save your money.”

The critics were tearing him a new one, but he was more successful than ever, making more money than he’d thought possible in a lifetime. Yet there was something lacking. In the women and the cars, the pick-up games, and the palling around with his stunted entourage. His sleepless nights were plagued with visions of a haunting beauty. It kept him ambitious, fanning the dying flame until he was spurred to reach for the phone.

Over the past few weeks, Elvis had sent around on set that he needed to get in touch with Francesca Ferrara’s manager. Someone had to know someone that knew someone. It just took asking the right person, and schmoozing on set with the makeup girls was a pleasant cost to pay as any. 

Eventually it did get back to the right person. Her agent was a man named Dominick Archer, and he was notoriously scrupulous with his clients, only taking on the best actors, singers, and scripts. Elvis learned Francesca didn’t just sing here and there, she was lighting up the charts, skyrocketing to the top. Just the other day, he heard her on the radio. It felt like more than a coincidence.

He had to call Dominick. Again. He’d left a message on the receiver, laying it all out in a quick barrage, “Hey, uh, yeah. It’s Elvis Presley. Look, I saw her— Frannie—I saw her piece on Johnny Carson. She was a fireball, Mr. Archer. I need to work with someone like that. I need to work with her. Call me.”

It’d been three whole days since he left that message and every afternoon he scrambled to the phone, checking to see if his call had been returned. Nothing. But he wasn’t perturbed. He dialed the number again. It rang four, eight times—“What? Speak quick.” There was a rustling sound, like the phone was being held between a face and shoulder.

“It’s Elvis. Presley, sir.”

“Oh yeah. Think I heard of you,” Dominick laughed in that sort of nonplussed way that New Yorkers who have seen it all do. “What do you want?”

Elvis blinked. What did he want? “I left you a message. I think a movie with me and Francesca Ferrara would make box office history.”

Silence. Elvis heard Dominick sniff. Discomforted, he continued, “Do you want to work together?”

“Listen, my going rate for outside agency actors is 60/40. I land us a solid script, a good director, all that jazz. And Francesca is listed as the headliner.”

Bigger cut and her name was supposed to be listed before his? Colonel Parker wouldn’t hear of it. But he could be convinced, maybe. If the profit was tempting enough. Elvis would worry about that later. Right now, securing a spot with Frannie was all that compelled him. He had to get this gig.

So, he answered briskly, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dominick asked back with a smile in his voice. “Well, then we can start talking business. Get your agent to call me.” And that was it. The call dropped and Elvis heard only a dial tone droning in his ear. It echoed hope.

Now to tell the Colonel. 

*

Elvis was not a man who dreaded much, but he braced himself for this conversation. He was not a pacifist but if in the right circles, could be mistaken for one. Normally, he disliked confrontation and always preferred to take the path with least resistance. And he’d been in the same boat with Colonel Parker for years; abandoning ship now seemed unfeasible if not outright impossible. 

He didn’t want to waste time with a phone call; he knew Parker would just hang up on him the moment he received any pushback. So, he made his way downtown to his manager’s temporary office, where Parker’s sandal-clad feet were kicked up on his mahogany desk and a cigar hung precariously from his thin lips, the whole office reeking of tobacco and coffee while he shot the shit with one of his terrified assistants. Smoke raced out the door when Elvis swung it open, catching Parker off guard.

“My boy! No knock, no call? What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be on set right now?” He put the phone back on the receiver, only slightly annoyed.

Elvis leveled him with a stare. “Because I had some errands to do. Besides, it’s reshoots with Barbara today, they don’t need me. Look, I…” He rubbed his palms, remaining standing as he placed them flat on Parker’s desk and leaned across. “There’s a girl. A girl, Admiral. You’ve got to see her, she's got the voice of an angel. Francesca Ferrara.” God, he liked saying that name. Maybe it should get first billing. 

“Don’t tell me she’s carrying your baby, Presley.”

“No, no. I didn’t get anyone pregnant. I haven’t even met her yet. I saw her on the television. Heard her on the radio! She’s got somethin’, I promise you.”

The Colonel’s chair creaked as he readjusted, stamping out his expensive cigar. His fingers steepled and he asked in a gravely, wet voice, “And I assume you’re going somewhere with this?”

“I want—no. I need to work with that woman.”

Shrugging, Parker retorted, “Get her agent on the phone. Who is he? Not that needle-dick bastard Jenkins, is he?”

“I already talked to him.”

“You talked to him already? When? Why? I—” He shook his head, holding up his meaty, red palms. “Whaddya think you’re paying me for, kid? You let me do all the talking. So. What’d he say?”

Elvis swished the statement, diluting it. “He wants her to get top billing.”

“Absolutely not.”

“And… a 60/40 split.”

“Sixty isn’t enough, you deserve seventy. I haven’t even heard of this broad. Forty percent, my ass.”

“Sir, she would get the sixty.”

Parker rubbed his mouth and jabbed a finger at him. “What are you playing at? You think this is funny? No way in hell.” He started laughing humorlessly, shaking his head. “Sixty percent. You must have fallen and bumped your head, Presley. Now get out of my office.” He flicked his hand but Elvis didn’t budge.

The older man simmered, quietly, wondering with a glare why Elvis hadn’t made himself scarce yet.

“It ain’t right, never letting me pick and choose what I wanna do. You know I’m the star here, right?” He regretted the words before they left his mouth. The delivery, not their meaning. That part he meant through and through. 

“So why do you think I’d let you throw away your cut? You really want to make 40 percent and split that 50/50 with me? What kind of bank do you expect to make from that? Think, Presley! Now quit wasting my time and let me get back to looking out for you. I’ve got some calls to make, so scram.”

He refused. If there was ever a time to take a stand, it was now. He was so tired of letting Parker take damn near full control of his life. The finances, the social guidelines, the shitty movies. All of it. 

“I said scram! If you don’t get lost, so help me. You know I don’t like gettin’ pissed off, kid. Don’t push me.”

Elvis didn’t move. Instead, he firmly reiterated, “I think it could be a great opportunity.”

The Colonel flew up from his chair. He was prone to being a jackass, but Elvis had rarely seen him so angry. But then again, he rarely defied his manager, having always seen him as someone who, despite his flaws, nearly always got the job done. Bread in the bank, so to speak. Colonel Parker made damn sure it was always in excess, even if it meant taking a generous cut of his star’s earnings. That part, Elvis didn’t mind. It was just money, after all, and he could always make more. What Elvis had begun to resent was the vice grip control Colonel had on him. With an iron fist, he wielded him like a weapon, cleaving his way through Hollywood one mediocre movie at a time. It was him who spearheaded his silver screen career, scheduled his engagements, managed his merchandising contracts. But at the cost of rigid ruling.

Elvis was not allowed to announce he was dating anyone for the “time being,” that being however long his manager saw fit. He couldn’t deposit checks directly into his bank; Parker handled all the finances down to the penny. Nobody important could get to Elvis without going through Parker first–not other producers, managers, or even would-be friends. Everyone had to be vetted by the Colonel, who wasn’t above isolating Elvis when he felt someone with influence was getting too close. The contracts Elvis would find himself pledged to were oftentimes suffocating with how long he would be tied to one studio, making critically-panned but commercially successful slop for the masses. He couldn’t escape the exhausting treadmill of quickie films, and he knew that they were there solely to make money. Funds that the studios would use to finance the more important, artistic projects with serious actors. Ones that weren’t Elvis. 

There was a marked disdain for any growth in artistic expression or flexibility. He was proud of his filmography regardless, but there were times he’d felt outclassed at parties. Where it was clear nepotism was the unspoken theme and, ill trained and easily tongue-tied, Elvis would get sweetly nudged aside with smiles by those who deemed themselves more sophisticated than him. Those moments were rare but gutting. It hollowed him out and he didn’t like what he saw. A few years into his movie career, he’d developed painful ulcers that still kept him up at night, and he suffered from debilitating migraines during the day. 

“You need to listen to me and listen good, boy.” Boy. Elvis hated when Parker called him that. “You keep bucking up to me like you run the show and I might have to make a stir about your favorite hobbies. I’m sure the papers would love to know what you get up to in your free time, how you spend all that money you earn. In detail.” The insinuation left little to the imagination and Elvis felt threatened to cave, but knew that if he backed down now, things would never improve.

“If I can convince them to bill me first. Would you consider it?”

Parker was already shaking his head, loudly saying, “No, no. I don’t want to hear any more about this.”

“We can negotiate for a fairer split. I’ll make this a one-time deal if it all goes to hell. But if this works, you’ve got to admit that to me and let me pursue it. I barely ask you for anything, Colonel. When’s the last time I asked you a favor that you can remember?” At his lengthy silence, Elvis said, “Once you see her, you’ll change your tune, I know you will.”

The Colonel was still boiling, his round ruddy face tight around the relit cigar, taking a drink of iceless, room temperature water, clear as crystal in a highball glass. “One. You get one chance at picking your own script. We’ll see how it goes. Good parents let their children learn from their mistakes, right?”

Elvis winced. He already had a father, and he didn’t need more scolding. If he was determined before, he was now dead set on seeing this through given that Parker threatened an exposé. But if he could just win something–just this once–it’d put him over the moon. When he left his manager’s office that day, he called Dominick back himself and told him that things were tentatively going well and that they’d stay in touch, but things might have to be worked out a bit more, something the other man wasn’t too thrilled to hear, telling him briefly, “I’ll let you know when something comes up.”

For weeks nothing at all came up. Then the weeks bled into two long months and the seed of doubt bloomed wild. He began to wonder if he’d ever get to be in a movie with Francesca. But he wouldn’t let the dread creep further. He waited patiently, working diligently at his current contractual obligations, not because he was crazy about the film, but because he knew he needed to practice so that he could give the next project his all. He just had a good feeling about this. Something in his gut told him that it would all work out.

Colonel Parker had him slotted for another slop fest of a movie. He didn’t agree to it, but that didn’t matter. Pushing it on him was just par for the course and he deflected, saying he wanted to take a break and relax. But that was seen through almost immediately.

“You’ll get a vacation when I do.”

And the Colonel didn’t plan on one anytime soon with as many movies he had lined up for Elvis. They had started to lose their shine in his eyes and while they were more commercially successful than ever, he’d never felt more out of touch. Just going through the motions. 

He saw her face on a billboard one morning in Chicago while stepping out of the bus, the sun illuminating her like some angel. Performing live, but the dates had already passed. He’d missed her by 6 hours. They might have even been in the city at the same time. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. How would he introduce himself? What would she say when meeting Elvis Presley and learning he was smitten with her? Surely it wouldn’t be a hot pursuit, he just needed to be near enough to her. He could perhaps convince her to feel what he felt too. Or maybe it was all a silly fantasy, keeping him shaking on stage for the thousands in attendance at the premiere. 

Tonight, he’d almost been assaulted by an over-excited herd of young fans grouping too close to the flimsy perimeter fence, sending it toppling and knocking into his knees. He wasn’t injured but seeing people literally willing to hurt themselves to get a chance to grab at his coat sleeve or tug at his pants leg was enough to disturb him for the rest of the night. He didn’t talk for a while, just sitting and staring in the silence of his suite, the bus stationary for the next 4 hours. He couldn’t sleep when it was moving, it just tossed his stomach to bits.

He clicked on the radio, swapping between stations to maybe catch a glimpse of her, but there was nothing. Just brassy tunes to lull him to sleep.

When he and his entourage checked into a hotel halfway to Memphis, he didn’t bother glancing at the machine, not ready for another dollop of displeasure after his latest film was panned by critics again. He thought it wouldn’t dagger as hard this time, but it never got less twisting. It was impossible to not take it personally.

“Do you want to see someone simultaneously over-act and under-perform in the same film? Then Fun in Acapulco is the watch for you.”

What was he doing so wrong that he couldn’t see? He wanted what he idolized in other stars, the natural ability to convincingly portray a role. Perfect, practiced, performances with organic delivery. It was only when he went back and rewatched these movies himself did he see his flaws. The framing, the diction, the lostness in his expressions. He just wasn’t grounded enough. And of course, the material itself was complete shit. 

“You can’t relate to any of Presley’s latest characters because there simply is no relatability. This isn’t Mike, it’s so clearly Elvis Presley through the weakly played facade. This isn’t acting. It’s lying.”

He needed to stop reading into the criticism. More money meant more money. There was value to it all, merit in his every success, even if they lacked any spiritual nourishment. Even though he felt hollow at the end of nearly every day. 

Sitting in front of the television, too tired to call a girl over, too jaded to invite his friends around, he flicked on the set and slouched with a glass of water and a rattling bottle. Out of the corner of his eye, red flashed intermittently. On the phone stand, the machine blinked, gently prying for his attention. He was walking without thought, hands outstretched, mouth dry.

Elvis hit play, listening to a half second of rustling. A wet lip smack and a cigarette-accented inhale. Then, Dominic Archer’s tinny voice clicked through the receiver, “Might have a bit for you, kid. Jake Turner, a talented headliner at a famous casino is tired of the routine, starts a hot romantic encounter with the mysterious new card dealer on the run from her past. You and Frannie. Previous deal stands, Presley. Give me a call. Your manager is a fucking asshole.”

He played it again. Listening intently to every word. This was textbook glitz and glam that Colonel Parker frothed over, but just enough meat for Elvis to really sink his teeth into the role. There was no way this wasn’t going to be a hit. Two stars burning bright on screen. It was too easy to pitch. He just had to have patience and persistence. He’d beat Parker down with enough persuading. He wasn’t so spiteful to say no to possibly the biggest check of his life, was he?

*

Fuming. The Colonel was quiet; always at his angriest. He looked over his tightly intertwined hands at Elvis. The young star laid it all out once more, repeating in firm earnest that this was the right move for his career.

“How’s this any different from the other movies you have me in, Colonel?”

“What’s different is that she’s asking for a bigger cut and to be the headliner. How do you think that’s going to make you look?”

“No one cares. I couldn’t tell you who the headliners for the last twenty movies I’ve seen were! You know this is a golden opportunity. You gotta see the bigger picture here!”

The lack of a response left Elvis unnerved. Parker was either thinking or stewing, about to blow his top.

But he surprised Elvis when he said slowly, bluntly, “60/50. That’s my takeaway cut from whatever you receive, as your manager. For going out on a limb for you.” 

“Done.” No hesitation. Something that made a nerve in Parker’s jaw twitch.  But Elvis didn’t give a shit if Parker wanted a king’s share of the money. He could have it. As long as he got a chance to finally shine in a decent role, with a decent director, with a co-star that actually had some chops! 

“Let this be a lesson when this fails. And I promise you, it will fail.” The words were harsh and calculated, delivered with carelessness as Colonel Parker shrugged, waving him out. Elvis looked at him, stunned at the lack of motivation. No encouragement. Nothing. He shouldn’t expect it, but there was something overwhelmingly frustrating about silently sharing his hard-won earnings with someone like him. He wanted a change but didn’t know where else to start.

Taking himself more seriously was the first step. And he raced to return Dominick’s offer with a resounding “Yes, sir! Let me start by apologizing to you on my manager’s behalf—”

“No need. We start filming in May.”

May. The month couldn’t come fast enough. He was still a few weeks away, flirting with cold blue spring mornings and balmy evenings. He needed to move back to Las Vegas for filming. He liked the house enough, but it was out in the eerie quiet desert, and he could always see eyes bobbing like ghosts out on the pitch-black horizon. It was spooky being there, so he often never went. Parker came too, insisting that phoning it in wasn’t an option, even if he was clearly sour grapes about the entire trip there, about booking an apartment long term, about coming to the early filming every day (and every other weekend).

“A female director. A female lead. You’ve got to be out of your mind,” Parker scoffed.

Cassandra Morgan was an innovative filmmaker with a unique approach, renowned for passionately exploring complex characters. Elvis watched one of her movies after he settled in while housekeeping cleared the cobwebs. There were some huge spiders always waiting for eviction when he left his Vegas home for long stretches. But the pool was glittering and the pantry was restocked. There was life in the house again and he found himself walking around, wondering how Frannie would like everything. Most men didn’t care to decorate their spaces with fine art and designer furniture. He could see her dazzled by the globe glass chandelier painting the sunken marble living room with dappled prisms. Or her lounging by the infinity pool and gazing out onto the native garden. 

Elvis barely slept that night. So nervous was he that he actually downed some whiskey, suddenly aware of the smell of alcohol leaking from his pores, or the mauve pitting of his eyes when slumber escaped him. He wanted to be at his brightest for this. He felt like an unpaid intern at some big wig exec’s office, knees turned in and gut doing flips.

The studio was a sun scorched walk across bleached white concrete, but he made it as far as two steps past the gate when a cart rolled up to collect him, puttering him across the long stretch. He didn’t see his manager amongst the crew. His make-up artists were sweet gals, older than he expected, enthusiastic to be here. Delia and Margo. On set, there was a dip in professionalism as everyone swarmed him, happily introducing themselves.

His neck craned and his eyes flitted about the room, constantly searching for her. What would she be wearing? What would her face look like when she finally met him? What perfume would she smell like? “Get a hold of yourself, Presley,” he muttered to himself. 

Back stage, he got powdered up for rehearsals, having breezed through the script on the long plane ride to Vegas. It was his seventeenth read-through from start to finish, mesmerized by the similarity between himself and the character he was supposed to play. Jake was also bored of his routine performances and craved something meaningful, something new and fresh in his monotonous life. That something was Frannie’s character. And he knew that the chemistry that was sure to fire between them would translate flawlessly to the screen. This was a once in a lifetime film. He could feel the makings of a classic in his hands. He just had to act his heart out. There was a duet, even though the scene was supposed to be a playful conflict, with the two of them fighting over the right to the microphone during a shared bit. Making music together sounded too good to be true. He couldn’t wait.

On stage for rehearsals of the first scene, he recalled in the script that Frannie’s character wouldn’t be revealed until the first ten minutes in. It opened with a shot of Elvis playing the piano, a slower number than Elvis was used to, but Jake’s style of rock and roll was heavy on the roll. The guitarist was an actor he wasn’t familiar with, but the film barely had any focus on him other than a side plot knocking up a cocktail waitress.

The director was a lovely, warm woman in her late 50s. Elvis shook her hand and was surprised with its firmness. There was a boyish twinkle in her weathered eyes and she seemed born to direct with her motherly cadence. She patted Elvis on the upper back with her big meaty hand, walloping him good and cheering, “I couldn’t believe it ‘til I saw it. You know you were my first choice. Something tells me you understand this character very well. I’m glad you chomped at the bit. I know we’re going to make great things together. I’m gonna make you act yer heart out, Presley!”

Cassandra’s canvas chair creaked loudly as she hunkered down and took her lavalier and shouted, “Action!”

Though he was heartened by the director’s enthusiasm, he couldn’t help but feel a welling sense of disappointment as well. He thought he’d be seeing Francesca by now, but she was nowhere to be spotted, at least until he practiced his lines and the narration that he was supposed to record over the scene. He was struck, mid-sentence, when the metal exit door creaked open and a figure slipped into the darkness of the crowd, whispers lighting up in greeting to welcome the shadow in. The dim lights warmed, and Elvis could see her clearly.

She walked on set that day, a star. He knew just looking at her that she was born for this.

His rehearsal was short and clean, and Cassandra was overjoyed to have seen him in action, clapping for him and thanking dress for whoever picked a white suit for the opening scene. It was stark against the black Wurlitzer. They chose to film in Vegas for real slot machines to rent, adding authenticity to the vibe. The irony of the jackpots going off in the background wasn’t lost on him.

Francesca Ferrara was a silent marvel, blending in, strikingly indistinguishable when she wanted to be. She leaned against Cassandra, and whatever muttering they shared made them both laugh sweetly behind their hands.

“Oh stop. Get up there, sweetheart. You can worry about makeup later.”

She was fussed over for a moment, her hair brushed and a clean sheen of red applied to her cupid’s bow lips. He was struck right through, clutching his chest as she rose up the set steps.

The spotlight was cast, its honeyed glow illuminating her as she walked in from the left of stage. It made a halo in her hair. She was intense from the moment she took center and began her performance bold and clean and with grace in her casual attire. A black dress top and red silk skirt. She already looked the part of an ardent card slinger with a secret past (and a secret set of hidden pipes). It was a whisper to begin, lulling the crowd in. She hadn’t practiced any vocals, but what left her was honed and mighty.

Elvis was rapt, standing amongst the crew, attentive on her. She spun and her skirt draped like a second skin against her shapely legs. Her timbre was soulful, all-American in its honesty. She didn’t close her throat around her vowels, she didn’t whisper, she trusted herself to carry every note with masterful precision. Her hair twirled about her face and he could see her alight.

“I can’t believe you’re really here. This is my first time working on a big Hollywood budget kind of thing.” A crew member tried chatting him up, murmuring low so that she didn’t interrupt Frannie’s practice, but it was distracting him. He nodded politely but tight.

“Uh huh. It’s the big leagues alright.”

“I’m Sherri. I’m the one who put you in white. It’s totally your color, hun.” She was way too young to be calling him hun.

He didn’t mean to be rude, but Frannie was consuming his attention, singing, wondering to the audience with song when her life would finally take a turn for the better. When would she finally find the man of her dreams? Did he truly exist? It was over and she went out as gracefully as candlelight in the wind, curtsying with her ankles crossed and skirt held aloft.

The spotlight on her shuddered then flicked off when the air conditioning unit for the studio hummed to life. Frannie exited stage without preamble. She wasn’t looking for anyone. She wasn’t looking for him.

He watched her meander through the backstage with grace, never a step out of line. Her movements were taken with such… precision. It was like a dance she never stopped, on her toes with a devastating smile. A smile Francesca rarely titled his way, substituting instead for raw surmisal. It was almost like she was waiting. For him to make a fool of himself. He followed her around set, but she was just out of reach somehow, and whenever she got close enough for him to start a conversation, someone would intercept his path and vie for his attention.

“When I told my Dad I was going to be working on a film with Elvis Presley, he couldn’t believe it! Do you mind if I get an autograph? I promise I won’t always be pestering you like this. I just have to shoot my shot. I loved you in Jailhouse Rock and King Creole! Haha, ain’t that what life is? A couple of good moments.”

Elvis grinned, finding the kid endearing. “And all the rest is trying to chase them. What’s your name, young man?”

“Edward! But all my friends call me Eddie. So, you can call me Eddie for sure, Mr. Presley! And I’m—and I’m just a gaffer. But if you ever need anything you just send for me. Say the word, and I’ll have it done. We’re all here for you!” He was filled with enthusiasm, bright eyes wide with wonder as he pulled out a notebook with only two other signatures on the first page. A young buck in the cinematography world. Elvis smiled back. 

Thanks for always looking out for me, Eddie. From your pal, Elvis Presley.

“You ain’t tearing up, are you?” Elvis laughed when Eddie’s face pinkened as the young man clutched his notebook tight. 

“No sir, dust in my eyes. It’s just so… dusty up there in the scaffolding.” He sniffled, smiling at him before politely, letting Elvis get back to finding Frannie.

“Hey, do you know where Miss Ferrara went?”

“I think she stepped outside for a smoke?” Eddie pointed towards the glowing exit sign and Elvis booked it, keeping his gaze fixed straight so that no one would be tempted. He made it to the door and pushed, stepping out into the shaded alleyway.

Elvis spotted her instantly. She was smiling to a kindly makeup extra who was puffing away, giving her a little wave before she finally turned her attention towards him. She didn’t have a cigarette, she’d just stepped out for air.

Her gaze nearly tipped him over and he couldn’t remember the last time a girl really made his heart skip, but here he was, thinking up one liners, sweet nothings, compliments about her glossy hair—something. Anything. But when he opened his mouth to finally break the handful of seconds’ silence, she offered out her elegant hand for him to take. It was warm, her fingers hugged lovingly by glittering jewels. Did she feel the sweat in his palm?

“And you must be Elvis Presley,” she grinned, taking back her hand and leveling him with a look. There was that flicker of resolve in her fierce eyes, just like on stage at Johnny Carson’s show. When the stage light was a halo behind her head and he heard her voice warble, not with falter, but with emotion, constricting her elegant throat. He had to have her. That kind of conviction was rare in a woman.

“Francesca.” He cursed himself for not kissing the cool back of her palm. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“I’m sure,” she teased, but with a bit of venom in her purr. “So, what’s a big star like you doing on a movie set like this? Isn’t the role a little... non-traditional for you?” Heavy with insinuation, he wasn’t quite sure how to approach her question, to approach her. She was of a different cut. He knew he’d never met a woman like her.

“When I saw you on Carson, I knew we had to mix some of our star power together. For the good of the movie going people,” he joked. “Give them something like they’ve never seen before.”

Francesca smiled, but it lacked warmth. She was analyzing him. “Then let’s make magic together, Presley.” She said unconvincingly and he realized at once that she had no faith in him. That sinking feeling that he got at those uppity parties, of immaturity and shallowness, washed over him in waves now. She hadn’t even seen his rehearsal and she already doubted him. Was this a mistake after all? 

“You can trust me, Frannie, I’d never—”

“Only my friends call me Frannie. Just call me Miss Ferrara, please.” Her voice was pretty, lightly accented with a New York lilt. He could smell her perfume. She was even more stunning in person. Suddenly, he was dizzy. “I’m getting back inside and out of this heat,” she offered. Fall couldn’t set in quickly enough.

Elvis watched her sway away without an argument, wondering how he’d already screwed this up. He’d never really had to introduce himself to anyone, to make a good impression. He just showed up and was the life of the party. Ladies flocked to him and guys wanted to hang out with him. Approaching a guarded woman was a new beast entirely but he was undaunted. Tailing after her, he slid his hands coolly in his pockets.

“So, what are you doing after this? We can talk over dinner.”

“I’m too tired to talk. I still have another two hours of rehearsal, Elvis Presley.”

“Well, maybe tomorrow. Or next weekend.”

“I’m busy next weekend.”

“Okay. Well,” he stumbled to open the door for her and she didn’t regard him as she trotted on through without breaking her stride. “What about the weekend after that?”

“Busy then, too.”

Elvis’s face flattened. “I get the message, Frannie—cesca. Francesca Ferrara. Uh, Miss Ferrara.” He was approached by some crew members with notepads and proper autograph books, pictures of him. They mirrored how Elvis felt, tailing after Francesca, who left him to his groupies.

“I was there at your premiere in Memphis last year! I spent my whole Christmas bonus on those tickets!”

“Mr. Presley! Are you busy after this? A bunch of the crew were going to Marco’s for lunch. Cassandra’s treat!”

“What are you asking him for? Of course he’s going! Elvis, come on. Pile in with the rest of us!”

Elvis laughed, eyes glancing for an out. He’d rather just have a day to wind down since his scene rehearsal was finished for the evening, but he relented, placating them with a smile and joining in. Somehow, Elvis’ Memphis crew found him and jumped in their own cars to follow. Frannie was nowhere in the sight and certainly hadn’t booked a separate ride to the restaurant.

It was dim and the portions were tiny and the conversations were ones he’d had thousands of times already.

“Who’s your favorite artist?”

“Did you ever freeze up on stage?”

“Do you have a favorite song to perform?”

“What do you think you have that makes you Elvis Presley?”

He was tired. He wanted to be someone again, not a thing, an object, an idol, an undigested voice. No one wanted to know a deeper, more meaningful him. It was always about the act, the playing, the singing, and the glamor. Didn’t anyone want to know what his worst fear was? What kept him getting out of bed everyday when there was almost nothing worldly left for him to achieve? How for a time, he felt he couldn’t go on living after his mama died? He had everything, fame, money, charisma. He could reach for top shelf trim whenever he desired and yet his heart was always empty. Tired of the vices, he longed for a connection. And he promised himself that tomorrow would be in line with his goals, that he’d make Francesca see that he had more to him than critically panned cheese and charm. 

*

Francesca just didn’t like him. He was a ham. A sock hop with fourteen moves under his belt exactly. She counted them. He fubbed his lines and under spoke, his voice almost an indiscernible mumble at times. Other times he was just bleakly shouting without a hint of emotional inflection. She felt there was wasted potential there. But for the moment, he couldn’t act to save his life and yet he was the center of attention. No matter what he did, people loved him. It was like Francesca had a meter for detecting bullshit and Elvis was riddled with it. What he did have going for him was his flair. His artistry. His charisma. And God help her, that voice. His voice was like a whiskey hammer, strong and soothing. It rolled over her like black silk, a lover’s caress.

He took the thunder in almost every rehearsal scene he was in. If they had to act like they were in a bitter argument, Elvis was always more emotional, more explosive. If they had to practice their duet, she could feel him trying to suffocate her voice with his. And to make it all worse, he did all this obnoxiously and obliviously. She knew what he was trying to do, emphasis on try. He clearly wanted to impress. Not just the director, but her. He wanted Frannie to take him seriously. But if one-upping her was all he had, then he’d better be prepared for filming, because she was holding back right now, letting him burn all the glory he wanted. Sprinting hard and fast, not realizing the length of this endurance race. She stayed with him, jogging aloofly alongside, performing her part for rehearsals. Never missing a day, even if she wasn’t required on set.

Not only was Presley grating on her nerves, his meddling weasel of a manager with the shark eyes and angry red cheeks, always glared at her whenever he graced them with his presence. He never stopped trying to talk her agent down, to make a change in the headliner decision. It was Francesca’s one request. She didn’t care about the money nearly as much as Dominick, which is why she gave him such a generous 20% cut (that he objected to time and time again, saying she needed to build her estate up and enjoy her youth while she still had it). She just wanted to be a star. For everyone to know her name. Ask anyone for anywhere who Elvis Presley was, and they could tell you. Ask anyone outside of young people who Francesca Ferrara was? Deadpan stares.

To say it was irritating would be an understatement. It wasn’t fair to her to watch him prance in the limelight like a show pony. But at least he wasn’t the highest billed, and she held that close to her heart with pride. Dominick could work magic; he was the only man involved with this she had any faith in.

Elvis, however, worryingly acted like he was about to star in his next big flop and bring Frannie down before she truly had the chance to shine on her own merit. If she was going to lose, she didn’t want to keep herself tied to him. She’d be “that one girl in that one Elvis movie. What was it called again?” She shuddered to think about her future if this big break didn’t pan out. Was hitching herself to the Presley wagon a mistake?

So, she dedicated herself ten-fold to her theatrics and practiced hard, applied herself harder. She was in the dance studio in her free time, honing her skills, tightening her spirals, widening her devastating smile. Slowly, but surely, she would sway them all. Make them all her adoring fans.

Tonight, it rained hard on the tin studio roof. The lights were low, and the stage echoed with the whispers of her feet pittering across the lacquered floor. She didn’t have on shoes to give her blisters some relief, and the added grip made her even more agile. Music played in her head. For this scene, she was supposed to be in a round. The camera would cut to each character lamenting their current situation in harmony, longing for their dreams to one day come true. In the next scene, she would be alone in her dingy motel room, sitting on the bed and counting her cash, hiding it in the mattress. The dance would intersperse, haunting and flighty, like a specter, because that was her character’s life. Bouncing from one place to the next, always on the run and never somewhere long enough to make a human connection with anyone. She was losing herself, a shell of who she wanted to be.

It seemed like no matter what she did, she would be in his shadow. And for that alone, she disdained him with an unbridled intensity. She snubbed his advances, tossing him out to like feed for hungry extras on set who were vying for their next meal.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Presley?” Emphasis on the anything.

“You know I’m also a licensed masseuse. I can see so much tension you’re carrying in those doorway-busting shoulders.”

“You seein’ anybody, Mr. Elvis?”

It was eye rolling at first but after a time, rolling them so much gave her a migraine. She downed two ibuprofen, drinking from the canteen and crushing the little paper cup in her hand. She could feel the pills still stuck in her throat and she swallowed dryly, eyes watering to the sound of the director praising Elvis yet again for such a good performance. She hated admitting it, but was Cassandra actually getting a good performance out of him?

Throwing the cup into the garbage, she shook the thought out of her head. No, the only thing the lackey could do was sing and even then, he had to be in a serious mood. He was intent on his perceived conquest of her. She felt like hunted game when she turned a corner to find him conveniently there for her to bump into, hit with the heady wash of his piney cologne. He helped her to her waiting golf cart, hopping into his garish pink Cadillac. He offered her a ride every time and every time she declined him.

“Coffee?”

“It upsets my stomach.”

“There’s a new Italian place down the street from—”

“I don’t like Italian.” Total bluff, she grew up on the stuff. Frannie made sure not to ever eat lasagna leftovers in front of him.

“I have a cabin up in Gatlinburg, you should come out sometime. Perfect view of the stars.”

“I can see them just fine from my balcony.” Another lie. The city lights suffocated any natural starlight. When she looked up, she could see the moon and little else but Orion’s lonely belt. Her disdain was threatening to turn into loathing with his insistent pestering, his constant lackadaisy attitude. He showed up on time the first few weeks, but he’d taken to coming in late occasionally or playing pick-up games on set with his pack of hangers on from Memphis. His routine was without practice.

Cassandra’s enthusiasm waned, but only a tad bit. She wasn’t afraid of scaring him off with critique, telling him to tighten up his act and try it again from the top. Her patience was endless, and she was determined to pull a show-stopping performance from him. Cassandra knew he had it in him. But Elvis struggled with some of the more complex footwork, stumbling once and catching himself, his palms slapping loudly against the stage. He wrung his hands, his wrists swollen and red the next day.

He had to go to the hospital for them to tell him he’d suffered a fracture in each wrist, but that he should heal without any issues after some rest and keeping them in a cast. He was encouraged to wear them on set, but he refused when performing.

“They just slow me down, anyways.”

Elvis missed a few days of filming, stalling production considerably. He was apologetic and embarrassed. Francesca practiced her rehearsals without him, going over her part of the duet again and again. She perfected her choreography, working after hours with a dance coach to help her flexibility. Show stopping high kicks and quick splits. There was nothing that could stand in her way. 

She caught him looming once when she was going over another routine, practicing her lines and her placement. There was a cartwheel that kept dropping her voice and she wanted to train the warble out. Everything else was flawless, except for that one note.

“Take me awAy!”

Agh, she did it again! And then she saw him in the back row of chairs that some of the crew sat in. He was watching her. She pretended not to notice.

*

In make-up today, disaster struck. When Margo was going on about her boyfriend’s new job at the furniture store, her cigarette breath punctuating her words, she uncapped the same red lipstick that was used for Josephine every day. But as she painted the cream across Frannie’s lips, the actress cried out, swatting the tube out of her hand. It hit the ground and rolled, breaking the lipstick bullet off its base.

Margo reached down, taking it in her hands while Frannie cupped her stinging mouth. On the takeaway, there was a line of blood.

“What the hell?” Margo exclaimed, showing Frannie that a sewing needle had been inserted inside the wax. It was sticking out just enough to nick.

The room seemed to tilt. The lights on her cheval glass blurred. Someone had tried to hurt her.

Unceremoniously, the lipstick plunked into the trash and Margo reached into her kit to draw out a fresh backup among the dozen others. She peeled the plastic casing and popped it open, inspecting it, running the tip across her wrist and just swiping clean color.

“This one is just fine, sweetheart. Don’t you worry. We’re gonna get to the bottom of this. I’ll have security tell me who was here last night. They usually keep a headcount. They’re good about that.” But the words were muffled in Francesca’s ears as her heart began to pound.

Who would have done this to her?

She was frazzled for the rest of her rehearsal, stumbling over her own two feet after having danced her heart out during practice late last night. And who else had been there? She knew Elvis and a few extras. Sure, he was annoying but he’d never once seemed threatening. This was just downright malicious.

It took her focus completely off track and she went through the motions without soul, guarded, eyes shifting across the crew, like she might see a sign. Elvis was watching her intently, but then again, he often did.

During her lackluster performance, a loud clang sounded above her. Frannie flinched as a light came crashing down, shattering on impact just a few feet from her. It was small, but if that’d hit her, she’d be knocked out cold.

She breathed a sigh of relief, finding that her nerves weren’t baseline at any point, fluttering high. She laughed the incident off though on the inside, she was rattled. Her lips were sore when she smiled. “That was almost lights out for me!”

“Oh my god! Eddie!” Someone screamed, pointing to the back of the stage, where just below the curtains, a pair of feet could be seen dangling, kicking.

Francesca realized she was looking at the gaffer, Edward, a rope lassoed tightly around his neck and left hand. His teeth were bared as he struggled to push against the tension of the rope, his legs jutting out straight, his free arm wiggling wildly. He couldn’t manage a cry for help beyond a high-pitched rasp.

People were scrambling, trying to find a ladder, but the young man’s face was beginning to purple. 

She couldn’t believe what she was witnessing, her legs were moving of their own accord. He wasn’t so high that he couldn’t be reached, or at least his feet anyways. She knew she couldn’t get him down on her own but before she could even try, a man pushed past her, gently moving her aside. It was Presley, looking taller somehow as he lifted his gentle hands up, giving the dangling stagehand a place to stand if only for a brief second. His legs wobbled, knees bowing back, but the crew were all suffused whispers for a brief second, listening for the young boy to breathe.

“Oh my god, Edward, just breathe, honey. The boys are about to cut you down now, just breathe sweetie,” Francesca’s heart was pounding. Presley’s arms were straight up, his sleeves rolling down, his shirt constricting around his powerful chest. She knew his wrists must be on fire, as she could see they were still yellow and purple with healing bruising.

Someone managed to find a ladder and scurried up, hacking the rope after a few of the men gathered together, lacing their arms to catch him. The rope gave and Eddie fell back with a gasp, his face beet red, his eyes bulging, veins completely blown out and bleeding into his sclera. But he was already happily choking, tears freefalling as he profusely rasped, “You saved my life. Elvis, you saved my life.”

“Just relax, Eddie. We’re getting you to a hospital.”

Eddie wheezed, unable to lift his head or move his broken wrist.

“What happened?” Someone asked from the tight circle of concerned faces. 

Cassandra shook her head. “It’s that damn scaffolding. It’s going to come down and kill someone.”

Francesca felt superstition warning her that the film might be cursed. Had her bitterness transformed into malevolence and wreaked havoc on set? She glanced up at Elvis through her curtain of dark hair with new eyes. Seeing him jump into action like that had shifted her view of him just slightly for the better. She must have been smiling, because when he caught her looking his way, he grinned back, looping his arm under Eddie’s shoulder and helping him to a stand.

“Come on, big guy. Let’s get you in the car. Wanna tell your old man you got to ride in my Cadillac?”

“No way…” Eddie croaked, “You think I could drive it back?”

“We’ll uh, we’ll have to take a rain check on that. But one day, kid, one day!”

Frannie couldn’t help but find this side of him endearing. So, she joined him. Much to his surprise.

“What if he passes out or something? Looks like you need a hand with him,” she suggested, hopping into the back. When Elvis grabbed the steering wheel, he grunted, frozen. Eddie didn’t seem to notice as he winced and bellyached, trying to find some way he could hold his sprained neck without causing severe pain.

With grace, Frannie grabbed the headrest and leaned forward, her voice wet at Elvis’s ear when she asked, “Do you want me to drive?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, looking straight ahead, the shells of his ears flushing pink. “You know what? Give her a whirl. Just be careful, she’s sensitive.”

Surprised with his casualness, she slotted into the driver’s seat in his place, the plush leather still warm from his body. His long legs needed the space, but Frannie had to scoot up to the steering wheel before settling comfortably in.

The ride was smooth and she took every turn with care, with Elvis pointing over her shoulder. “Now turn right here, traffic’s going to have Main Street backed up.” He’d obviously spent a lot of time in Las Vegas before. He checked over Eddie, telling him, “Now when you tell the story, you can say it was my Caddy, but that you were driven by the Francesca Ferrara.”

She smirked, choosing to take that as a complement, even if he loaded that with patronization. They didn’t have to wait long at all in the ER—apparently any injury above the shoulders was considered high risk and the patient was swept immediately away.

Eddie called his parents, but they were out of town. Elvis volunteered to be his ride and Eddie begged him to just go home—he obviously had more important things to do, being Elvis Presley, after all—but Presley just assured him. “No, no, I really don’t.”

While Eddie was being looked over by physicians, Elvis got them something out of the vending machines, telling Francesca, “See, I told you I’d take you out for dinner one day.”

Frannie couldn’t stifle her laugh. He got her with that. Now she pondered when he was going to ask her again, but she didn’t have to wonder long when after inhaling a pack of cheese crackers, he brought up the topic.

“You know dating on set means asking for trouble. Right?” She asked, looking out at the darkening, orange sky. 

“You seem like the kinda girl who doesn’t mind a little trouble.”

He thought he was slick. And maybe he was. “I take my work very seriously, Mr. Presley.”

“Call me Elvis, please,” he insisted. “Come on. Just one date. Dinner. A movie. Horseback riding on the beach. Anything you want.”

“Don’t try to charm me.”

“So, you’re saying I’m charming?” He smirked playfully. 

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Mama always told me ladies like a man with consistency. I like you, Frannie. I like you a lot.”

She couldn’t detect any dishonesty. It almost seemed like he was earnest in taking her out on a real date. But she still didn’t want to budge on the principle of dating her co-stars. That was a hot pot of drama waiting to blow. Perhaps she could meet him halfway, just this once. Holding up one finger, she told him, “Take me as a friend to the carnival. There’s one next week in Indian Springs.”

He was like a dog with a bone, wagging his tail. He finally got a bite and practically shot up in victory. Elvis pumped his fist boyishly.

“Then I’ll be the best friend you could ask for,” he assured, leaving her with a week to ruminate on if this was the first of many bad decisions with this dangerously likable man.

*

Elvis watched her dark hair cascade down her shoulders. Her hips swayed sensuously when she walked, inviting his gaze to linger. Francesca drew almost everyone’s eyes, turning heads when she made her way to the ticket booth in her fire red dress, gems glinting on her throat and in her stormy tresses. She splurged on the limitless pass, presenting the back of her hand proudly to be stamped with a bright yellow star, one to match his as he made the same purchase, kicking himself for not covering hers—not that she even gave him a chance. She was adamant on making this as casual as she could.

He wanted her arm in his. He wanted her to lean her pretty head against his shoulder while they walked in step to the Ferris wheel. While she had a big panda bear or something he won her. It seemed so… trivial of her, to pick something like this. Low brow, even. He loved it. There were single moms with lines of unruly children in tow, trash skittering across whatever parking lot the fair rented out, and Frannie was beaming, smiling from ear to ear, eyes reflecting the string lights like fireworks.

“What’s first? I’m real good at ring toss.” He absolutely wasn’t, but anything to get her one step closer to taking him—them?—seriously, was a step in the right direction. 

She shook her head, pointing to the carousel, adjacent to a funnel cake stand and a house of mirrors. Trapezing ahead without him, he was starting to suspect he was getting recognized even with his hat on as eyes followed the pair and hands cupped over secret sharing mouths as people whispered.

“I don’t want to carry around some big stuffed animal the whole time,” she remarked about the game of ring toss he mentioned earlier. “And besides, I don’t want to school you in ring toss, it’d just be embarrassing for you.” She grinned, sending a flare of heat up his spine. Dynamite. He tailed after her long strides, wondering how she was walking in those lacquered things that sure made her hips look good.

“Alright, alright. You’re the boss. Let’s do what you’d like first, then.”

She pointed to the Fireball. A sketchy looking hoop of metal with a snake of carts that went in a 360, first fast, then slow, then counterclockwise. It made his stomach churn just looking at it, but she was giddy, eating up the distance between them and the ride.

“If you don’t want to ride, you can just watch,” she suggested, grinning at him over her shoulder. She was egging him on.

“As much as I’d love to watch you get scared all by your li’l self, I’ll join you. My treat.” He sidled in next to her, lifting his arms as the bright yellow cage restraints shuddered down over their shoulders. He evened his breathing, and involuntarily gasped when the ride shot forward sooner than he expected. Frannie was already screaming excitedly, her hair billowing around her thrilled face. They made the first revolutions and Elvis realized that these janky machines, hissing and clanking, gained more heart, more charm and whimsy when you had someone to share the memory with.

Even though they were both a peck dizzy, they stumbled to the game booths anyway. And although Frannie absolutely did not school him at ring toss like she boasted, she did blow him away at darts. Nailing every high value balloon point blank, dead center. She won him a teddy bear in a smoking jacket, with a hot pair of shades to match. He was tickled, taking the little bear under his arm like a treasure, toting him everywhere and even putting him on the carousel and on the whirly swings next to them.

He won her a giant panda bear after spending way more than its worth on his chances at skeeball. His wrists were still sore from his fall on set, but he was determined to win her something memorable and to see the mirth when she embraced it tightly near the end of the night, just how she wanted. It was all worth it.

Frannie introduced him to the delights of obscenely large funnel cake and vinegar fries, and he convinced her to try her first chili dog. She apparently only ever ate them with sauerkraut, from hot dog stands in New York. 

“You know, where I come from, a kid would get bullied for eating a dog with no chili.” He made her laugh for the dozenth time of the night and lavished in the wind chime sound. The way she threw her head back. The way her eyes sparkled.

In the house of horrors, she startled him with a funny little, “Boo!” after dashing ahead when he stopped for a moment to fix his loafer. He exaggerated his surprise for her a little and she reveled in it, reminding him happily through different points of the night, “I got you good back there, didn’t I?”

You certainly did, Francesca.

On the way back, he drove with his arm across her shoulders. It was rare that he ever did anything without his crew, but boy was he glad he did tonight. Wind blew in their hair and star spray reflected on the chrome trimming. He could see her dark curves outlined by slivers of moonlight. He felt like he was in a dream as he drove the empty stretch of backroads to the city and finally towards her luxurious apartment. Heart in his throat, his palms were damp when he opened the passenger door and helped her across the sidewalk.

The doorman, Bennington, tipped his hat to her and then looked at Elvis once, twice, three times before his eyes bugged and his diligent demeanor cracked.

“No way. You’re.... you’re—him! Francesca Ferrara, now you have some explaining to do. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing the—”

“Nuh uh,” Frannie laughed heartily, holding up her palm. “We’re just friends, Bennington. You know I’d tell you if I had a man in my life!”

He smacked his lips at her, back to focusing on Presley. “I’m kicking myself. I thought you had his haircut when you picked up Miss Francesca, but I told myself there was no way! Now, I always said if I saw you in person, I’d have something for you to sign but my boss would kill me if I got ink on my uniform.” He patted his chest but came up empty handed.

“I’ll do you one better,” Elvis proposed, unfastening his diamond and pearl cufflinks. “How about these? They even have my name stamped on ‘em. See?”

Bennington’s mouth was agape, his hands cradled in prayer to hold the cufflinks. “I don’t know what to say, Mr. Presley. Thank you! Thank you so much!” He pocketed them for safe keeping. “Boy, this is the best night of my life.”

“Mine too,” Elvis said, cupping young Bennington’s shoulders and bidding him a good night.

Frannie was bowled over by his generosity. She stopped at the elevator, hitting the call button and waiting for it to come cruising down the transparent glass tube. 

“Tonight was fun. I don’t really get to have a lot of fun. My life is just exhausting sometimes. I-it’s nice to get to do something like this every once in a while,” he cooed. Her glossy hair had come undone from its jeweled bindings. She squeezed the stuffed panda he’d won her and smiled that heart stopping smile.

He was devastated, knowing that when the elevator doors opened, he’d be alone shortly thereafter. 

“Thank you, Elvis.”

She leaned in to kiss him and his lips were slightly pursed, his pulse rocketing. But she pressed her lips gingerly against his cheek, her perfume suffusing him, all cinnamon and powdered sugar. 

“Anytime, Frannie.”

She let him get away with it as she turned her back towards him and entered the elevator, the doors shutting and whisking her up. He could see she was looking at him all the way up. Was she thinking about letting him in? She’d communicated very clearly that this wasn’t a date. So why was he so torn up about being left in the lobby, and walking past cheery Bennington who said with surprise, “Oh, goodnight Mr. Presley! Get home safe. And good luck on set!”

Elvis acknowledged him and returned the gesture, legging it to his car and shutting the door, revving it on the start. And although he was forlorn about going back to his cavernous home in the desert, he glanced in the rearview and saw that hot red lip imprint on his cheek. 

Francesca liked him. She just had to give him a chance to make her fall in love. Like he was already falling for her. 

#gambling on your love #elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fans #elvis presley fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis x oc #elvis fic #'60s elvis

[trulybetty]

dec' x 27 - reunions

Prompt: reunions Pairing: sequins!joel x reader Word Count: 1,129 Warnings: none, just some fluff, maybe a hint of angst? Summary: Joel making the trek through arrivals to come see you (running out of steam, this is the most descriptive it's going to get lol). AO3: Linked

x. masterlist

Joel grumbled to himself as his boots echoed dully off of the plane and onto the boarding bridge, giving the air hostess a silent nod of thanks. Hitching his carry-on higher up onto his shoulder, he stifled a yawn. The plane had left Austin late at gone seven earlier that evening, but with an hour layover in Dallas and the time change, it was now gone midnight. It’d already been a gruelling day, and this late-night flight on top of it making the last five hours feel twice as long, had him wrestling with doubts if the strain of whatever this long-distance thing between you was sustainable.

He was already on a tight schedule, one that the unplanned layover had already eaten into. The downside of picking a flight based on its price as opposed to its convenience. He had less than 48 hours before he had to be back in Austin to pick up Sarah from her mother's. The switch of weekends wasn’t as easy to negotiate with his ex as it had been with Sarah, which further added to the pressure of knowing that every minute away counted.

So with his carry-on on his shoulder, he was grateful waiting for luggage wouldn’t be another delay as he watched weary travellers heading to an empty carousel to wait for their belongings to come through.

As he walked through the quiet terminal, the echo of the handful of passengers he’d departed with bounced off the walls reminding him of the early hour of the morning. The glare of the artificial light bouncing off of the polished concrete was starting to irritate the headache that was starting to nascent.

There were so many of these precious moments snatched between both of your schedules, the odd weekend here, maybe a week squeaked in but the other would be working. He pulled his cap down a little further on his head and tried to ignore the list of things he had to do in the small window when he returned home, and that was before the week could even begin. On top of that, Christmas was fast approaching and it was his ex’s turn to have Sarah, so she already had a small list of things she wanted to do with both him and Tommy that made him more tired to think about. He couldn’t help but wonder if all this effort was worth it. Was all of this enough to sustain whatever it was between the two of you?

Following the signs for arrivals, Joel tried to focus on getting through to the other side and the prospect of a warm bed and sleep. He stopped only momentarily to awkwardly take a picture on his phone of the artwork that took up centre stage between the shuttered stores and the brief formality of making his arrival in the state official. 

And then, as he stepped through the sliding doors into the arrivals area, there you were. Despite it being gone one am at that point, the harsh fluorescent lights of the nearly empty airport couldn't dim your smile the moment you laid eyes on him. It was also then that he noticed the homemade sign you were holding, his name scrawled across it in bold letters. The modpodge of glitter and stickers, and enough experience with artwork from Sarah, told him that perhaps you’d had help putting it together from smaller hands. But, somehow, that simple piece of cardboard in your hands made his heart swell.

The sight of you, so alert and eagerly waiting just for him, dissolved all of his lingering uncertainties. The list of reasons he had mentally compiled about why this relationship might be too challenging, too demanding, too impractical, all just faded into insignificance. 

Forgotten. 

You were there, with sleepy yet shining eyes and a smile that could light up the darkest night, making every cramped flight and travel nuisances feel utterly trivial.

With every step he took towards you, Joel's pace quickened, fueled by the realization that, yes, it was all worth it. Every precious minute he got to spend in your presence was invaluable, no matter how quickly time might slip away. The weariness that had been weighing on his body seemed to evaporate, replaced by a surge of adrenaline at the thought of the limited but incredibly meaningful time you were about to share.

When he finally reached you, words became superfluous. He simply wrapped you in his arms, the sign crumpling between you, and his kiss conveyed everything in the quiet of the airport. This moment, this connection, answered all his questions and dispelled every doubt. This feeling, being here with you, was what validated every mile traveled and every hour spent in the air. It was undeniably, irrevocably worth it.

In the embrace, you both stood, the rest of the world momentarily forgotten. You could feel the steady beat of his heart against yours, a rhythm that seemed to sync with your own. The exhaustion on his face was evident, yet there was an undeniable spark in his eyes.

“You look tired,” you whispered, your voice a soft murmur in the vastness of the empty terminal.

Joel chuckled lightly, his breath warm against your ear. “Worth it, though,” he replied, tightening his hold. 

In the embrace, you both stood silent for a moment, the world around you melting into a quiet backdrop. It was in these quiet hours, in the stillness of an almost empty airport, where the reality of your relationship truly sunk in. It wasn't just about overcoming the challenges of distance and time; it was about something deeper, something neither of you had fully experienced before, even in your past relationships.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Joel pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours in the dim airport light. “Missed you,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. 

It was a significant acknowledgment, considering his past with Sarah's mother and your history with your ex. This was all brand new territory for you both.

“It's worth it, though, right?” you asked, your voice laced with a mix of nervousness and excitement.

Joel's response was a smile that reached his eyes, a look of absolute certainty. “Yeah, it is,” he agreed softly.

Then, with a gentle yet firm pull, he threw his arm around your shoulder and planted a tender kiss on the top of your head as you both began to walk out of the airport. The gesture was protective, affectionate, and filled with unspoken promises of a future that, despite the hurdles, seemed brighter than ever. As you stepped out into the warm early morning air, there was a sense of beginning in every step, a new chapter waiting to be written together.

#december x 500 #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[tagsecretsanta]

From @squiddokiddo

From @squiddokiddo to @lenfantdeverone

-Letters and Wishes-

Prompts used: Baby Alan writing to santa and Scott receiving an emotional gift. (kinda... Heavy leaning on Alan and letters though)

I'm not much of a writer but I hope you enjoy this little drabble. It has taken many twists in development that I wasn't expecting and has turned into this. Warning, you may need some tissues.

Ps. I've also included a little festive stocking filler for you, at the end. ₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶₎

𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹

"Alan!! Get your ass up here!!" Scott yelled down the old loft stairs. What on earth was he doing?

"I will." A call came back. "I'm just writing my letter to Santa!!" 

Well that explained it...

Scott rolled his eyes. "Aren't you a little old to be writing to Santa?" He huffed as he lifted a large box of baubles. "We kinda need your help with the decorations up here!!"

"Yeah in a minute!!"

Every damn year... 

"You know how important that letter is to him." Virgil interjected "Let him finish it, I'm sure we can manage."

"Fine but you're picking up the slack for him." Before Virgil could protest, his brother had shoved the box of baubles into his arms. "Check those will ya, want to make sure none of them are broken."

"Well if they weren't broken before they definitely are now..." John shot from the other side of the loft, he'd assigned himself the task of fairy light maintenance and hadn't looked up from his work for ages. "Some of those decorations are are family heirlooms Scott, be a little more gentle will you?"

Scott turned on his heel dramatically "Can you blame me John??" He stomped over to the astronaut in question, the floor boards squeaking under his footfall took away any sense of seriousness there may have been. "We don't have much time to get all of these decorations up and since we're missing a pair of hands we..." Scott paused as he mentally counted his brothers " Wait where's Gordon?."

Just as if a sparkly Cuthulu had been summoned, a tinsel covered form raised it's head out of one of the larger boxes.

"Here, I'm trying to find the ends of this tinsel, it's damn near impossible." He wriggled about in the shimmery material causing the box to topple over, various decorations spilling out across the floor.

"Little help?"

John and Virgil came to his aid, pulling him up and untying him from his sparkly prison while Scott handled the scattered trinkets. As he was scooping the last few up, something caught his eye. An envelope, red with crudely scrawled writing on the front. He picked it up and read the address.

"To Mr S Claus, the North Pole."

"Wait Grandma actually kept those letters? Weren't they basically just our requests for toys?" Virgil asked removing the last bit of tinsel from his brother.

"Oh, this should be good." Gordon grinned "Open it, let's see if we can guess who's it is just by the list of toys they wanted!!"

Curious about it's contents, Scott proceeded to open the envelope, being careful not to damage it. He pulled out the letter inside, glitter and sequins spilling out and onto the floor. Another mess he'd have to clean up...

"Well that rules John out." Gordon giggled and John shot him a look.

"I thought glitter would be too distracting for him, remember I really wanted that telescope and I wanted to make sure that I got the message across clearly."

Scott shushed them and began to read the letter aloud.

𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹

Dear Santa

What I really want for Christmas is my daddy to come back. He was trying to save someone and he went missing but Virgil said that your magic doesn't work that way and you wouldn't be able to bring him back. Even if you really really really wanted to.

So instead I want to ask for this. 

Please could you tell John come home for Christmas? He hasn't left Thunderbird 5 since dad disappeared.

Can you ask Virgie to play us some carols on the piano? I haven't heard him play in a very long time and grandma loves carols.

Can you make Gordon smile again? He used to play with me all the time and make me laugh but now he always says too tired to hang out with me. I think he might actually be upset.

Can Scotty have a break. He's been working all the time for ages and ages and he always seems angry or sad. He has so much nasty paperwork to do and when he's not doing that he's flying Thunderbird 1 and saving people.

This Christmas I want him to relax, it's not fair that he has to be so busy. Grandma says that he's going to work himself to the bone and he's already really boney. I don't want my brother to turn into a skeleton.

My daddy used to always used to help me write to you. I'm going to write you a letter every year for him, even when I'm 108 years old.

Love Alan Tracy.

𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹

At the lounge table, Alan gazed down at his masterpiece, it was perfect, best letter he'd ever written along with the best glitter glue art he'd ever made. 

He sat for a moment, admiration turning into embarrassment, thinking about what Scott had said. He would be 16 next year, practically an adult, he was definitely way too old to be writing letters to Santa Claus, he stopped believing in the magical bearded gift wizard years ago. But he didn't want to stop.

He missed dad. 

A gentle hand on his shoulder halted the spiralling thoughts. He turned to see his grandma's warm smile.

"Why the long face kid? Your letter is looking amazing this year." She said softly, gently pushing the discarded art supplies aside to get a good look at her grandson's creation.

"Grandma, I-". He paused, not being able to find the words. "Don't you think I'm too old for this? To be writing letters to a man I know doesn't exist?"

She knelt to his level and pulled him close rubbing his back soothingly.

"You can never be too old for something you enjoy, sweetheart."

"I just feel like dad would have wanted me to be more useful now that I'm older, ya know. We don't get a lot of time to have Christmas, I could be decorating or making lunch or helping prepare for the winter rescue rush..." He swallowed, tears begining to brim, trying not to let them spill. "want to honour dad, I want to remember him."

Grandma Tracy pulled away to meet the boy's gaze.

"Alan, writing those letters is honouring your dad. I know he valued hard work and did everything in his power to make Christmas happen every year but what he loved most of all was taking some time out to write your letters to Santa with you."

Alan remained silent.

"And if it's what you love too then it's what he would have wanted, to know that you're doing something you love whether it's useful-" she gestured some air quotations "or not."

She gently cupped her grandson's face in her hands and brushed away his tears. Big blue eyes gazed into hers.

"He'd be so proud of you Alan."

The old lady reached to plant a kiss on his forehead and Alan sniffled a watery smile before drying his eyes.

"Now then if you're finished with your letter, why don't you go see if your brothers need your help." She stood picking up the sparkly paper from the table and slipping it into an envelope, red just like all the ones that came before. "I can't wait to see what you make next year."

𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹

Scott swallowed struggling to read the last few words aloud.

"Love Alan Tracy..." 

The silence was deafening. The nostalgic guessing game long forgotten in the hopeful words of an eight year old boy.

Scott dried his eyes on the back of his sleeve. "I had no idea... I..."

"I don't think anyone did." Virgil added his arm snaking around his brother's frame.

Gordon and John were still sat on the floor the younger's face buried into the older's shoulder, both silent in mutual disbelief.

"After all that pain, all he was worried about was us..."

The sound of footsteps thudding up the loft stairs brought them back to the present as Alan appeared at the top step.

"Hey guys, I've finished my letter and-"

Four pairs of tearful eyes turned to meet him.

"Uhh... What's going on?" He gingerly stepped towards them. "You guys ok?"

As soon as he was within arm's reach, Scott grabbed his little brother into a tight hug, clinging on for dear life. It wasn't long before the others joined them in the embrace, circling around the smallest Tracy.

"I'm sorry." Scott mumbled into Alan's blonde locks. 

"For what?" The boy struggled to talk under the weight of his siblings.

"Your letters, I should have known, they help you stay close to dad right?"

Alan could feel the tears welling up again, nodding sheepishly.

"He'd love that you're keeping up the tradition for him."Virgil said squeezing tighter. "And you'll never be too old for that." 

They all stayed there for a moment, just feeling the closeness and love of one another.

And there were those words again, it was a bitter sweet comfort.

"He'd be so proud of you..."

𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.⊹

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #tag team secret santa #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fanart

[rapunzelforlorn]

I made my friend watch heartstopper and I got his reactions for you to all enjoy

Ep 1

Fuck Ben!

Elle actually trans?

FUCK BEN!!

Rugby bros nice & accepting

Charlie is him

FUUUUUUUCKK BEN!!!!

Is ig the main communication method?

Does "x" mean more than kisses?

Ep 2

Charlie is just so supportive

Ben gives the ick

Let people have crushes

Why do school dynamics in shows never feel like they do in real life?

Tori's an odd one

Upset we got robbed Charlie getting his haircut and stressing too the barber

Nellie's barks fake??

What friends play in the snow like this?

Nick's mom read him like a book

Rocketman can't play drums lol

WHY'S THE TENSION SO GOOD 😫

Loving the comic effects

Tori is SO weird

Floor person confirmed bi

Ep 3

Nick going through the queer rabbit hole, fuck that's depressing 😔

Do we like Imogen?

Feel bad for Tao 😔

What's with the sequined clothes?

Tao's a bit dramatic

Fuck Harry

Fuck Ben again!!

Good on Charlie standing up to him

Tao IS dramatic

Imogen is a bit much but not bad?

Who throws parties like this??

Is this a hotel?

The sneaker squeak breaking the silence

God I miss this nervous tension

Nick absolute Golden retriever

Ep4

A boy, talking about his feelings?!?!

Nick never got that jumper

Imogen is too much lol still not sure if we like her

Tao & Elle?

Does this art teacher have a name??

Mr. Arjiya?

Gay people sport

I really want one of these rugby boys to step and be supportive of Charlie being on this team

Imogen...kinda annoying

ANNOYING

Ally 🤣

Tao🤜vs🤛Nick 🙈

Harry's a twat

Nick looking genuinely upset about being "friends"

There's nothing wrong with worrying about your teammate¡!!!!

Nick being ambushed, not cool

Not sure Imogen is bad, annoying yes, but doesn't know better

Ep5

Fuck monopoly

Not Imogen's dog 😭😭😭

Nick's so conflicted and it hurts

Saturday came so fast??

Tao's hair flaps gets me everytime

Wait...what about imogen???

Tao's overprotective, heart in the right place

Not the strongly worded DM 😭

Tao quick to judge

Smooching!!!

Tao & Elle 😏

Imogen, good friend?

Ep6

Nick has good taste in pirate movies

PotC confirmed Bi movie

Bi panic

Friends to lovers pipeline

Why does it always happen in band rooms?

Girl, with very queer haircut - "never would've guessed you were gay"

The ice cream truck song?

Anti-homiphobia cheese

Picnic bants

Shout out to this vlogger

Tara is SUCH a good friend

Such a supportive group

Charlie's excitement for the official date!!

What is this magical milkshake shop???

Where do they get date money?

Tao being oblivious 😐

A concert after all that dairy?!?!

Nick saying he might be bisexual and then saying I'm not sure feels very bixeual

Poor Tara

Tao having the longest legs and being the slowest runner

The subtle carhart on Nick's coat 😂

Ep7

Why is Tori so weird??

Charlie needs to work on standing up for himself

Rugby lad 😂

Sweet popcorn 🤢

Char?

Harry needs to piss off

Ben's a fucking creep AND a pos

Nick standing up to Harry, mint

Nick's mom know? Motherly intuition?

I really need Charlie to stand up for himself, love that he has people in his corner but I need him to step up

The "s" word

Art teacher complaining about crumbs like the counters & cabinets aren't stained with paint

Tao 😔

Elle's fits tho

Tao holding his own against Harry 👀

Tao & Charlie 😭😭

Ep 8

Harry's a twat, Tori confirmed

Tori still weird but good sister

Issac has been unbothered and in his lane all season, we stan

Don't you have to fill out papers to quit a team?

Nick & Tao bonding

Tao is good friend

Seeing the "typing..." appear & disappear is such a relatable agony

Elle is her

Why don't we have a sports day?

What's the point of all girls/boys school if they're seemingly right next to each other and constantly intermingling

FUCK OFF BEN

Charlie...STANDING UP FOR HIMSELF?? 👏👏

Charlie & Tao hugging it out 🥺

Kinda want more Issac

Tao & Elle 👀👀👀👀

Kith? No kith 😖

The principle over the intercom 🤣

Nick & Charlie locking eyes in the rugby match

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

The walk off!!!!!

Issac still unbothered and in his book lmao

"I believe you" 😭💜😭💜

Seagulls do not mean beach but okay

Proper date antics 💜💜

The beach is all rocks?

"In a romantic way, not just a friend way" 🤣

And they were boyfriends

We love a supportive mum

Ending with a montage, love to see it

All in all I think he formed the correct opinions but don't worry I WILL be educating him about baby angel Tori and solitare.

#heartstopper #nick nelson #charlie spring #tara jones #darcy olsson #elle argent #tao xu #tori spring #narlie

[sequintial]

FIVE MINUTES THIRTY SECONDS INTO EPISODE 11 OF BRAVERN.

I GENUINELY THOUGHT I WAS BEING QUEER-BAITED THIS WHOLE TIME. I DIDN'T. I DIDN'T SEE THIS COMING AT ALL. OH MY GOD

#sequins squeaks #life talking #bang brave bang bravern #bravern

[verfound]

I noticed in "Coffee Shop Soundtrack" Luka calls Marinette "darning" a lot. Is that supposed to be "darling"? Because while "darning" is fabric-related I guess, it sounds kind of weird as a nickname.

Sorry, I don't usually message authors about typos but it's been used a dozen times in this story so far and I wasn't sure if you are doing this intentionally or not.

...it is not, in fact, a typo. 😂 It's a nickname I picked up from mc-lukanette ages ago, and it appears in most of my established relationship fics. I even play a bit with its development/backstory in "More Than a Checkbox" (ch7):

“…absolute worst timing ever, Jagged, I swear!” shouted a harried voice he had only heard through phone calls during the past month and a half.  His eyes found her soon enough: there, standing behind Jagged and rapidly working a needle through the sequin-studded coat he’d commissioned specifically for this tour.  Marinette looked…incredible, completely stunning, knock-out, drop-dead gorgeous – but she also looked pissed, and it was so classically Marinette that Luka couldn’t stop the stupid smile from splitting his face.  “I’m here to surprise Luka, not you, and if I miss him because you –” “You’re not gonna miss anything, beautiful,” he whispered into her ear, wrapping his arms around her middle and tugging her against him.  She squeaked and fumbled her needle, but it was still connected to the thread and just dangled behind Jagged as she turned to return his hug.  He sighed as he pressed his face against her neck, breathing her in.  He glanced up to see Jagged smirking at them over his shoulder, and he rolled his eyes as he flipped him off.  “You should probably finish up with the needle before I stab him, though.  Trust Jagged to need something darned when I want your attention instead.” “…right!  Right!  Darning first – darling later!” she said, getting back to work.  He blinked at her and clapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to snort at what she’d said, but if she realized her words or noticed his reaction she gave no sign of it.  She just continued stitching, the tip of her tongue poking out as she concentrated,  By the time she secured the fix, they had a song and a half and maybe six minutes before Luka had to join the rest of the band back on stage.  He had so many questions, but when Marinette turned away from Jagged and back to him and tugged his mouth to hers they all flew out the proverbial window.  Jagged started laughing at them, but when they continued to ignore him (when Luka tugged Marinette closer and stepped forward, rattling the makeup vanity behind them as her butt knocked into it) he just coughed awkwardly and made himself scarce.  Marinette was beaming when he pulled back.  “…hi, rock star.” “…hey yourself, darning fairy,” he teased.  Her eyebrows soared, and he chuckled as he kissed her again.  She groaned into his kiss. “N-no,” she whined, patting his shoulder to get him to move back.  “That is not becoming a thing, you dork.” “It’s totally becoming a thing,” he chuckled, darting in to kiss her again, “darning.”

Marinette calls Luka "Star", short for "rock star". He calls her "darning", a play on "darning fairy" (and bc it can easily be misunderstood as "darling", and if anyone questions him on it he gets to brag on his amazing girlfriend/wife).

#ver asks #nonny asks #coffee shop soundtrack #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #nicknames #terms of endearment #it's been a while since anyone's asked about this I forget sometimes people don't just know 😂

[gendersouponao3]

Bottom Bitch

read on ao3! (NOT a new work, just new for tumblr)

6959 words, Explicit rating, nb/f butch sub/femme dom, anal, overstim

Oh, Leo is nervous. 

He met her at a party. He saw her, by the light reflected off of her sequined dress, across the dark lawn. He almost felt like the music was bouncing off of her. It obscured whatever she was saying, but it didn’t matter, he was too far away to hear anyway, and all he did was stare at the way her lip gloss shifted and melted in the light, looking like he could sink his teeth into it and drink it. 

And she found him, while he was trying to escape to the bathroom. She stood close to him, but not too close, and his mind raced with whether she always does that, whether it’s just for him. Her glossy lips were just as mesmerizing up close. His eyes flitted down to them, again and again, and he forced them back to hers. It wasn’t fair. In her heels, she was taller than him. 

Her dress flashed rainbow spots of light at him, hypnotic, beautiful. He stared. It melted into her skin, her shoulders glittering, her collarbones glittering, deep, slinky V glittering at the center of her chest. 

She smelled so good. Sweet, like caramel and vanilla. Definitely perfume. Her hands were small. Her nails were long and sharp and painted deep, shiny pink. 

Her hand slipped down his chest. Dusky, gleaming pink against the soft nude of his shirt. She didn’t pull him closer, didn't push him towards the wall. She just rested it there. 

He knew he was supposed to take the lead then. But he didn’t know how. Even right up against him, she seemed far away, like a dream. 

Slowly, carefully, he set his hand on her waist. She cocked her head, smiled at him expectantly. She was so small. Shorter than him if it weren’t for the heels. 

Kiss her, his brain supplied helpfully. That’s what we’re supposed to do in this situation, I think. 

He didn’t know. He wanted it. He felt like she might melt away in his arms if he touched her. He feet like he might melt away. Still, he leaned in. He breathed in her scent again, sweet sugar. His eyes fluttered shut….

At that moment, the door to the single bathroom stall slammed open, and he jumped, blinking in surprise. His hand dropped away. The moment was  over. And he really did have to pee. 

Mumbling apologetically, he ducked away, closing the door behind him. When he came out, she was gone. 

He couldn’t forget her, though, couldn't get the smell of sweet vanilla out of his nose. 

There’s nowhere for him to hide now. Not with just the two of them and sparse furniture and no distractions. He wants to feel that delicious, simmering tension, but all he feels is nerves. He fiddles with his hands nervously, and then shoves them behind his back instead because he’s trying to work on having more open body language. There’s a reason he doesn’t do it naturally. It immediately makes his nerves worse. He looks at the ground, blushes, forces his eyes up. 

Gia looks at him like she’s trying not to laugh. It makes him blush harder. There’s something else, though, in her eyes, like maybe glee. Glee at his shyness, at the fact that he’s managed to embarrass himself before they’ve even done anything, at the little bit of fear she sees in him.

Finally, taking mercy on him, she breaks the silence. “You still want this, puppy?”

“Yes,” Leo squeaks. He blushes deeper still. His face feels uncomfortably hot. “Tell me —- um, where do I, um…go?”

She raises a slender, sculpted eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean like, where do you want me to —- sit? Or…lie down? Or whatever?” Oh god, Leo is burning up. He can’t even look at her. He looks down at the floor again. 

“Well. On your knees would be a good starting point.”

“Oh,” he breathes, and rushes to obey. “Yes.”

“Jesus,” Gia says. “That was quick. Take off my pants.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Leo says, all thoughts pushed out of his brain by her command. He shuffles forwards, undoes the hidden clasp of her pants. Fuck, she didn’t tell him to call her that. He’s too eager. She thinks he’s weird, she already thinks he’s weird. He undoes her zipper. It comes easily. Her pants are white and pleated and delicate. He tugs them off her hips and she’s wearing black underneath, simple briefs with a bold white elastic waistband. 

She fluffs his hair with her hand. Her nails scratch over his scalp. He stops breathing, and then his breath comes faster, shallower. 

“I brought you toys, puppy,” she says. 

“Oh, god,” he breathes, surprised, heat pooling in his stomach. “I wanna —- can I see?”

“One at a time,” she says. “You’re gonna like them. You wanna get fucked like a good little boy slut, don’t you.”

His eyes go wide. He nods, looking up at her, dumb excitement already on his face. “Please.”

She laughs at his expression. “Yes, you do,” she says. “Get on the bed. Take your pants off.”

He immediately flops onto his bed, on his stomach. He wants it like that. He wiggles his pants off, soft denim catching on his heels, and he takes off his underwear too, and his packer in its pouch. He feels so naked. He thinks he can feel the weight of Gia staring at him, but he could just be nervous. It’s a weird, cloudy kind of fear, buried in and mixing with his arousal. He squirms under all of it. 

He jumps when he feels Gia’s hand on his butt. She giggles, cute and femme and so in charge. He feels the tip of her acrylic dig into his skin as she spreads him open, rubs one soft finger over his cunt. He’s wet already, from her teasing, from the promise of toys, but not wet enough. He tells her that. 

“If you want — if you want me to take it inside I need lube or something.”

She considers, teases her finger over his cunt more, feels his swollen clit, the pink folds of his labia. He’s turned on, more so every second. He knows she can see it. 

“Do you have some?” she asks. 

Of course he does. She tells him to go get it, and he does, self-conscious of his bare legs under his t-shirt. She takes it from him and he lays straight back down on his stomach. He wants her to do whatever she wants. 

He hears the soft squelch as she flips open the cap and squeezes some out onto her fingers, and then a wet noise as she rubs it to warm it up. And then her hand is back on his butt, her fingers a little cold and very wet, and she spreads him open, right at his core, and he moans slightly and wiggles. And then she puts two fingers inside him. All at once. He lets out a yelp that turns into a moan halfway through. Her fingers are cold. The acrylics don’t hurt. He can’t even feel them. He just feels the cool, artificial wet, stretching him open, filling him up. So much, so good. God, he loves being fucked. 

“Oh,” she says, voice a laughing, teasing lilt. “You really like that, don’t you. Being filled right up like that.”

“I do,” he moans. It’s fucking embarrassing, how much he likes it. 

She fucks him a few times, quick and deep. He gasps and writhes at it. Oh, it’s so good. He wants more. And then she takes them out, just as fast. He goes soft into the blankets, unclenches his fists. Gia traces over his pussy lips, spreads the wet that leaks out of him. 

“That’s a good boy,” she says. “You want your toy?”

Leo nods frantically into the cushion. “Yes.”

“Stay there,” Gia says. “I’m gonna show it to you first.”

“Okay,” Leo says, muffled. He’s not worried about sounding stupid, even though he should be. He props himself up on his elbows, watches Gia cross over to her bag, bend down to dig through it. She’s amazingly graceful. She knows she’s being watched, and she celebrates it, standing with her soft perfect hip cocked. The muscles in the backs of her legs are on full display, sharp and perfect and leading his eyes down to the tops of her high heels.

God, she’s pretty. He’s so distracted, he’s not even wondering what the toy could be, until she pulls it out, and at first, he can’t tell exactly what it is. It’s pale purple, and in a sort of U shape, and there’s one part that’s definitely a cock, nice and thick and straight and not too big. He’s not sure what the other part is for, a strange curving bulge. He doesn’t worry about it. He squirms in excitement and anticipation. Oh, he wants that in him. 

She turns and sees his expression. (God, the way it looks in her hand.) Her beautiful hypnotic lips part in a smile. She dangles it from her hand by the curved part, wiggles it back and forth. He almost whimpers. It could be ridiculous but god it’s not, it’s brain-meltingly hot. 

“You want this, baby?”

“Yes,” he whines. He doesn’t even know what it is and he wants it. She’s smiling at him, pleased, cocky. She walks over to where he’s lying propped up on his stomach and takes him by the hair and brings the toy to his mouth, and he opens it eagerly. She rubs it gently over his tongue. It’s cool, smooth silicone. The part that she’s putting in his mouth is a thick, round bulb that’s attached to the end of the shaft at an angle. He laves his tongue over it, and his spit streaks on the surface. This is making him so, so horny already, his mind going dumb and ready to be used. 

She lets him go, carefully so he doesn’t fall over. “Turn over,” she says. 

He scrambles to flop over onto his back, his arms braced behind him so he can see what she’s doing. 

“Come here. Spread your legs.”

He scoots towards the edge of the mattress, his legs dangling off the side, his knees falling open. He’s nervous, but it’s overshadowed by his urgent eagerness and the reassurance that Gia knows what she wants him to do and is telling him. He doesn’t even think to hesitate to follow any order she gives him. 

She looks so good standing between his legs, holding the toy that makes him drool, grinning down at him like she wants to eat him. He should be scared, maybe, with a girl he doesn’t know and all his power taken away from him. He’s not. It just makes him hotter, makes him dumber. 

She bends down and puts one hand on his thigh to hold him open and rubs the spit-slicked bulb of the toy over his cunt. He gasps and his legs twitch open further. She presses her nails into his thigh to keep him down and his breath hitches at the little spike of pain and then in one thrust she pushes that thick bulb into his cunt. 

“Fuck!” he yelps, more in surprise than pain, as it settles right behind his pubic bone, filling him up and pushing against the back of his cunt and against the inside of his bladder. His cunt clenches around the sudden intrusion. She’s holding it by the base of the shaft which is pressed up against his stomach and - oh. It looks like - he - it’s his. 

She strokes her hand up the toy, and it moves inside him. He lets out a whine. Oh, it’s so good, it’s so good. It fills him up so well. The sight of her hand on it, her small, delicate fingers wrapped around the silicone, touching him touching inside him oh god. It’s so hot. So hot. 

She pushes her thumb into the tip, and it presses against his clit, and he throws his head back and moans helplessly. He can still feel her, even when he can’t see her, moving it against him, jerking him off. He thought he wanted to be fucked but he could come like this. He gasps and whines as she works her hand, making it move inside him, so helpless under her. 

Gia has other plans, though. She takes her hand off the toy and it settles stiff against his stomach. He pants, looking at it, trying to settle down. The purple head lolls against his stomach, the bulb on the end still pressing into him, shifting with every movement. 

Gia carefully stands up off of him and leaves him. He can hear her rustling around behind him again. When she comes back she has a little round glass object that he can immediately tell is a butt plug. He shivers, interested and nervous in equal measure. He’s never tried that before. 

She shows it to him, rests it on his stomach next to the tip of his cock. It’s small but not that small. His muscles clench just looking at it. It’s heavy and cold. The base is round and flared, and the whole thing is smooth, shiny glass. It’s maybe as big as two fingers at the widest part. 

“Have you worn a plug before?” she asks him. He blushes hard and tells her no. 

“Do you wanna try?”

He does. She has him sit back on the cushion, adds lube to the tip of the plug, rubs it against the stretched skin of his cunt, over the outside of his hole for just a second. He gasps and flinches at the cold of it. She rubs it in until it warms up a little bit and then presses the round tip of it against his hole, gently dipping the tip inside. He lets out a hard breath at the feeling of the cold glass pushing against his tight muscles, pushing inside, slow and slick but still intense and almost painful. 

She presses it into him harder now, and he clamps down around it anxiously, and all of a sudden it hurts much more. He doesn’t know how much is inside, but it feels big. 

She eases up and lets it slip out, and it feels like nothing, and he already feels sore. His muscles feel raw and strained. He hears the click of the bottle as she adds more lube. She rubs it into his hole, and he tenses nervously, and she tips the plug and starts pressing it into him again, slow and firm. He winces.

“Does it hurt?” she asks. She doesn’t stop pushing it into him. He feels himself take more, more than he did before, his hole opening up around it. 

“‘S a little weird,” he says. 

“Okay,” she says, “relax your muscles and then push against it.” That sounds like an oxymoron to Leo, but he tries to do it. She pushes back against him, and he feels it slip in further, not entirely comfortable, the glass hard and unyielding inside him. God, the way it’s stretching him open is so strange. It doesn’t feel like anything he’s felt before. It feels like his body doesn’t want it to happen, and it’s happening anyway. 

“‘S it close?” he asks, feeling it in his guts, stretch and fullness like he’s never felt before. His voice is strained. It hurts a little. 

“Yeah, almost there,” she says, holding the base against him, making him take more. Please, please let this be the biggest part. He squirms a little, trying to take more, trying to get away. It’s not going anywhere. 

She puts her hand on his thigh and holds him down and gives one final, inescapable push, and he moans in pain as the breadth of it fills him up, and then it settles in place inside him, holding him open. Oh, god. It feels so full. He can feel the plug pushing up against the bulb in his cunt. Every tiny movement shifts everything inside him, and he feels like if he moves wrong he might break open and spill everything out of him. 

“There it is,” she murmurs, stroking over the stretched outside of his cunt, “it’s in. Good puppy.” She presses on the base of the plug, and he yelps. It hurts every time it moves deeper. “It’s gonna get you used to being full down there.”

“Okay,” he breathes. He hopes he gets used to it. Right now it feels like almost too much. He doesn’t move for fear of shifting it. 

Gia kneels on the mattress next to him, and from this angle he has to look up at her to see her face. She’s just in panties and a shirt, and as he looks she pulls her shirt over her head and drops it on the ground, and he stares up at the expanse of beautiful tan skin that she reveals. The dimpled plane of her stomach, the shape of her breasts from underneath. God, he wants to drown in her. 

It must show on his face, because she smiles at him like an angel and cups his cheek in her hand, turning his face towards her. He blushes deep red at the lidded, molten look in her eyes, but this time, he’s not embarrassed. He just lets the heat wash over him. 

She swings her leg over his shoulder and sits down lightly on his chest, still supporting some of her weight on her knees. He inhales sharply and sets his hands on her thighs, urging her closer. He knows what she wants from him, and he wants to give it. Her thighs are so soft around him, and her weight feels so good on top of him, and he feels so good like this, all full and completely used and completely submissive. When she moves up to kneel over his face he settles back against the cushions and half-closes his eyes. And then she’s hovering over him, just lightly but he can smell the metallic bite of her wetness, can feel the heat radiating from her.

Gently, hesitantly, he pulls her down towards him, opens his mouth against the soft heat of her cunt. She tastes sweet and salty and bitter. He licks her open, a little clumsy but firm and soft, and the taste of her spills onto his tongue. She’s so soft, so warm, so wet. He moans at it, and she feels it and sinks into him harder. 

He licks at her hole, hungrily, intent on coaxing more wet out of her. He leaves her clit alone for now but his nose brushes against it, again and again when he bobs his head to suck at her folds. She makes little sounds, grunts, quiet moans when he laves his tongue over her opening, teasing sweet slick out of her. So he keeps doing just what he’s doing, waiting for her to direct him to do something different. 

She does, when she gets impatient, grabs his short hair and holds him against her clit. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth and licks wet and messy, his tongue teasing over that hard nub over and over. She growls and holds him down harder and ruts against his tongue, so he holds still and lets her use him and then when he feels her legs start to tense around him he closes his mouth around her and sucks, and she grunts and gasps and pulls him off her by the hair before she comes. He blinks up at her, confused. She’s left her slick smeared all over his chin, and she’s dripping, he can see it. 

She looks down at him, hot and predatory and as hungry as she’s ever been, and he realizes that she wants more. 

She’s holding him down hard against the bed, holding him off her, and her thighs are trembling, the long corded muscles barely holding her up. He wonders that he could possibly have that effect on her. God, the way she looks at him, lidded and exhausted and still hungry like she’s gonna tear him apart and eat him. He feels like a piece of meat in front of her. 

“Puppy,” she growls, and just that almost makes him groan out loud. “Puppy, I’m gonna fuck you now, yeah?”

“Yes,” he groans, his body clenching around where he’s stuffed open. She climbs off him and drags her bag over and searches through it, and he squeezes his thighs together in anticipation and feels the hard line of his cock pressing into his clit between them, the bulb rocking inside him. He whimpers. 

She drags the strappy harness up her legs, and as she yanks the leather tighter it bites into her thighs and her stomach and his mouth waters. The ring settles against the black background of her underwear, and gleams in the shitty overhead light. She turns to the side to tighten it around her other leg and the way the strap cuts into the bottom of her ass makes her look so big, so powerful. He wants her on top of him so badly. 

He wants to see what she’s going to fuck him with. He rolls over to watch her look for it. 

“Turn over,” she says when she sees him. He obeys, ending up on his hands and knees because it’s too sensitive to lie on his stomach with the cock pressed up against him like that. He waits as she pulls out a mostly pink, soft dildo with a flared base. And he whimpers when her hand closes around it, because holy fuck it’s big. Not, like, unrealistic, her little hand can still wrap around it easily, but definitely big for him. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, “Gia, that’s big.”

“No it’s not,” she says, tucking it into the ring, coming towards him, taking his hair in her fist. She pulls his head back to look up at it, and oh, god, yes it is. It has a wide strip of orange and purple in the middle, and it’s so heavy it sags down in the harness, dipping towards his face. “Look, it fits in my hand. You’ll see, open your mouth.”

Leo half-whimpers again and opens his mouth, and she shoves her cock inside it. Oh, it fills his mouth so full. His lips stretch around it. It’s soft and it’s pressing against his palate and down on his tongue. Just the head is in and it’s filling him all the way up. There’s nowhere else for it to go. Leo is almost going to choke already, and he feels so small, so fucking helpless. She holds his hair and slides it back on his tongue a little and he gags lightly, and thank god she doesn’t force it, just lets him choke around it a little. 

“Good puppy,” she husks, holding him down while he chokes. He coughs and drools and struggles to breathe through his nose. When she pulls him off her a thick, sticky strand of spit connects his mouth to her cock. He feels fuzzy. 

“Good boy,” she tells him. She rubs his drool down the shaft of it. “Get it wet for me.” The slick makes webs between her fingers. Leo is drooling for it, already has his mouth open. She pushes back in, and Leo’s eyes shut in contentment. It feels so nice to have his mouth full like that. 

She pushes straight back into his throat, and it’s sore, and he chokes again. She growls and holds him down. His eyes flutter, the back of his throat forced open, thick ropes of drool already pooling under his tongue. He’s hard and swollen around the bulb inside him. He struggles for breath, and chokes again, harder, and she lets him go. He coughs and drools and it drips down his chin and from the thick head of her cock. She catches some of it in her hand. God, that’s so dirty. Leo watches her smear it over her cock, streaking on the silicone. He feels so fucking filthy, looking at that thick, wet fucking mess he made. 

“I’m gonna fuck you with this now,” she tells him, and if he wasn’t already dumb and drooling he would be now. His tummy feels full and hard and hot and he’s brainless, needs nothing but that cock inside him, needs her to make it fit. She sees it on his face and laughs at him, puts her fingers in his mouth, drags the drool from his tongue. He whines. 

She takes her fingers out and grabs his jaw and shakes his head back and forth like a toy, and his eyes half-shut and he moans a little. She laughs at him again and slaps him across the cheek, lightly. He makes a pathetic helpless sound of arousal. He feels so dumb right now. She could probably step on him and he would thank her. 

She reaches around to tweak the plug in his ass, and he yelps. He had almost forgotten it was there, but moving it makes it feel just as sore and stretched as it did when she put it in. He arches away from it. God, it does make him feel nice and full, though, pushing against the bulb in his cunt, making it better. He kind of likes it. 

She tugs on it again, harder. The thick part of it pulls against the rim of his hole. Oh, fuck, he has no idea how she’s going to get that out. It’s so thick and the glass is hard and unyielding, stretching him open forcefully as she pulls back on it. 

“Look at that,” she murmurs, easing it further out, the thickest, roundest part pressing against his hole. She brushes her thumb over his pink stretched skin and he whimpers. It’s so sensitive. He imagines what he must look like right now, both his holes stuffed and cock hard against his tummy, that glass plug spreading him so open and showing Gia everything. Drooling and whining for it on his hands and knees. 

She twists it, and tugs it insistently further, and oh he feels it like his muscles are going to tear, sharp shooting pain radiating outwards. He makes a sound that’s halfway between dumb arousal and real fear, and embarrassingly loud. 

She laughs at him. “That sensitive?” she asks, and rubs her thumb over the raised outside of his hole where it’s stretched around the plug. He whimpers again, helplessly. “This is gonna feel so good for you, puppy.” She tugs gently and can’t get it any further out, his poor hole tight and tense around it. “Relax. Let it out.”

He does, and she gently wiggles it inside him and softly tugs and slowly, finally, it stretches him open until he just can’t take it anymore and then the biggest part is out and the rest slips out easy, dropping into her hand. Oh, it feels so weird to be empty now. He feels raw and sore and open. He can feel the wet slickness of lube inside him. It makes him feel like a sex doll. It makes him want to be full again. He wants it so bad, knows it would feel so fucking good…

“There we go,” she purrs, the plug set aside and her hands on his ass, gripping into the muscle. “Goood boy.” He feels the cushion dip behind him under her weight, and when he turns she has her knee propped up on it. Her hand comes to his waist. It’s heavy and grounding and nice. She strokes his side, and guides him back a little and he feels the blunt head of her silicone cock rub against his ass. 

“Oh,” he says, belatedly. “Oh - no - I can’t-” It’s hard to think clearly enough to say it. “I can’t do that, it’s too big.” Fuck. He sounds like a porn actor. She’s not gonna listen to him. He almost isn’t listening to himself, a big, blurry part of him wanting to give up protesting and just take it. The other part of him knows how much it’s going to hurt, though, how fucking stupid it is to let her fuck him with that when he can barely take a little plug. His breathing picks up, catching in the top of his chest, making him dizzy. 

“Yes you can, puppy,” she says, pressing herself against his back. Oh, fuck. The thick length of her rubs against him, and it short-circuits his brain, shuts down the part that’s scared. God, he fucking wants that inside him. He can’t stop himself from moaning pathetically into his hand. 

“Yes, baby,” she groans, rutting her hips against him a little, mindlessly. “That’s it. Gonna feel so good.” He’s gonna let her. He knows it. He’s too stupid to fight it. 

She gropes around for the bottle of lube and finds it, and clicks it open and drizzles some haphazardly onto him. He whines and twitches at the cold. God, he’s pathetic, he knows it, so stupidly reactive, such a fucking slut he’s gonna let Gia hurt him just to get her cock inside him. Even worse because he gets wetter at the thought. She uses the head of her cock to rub the lube into his hole and he cries out at just that, just the feeling of her close to being inside him. 

“Please,” he chokes. Please don’t, he means. Please fuck me is how it comes out. Gia growl-laughs at him. 

“Yes,” she says. “Yes.” 

She takes the shaft of her cock in her hand and presses the head into his hole. He feels the cold, blunt roundness against him, pushed harder, the very tip forcing him open just a little and holy shit, he is never going to be able to take it it’s so big. He moans. She pushes harder, and it slips out, and she forces it right back into him, opening him up a tiny bit more and it hurts it hurts it hurts. Oh god, it feels incredible. He’s never felt like this before. It hurts and it feels impossibly big and the stretch is like being forced past his limits and he needs it. His mouth falls open and hangs there. 

She uses her thumb to hold it in this time and rocks her hips forward, and his body refuses to open up any more. Instead he’s forced forward over his wrists and almost falls onto his tummy. Gia catches him by the waist and holds him up and tells him to stay still, and then she rocks her hips forward slowly, forcefully, holding him against her and guiding herself inside him. It slips in another centimeter. Every time she moves inside him he feels like he’s gonna burst, like he can’t possibly take any more than this. He doesn’t even think the whole head is in. It’s still getting wider. Fuck, he’s scared again. And so turned on his guts ache. 

“You’re doing good,” she tells him. “This is right for you, you’re gonna see. I’m gonna make it fit.”

“Okay,” he squeaks, trusting that she knows what she’s doing because it seems impossible that this is ever going to be anything but pain. He doesn’t think he can take it that thick, he really doesn’t. It’s so far beyond anything he’s ever done. It hurts so much he almost sees stars. 

Suddenly she grips into his waist and pushes in hard, and he feels the rest of the head slip in and settle inside him. He clenches his hands into the sheets and yells, a loud, painful “Ah!” that he bites back as soon as he can control himself. It feels so big that he’s pushed out of his own body. The sensation is strange and hot and pulsing, and it takes him over. He can’t think, can’t feel anything but the impossible stretch inside him. Ripples of pain radiate through his whole core. And he knows there’s still more. 

“Hah,” she grunts, “fuck, there it is, puppy, feel so good.” Her hands are dug so deep into him. He can feel her bent over his back, the heat of her body against his. He cries out again. The hurt comes in big, pulsing waves. 

She rocks her hips further. He yelps in pain. She’s holding back a little, pretending to care about his noises, but he knows all she wants is to be inside him, and she barely gives him any break before she tries again, pushing him forward and down until he falls onto his stomach trying to get away from her. As soon as his front hits the cushions he feels a startling, overwhelming shift inside him, the bulb of his cock jiggled by the impact. It presses straight up against where she’s inside his guts. Holy shit, holy shit holy shit holy shit. He moans, high and lyrical. 

“Oh, my god,” he breathes, “holy fuck feels good.”

“Aw,” she says, already holding him down, heavy on top of him, pinning him between her body and the cushion. “Are you all full, puppy?”

“Yes,” he gasps. “Oh my god yes. It’s all—” He cuts himself off as she pushes forward, slowly, forcing a little more inside. The head is already in and it’s smooth and it goes easy. “Hooooly shit Gia please hurts. ‘S full, so fucking full.” He can’t even string together a sentence to ask her to stop. 

“Good boy,” she says. “That’s a goood, good boy. You’re gonna take all of it for me, aren’t you? Gonna feel so good.” 

He can’t tell her no. He can’t say anything. All he can do is gasp and moan and try not to cry as she slowly, slowly forces herself further inside him, until his stomach hurts with it. He can’t move, he’s so full. The different sensations of the cock in his ass and the bulb in his cunt and the shaft on his clit have blended together into an indistinguishable mass of pain, stretch, burn, pressure, pleasure. 

Finally, finally, she settles all the way inside him, the front of her thighs settled flush against his body. He’s breathing quick and strained from the pain. 

“There you go,” she murmurs, distractedly, her hands busy smoothing over his ass, playing with him. She cups him with her palm and her thumb and spreads him open a little, and he feels that stretch behind everything else, an ache in his muscles. He moans, wavering, unguarded, overwhelmed, into the cushion. 

Slowly at first, carefully, she rocks back, drawing out of him. Oh, god, this is just as hard as the plug was. He tries to relax and let it out. Thank god she’s careful, and gives him another glob of lube, rubbed into his rim right where he’s stretched around her cock. He fucking whines at that too, because god he’s sensitive there, his hole stretched and wet and pink. His leg twitches up at the cold of it. 

She draws out until the ridge of the head is just tugging at his hole, and then pushes back in, filling him straight back up with what feels like bruising force. He feels it press against his cunt from the outside as it goes in. It’s viscerally creepy, like he could just tear right open, and dirty, and stupidly hot. She growls softly as she fills him. He knows what he must look like, face buried in the cushion, his little waist and his broad shoulders and his little pink hole opening up obscenely around her, his cunt drooling around his cock. It just makes him wetter. 

She pulls out and thrusts in again, her cock almost slipping out and then fucking all the way deep inside him. He moans, twists his fingers into the fabric. 

“Oh, good,” she tells him. “You’re such a little slut for it. I knew you’d like this.” 

He can only respond with another high moan as she thrusts again, picking up the pace a little, starting to fuck him slow and steady. It does feel good, now that he’s settling into it, the deep rocking thrusts that move everything inside him against his g-spot. He already knows he can’t come from this but this feels fucking better than coming, better than anything he’s done alone. 

She pulls out and fucks him again and he groans, legs going lax. The force of her fucking rocks his body on the cushion and he flops like a ragdoll, blissfully, dumbly overwhelmed with sensation. He can feel her hips against his ass with every thrust, filling him up, up to his guts, so fucking deep and stretched and open that he can’t do anything but lie there and take it. 

“Ohhh, ohh, ohh,” Gia moans, lost in the feeling of him, rubbing herself hard against the base of her cock. He whines and clenches around her. “You wanna come? Wanna come for me, baby?”

“Fuuck,” Leo chokes out, “yes, yes I do, please.” 

“I’m gonna-” she cuts herself off with a gritted groan “-gonna turn on the vibration, go on and fuck your little cock against the mattress for me, puppy.” 

“Okay,” Leo whimpers. “Okay, I-” she reaches around his body and flicks a hidden button and the bulb whirrs to life inside him, and he cuts himself off with a muffled scream. He can’t even muster the energy to move himself, so he just clings desperately to the sheets and pants, the vibrations inside him and on his clit filling him up filling him up radiating out and higher and higher until he comes hard with another shuddered scream. His body clenches down in waves, around the cock in his ass and the bulb stuffing his cunt, and still the vibrations press against his clit and he comes again, his fingers twisting in the sheets, his eyes actually rolling towards the back of his head. He trembles as he comes down from it, every muscle in his body suddenly feeling like rubber. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, when he can breathe again, He doesn’t think he can move. His face is pressed into the cushion, and his mouth is open, and it’s wet. He’s drooling. 

His cunt hurts. His clit is somewhere between numb and pain. His tummy is sore from tightening so hard. 

When Gia moves inside him, he almost shrieks, all the pain and the little bit of pleasure too much. She pulls out a little and then pushes back in, and Leo whines and writhes. The vibrator is still on, and it feels like torture. He gasps out that it hurts.

“Boys hurt when they cum,” she tells him, and keeps fucking him. “I’m not done so you’re gonna take it until I am, huh? You wanna be a good boy?” He can hear the strained pleasure in her voice. She’s almost all the way on top of him, holding him down with her weight so he can only struggle a little against the mattress. She’s so, so deep inside, so deep it’s hurting his stomach. 

“I - fuck - I - it does, it does, it hurts, please make it - make it -” There’s no fucking end to that sentence, his mind is mush, useless. His cunt clamps down pathetically around the bulb. He has no control over his muscles anymore, his cunt twitching and clenching with endless aftershocks, his hole hurt and violated and full. 

“That’s it.” She sounds absent, focused, lost in the feeling of fucking him. “You’re a good fucking boyslut. Wanna be a fucking cumdump for me?”

“Hh—  ah,” is the only response he can make to that. Fuck, it hurts so much. It feels so good. He can’t think. If he could, he would think that he’s meant to be hurt. That this is what he’s made for. 

Gia winds her fingers into his hair and holds on the same way his hands are twisted in the sheets. He cries out again for her. She’s gonna come, he can tell by the way she holds him against her so desperately, legs tensing on top of his. “Fuck,” she groans, “fuck, fuck, gonna come in your little fucking cumdump hole, come on, scream for me.” And he does, gasping at the ache as she forces herself deep and holds him there, until he feels her tremble against him, her hips bucking impossibly deeper as she comes. 

After, she collapses over his back, her whole weight pressing inside him and her chest against his shoulder blades. She doesn’t bother to turn off his vibe or pull out of him. His body clenches down uselessly around her, and she can’t even feel it. He has to beg her to get up off of him and let it be over. When she finally slips out of him, flicking the vibrator off soon after, he can feel his hole wink weakly open, aching, emptiness feeling strange now. His clit throbs sharply. 

He rolls onto his back, and watches her unbuckle her harness and throw it to the side. She comes to sit by him on the bed, and rubs the sharp points of her nails through the short hair on the back of his neck. 

He thinks of telling her how bad that hurt. Something in him wants to. Make sure that never happens again. Another part of him doesn’t want her to go any softer next time. He stays quiet and lets her scratch behind his ears, like a puppy. 

#wlw #lesbian #gendersoupfic #wlw ns/fw #wlw nsft #trans nsft #overstim nsft #commissions open

[deanwithscissors]

Dream Come True - Part 1

Pairing: Jensen X Scottish!Reader (ofc), Richard Madden X Reader

Word Count: 3589

Warnings: Swearing, Scottish slang, alcohol consumption, tiny bit of dirty talk, slight bit of anxiety

Summary: When [Y/N]’s long term partner offers her a once in a lifetime opportunity to sleep with the man of her dreams, she has to take it

A/N: idk if you guys will understand the scots language lol, i toned it down (a lot🙄) this was also weird to write because my partner is called richard, who also has dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes and is scottish🥲 — this is a one shot that is already over 5k and isn’t near finished, so i decided to split it up so i can actually post something :’) *all mistakes are mine* feedback is really appreciated, but be kind<3

The melody, rhythm and beats from the live band filled the enormous and elegant room, reaching to the top of the high ceilings, bouncing off the sculpted walls and marble flooring, infecting everyone there with a buzz — although the alcohol probably helped with that too.

The deep bass vibrated through the speakers, causing glasses on the table closest to clink together and forcing [Y/N]’s stomach to churn as an invisible current ripped through her.  

“Hey c’mere,” Richard, the stunning blue-eyed, dark-haired, Scotsman said, gently grabbing her forearm and guiding her to the edge of the bustling ballroom.  

Her enchanting green sequin dress, tight to her body and showing off her glorious small frame, glistened in the light like the stars in the night sky, as he twisted her tightly to his chest. His wandering hands settling modestly around her waist, but inching lower.  

Tucked tight to the outskirts against a wall, the Scottish couple had no visual privacy, but no one was in earshot, which was good enough for Richard.  

“So, y’know how we had that chat aboot oor dream shag?” His voice was deep and whispered, eyes darting back and forth, switching between hers and the strangers surrounding them.

[Y/N]’s brow cocked as she hurriedly looked around, not saying a word until she was sure no one could eavesdrop. “Yeah…”

“If ye really could, would ye?” His piercing blue eyes penetrated her soul as he watched her intently, searching for her answer.  

“No obviously, I’m wi you,” she smiled, placing her hand over his heart.

“So you’re tellin’ me, if thee Jensen Ackles offered ti take you upstairs tonight, you’d say no?”

“Why’re ye askin’ me this?” She asked, her feet danced on the immaculate floor as smoldering anxiety bubbled under the surface at this impromptu interrogation.

A brush of cool air washed over her skin, reminding her just how exposing the green sparkly dress was as she pulled at the skirt.  

“Just tell me.” He insisted, his eyes darkening and fingers digging into the flesh of her waist.

“I’d say no,” she confirmed. “I mean, I’d cry about it for days, but—”

“What if ye had ma permission?” He interrupted.  

“To sleep wi someone else?” Her voice came out as a squeak, eyes bulging and heart rate increasing.  

“Only Jensen.”

“Rich, why are ye askin’ me this? Here? Now?” Once again, her head whipped around making sure no one was around as she fought to control the sickening bile rising up her esophagus.  

“Just tell me the truth, would ye?”

“I— I don’t know, but honestly how could’a turn that offer doon,” she confessed, cheeks flushing.  

“I told ye she’d say yes,” Richard said, talking over her small stature, eyes locked on a target behind her.  

[Y/N] spun around, searching for answers to the millions of questions flashing through her mind. Who was he talking to? Rich knew there was someone there this whole time? Did they hear their full conversation? How embarrassed was she going to be?

Her legs buckled as she collapsed into Richard’s chest when a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out from the shadows of a doorway.

His eyes a sea of green, face painted with a sprinkling of freckles, lips so juicy and plump they begged to be kissed.

A pathetic whimper spilled between her lips, her knees giving out and a lump forming in her throat as her dream man Jensen Ackles stepped closer, stopping only a few feet in front of her.

Essentially, she was sandwiched between Richard Madden and Jensen Ackles, leaving no room to breathe.

“[Y/N], Richard’s told me so much ‘bout you, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Jensen,” he said gracefully, holding out his hand.

Richard’s fingernails dug into her shoulders pulling her from the abyss.

Her trembling hand was completely engulfed by Jensen’s massive one as they shook vigorously.

“H-hi,” she muttered, utterly stunned by his beauty.

Never had she thought she’d see this man in person, it was just a dream, a fantasy, let alone have his hand in hers, his warmth flowing from him to her.

“Yer real,” she said, aloud, involuntarily.

Jensen’s canines flashed as he burst into a gentle laugh, his shoulders jerking and hands curling over his stomach as his top half inched backwards.

Did she just make him do the unicorn laugh? Oh gosh. Giddiness fired through her veins, pumping her muscles and stealing the oxygen from the air.  

The exuberant stench of his cologne assaulted her nostrils, fresh and citrusy with a healthy dose of saddle wood and earth, she repeatedly inhaled, determined to lock this scent in her memory box for all of time.  

“Surprise,” Richard whispered in her ear.

In her own little fantasy bubble, she’d forgotten Richard was there too, for a moment her whole world only consisted of this huge room, her and Jensen, but Richard’s voice pulled her back to full reality as she spun around to face him.  

His facial features were so much harsher than Jensen’s, his jaw a hundred times more square and filled out. His eyes were just as bright as Jensen’s, although a deep-sea blue instead of a serine forest green.

“Y’know I don’t like surprises,” she hissed, her index finger prodding Richard’s chest.

“Ye’ll be thankin’ me for this one, a promise,” he gave a cheeky wink and showed no shame.  

“Rich this isn’t funny, it’s embarrassin’!”  

Her hands cradled her biceps, anxiously nipping at the skin as she wished and prayed to a God she didn’t believe in to grant her the power to turn invisible, or eliminate her entire being completely.

“No need to be embarrassed sweetheart,” Jensen said.  

Her heart hammered and pussy fluttered as his southern drawl filled her chest.  

A sudden wave of nausea hitting her as she spun around to face Jensen once more, astonished when he truly was standing there.  

“I’m flattered, really,” he added with a sly grin that probably got him in trouble, more often than not.  

“He thinks yer pretty,” Richard said over her shoulder.

“Actually, I think you’re absolutely astoundin’,” Jensen corrected.  

“Fuck me, I need a drink,” [Y/N] muttered, squishing her temples with pressured fingertips unable to comprehend the situation she found herself in.

“Both can be arranged,” Richard said, pressing his groin into her lower back letting her know he already had a semi. “Care to join us Jensen?”

“If [Y/N] is okay with it,” Jensen answered, his full attention captivated by her curled orange locks and minty green eyes.

Gosh he really was the gentleman she’d read about.

“Yeah of course— after a drink, or four,” she confirmed before tearing away from the two men.

Stealthily brushing past people to reach the bar, she swallowed down the humiliation that must have her cheeks beetroot and with all her might, she willed herself to walk straight and not crumble in front of hundreds of onlookers.   Avoiding the barman’s eyes, she ordered two Jack Daniels on the rocks. The fit, long-haired man was efficient and quick with his delivery, she thanked him and downed the first drink.  

Barely a second had passed since [Y/N] turned the upside-down glass onto the bar, when she jumped a foot off the barstool as a hand cradled her lower back.

For a split second she hoped it was Jensen, but blue-eyed Richard settled onto the barstool to her left. Her head automatically swivelled like an owl’s in search for the green-eyed actor.

“Jensen bumped inti someone, said he’d be over in a few,” Richard told her.

“What the fuck are ye playin’ at?!” She wanted to scream, but managed to keep her voice hushed.

When he remained silent, she continued, “You told him a fancy him?”

“A told him mare than that,” Richard said, his shoulders rattling.

“Why? Why would ye dae that? Couldn’t ye just introduce us the normal way?”

“Don’t ye want yer dream ti come true?”

“Ma dream wasn’t ti meet the man at a public gatherin’ and be humiliated Rich.”

“No, yer dream is for him to fuck ye and that’s what am offerin’.”

“You can’t offer that.”

“He can, and a can give permission,” he insisted.

“Rich if yer takin’ the piss this isn’t fuckin’ funny,” she sighed.  

“He’s not. The offer is on the table, from me,” Jensen said, casually sliding onto the barstool to her right. Once again, she was sandwiched between the two men.

“But why?”

“Imagine you’re a single bachelor and a guy comes up to you, offers you a night with his captivating petite redheaded girlfriend, who happens to have a Scottish accent, what would you say?”

“Thur’s only one rule,” Richard said.

It took all her strength to tear her eyes from Jensen��s beauty and stare into the eyes of her long-term boyfriend.

“I watch.”

Finishing her drink in one swift gulp, she instantly ordered another.

“W-what can— how far—” She attempts to question, subconsciously crushing her thighs together trying her darnedest to ignore the pooling in her pants as she swallowed the anticipation creeping up her esophagus.

“Nothin’s off limits, go wild,” Richard said.

“And yer okay wi this? Like truly?” she questioned him with a cocked brow.

“As long as a can watch,” he confirmed.

“And you’re okay wi this?” she asked, twisting round to face Jensen.

“I am,” he confirmed, “Are you?”

She was taken aback at his question, surprised that at every step he’d been seeking her consent.

“Yeah, but I— need another drink, and answers.”

“What d’ya wanna know sweetheart?” Jensen asked.

“How long have — has this been planned?”

“Richard messaged me on Instagram a week or so ago, a friendly hi, noticed we’d both be here this evening and said his girlfriend was a big fan and would love to me meet me. He made sure to send a photo.” Her eyes widened and brows furrowed. “Just a photo of the two of you sweetheart, nothin’ lude.”

“And then what?” She pushed, unsatisfied.  

“A made sure ti find Jensen when ye nipped ti the toilet and explained ma proposal,” Richard said.

She was tossed back and forth like a tennis ball by their extremely thick and unique accents. The whirlwind of blue and green drowning her soul. Richards dark hair to Jensen’s lighter.  

“I didn’t need any convincin’,” Jensen added, rolling the small glass in his giant hand.

[Y/N] tried to deny his minuscule action wasn’t making her cunt clench around nothing, but her thong was soaked through. With an unintentional hair flip that caught Jensen’s cheek, she glared at Richard.

“That’s so— so— reckless.”

“I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t yer dream man.”

“Stop sayin’ that!” She sighed, blushing again.

“Can ye be mad with me later? Let’s just enjoy the time we have wi each other right now,” Richard said, performing with his biggest puppy dog eyes.  

“Fine,” [Y/N] huffed. “But we’ll be talkin’ aboot this later.”

“Aye, okay, we will, but— now that that’s dealt wi, you two get to know each other, I’ll find somewhere that’ll accommodate oor needs,” Richard said stepping off the stool.

[Y/N]’s hand wrapped around his forearm, eyes bulging, silently asking him not leave.

“Ye’ll be fine babe, al be back,” he told her before merging into the sea of guests.

Without missing a beat, Jensen filled the lulled silence, “So you’ve been with Richard for ten years?”

His husky voice rippled over her skin, his southern drawl tickling her insides and his kindness capturing her heart.

It wasn’t courage that made her turn around to face her dream man — great now she’s saying it — it was lust, and anxiety that she was losing her marbles. Jensen wasn’t actually real, was he? Like really here, by her side real, obviously he was a real human being.

“Yeah,” was all she could say as she counted the freckles on his face.  

“He said you were eighteen, he was seventeen, little bit of a cougar huh?”

“Am gonna kill him,” she said as her posture stiffened. The cougar thing was a running gag, one that she only escaped for a few months after his birthday, when they were the same age for a short time.  

“I wasn’t gone that long; how much was he able ti say?” [Y/N] hissed.

“He’s a fast talker, all you Scots are.”

A wide smile spread across her face, that was true, and it was funny because [Y/N] and Rich didn’t speak in public how they normally would in private, or back home in Scotland, otherwise all the actors and directors, writers, down to the wardrobe department wouldn’t be able to understand them. She could fire out a full sentence now with full slang, speed and accent and Jensen would be clueless. Hell, there were times [Y/N] and Rich couldn’t understand each other and their home towns were only a couple of hours apart.  

“He said you had a thing for Dean Winchester— and I’m curious, is it Dean you want, or is it me?” He leaned in as he asked, wanting so badly to take her hand in his, but knowing no displays of affection could be exchanged between them in the public eye, especially as photographers littered the event.

“Dean’s not real—”

“Oh sweetheart, Dean is plenty real, I can assure you,” he said making sure to lower his voice to mimic Deans.  

Despite the beautifully fitted suit that Dean wouldn’t typically wear, for a flash of a second [Y/N] was with Dean and not Jensen.

“I love Dean I do, but he belongs to Cas,” she said honestly.

“You really are a sweetheart,” he replied with a juicy smile that flashed his pearly whites.  

[Y/N] blushed into her glass, slowly drowning the liquid to keep from having to look at Jensen again.

“Do you really want to do this?” he asked.

[Y/N] couldn’t stop a scoff, “Yes, it’s just— weird. I haven’t slept wi anyone other than Rich in ten years, it feels like cheatin’.”

“But you have his permission, and honestly I’m pretty sure he’s more eager than the two of us combined,” he said with a light chuckle.

“I know and it’s kinda weirding me out.”

“Why?”

“This situation reversed is my worst nightmare, I’d feel sick ti my stomach if a had to watch him shag another girl, what if he regrets it?”

“Then you did nothin’ wrong, you had his permission.” Jensen leaned in, “[Y/N] I need you to know I will only go through with this if you’re one hundred percent on board, I don’t want you to regret it.”

“I’d never fuckin’ regret it,” she said harshly as if he’d insulted her.

“It seems your mind is made up.”

“It was made up from the moment ye stepped in front of me, a just needed to toss back a few drinks before a have the best shag of ma life—” Her eyes widened and mouth fell open, “Don’t tell Rich a said that.”

Jensen’s cheeks flushed, his white teeth teasing his bottom lip and hers.

“Wow, did’a just make Jensen Ackles blush? This really must be a dream.”

“Would you like me to fuck you so hard you’ll know it’s not a dream?” he asked, eyes locked on hers, unable to not place his hand on her arm this time. The sweet, heartwarming smile was gone, now a wicked devilish grin painted his face and darkened his eyes.  

Nauseating ripples of hunger ravaged her body, his scent so thick and lustful her mouth watered religiously, her heart hammering and pussy twitching. Despite being in an impressive-sized hall with hundreds of people, all that existed was her and him and the stools they sat on.

“Fuck,” she gasped, her mind playing a clear as day video of her; legs split, tits bouncing while being railed by him.

“You’re picturing it, aren’t ya?” Jensen accused.

“It’s hard not to,” she admitted.  

“It’s hard alright sweetheart, trust me.”

With that comment [Y/N]’s eyes flew to his crotch. She’d been on tumblr and was aware of his legendary status, she’d seen the pictures from the Smallville photoshoot, gifs of him from Dark Angel in sweatpants, the infamous dick flop of doom moment caught on camera, but in this moment, his clear arousal was right in front of her, close enough to touch, begging to be touched.  

Her breath was ripped from her lungs when she caught sight of the thick and sturdy bulge lining his black pants, thank God his jacket was long because it’ll be a challenge hiding the beast between his legs as they leave.  

A small buzz from her cell rocked her world, anxiety bubbling and swirling as she pulled it out. The screen flashed bright, displaying a photo of her and Rich on holiday a few months back, a single notification waiting to be read.  

Rich: Jackpot. Meet me outside, car’s waiting x

“A think Rich found a place,” her voice squeaked, not looking up to catch his gaze, the weight of the situation resting on her shoulders as her brain was occupied with thoughts of Jensen. “We’ve ti meet him outside.”

Jensen stepped off the bar stool, holding out his arm like a gentleman. Her fingers curled around his hand as she tried to elegantly repeat his step off the stool, however he was a whole foot taller and not wearing a dress and heels, and more than likely didn’t consume nearly as much as alcohol as her.  

She knew she was falling before it happened, her thin stiletto heel caught on the foot rest and her heart fell out her ass. As if tonight hadn’t been embarrassing enough, she was about to face plant right in front of Jensen-fucking-Ackles.

As she toppled, bracing for a harsh impact, Jensen’s arm twisted around her waist, like a lifeline halting her mid-air then pulling her taught against his body.  

Her butt rutted up against his crotch, his wide, striking hard-on sat sweetly between her cheeks, making her gasp and stiffen straight.  

“You alright?” he asked, his mouth so close to her ear that his breath tickled her skin.

Inhaling sharply and clutching his forearm, she mumbled, “Yeah am okay, thanks.”

“You hurt?” he persisted, arm still cradling her waist, hard dick now prodding her back.

“No, no, am okay, just— mortified,” she said, her breath quickening, legs trembling and pussy throbbing as in scent enveloped her.  

“It’s fine, no one seen,” Jensen reassured her as he guided her frame straight, making sure she was steady on her feet before letting her hand go completely.  

“But you did!”

“Yeah, and I loved it,” he said, eyes thin slits and focused on their prey. “My dick pressed into you in front of alllll these people, Richard nowhere in sight. Don’t be embarrassed sweetheart, it was fuckin’ thrillin’ on my part.”

[Y/N] could do nothing but stare into the actor's eyes while attempting to swallow the saliva gathering in her mouth like a fountain.

“Should we go find Richard?” Jensen asked after a moment of eye fucking in the very public and overstuffed room.  

“Ye might have ti carry me,” she half joked while her jelly legs wobbled under her skirt.

Jensen hooked his arm through hers, “C’mon, I got you,” he assured her.

Elegantly and as only a gentleman would, he escorted her through the trenches of black ties and over-the-top ball gowns, politely declining drinks and offers to chat.  

His presence was enchanting, captivating and fierce, people moved out of his way as he approached, half smiles gracing their faces as he glided through the waves of celebrities and CEO’s.

[Y/N] felt claustrophobic, unable to see above the many heads surrounding her, all those eyes on her as she passed through the split in the sea, Moses on her arm.  

An invisible force punched her chest, crushing her lungs, making her gasp for air and clutch at Jensen’s forearm.

Peering down to the redhead due to her tightening grasp, she was even paler than before, a slight shade of green tainting her face and not from the eye makeup or the green dress she wore.

“You alright?”  

“Yeah, just a lot— people,” she stuttered, eyes glitching as she scanned the room.  

“Hang on, we’re almost there.”  

His hand engulfed her, a tight squeeze letting her know he was there. Within seconds the pair burst free from the tsunami, the storm passed leaving nothing but fresh air and room to breathe, but before she could even inhale, Richard was by their side like a tornado.  

“Where ye guys been?” he huffed, oblivious to the panic dancing across [Y/N]’s face.

“A tripped, and then gettin’ oot— there was so many people,” she said, flashes of faces blinding her.  

“Well, the car’s over here, c’mon,” Richard said, his dress shoes clip-clopping across the prestige driveway.

“You good?” Jensen asked.

“Yeah, am okay.”

“You promise?”

His care for her brought a smile to her face and serenity to curl her into a soft blanket and cradle her until the woes faded.  

“Yes Jensen, I promise I’m okay.”

His frown eased, a soft smile taking its place.

“C’mon,” Richard insisted from the car like an impatient kid.  

As the panic of being surrounded died a quiet death the closer the pair got to the white Limo, God fearing lust burst to the surface, attacking every fibre of her being and threatening to send her to the devil.  

And after the sins she’d be committing tonight, to Hell and the Devil was precisely where she would be going.

#jensen x reader #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen fanfic #richard madden fanfic #fanfic

[captain-kraken]

“So, what do you think?” Kaz stared at Eli in expectation, his eyes wide with hope.

Eli was still trying to comprehend what they were looking at and couldn’t find the words to reply.

They’d just come back from picking up their order from the coffee shop, still thinking about the judging stares they’d received after ordering Kaz’s monstrosity of a drink. Only to be immediately accosted as soon as they’d set foot back in the van and now, they were staring at…

A very sparkly possum.

In a dress.

Eli continued to stare as Greg scratched at the bow around his neck, the smell of peaches wafting into the air. It was an impressive dress, hot pink and sparkling with glitter and sequins. Eli recognised the sequins in particular, having found them all over the van over the past few weeks. So, this was what Kaz’s “secret project” must have been.

“Um… why is Greg in a dress?”

Kaz put a hand on his hip, narrowing his eyes. “Possums are not confined by gender roles, Eli.”

                “I meant more that possums in general don’t wear dresses.”

As if to purposely disagree with them, Greg wandered over to the small mirror propped on the table and squeaked happily at his reflection.

                “See! Greg likes it.”

#eli is convinced that greg is out to spite them some days lol #oc: eli wirth #oc: kaspian darling #oc: sir gregor the possum #wip: your influence

[libraford]

OMG YOU ARE SO VERY *squeaking noises* I love the look, I love the bra, that's amazeballs.

Aww thank you! I still have like a bajillion sequins left over.