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thef1diary · 2 months

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Kiss My Wounds | L. Hamilton

Request: Makeup or jealousy sex // Lewis comes home to her, because he had a really bad fight in the club (because of her, as some of his friends said something nasty about her) and even though they are not together, because they broke up..you know what happens next

Summary: read the request

Warnings: 18+ smut, angst, getting back together, protected sex (for the first time ever?!?!) riding, porn with plot (lots of plot)

Pairing: lewis x fem!ex!reader

wc: 2.9k

You were sitting on the couch with your head tilted back and your palm resting over your drooping eyes. So close to dozing off when your phone buzzed.

Startled by the vibration against your skin—as you had left your phone on your stomach—you picked it up and saw a text from him.

I'm here

Simple and to the point, because you two didn't text each other as often anymore. You were tempted to scroll and read through the conversations you shared when you two were still together, but you didn't want to break your own heart all over again.

You sighed and decided to get through this before you were able to think about everything that could go wrong.

Lewis was here to pick up a package that was accidentally delivered to your address instead of his.

When you texted him about it and asked when he would be available so you could drop it off, he suggested that he will come pick it up instead. Then, he was busy with races, so he never came around until now.

You opened the door, watching as he quickly pocketed his hands before looking at you. He wore an oversized jacket similar to his Mercedes one. The hood was covering most of his face and on top of that, it had a higher neckline that he raised further to cover his mouth.

You weren't new to this look, it was a habit of his to disguise himself so he wouldn't be recognized on the street.

However, it hurt knowing that he disguised himself because he was on the way to your place. That he didn't want to be recognized while coming up here.

Opening the door wider, you allowed him inside, letting him notice all the changes you made to the apartment in the last two months. There weren't any drastic differences, except for the fact that his touch was gone.

The small decorations he helped you choose when you first moved in were gone. He didn't utter a word, silently walking in and standing there, pretending like he didn't know every inch of the apartment.

You didn't wait for him to say anything, instead you went to the guest room to pick up the package so this could be over soon.

Having Lewis in your apartment again, in fact even seeing him again after breaking up, wasn't something you could've been prepared for. Not so soon.

The package is heavy, you remembered as you picked it up, almost tripping over due to the weight. That's why the doorman helped you bring it up when it first arrived.

Now, you wished you had asked if you could leave the package downstairs so Lewis wouldn't even have had to come up.

As you walked back in the main room, struggling with every step since your view was obstructed due to the size of the box, it was lifted away from your hands. Fingers grazed your own, and you let Lewis take the weight of the package since he was easily able to place it near the door.

He looked at the sealed box then at you, "you didn't open it?" You wanted to laugh at his question, out of all the ways he could behave, he wanted to keep it casual. It was so easy for him and realizing that, if you didn't laugh, you'd cry.

"It's not my business," anymore. You added in your mind but the implication was heard loud and clear.

He didn't say a word, but his eyes expressed the emotion you never wanted to see, hurt. "You know you don't have to keep that on while you're inside," you lifted your hand and gestured to his hood.

You didn't want him to stay long, but god did you want to see his face again. However, once your hand was raised, you noticed something on it that wasn't there before; blood.

When Lewis' hand grazed against yours earlier, he also accidentally smeared his blood on your skin. "Lewis?" You breathed his name as you looked at him, but his gaze was stuck on your hand.

There wasn't a lot, but you were still concerned as to why he was bleeding, and if not his, then whose blood was it?

He pocketed his hands again, and now you realize why he's so covered up. Forgetting about everything else, you rushed towards him, only stopping inches away.

Although hesitant but choosing not to ask, you removed his hood and pulled down the neckline to reveal his face. You gasped once you saw his busted lip, and there were surely some bruises beginning to form.

"What the fuck happened to you?" You asked, but he just shrugged. "Training accident, you know how those go."

You wanted to shake your head, to say that you didn't know. Not once has he ever come home injured because of training while you were together. Lewis looked at you, trying to gauge your reaction.

He knew that you knew he was lying, but he was so desperate to hear your voice, even if it was arguing with him. He was that desperate.

"Training?" You asked, and if it weren't for the worry that threatened to overtake you, you would've been amused at his attempt to lie.

"Can I see?" You gestured to his pocketed hands, and he nodded, removing them and wincing a bit when the wounds grazed over the fabric.

He held his hands out, letting you see his busted fists, both lightly covered in drying blood. "Fucking hell, Lew," you muttered, using his nickname which was so familiar to you that it still easily rolled off your tongue.

"You gotta clean this up," you spoke, looking at this hands then moving your gaze to his face, "all of it."

You dropped his hands and pushed him back, urging him to sit on the couch. "Wait here," you left the room before he could utter a word. Truthfully, he was just stunned into silence by your actions.

A few moments later, you walked back in the room, holding a first aid kit in your hands. Setting it down on the free space beside him, you took out a disinfectant with a cotton ball.

In a rush to clean up his wounds, you straddled him without hesitation. Lewis sighed, possibly in relief, but you didn't see it.

Holding one of his hands in yours, you lightly dabbed the soaked cotton ball on the drying blood. "Fuck," he hissed, and you muttered an apology.

Lewis' gaze was stuck on your face, watching as your brows knitted together in worry as well as the way you lightly bit your lip, completely focused.

After cleaning up both of his hands, you moved onto his face, and your eyes widened slightly when you realized he was already looking at you.

His intense gaze reminded you of the moments when you were together, how he looked at you when he was undoubtedly in love with you. "Lewis," you muttered.

He hummed in response and it almost pained you to say the next words, "close your eyes, please."

Shaking his head, "no." His response surprised you, but the words he said after left you speechless, "I want to look at you." He spoke so quietly that if you weren't looking at him, you probably wouldn't have known he had spoken.

Knowing that he wouldn't listen, you continued your task, taking a new cotton ball to dab on his lips.

You truly have no idea why you were doing this for him, perhaps it was because a part of you still cared. But, maybe you shouldn't have.

He made the simple task so much harder as soon as he parted his lips. Sure, it was in an attempt to help you, but your mind was flooded with many thoughts, and none of them could be said out loud.

"Do you want to tell me what actually happened?" You asked to get rid of the unholy thoughts brewing.

Since you were no longer holding his hands, Lewis rested them on your thighs as if it was a natural instinct. It was, once upon a time, but you thought he would've moved on from it by now.

You didn't comment on it and neither did he, instead he chose to finally tell you the truth. "I got into a fight," he said with a shrug.

"That seems obvious, but why?" You pressed on the matter further, and because he took a moment too long to answer, you increased the pressure on the cotton ball.

The pressure forced a hiss out of his mouth, and when his eyes connected with yours, he knew you did it on purpose.

A smile threatened to break out on his face, mainly because while everything changed between you two, it was still the same.

Then, realizing that you were still waiting for an answer, his face concealed the smile well. "Some of my friends started saying shit about you," he didn't want to go in the detail of what was said.

"And your first thought was to punch them?" You asked, almost amused but also worried because he wasn't ever violent.

"The second thought. You know I don't like people judging our relationship, doesn't matter if it's coming from my friends or not," Lewis explained.

"Lewis, we're not together anymore, so you have no reason to get into fights because of me." Lewis didn't like those words, so he shook his head.

You threw the cotton ball to the side once you were done, and finally, finally, noticed the position you were in.

He noticed the exact moment you realized, and tightened his grip on your thighs once you attempted to move away.

"You still care about me," he states like it was a fact but little did he know you were still undeniably in love with him.

"I would care about anyone that is hurt, you're not that special," you respond, trying to gain the upper hand. You relaxed in his grasp as one of his hands moved up and down your back in a soothing motion.

"Is that so?" He leaned back with his lips turning up in a lazy smirk, and that's when you knew that you'd lose this little back and forth battle.

You nodded, choosing not to say anything out loud. Lewis tugged you closer, bodies touching and lips only inches away.

Before anything could go further, even though you desperately wanted to kiss him, you had an important question. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" You wanted to ensure that you wouldn't increase his injuries.

He chuckled, "why don't you check?" The implications behind his words was clear. Your fingers found the zipper of his jacket, unzipping it at a teasingly slow speed.

He shrugged the jacket off and your fingers inched underneath his shirt, but this time Lewis couldn't wait. "Stop teasing, darling."

You removed his shirt and fortunately, there weren't any bruises forming. You traced his tattoos with your finger, following the ridges of his abs before stopped right above the waistband of his jeans.

"Hm, I don't think you need me anymore, you don't have any other cuts to clean," you stated, knowing that it wasn't the reason why Lewis wanted you to take off his shirt. But then again, you almost wanted him to beg.

His hands returned to your hips, and this time he tugged you oh so close, where you were able to feel the bulge of his erection through his jeans. "I think you and I both know how much I need you."

One of your hands rested on the nape of his neck, while the other was on his cheek. "Maybe you should show me," you suggested before pressing your lips against his.

Lewis bucked his hips up as soon as you let him deepen the kiss, which made you let out a sigh, swallowed by him.

His hands inched up your shirt, and you allowed him to take it off. Lewis tilted his head back with his eyes closed as soon as he got a small peak of your bare chest again. "Fuck," he groaned.

Then, his lips trailed kisses down your neck towards your tits, tongue circling your nipple before he engulfed it in his warm, wet mouth.

You tilted your head back in pleasure, allowing Lewis to rest his hand on your throat. He didn't restrict any airflow, but he just liked the way his tattooed hand looked resting on your throat.

"Fuck me," you muttered and Lewis was quick to capture your filthy mouth with his, stealing your breath from you.

His other hand dipped underneath your jeans, palming your ass but his gaze connected with yours. "Can I?" He asked, like he always did.

You nodded and leaned up, resting on your knees because you didn't want to slip off his lap. Lewis quickly unbuttoned your pants before sliding them off as much as he could.

You helped him remove the rest before straddling him again, and he couldn't help but let out a low groan at feeling you envelope his lap.

His hands roamed everywhere, as he had missed feeling your skin underneath his palms. "I think I might lose my mind if you don't ride me soon," he gritted out once you began grinding down on him.

You chuckled, stealing a kiss from him as your hands worked to unbutton his jeans. He managed to slip them off in record time, eager to be inside you.

Once you freed his cock from his boxers, he sighed in relief before his abs tensed as your hand moved up and down his length.

"Do you have a condom?" You asked, even though you two stopped using one when you were together. But you had to ask because it had been two months since you broke up and had no idea what Lewis did in that time.

"In my jeans," he answered, and you grabbed his pants that were discarded on the floor earlier. "I don't know if I should be impressed or disgusted," you stated with a teasing smile on your face, revealing that you weren't disgusted at all.

"Definitely impressed." His smirk was back, but it faltered as his lips parted once you rolled on the condom. "I don't know, it seems like you planned it."

"Maybe," he revealed with a grin on his face. But then, he turned serious before muttering the next words, "for the record, I haven't been with anyone else after you."

His words warmed your heart, "me neither." You were glad that you weren't the only one holding back.

You tugged your panties to the side, thinking that it would take too long to properly remove them, before you sunk down on Lewis's cock.

The two months apart almost made you forget how much he stretches you out, able to feel every ridge and bump a lot more this time

You stilled once every inch of him was inside you, breathing out slowly to get used to his size. He didn't rush you, enjoying the warmth he dearly missed. He was actually glad you stilled, or else it would've ended embarrassingly fast on his end.

His hand rounded to your front, fingers toying with your clit. You dropped your head on his shoulder once you started moving, gasping at the added pleasure of Lewis circling your clit.

His other hand remained on your ass, aiding your movements up and down, slowly picking up the speed until you were a moaning mess. He wasn't any better, choosing to be completely vocal.

"I don't think I'm going to last long," Lewis muttered, warning you but you agreed with him, "me too, fuck, you feel so good."

You pressed your lips against his again with the need to kiss him while your hands rested on his shoulders. Though, it ended up in sloppy kisses with little breaks in between because of gasps and moans you couldn't contain.

It didn't last long enough, both of you spilling over the edge without needing much stimulation but still not completely satisfied just yet. You slowed down before fully stopping.

"I missed you," Lewis stated, and you agreed, "I missed you too."

You eased off his cock, allowing him to get rid of the condom. Sitting side by side, his hand found yours and easily threaded his fingers between yours.

Lewis tilted your face towards him, "I still love you, I don't think I've regretted anything more than letting you walk out of my life."

You had a sad smile on your face, "we all make mistakes, some are more costly than others."

"Do you still?" He didn't have the heart to finish the question, maybe because he was still scared of the answer.

Your palm rested on his cheek, "I don't think I ever stopped loving you, Lew."

A genuine smile crept up on his face, "good," he pulled you back on to his lap, "because we have two months worth of sex to catch up on."

You chucked at his words, but didn't deny it. You were about to kiss him but he leaned away, realizing something. "Hold on, I can't believe you threw out all my stuff,"

Once again you let out a laugh, "I didn't have the heart to throw it out, it's sitting in the guest room in boxes. Now are you going to fuck me or not?"

He didn't give you an answer, instead he lifted you and began walking towards your bedroom.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #thef1diary fic #smut #lewis hamilton angst #angst #f1 angst #f1 smut

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thirstydemisexual · 6 months

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LINGERIE||Simon"Ghost"Riley X Plus size!reader

Plot: A package that you definitely did not order gets delivered to your house

(inspired by the amazing fic "Friction" by @daisies-daydreams , I just had to write my take on Ghost buying his plus size girl some lingerie because DAM if it isn't stuck in my head)

Rating: (18+)

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: smut!, smut with little plot, body worship, mirror sex, Simon fucking your insecurities away, a lot of self projecting, a lot of pet names, p in v you know the drill, unprotected sex, creampie, oral(f!recieving)

This is the first smut I write and English isn't my first language so please be kind :)

No beta we die like the respect I hold for myself

It was a quiet morning, you had been lounging on the couch reading a book a friend recommended to you months ago and you just got around to actually give it a go, when the sound of the doorbell startled you. You quickly got up from the couch putting your slippers on and went to open the front door, retrieving a package from the hands of the delivery man.

You were slightly confused, the package was clearly addressed to your name but you couldn't remember ordering anything. Curious you settled the package on the kitchen counter and made quick work of the tape with some scissors.

Inside of the cardboard box was another smaller box, decorated with a pretty flower motif and the name of a brand that was not familiar to you. Opening it and unraveling the various level of tissue paper you found your face heating up once realising the content of it.

It was a lingerie set, and a pretty expensive looking one at the sight of it.

It was a blush pink lace babydoll with matching lace panties and matching fishnet stockings with lace trims.

You quickly dropped the fabric trying to regain some composure and made a beeline for the door leading to the garage where your boyfriend was busying himself working on his bike.

Simon didn't hear you coming in, too busy on his work and distracted by the music blasting from his phone or at least you thought so.

You see Simon knew exactly what package was going to be delivered that day and since the doorbell rang he was expecting for you to get to him.

"Si" you called out from the doorway, face flushed and voice uncertain.

He turned around, teasing smirk on his face, dark eyes meeting your gaze.

"Hey love, something's wrong?" he asked turning the music off and going to the sink and heading to the utility sink to clean his hands from the motor oil that was adorning the hands that you loved so much.

"Did you ehm-" you faltered " would you happen to know who exactly ordered a lingerie set to my name?" You ended crossing your arms under your breasts, looking at your feet.

His smirk turned into a full on smile while he strode towards you, his tattooed arm reaching out to hold on your plump hip, bringing you closer to him while the other hand reached for your cheek, caressing it tenderly before grabbing your chin and bringing your eyes to meet.

"Oh that?" he said then, head lowering to kiss just below your ear " I thought I would spoil my little princess for once"

No matter how many times he would use terms of endearment your heart would still flatter like it was the first time.

"Don't you think it's a bit too much?"

His gaze from playful quickly turned serious as he rose from the crook of your neck to look back into your eyes.

"What do you mean sweets?" He asked as you tried to look away "look at me"

"I mean" you pause swallowing, eyes quickly becoming lucid "Would something like that even suit me?"

"Again, what do you mean with that?" He asked again, gaze never leaving yours.

It took you a moment to get the words out, with a little tear

"I don't think something like that would suit me. I would look ridiculous with all THIS spilling out" you finally responded, indicating your thick thighs and soft stomach with your hands.

"(Y/N)" Simon's tone was serious as he leaned in to kiss your tear strained cheeks "I wish you could see yourself with my eyes"

His arms suddenly reached down under your ass and you quickly sneaked yours around his neck as you got what he was doing. He quickly picked you up, eliciting a surprised sound to leave your lips.

No matter your weight, in his arms you felt light as a feather as he walked with you in your arms, no signs of struggle. He left the doorway before pushing your back against the wall of the hallway that led to the kitchen. His lips met yours in a slow but fiery kiss. Your hands found themselves in his hair pulling, eliciting a little moan from him. He then pulled just enough to be able to speak, lips still basically on yours

"I'll kiss every insecurity out of your body or die trying"

He then secured his arms around you once again and began walking towards your bedroom and unceremoniously trowing you on your king size bed

"Wait for me" he then dashed out of the room.

You didn't have to wait long for him to come back with the lingerie box in his hands, placing it on the nightstand before climbing on top of you.

He kissed your forehead and started leaving a trail of kisses from reddened cheeks down to your throat.

"You are so perfect darling" his lips settled on your pulse point, eliciting a moan to leave your kiss swollen lips.

His hands roaming the curves of your body before making their way under your shirt stilling for a second, waiting for your permission to go on.

"Please" you let out of your shaky lips.

He didn't waste a second before removing your oversized t-shirt, revealing your bare chest, before pulling back and take in the sight of you.

"Look at you" he cooed, pupils blown wide while he licked his lips as if he was about to devour the most delicious meal.

Having him look at you with so much desire and want had your blood rushing south.

He started trailing kisses from your neck to your chest, your breath quickening.

His mouth immediately attached to one of your nipple, tongue playing with the heartened peak, a hand sneaking to your other breast playing with the left out nub, twisting and pulling in the way he knew was going to make you moan the hardest.

"Such perfect tits" he commented, deciding to abandon the peak to leave hard kisses all around your breasts, that were most definitely going to leave hickeys.

You arched your back, hands reaching out to his shoulders, grabbing and pulling at his black t-shirt.

"Si, 's not fair. I wanna touch you too" you mumbled between moans before his hands left your breast to capture yours in his, pinning them at your sides.

Mouth leaving your chest to look in your eyes once again.

" Nah ah sweetheart, this is about you"

He moved south, letting go of your hands with a look that let you intend that you better keep your hands for yourself. Simon started kissing your abdomen, hands kneeding at the flesh at your sides before settling on the waistband of your shorts.

"Can I?" He asked eyes locking into yours, before tugging your shorts and panties down in one move after you gave an enthusiastic nod.

"Such strong and beautiful legs" he started praising leaving kisses and small bites to your thigh, gaze still fixed into yours.

"You know I can't get enough of you, right? You-" he took a moment to raise from his position to place a sloppy kiss to your mouth"-are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Do you believe me?"

Your insecurities were screaming in the back of your head but you couldn't let them win, not when he looked at you like this, with so much love and desire. You believed him, it was impossible not to.

"I do"

A huge smile made his way to his face, eyes squeezing into small crescents as he got up from the bad. A whine of protest rising from your throat.

He took your hands and led you to your feet, before reaching for the box.

"Will you let me?" He asked, fabric in his hands.

"Yes"

"Hands up darling " you did as he said, fabric gliding over your arms. He caressed you while positioning the babydoll correctly over your figure, kissing you're shoulder right next to the strap before going on his knee. He made you step into the matching lace panties of the set, slowly dragging the piece up your legs before fitting it to your bottom.

He looked up at you while lifting one of your legs up to slip on the matching stockings. It all felt so heartworming, the way he treated your body like a precious thing, how he touched you like he was afraid to break you but his moves still confident like always, he knew what he was doing to you.

Once he had finished dressing you he rose up and you didn't waste a second before throwing yourself at him, passionately kissing him.

He left out a low chuckle before sliding his hands to your hips to softly push you around. You complied but let out another whine at not being able to kiss him how much you wanted.

You now where facing your full length mirror, hammered to the wall of the bedroom.

A rush of blood run to your cheeks, you weren't used to wear this type of things but you had to admit that it didn't look half bad.

"What do you think?" Simon asked, back pressed into yours, moving your hair away from your shoulder to kiss your exposed skin.

"I actually like it" you replied, letting one of your hand run on the fabric while the other reached for Simon's hand on your hip.

"Good" he whispered in your ear before starting to let a trail of kisses down your jawline and to your neck "because I intend to fuck you in it"

You let out a small yelp at the sudden attack on your neck, before Simon took your hands in his and positioned them on either sides of the mirro before taking your hips and moving them backwards so that your body was now in a 90 degree angle.

"Si~" you whined looking at his reflection in the mirror after he left a light spank on your butt "I want you"

He chuckled before stepping back to strip out of his clothes, his hard on slipping free from his boxers already covered in precum.

"Who am I to keep the most beautiful girl in the world waiting?" He knelt once again to the ground "But I need to prep you first"

He didn't bother taking off the panties you just put on and that were already soaked, he just pulled them aside before diving face first into your dripping sex.

As he licked up you slit and one of his hand slipped to your from to start circling your clit, you couldn't help the loud sounds you were making or the shaking of your legs.

His other hand reached your needy hole, spreading your folds with two fingers before letting one of them slip in.

Then one finger became two and then three and you were coming so close to your release.

Until Simon pulled out, sticking the slick fingers into his mouth and releasing a guttural sound at the taste.

"Simon" you nearly screamed " I was so close" a couple tears of frustration leaving your eyes.

"I know baby but I want you to come on my cook alright?"

He wasted no time before pushing is hard member into your pussy, thrusting so hard you almost smashed your face in the mirror with every push.

Upon realising that his tattooed arm sneaked to yourself and made you stand up a bit straighter as his hand gripped on your throat, not enough to stop you completely from breathing but restricting it enough in the way he knew made your head spin like crazy. His other hand steading your hip and keeping it still while he rocked into you.

"Look at yourself" he grunted "look at how beautiful you look while I fuck you"

It didn't take long for you to come after that, moaning his name, head falling back into his shoulder.

"Fuck, I'm close" his thrusts becoming sloppy "where do you want it?"

"Inside" you let out as best as you could with the small amount of air you had access to.

"I need you Simon" another breath "Need you so, so bad"

That was all it took for him to come, his hips stilling, painting your insides with his seed.

You both took a moment to breathe before he picked you up, still balls deeps into you, before dropping you both on the bed. He then pulled out, you hissing at the missing feeling of him inside you before turning around and nestling your head on his chest, sliding your arms around his waist. His hands bring you closer, one softly playing with your hair.

"You did so well for me, my beautiful, beautiful princess"

I hope you all enjoyed this, thank you all for the support and I hope I'll be able to post more after this week

Please feel free to point out any grammar error you find but please be kind, I'll cry

#Spotify #ghost x reader #ghost smut #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost x y/n #ghost x female reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #ghost x plus size reader #ghost x chubby reader

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shares-a-vest · 4 months

Text

Prompt: Family Heirloom and Starry Night (Discord Drabble) Two prompts in 24hrs, the drabblers are spoiled today. It's Lex's birthday! @thefreakandthehair I'm so sorry that my Frankenstien prompt for your b'day is also Steve Sad Boy™ hours. But it has a light-hearted end!!! 🏈🏈🏈 tw: death of a grandparent (way in the past)

"Why would mom mail this to me?" Steve finally mutters from his position at the kitchen bench.

Eddie shimmies upright on the couch and rubs at his eyes, long glazed over from forcing himself to pretend to pay attention to tonight's game. He'd flipped it over a good half an hour ago as the space he had given Steve started to linger on a little too long for his liking.

He just wasn't supposed to almost fall asleep while waiting for Steve to join and watch his favourite team win all those... points? touchdowns?

It doesn't matter nearly as much as the package that was delivered late in the afternoon – one that has left Steve glued to his kitchen stool.

A heavy but small and thin box with 'FRAGILE' and 'DO NOT BEND' emblazoned all over it, the red warnings leaving just enough space for their address and the return label.

Steve has opened it, Eddie realises, looking over his partner's impossibly hunched shoulders when he reaches him.

"I don't remember ever seeing that in your house, sweetheart," he says, standing close and snaking his arms around Steve's middle.

He frowns at the small framed print of Vincent Van Gough's Starry Night painting and rests his chin on Steve's shoulder.

"Mom hated it," Steve explains, "Refused to hang it anywhere in the house after my Grandpa passed. He left it to her."

Eddie hums in the affirmative.

The gold and gaudy frame doesn't exactly scream Mrs Harrington's taste in decor...

"Should I call her?" Steve rasps, setting the print down to pinch his nose, "What if something's wrong and that's why she is sending it to me?"

Eddie can feel his lip quivering.

"Maybe we should talk first, hmm?" he suggests, giving Steve a reassuring squeeze.

"Or..." Steve continues, his tone becoming bitter, "She's sending it now to make it official. That I'm no longer..."

He cuts himself off with a shaky exhale and looks around their relatively new (but technically very old and rundown) apartment. A quiet little spot in Indy they'd scored without too much searching.

One that they soon filled with their records and clothes, Eddie's amp and guitar and Steve's old trophies. Too many knickknacks they'd thrifted with the help of Robin and a lot of second-hand furniture Wayne found.

An apartment they are still in the process of making their own as they work themselves out together.

Their place in the world. Their home.

Eddie looks over to a patch of blank wall by the phone.

A spot that could use something...

"Do you like it, the painting?" he whispers, pressing a kiss to Steve's ear.

Steve grips the frame, his knuckles quickly turning white as he tenses up. He nods his head vigorously and sniffles.

"My grandpa..."

"Starry, starry night," Eddie sings low, "Paint your palette blue and grey..."

He reaches out to place his hands over Steve's and feels them relax in his touch.

"Look out on a summer's day..." Steve continues wetly, "Yeah..."

He sighs and closes his eyes, shifting his weight back onto Eddie.

"Looks like a pretty good heirloom to me," he says, swaying them just enough to leave Steve humming contentedly without threatening his position on the rickety kitchen stool.

Eddie continues humming the song, a favourite of Wayne's that he only ever passively listened to enough to pick up on the opening line and tune.

"Wanna watch the game with me?" he asks, nodding back to the television as he finishes the song.

Steve giggles, his shoulders gradually shaking them both.

"Baby, I watched that game two Sundays ago."

"But it's your favourite," Eddie argues, jostling their conjoined form, "The Cubs!"

"Eds, that's baseball!"

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #lilys drabbles #stwgdailyprompt #steddie ficlet #steve harrington angst #tw death of a grandparent #steve harrington's parents #harrington family TM

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

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AITA for taking my package off of my neighbors porch?

Pretty low stakes but just wondering if I should have done something differently.

So, I (NB, young adult) am an anime figure collector. I try to stay within my means and budget, but those things can still cost a bit of money, especially if you’re buying a figure of a popular character or a really big or heavy figure.

I purchased a figure two months ago, and after dealing with the website not shipping as quickly as advertised and the figure going through customs, it finally got delivered. However, when I got the notification that it had been delivered, I saw it wasn’t at my door. I left my house to see if it had been delivered to a neighbors home instead, as it had happened before with someone who had a similar address to me (think 122 instead of 132 sort of thing).

My plan was to knock on the door, explain that the package was mine and had my name and address on it, as people in my neighborhood have been understanding of this situation in the past. However, I saw my package at my next door neighbors house. These people are very nice, but are rarely home recently, mostly due to their sons having all moved out, so the parents can to go on long trips and stay at work the full day.

Instead of hoping they would come back home that day, I picked up the package and pointed at the address to their ring camera, explained that the package was delivered to the wrong address, and that it was mine. I then took it with me.

I told my mom about this later that day, and she said I should have waited for them to come home. The issue is that there are a lot of package thieves recently, and while I know the neighbor would have been understanding of what happened, I was worried that my package would have gotten stolen because of my postman’s mistake. I didn’t see their car in their driveway that night after coming back from work, so I assume they weren’t home. I also saved the box itself with all the information on it, just in case my neighbors came asking for/about it.

So, am I the asshole here? I feel like what I did was understandable but I don’t know.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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from-memphis-with-love · 29 days

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Gambling on Your Love - Ch. 8

Summary: Francesca throws herself fully into a new project, all the while struggling with loneliness and unfulfilled desires. Elvis battles the demons of fame and addiction and goes back to making mediocre films, reminiscing about what could have been. A chance phone call sets the scene for the possibility of a reignited flame. Word count: 8,200 Warnings: Emotional distress; heartache; brief mentions of substance abuse. Catch up with Francesca and Elvis in previous chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.

If New York was the city that never slept, Francesca could only think of Phoenix as the city that never cooled. For all its sunny beauty, fine cuisine and fast living: it was a sweltering mess. The humidity had her hairdresser working overtime on set to keep her updo inflated with hairspray.

The script for her new film had gone through changes along with her. She’d arrived looking for a new direction and the picture inadvertently transitioned too. Just the name had been washed and rinsed now about seven times. Flames of Fury. Flames of Retribution. Rising from the Ashes. Now there was a twist. The newly widowed lead, Roxy Flare, wasn’t just a housewife spiraling into a pit of despair and grief. Now, she’d crossed paths with the notorious mob boss tied to her husband’s supposed accidental death. It was morphing from cerebral drama to gritty thriller. She rather liked it.

Francesca never felt more focused on set, although she never felt more out at sea in her personal life. She went home to a townhouse in the suburbs, a lowkey location to keep off the map of the local paparazzi. Every now and then, one trickled in, but her house blended seamlessly in with the rest of the narrow lot cookie cutter houses. Hers was delightfully blue, complimenting the other rainbow hues swatching the uphill street.

Inside, she’d barely unpacked a thing. The walls were blank. Her floors, bare. Her steps echoed loudly in the empty house. Her cat had been unnerved, but got used to it rather quickly. Frannie wondered when it would start to feel like home for her too. But after a few weeks where she could barely bring herself to hang a set of curtains, she got into a slight groove. Then came a knock at the door.

That sound startled her. Only a few people knew of her new address and number: her immediate family and Dominick. She’d had her mail forwarded to a PO box. So, when a courier with a package tapped his foot on the porch, Frannie wondered if he possibly had the wrong address.

She opened the door. Beside the courier, a tall crate, notched with head-high holes. When she squinted into the darkness, she could see something moving inside. Startled, she didn’t notice the courier handing her a clipboard.

“Could you sign here? I can’t mark it as delivered otherwise.”

Frannie signed her name, peering at the sheet. Sure enough, it was addressed to her. A receipt of delivery for one: EXOTIC IMPORT. Er… what on Earth had made its way to her door?

Now the courier had a thick packet of papers for her.

“Wait, what's this?” She thumbed through them, letting him push the crate through the door, minding the hardwood as he sat it down. The papers were import records, vaccine certifications, and care instructions. Fluttering sounded from inside the box. “Do you know who sent this?”

The young man shrugged. “Dunno, ma’am, sorry. Whoever ordered it didn’t bother putting a return address on it. To be honest with you, I’m just glad to finally have it out of my van.”

He shook her hand, leaving her to the care of her new guest. Her cat sniffed around the edge of the crate. A clicking noise resounded from inside. Looking around for something to start shimmying the planks open with, the rattling of a hinge queued her into the latch at the top. Hesitantly, she unthreaded the silver bar and the door swung open. Before she could peer inside, whatever inhabited the space rushed out in a flurry.

Francesca recoiled. A wash of crimson and azure flashed before her eyes. An ear ratcheting squawk emanated in her echoing halls. Her cat took off, hiding safely from the stairway, keeping a close eye on the situation. The creature that’d been unceremoniously stuffed inside of the ill fitted box, now covered in crap and feathers, fanned out her beautiful wings, preening them.

It was a parrot. A large one at that, with black eyes that saw straight through her as it whimsically chattered, nibbling at itself, keeping her in its sight. Its beak was stark white against a vibrant plumage. She could see the fear in its eyes, which upon approach, she realized were not straight onyx, but moon yellow surrounding inky irises that narrowed and expanded. It’d perched on the back of her settee, its claws curling with loud pops into the fabric.

Sofly, she continued to close the distance between her and the bird. It was large enough and perhaps even frightened enough to do serious damage to her. This poor thing had been squeezed inside of a narrow crate with no food for who knows how long while it was shuttled off to live in a strange new home, in a totally foreign environment. Weren’t these beautiful things from the tropics? Again, she had to wonder who on Earth had sent this to her? Was this supposed to be a gift?

“It’s all right,” Francesca assured, gently extending out her hand to the bird. Its wings fanned open defensively, and she noticed that their length was distorted. They must have been clipped at some point. Another pang in her heart for this unfortunate soul. Then, it began to voice its displeasure with loud hawking crows. The sound was ear piercing, reverberating in her head. Relentless! It had to be hungry.

Suddenly, her day was filled with purpose, with routine. She bought seed from the store, specialized for large birds. She purchased some little jingly bells and a chain with a tiny mirror and shiny trinkets to pick at. Treats, vitamins. Birds needed supplemental nutrition, right? She couldn’t imagine being satisfied with a dusty bag of seeds.

Gertrude, emphasis on the rude, was the name she deemed fitting for the screechy little lady. For weeks, Frannie didn’t get enough peace because Gertrude simply wouldn’t stop cawing. Like a colicky baby, the noise, the squawking, it never ceased. She was lost on the idea that parrots knew words; this one simply knew how to scream. But, she was rather beautiful. And Frannie liked to admire that beauty as Gertrude sat atop her window perch, when her eyes were focused on the dogwalker outside or the mail being delivered, children running down the street—there was a fascination and sadness in the creature she related deeply to. Those quiet moments were growing longer and one day, after a particularly hard day filming with her fickle director, the two of them reached an understanding.

“Hmmm, that’s not it, now play it more melancholy,” Nolan James had asked, like it wasn’t her 11th take. Her feet were starting to ache in those gaudy, spiked heel boots. She longed for the solitude of home. For warm, brawny arms to wrap around her and tell her that it would be all right, that she was fussing over nothing. Take a vacation about it, darling, buy some jewels to feel better.

She longed for him. Oh, how she missed him.

Gertrude flew over, the sound so much louder than anyone could have prepared her for. Like a copter closing distance. She barely flinched now as her attention was rapt on a People Today article about Elvis’ new film promos. They seemed terribly formulaic, like his agent had put him back up for the highest bidder. It wasn’t what she’d want for him, certainly not what he seemed to crave on the set of Gambling on Your Love. There, he seemed determined, vigorous, driven, ready to cut his chops on something with more substance.

Filming on his new pictures was already wrapping up, whereas Frannie’s had another few months before hitting editing, at least. It didn’t bode well for him. She’d go see it, regardless of the pang in her heart when she saw his handsome face in a small shot of the movie’s ad poster. A cheesy back-to-back pose with an actress she didn’t recognize and Elvis, grinning at the camera. Love Me Tender, Love Me Alien. She chuckled at the absurdity. He was holding a ray gun.

Wings fluttered aside her and Gertrude’s claws popped in and out of the settee fabric as she inched closer to see what had Frannie so engaged. She leaned in, tilting her head, zooming with her right eye before chittering. It was the closest she’d come to her, and nearer still she inched until her warm body was pressed against the side of Frannie’s head. Before she knew it, the bird had stepped cautiously down onto her shoulders, making her wince at the sharpness of talons finding purchase. She allowed Frannie to stroke her chest and to feed her. Slowly, it graduated from the occasional preen to a spoiled neediness.

Gertrude liked to stay on Frannie’s shoulder. To pull at long strands of her hair and cleave the ends sneakily, letting little clippings fall all around the house. She loved to peck and nibble at Frannie’s earrings. Her humor didn’t shy away in the presence of guests, and she was happy to dance with Frannie to her favorite records.

In time, Frannie learned that wings must be clipped occasionally, or else they’ll grow back. But she didn’t mind at all. Now, Gertrude was a more elegant flier than ever. She was messy, still loud, and beautiful. Obediently learning words and short phrases.

She knew how to call the cat for dinner time, so that was a fun fussy debate she had to struggle through. “No, no, I know. It’s not fair, but don’t blame me. Gertrude outwitted us both.”

Still, she had to wonder who had sent Gertrude into her life. It was a beautiful distraction from the heartache. Her bed was still so, so terribly empty. She reached out across from herself to splay her hand in the coolness. Thinking of him was something she needed… and couldn’t stop. Tears misted her eyes as she lay alone holding onto her pillow, where if she buried her face deep and used a pinch of wishful thinking, she could just get a whiff of his cologne, clinging on for dear life.

She ought to call him, but looking at her phone, sitting pretty and quiet, unrung like her ring finger, she resisted the urge. What would she even say to him? Not only did she feel a pang in her chest at the thought of him, but for him. She’d left him quite quickly and quite distraught, with almost no explanation. And then the… thing that happened.

Reaching for a glass of water instead, she tried to focus her mind elsewhere, anywhere but the pain that seemed to settle in whenever she was still. So instead, she kept moving, jumping up so fast that Gertrude squabbled. She must keep busy with something. A distraction.

The filming process itself for Flames of Fury had been rocky but all in all, much smoother than the ups and downs on the set of Gambling for Your Love—but her truest performance, her heart and soul, had been poured entirely into that movie. She’d brought more than her everything each day. Having Elvis as friendly competition only fueled her to do that much better. They truly had been magic together.

Elvis slumped in the jacuzzi with a swarm of pills floating through him like champagne bubbles, while a girl named Champagne poured him some more cola. He was lost, looking out at the California skyline, mesmerized by the pulsing lights while he sipped slowly, downing some uppers to stable his mood. He couldn’t feel so low when he was surrounded by his crew, women, good music, drugs and food.

But with laughter all around him, echoing in his ears and growing duller by the second, he felt alone. Even in hot rolling water, California wind blowing through his hair, his thoughts were about her, only her.

Francesca had done a number on him.

Joe patted a buddy on the back, gently ushering a lady aside and telling her about the open bar upstairs, he’d join her later.

“Hey. You ain’t uh, looking so good. Sure you’re doing okay?” Joe splashed around in the water. “This steam making you dizzy or something? Talk to me. Hello?” He snapped his fingers and Elvis grinned, shoving them away.

“M’fine, I’m fine,” he slurred, clearing his throat, looking his friend in the soulful eyes. “Thank you, Joe.”

Unbelieving, his friend motioned for Red to come over. Now it was going to be a whole big thing and he didn’t want to deal with another round of their pep talks. He understood it. He appreciated it. He knew he shouldn’t be moping around in his misery, but here he was. Enjoying it in some sick way. It was the pain that proved he really loved her. Loved her right now just as much as yesterday and tomorrow. If he could just see her again, hold her in his arms. Smell her hair. Tell her how sorry he was for whatever he’d done. He’d take her back in a second, tell the whole world that he loved her. They were going steady. He was going to marry her.

“Not even gonna ask. Let’s get you out of the water buddy, you’re looking real… lax right now.” Red didn’t wait for his response, he just looped one brawny arm underneath his friend’s and lifted him up out of the pool. Water sloshed across the cement. The boys wrapped a towel around him.

He wandered inside and didn’t bother changing clothes as he sat still on the couch. This was his costar’s afterparty. Mitzy didn’t throw small bashes either, but Elvis stayed for the after-after party because he didn’t want to go home to his hotel room. Even the glitziest of suites had lost its charm after a few months of taking spurting, hot-cold showers and eating insipid dishes made by an overworked chef. But the service staff were sublime and heavy-handed tips always made the attendants’ eyes bright. He loved seeing that in someone, because he wasn’t getting much of that lately at all. He’d had it when he’d looked at his Francesca.

Elvis wouldn’t let himself fall to tears in front of the boys, but to say he was still torn up about it would be an understatement.

Mitzy Marvel walked in. Adult film actress-made-Hollywood star. She was up and coming to say the least, and a very hard worker… but that’s what worried him about her. Acting was coming easier to him, it had started to when he’d been on stage with Frannie. Mitzy seemed to struggle with finding her footing. This was her first big gig and he had a sneaking suspicion that she’d slept her way in with how nervous she was. Maybe it was just because he was Elvis Presley, but there was a naive wobbliness to her performance. Endearing but nothing compared to Francesca’s heart pounding rounds. She could deliver the same song without losing a bit of enthusiasm, straight from the chest, every time. Just like that. It was something he didn’t just admire—it was something he’d aspired to be.

It gutted him even more still that Gambling on Your Love would remain in this beautifully perfect limbo. All it needed was one more scene, a finale to tie it off and she was good as gold. He’d dreamed of seeing it in theaters with his crew. With Frannie on his arm, pointing out their little nods and glances, knowing the real fire behind the flames on set.

Elvis burned for her.

Joe grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to look at him as he said in earnest, “Man, you’ve got to get a grip. This woman has ripped your heart clean out, by God. Don’t let her have any more of you. You’ve got to stop thinking about the past. It’s over. It’s done. She’s probably moved on by now—”

“Don’t say that,” Elvis hiccupped.

“So should you. You gotta do something for yourself. Live a little. Relax. Go on a date. Go back to a girl’s place. Bring her back to yours. Do something, other than all this moping.”

“Joe,” Red murmured.

“I’m just sayin’.”

Billy loudly vomited over the second level banister, and they all glanced back. Champagne was rubbing his back, Mitzy was wondering who gave him that much. She waved prettily at Elvis, her hair sprayed blonde curls glittering.

Elvis couldn’t stop thinking about her, about the life they could have had together if only she’d given him a chance. He would have taken such good care of her. Of their child.

These were the emotions he tried to avoid with partying and drugs, but some nights, it just made it so much worse. He’d had rougher ones, where he’d lain curled up like an infant in the shower, the light off because it hurt his eyes and made his head throb. Where he had to drag himself from the bathroom floor and into his bed. Never had he considered himself a lightweight, but something about the pain spiraled more pain.

He clutched at his chest, reclined his head and shut his eyes. Thinking about the night breeze cutting through his hair, the milk light of moon swatching a path for them to follow along dark highway roads, shining brighter than diamonds. Campfires reflecting in her gorgeous jewel eyes. The taste of her ruby lips.

When he awoke, it was sometime in the early morning, just after sunrise. He had to move slowly or else the pudding in his head would just leak out of his ears.

He recalled the boys trying to drag him off the couch, but he wouldn’t budge, slipping deeper into his self-loathing. It was what he’d gotten used to by now.

With the sun beaming mercilessly into his pinpoint pupils, rocking his head with ice pick stabbing pulses, Elvis winced with every step as he and the boys made their way to the car. He wasn’t feeling up for it at all, but he didn’t like cruising passenger and managed to throw himself into the driver’s seat. He gripped the wheel.

Back in his penthouse suite, where he had grown rather bored of, Elvis saw the blinking red light of hope twinkling on his answering machine. He raced over to answer it. It could be her. He still couldn’t track her down. She was somewhere in Phoenix, still filming. He knew the movie was a thriller and foolishly had no songs written for her. She was already branching out, while their debut film rested peacefully in an editing room, just waiting to be finished.

He pressed play, listening with all his heart, to a familiar voice. But it wasn’t Frannie on the other end of the receiver, it was Cassandra Morgan.

“Hey, Presley, it’s Cassandra. I can’t get in touch with Francesca, but I’m sure you can just tell her for me. Ahh, look, I don’t know how done with Gambling you are, but I’ve never stopped thinking about just how electric you two were on camera. I’d give anything to have you two back here in the studio for a little reunion. We can really give this picture what it deserves. I’m sure that you’d like to see it on the big screen, too. Well, just, gimme a call when you get this message. Bye.”

Francesca did not avoid her phone, per se, she just tastefully ignored it. But today, the tone was that of resolve as it rang for her attention. She felt out of body as she reached for the phone, clasping the bakelite to her ear, listening to static. Had he found her? Did she want him to? She wasn’t breathing.

“Frannie? Hellooo?” It was Dominick. She hadn’t even heard him.

“Yes, yes, good evening, Dominick. What kind of trouble are you getting into lately?”

She could hear his smile when he said, “Only the good kind. How’ve you been? How’s it going on set?”

“We’re almost done, I can see the finish line. I didn’t think I’d ever get tired from wearing heels, but these skyscrapers they have me in for some of these scenes are killing my poor ankles.”

“Hardest working ankles in Hollywood. You be sure to pamper yourself.” He lit a cigarette, closing the zippo with a sturdy sliding clack. “You’re your number one asset.”

“So I’ve heard,” she teased, filling up Gertrude’s tray with fresh nuts and seeds, a few veggies from her lunch salad. She happily chittered in response.

“What’s that? You keeping chickens now? I knew you’d tire of the glitz and glam and turn to something rustic and homesteady.”

“You know me too well, Dominick.” But she also knew him well enough that his well-fare calls were usually few and far between. He had something up his sleeve, she was just waiting on him to dish it out.

After a little pause of staticky silence, he said, “So, your old friend Cassandra Morgan rang me up the other day,” he took a long drag. “You’ll never guess what she wanted.”

Well, Frannie had more than a hint. But she’d play along. “She’s directing a new movie and wants me as the lead?” A girl could dream. Cassandra’s screenplays were the stuff of literary dreams on paper and played even better on screen.

“Hmm. Not quite. In fact, it’s a little closer to your heart than that. She pleaded for another shot with you. One more chance to have you and Elvis on stage together to patch up her unfinished vision.”

When Frannie didn’t immediately answer, Dominick put forth his own opinion. “For a second, let me step away as your agent—not all the way of course—and talk to you as down to Earth as I can, Frannie. Would you listen to an old friend when he says this would be good for you?”

Good for her? Her heart was already pounding at the thought of being on that beautiful, cursed set again. To rip another priceless dress? To wind up in the hospital once more? Who would poison her with what next? Or would her trust be totally violated by the man that she loved?

“I just… don’t think I can see it that way, Dominick. I’ve had fun. I did, I really did love every second. It was magical. But it came at such a hefty price, I just can’t seem to… to wrap my head around how I would begin to trust him again.”

“You know he’s done nothing but look for you ever since you left? He called me until I warned him I’d change my number if he didn’t drop it. I’m not saying you gotta trust the guy, but every time he pleaded with me, well, it sounded as desperate as Casandra, begging for you two once again.”

These are things she both hated and loved to hear. That he’d tried to get in touch with her. Had he gone to her empty apartment, knocking on an unanswered door in hopes that she would give him another chance?

“I have faith, Frannie, that he’ll take this just as seriously as you do. Besides,” he took a final long drag from his cigarette. “I know you haven’t unpacked those boxes you’re probably surrounded by.”

Alright, he got her there. “Tell Cassandra that I will think about it. Emphasis on think.”

“You’ve got my word. She’ll be happy to just hear a response, I’m sure. Well, take care Frannie. And let me know when you’re wrapping up filming, I’ll come to the premiere of Flames of Retribution.”

“Er, Fury,” she politely corrected. Not that she could blame him with how many tweaks and stitches the meat of the film had gone through, name included. But even for the hiccups, it was still like swimming in the kiddie pool compared to the catastrophic always-on-her-toes intensity of Gambling on Your Love. Although, maybe that was just the nature of her and Elvis’s relationship.

Could she face seeing him again? Not that she didn’t see him every day, hear him every day, think about him every day. Dream about him most nights. Ah, especially those balmy beach getaway dreams where Elvis laid her out underneath a cabana in the sun and made love to her all evening until the sunset and the tide came back in. Or the simpler, more painful ones, that let her perceive a glimpse of the life she could have had with him. All too domestic, just fantasies. She couldn’t be a doting housewife right now, not when her career was just starting to really take off. One day, perhaps. But she’d always worried in the back of her mind while she and Elvis were together, that that is exactly what he wanted. A sultry housewife to come home to that kept the place clean and their children well behaved. How excited he had been at the sudden prospect of a baby coming into their life. All things she couldn’t afford to think about right now!

Her co-star, Billy Flynn, the innocent eldest son of the mafia boss, was no Presley. Or that was to say, she and him had no chemistry. Not that the director seemed to notice. It seemed to play better for her stoic character for her to be less attached, distancing herself to keep her heart from truly being given to another. Playing it safe. He was kind and he read his lines well, played his parts marvelously. In short, there was nothing lacking about his performance, other than he simply wasn’t Him.

Can’t Help Falling in Love made her pull over one night on the drive home. She’d found a dark stretch of highway away from the doming glow of the city lights, where the stars were just visible. She shut the car off, reclined back in her seat and opened the sunroof to gaze up at the dotted night sky. The tears streamed down her face before she even realized.

In a few weeks, the red carpet roll out of Flames of Fury was a smashing success. Women wanted to be Roxy and men wanted to be with her. She was a dynamite dame with a sense of justice and loyalty that just resonated with the heart strings of so many.

The showings for Love Me Alien were all taken down as the next season’s films came into rotation. There she was, billed at the top, her name in flashing lights. Her sister was wrapped in a warm fur coat that she’d bought her, her neck shining with jewels, all the things she’d wanted for her since she’d begun carving her own way. Her father and brothers cut handsome figures in smartly tailored tuxedos. The only one missing was her mom, for whom she said a silent prayer. Champagne flowed into fragile stems and she didn’t know if it was the drink inducing the apathy—but she just didn’t feel… quite as high as she’d hoped.

The crowd gave her a standing ovation. Billy Flynn asked in her ear if they could get dinner afterwards and she politely but firmly reclined. Posters of her were around every corner, billboards, television ads. She’d dutifully attended her press conferences with her costars, smiling her winning smile and keeping her answers cool and concise. They ate up her every word, and yet something was missing. It just felt like her entire world had shifted and she was only a few millimeters off course, but dizzied and stranded, nonetheless.

Francesca peeked out of her little townhouse to see paparazzi had indeed made their way to her. Someone must have followed her home, or maybe even a nosy neighbor had sold her address to the highest bidder. She closed her curtains and rang up Dominick.

“Tell her I’ll do it. But I’m paid more than him and I want you there with me.”

“Of course, that’s just a start. What else?”

She loved him to pieces. He was like a father to her, an older brother type. He’d doted on her for a while now, respecting her. Taking her seriously. She’d had a handful of people, agencies that she’d tried venturing through, but upfront costs and greedy intentions without a care to her growth as an actress: hard pass. Dominick always made sure to look out for her first and foremost before even thinking about taking his cut. The total opposite to that squirmy Parker that followed in Elvis’s shadow.

“That I… hmm,” Well, she had to think about that, demands didn’t come easy to her in this regard, and she thought for a moment before saying without preamble, “And what do you think about hiring a private investigator?”

“For whom exactly?” He didn’t sound averse to the idea in the slightest, asking it like what she wanted for lunch.

“I want them to watch Elvis, more specifically, his associates. I don’t want dirt on them, I just want to know if someone is following me.” Messing with me. She wasn’t about to be harassed on set behind the scenes by someone too cowardly to show their face. If Elvis really was half as hurt as she was about their separation, then maybe someone else was doing the dirty work for him.

There were coincidences and then there were carefully laid plots.

“Alright, Frannie. I’ll get somebody on him. Someone real low key.” He switched ears with the phone, telling her, “You were amazing in Fury. I want you to know you did a good job. I’m proud of you. And your premiere was fabulous. You were lovely in that dress. The after party, though I couldn’t attend, I hear was wonderful.”

She smiled. “It was nice seeing you again. When can I see the little ones? I know Gracie is getting to be a big girl now.” Grabbing the coiled cord around her finger, she gazed out onto the little street she’d grown used to, the glass lamps casting a warm glow on the sidewalk.

“We’ll all come visit you again, I promise. You get some rest now. I hear you got a big movie coming up.”

Elvis couldn’t believe this was really happening. His circumstances, while fragile in a way, were a blessing. He was almost in a daze while readying up for his private flight back to Las Vegas, to where it all began with her.

Equal parts thrilling and nerve racking. He wanted to start where they left off. Start over? He didn’t know how to approach her. He knew how he wanted to, but he had to see what it was that Francesca wanted. Still ready to give it all to her, he contemplated seeing if her old apartment was open for rent, but even he would admit that was going too far. Suddenly, his feet felt like lead. He missed California as soon as he left the plane.

Colonel Parker was simmering the entire damn time, tapping his foot, hands steepled in his lap while he stared straight ahead. Not partaking in any of the drinks or cigars, just simmering. He’d absolutely exploded when Elvis told him bluntly that this wasn’t a request, or a plea, it was a statement, a notification that: Yes, he absolutely would take the opportunity to finish this masterpiece with her. Just seeing her again, dancing and singing with her again would all be worth it.

“You’re making a huge mistake. Biggest mistake of your life.” Parker had seethed, roaring at him over the phone that this was the most disrespectful thing he’d ever done. But Elvis just didn’t see it that way.

The boys thought he was a little crazy but doing the right thing. Except Joe, who was wary of Frannie’s influence over him. Elvis rather liked that influence, and that perfume she always had on. What’s that one, Chanel? Nina Ricci? He bought her another, crystal pink as her other one. She’d tilt her head to the side in that elegant, bird-like way and spritz her lithe neck, her chest.

He needed to see her as soon as possible. He’d been working up the courage to see her new movie, but something in him just resisted the idea. The posters said that her outfits and her dance moves might drive him up the wall for weeks, not that she didn’t already have him still besotted with her. Even when he tried to shack up with other women, he couldn’t stay with them if he didn’t think of her, her beautiful heart shaped face, rosy cheeks and dark, shining hair. She was an angel, breaking his heart into a million tiny pieces. Stirring around the dust with her heel a little bit just to get the point across.

But when he saw her on set for the first time, past the crew, past the cameras and curtains; he forgot all about his pain, at least for a brief second. Her hair had grown a bit. She had on a stunning black sundress and white heels. Her loveliness a knife in his heart. He watched her float amongst the rest, daintily reintroducing herself to familiar faces. Cassandra wouldn’t do with a handshake and yanked Frannie into a hug, squeezing her tight with a few hardy pats to the back, telling her, “You don’t know how wonderful it is to see you.”

Francesca’s eyes met his and he saw something in her face that looked like hope. She inhaled. He watched her chest rise and fall. She grabbed at the pearls draped over her collar, fingering their gleaming beauty. He’d given them to her.

His heart skipped. Soared. He didn’t know whether to give into the relief or remain entirely on edge, because this would be too good to be true. Francesca, still pining for him even after she’d dumped him hard and fast. Maybe it was his fault for not pushing harder for their publicity. Did she think he didn’t want to be associated with her? He knew her cut was above the rest, she really was a superior actress compared to so many he’d seen or worked with. Mitzy was a clueless but buoyant young girl and he did wish her the best. But just being near Frannie on set was a breath of fresh air.

“Chess,” he acknowledged. I see you.

Her eye contact did not break, even as her face softened, her expression puzzling him. “Elvis Presley. What a pleasure it is to work with you again.”

“I can only say the same, my dear.” He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her heavy, until her knees were weak and she was clinging to him. She was gorgeous.

Cassandra laughed, albeit a hint nervously as she watched them interact. She clapped, saying, “Okay, so, we’re just warming up today, getting the lighting back in place, the camera back in place. I honestly thought about just splicing the thing and keeping in the bits that did make it, intertwined with whatever we film over the next few days, but, I think it would be a better idea to just film the entire last duet together once more, from the top. Fresh, clean, and guarded, because god dammit I’m paying someone overtime to stay here and guard this film reel personally.” She was intense, absolutely bringing her A-game to the table. She was a force to be reckoned with when she wanted to be.

And so was he.

Before he could muster the courage to knock on her dressing room door, assuming she was even in there, he ran into Eddie, who’d grown out his hair a little bit since he’s last seen him. He was even sporting a little bit of a beard, looking more like a grown man than the kid he’d been months ago.

“Eddie! It’s good to see you again!” Elvis embraced him warmly.

“You still owe me dinner. My dad says that I’m crazy. That I’m not friends with Elvis Presley, that I’m just pulling his chain.”

Elvis grinned. He had promised him that, hadn’t he? “Well, a man’s only as good as his word. So, what’s the address and when’s the food gonna be ready?” It’d been a long time since he’d last had a home cooked family style meal that wasn’t served up at a restaurant. Or whipped up by one of the fellas in a drunken, but generous, stupor.

Francesca, who wasn’t in her dressing room at all, but readying to head out the door, overheard their conversation. He knew this because she was looking right at him when he glanced her way. He could practically feel her eyes on him. If only it were her silky little hands climbing him instead.

Winning her back was his ultimate goal, other than of course, putting on one hell of a show.

The next day, when filming finally commenced and Francesca was in that dress, his eyes were magnetized. Long legs that went on for miles, led straight to heaven. Where he’d once been invited.

And the way she was looking at him, even while trying her best to avoid being alone with him, he knew that some part of her still desired him. He just needed to stoke the flame. He knew her well enough. The things that made her sigh and moan. If she’d just give him a chance to show her again, how he was just perfect for her and she, him.

But he couldn’t see the forest for the trees and nearly fumbled his first few practice steps with her. Beat for beat, he slowly acclimated back, finding the rhythm like it was second nature. Muscle memory. Hopping back on the horse, he rose hard, never disrupting his gaze from the one thing that meant the most to him: her approval. And, well, obviously her. But he needed her to see, he hadn’t lost the memory of their dancing duet together.

One part of the song had him running after her for a brief second before lifting her up by her slender waist onto the top of the piano his character had always played solo. Her eyes were glittering from the prop lights and with flecks of something else as she looked at him.

Cassandra nearly forgot to call scene when the two of them were done, chests heaving as they panted. Their bodies were rigorously taut and spent as if they’d made love. She was heart achingly beautiful and she still didn’t acknowledge him the way he needed her to.

When they were finished, she parted from him as cool as the change of season. Spring pushed into fall, and he shuddered, watching her leave him near effortlessly. But on her way out, when she kissed cheeks and signed a few crew autographs, she glanced back at him over her shoulder. Batting her glamorous lashes at him, like a matador waving a red flag. He pursued, giving chase like never before.

It was one thing to be scorned, but another to be ignored. He just couldn’t stand not being under her guise. It ate at him more than if she just rebuffed him.

Today, things were serious. Cassandra had implied rather overtly that this portion of filming wasn’t supported by any generous backers, but from her own pocket. The cast, the crew, she was investing herself into this film more than ever. It only made him all the more confident that he’d chosen the best passion piece.

Colonel Parker always occasionally visited Elvis on set before, but now he was heavy handed, coming every day, sometimes staying for the entire duration of filming even though he’d tried dismissing him.

“Don’t you get bored watching us practice?”

“I’m just looking out for my number one guy, Elvis.”

Eddie was incredibly jittering, having to be scolded twice about the lights being off center. He apologized profusely. The previous night, Elvis had finally made good on his promise to have dinner at the young man’s house. It was a charming little factory home on the other side of the railroad tracks. Small, modest, but very well loved. It was cozy and reminded him of home.

Upon seeing the pair walk in, Eddie was the first one to be greeted, wrapped warmly in hugs. His father had to look once, twice, three separate times before he realized whom he laid eyes on.

“Well I’ll be damned…”

“Harold, not in front of our guest,” Eddie’s mother chided, elbowing her gobsmacked husband. She offered out her hand, shiny from cooking with grease. The smell of something delicious wafted out from behind them.

Sitting down at the too large dining room table in a house that did smell slightly of cigarettes, Elvis was treated to some of the best Mississippi roast he’d ever forked into his mouth. And Eddie’s mother, Glenda, was overjoyed to have company, let alone Elvis Presley, who they asked a bevy of questions. The typical ones that he’d answered dozens if not hundreds of times.

“What’s your favorite concert you’ve done?”

“What’s the best town you’ve been to?”

“Do you think you could help tune my old guitar, it just doesn’t sound right and these old ears aren’t what they used to be.”

Elvis was more than delighted to zoom in the scope of his understanding of the world, to fine tune his vision to see into these little domestic bits. Eddie’s parents, fawning over their beloved only child, their older age belying the struggle he must have been to conceive. They proudly showed off Eddie’s camera collection and all the places he’s been to recently. But when Glenda cheerfully went to open Eddie’s photo proofing room, a large utility closet he’d renovated, Eddie eagerly flattened his palm against the door, insisting that the light would ruin his set up. And besides, they were just “boring naturescapes”.

On set, his uneasiness hadn’t diminished and Elvis was surprised to find he was worried about the kid. But today, he had to have a laser focused mindset. No distractions.

When Francesca walked upon the stage, as graceful and goddess-like as ever, Elvis offered out his hand to her and they got down to it. Hot and fast, one, two, three, four. Twists, turns, hip dips that had him feverish. He burned that heat with her, feeling it flare between them. Her hand touched his face, her eyes pooled into his. Her body was perfectly in sync with his; tandem movements in absolute perfection.

Cassandra was stunned. “That’s it people. We got it.”

The crew, overjoyed to have been reunited for a marvelous feature, cheered for the couple, breathing laboriously after their round. Her hand was still in his and she smiled at him, that old Frannie smile that he couldn’t get enough of.

When he finally found a moment alone with her, after weeks of simply being in her presence, Elvis didn’t hold back his feelings. It was the dark aisle behind the set, the both of them still soaring from that performance. It was unspoken between them that that had been it. Flawless. When this movie premiered, he couldn’t help but feel that they were pushing their project out into the world. But it wasn’t just a movie they were starring in, it was a movie made for them, even Cassandra said so, telling them, “You two were electric before. But whatever that was just now. Lighting in a bottle, babes. Don’t let it go, cause you two have got it.”

They did have it. He just needed to remind Francesca.

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” He asked her honestly. Did she have any idea? By the look in her tragic face, he knew the answer. She didn’t just have an idea, she knew exactly how he felt. It filled him with pride, he wanted to shout. Her feelings for him hadn’t waned. Just reigniting the flames was all it took. His burned out of control.

Francesca did not pull away from him. She turned her head to half-heartedly avoid his kiss. And breathlessly she told him, with her fingers pressed against his lips, with her face growing warm from his nearness, “Elvis, we can’t.”

“But we can. We absolutely can, Chess,” he said, sealing that assertion with a kiss. He didn’t care who saw. Maybe she did, but right now, all he could think about was her and closing the gap between them. He only felt far from her, letting her push him away. But here, she instantly melted against him, if only for a fleeting second.

Elvis felt her shiver. He felt the chills breaking across her flesh when he rubbed her arms. He kissed her deeper, tilting her head back, drinking her. The taste of her, the feel of her against him. Her hands curled against his waist, hooking into the belt loops and easing him towards her.

“You missed me, admit it,” he teased, pushing her buttons, testing his limits with her already. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted to see her frustrated, suffering, but not with pain—with desire.

Francesca peered out the window of the limousine and gasped, sitting straight back in her seat. “Good God, that’s a lot of people.” A hundred or so on either side of the red carpet, dozens and dozens more spilling out onto the streets. She’d never seen so many people or so many cameras in one place.

Their car was two behind and she anxiously awaited the slow roll, watching Cassandra exit the car with her friend, a lovely tall blonde woman who Frannie recognized. When it was their turn to exit the limousine, Francesca steeled herself. Put on her best Hollywood smile.

Elvis clasped her hand. “You and me, Frannie.”

Once out into the limelight, she was stunned at the turnout of people. There were fans with signs that said all sorts of fanatical things, “Marry me, Elvis!” “I love Elvis Presley!” “Let’s Gamble on Our Love, Baby!”

It was amazing, the sheer amount and this wasn’t a broadly advertised event amongst the public. He simply had that many devoted fans, pining for his attention. And he was walking her through a cheering crowd, with her arm looped under his. He led her with propriety, like he was her husband. And she could feel them noticing, eyes tracking her. Pictures of him and her were held anxiously out, blank books for them to sign. There were fans asking for hugs, roses were being tossed at them.

This felt like a dream. It felt like what she wanted a red carpet premiere to feel like. She and him were the center of attention. Paparazzi were flashing cameras, bulbs popping like a summer thunderstorm with their frequency. She just smiled, telling herself not to lean against him, no matter how good it might feel. God, he smelled so good right now, she could just take a bite out of him. Control yourself, Frannie.

It was certainly hard when he was resting his knee so close against hers on the ride here. Why she insisted in the first place, she wasn’t entirely sure. Whether to have a chance alone with him, or simply for the fanfare factor of the acting couple stepping out together. Which had paid off, seeing as the crowd was still screaming excitedly behind them as they made their way into the marvelous theater.

Francesca wanted the full movie experience and ordered a big bucket of popcorn for herself, or at least she tried to before Elvis butted in with his order, insisting on paying both their tabs. She argued but to no avail. He was always persuasive in ways she didn’t anticipate, charming but persistent.

Elvis racked up on candy and excitedly sat down next to her, it was easy for her to notice that he was doggedly watching her, critically reading her every expression, every reaction to him. He was terrified he was going to mess up, wasn’t he? She felt a pang in her heart that he was so high strung while this was his big night just as much as hers.

Although, she couldn’t feel too bad for him, considering as of late, she was practically beating him off with a stick. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t relent. When she pushed, he pulled, when she retreated, he pursued.

When she rebuffed him the last day of filming, after he’d racked her body with shuddering desire thanks to one of the most smoldering kisses he’d ever lain on her, he’d been perturbed exactly none. In fact, it was her own fault, letting him get her so wound up. She’d been clinging to him, rocking her hips into his to stem some of the tension pooling between her thighs. Elvis had a maddening effect on her and he absolutely knew it.

With his hand resting innocently, so innocently on her knee and her face as hot as the sun during Gambling on Your Love’s premiere, Francesca knew that she wasn’t over him.

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