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dyaz-stories · 4 months

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your imprint's on my soul || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

summary: When Hyun-Su's monster shows up at your door, he teases you and implies that Hyun-Su wants more with you than what you've shared before so, when Hyun-Su wakes up, you decide to act on that.

word count: 4.1k

warnings & tags: canon-typical angst, fluff, smut, explicit consent, dry-humping, thigh-riding if you squint, handjob (male receiving), they're both virgins and are both painfully awkward, this is very soft tbh

first one-shot · previous one-shot

This one-shot can be read independently as there is nothing intense plot-wise that requires having read the other parts, but I do recommend reading them for context.

A/N: sooo, we've reached the first smutty installment for this series, though this feels so tame and so soft I don't even know if it deserves that name. It's what felt right to me for the development of their relationship and what I think makes sense for their characters! I hope you'll enjoy it!

Hyun-Su always knocks. It doesn’t matter that you’ve told him he didn’t have to anymore, doesn’t matter that you’ve offered to give him a key. He still knocks, a soft rap against your door that you’ve learned to recognize from anywhere you are in the house — it’s probably the first time ever that you are truly thankful for the terrible soundproofing in there. When Hyun-Su isn’t there, you spend your time waiting to hear it again, whether consciously or not.

So when you hear something brutally hitting your door, the sound echoing through your silent house, it doesn’t cross your mind that it could be him.

You stumble through the house to grab your bat, heart beating so fast it’s threatening to fall out of your chest. Whether it’s a monster or a desperate survivor trying to get in, you need to be ready to defend yourself.

You’re slowly approaching the door when whoever — or whatever — is outside hits the door twice more.

“C’mon now, I haven’t got all day.”

You still. You recognize the voice instantly, of course you do, but what you don’t recognize is the tone, or even how loud it is, for that matter.

“Hyun-Su?” you call out quietly.

It’s not the smartest decision, because if it’s not him, it lets whatever’s out there know you’re here, but you can’t see yourself leaving him outside.

“You could say that,” the voice answers, and it’s still obviously Hyun-Su, and it’s still wrong, somehow.

But, after a couple seconds of further hesitation, you decide to open the door anyway. You’ve heard it before, that tone, you think, even if it’s blurry now. Plus, you cannot bear the thought of letting Hyun-Su out there, if it really is him. You tighten your hold on your bat, and carefully open the door.

The second you do, Hyun-Su walks in like he owns the place. It is so unlike him that you get ready to swing, but he spots you and grabs it from your hand easily, using his pull on it to get you closer to him, his other hand coming to your waist to stabilize you with a gentleness that contrasts with the abruptness of his movement. Once he does, he shoots you a grin that makes you knees weak, and, as his blue eyes stare straight into yours, you finally understand what is going on.

“All that for me?” he asks, glancing at the bat.

You don’t bother to answer him. You remember too well the state he was in last time you saw this— well— version of him, and your eyes run over his body, followed by your hands, checking for injuries. But while his sweater is in worst shape than usual, and you find blood that you think is fresh on there, his skin is intact under your fingers.

When you look into his eyes again, you find him staring at you, amused.

“You can keep going,” he teases. Your face starts burning and you take a step back, embarrassed, but he follows right after you, eyes devouring you. “Come on, you know you want to. Why not just give in?”

Your back hits the wall, and he leans closer, like a cat playing with a mouse. The difference is, though your heart is hammering in your chest, you don’t feel that scared. Nervous, sure, but there is no actual threat to his tone, or even to his attitude.

“I’m not— I’m not doing anything Hyun-Su wouldn’t want,” you answer, and you somehow find it in yourself to lift your chin defiantly as you do.

Meeting this version of Hyun-Su’s eyes sends a rush of heat through you once again. Beneath the amusement, there is so much more. Fascination. Adoration, even.

He lets out a brief laugh at your words.

“Please,” he practically purrs, “you can’t think that he doesn’t want this.” You stare at him, and his grin widens. “Maybe you should ask him, then.” He leans closer to you, mouth so close to your ear you can feel his breath tickling your cheek. “Ask him what he thinks about when he’s alone at night.” Your cheeks are on fire. “Ask him what he thinks about when you’re lying in bed next to him.” Your breath catches in your throat. “Ask him what he thinks of doing to you.”

He laughs again, and Lord, you don’t know how your legs haven’t given up underneath you yet.

��Come back to me if he still doesn’t have the guts to do anything,” he whispers in your ear. “For now, I think we’ll take a nap.”

That’s all the warning you get before he collapses into you and you can do nothing but slide down to the floor, holding Hyun-Su’s now unconscious body in your arms. You curse the monstrous part of him under your breath, but you know, deep down, that it’s less about that and more about the fact that he’s leaving you with your whole body practically vibrating with feelings and desires you’ve been having more and more as of late.

Your relationship with Hyun-Su is good. It’s great. It makes you happy, so much happier than you thought would ever be possible after the world ended.

But you’d be lying if you said there hasn’t been a— yearning, a longing for more. Something you haven’t put precise words on, something that is almost fully new to you, because though you had fooled around with the boyfriend you briefly had at the beginning of college, the two of you had never gotten really far. You suspect it’s even more foreign to Hyun-Su.

You do know you have an effect on him, you’re not blind. You know how he can get when he loses himself in you, when he finally lets go of all the weight he carries on his shoulders. You, however, also know how embarrassed he gets when his body reacts to you in ways he can’t fully control. You’re just not sure he’s ready for taking the relationship further and, if you’re being honest, the fear of rejection has kept you from bringing up the subject.

Except that after this conversation, the monster’s words are swirling in your mind, and you can no longer pretend that the desire that makes your pulse quicken isn’t there.

Now’s not the time for that, though. You do your best to carry Hyun-Su to the couch, something you doubt you could have done before the Apocalypse forced you to put on some muscle, cover him with a blanket, just in case, because his sweater is starting to have more holes than fabric, and sit by his side so his head rests on your lap. All that’s left to do now, is to wait for him to wake up.

It’s fine, though.

You’re used to waiting for him.

Hyun-Su opens his eyes, and at first, he just feels warm and good and safe. For once in his life, nothing hurts. Your hand’s in his hair, fingers brushing against his scalp pleasantly every now and then and—

And he doesn’t remember coming to your place or seeing you.

He jumps up, eyes surveying the apartment, which looks the same it always does, then you when he turns around. All he sees there is mild confusion.

“Did you have a bad dream?” you ask.

“Did you see him?” he asks in reply.

You frown for a second, before understanding passes on your face, and Hyun-Su feels the blood draining from his face.

Last time, the monster had been with you for a couple minutes, at most. This time…

He hadn’t thought he would come here. He’d been far away, when the group of humans had gotten attacked. Intervening had been the right thing to do, he’d thought — until he’d started getting shot at. The words they’d hurled at him, he’d all heard before, during a time of his life he wished he could forget. With his attention split between the monsters still trying to get past him on one side, and the arrows and bullets coming from the other side, the monster had managed to take over.

And maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t fought it as hard as he should have.

He had never thought you’d get caught in the crossfire.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Are you— Are you—”

Hurt. Angry. Disgusted.

“I’m fine,” you answer him. You don’t hesitate to reach out to gently touch his face, and your smile is so sincere it’s almost blinding. “Nothing happened.”

He leans into your touch, unable to stop himself, and though he still feels the need to protest, it gets easier to believe you each time you reassure him you don’t despise him.

“It didn’t do anything to you?” he asks, voice low and quiet.

You shake your head, but he can’t miss the way you glance away briefly, avoiding his eyes at first.

“He didn’t hurt me,” you tell him, and he can tell it’s true, but—

“What did it do?” There’s urgency in his voice, panic even. He grabs your arms to look into your eyes, the window to the soul, they say, but he cannot read into you, no matter how much he searches.

“Nothing,” you say, but again, he can tell that there’s more to it, and he doesn’t let go, until you cave in. “He just said something.”

“What did he say?” Hyun-Su presses on. Fear is invading his every bone, wrapping its vines around his heart and squeezing it.

“Nothing important,” you insist, but it only makes him more desperate, because if you don’t want to tell him, it must be something bad, must be something deep and dark and twisted, must be something that could make you hate him. When he doesn’t let up, you sigh. “He just said to ask you something.”

Hyun-Su’s mind goes quiet.

“Ask me what?”

His mouth is dry, his lips move painfully.

“Just— He said, I should ask you what you want to— to do to me.”

It’s like a bomb just went off.

Hyun-Su lets go of you. It feels as if his whole face is burning. Shame and embarrassment overtake him, and suddenly he can’t look at you anymore, just wants to run out the door, but his body is refusing to move. He’s stuck in place like a rabbit in headlights.

“I’m sorry,” he says automatically, whipping his head in the other direction, since that all he can do.

“So, you, um, you… are thinking about it?” you ask, your voice piercing straight through his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“No, no, I’m, uh—”

You grab his hand, scooting closer to him on the couch, until your knees touch his. And it grounds him. Slowly, reason starts to creep back up from under all the thoughts, and he hears the eagerness in your question.

“J-just so we’re on the same page,” you say, as he slowly turns his head to look at you once more, “you’re thinking about… having sex. With me.”

It’s precious, how you lower your voice to say ‘sex’, and then frown in annoyance at yourself. Hyun-Su still wants to tear his hand from yours, run away before you can tell him how much of a freak, of a monster you think he is. But he can’t.

He thinks he’d rather you rip his heart out, as long as you do it with your bare hands, than to live without your touch ever again.

Slowly, he nods. His face and ears are tingling, and he’s sure he’s bright red by now.

“I shouldn’t,” he mumbles. You’ve given him so much already. So much he hadn’t dared to hope for in years. He shouldn’t ask for even more. He doesn’t deserve more.

But your hands tighten around his. Your mouth opens, closes, your tongue comes out to wet your lips as you hesitate and fidget nervously.

“No, you, uh, you should,” you stutter before catching yourself, closing your eyes like you don’t want to see what’s in front of you before you take a leap of faith. “I mean— I think about it. About you.”

A light buzz starts again in his ears.

“I didn’t know,” you keep mumbling. “I mean, I wasn’t sure that you—” Your gaze goes from his hand to the floor, everywhere so you don’t have to look at him. “That you wanted me. So I’m— It’s, uh, it’s good to know.”

“I want you,” Hyun-Su blurts out without thinking, and of course then you look at him, with wide, pretty eyes, and if he wasn’t blushing before, he sure is now. His face could burst into flames any second. “I hate that I can’t—” His eyes fall on your legs, with the dress you’re wearing riding up on your thighs. “—touch you.” If he wasn’t so scared, if he was braver… “I just…” A whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you say patiently. “I trust you.”

“But I don’t,” he mumbles, looking down at the floor. “You’re so— fragile. If I lost control for a second…”

He sees you hesitate. He expects you to tell him, again, that he wouldn’t lose control, maybe that the monster inside him wouldn’t hurt you. Thing is, you might be right, but it doesn’t matter how unlikely it is. That’s not a risk he can take.

“Okay,” you say instead. “Okay. But what if— what if I was the one touching you?”

He almost wishes you hadn’t said it, with how badly he immediately wants it.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says. His throat is dry. His whole body is aching for you.

“And if I want to?” You tilt your head, all pretty, and oh, how can he deny you anything?

“Please,” he whispers.

Your lips part and your breath seems to stutter, before you lean in and kiss him, and it’s like he’s finally come home. It starts off soft, slow, no different from any kiss the two of you have shared in the past weeks. Your hand comes up to cup his face, thumb stroking his cheek.

Hyun-Su melts. He parts his lips to welcome in your tongue, lets you take the lead and set the pace for the kiss without thinking about it twice.

Then he feels you move. It’s barely there at first, your hand that’s not on his face coming to rest on his shoulder, and all that is known territory. Even if your fingers actually touch his skin there, because of the numerous holes in his clothing, he can handle that.

His eyes snap open again, though, when you move your leg over his so you can come sit in his lap, straddling him. You notice immediately.

“Is that okay? We can stop—”

“No, I—”

He doesn’t want you to stop. He wants more with you, so bad, and though he would never say it out loud, he’s desperate for you to show him that you’re not disgusted in him. Every time you kiss him, every time you touch him, every time you take his hand and lead him in bed with you, he comes closer to truly believing it.

But, ah, with this last conversation, even if it’s not the first time he’s had you in his lap, he feels— heated. He can feel himself growing hard, and he’s still embarrassed at the thought that you can feel him. Despite what he said, his hands are on your waist, holding tight. He doesn’t remember if he chose to do that.

After all, his desire for you aligns with what the monster wants so closely that he’s— scared. He’s so scared of losing control. But you’re looking at him so lovingly, and he wants you so bad… Can he be selfish? Just this once?

“Don’t stop,” he almost begs, and seeing how eagerly you nod in reply is like an explosion of warmth in his chest.

Your lips crash against his again, harder, with more purpose. Your fingers card through his hair, and the feeling of your light pull on them goes straight to his core, more enjoyable than he thinks it should be, though he’s in no position to linger on it, not when the next thing you do is to experimentally roll your hips on top of him.

From your perspective, it’s a clumsy movement, one you’re unsure of. From his, it’s a rush of pure pleasure when you rub against his hard cock, one that makes him openly moan, his mouth falling open enough that he breaks the kiss. The second he realizes what kind of noise came out of him, he raises his hand to cover his mouth, cheeks turning crimson.

He’s not daring to look at you, not at first anyway, until he feels your lips brushing against his fingers, pressing soft kisses against his hand.

“Still good?” you ask.

And he is, but he’s not trusting his voice all that much for now, so he just nods. A smile dances on your lips as you kiss down his jaw.

“Also,” you add, “I’m not— I don’t have much— experience, in all, uh, that. So you should— you should let me know. What feels good. What doesn’t.”

“That felt good,” he admits quietly, and your smile turns into a grin against his skin.

“I could tell.”

What you don’t say is how hot you found both the sound and the thought that you could affect him like that, how badly you want to press your legs together so you can alleviate the ache you’re feeling down there, how you’re worried you actually want him even more than he wants you.

Instead of saying all that — it would make you feel so naked and so vulnerable, and disarm you completely, which doesn’t seem like a good idea for now —, you start trailing your kisses down his neck. There’s one spot there that makes him whimper, more discreetly than before, but you latch onto it all the same, tongue coming out to flick against the skin, pulling on it softly between your teeth. He writhes and whines under you, and when his cock rubs against you just right, you gasp against him.

You’re delighted to see reddish skin when you pull away. He’ll heal, and there will be no trace of it by morning, but there’s something satisfying about it — and the glassy look he gives you, lips swollen and parted, hair a mess on the back of the couch, with that proud mark right above his collarbone… is purely sinful.

Your fingers hook in his hoodie.

“Can I?” you ask.

He’d go to the moon and back for you.

He nods.

You pull it over his head, struggle a little when it gets caught in his hair, then manage to pull him free and kiss him again with a giggle. It’s sweet. You’re still wearing your dress, but it’s the first time he feels your hands directly on his skin all the same, and even if his body’s burning up, your touch sets him ablaze.

You explore his body with hungry eyes and hands, follow the shape of his pectorals, then move down to his abs. You trace the muscles, slowly, and as you move down, closer to his crotch, he can no longer suppress a shiver. You still for a second, and he watches you with wide eyes, waiting for you to keep moving, so badly wanting you to keep going. Finally, your fingers brush against the button of his jeans. Silently, meeting his eyes, you ask for his permission. He swallows, nods again.

He’s nervous, almost painfully so, but he notices that your fingers are shaking as you have to try three times to get it open, and it reassures him, in some ways. It reminds him that, for all the issues he has, this is new for the both of you. There are no expectations to meet, just the two of you discovering, together, what works for you.

Once the button isn’t in the way, you, very carefully, move your hand under his jeans, but over his boxers. The second he feels your hand hesitantly closing over his cock, even through the fabric, he throws his head back, trying his best not to moan again and only half-succeeding.

You watch his reactions closely as you keep touching him, slipping your hand under the boxers after a few seconds. This time he does moan, a high-pitched noise that you take to mean you’re doing something right — even if you have no idea what you’re doing. How tight should your grip be? How fast should you move? Should you be saying something? Should he be saying something?

His cock is rock hard between your fingers, harder than you’d have expected; larger, too. It seems to have been that way for a while, maybe since you’ve started kissing, based on how wet with precum it is. You tighten your grip around it a little, then slide your hand down, slowly, down to the base. He moans again, and you feel him twitch between your fingers.

“Um,” you mumble, “I, uh, I don’t really know— is that— is there anything I should—”

Hyun-Su’s looks up at you, flushed and panting. One of his hands comes to your thigh, and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. You don’t think he even notices though. You’re dripping wet yourself, but for now you just want to make him feel good. If things go well, if he stays open to this sort of things, there’ll be plenty of time to deal with that… later. At the moment, all you want is to show him that pleasure doesn’t have to lead to anything negative.

“J-just, keep going,” he mumbles. “You can, ah, you can go a little faster, if you…”

The rest of his words gets lost in the next moan as you follow his advice, moving your hand up and down his cock, the wetness helping the movement. Despite yourself, you rock your hips against his leg, the pressure of it between your legs feeling so delicious, you can’t deny it to yourself at the moment.

Under you, Hyun-Su is lost in pleasure. Your rhythm is hesitant, you’re not holding him quite as tight as he’d like, but oh, your hand is soft and gentle, and it still feels so much better than his own. The fact that you’re all pressed against him, your breath against his neck, your scent filling him, it’s all much more than what he had imagined — because, yes, in shameful moments, he’d pictured this kind of scenes, but they had never felt as good, pleasure running through his veins and flooding his body.

Any time he indulged in them, though, he came faster than usual, and now, with the real thing, he realizes too late how quickly he is approaching his climax.

“Wait,” he hears himself mumble, “I’ll—”

But he’s already coming, and the strength of the orgasm leaves him breathless as he humps against your hand, trying to make it last longer.

“Oh,” is all you comment, and even through the haze, embarrassment spreads through him as he realizes that there’s cum on your hand and on his stomach. At least he cannot turn any redder now.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “sorry, I—”

“No, I— I thought that was pretty hot, actually,” you say, giving him a smile, and thank fuck you’ve taken his hand off him, because he wouldn’t want to have to explain why that’s making him twitch again. “I’ll just— you probably want to get cleaned up.”

“I’m— Yeah, but—” He glances down at your body. He felt you rocking against him earlier, even if he wasn’t exactly in the right mind to say something about it. “Don’t you— Don’t you want to, uh…”

“Ah, I’m fine, I just— I just wanted to make you feel good for now.”

And just as he thought his heart rate might go back to normal at some point, there it is, spiking again.

“We can do that— some other time. If you’d like to.”

There is nothing he wouldn’t give to you.

“I would. I would like that.”

Your smile is a promise for more, your kiss is sweet, and for the first time in forever, Hyun-Su forgets about the monster.

He’s in your arms, and it’s all that matters.

i’ve been trying to figure out what to put here. i already feel like i’m kinda begging for comment on my posts, which i don’t like doing, but i figured i’d try to explain at least once what i’ve been feeling lately — plus i'm starting a new job on Monday and i don't know how much time i'll have to write after that. truth is, the lack of interactions i’ve been getting on here, on these stories, has been kind of depressing to me. i know people are reading them, considering the amount of notes, and it’s hard not to question whether it’s my writing that’s not good enough to make people want to leave a comment, or if it's just how fandom is now and in that case it just might not be for me anymore. i mean, i write for myself first, but i post because i want to share with others, i want to see their reactions, know how my writing makes them feel… and lately it just feels like i’m screaming in the void and nothing else. it’s been hard to stay motivated honestly. so, yeah. you don’t have to leave a comment, especially if you didn’t like it, i get it, i’m not trying to guilt-trip you. i just. feel the need to explain this at least once, in case it changes someone’s mind, and if it doesn't, i'll know i tried. if you've ever commented, reblogged with tags, sent an ask, know that i'm so thankful for you and you truly keep me going.

next one-shot

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owliellder · 7 months

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Two's A Crowd

College Bully! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5)

Description: College is proving to be a lot harder than you imagined. You cannot fail this math class. So when you've tried everything else, a well-known student is recommended to you by your professor for tutoring lessons, not really leaving you with much of a choice but to work with him.

Warnings: Not proofread, No Use of Y/N, Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Bullying, Yelling, Cursing

Tags: College AU, Bully! Leon, Shy! Reader, both are in their early 20's, Leon is Rude AF in the beginning, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Fingering, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags to be Added

Author's Note: Slightly shorter chapter since I got stuck watching the last two episodes of Fionna and Cake, but I hope y'all like where I'm steering this. Pick up what I'm putting down, eh??

Cross-posted onto AO3

Chapter 2:

“This is insane. You’re not even trying.”

Leon’s cruel comments had been endless since you showed up today. He was already irritated that you even showed to begin with, now he’s just taking all his frustrations out on you. The guy isn’t even passive aggressive, he’s just aggressive. “I showed you the formula like.. five times already.”

“I don’t need you to patronize me, please.” You asked with a meek voice, bringing your hands up to cover your face for a couple seconds before placing them down on either side of the new math assignment sitting in front of you. You understood his impatience though, you were even starting to grow impatient with yourself, having been stuck on the third question for over thirty minutes now. Leon stressed the fact that you got one hour only with him and you’d basically wasted half that time bouncing from the formula he’d written down to the question itself.

The formula was helpful, but this question included more numbers than you knew what to do with. The main issue was knowing which numbers went where in the formula and you wanted to know why they went where they did, but Leon was only giving you the formula and nothing else. One vague explanation and then he was right back on his phone.

You had a glimmer of hope for the frat boy sitting in front of you. Had, being the keyword here. One study session in and you were already starting to accept defeat. “Can you explain it to me again?” You tapped your pencil on the table nervously, keeping your eyes glued to your paper to avoid the obvious glare you’d receive from him.

The sound of his phone slamming down on the table accompanied with a groan made you grip onto your pencil tighter, now holding it still as he pulled the paper away from you. “Do I have to hold your hand, too? What’s so hard to understand about this?” He reached over, yanking your pencil from your hand so he could scribble out the first few steps to the problem. Afterwards, he tossed both the paper and pencil back over to you, tapping his finger down on the work he wrote down before circling it once. “Need anything else? A warm bottle of milk? Want me to read you a bedtime story?”

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms with a sigh after picking his phone back up. “You’ve got fifteen more minutes.” The fuck’s his problem?

Letting out a small sigh of your own, you silently picked up the pencil and looked down at what he’d written. Surprisingly, it did help you make more sense of the rest of the assignment sheet, figuring out the placement of the numbers by using where Leon had put them. Soon, the assignment sheet was finished and you had him look it over.

“Is it-.. Is it good?” You watched Leon carefully, studying his face for any sort of emotion other than annoyance. You unfortunately didn’t find it, but his muttered “good” made you smile, taking your own turn studying your work once he handed it back. Not tossed or thrown, handed back.

He took in a sharp breath through his nose before standing up, focus still trained on his phone. There was only a few minutes left in the hour, so you guess he took your understanding of the material as his leave. “Can we.. uh.. study again on Monday?” His hand paused on the door handle at your question, looking back at you from over his shoulder with his lips pulled tight as he gave you a glare. “You just love taking up my time, don’t you?”

“Wait, is that-” The slam of the door cut you off, leaving you to watch him saunter off through the large window in the door. Your shoulders slumped and you turned back to give your math assignment one last look before stuffing it into your backpack. At least with this new understanding, you’d be able to hopefully do the next few assignments. Mr. Lebovic was kind enough to let you redo your past fails, meaning all you’re doing is slowly climbing your way back up to a better grade with make-up work.

You held out for Leon, constantly giving him the benefit of the doubt with each study session following the first. You did your absolute best to remain passive with him, but each session was filled with crude, nasty, hate-filled comments directed at you, so it was only a matter of time until you started throwing your own comments back at him. By the beginning of November, studying had been put on the back burner whenever you two met up, assignments left abandoned in favor of fleshing out full blown arguments. He always won since you’d never really had a loud voice to defend yourself and his favorite go-to was low blow insults, somehow always managing to sniff out your insecurities.

Leon’s pattern was always one step forward, ten steps back with you. He would help and then spend the rest of your hour together nitpicking your every attempt to learn. He hated you and it was driving you mad. It was impossible to learn anything like this.

You’d grown a sour mood leading up to your trek to the library for one of your regular study sessions, a scowl settling on your face. You decided hours ago that getting dressed wasn’t an option today, you just didn’t weren’t in the mood, so instead you threw on a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants to mind the brisk chill that had rolled in at the end of October.

The walk to the main building was dull; most of the leaves on the trees around campus had long since browned and fallen off, the grass was dead and crunchy, and it almost felt like it would start snowing anytime now with how quickly the cold had come. The feel in the air made you tired, it made you miss home. The weather made you long for the warmth a home-cooked meal provided, but you had to wait, and that wait was only contributing to your already piss poor mood.

Making your way into the library and into the reserved study room, you didn’t even notice Leon’s smile until he asked you to pull out your most recent assignment. It immediately put you off because it wasn't like his normal cocky smile or smirk, no, this one was oddly genuine. Soft, even.

“Can I see it?” He asked, smile widening slightly as he gestured towards your backpack. Even his tone was softer than usual. “Uh…” You weren’t quite sure how to react, not really processing his words as you tried to figure out whether he’s setting a trap or not.

“Your assignment. Can I see it?” Leon clarified, his arms resting crossed on the table as he glanced down to your bag and then back up at you. That was also weirding you out; the eye contact. Normally he only ever met your gaze when he was intimidating you with a deep glare and it wasn’t ever this long. He was making a point to look at you now.

Without saying a word, you unzipped your bag and pulled out a couple papers, only looking away from him twice to make sure you were getting the right ones. You made sure to hold eye contact with him, eyebrows furrowed as you searched for any insincerity.

You’d grown rigid with his kind behavior, even more so when he thanked you and took the papers from you. Questioning him was your top priority right now, though your mouth refused to work with your brain, causing you to stutter out a simple “..what?” Leon only hummed, tilting his head a bit as he looked down at your work, following the tip of his pen as it trailed down the paper.

“What-..” You repeated, swallowing dryly before finally getting the full “What’re you doing?” out. He seemed genuinely confused at your question, looking up to give you a puzzled look. “Hm? Whaddya mean what am I doing? I’m looking over your work.” He looked back down at your paper, clearing his throat quietly.

“No, you’re being nice. Why are you being nice?” You were quick to shoot back to try and draw his attention back to you. “If this is a joke, I’m not gonna fall for it.”

Leon sighed and dropped the pen down onto the paper to rest his crossed arms on the table again. “Why are you asking so many questions? It’s not a big deal.”

Not a big deal?! “Not a big deal?! You’ve argued with me every other day for the past three weeks!” Your hands balled up into fists on your lap, completely baffled by the dismissiveness of his complete 180° in demeanor. “I-” You stopped yourself, taking a moment to breathe. This was.. actually a nice change of pace now that you think about it. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?

He gave you his normal annoyed look at your sudden pause, seemingly waiting on you to finish talking. “You..?” Shaking your head a bit, you let out a soft laugh and waved your hand. “Nevermind, uh.. yeah, nevermind…”

“Ooookay, well, you did good on this one so you can turn it in.” Leon held up the first paper before sliding it across the table to you, then picking up the second paper. “But this one needs a bit of work. I circled the questions that need to be redone, not gonna tell you what’s wrong with them, though.” You watched as he slid the other paper to you with your own smile now forming. Pulling out a pencil, you started to relax for the first time around this guy, bringing your attention down to the circled questions.

Your study session has never been more productive. He was being helpful; answering your questions, talking you through each step, giving you smiles and the occasional thumbs up. You’re not sure what changed or why, but you definitely weren’t complaining. When Leon wasn’t acting like someone shoved a stick up his ass, he was actually pretty handsome. You’d mentally recognized his good looks when you first met him, yet his demeanor as a whole masked those good looks entirely.

There was no way he could throw anymore surprises at you, but you stood corrected when he walked over to you at the end of your session, stopping you from walking out. “Listen, I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting. I don’t want to be mean to you, it’s just…” He paused to laugh to himself, looking down at the ground with an almost bashful expression. “I’m only tutoring because it’s a big part of my grade in my class, so..” Not a complete lie on his part.

“Oh. Oh, it's.. it’s fine.” You didn’t want him to revert back to his old style, so you chose to just dismiss it. His attitude did make sense, you wouldn’t want to tutor random people for a grade. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks. Uh.. oh, here-” Leon opened and held the study room door open for you, giving you a small wave as you walked out, which you returned. That was a nice mood booster, not being degraded and demeaned every time you see the one person who’s supposed to help you.

Your friends had their own opinions about the experience after you described it to them. You’d been relaying every bit of info relating to your study sessions from the past three weeks to them, a second and third opinion was good to have for such an odd trade.

“I don’t trust it. Plain and simple.” Sky placed their hands down on their thighs with an audible slap. They didn’t seem impressed by Leon’s sudden chivalry, and to your disappointment, neither did Ella when you looked over from Sky to her. She just looked back at you with a shrug. “Sorry. I’m gonna have to take Sky’s side on this. There’s just something off about that.”

You sighed in defeat, turning your head around to look out the window in the dorm room. It was nice that Sky and Ella shared a dorm, you can’t discuss stuff like this in your own dorm in case your roommate decided to randomly appear. “Yeah…”

Ella scooted closer to you on the bed and pulled you back so your head was resting in her lap. “I know you got your hopes up, but please be careful. I don’t wanna see you get hurt because some pretty boy decided it would be fun to manipulate you.” You groaned, covering your face with your arms. Nothing even happened and you’re already feeling embarrassed.

“It’s okay if you like him, he is kinda cute.” Ella giggled and moved one of your arms to poke your cheek. “But just remember that the guy’s got a bit of a reputation for being a major douche.”

Sky, sitting over on their bed, pointed at Ella in agreement. “Emphasis on major douche.” They smiled and leaned back, their head plopping onto their pillows. “It was just one instance of him being sweet, after all. Who’s to say he won’t revert back to being an asshole by Wednesday?”

“I know, I get it.” You swatted Ella’s hand away and sat back upright. Even if he was putting up a front, it was still nice to get some real help with your math without being insulted. Everyone deserves a second chance and he seemed honest enough when he told you why he’d been so rude, so why not try again with him? Start fresh, maybe you’ll get to make an unlikely friend out of this popular frat boy.

A bit of a far fetched idea, considering the vast differences between you and Leon, but anything like that is worth another try. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

tags:

@kayotee4 @k-fallingstar @bobastayhigh @mi-zer-y @chasingkennedy @l30nva @espressonerd @jjouki @5tarx @bunnybreadloaves @whoisgami @cyanscribe @c4b3r1a @darichvep @mmmangel @kingtacocat @klee-iii @baby--vera @dakiniii @kenma-izhu @aliidarling @leonsmamacita

(a few of your blogs won't show up but i tried)

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morallyinept · 5 months

Text

THE GIFT - A Marcus Pike Christmas One Shot

Summary: Marcus buys you a naughty Christmas gift that you wear to his parents' Christmas lunch, and you both find it hard to stay composed at the dinner table.

Pairing: Husband!Marcus Pike x Wife!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. Images just for aesthetic, no reference to Reader.)

Word Count: 5.1k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral both M & F receiving/use of sex toys/slight edging

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy your Christmas gift from Agent Pike... 😉

Tagging @secretelephanttattoo as Pike is her husband 🖤

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

She’s been more than accommodating with his indecisive dithering; showing him the full range, even the ones on sale, giving him recommendations. He’ll be sure to leave her a tip.

“Would you like this gift wrapped, sir?” The assistant behind the counter asks him rather jauntily.

Her thick, fluttery eyelashes bat at him constantly, and he nods in response with a restrained, yet polite, smile fed back to her.

Marcus fishes his wallet out of his back pocket, looking around the racy store carefully with darting brown eyes. He’s more aware of his surroundings than he’s been in a very long time.

Watching over his broad shoulders and scoping out whether anyone would recognise him. Any of his colleagues from the FBI who happen to be in the mall Christmas shopping for their significant others too.

He’d skulked along the shelves of various intimidating dildos and vibrators with his leather jacket collar pulled up as far as humanly possible, as though he were incredibly bad at being undercover, despite years of experience behind him.

Although, that probably wasn’t the wisest idea; he imagined he looked more like some questionable miscreant with a penchant for phallic perversion, but he had little choice if he didn’t want to stand out.

He probably should have done this online, as he stood at the shelves looking incredibly out of his depth and sweating somewhat.

Marcus now hands the helpful assistant his credit card with two thick fingers, and she rings him up before handing him the bag containing the gift he’s purchased.

But the shop assistant got him talking - like they always do and you don’t realise you’re spilling intimate, sexy-time secrets about what freaky things you like to do in the bedroom, to a complete stranger as if you’re being subtly interrogated with some crafty questioning techniques - and then, she was handing him different contraptions and gadgets to press buttons on and watch whirl around and pump lewdly in his reddening face, until he found the perfect one.

She even threw in a free cock ring and some lube. And he didn't really quite know what to say to that generosity, other than a muttered and sheepish thanks.

“Thanks for your help,” Marcus says as he leaves.

“No problem. Have a Merry Christmas, sir.” She replies with a knowing wink before serving the person waiting patiently behind him.

Marcus keeps the gift covertly hidden in the house in the days leading up to Christmas, and when you aren’t looking, he sneaks it under the tree with the rest of the gifts, grinning like a madman who’s just discovered the Holy Grail of sexual weaponry.

Deapite the heat engulfing his face and neck, he’s excited about how you’ll react when you open it on Christmas morning, and admittedly so is his cock at the thought; it’s been hardening uncomfortably since he stepped in the adult store.

But he keeps himself composed and manages to slink out back to the car undetected. But not before another indulgent purchase from Victoria's Secret for you. The credit card has certainly been flexed.

On the morning of Christmas Day, Marcus rouses you awake in bed with warm, snuggly kisses. Soft and sleepy, his long limbs wrap your body up in a Pike web that you can’t, and don’t want, to untangle yourself from, as he slips his hard length inside you and gives you the first of many gifts today - a slow, intense love making session to start the day off with a bang.

Fucking you into the headboard as you both claw and grasp at one another as the chemistry between you ignites into a heat that suffocates you. You're kissing over his shoulders as he nips at your neck, buried deep inside of you and whimpering in your ear.

Your first Christmas morning together as a newly married couple, months after your memorable honeymoon in Antigua, and you still can’t get enough of one another.

“Best present ever,” you pant into his hot mouth as he makes you see stars through a bed-head spinning orgasm that pulls you fully from your sleep and launches you face first into the sun.

"Just you wait..." He grins into your face.

After you’ve showered and gotten dressed ready for Christmas lunch that’s planned in the afternoon with Marcus’ parents - after struggling to keep your hands off one another in the process; he just looks so damn good with a towel wrapped low around his waist as he shaves - you walk into the lounge putting in your earrings.

You find Marcus on the floor reaching for the additional gift he’s purchased for you, from under the tree.

Marcus nods his head. “The dresser. In the ceramic bowl.”

“Have you seen my bracelet?” You ask him as you fasten the earrings, your eyes scanning over the coffee table for it.

Another thoughtful and special gift from Marcus from early on in your relationship when you began dating. You rarely take it off, but when you do you’re always hunting for it.

You smile, remembering. “What would I do without you?” You swoon at him.

“Crash and burn.” He stands up, holding the neatly wrapped gift out to you. “Here.”

“What’s this?” You ask him, stunned.

“It’s a Christmas present, d’uh.” Marcus smirks, rolling his richly cocoa eyes and chuckling.

“No, I mean this.” You say tugging gently at the hem of his sweater and smiling. The colour palette is reminiscent of the natural tones found in Nordic landscapes - cool blues, forest greens, and snowy whites. It has a slightly chunky knit to the wool, giving it a warm and substantial feel across your fingers, and he looks incredibly snug in it.

“It’s a Christmas sweater.” He says.

“Cute.” Smiling, you take the gift from him. “It even has reindeers.”

“I like it.” He says, smoothing it down over his torso. “Apparently so did my mom.”

You snicker. “I thought we weren’t going to do gifts until we got to your parents?” You question.

You shake the box and raise your eyebrows at him curiously.

“I don’t think you’ll want to open this one in front of everyone.” Marcus remarks, tucking his hands inside his pants pockets, channelling an innocent, little boy aura about him.

His cheeks are already flushing pink under the crinkles of his eyes.

“It’s not maracas.”

“Boo.” You mock pout.

“Open it.” Marcus gently instructs with a beaming smile.

You unpeel the gold wrapping paper with a matching curly bow, scrunching it up inside your hand, and a black velvet box is revealed to you. You pull the satin ribbon from around it and lift off the lid.

“Urm-” You start to smirk and then giggle, as you look up at him with wide, sparkly eyes.

His big brown peepers are glittery too; mischievous looking as he stares back at you.

“Well,” you say, astonished, as you pull out the contents; two shiny, egg-shaped balls attached together with nylon string.

“Oh, you did, did you?” You’re failing to stifle your own devilish grin.

“I thought maybe you could wear them today.” Marcus says, stepping closer to you and running his hands up and down your arms.

A tingling sensation blooms when he does it, that starts at the nape of your neck and travels all the way down your spine to settle in your coccyx; your nipples wake up, stiffening inside your bra.

“Mhm.” His hands fall to your waist.

“How presumptuous.” Your eyes fall to his lips, shiny and pink when he licks over them.

“Very,” he nods, coming closer, “in fact I insist on it.” Marcus kisses your lips gently, but the kiss lingers and stirs up that wanton passion again as it flares through the slats in your rib cage and drips into your panties.

Moaning into his mouth, you wrap your hands around the back of his neck, dizzy by the intoxicating scent of his cologne; the velour box falling to the floor and the love eggs dangling precariously from your fingers.

He slips his tongue in and you groan, feeling how hard he is as he presses you against him, squeezing at your ass with some heated fervour.

“Put them in,” Marcus whispers in a heated gasp.

“Now?”

“Now,” he nods “let me.” He takes them from your hand; his long, thick fingers getting tangled in yours for a moment and stroking them fondly.

You smile, glancing at the platinum wedding band around his finger that matches yours, save for a tiny diamond, and wondering how you got so lucky to have this man keep surprising and tantalising you like this.

His touch burns, heating the blood in your veins as it flows around your limbs; fanning the sparks between your thighs, and his fingers are soft and nimble around your own.

Marcus crouches down in front of you and pushes your skirt up and is presented with black, lacy panties that makes him salivate. Kissing slowly up your thighs, he runs his nose against your damp seam and inhales deep; the scent of you already beginning to turn him out.

You place your hands on his shoulders as he kisses you again, standing, and he walks you backwards to the sofa.

The tingles persist in flooding your spine, spreading into your core and making it throb and ache. You tussle gently with his tongue and the sound of his groans make you shudder and melt.

“Lean back, gorgeous.” Marcus pushes your shoulder gently until you’re laying back on your elbows.

You put your foot on his shoulder as he kneels down, his face level with your pussy. He plants gentle, delicate kisses inside your thighs again, eyeing you with those deep, rich browns as he smooches, trailing ghostly over your skin and eliciting streams of goosebumps.

His fingers pull the lace of your panties aside to reveal the wet flesh of your lips. He leans in and kisses you there; swiping his tongue up and down slowly, tasting that you’re exceedingly wet for him already.

“Mmm,” you drone, reaching for his head and running your hands through his hair and messing those styled spikes up.

He tastes that sweet honey of you on the end of his tongue as he dives in a little deeper, teasing your hole before sucking gently on your clit.

“Marcus,” you whine, throwing your head back, your thighs already begging to shake. “God, if you start this now, we’re going to be late…” You groan, unable to contain yourself from fisting through his hair and pulling him closer to you now with a sharp tug.

He doesn’t let up however, sucking harder as he slips his fingers inside of you, pumping in and out gently.

“Oh God, baby,” you shudder as he curls upwards, stroking against your spot with precision.

He can’t help himself but to taste you, tuning into your gasping, heated breaths. Despite your words about being late, you want it, you want him; your husband’s mouth on your pussy licking and sucking all over it.

“Please, please, please…” you barely whisper, the words getting lost inside your throaty gasps. It feels so good, building and brewing as he licks and fingers you deep.

Marcus reaches up massaging your breast over your sparkly top as he flicks his tongue against your clit faster.

“Fuck, Marcus!” You cry.

“Right there, baby. Right there… Mmm, yeah!" The air above you seems to shimmer with some intangible energy as your eyes roll back; a lightheaded euphoria enveloping you like a gossamer veil.

Your hands grip onto the sofa cushioning beneath you as you squirm and buck into his mouth.

The tingles are now millions of luminescent butterflies beating their wings against your skin, leaving trails of warmth and vivacious joy in their wake. Your body winds tight, centering in on your core, on the cusp of snapping back.

“Come for me,” he murmurs to you, glancing up adoringly to watch you as he latches onto your clit again.

“Yes! Yes!” You pant. Your thighs shake and he can taste you as you flood his mouth.

Marcus loves watching you come; enjoys that breathy giggle that puffs out of you when it gets a little too much as he licks softly around your overstimulated clit.

Loves the way your voice falters on a soft moan when he enters you, sliding deep. Loves the way you press your clammy forehead against his as you ride him, telling him how good he feels inside you.

Loves how his own voice whimpers, like he could just cry, before he comes; his brows furrowing, mouth open as he lets those little weakened pants pelt you face as he fills you up.

Loves how you’ll put on one of his shirts, pulling it out from the laundry hamper because it smells like him and you want to bathe in that scent, as you go about your business around the house doing chores.

He loves how you’ll let him lift the hem up and slip inside you as you do something mundane like wash the dishes up whilst he’s still in his suit from work, finding you sexy as hell in his crumpled shirt as he fucks his beautiful wife against the sink before you even say hello, how was your day to one another.

Marcus pulls his head back, lips shiny and smirks up at you.

“You’re incorrigible,” you say, catching your breath.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Marcus grins, wiping his lips with his thumb “but I didn’t hear you complaining just then.”

“Oh, I’ll never complain when you do that.” You giggle.

“These’ll go in much easier now.”

“Uh-huh, so that’s why, hmm?”

He simply purses his lips in a coy smirk. You watch keenly as he pushes the first egg against your swollen lips and slips it inside you. You moan out as it fills you, and he then pops the other one inside.

“How do they feel?”

“Cold.” You say, smiling as he slides your panties back into place.

“They’ll warm up.” He remarks and kisses your cheek affectionately.

Marcus takes your hands and pulls you upright on your feet and you gasp as you feel them move and press against spongy parts deep inside you.

“This is… new.” You titter as you smooth down your skirt of the creases. You don’t have time to iron it now.

Marcus watches you go in search of your bracelet, but you suddenly stop and jolt, gasping out like you’ve been electrocuted on the stairs.

“Oh my God!” You clutch your lower abdomen; pussy tingling on the inside and a deep pulling feeling can be felt as you feel the eggs vibrate wildly.

Marcus chuckles, pulling his phone out of his pants pocket and waving it at you. “They’re wireless too.”

“Oh, you play dirty, Agent.”

He presses the screen again and a delicious buzzing is felt deep emanating through your core as you groan.

“We’re going to have a great day!” Marcus croons devilishly, through a wide grin.

Inside the car on the way to his parents’ house for Christmas lunch, you’re driving - offering to do it so he can have a few wines if he wants to - when you feel that yummy feeling zap through you once more.

You swerve a little, completely not expecting it at all.

“Are you trying to kill us?” You muse to Marcus who's grinning and laughing like a man who holds all the power.

“How does it feel?” He asks through a side glance and rubbing your thigh affectionately.

“Frustrating.” You say, biting down on your lip and wanting nothing more than to pull over and straddle him.

Marcus simply smirks as he looks out the windscreen as you both approach his parent’s home, pulling up on the large driveway.

Inside, the house is already bustling with his family crowded in. His father is well on the way to being fully inebriated, and his booming voice greets you both as he bundles you through the door into the hall.

He leans in to kiss you on the cheeks and you almost jump out of your skin as Marcus does it again, sending your body erratic with jolts from the vibrations inside your pussy.

You narrowly miss headbutting his father.

You clench your thighs together, trying to greet his father like a normal person and not one who is on the brink of screaming out X-rated curses.

You shoot Marcus a frantic look, but he simply grins back as he follows you into the lounge, but not before giving your butt a quick, naughty slap. You feel the eggs jostle around inside you as he does it.

Holy shit!

Lunch is long. Really long. Never ending and incredibly hair-pulling and frustratingly long.

You’re digging into your plate when you jerk or kick out suddenly like your limbs are being pulled in odd directions. You throw Marcus a heated glance opposite you and he’s smiling as he brings his fork up to eat.

Oh, he thinks he’s so fucking clev-

You knock your wine glass off the table and cringe when it smashes all over the floor when he sets it off again.

It’s met by rowdy, drunken cheers from Marcus’ father, but you shoot an embarrassed and somewhat uneasy look at Marcus, who is simply sat back in his chair, seated next to his mother, in very similar Nordic festive sweaters, sipping from his own glass casually, with his hand in his pocket on that infernal phone.

Even your thoughts are cut short by the continuous zapping and buzzing that makes you jump and flinch further.

He lets it buzz for short bursts and then follows with a drawn out long one, like Morse Code inside your pussy. You’re in the midst of a deep conversation with his mother later, when he leaves it on inside his pocket.

He catches your wide-eyed, panic stricken face as he puts both his hands back on the table and they’re void of any phone.

Please no!

“Are you alright?” His mother asks you tentatively, putting her wispy hand on your shoulder, and you nod quickly.

“Uh-huh. Too much, uh wine,” you brush off shakily. “I’m driving. Shouldn't have any-m-more.” You stutter, feeling the heat lick at your collarbone.

“I’ll get you some water.” She offers.

“No! No… I’ll go,” you all but squeak, and excuse yourself into the kitchen, biting down on your lip so hard it could burst and bleed.

Running your hands under the cold tap, you pat them around the back of your neck to cool yourself, working through the vibrations inside you that are unrelenting.

You breathe in and out slowly, eyes rolling back into your head at how good it feels.

Oh fuck, fuck...

You feel hands snake their way around your waist; the scent of Marcus’ familiar cologne fucking you further up as he plants a sensuous kiss on the side of your neck.

Lips trailing up towards your lobe before he sucks on it, his breath warming the conch of your ear.

“Marcus... I... can’t... please,” you beg; your head in a tizz, legs buckling and your pussy on the cusp of a complete meltdown.

“Having fun?” Marcus whispers.

“Ah...” you whine, nuzzling into him as his arm wraps around your waist pulling you tight against him.

“I’m gonna… come,” your hands grip on the sink as your body shudders and your pussy clenches.

You can feel the eggs, all tingly, making your vision become blurry as you tumble and get dizzier in the process.

“You wanna come?” Marcus husks. You feel his lips nip a little harder on your lobe.

“Yes… Oh God.”

Just as you’re there, about to take that leap off the edge and free fall into sweet, sweet oblivion, he turns it off.

Your head snaps around to him quickly.

“Are you kidding me?!” You hiss, careful not to let anyone hear.

You can only watch him simply saunter out of the kitchen with a grin, leaving you about ready to murder him with whatever dirty ladle or pan you can reach for in the sink.

Fuck!

“Stop. I feel like my pussy has Tourettes!” You hiss at him covertly, and Marcus simply chuckles darkly at you.

Marcus does it again a little later, winding your coil tighter until you’re about ready to snap.

He observes you wringing your hands and trying your best to stay composed as you flit around everyone; trying not to stay too long around them because of your constant mad flinching.

You remove the eggs a little while later as you use the bathroom, staring down at them as they vibrate on the sink. Somewhat pleased with yourself that he’s pressed the app somewhere downstairs and doesn’t know that they’re not inside you at this precise moment.

You wonder whether you should put them back in; feeling wrought and severely wound up from him subjecting you to this all day, but then you rationale that it’s the whole point.

Surely he’s brought them for this reason and they’re a gift, after all. A teasing, edging gift.

Sighing and giggling, you put them back in, one leg up on the toilet seat, and slip them back inside; your fingers grazing against your sensitive and aching clit, and just as you think you’ll give yourself a little touch - relieve yourself of some of the tension - they buzz again and you almost fall backwards onto your ass, clattering against the towel rail.

Shit!

As you open the bathroom door, Marcus is standing on the other side smirking at you.

You push him against the wall and kiss him, trying to distract him whilst you fish inside his pocket for that infernal phone of his.

He laughs and grips a hold of your hands, stopping you from finding it.

“No you don’t.” He teases as he pushes you against the opposite wall. Your back hits it with a gentle thud.

“Marcus!” You gasp, whining and struggling against him as he clamps around your wrists with ease.

You try to latch onto his lips desperately again, but this time he denies you, realising your sly distraction techniques

“Please. I can’t bear it anymore.” You growl, your hands fumbling against his.

“Look at you, all wound up.” Marcus teases with that pert, pink grin splayed across his mouth.

“Please, baby. Let me come!” You plead, pulling at his festive sweater desperately, and with actual tears threatening to spill as they glisten in your lined eyes.

“Look at you, so needy,” he exclaims with a husky growl, holding onto your arms as you try to rub yourself against him.

He’s inherently proud of his purchase, because it’s reduced you to this - begging - and he decides instantly he likes this. He’s so incredibly aroused by it; his cock is straining out of his slacks to get to you.

“Please, Marcus... I need you.” You mewl again, on the verge of howling. “Fuck me. Please. Please!" You whine with a choked sob.

Marcus looks up and down the hall and then grabs you by the hand pulling you along hurriedly. He opens up a door further down the hall and bundles you inside.

“Beg me to fuck you again,” Marcus hisses, before he grazes his lips against yours. “Tell me you want me. You want my cock.” He gasps against your lips.

“Fuck me, Marcus,” you breathe “please, I need you!” You splutter.

“Beg for my cock, baby.” He licks into your mouth. He thrusts his hips against yours making you feel it.

“Please, give me your cock,” you say, pelting his lips with yours and gasping. “I want it. I need your cock, baby.”

“Hard?” He suggests to you with a grunt inside his voice.

“Oh, you better fuck me so hard!” You warn, excitedly.

Marcus wrenches up your skirt and takes a handful of your ass inside his hands as he kisses you clumsily. Both your lips mash together in a messy, rabid tussle as you grin and giggle.

You feel him tug down your panties as you unzip his pants frantically with shaky hands.

You can feel his fingers reaching into your sopping pussy, pulling out the love eggs. He plops them on the bed and circles your clit with his thumb.

He pushes you on the bed; you pull off your top, revealing your bra and he goes for the straps freeing your breasts to topple out and into his mouth. He sucks and bites on your nipple making you yelp.

You run your hands through his hair, messing it up again before you tug on it, making him groan.

“Marcus, please…” you pant as he lines himself up with you. “Please, fuck me.”

Groaning, he pushes his cock up inside of you, hard like you want, in a deep shunt. It takes your breath away. He does it again, settling into a heavy pace as you squeal into the thick wool of his sweater, practically a mouth full of it.

“God, you’re so wet... soaked, baby,” he moans with glee as his cock is utterly coated with you, lewdly squelching into you. “You like your gift, hmm?”

You cry out in agreement, a little louder than he would like, and he places his swamping hand over your mouth, chuckling.

“Sssh,” he smirks at you as he works his hips.

“I don’t care if they hear us!” You muffle at him. “You’ve been teasing the hell out of me all day.”

“I have. I’ve enjoyed seeing you squirm.” He shunts upwards again, deliberately; his cock hitting all the right spots.

“Oh God, you sadist.” You groan, gripping onto him.

He chuckles as he thrusts faster. "Ah shit... you feel so good."

“Oh, Marcus!” You whine into his face as you release; your legs shaking and your neck straining.

Your cunt is already squeezing around him and it doesn’t take much to bring you to a quick, hard orgasm after keeping you on the cusp of it all damned day.

Drunk on that sweet, heady glow with a gritty dance into exhilaration and rebellion at finally getting what you so desperately want as your fingers twist and gnarl at his sweater.

“So beautiful when you come for me like this,” he grunts.

Marcus watches in awe as you pant and grapple at him; your head lolling and eyes rolling into the back of your head as you flop further into the mattress beneath you after epically shuddering like you’ve had a seizure; tingling with an ebbing numbness that hints at the untamed energy coursing through your veins.

He places his hands on the bed either side of your head and slows his pace down after he gets you off, enjoying the feeling of you pulsating and ribbing around him during the crackled aftershocks of your big O moment.

“Ride me,” Marcus whispers salaciously to you.

He rolls, taking you with him and still inside you, until you’re on top. He unclips your bra, leaving you fully naked. You push his Christmas sweater up and run your hands over his stomach and toned chest, raking your nails over his tan skin.

His mouth parts, plush and full as he pants and bucks up as you wind your hips around him.

You push onto his chest with your hands and let your ass and hips do all the work as you ride him quicker and faster.

“Yeah baby, like that.” He grits, feeling your pussy pump him.

“You like that?” You grin. “Maybe I should just stop… give you a taste of your own medicine.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Marcus leans up into a biting kiss as you bend fully over him, riding his cock deeply as he pushes his hips up, meeting your rhythm.

“M-marcus...” You gasp into his face.

“God, I love you deep inside me like this,” you groan, finding your strength again.

“That feel good?” He asks you, knowing full well it does.

You love the feeling of him like this. After how he’s toyed with you all day so far, he wants to see you enjoy this, enjoy what he’s giving to you right now.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. So good.”

“So deep inside my beautiful wife.”

“Oh!” You groan.

He strokes your face and kisses you before grunting out. “I’m close, baby.”

“I want it in my mouth."

“Yeah.” He agrees with a strain.

Shuffling off of him quickly, you take his slick, wet cock inside your mouth and suck him hard.

“Shit!” Marcus pants, scooping your hair out of the way so he can watch you take him deep. You can taste yourself all around him, succulent and sweet.

“Oh, you’re so good at that.” He breathes out with that brewing tremor in his voice. "Oh shit, I'm gonna come, baby."

You suck around him, pumping him with your hand as you feel him inflate and pulse before he shoots inside your mouth in quick, hot bursts.

You swallow it all down, moaning in satisfied delight.

“Jesus...” Marcus sighs out with a breathy chuckle, head flopping down onto the bed. His face is all red and sweaty.

He pulls you into his arms and lays back with you on the bed that you only now realise is a single bed.

You look around the room, listening to his heartbeat slow inside his rib cage as he winds strands of your hair around his fingers.

Inside the room is a small, single bed and shelves with old models and books on. There’s a desk and an old TV set, and various cans of deodorants and aftershaves adorn one of the shelves.

In one corner, there's a corkboard displaying a mix of academic achievements; sports medals highlighting achievements in various competitions at racquetball.

“Who’s room is this?” You ask curiously.

“It’s mine,” Marcus replies, his hand stroking up and down your back leaving shuddery, cool goose pimples to birth. “Or it was back when I lived here.”

You sit up. “You’ve never shown me your old bedroom before.”

“I stayed here when I was training at the academy too.”

“How many girls did you sneak back in here?” You ask giggling.

Marcus chuckles. “I’m not telling you that.”

“Smooth.” You tease, winking and he laughs again.

He’s so inherently beautiful when he laughs; that dimple on show and an astonishingly natural ease spreads over his face. He looks the most comfortable he’s ever been in his whole life when he laughs. It changes his face; makes him beam brighter than the sun.

You reach up to his face and kiss those soft, pink lips of his with affectionate vigour. He wraps his arms around your back, crushing you into him as he whines softly into the kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper as you pull away, your mouth still inches from his.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful.” Marcus replies before swallowing you up once more in another lengthy, passionate kiss.

He wants nothing more than to stay right here, hidden away in his old bedroom with you, his stunning wife, naked and spread all over him.

But you’re both probably being missed downstairs and will face some questioning if you don’t re-appear soon.

You nod, smirking at him as you slip your shoes back on and straighten up your skirt, which will be evidence enough with how creased it is now, at what you've both been doing.

“So, did you like your gift?” Marcus enquires with a smirk as you dress a few minutes later.

He refuses to give you your panties back, and you watch as he slips them in his pocket cheekily.

He scoops up the love eggs from the bed and puts them in his other pocket with his phone.

“I’ll wear them again.” You reply, nodding.

“Absolutely. I can think of a place...” He smooths down your crazy, fucked-out hair; his hands cupping either of your face.

“Where?” You query with a brewing smirk.

“At the FBI’s New Year's Eve Ball next week.” Marcus states, winking at you.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike the mentalist #pedro pascal #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x female reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fic #christmas stories #jett's writing

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randomyuu · 7 months

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there's a lover in the story, but the story's still the same

Ahh, don’t you love it when fear motivates your drawing mood? (not really)

That’s what I felt reading the scene that is drawn below. It’s fear for Yuuji but also feeling excited picturing an emotionless teen!Gojou so here I am. Always down bad for Vox’s Goyuu fics, aren’t I? *sighs*

Welp, here we go.

Title: there’s a lover in the story, but the story’s still the same

Author: @voxofthevoid

Second fic of the series there’s a lover in the story, but the story’s still the same

Pairing YuuGo, NSFW, please read the tags carefully before giving it a read... the usual drill ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

!!! SPOILER FOR THE FIC !!!

Highly recommend you guys to read them first. Or not, it’s up to you honestly :v

Usually I would gush about the fic but I’ve already done that under the fic itself so I just want you to know this comic is solely carried by me wanting to draw the ticking time bomb called teen!Gojou-post-discussion-with-adult!Ieiri. You could probably guess what they’re talking about :”)

The fear for Yuuji’s well-being started this, but Satoru’s cold eyes kept me going. I can’t get rid of it from my mind lmao

You can say drawing these kind of expressions is my jam (￣▽￣)

I hope I did Satoru’s emotions justice haha

A bit of my thoughts and doodle below. Unhinged maybe, it’s midnight, I got more work to do after this, and my brain cells are barely hanging on. Haha I'm living the life-

I AM STILL REELING FROM THE FACT I MANAGED TO GET THIS DONE.

There are so many things I want to talk about in the process of making this. But after I typed it out, most of them sounded so unnecessary so I rewrote it a few times. I tried to make this as short as possible lmao

Typesetting and sketching are the roughest parts of this project. During these stages, I kept feeling everything I did wasn’t doing the scene enough justice, and it was frustrating. As I planned this project, I read a few doujins and noticed the font types scanlation teams use. There are so many of them, and each helped convey the tone of each image. Felt like crying when I realised I’m not knowledgeable enough to apply good typesetting, ngl. And then the interior design. Fuck, the frustration is so real. I am absolutely clueless about this kind of thing. Tracing lots of references because I have no perception of space makes me feel even worse. I knew first times rarely create a masterpiece, but I was not satisfied with my accomplishment and the feeling of failing to fulfil my own expectations hurt.

BUT.

Thank goodness most of the things I need to draw are Shouko, Yuuji and Satoru. Because dear g o d drawing them healed me. I found so much comfort in drawing Shouko’s long hair and Satoru’s eyes and drowning Yuuji in an oversized hoodie. The comfort zone of character drawing never feels so real lmaooo

Drawing them was so effective that I can look back at the backgrounds with acceptance. Hey, I did it! Not perfect just yet, but I did it!

Haha I feel like I’m losing my mind. I don’t know if it’s in a good way or a bad way. Guess I do have one or two screws loose.

Only for Yuuji lmao

(nah I just need sleep, or cooling down from the rush of having finished this)

It might come off as a surprise if you’ve only seen my art on Tumblr, but I’ve always preferred to draw feminine-leaning ladies. I’ve always loved drawing their curves, whether it’s the figure, the clothes, or the (long) hair. But I’ve grown to like drawing masculine gentlemen as well with their sharp edges and straight lines, and now my ladies start to look more androgynous lmao

Anyway, I was pretty stoked to be able to draw adult!Ieiri! I… I kind of miss drawing long hair so here have some more before you go on your day ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

#yuu's art #jjk-fic-fanart #jjk-ship #五悠 #goyuu #goyu #5u #gojou x yuuji #I'll see you sometime later #if real life lets me haha #:")

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mikuni14 · 3 months

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Why I think the way the final episode of The Sign was distributed is wrong, offensive and unfair to fans. And how disappointing I am with this approach, because I sincerely supported Idol Factory and Saint.

Personally, I pay for Gaga, Viki and IQIYI, plus a VPN to watch shows that are not available in my country (like Pit Babe), which, you know, I already paid for 🙄 Additionally, I pay for Netflix, I have combined subscriptions with other people for Disney, HBO, Skyshowtime, Prime, last year we paid for Apple to watch Silo and Severance (I recommend both series btw 👌). I also don't mind paying one-time for a film on the platform, which is how I recently watched Oppenheimer.

Money is not an issue (<- lol), apart from the fact that I support myself and I have to work, and I have to carefully manage my budget in order to feed myself and my cat, clothe myself, pay my bills, and my loss of job will mean obviously giving up access to all these media. I say that money is not a problem in the sense that I WILL SPEND MONEY on something I like. I will save, I will give up something else, but I will spend this money on stuff I love.

The Sign has chosen a certain distribution method for international fans. They chose YouTube and chose a set airing hour. They could have chosen to distribute only in Thailand like Cherry Magic, or they could have chosen any other platform with paid subscriptions. But they chose YouTube. And they released 11 episodes for free and at a set time. And now they CHOSE to make the last ep paid and to create a complete chaos related to the distribution of the finale, because I honestly don't know at this point whether it is paid or not, what is paid and what is not, whether it is on Saturday or Sunday or it's for a ticket or for free on channel3 and apparently they have two endings????, which is always an alarming sign for me, because it's very Game of Thrones/Marvel style shit.

Besides, people have their own lives, their obligations, their schedules. Sometimes you just can't get around certain things and you can't watch a series in the available time, no matter how much you want. Secondly, releasing a product for free in order to limit access to it in the final phase is the worst manifestation of toxic capitalism. This is preying on the desperation and devotion of fans. The third thing is the selection of viewers into those who can afford it, have the time, have the resources and those who do not. And yes, sometimes even just $15 of an unexpected expense makes a huge difference in a person's budget. It's telling some of the fans that you are VIP and can sit in the front row, and the rest of the peasants should wait outside for two weeks 😄

tl;dr personally I want and can pay for: 1) the entire series on a legal platform 2) ADDITIONAL things, like specials, fan stuff, etc. I consider paying for access to the series finale, which until now was free, immoral.

But tbh I really have no idea what's going on, I go with the flow 🤡Whenever I check The Sign tag, I read more and more new information related to the possibility of watching the finale, and it's different every day. And if it turns out that the cut version of the series will be available for free on Channel 3, and the uncut version with subs will be available tomorrow with a ticket, it will be the funniest thing ever. Because that would mean that people paid $15 to watch, I don't know what, a sex scene? 😄

Idk, guys, instead of enjoying the finale, people are wondering how to watch it at all. And if IF starts doing this, won't others follow suit? 11 episodes for free, oh you want to watch the finale, well you have to pay or wait and dodge the spoilers 😈

And one last thing for potential defenders of this system, like "what's your problem, it will be available in 2 weeks, just wait": so you accept that not ALL fans will have a chance to experience the final ep together, which is the basis of the fan community? That some fans will experience and analyze the episodes this weekend, and the rest will wait?

#the sign the series #bl drama #thai bl

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softpascalito · 6 months

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Pedro Pascal Kinktober Day Twentysix (SFW)

Tying a tie - Javier Peña/F!Reader

Summary: Javier resigns from the DEA. You both reflect on your life in Colombia while you help him get ready. You also discuss what is about to follow.

Relationships: Javier Peña x F!Reader

WC: 1600

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Anxiety, Established Relationship, Crying, Moving On, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Sad Javier Peña (Narcos), Javier Peña Needs a Hug (Narcos), no beta we die like colonel carrillo

AO3 LINK

notes: my apologies for two sad days in a row. if you want to listen to a song while reading, i highly recommend swan song by lana del rey (bc what would a javi fic be without lana).

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Your hands smooth over the striped tie, tracing the lines that run across it. When your hands reach the edge of the soft fabric, they don't stop, instead continuing a now invisible line on the white dress shirt. You've touched it up this morning, making sure to remove the little crinkles that somehow return after every wear and usually seem impossible to get rid of.

Today, the shirt sits perfectly on him, a little strained by his broad shoulder, a tight fit, like all his clothes.

Your finger reaches his side, stopping at the seam that runs down from his arms. As you stretch your hand, gently placing your palm against the white fabric, you finally register movement below it, a gentle shift as a sigh leaves the man in front of you. The vibration of it carries through his body and you can feel it in your hand.

For a moment, you just stand there, considering if it's possible to transfer the stress that the body below your fingers holds onto you, if you can take any of it away. He carries it so well but he's been carrying it for so long and you know he's tired. So are you.

You refuse to lower your palm, pressing it into his skin a little harder, his soft stomach below adjusting to accommodate your hand as it stays firmly pressed against him.

It must be possible, to take the sadness, the anger, to extract it from the form that holds it. If you'd just find an opening, the one that holds the floodgates, you're certain it would come out in waves, pouring down on you.

“Querida.”

Javier's voice is gentle as he speaks, low like he doesn't want to disturb anyone. Not that there's anyone to disturb, except maybe the cat that is stretched out on the windowsill, half asleep, half watching the two people who are standing in the middle of the room.

“Maybe I should go with the other tie,” he mutters and you shake your head, moving your hand back and forth slightly so that it caresses his stomach, “I'm not letting you wear a clip-on tie to your resignation.”

He seems to see your point because his head droops a tiny bit as he nods, looking down at his chest once more. His chocolate brown eyes watch your hand, back and forth, back and forth.

“Okay,” he almost whispers and your eyes meet as you watch him carefully, already recognizing the signs of slight panic in his form. His jaw clenched to one side, his hand hanging down next to his body and nervously twitching, the movements of his eyes a little faster than usual.

“What if we're making the wrong choice? If the money runs out-” His voice breaks and you're almost certain your heart breaks with it.

You're awfully aware of the things he's considering, the pros and cons of leaving the DEA behind for good, of returning home. With you. And a cat.

You haven't talked about it, about the after. It has always been about leaving. It has never been about arriving.

Noone could blame Javi if he didn't want children. Blame either of you, really. But you have a feeling that the worries about making a living back home has something to do with that possibility. There was always going to be another bad guy, another cartel to take down, another big player to hunt. There was always money to be made in his job. It's just that the price of making that money has become too high.

You sigh a little, bringing up your free hand to caress his cheek, “Then I'll find something. Well be okay, Javi.”

You really do believe it. You think.

“I know, it's just-” You wait patiently as Javi tries to find the right words, his gaze searching your face as if the answer is hidden somewhere in it, “It just feels so final.”

It takes all the strength in you to keep a neutral face, to not let the tears win. You just nod, fingers tracing the mustache above Javis lips.

“Because it is, hermoso,” you mumble, inching a tiny bit closer. The close touch of your other hand is replaced with that of your body as you rest your body against his, connecting as much skin as you possibly can in this moment. The other hand moves steadily over his mustache, stroking the fine, dark hairs that feel just the right amount of scratchy.

“You never have to go back there.”

You lean forward, placing the most gentle kiss on Javis lips as he lowers his gaze, just in time to see your hand fly up and cup his face, another kiss placed on his cheek.

After a moment, he brings his strong arms around you, pulling you in and you do the same, wrapping your arms around his torso, one hand stroking his back.

You pretend not to notice that he cries while you stand there.

Instead, your grip tightens a little, holding him close, silently thanking all the gods of this world that you've made it here, that he is in your arms, that he is yours, all yours. No longer a chess piece for any of his higher-ups, no longer government property. Just yours.

Both of you lose track of time, just staying in each other's arms until you nudge him a little, “I think it's time to go.” His voice is a bit hoarse as he agrees and again, you pretend not to notice.

“That fucking cat is staring at us again,” Javi mutters and a small chuckle escapes you at that as you pull back, beginning to properly bind his tie. Your hands seem to have memorized the motions of it by now, easily placing one piece of fabric over the other, “She's curious. She knows something is happening.”

“Oh, you think?” Javi asks sarcastically but there's a playful note in his tone, “Maybe the two dozen cartons that you've stacked throughout the apartment gave something away.” You gently slap his chest before finishing up the tie, making sure to not pull it too tight.

“There,” you say gently, looking Javier once over and nodding in approval. With a sideway glance at one of the mentioned stacks of cartons that hold parts of your life, you feel a small tug in your chest. And, despite putting on your best, bravest face, through all this, of course Javi instantly sees.

“What is it?” His voice is soft, his gaze back on you as he reaches out to place his hands on your waist, “Did I say something stupid?”

You're quick to shake your head. The last thing you want is for him to worry about you today or worse, to blame himself for yet another thing. Still, he doesn't let up, nudging you a little until you soften enough for the words to tumble out.

“It's weird,” you say quietly, “deciding what to pack, what to leave behind.” He nods and this time it's he who waits patiently for you to continue, “How do you decide which parts of your life are worth taking back?”

The hands on your sides tighten a bit at that and you turn your head back towards him, soft eyes watching you. He seems to consider his words for a moment before speaking.

“I've decided which part I wanna take back.”

It's too honest. So, you shrug a little, trying to make light of it, “You mean the cat, don't you?”

He doesn't go for it. It would be an easy way out, one to avoid digging up those emotions inside both of you that are becoming increasingly harder to push down. Javi's never been one for the easy way.

“You know I wasn't talking about the cat. Even though, yes, she's coming too,” he mumbles and then adds, even more softly, “You know I was talking about you. You're the only part of this godforsaken shitshow I wanna bring home.”

Javi brings his lips forward, resting them against your forehead, letting them linger there. It's like he, too, is trying to exchange something inside of you, trying to let his love seep into your body, warming you from the inside out, filling all the holes, the cracks that the last years have left gaping inside of you.

A soft, strangled noise escapes you at the thought and you're back in his arms in an instant, your face pressed into his chest.

“Querida,” he whispers again and you just pull him closer at that. It's practically guaranteed that you're ruining the shirt, no doubt creating another of those wrinkles that never seem to ease up. Neither of you care.

Javi doesn't pretend not to see your tears. He dries them, patiently, under the watchful eyes of the cat that doesn't seem to understand why its two humans keep crying. You're not sure you humans understand either.

You dry Javier's tears too, after the official resignation. You dry them during the last night in your apartment, when his moans turn into sobs. You dry them on the plane.

And finally, you dry them in Laredo, in the kitchen of Chuchos farm, as you prepare dinner and Javier comes up behind you, crying into your shoulder until you turn around and kiss his tears away and hold him until he stops shaking, taking the sadness and trauma and grief from his body and taking it into your own, whispering into his ear that he's here, that he's home.

Whispering into his ear that he never has to go back.

#javier pena fic #narcos #javier peña imagine #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña / you #javier peña / reader #pedro pascal fandom #softpascalito #kinktober #fanfic #sad #angst #hurt/comfort #anxiety #trauma #ptsd

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existentialcrisistime · 9 months

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Nic's AOS McKirk fic recs part 1:

longer (mostly 10k+ and/or multi-chapter), more plot-focused works

There are SO MANY excellent McKirk fics out there, and I'm only scratching the tip of the iceberg with these ones, but these are ten of my top favourites (you know, the sort of fics where you have to either yell in the group chat or stare into space for a bit afterwards, then think of it constantly for the following week?), so I hope some of the ones in here become your favourites too.

And remember, be kind, leave kudos/comments where you can, and enjoy!

In no particular order, we have:

jim kirk's guide to starship management: how to work with people you don't like by espressohno (E, 23k)

Jim has an anonymous hookup (read: the best sex of his life) with who else but the one and only Leonard McCoy, who's scheduled to start as the Enterprise's CMO the next day. Hijinks (emotions and miscommunication) ensue. A great exploration of Leonard and Jim's relationship, based around the question of: what if they met under slightly different circumstances?

unscrew the stars by espressohno (E, <10k)

Jim, lamenting his inability to pursue personal relationships due to being Captain of the Enterprise and under Starfleet's fraternisation rules, believes he's found a loophole that allows him to sleep with his CMO. Leonard, however, wants something more. Another one by espressohno, and honestly I'd recommend pretty much anything by this author.

Ask me again in the morning by @torsamors (G, 26k)

Time loop fic: Bones is stuck in a time loop. This fact upsets Jim every time he finds out, but Bones definitely isn't having a fun time either. An excellent getting-together fic told from the perspective of Jim outside the loop, with plenty of hurt and comfort.

One Little White Lie by laughter_now (M, 71k)

Jim lies about being married to Leonard after an accident which leads Leonard to losing his memory, which quickly spirals out of control. An incredible, emotional exploration of the fake marriage and amnesia tropes, becoming so much more than the sum of its tags. Another one for the fellow fans of Bones Having a Real Bad Time, with plenty of Jim angst in there too.

A Wish in the Dark (for a bulletproof heart) by drmcbones (T, 18k)

Without giving too much away: one close call too many for Jim has Leonard at the end of his tether. Somehow, a mysterious medical/magical ailment links the two of them together - how long can they keep it secret from even each other? I say this about every fic on the list, but this one is absolutely excellent - a really interesting plot I hadn't read much like before.

Catching Fire (The Firehouse AU) by kel_1970 (E, 46k)

21st Century fire department AU. Paramedic Leonard McCoy flees a disastrous break-up in Savannah and ends up working at a fire department in Iowa where he meets Jim Kirk. I know this one is on pretty much every McKirk rec list, but for good reason! A beautifully-written, emotional rollercoaster of a fic with rich settings and side characters. Will rip your heart out and stamp on it, then carefully piece it back together again. I read this one over a year ago and still I think of it on a regular basis, it hurts so good.

I Will Hold As Long As You Like by @excavatinglizard (T, 18k)

The Lighthouse fic. Set post-Into Darkness, Leonard takes Jim to a lighthouse to convalesce. Together they learn to weather the storm. A beautiful, emotional character study with rich settings that paint such a picture in the mind. Also comes with (beautiful) art and a playlist to really set the scene. Another one that I read over a year ago, as it was being published, and still think of on a regular basis.

Take a Bite of My Heart Tonight by EntreNous (T, 26k)

Vetenarian Bones AU. Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy get off on the wrong foot as soon as they meet. So if Jim wants another shot with that gorgeous but grumpy veterinarian, he had better get his hands on some pets who need vet appointments, right? Such a fun, sweet, mostly fluffy fic of Jim getting up to some absolute (mostly unsuccessful) antics to win Leonard's heart

three sundays by espressohno

The fight club AU. Not Fight Club the film so much as a literal fight club: Leonard goes to fight club to get his anger out. Jim goes to fight club to get hurt. Leonard realizes this, and decides he doesn't want to hurt Jim anymore, but he doesn't want to stop seeing him, either. Plenty of hurt/comfort, and a whole lot of aftercare.

palimpsest by @fireinmywoods (E, 61k)

What can I say about this one that hasn't already been said? Such an incredible story, even if the final chapter did make me yell out loud the first time around (and I mean that in the most affectionate way). I've read this one twice now and got something completely different out of it each time - an enjoyable read the first time but even richer with hindsight, so cleverly constructed. As for the plot - the Enterprise is sent to negitiate readmission to the Federation with an isolationist religious group known as the Kindred. While there, Jim notices that some of the children seem to be gravely ill. The Kindred do not allow a doctor to be brought in, and so Jim... well, he improvises. + 9 (so far) further, shorter works to flesh out the whole Palimpsest verse, which I enjoyed just as much as the original story - especially aganorisis (E, 15k), which I guarantee you'll want to read right after. Can mostly be read out of order, but you gotta read Palimpsest first, I promise!

And that's it for now! Thank you for reading, please tell me which ones you enjoyed the most (or your own favourite longer/plotty McKirk fics), and keep your eyes peeled for part 2

#mckirk #fic recs #aos mckirk #star trek aos #aos #nic watches star trek

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grian-obsessed-lesbian · 1 month

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More Hermitcraft fic recs (basically just Grian-centric fics lmao)

As always, pay attention to the tags/warning and stay safe!!

Grian and Scar are married, have been for a long time. They haven't told the other Hermits and decide to finally reveal their secret in the funniest way. 5,014 words

The Hermits are in college but so is Sam and other members of yhs. Grian and Sam are saying, but it's not the healthiest relationship. Grian befriends Scar and Mumbo, all while trying to "save" Sam, reconnecting with his sister, and while Scar is crushing on Grian. This is such a a good fic it's one of my favorites. It's a little long, but it's so worth it!! There are darker themes, so make sure to read the tags carefully!! 55,001 words

Grian grows up on the rough streets of Japan and learns to fight and protect himself. What happens when he gets in a fight with a tall, green main in the main hub? Read this absolutely amazing fic to find out!! 2,716 words

A short drabble type fic that shows how Gr- Xelqua feels while watching over Hermitcraft. It's pretty short but it's amazing! 824 words

After Scar wins secret life, the Watchers want him to join their ranks. Grian isn't going to let that happen. The Hermits get their bird friend back, even if that means manipulating god-like beings. 1,592 words

THIS IS A WIP FIC!! Grian runs away from the Watchers, and ends up on a server he thought was abandoned, but had really gone on a server full of players. He injured his wings, meaning he can't leave for a long time. He helps out some Hermits when he can, and gives Xisuma, Scar, and Mumbo a few heart attacks. This fic is so good to not recommend, even if it's not complete yet. So far, 22,868 words

Grian gets injured in a fight so Hotguy takes him home and patches him up. That's definitely a normal thing for enemies to do! 999 words

That's it for now! I hope you enjoy xx

#hermitcraft #yhs grian #watcher grian #sam gladiator #goodtimeswithscar #xisuma #ao3 fanfic #fic rec #docm77 #pearlescentmoon #mumbo jumbo #grian #hermitcraft grian

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yoonsdoll · 7 months

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flower - ksy

content : n-i!hoshi x f!reader ; fluff , strangers 2 lovers ; 1.8k words warnings : brief mention of sickness - where you're a florist, and soonyoung (an incredibly cute customer) catches your eye. an : i hope that u enjoy!! ive wanted to write something like this for a while but ive been busy + not proof-read so apologies for any mistakes!

“same customer again..? i swear he comes here every day… what does he need this many flowers for?” you heard your co-worker hum with a little smirk.

the familiar stranger, who without fail purchased flowers daily, has just departed from the flower shop where you worked at, the stupidly handsome guy who always seeks your flower advice, the one who boldly orders custom bouquets exclusively from you. you were the newest florist, the least experienced among your colleagues, so, why did he always choose to talk to you?

“how would i know?” you managed to shrug your shoulders tiredly, offering nothing more but a sigh. “he probably buys flowers for his girlfriend… or maybe girlfriends? i mean… i like flowers too, but what girl wants to receive flowers daily…”

“i wouldn't be surprised, he's a hot ass guy… i’d be all over him too if i had the chance.” your co-worker giggled. “i’m jealous of you, he always comes in and asks you for help, maybe you find him attractive too?”

“yes.. i mean.. no? i don't know. hes cute i guess, but i'm sure he has a girlfriend and is only asking for help cause he needs someone else's opinion on the flowers he gets. to be honest, i don't even know his name.”

it blew your mind how you started working as a florist under three months ago, promising yourself that this job would just be a way to earn money for education. but now its been two weeks since the same nameless guy started visiting the store every day, two weeks since you've actually started to look forward to work. its not like you didn't previously like it, but it definitely made it easier when you started to indulge yourself in delusion, in dreams that contain the same handsome guy coming down to the store to see you daily.

you didn't mean it to end up like this, you told yourself that it was only a coincidence, that he really did just have a girlfriend that he cared for and loved. but you couldn't help and imagine what it would be like to be that lucky girl.

“how could you fall for someone who’s name you don't even know?” your friend hansol asked you when you told him about it.

…but how could you not? seeing all his different outfits - which you’d describe as streetstyle, with oversized pants and cool shirts, occasionally wearing jackets and hoodies - hearing his husky voice in the tiring afternoons, noticing the way he so carefully thought about the choices of flowers he would get, even doing so much as asking for recommendations.

weeks passed and you’ve gotten into a routine of seeing him at this point. you always welcomed him with a “good afternoon” to which he would start to respond with “good afternoon, y/n” after you started wearing your name-tag badge that everyone was usually required to wear, but you never wore due to old people always reading it wrong or mispronouncing it.

but today was different. it was 5:43 pm, and you were going to close soon, yet he still hasn’t arrived.

time passed quickly, before you knew it, it was 6 pm and you just finished helping an elderly lady to walk down the steps of the store. it was now time to close, you couldn't help but feel disappointed. you flipped over the wooden sign on the door that said ‘open’ so that passer-bys wouldn’t walk into the store after hours. you hummed to yourself as you swept away any fallen petals that dropped on the floor, until you heard the bell that always notified you when someone entered. “it's closed..” you mumbled, turning around to face the door.

“i'm a little late huh?” the familiar face spoke, “ah… i should've hurried. something came up and…” his tone quietened as he spoke. “nevermind” he smiled once more, putting his left arm out, which held a cup of coffee that you recognised, a coffee from the expensive café a street away. “i got you coffee.”

“oh. thank you?” the corners of your lips rising into a smile, reaching out for the coffee, your fingers brushing against each other. “do you still need to buy flowers? you do everyday right?” you glanced at the clock on the wall that read 6:04 pm. “i can stay in a bit to help if you’d like” you added.

his expression turned into one of guilt, you could tell he didn't want to keep you in work for any extra time. “no it's okay. actually… i came here to thank you, for always helping me pick the best flowers, the bouquets you make are really beautiful. you have some real talent.” you couldn't help but giggle at the flattery, never really hearing words like these, especially from a guy that you found cute.

“ah… by the way, i’m soonyoung. i don't think i ever introduced myself. i'm sorry, that must be really awkward for you considering i know your name already.” you laughed softly, soonyoung's chuckles quickly following yours.

“its okay, its my fault for not asking previously, i was just nervous,” you quickly admitted, the awkward atmosphere melting away.

“no but seriously, my mother loves the bouquets you make,” he added to his previous statement.

oh. his mother.

suddenly it all hit you. he hasn’t been buying flowers for his girlfriend (or plural - considering at one point you thought he was a player). he has been buying them for his mother like a good son would.

“i feel so stupid oh my god…” you muttered to yourself, unaware of how loud your muttering would be in a completely quiet room.

“whys that?” soonyoung concerningly asks, his head slightly tilted at the sight of your flushed cheeks and embarrassed expression. but his concern quickly changing into a smirk as you stutter trying to let any words leave your lips.

you felt as if the universe was torturing you. the fact that its been weeks since you met this cute stranger but kept your distance because you didn't want to be a homewrecker. and the fact that you were now standing in front of him having to explain the comment you made that you assumed he wouldn't hear.

and worst of them all, having to explain that same comment with his pretty face staring right at you, acting stupid, when in reality you had a feeling that he knew everything.

and know everything he did. in fact, he was even worse than you. ever since he entered the store with hopes to find his sick mother some cute flowers, he couldn't get you off his mind. he told himself everyday that it would be the day he would ask for your number, but always ended up leaving with just a little more knowledge about your favourite flowers and a bouquet that his mother would later put in a glass jar next to her hospital bed. he acted so sweet, he put on his best outfits, he did anything to hint that you should maybe make the first move, but he eventually came to the conclusion that maybe you didn’t find him attractive. he was a mess, telling all his friends about the cute girl that worked at the flower shop, making them hype him up prior to entering the store, yet he never even had the guts to even tell you his name.

but seeing your smile as he entered, seeing you in your cute uniform with your name-tag he assumed you wore for him, seeing how fast you were to come up to him and help him with the selection of flowers he might’ve wanted that day, it all ignited hope within him that maybe he had a chance with you. a chance that you wanted to talk to him just as badly as he did with you, a chance that you counted down the hours till he got to see you just as he did, a chance that there would be something out of this random crush he developed on a late tuesday afternoon a few weeks ago.

“i assumed you were buying these for your girlfriend,” you finally spat out, doing anything to avoid eye contact. his smirk only getting wider, and his cheeks a shade redder.

“you got it all wrong,” he chuckled once more, admiring your sudden shyness. “i wouldn’t be coming to this flower store with the knowledge that such a pretty girl worked here if i did have a girlfriend.” he casually told you as he fixed his jacket.

you looked up at him surprised, your heart beating a little faster at the sudden confession.

“don't act so shocked… why in the world would i need to buy my mother flowers everyday? i like getting her gifts, but her room is filled to the brim at this point… all ‘cause i didn't know how to ask for your number, so i just visited everyday to see you.” soonyoung’s heart now picking up a pace too, his confident expression masking the amount of thoughts he was having in the moment.

his confession ended up leaving you speechless, looking at him with wide eyes and a half-pout, half-smile trying to figure out if he's serious or not.

“your coffee will get cold.” he then pointed out, zipping up his jacket. “i promise to bring you a bouquet next time, with all your favourite flowers in it.” he smiled at you so adoringly as you nodded your head a little in response. “see you y/n!”

soonyoung soon left, leaving you in silence. it took you a few minutes to gather yourself together, remembering the coffee you were still holding in your hand, which was keeping its heat from your warm hands. you lifted the cup to your lips, noticing some writing on the side of it. your eyes quickly shifted to see what it said.

‘please text me. - soonyoung’ with his number written underneath and a cute doodle of a baby tiger next to his name.

that night you opened your phone and typed in his number into your contacts as soon as you got home. you saved his name as soonyoung, but struggled picking an emoji to put, stumped between a flower emoji and a tiger, but eventually coming to the conclusion a white heart would be the cutest. you spent the rest of that night texting him about literally everything, even calling him at some point.

the next day he kept his promise and brang a big bouquet full of your favourite flowers that you always rambled about to the store, with the offer of a date, which of course you would never decline. it didn't take long for you and soonyoung to start seeing each other outside of work. texts ended up in more dates, and dates ended up in promises of regularly seeing each other.

you would've never thought that the cute guy who came in to buy his ‘girlfriend’ flowers would become your boyfriend, your soonyoung. but maybe those weeks full of heartbreak and delusion were really worth it considering you had the privilege to finally call him yours, and he had the privilege to call you his.

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #kwon soonyoung #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung fluff #svt #svt hoshi #seventeen soonyoung #svt soonyoung #hoshi fluff #fluff #soonyoung brainrot #kwon hoshi #yoonsdoll #laura : fics !#laura : writing !

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caplanbuckybarnes · 1 year

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Bookshops & Mythology

Summary: a handsome stranger comes into the bookshop you work abs offers you a date.

Pairing: Loki x bookshop!reader

Warnings: fluff

It’d been a relatively quiet day in the bookshop where you worked at on days when you weren’t studying your ass off to become a lawyer. You had a total of three customers in four hours- an elderly gentleman, a mother with a young son, and a college student who seemed too tired to read the book she purchased.

You loved working here in the bookshop. It was always fun to discuss your favorite books with customers and recommend any new novels that arrived in earlier that month.

You’d world here one summer during high school and found that you adored it. So, during your college years, you kept up the job, soon becoming so accustomed to its shoppers and odd hours that you couldn’t imagine living without it in your everyday life.

You’d smiled at customers, as always. Some returning the smile, others, seemingly oblivious to you standing behind the register.

You’d been offered several dates while you worked here. And it always surprised you. You weren’t exactly expecting a date from anyone, really.

You’d been reading a magazine as silence filled around you, only sounds of a couple quietly discussing the book they had chosen to your right. You glanced up and smiled as a tall man strolled inside and made his way directly over to you.

Looking up, you closed your book and smiled at the man. “How can I help you, sir?”

“I’ve been watching you for a while, Y/N,” he smiled, glancing down at the small name tag you bore on your chest. “Excuse me, that sounded so predatorial.” He grinned, his perfectly manicured teeth gleaming in the sunlight that shone through the window.

“Can I help you with something?” You offered, thinking to yourself that this man was so God-like in the way he spoke and held himself.

“Of course, my dear,” he bowed his head slightly. “I was pondering the idea of learning new Norse mythology, perhaps? If you carry those types of novels, that is.”

“Of course, I do,” you smiled at him and walked around the counter and beckoned him to follow you. You had found that over the years, it was always best to directly show a customer where a novel was placed, rather than tell them the location.

“Here you are,” you smiled, gesturing to a small section filled with mythological novels and tall tales.

“Thank you, m’lady,” he smiled softly at you before turning his attention to the novels in front of him.

While he was busy, you returned to the register and continued reading your previously closed book. It didn’t take long for this customer to return in front of you, however.

“I hope you found whatever is was that you were looking for,” you smiled and started scanning his books for him before placing them in a bag carefully.

“There’s only one more thing I could ask of you,” he placed his hands in his pockets before staring at you.

“Yes?” You blinked, wondering as to what this man had wanted with you.

“I’d like to take you on a date, if you will?” He offered, taking the bag full of books.

You smiled at the thought. “Of course. I’d love to know what you thought on mythology.”

“I’ll return here once your shop has closed for the night, yes?”

“Of course,” you smiled as he left the shop.

Three hours. You’d have three hours to mull over the giddiness and randomness on the event.

#loki x reader

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the-s1lly-corner · 4 months

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ATTENTION CREEPYPASTA FANS/REGARDING THE 1K CELEBRATION ONE SHOT!

The votes are in, and creepypasta has won the vote for what I will write to celebrate hitting 1k followers on this blog! As well as this, Eyeless Jack won the majority vote! Originally, when I made the first poll to determine the fandom, I was going to come up with my own plot... However I fell in love with the idea of you guys helping me build a fic together.. And to keep up with that theme, I'm going to allow you guys to send in prompts; I will likely either host a raffle or a final vote, then finally! I will start writing! Below will be the rules and requirements in order to submit anything, and I urge you all to read this carefully so your idea can be added into the mix! More info will be under the cut!

As said, Eyeless Jack has been selected for the one shot, a win for Eyeless Jack fans! While prompts don't need to be centered around things that are unique to Jack, you're more than welcome to follow along his traits!

So How Do We Submit A Prompt?

I feel that it will be easier for me to keep track of prompts through the inbox, just as my other requests. However this has the opportunity to get messy and confusing fast. So if you're sending in a suggestion for the one shot, I ask that you very clearly specify so! Otherwise I won't be able to know and I will treat it as I would any normal request. So I ask that you please put somewhere in your suggestion that this it is for the fic!

What Is Allowed To Be Sent In?

The same general rules of this blog still apply! I will accept anything that isn't NSFW, Abvse, or kink adjacent! You CAN send in something romantic, platonic, fluff, angst, ect! Really if you want a deeper look into what is and isn't allowed I recommend looking into my pinned post!

What Can We Expect From The Fic?

The plot obviously, is still undecided. However, the fic is most likely going to be an Eyeless Jack x Reader one shot! As per usual for this blog, the reader will be GN, so you can easily put yourself or your oc in your shoe! I don't have a set length in mind for the fic, as my writing tends to vary, but I do intend on it being decent length! I don't want to put a goal word count in fear of intimidating myself, but I do intend to aim for over 1.5k! The fic will be posted here, and will get it's own unique tag so it can more easily found!

Why The Long Wait?

I am hosting each segment of this process for a week before moving onto the next step. This is because Tumblr only has two options for poll lengths and the one week time frame just stuck. One week to determine fandom, one week to pick a character, and this time is going to be no different! As well as the final piece of this; taking into account it's going to take me a few days to write the fic and (hopefully) revise it... writing is hard, but I also want everyone to have more than enough time to put their votes/ideas into this, as it's a celebration of this blog and your guys' support!

Will there be future fics?

I'm unsure, I would hope so! This fic is of course for a milestone but I do hope to one day write at least one fic per creepypasta character that I do write for

The poll below is irrelevant to the post, and serves more so as a in post timer to remind me to take the next step of this little event, time blindness is very real and very..... blugh

tagging this with my usual characters/as if it were a group post to help get this out there so those who want to participate can

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Broken Glass Chapter 4 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

TW: None really. The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: T (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 5k

A/N: Happy Broken Glass Friday, y'all! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹 Thanks for your patience as I get this out later than expected! Chapter 4 hopfully begins to show the awkwardness of two people in forced proximity trying to figure each other out, and as you can imagine, it is not going smoothly lol.

I highly recommend listening to Frank Sinatra's Dolores before/during your reading because...well, you'll see why! And it will definitely come back into play in later chapters...😉 Also, this song was a huge inspiration on naming her Dolores cuz just imagining Elvis singing it to her made me all fluttery inside. ❤️

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! Reblogs are super helpful in getting eyes on the story, so extra thanks for those! 🥰

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, and added those who requested it, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences!

The first thing Elvis notices about you when you walk through the door is how even though you are out of uniform, you still carry yourself with an air of helpful confidence, but the second thing he notices is how exhausted you seem, the dark circles around your eyes so pronounced that it’s worrisome.

And the third thing, well, it’s something he recognizes in himself: a tinge of resignation, as though something terrible has happened but you are moving forward anyhow. But there is something haunted behind all of it. He doesn’t know you, not yet, but it’s like some of the fire that had colored your personality that first night you met has dimmed. Like someone has tried to extinguish you in some way.

He prays it’s not him who has done this. He knows this situation is unusual and he understands completely why you might be apprehensive. In fact, he still can’t believe you said yes to this at all. When the Colonel had come back so quickly yesterday with your answer, Elvis was sure he’d heard wrong. Even Colonel seemed surprised.

But here you are.

Elvis brings himself to standing, both because there’s a lady that’s entered the room and he’s nothing but a good Southern gentleman, but also to prove to himself that he can stand on his own two feet. He’s got to if he’s gonna pull this off. His olive green uniform hangs half done on him, and at least he managed the pants and undershirt himself before you entered, though it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

He already can sense you’re gonna be a tough nut to crack because he’s intuitive about things like that and if there’s one thing he knows besides music, it’s women. You’re wound tight as a drum. He can see it in your countenance, in the carefully guarded way you take him in. He’s got his work cut out for him.

The air in the room is thick with tension, the silence pregnant with awkwardness.

Starting to button up his shirt, he shoots you a coy look. “You don’t gotta be nervous, little bird. I don’t bite…unless you want me to,” Elvis says, a smile spreading, pouring on the charm, hoping it might help ease the friction in the air.

And it does. He can see the way you bite your tongue, the way you stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him. There’s that fire.

“Look, sir, I…I know this is an unusual situation, but we’re going to need some ground rules. First being that you stop calling me ‘little bird,’” you huff.

“Well, I can’t very well call ya Nurse Cannava, now can I? Not with us needing to be so secret and all that. Not when you’re supposed t’be my girl,” he replies with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “And you definitely can’t be callin’ me ‘sir,’ so we’re both gonna have to adjust, ain’t we?”

You’re cute as you flounder for a retort, your cheeks flushing the slightest bit. He can tell you are struggling to be professional, but he knows that’s no good, not with how close you two will need to get to make this thing work.

Finally, you relent, after an inner struggle that reads clearly on your face. He can tell you hate that he’s right.

“I suppose so…Elvis,” you say through gritted teeth.

He chuckles at that, which too quickly turns to coughing and wheezing, forcing him to sit back on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, enough of that now,” you say in a much gentler tone, walking over to him purposefully and handing him the oxygen mask hanging near the bed. He watches the switch flip in you as you move into caretaker mode. It’s fascinating how your annoyance with him fades so fast, your face softening, just as it did the other night. If he wasn’t so frustrated by his body rebelling against him, pushing down the panic of how the hell he’s going to sell that he’s healthy as a horse in a matter of hours, he’d dwell on it longer.

Yet the more his emotions start to run away with him, the calmer you seem to become, standing near him watchfully, adjusting the flow of air. After what seems like an eternity holding the mask to his face, his can finally feel the air enter his lungs again, less encumbered. His hand grips the mattress for a moment, and he pulls the mask away. Then, almost angrily, he attempts to finish buttoning his shirt, but his damn hands are shaking too badly.

“Here, let me,” you say, swatting away his hands. His heart was already beating too fast, but now it picks up for a completely different reason as you stand so close in front of him, deftly doing up the rest of the buttons.

Rose water and jasmine, he thinks, taking in your scent for the first time. This coupled with suddenly being up close and personal with your ample figure has him gulping and trying not to let his gaze linger on your bust at his eyeline. He looks up at you through his lashes instead, seeing a concentrated stare on your striking face. You’re completely focused on doing up his shirt, which is such an intimate thing, really, yet you are unselfconscious in your need to assist him.

His fingers curl into his thighs, fighting the impulse to wrap his arms around you to pull you closer, to bury himself comfortingly into your supple body. It’s not new, this deep need he has for physical contact with women, and it’s not entirely sexual, but with the emotional toil of the last few days, the urge is great. Tensing, it takes everything in him not to do something stupid and embarrass himself. Unlike lots of other girls, he doesn’t think you’d be welcoming of the embrace whatsoever.

Elvis blinks away his baser desires and finally finds his voice. “What’s your name, honey? Gotta call you somethin’,” he says quietly, clearing his throat.

You freeze on the final button, the one at the base of his neck, then look down into his eyes. It feels quite vulnerable, this moment, with you so close and your eyes searching his, as if deciding how far to let him in, how far to trust him. And he gets the sense you don’t trust easily. Perhaps it’s the way your guard slips from your icy eyes just for a millisecond, how they soften in the slightest, and he feels a hesitant shift.

“It’s Dolores,” you say softly, doing up the last button.

Because his mind is made of music, instantly he remembers Frank Sinatra’s love song of the same name. It’s too perfect, really. He can’t help himself as he croons out the beginning of the song:

How I love my kisses of Dolores.

Aye aye aye! Dolores.

The way your eyes widen and then roll with exasperation amuses him, but it’s the how your cheeks go pink that really tickles him.

Not Marie or Emily or Doris.

Only my Dolores.

“Of course. Of course, you know that silly song,” you say, shaking your head as you step back.

“Silly song?! Naw, it’s a wonder,” Elvis replies, smiling wide, enjoying every second of your embarrassment. “And now I know how to call ya when I need ya…just a loud, ‘Aye aye aye! Dolores!’”

“Oh, don’t you dare!” you say through gritted teeth.

He continues, being campy with it, just to really drive it home:

I was made to serenade Dolores

Chorus after chorus!

“I swear, Elvis, you—” you start.

But he’s on a roll now, interrupting you. “You swear?! Now that ain’t very ladylike or professional,” he teases. “Hand me that tie, now will ya, Dolores?” He sings the last bit just to bug you even more.

You glare at him, eyes blazing, and he can tell that you want to strangle him with the tie. Biting your tongue, you set your mouth in a line and settle for throwing the tie in his general direction instead.

“What, you ain’t gonna help me?” he says in faux surprise, quirking a brow. He grabs the tie from where it landed on the end of the bed.

“You can do it yourself,” you snap.

“But what if I can’t?” he nudges, batting his eyes at you as he puts it around his neck.

“Oh, Madone, I wasn’t hired to be your dresser. It’s a bit beneath my skillset,” you throw back at him.

He chooses not to mention how you were just doing up the buttons on his shirt not a minute ago. But you read it on his face, nevertheless.

“Ooh, you’re incorrigible!”

“And you’re cute when you’re angry.” It just slips out, really it does, but it’s the truth. And now you are completely flushed, which sends a different sort of thrill through him.

Your mouth opens, then closes again, like a fish out of water. He thinks that’s pretty cute, too, how he’s managed to fluster you speechless in such a short amount of time.

But then your body language shifts in such a way that he suddenly thinks he may have taken it too far. You look at him with wide eyes, like you want to bolt out the door and never look back.

Elvis softens instantly. He can’t afford to have you running off because he needs you. They won’t let him out of this damn hospital without you by his side.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, I’ll stop, I’ll stop.”

You take a long, deep breath that seems to quell your urge to flee. Silence fills the room again. A wave of uncertainty, of fear, crashes over him.

“I-I-I’m sorry, I just…I guess I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around all this. I don’t mean to upset ya, I was just havin’ a little fun is all. Please don’t go,” Elvis says quietly, in a moment of unbridled honesty.

Blinking at him, as if surprised by his change in demeanor, you consider his words. Your wide mouth softens from the hardened line it was and he can’t help but wonder what you look like when you smile. His guess is that it’s stunning and he silently vows to make it happen sometime in the future.

Finally, your body relaxes a bit. “Call me Lori,” you say.

“Okay, Lori,” he repeats softly, conceding.

You bite your lip, then shift from one foot to the other, as if mulling over whether to say something. He just waits. Finally, you speak, “I know you’re going through a lot, Elvis. But to be completely honest, this…I might be in over my head here. I don’t really know what to expect. But I’m not a fawning acolyte and I do have a job to do. So please let me do it.”

All business, Elvis thinks with a smile. It’s been a while since a woman hasn’t fallen immediately at his feet. Perhaps this is God’s way of continuing to knock his ego down a peg or two, though for him, it just feels like a challenge.

He likes you a little too much already. You’re obviously more than just a pretty face. In fact, in what very little time he’s spent with you, it’s clear you are intelligent and caring but also feisty and stubborn. Plus, that guarded look in your eye makes him curious about what makes Dolores Cannava tick. Something in him itches to know you. But he’s not quite sure how far he can push you yet and acquiescing for the time being seems his best bet at getting you to stay.

So, he nods. He ties his tie. And you grab his uniform jacket to hold out for him. An olive branch, of sorts. He takes a deep breath and stands, a little unsteadily, but you are right there to help, holding his jacket as he slips into it. Once again, it feels more intimate than it should, especially when you straighten his jacket and his tie, fixing him like a lover might. He takes in another breath of you, of that lovely rose and jasmine scent in your deep chocolate hair, noticing the undertones of copper threaded through the dark strands now that he’s standing.

When you step back to examine him and your eyes widen in the slightest, taking him in while he wears his uniform, he knows you find him attractive, no matter how quickly you blink the idea away. He knows he looks good in this uniform, which is why he’s wearing it to the press conference at Fort Dix. But despite your now-neutral gaze, that quick look on your face coupled with his newfound impulse to be physically connected to you makes him wonder how in the hell he is going to remain professional with you.

Elvis clears his throat again and turns away from you to the bathroom, leaving the door open. His hair is a mess, so he begins sculpting it in a well-practiced routine. It’s the longest it’s been since he was drafted, but still not quite the coiffed pompadour of his pre-army youth. The back is shorter and so are his sideburns, but the sides and the top give him enough length to comb it precisely where he wants it. He doesn’t go too heavy on the Brylcreem, wanting the look to appear more natural.

There’s a fine line he knows he’s skating here, between a more polished adult look and the rebellious one he is famous for. He’s an All-American boy—no, man—now and must look as such, to please his aging audience. As much as he doesn’t love it, he knows his natural hair helps, not quite the sandy blonde of his teenage years, but more of a light chestnut, that little strip of gold in the front reminding him he is indeed a natural blonde. It’s darker than it used to be, at least, but lighter than he likes. But for today, it’ll serve its purpose.

He catches your eye in the mirror briefly as you watch his routine carefully, arms crossed with an air of scrutiny. You do not look away like he expects you to, however, and he holds your eyes for a moment before going back to making himself look halfway decent. Luckily for him, even at halfway decent he still looks pretty good, but if it will be enough to satisfy the throngs of reporters waiting for him, he does not know.

Rummaging in his leather kit, he finds the new mascara he had Elisabeth purchase for him in Germany. He darkens his long lashes carefully, not in the heavy-handed way of his youth, but just enough to make his naturally lighter lashes curl and pop on camera.

“Huh.” He hears your surprised reaction from behind him. He’s betting you’ve never seen a man wear makeup before.

“Come on, honey, this is show business. Can’t let the ladies have all the fun,” he winks at you.

He thinks he sees a possible twinkle of amusement in your eyes, but it is gone in a flash, replaced by your stoic and careful gaze so fast he’s unsure it was ever there at all. You turn away, walking back into the room and leaving him to his primping.

He shakes his head. Oh, Lord, I have my work cut out for me.

Despite the lingering exhaustion that hasn’t faded even with days of rest, Elvis’ leg vibrates with unspent nervous energy. It’s always been this way, the way his limbs go buzzing and tapping and wiggling beyond his control. Somehow, he managed to make a career out of it, which never ceases to amaze him.

But the little white pill you administered on the way out the door of the hospital is helping to keep the fatigue from dragging him completely under. Only one, you’d said, which had made him a little wary because he’d been popping the things like candy overseas and he wasn’t sure one was gonna do much at all. But having been off them in the hospital seems to have lowered his tolerance a bit because he can feel the familiar wave of clarity and alertness cut through the ever-present need to close his eyes.

After two long hours of staring out the car window at the snowy landscape on the way to Ft. Dix, you finally look at him—well, you look down at his leg as it brushes against yours, since he’s managed to spread his legs over almost the entirety of the backseat, and he forces himself to reel it in and stop the unconscious bouncing.

Elvis tries not to be perturbed that you’ve barely given him the time of day since getting in the limo. He thought that you two would spend the trip getting to know each other better, but his charms didn’t get him much past small talk in those first minutes getting out of the city. You fell into silence and made yourself small, curling close to the door, as far from him as possible.

Thank God for the Colonel and Lamar sitting opposite, who were equally baffled by your behavior when they received only short, clipped answers to their questions. The men finally gave up trying to include you and were at least able to contribute some conversation to the long drive.

Lamar’s confusion is evident, however, as he thinks you’ve dropped everything to be with Elvis because you’ve fallen head over heels for him, not because you are there to tend to him, and God knows you’re not acting like a little girl in love. Elvis just shrugs off the questioning looks as if to say, “Who knows what women are thinking?”

Meanwhile, you seem quite preoccupied up there in your head, wheels turning, an inner voice he’s not privy to whirring away. He’s noticed that you don’t seem particularly sad about leaving New York, only pensive and withdrawn. Considering that you are upending your life to come work for him, he supposes it makes sense. You’re likely just nervous, though it’s not in the way he expects. He’s not unaccustomed to the strange reactions of women to his presence, but it’s quite obvious that is not your problem. In fact, you barely seem to register his presence at all.

It bothers him more than he likes.

But nerves are funny things, he reminds himself, and it takes time to adjust to something new. The way your hands white knuckled your purse and your shoulders were nearly up to your ears when you stepped into the limo outside Bellevue have at least dissipated into something more relaxed. Definitely not relaxed relaxed, as he has noticed your natural state seems to be just this side of well-masked anxiety, but the latent worry in your eyes has drained away some, and they have stopped shifting to your surroundings quite so diligently.

And now you are looking at him in a way he can’t read.

“You ever been to a press conference before, honey?” he asks, breaking the silence as the car approaches the base.

He watches you bristle a bit at the pet name. “Can’t say that I have,” is all you give him.

“Well, there’s gonna be lots of shouting questions and flashbulbs, so don’t be alarmed. But they most likely won’t be payin’ too much attention to ya anyway.”

Your eyes widen with realization. “They—they won’t be asking me questions, will they?” For the first time, he sees true panic dart in your eyes, as if you’ve just realized the situation you’ve put yourself in.

He chuckles softly. “When we get out of the car, they’ll probably ask some, but you don’t need to answer. Just ignore them and let me or the Colonel take care of the rest.” He pats your knee in what he thinks is a comforting gesture, but you nearly jump out of your skin at the contact. He pulls back right away.

We’re gonna need to work on that, he thinks. But it’s too late to talk about it now, as the car finally pulls through the gates of the base and into the throng of waiting press corps.

“Are you nervous?” you ask suddenly.

“About them? Naw, not really. I’m used to it, though I guess sometimes I stutter a bit cuz it gives me time to think of answers. Today, I’m more worried about staying upright and breathing than anything,” he mumbles, leg back to jittering.

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” you say softly enough that the men across from you can’t hear, “but from what I’ve seen the last few days, I have no doubt you can do this. Just focus on those deep breaths, like I showed you.”

Elvis is pleasantly surprised by the relief he feels at your surprisingly gentle words, though he’s not sure if it’s the words themselves or the fact that your caretaking mode is so comforting compared to your usually well-guarded exterior.

The car comes to a stop, and the press advance through the swirling snow, held back by well-trained MPs. That’s when he hears your shuddering breath and sees the swell of alarm in your bright eyes.

“Stick with me, kid, and you’ll be fine,” he says, winking, plastering a press-dazzling smile over his features. Then, he grabs your cold little hand and pulls you out of the car with him.

Elvis Presley was born for this.

He reminds himself of it again and again, every time the blinding flashes of the cameras make him want to wince from the pain in his head. He reminds himself of this as he forces himself to slow down and catch his breath, so he doesn’t start wheezing in front of all these microphones.

“Elvis, there are rumors that you’ve been unwell since your homecoming was delayed. Can you speak to that?” The question comes right away, and luckily he’s rehearsed it in his head a million times, so it comes out as endearing as possible.

“Well, you see, I was stricken with a bout of tonsilitis on the trip back and then made the dumb mistake of standing up in the plane when there was turbulence. Won’t be doin’ that again, sir, I tell you for sure!” he laughs, rubbing the back of his head in an exaggerated manner, a bashful look on his face. “Nothin’ but a little fever coupled with a big ole’ bump on the head. Everyone just wanted to be more safe than sorry.”

The press corps laughs along with him and seems to take his explanation at face value. Truly, none of it is a lie—only an omission—but for that he is grateful because it falls off his tongue easily. Everyone moves on quickly, asking him about Army life and what’s next for him.

He tries not to look over to you in the wings, as he is under such scrutiny, but he knows you must be overwhelmed. He forgets sometimes how intense the press and fans can be, and he is aware this is only the beginning for you. Also, focusing on you is keeping him from focusing too much on the fact that he’s a little afraid to stand up by himself in front of all these people and cameras.

He endures the rest of the interview with as much grace and humor as he can. He enjoys the few ladies who surround him asking for autographs, including the woman who slyly slips her number into his breast pocket right in front of the camera. He admits he’s impressed with her fearlessness. And he certainly doesn’t mind sidling up to a pretty, young Nancy Sinatra who gives him a gift from her father as the press take their pictures, even though he feels a bit wobbly on his feet.

But through the lingering fear of being exposed or embarrassing himself, he’s also excited. He’s back. And a huge part of him loves this, sucking it up like oxygen. He can’t understand the stars who are dismissive of their fans. His fans have given him his blessed life, and they’ve been waiting for so long for him to come back to them.

Certainly he can’t let a little thing like dying get in the way of who he needs to be for them.

So, Elvis smiles his megawatt Hollywood smile. Posing for pictures, he laughs and winks and autographs his way through the crowd. And he lets the high of adoration carry him because it starts to feel like he’s under water, where it’s hard to breathe and his vision starts to swim and suddenly, he can’t quite feel his feet anymore.

Then a somewhat familiar cold little hand slips into his and squeezes. He looks down into your intelligent eyes and wonders how in the hell you made it through the crowd to him, how in the hell you knew he needed you to steady him without him knowing it himself until this very moment. You breathe through your nose as obviously as you can without taking your eyes from his, prompting him to remember to stop and breathe. And he does, trying to fill his traitorous lungs with air, and you resolutely guide him away from the throng as the MP’s hold back the crowd.

He can’t take his eyes off the back of your head; you’re the lighthouse in the darkness, guiding him away from the rocks.

You don’t let go until you’re all back in the car. It’s only then that he seems to awaken from whatever spell he was under that was keeping him upright, finally collapsing onto the seat next to you. You wait until the car has pulled away and the press is behind you to put your fingers to his neck and your wrist to his sweaty brow. His eyes flutter closed at the comfort of your touch, reminding him of the way his mama would tut over him when he was sick.

His heart pounds with overuse, which is frustratingly stupid enough that he wants to shove his fist through the damn window, but he’s got no energy to do so. Instead, he keeps his eyes shut and lets his head loll back on the seat as you tend to him, murmuring words he doesn’t absorb.

It really hits him then, just how fucking hard this is going to be, this battling his weak body to continue the life he needs to lead. Despair washes over him.

Please, God. Please just let me live. Let me do what I need to do to support my family and please my fans. Please give me the strength to get through this.

He drifts off then, singing spirituals in his head because he hasn’t the energy to get them out of his mouth.

“…vis. Elvis. Elvis, wake up. We’re almost to the train station.” Your voice cuts through the exhaustion and the prayers. He lifts his head, blinking suddenly against the light, coming back into himself. Your face appears first, your brow furrowed with a concern that he thinks you’re trying not to show. He presses his pointer finger to the folds above your nose and between your eyes.

“Relax, little Lo. You’re gonna give your pretty face wrinkles if ya keep on like that,” he drawls sleepily at you.

Your eyes narrow and you swat his hand away. “My face is just fine, thank you very much,” you snap back at him, though you let the new nickname slide. He hears the little huff of air through your nose as you cross your arms and look out the window, obviously annoyed at him once again.

He can’t help but chortle a little. It’s gonna take a mountain of work to get anyone to believe that you even like him, much less that you are swooning with love for him.

“It looks like we have a particularly large crowd to get through to get on that train,” you say tersely, but then that gentle thing you do—the one where you suddenly care about him—cuts through your annoyance. “Are you going to be able to—”

“I can do it,” he retorts, harshly. There’s something suddenly maddening about the way you seem to shut on and off regarding him, and when he’s feeling better, it doesn’t bother him much, but right now it just feels fucking confusing because it’s taking everything in him to rally to get onto that waiting train. And with the way his head is swimming, he’s not so sure he’s gonna make it without some divine intervention.

You sigh, a soft, pliant sound that slides down his spine and settles in his belly, pulling his attention back to your profile as you take in the looming crowd from afar. That thing in you clicks into place again, and when you turn your head, your face is calm and poised.

“I know you want to do this, Elvis,” you start, then seem to mull over how best to continue, and realizing you need to be discreet, you lean close to him to whisper, “but remember not to push it. My job is to help you stay well, and I’m telling you today is not the day to stop and sign every autograph.”

Oh, how badly he wants to argue with you, to insist that he can do it all, that he’s fine, dammnit, but his body feels heavy and his brain swimmy and Lord help him, he just needs to get from point A to point B without being a fool.

“But the fans have been waitin’ so long t’see me…” he trails off, both the sound and the excuse thin.

You consider him for a moment before speaking. He is distracted by you being so close, the scent of you filling his nostrils again, sending his heart galloping.

“Live to fight another day, Elvis.” Then you pull back, a sad, small smile on your pursed lips.

You’re right. He knows you’re right but he’s not happy about it.

He’s also not entirely sure how to feel about the fact that when he clasps your hand in his to pull you out of the limo and towards the train, something about it feels oddly settling.

It’s as if it is supposed to be there, your smaller hand wrapped in his. This strange thought, along with the racing of his heart, pushes him forward—away from the Army and firmly back into the life of Elvis Presley, superstar.

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